Author Archives: kerbey

Christmas Villages, How I Love Thee

Advertisements

That’s An Odd Declaration

Out of context, this does seem like an odd (if not clearly amateurish) sign to hang in front of a gift shop. However, the town is named Dripping Springs, and folks just call it Drippin’. We passed through it yesterday, and it made my heart warm. I just love seeing people hanging Christmas decorations; it’s that one fleeting moment where everyone is preparing for the holiday that we know will end in the blink of any eye. So for now, just enjoy the season!

Jack Sprat Could Eat No Fat

8/67

It’s no news flash that most of us today are fat fat fatties. Reminds me of the old Morrissey song, “You’re The One For Me, Fatty.” It’s not surprising if you’ve never heard of Nutrament, as it exists today mainly only in New York and Florida. They have added new flavors, including cappucino, dulce de leche, mango, and the seasonally appropriate eggnog. Yeah, I still don’t want it. Why drink your calories when you can feast on meat and sides?

Now I was not alive in 1967 when this ad debuted, but women have ALWAYS been drawn to tall drinks of water. I doubt this lanky lad was at a loss for ladies, except that his proportions are all off. An average person is 7 1/2 heads high, and he is easily 9 heads high. Nobody likes a shrunken head.

The UK also struggles with obesity. They posted this image, comparing a typical 1967 male with a modern man. The difference was 23 lbs.

 

Converted to lbs, that’s 162 lbs vs 185. I don’t know about you, but I know a lot of folks who would LOOOOOOVE to weigh 185. That would be a blessing. And fatty evidently is outliving his thinner counterpart by quite a bit. Probably pumped up on medications, though. Time is a beast and steals our beauty and our firmness. Rare is the bird who looks better now than then.

Unless you’re Al Roker.

Now here’s what’s happening in your neck of the woods: you are surrounded by fatties like me.

Not Exactly Pin The Tail On The Donkey

Cactus 49

Shove The Sombero On The Bulldog is a variant of the common child’s party game, wherein a cowgirl chases down a … Dear God, I don’t know what they’re doing. These images from 1949 raise more questions than they answer.

Like why would you park your jalopy on steps?

And is she kneeling in prayer, cursing the car’s engine or praising the argyle socks of a would-be beau?

Why hasn’t anyone prebussed this table? I see some empties.

Why don’t men wear ties like this anymore? And why does the one on the lower left look like Viewmaster reels?

What did Hiram do to deserve such bevy of beauty adoration? Is his thigh numb now?

And why would Bart and Molly bother with a “pretzel battle” at the fall barn party?

I think that makes them married, in some countries.