… just like Bogie and Bacall. ♪♫♫ While sparking up may have been a turn on for his much younger 4th wife, Bogey’s health would head south soon after this ad. Turns out smoking’s not good for your lungs. But they sure looked cool at the time.
Esophageal cancer was his diagnosis, which led to surgery, and included removal of his esophagus, two lymph nodes, and a rib. Ouch! Bogie wasted down down to 80 lbs and passed away in early ’57. Lauren Bacall smoked for decades and died just shy of 90. Life’s funny that way.
Actually, these students weren’t whistling Dixie at all, because that term doesn’t involve any whistling. Whistling Dixie isn’t even racist, though the word might trigger you. I feel sorry for a former classmate with that name. Nope, whistling Dixie just means laying out your pipe dreams in idle chitchat, sharing your hopes as you’re shooting the breeze, with the connotation that you may not ever actually bring that dream to pass.
One could apply it to teens who forego college in order to, as they put it, “pursue dreams of being influencers.” One could apply it to endless promises of political candidates on either side of the spectrum. As you age, you may become more jaded and skeptical by hearing decades of unfulfilled promises, coming to think that most promises are just folks whistling Dixie, telling you what want to hear, but never making good on it.
However, if I tell my husband I’m doing two loads of laundry, the dishes, mowing the back yard, and fixing up a beef roast today, I’m not whistling Dixie. It’s not balderdash, rubbish, nor hogwash. It’s the real deal, y’all. Or as the kids simply say, “FACTS.”
So just make sure that when you start laying out your strategy, that you’ve got good intentions and a solid path to make it come to pass. Otherwise, folks might be inclined to disbelieve you, as they say. And I ain’t whistling Dixie.
I just had a milestone birthday. I don’t look quite like June and Zelma Harley, both in their 90s when this was taken 20 years ago, but pretty close. I still wash my own hair every other day, rather than go to a salon once a week. I have never had a perm. And I never let the grey grow in more than an inch before grabbing the Loreal. But I do favor that nice snowy white they have. Maybe some day …
The sisters formed the Happy Hearts Club when they were children, with three other girls who lived on their dirt road, and promptly began hosting tea parties. Both are presumably long gone by now, but I like to think they’re up in heaven, coiffed and full of cheer, sipping hot tea from dainty cups of gilded china. Here’s to aging.
Back in the last century, Briggs & Stratton used to release a list of the best 10 lawns in America. In 1998, this seventh floor garden at 30 Rock ranked among them. Seen here is head gardener Eric Pauze 24 years ago, when he earned the honor. Among his duties are planting pink geraniums and trimming hedges, as the gardens are designated state landmarks and must be treated with dignity and respect.
But mowing stripes seven stories high is the least interesting thing he does. Yep, he’s the Christmas tree picker for Rockefeller Center! Not the fake version you see on all the Hallmark movies; nope, he’s the real deal. He visits nurseries throughout the tri-state area, searching for the perfect tree. He’s been known to scour trees in other states as well, and says he’s never been turned down by an owner, though they are skeptical that he is the actual man with the coveted tree-procuring position. Well, here’s the proof.
While I have partaken of Dad’s root beer (“tastes like root beer should”), I confess I’ve never heard of any of the top recording stars listed above. A quick YouTube search didn’t ring any bells, but one piece of footage did prove amusing. Several months after this ad was printed in the summer of 1958, the Diamonds visited Dick Clark on the Saturday Night Beech-Nut Show to perform “Little Darlin’.” Evidently, they were kind of a big deal, as the clip has been viewed over nine million times. I think you will agree that they were quite the cut-ups.
When I was a little girl, an ad for Federal Express used a phrase I’ll never forget: when it absolutely, positively has to be there overnight. While I don’t know if these lovely ladies were delivered overnight, I do know a chivalrous deliveryman is assisting with their departure from his truck. Their prom dates look on from the sidelines, as well as hundreds more.
But that wasn’t the most interesting manner of vehicle at the 2003 Fairless Hill, Pennsylvania prom. No, sir. Not to be outdone, these two arrived via motorized stegosaur. Surely that beats limousine any day.
What about you? If you could do it all over again, which would you pick? A Fed Ex truck or a dinosaur?
In 16 seconds, a trotter can travel one furlong. That’s a sentence I bet you’ve never said. We can deduce that the one trotting, the horse, is the trotter. Back in 1949, when this ad debuted, most folks knew what a furlong was: 1/8 of a mile or 660 feet. That’s further than I have to walk to go to my neighborhood mailbox. The Kohl’s is a half a mile away, so it’s half of half of that. Now I can picture it. I bet I could trot it in a flat minute, but surely not 16 seconds. And that’s the value of language in advertising; making sure your readers are on board. Today, the only furlong referenced is Edward, the hot mess of an actor, bless his heart.
Bayer came out in the century before the one we were all born in, unless you’re wee and Generation Z. And it’s the gold standard for folks with any heart issues to take each morning; I myself took a yummy chewable low-dose one for two years before I could discontinue it. It’s time-tested and cardiologist-approved. If you don’t take it, you’ve got friends or family who do. And if by chance, they want to sprint a furlong, they won’t drop dead of cardiac arrest while doing it.
If you’re the kind of person who wants extra credit and likes to learn old measurements, I’ll toss this bonus pic in for you.
Feel free to incorporate it into this weekend’s conversation, perhaps talking about how one day you’d like to retire and live on an oxgang. Wouldn’t we all?
Odds are pretty good you’ve had omicron by now, or at least you know a dozen folks who have. The media says it’s highly contagious, despite any boosters you may have (case in point, many folks I know with it have been double vaccinated), and that it’s mild (I personally would disagree with that one). It is real and it’s certainly making the rounds, and I can’t imagine anyone would want to be struck with it anymore than these fellows in Brooklyn wanted to be slammed by Roy Campanella’s ball. Though the man dead center was hoping for an easy catch, the ball was fumbled and fell back on to the field. Here’s hoping all of you are safe and healthy, avoiding all variants, and that this pandemic is rounding home base, about to end the season entirely.
Seen here are the adorable faces of Jewish pupils and their schoolmaster, who has just led them outside of a Tunisian synagogue to take their picture. These children were descended from Jews who fled the destruction of Jerusalem in the first century, to the island of Djerba.
Never heard of Djerba? Well, allegedly, it is the island of the lotus-eaters where Odysseus was stranded on his voyage through the Mediterranean Sea. Eating lotus left the natives in a perpetual state of bliss. Shall we go?
Well, if you’re a single woman, probably not. The men there tend to verbally accost the weaker sex, per travelsafe-abroad. com, which also advises all LGBT to avoid it all costs, as they are not welcome. It also suggests that should unwanted attention be cast your way, that you say, “Harem Alayki,” which means, “Shame on you!” Feel free to use it today, if your dog has made bad choices.
If, however, you are a straight male, as usual, you can go wherever you’d like. May I suggest the Hotel Meridiana? The help will happily pour you coffee in the lobby, while you can’t decide if you’re in the movie Aladdin, or at the Cheesecake Factory. Either way, you win.