Is he wearing two button-down shirts, one right over the other?
Category: Advertising
Winner Of Ugliest Font Contest
If I were a few decades older, had a poodle dog blue-tint permanent, cats-eye glasses, and support hose, I would jump up and yell, “Bingo!” because this font is hideous. By golly, this font is downright repellent, like a Gwyneth Paltrow quote or Kevin Smith himself.
Indeed, the letters themselves appear to be wearing bellbottoms, or be suffering from pedal edema. As close as I can find, it looks like the Karloff Negative font, but my research was minimal. It would make sense, however, as Borlis Karloff was known for his horror movie roles, and this is horrific. Gee, this font looks horrific.
The 1971 catalog itself however, is the bomb. The cat’s meow. The bee’s knees.
Who can resist the poor man’s James Garner, wearing his not-a-wedding-ring and sporting a polyester/rayon blend? Do you see that “brown stripe” sample? That is legit cloth. I’m touching it. It has the feel of a fine silk blend.
Yep, this catalog, preserved for four decades in a midwest basement, is in excellent condition, with a crisp mint green envelope inside.
All you had to do was affix a SIX CENT stamp, until May of that year, when they jumped up to an atrocious eight cents. You, too, could order tailored clothing.
Prior to the convenience of online shopping, all you had to do was pick your fabric, have your wife measure you, and send in your check. Easy-peasy, right?
To complete the look, black Roy Orbison-inspired prescription sunglasses are suggested. P.S. Roy Orbison was not blind.
Slumber Party Carb-Loading: Bullying Or Bread-Bonding?
Synchronized Striding
Raise Your Hand If You’re Sure
You’re Motoring
Here’s a cool ad in my June 1919 Motor Age magazine. Note the stockings, the Mexican poncho splayed across the demure seated one’s lap, the backwards baseball cap (oh, that’s just a perspective issue), and the fact that Boko, although marketing to dealers, was reflecting women drivers nearly 100 years ago. Remember that women still couldn’t vote at that point…
Susan Is A Trollop
Germans Or Japs, Storms Or Ice
If Crispin Glover Were A Hungry, Angry Shemale
Welcome to Vogue Sep 2013, 902 pages of over-the-top, aesthetically displeasing ads that I DO NOT GET. I still regret paying $1 for it. All I wanted was some perfume samples.
Look, I liked Vogue as a youth. I enjoyed models and high fashion and keeping up with the trends, perusing through the modern and artsy pages. Perhaps they were even inspiring at one point. But now? Now I cannot get past these ads. Vile.
Spare me any comments about how high-concept or fashion-forward Vogue is; you’ll only sound pretentious or as tired as Madonna’s antiquated song. Ads don’t happen by accident; I’m 100% certain this contrived androgynous look was exactly what they were going for.
All I know is, somebody, please FEED HER. (Not Jennifer Lawrence, but the topless one). And make sure she keeps it down, if you know what I mean. And while you’re at it, throw a shirt on her and trot her to the closest neurologist to see if those dopamine receptors are down, because this one’s smile is broken.
Ralph Rucci, this makes me feel uncomfortable, and discomfort does not buy your product. In fact, it makes me want to ralph into a toilet bowl (where you should put your flowy too-long skirt, fur muff, belt, gloves and bad eye shadow). And take that hairdon’t back to Moe from the Three Stooges. But props to you for getting celebs to buy your clothes! Rich folk love them some runways. Cha-ching!
And I apologize to Crispin Glover, who is actually much easier on the eyes (yet arguably as eccentric) than the aforementioned shemale.
Career Advisor Monday
God forbid I ever have to work in an office again, but it’s good to know I have options, should circumstances mandate a return to the work force.
You men need not feel left out. Granted, Mrs. Vernice Fritts is never going to hire you for stimulating phone work. But you have options as well in the communications field.
See? You can work in labs and stuff, maybe sit at a drafting table. Didn’t Mr. Brady have one?
And for those of us who run a home, we are so fortunate to have electricity to assist in our dreary labors! “Electricity does her laundry for less weekly than the cost of a bar of soap” Um, I beg to differ.
I like her apron, I like her enthusiasm, and her ability to balance plates. However, she clearly has a tendency to procrastinate. Even a Thanksgiving meal doesn’t warrant five dozen plates. She should have paced herself. Nobody likes a Last Minute Martha. Why didn’t she tackle them yesterday? It’s not like she had to update her facebook status. Or return emails. Or tweet. Or hit Gold’s Gym for an hour of treadmill and hot yoga. Come to think of it, what did she do all day?
You’re The One That I Font
One thing I lack on my po’ person’s WordPress theme is the ability to change font (or the skill to access it). But if I had a genie and three wishes, one would be to sleep seven magical hours without changing positions at twelve minute intervals and/or pee out water I drank way back at 8pm, and then the second might be to imbibe endless ice-cold bubbly Cokes (with the perfect syrup to CO2 ratio) without harm to my stomach lining or causing inflammation, but surely the third one would be to have a blog with this sweet-a$$ font, which I would call (of course): Jack’s Barber Shop. I hate that I can’t type that in the actual JBS font. Curses!
Most of us didn’t give much thought to font when we were young, but nowadays, it can change everything. Perhaps you’ve witnessed the hate crimes against poor Comic Sans?
And this lesser viewed one…
Fortunately, a new font was created.
Yeah, that’s pretty swank, and most everyone loves lemon (or a glass of limoncello). But the reality is that lemonade stands are not lucrative. No one knows his neighbor these days. That nasty diluted dixie cup of Country Time might be poisoned like Jonestown Kool-Aid. So thanks, but no, thanks.
Instead, you’re all invited to my tavern (it’s two blocks down, just past the Walgreen’s), and tonight we’ll serve $3 pints of Shiner Bock and mojitos until we run out. Or whatever it is your state enjoys…
If you live in Canada, chances are high that you’re enjoying Molson Canadian (ahem? freedom of choice? diversity?). We’ll keep some cold for you.
And if PERHAPS you live on Fantasy Island where all the words have K’s in them, you may find yourself on this craft beer snob map–although it is impossible to read because you are, after all, made up of teensy tiny islands.
The Wurlitzer jukebox still offers four plays for a buck, and if you are Fonzie and know the sweet spot, you can get your selections gratis. We have a Happy Hour special on raspberry chipotle buffalo wings (with ranch, blue cheese, carrots, AND celery), cooked by my husband, and my famous crispy pepper bacon brownies. The early bird gets the worm. And when you have to use the restroom, it’s to the left, down past the pinball machines and Mrs. Pac-Man. Use the door for your gender (Jack or Jill), both written in Jack’s Barber Shop font. See you tonight!
New iPhone 6 Is The Bomb
P.S. You don’t need a new phone. It won’t make you cool. It won’t make people like you. It just means you’re desperate to obtain the latest gadget to make yourself feel important. You are already important. Keep your current phone. And stop dropping it in the toilet.
I Don't Get It 