Hello Dear Readers! What shall we do today? Hm . . . Oh I know! Let’s look at how Moms have been portrayed as Brain Dead through the decades. As it just so happens, I found a few vintage cookbooks that we can use to contrast and compare.
Brain Dead Mom from 1937
Brain Dead Mom from 1953:
Brain Dead Mom from 1959
Brain Dead Mom From 1965
I have a feeling there are lots and lots of other examples of Brain Dead Moms Through the Decades out there on the shelves of my favorite thrift store! And I make this pledge to you, Dear Readers, that I will not rest until I have messed up everything on the shelf looking for them!
Hello Dear Readers. Well, if this is Wednesday, it must be Friday. Because at this blog, Wednesdays are the new Fridays!
That’s because Rochelle Wisoff-Fields over at Addicted to Purple is the gracious hostess of Friday Fictioneers even though she doesn’t serve refreshments (that I know of) — where writers are inspired to write a 100-word story based on the weekly posted picture. Here’s this week’s picture:
Louise Goes on a Date
But Louise, how could you borrow a Pietro Pairajelli dressfrom your place of work to wear to the movies with Howard?
“Well, I didn’t know we’d get robbed waiting in line, and they’d steal the Pietro Pairajelli and Howard’s toupee — the only two things we had of value. I had to watch the movie in my slip, Betty, and poor Howard caught pneumonia and died.”
“From the draft on his head?”
“Uh huh. And now I’ll be fired.”
“Wait! Isn’t that the Pietro Pairajelli over there on the fire escape, Louise?”
You’re the luckiest person on earth, Louise!
“I know, huh.”
* * *
And there you have it Dear Readers. This week’s story came in at 104 words no matter how much I tried to cram it into 100 — some stories just refuse to cooperate!
Dear Readers. I would like to make a formal apology at this time to the decade of the 1970’s. Lately, I’ve been mercilessly picking on how strange, weird and downright creepy the seventies were. But then, after not thinking about it very much, I decided who cares? So join me won’t you as we laugh at the seventies and not with them.
Let’s flip through the pages of this Woman’s Day Knit & Stitch Magazine from 1973, shall we?
She’s a 70’s Gal, and she’s all gussied up in the knitted robe and matching knitted knickers she knitted! knitted! knitted! herself! Because in the seventies, not only did gals know how to knit! — they also knew how to pretend they were actually going to wear the stuff they knitted out in public! But you never actually saw anyone out and about wearing a get-up such as this one, except for maybe Mick Jagger who combined a hat deceitfully tipped below one eye and a scarf (but it was apricot.)
Have Beach Mat Will Travel Will Not Have Fun!
And there you have it, Dear Reader. Today’s romp through the ridiculous fields the the 70’s. I hope you had as much fun as I did laughing at the 70’s expense!
Hello Dear Readers! It’s Wedfrinesday again. Where writers are challenged to stretch their synapses in the Making-Stuff-Up Hemisphere of the brain every Friday by writing a 100-word story from a picture prompt posted on Wednesday by Rochell Wisoff-Fields!
I know it sounds confusing the way I’m explaining it. But that’s because while I was stretching my synapses, I got a cramp . . .
When Sally saw the condition of the phone, her heart — which was located almost in the middle of her chest — (but too far to the left for her boyfriend, Charlie’s liking) — sank.
Sally’s eyes welled up with tears nearly simultaneously-; the right welling faster than the left (something Charlie abhorred). Sally grabbed the receiver with her right-hand while wiping tears away with her left and dialed Charlie’s number with her nose — located basically in the middle (but off centered enough to be unattractive Charlie thought) of Sally’s face.
Dear Readers! I’ve been away from my blog for four whole days! My kids visited, and we all whooped it up Vernon Style in a combination, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Spring Birthday, Memorial Day celebration! Gosh we had a good time! We figure it will hold us over until June when we’ll all get together again to celebrate National Accordion Month! (Can! Not! Wait!)
But Dear Readers, as you know, life isn’t all fun and games. No siree! Sometimes life is a serious business and as such, you have to get the most out of every single minute — which brings us to today’s topic:
What Color Is Your Parachute You Wish You Had Right Now?
Clear and Present Danger, Tell Me Something I Don’t Know Edition
Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Swinging Back and Fourth Etiquette
The Pit and Hey Lookee Me I’m the Pendulum
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People Who Can’t Breath
Literally Lord of the Flies
The Agony and the Ecstasy Only Ixnay on the Ecstasyay
Ο Things to Do Before You Die, The Heavily Discounted Edition
And there you have it, Dear Readers! Now, I must admit, this post was a little weird even for me. I’m blaming it on too much cake while whooping it up with the family. I’m really going to have to watch it at next months National Accordion Celebration!
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to Wed-Fri-nesday. I decided to make up a new day of the week because 1) it’s high time somebody did 2) the Friday Fictioneer 100-word writing challenge starts on Wednesday.
Every Wedfrinesday, Rochell Wisoff-Fields, provides a weekly picture prompt, and writers are challenged to write a 100-word story. Go here if you want to join in: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Addicted to Purple Blog and you should! Why? Well, what better way to celebrate the very first Wedfrinesday?
The Doing, the Undoing and the Redoing of Sean
Sean squished a spider crawling on his prized lawn trophy with his half-emptied whiskey bottle; congratulating himself in one instant, and disgusting himself in the next – with just how low he had sunk, accomplishment-wise.
When he was riding high with two consecutive wins at the Lawnmower Blade Sharpening British Open, the money and the fame had gone to Sean’s head.
His wife left, his kids left, his dog left, and even his goldfish . . . wait . . . no! He still had his goldfish!
Sean straightened his tie, picked up his goldfish bowl and headed into the future.
P.S. This story came in at exactly 100 words not counting the title and the 1,000 words the picture tells.
Though Ancient Romans tried valiantly to crucify, burn and/or feed to wild animals as many people as possible on any given day, it seems they were no match for the killing powers of the plague bacterium, Yersinia Pestis, which, experts believe, was responsible for killing an estimated 100 million (MDLXXXVII) Romans.
After studying a boatload of ancient skeletons, Barbara Bramanti, an Archaeogeneticist at Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz Germany, was flabbergasted to discover Yersinia Pestis was responsible for all the plague epidemics in the last 1500 years — almost as flabbergasted as she was to discover the Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz Germany actually offered a degree in Archeogenetics!
There’s Bones in Them Thar Parking Lots
Digging up parking lots and looking for bones is the new Archeology craze that is sweeping the UK! The recent discovery of the royal bones of King Richard the III, underneath a Parking Lot in Leicester has given rise to The UK Bone Rush of 2013 causing archeologists with bone fever to leave their wives and families, and risk everything to go downtown and dig for ancient bones underneath parking lots all over the UK.
Recently, some lucky archeologists struck bone after digging up a parking lot in downtown Scotland that turned up big, huge nuggets of bones from a medieval knight and his family. And the mining of another parking lot at the corner of Newarke and Oxford streets, yielded the Motherlode when an entire Roman Cemetery was discovered!
UK traffic experts fear if this worrying trend continues unchecked, there will be absolutely nowhere to park in the entire British Isles by this time next year.
Robot Finds Little Mysterious Spheres in Ancient Temple
In order to explore a tunnel in the pyramid of Teotihuacan in Mexico, claustrophobic archeologists sent in a remote-controlled robot affectionately dubbed, TLaloc II-TC, that had an infrared camera and a 3D laser scanner strapped to where it’s little eyes should be.
Archeologists were positively giddy when little TLaloc II-TC, working all by itself, managed to discover mysterious spheres laying around everywhere on the floor of the tunnel.
When experts pointed out that the spheres looked more like rocks than spheres, the team of claustrophobic archeologists rushed to cover little TLaloc II-TC’s ears and insisted it was merely a coincidence. The experts were then told, in no uncertain terms, not to let the ten-ton, secret-pyramid-chamber door hit them on their way out.
Welcome, Dear Readers, to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory.
Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?
Awkward Moments For Moses
One beautiful biblical morning, the Lord began saying to Moses.“Depart and go up from here to the land of which I swore to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob . . .”
While the Lord was talking, Moses began sighing and picking leaves out of his sheep’s fur, secretly wishing the Lord wouldn’t always feel the need to recap the entire events of mankind before moving on to His next topic.
“. . . I will send My angel, and I will drive out the Hittites, the Canaanites and Amorites . . .”
Moses quietly opened his satchel and started nibbling on his fig sandwich.
“. . . and the Hittite, the Perizzite and the Hivite and Jebusites . . .”
While Moses was adjusting his sandals the Lord said,”Go up to a land flowing with milk and honey for I will not go in your midst, lest I consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people.“
Say what? Did the Lord just say he liked to consume stiff-necked people?
” Okaaaaay . . . ” Moses said, “but just a quick question, Lord. By consume, You don’t by any chance mean “eat” stiff-necked people, do you? Moses hung his head while he asked the queston to make his neck looked limper. “I only ask because eat and consume usually mean the same thing.”
But the Lord didn’t hear Moses’ question, what with all the noisy sacrificing going on in the background.
When Moses relayed to his people, the Peoplites, about the Lord’s plans to relocate them to the land of Milk and Honey — but that the Lord wouldn’t be coming along personally due His, ahem, Inappropriate Eating Problem, they mourned and took off all their ornaments and laid them on the ground. (This was way before they had Christmas trees to hang them on.)
Then the Lord told Moses exactly what to say to the Peoplites about his inappropriate eating problem.
“Say to the children of Israel, “you are a stiff-necked people, I could come up into your midst one moment and consume you. Now therefore take off your ornaments so that I may know what to do.”
Either the stiff-necked Peoplite’s ornaments were jingling so loud the Lord couldn’t hear himself think, or the Lord wanted them to take off the ornaments as they tended to get stuck in the Lord’s Beard whenever He “consumed” stiff-necked Peoplites.
Anyway, by now the Lord and Moses were pretty close friends. By today’s standards, they would have not only been friends on Facebook; they would have made sure to click the like button on each other’s blog posts.
So Moses pitched a “meeting tent” where he and the Lord could meet. Moses sat inside the tent while the Lord appeared outside the tent as a pillar of smoke, (the Lord’s favorite avatar).
Everything was going really great, relationship-wise, until one day Moses blurted out, “Would you mind if I took a peek at your real face, Lord?
What followed was an awkward silence of epic proportions. Finally the Lord just flat out told Moses that if he showed Moses his face Moses, Moses would die from looking at it — thither on the spot!
Talk about awkward! After that Moses didn’t know what to say and either did the Lord.
Finally the Lord just completely changed the subject. “Cut two stones and meet me up on Mt. Sinai tomorrow, Moses.”
“Sure!” Moses said, hugely relieved. May I inquire as to why?” Moses sat down and prepared himself for another of the Lord’s long, drawn-out explanation.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out” was all the Lord would say.
Stay tune next week when Gregory retells what he learned about the Ten Commandments in Sunday School.
I twitter and I don’t know why. In fact, speaking as a baby boomer that’s not getting any younger at an alarming rate, I predict that “I twitter and I don’t know why!” will be the new aging-boomer catch phrase that officially replaces, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”
I have a feeling it all boils down to Bob Hope
Do I have any idea why I twitter? I have tweeted 696 times. But to what purpose? To what end? Frankly, I suspect since I have to ask, I’m too old to be twittering (or is it tweeting?).
I think understanding Twitter is one of those generational-gap phenomenons that were so popular in back the 60’s — where we baby boomers would roll our eyes when our parents laughed at Bob Hope wearing a Beatles wig while singing, “she loves you, yeah yeah yeah”. Only now instead of Bob Hope, hashish and shaggy hair we’ve got Louis CK, hash tags and Friday Follow.
Hey what’s everybody talking about? I said what’s everybody talking about? Hello?
Twitter, for me, is like being in a group of people where everyone is laughing and talking about something — but I’m late to the conversation and I can never quite get the gist of what they are discussing.
So I just try faking it by smiling and laughing along hoping I’ll figure it out in minute. During a lull, I might ask the person next to me what everyone is talking about, and just as they are about to fill me in, somebody says something funny and the person starts laughing again and never gets back to me.
Now Just Slow Down There A Minute Sonny . . . Granny don’t go that fast!
Take this morning for instance. I went to my twitter account and I saw that a blogger who used to have a funny WordPress blog is now a comedian. So I tweeted a reply congratulating him and went to click out of Twitter one second later and saw that he had already replied to my reply. And he has thousands of followers! How can he go so fast? That’s what this old lady wants to know? (Btw, you can follow Rob https://twitter.com/MyHairyLife — maybe, I don’t know.)
And so I put it to you, Dear Readers. Why do you tweet? What is the purpose of tweeting? I would love to know why I tweet from those of you young enough to understand why.
I thank you in advance, and, as a lovely parting gift for reading this far, I will leave you with a few of my favorite tweets:
I got up out of bed (I would have sprung up out of bed but that particular spring is on the fritz.) Stumbled to the three C’s — Coffee, Computer, and Ceyboard. Stared out the window for a while but didn’t see any UFO’s. Wrote a post.
Took my little dog/toupee, Cha, for a walk around the neighborhood while keeping a lookout for UFO’s. Still didn’t see any.
Went to the Spaghetti Factory for lunch with the family. After that we went to park across the street. Didn’t see any UFO’s there either. (I think they’re deliberately avoiding me.)
Went to a couple of thrift stores. And that’s when I spotted the UFO! (Not really — just trying to drum up a little excitement. Note to self: get new drum.)
But while I was there I did come across this “Cool and Collected” magazine:
Let’s see if we can glean what “ca HOME +DESIGN” is about by the hints on the cover shall we?
Let’s see . . . maybe it’s about a man who enjoys wearing a 1945 Movie Theater Usher’s uniform while relaxing in his trendy, cement home that also doubles as a trendy nuclear fallout shelter and/or bank vault.
And it also looks like maybe 1945 Theater Usher Man put too much honey on his toast this morning and got honey all over his fingers and then reached into his pencil box and got honey all over his pencils too –getting everything hopelessly suck together and — at that exact moment– the photographers showed up to photograph 1945 Theater Usher Man’s trendy cement home.
Naturally he had nochoice but to throw the whole sticky mess on the coffee table hoping to pass them off as “art” which the photographers obviously fell for hook, line and sinker!
And by the look on 1945 Theater Usher Man’s face, you can just tell he is eagerly anticipating licking the honey off those pencils the second the photographers leave.
1945 Theater Usher Man is also hiding his hands behind his back either because 1) he doesn’t want anyone to notice their covered with honey or because 2) he’s hiding the fact that he’s honey-glued himself to the wall.
Oh that 1945 Theater Usher Man may be a stinker, but he’s nobody’s fool!
Well I’m sure there a many more fun pages to discuss in this magazine, Dear Readers, but I have to go find my camera now. . . I think I just saw a UFO outside the window. Either that or I need to wash them. Either way I bid you adieu.
Welcome Dear Readers! It’s time for Friday Fictioneers. And the good thing is you don’t even have to have any ears to participate!
All you have to do is go to RochelleWisoff-FieldsAddicted to Purple and take a look at the picture (which is posted every Wednesday) and write a 100-word story about it. Link up and Viola! Lookee you! You’re a Friday Fictioneer!!
Here’s this week’s picture:
Brenda’s New Job Sucks
And they expected her to do this for eternity? Seriously? Brenda hadn’t even been a ghost for a full hour, and she was bored stiff.
Brenda swept her arm across the bar again. Everything went crashing to the floor again. Hardly anyone one noticed, again, because the jukebox was screaming Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog again.
“It’s a ghost!” Someone shouted. “I got her picture!”
Everyone rushed over including Brenda. Yeah, that was her alright. Everyone thought she looked spooky, but Brenda thought she looked fat.
Well, Brenda’s supervisor was coming tomorrow. Maybe he’d reassign her somewhere better. Like hell.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, this week’s Friday Fictioneer’s Challenge.
Hello Dear Readers! It’s time to get out the word shaker and shake out 33 words for this week’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge. This time we are asked to “write the origin story to the superhero of your choice in exactly 33 words.”
That Tragic Extra P
Gobbling the third meal of the day faster than a speeding bullet by age 2.
More powerful than breakfast and lunch and dinner by 20!