Let me be the first to say I am so grateful that the earth does not look like an overflowing oyster shell, spilling like Niagara Falls into the nothingness. How odd it would be to have clouds below us.
All of today’s images were scanned from a January 1949 Holiday magazine that I own.
In general, I think people are too quick to be offended and play the victim card and nurse their perceived wounds. However, this ad makes me uncomfortable. Even if the intent is to portray innocent street performance, the bare feet vs. the white jackets has implications.
In the next cartoon, we see Mexicans giving a car wash. As a person who, in the course of driving through town, sees Mexicans giving car washes almost daily, this does not offend me. But I imagine the man taking a siesta might offend some, as it could be perceived as perpetuating a stereotype.
This next image shows a musician in traditional garb, with a caption revealing that his music airs the local gossip. Is this offensive? I am more concerned with how men look in dresses.
In an article about Casablanca, an image not unlike a street urchin shows a veiled girl carrying her brother.
In today’s PC market, I doubt a travel magazine could write “which you won’t care to visit except by sunlight,” but I would actually appreciate that honesty. Isn’t that what Expedia and Trip Advisor sites are for?
They continue with an assessment of the open-air markets.
Not being well-traveled myself, I cannot argue that there is not a maleficent odor. I imagine there is. I’ve seen Andrew Zimmern gut a pig on Bizarre Foods. Not every place is hygienic. Not every land is hospitable. My standard of cleanliness is quite different from some of my friends, who could do well to purchase some Clorox wipes, just like this man. I washed my hands ten times last night, handling raw chicken. So I imagine the stench of festering carcass is quite rank. I would rather know the truth before I hopped a plane across the ocean. What do you think? Are all of these offensive? Or none at all?
Smoking looks pretty fantastic in ads of yore. I may need to rethink my vices. Toweling off never looked so exhilarating.

Have you ever seen a more fetching football ensemble? It even has a place to hold her smokes. She’s ready to toss an entire carton your way.
These guys are the picture of good health. If they can smoke Camels and protect our liberty, shouldn’t you?
The problem at Christmastime is discerning which Santa to heed. 
Too tough to decide? In any event, Chesterfield makes a pretty good case for evening winding-down. I could curl up inside that window into 1936. Let’s just hope she doesn’t fall asleep with the butt still burning.
According to the World Baton Twirling Federation, baton twirling is a sport involving the manipulation of a metal rod with the hands and body to a co-coordinated routine. Many moons ago, soldiers would twirl rifles as they marched in parades. As the activity progressed, a rifle twirler moved to the front to get the party started. To keep from accidentally shooting onlookers, rifles made way for batons, rods made from hollow light metal with light rubber ends, balanced to give accuracy to the twirler.
Once the batons were lightened and balanced, the weaker sex could finally lift them into the air with her small muscles. Short skirts and high-stepping routines assured that males would watch as they pranced. These guys don’t seem to mind the view.
By 1940, men were resigned to the back row. But why are their hats so tall? Did they store their lunches in them? A Frenchman could hide both a baguette and a bottle of merlot in there. I find them oddly reminiscent of the minions of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Another triple digit day, week, and month here in the Lone Star State with zero precipitation and not a chance of rain as far as the eye can see. I can’t wait until the temps drop down to 95 and we ladies can wear just one brassiere per day. You try walking a dog/doing dishes/trimming hedges at 8am and see if your bra doesn’t wind up ready to wring out by 9am. October can’t get here too fast!
Sunday morning begins with a pipe and the funny papers. Darrell can hardly contain his laughter.

On Monday, he studies Child Psychology at the Theta House, thrilled to be in the company of two lovely dames. Darrell takes Darrell very seriously.

Later in the week, he and Peggy hit the bowling alley. She watches, suspicious as to how a robot is able to record her strike with human handwriting.
Finally, the weekend arrives! Time for a night on the town, dancing his cares away.
Paula feels victorious in that he has agreed to hold her hand. Both are over the moon.