April 8th was the kickoff dinner of the second annual Soph Week, with an evening of frolic and festivities for students attending the “Hi-Guy, Hello-Girl” dance, where Jimmy Palmer’s band played swinging tunes. Here’s hoping we’ll all be in good form at the end of this trial, ready to sip and socialize.
As Newsweek reported when this month began:
U.S. ALCOHOL SALES INCREASE 55 PERCENT IN ONE WEEK AMID CORONAVIRUS PANDEMIC
Yes. I get that. I’ve had a few pints. But it’s not the pints I’m jonesing for.
What I want is Coke. A frosty Coke and then a refill of frosty Coke immediately afterward.
Both of their bottles.
Don’t I deserve to be “really refreshed?”
Coke is everywhere. It taunts me in the pages of my magazines and from the walls of the antique stores. Is that Jane Wyman? I don’t know. All I want is her Coke.
I don’t need two liters of Coke. That’s too big, and it loses carbonation the second you open it up.
Then again, it can’t be too small.
Now this one is just right.
Is it me, or does that look like a frosty pint of ale, instead of motor oil?
The attendants were so thoughtful, giving lollipops to youngsters! This was before kids were diabetic, when Mom wore pearls and heels to fill ‘er up.
And Dad wasn’t left in the dark. Roy could talk shop and spill the tea. He was worse than a gossiping hen.
During these heady times, it’s hard to refrain from going stir crazy. But keep in mind that cabin fever is always better than lowgrade fever. Even the President said a hell-to-the-no when Birx mentioned her fever.
In the words of Nirvana, stay away.
Running out of ideas for solo activities? Well, let’s take a cue from history.
You could make a pyramid, reminiscent of the wonder of the world. You will be self-isolating, so no one will see your Daisy Dukes or judge your ale intake.
You could bundle up under the covers and read a good book, or just the Cliff’s Notes.
Catch up on the funnies in your paper.
You could science up and create a vaccine.
Or spend time with microfilm. How long has it been?
Try tobacco! And maybe write the Great America Novel while you’re at it!
Lie on your bed (but first take your saddle oxfords off because the virus can stay on the soles of your shoes for days) and think about yesterday, when all your troubles seemed so far away.
If spring has sprung in your town, pack a sack lunch and head over to a nearby park, spray the entire bench with Lysol, sit down, and enjoy a snack, while hearing the mating calls of the doves.
And if you are part of the unfortunate “essential” few who have to be in public, remember to wear your mask.
She’s not listening to a word about Ken’s board meeting. Why? Because Old Forester, that’s why. It’s not called Old Banker for a reason, Ken.
But Meg’s not the only with her eye on the prize.
Behold, Irish eyes are smiling. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s a lovely day to be outdoors in the piney woods, jaunty green hat askew, sporting a thick gold wedding band, smell of beef charring in the air. Somehow, there’s an endless tap of beer in the park. Keep it flowing.
Why? Because dextrins and maltose and B-complex vitamins, like your doctor said. It does a body good, and pairs well with burgers and horseshoes. Cheers to healthful values!
I guess I don’t get the artistic vision of this ad. To me, I see a car unable to simply cross a shallow stream, a driver who has abandoned his vehicle, and a half-naked woman pressed against the windshield, foot whimsically in the air, brick at her side.
Of course, that’s sexist. SHE could have very well been the driver when the LSD kicked in. She drove right into a creek. She took her clothes off. She got on top of the car to get a better view of the melting dancing hippos inside. But the brick? I don’t get it.
Their smiles beam but seem to say, “We’re choking. Take the picture already. This is awkward.”
In what sounds like a silly sitcom plot, identical twins Patrecia and Leisha Gullison won the shared title of Miss Palo Alto in 1959, qualifying them to compete (as a non-conjoined unit) for the Miss California contest. They posed in white bathing suits and did interpretive dance, but got stumped at the question round.
Susan Bronson, however, did not get stumped, stating her answers coherently, and won the title. Or maybe it was because she was blonde and native, and the twins were born in Toronto, and emitted a non-native Californian vibe. In any event, LIFE magazine decided this made for good copy.
Unperturbed, the twins soon signed with Ford Modeling, doing print work as well as television commercials, including one as (obviously) the Doublemint Twins. Liesha became the “Salem” girl, modeled in New York, was active in the theater, and enjoyed a marriage, as well as a later career as an Avon lady. She passed in 2010 at the age of 70. Interesting, but fairly uncomplicated.
Pat, not so much. In 1963, she married a fellow college student, Lawrence Scott. She had been attending talks by fellow Canadian-American Nathaniel Branden, who created an institute to disseminate Ayn Rand’s (yeah, THAT one–of Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged fame) philosophy of objectivism. Pat became smitten with his nutty ideas and decided he might prove a better lover than her husband, with whom she had grown tired over the months. However, Branden was not only married (to wife Barbara) but also sleeping with Ayn Rand himself. Pat decided she also would sleep with Branden, and the affair continued for a year before he told his wife and divorced her.
Pat followed suit and divorced Scott in 1966.
Wanting to rid herself of the last name “Scott,” she made a beeline to (who else?) Ayn Rand to ask her opinion on what she should change it to. Rand suggested her new surname be Wynand, just like the character Gail Wynand in The Fountainhead. Because that’s not crazy. Pat nodded and said okay, and suddenly she became Pat Wynand.
Meanwhile, Rand was still in the dark about the fact that her lover was also the much, much younger and more attractive Pat’s lover. But in 1968, Branden’s now ex-wife Barbara decided it was time to spill the objectivist beans. She informed Rand (who was already old and gross at 63 years old by that point) about his affair with Pat. Rand was livid and accused him of “deliberate deception,” which is arguably what she had committed by sleeping with another woman’s husband in the first place.
Now the adulterers were both free to wed, which they did in California in November of 1969. Several years of marriage passed. Then in 1977, while Pat was outside, feeding their dog, the rays of the sun hit the water on their pool just right, triggering an epileptic seizure in Pat, who consequently drowned in their pool. Branden was sad for a few months and then married the next year.*
Now back to coronavirus.
*as usual, today’s post facts arrived fresh from Wikipedia