Category: Fun

Waterbowl Wednesday

Set down your coffee to read this one, folks. It doesn’t marry well with toilet bowl. I stumbled upon this image early this morning, perusing pics for a Facebook birthday post. I wondered why I had kept this Polaroid for nigh on 40 years. You can see the Polaroid edges, no? In it, the family cat of my tweens, Ran Tan, has decided to rehydrate from an exhaustive day of lounging and nibbling.

Did I keep it because I will always have a special place in my heart for her? No. She was a cat. She was not a dog. The special place is clearly filled with our dog.

But it speaks to a time where one did not have a camera in one’s pocket. If one had stumbled upon the cat mid-drink, one would never have time enough to go find the Polaroid and lug it to the water closet before said cat had vanished. I don’t recall the circumstances of how perchance the shot exists, or even who took it, though it’s been in my possession all these decades. It must have been happenstance.

It also speaks to growing up in a house with one potty for all to share. Patience was a virtue. My son grew up in a home where each bottom has its own toilet. Ah, luxury!

I imagine we sprinkled the bowl with Comet soon afterward. Note the stylish tiles, which, if original to the home, would be nearly 100 years old now. And how often do you see a black toilet seat? It complimented Ran Tan’s fur just fine.

Perhaps the point is the cliché seize the day, seize pleasure where you find it. Perhaps the point is to stay hydrated. Or perhaps the point is to save at least one picture of your family cat, even if it’s just the tail.

heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who

Miami University 1955

Sometimes when infatuation spills out of you so effusively that you can’t hold your dimples in, you just need your bestie to have your back, and go tell it on the mountain–or go tell the bestie of your crush that you think he’s the most.

Then he can relay the information. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Really? Sheila likes me?”

Then it’s up to him to make the next move. Or bring his buddies with him as wingmen.

Sparks may fly between you.

And who knows where that could lead?

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Elvis, NOLA, Aug 12, 1956 by Jay B. Leviton

What is going on here? No one is rushing the stage. Folks are in their seats. No Zippos in the air. No bra straps showing. Petticoats are full, waists cinched nicely. It’s a remarkable expression of containment and decorum, when you know full well those girls are about to. lose. their. minds.

And there is Elvis, prostrate, barely legal to drink, full of chills that are multiplying and sending electric shocks up the spines of the mostly female audience. I would say he’s all shook up, but that won’t come out till next year, the year he buys Graceland and is drafted into the military.

Fortunately, Elvis lives to tour again and continues the theme of lying down during set lists, even as his age doubles from 21 to 42. Yes, the sideburns and jumpsuits (and karate moves) are new. But some things never change.

Rib-Tickling, Spine-Splitting Pie

shorpy

I do love pie (even chose it instead of wedding cake), but I must admit I’ve never consumed it whilst donning a bathing suit, as these lasses did on July 31, 1921 in the nation’s capital. Tidal Basin Bathing Beach had opened only three years prior, and then closed four years after this shot.  Seize the moments while you can.

I’m The Gravy To Your Mashed

1947 Cactus

With less than three months till Thanksgiving, you might need to start thinking about your gravy needs.

For a ditty to encourage your culinary skills (fraught with innuendo), may I suggest?

Thanks For Your Support

Brassieres are not like other clothing. They are crazy expensive, especially sports bras, which generally run north of $50. They chafe, the underwire leaves red marks, and the straps create deep indentations in your shoulders for the rest of your life. And the inconvenience! When you get an MRI, you have to remove your bra due to the metal in the hooks and wire. Off, on, off, on. And when they have finally run their course, you can’t hand them down or donate them to Goodwill because gross. But today I learned you can do this:

ebaumsworld

Who knew? For those of you who take the time to remove hooks and mail them with actual US postal stamps, your benevolence will be appreciated. Granted, the recipient himself will never know whom to thank, but you can identify as a testudophile from now on.

It really is a thing!

Matador Network

Medicare For Teens?

1962 Olympia

Sometimes you scroll through a crispy, fresh new yearbook and can’t help but do a doubletake. That’s exactly what I did with this shot this morning. I thought Medicare was a nationwide health insurance program provided for Boomers and the last bit of the Greatest Generation. Evidently, there was another, less complicated Medicare littering drug store shelves like Atherton’s here, during the year Marilyn Monroe was killed by the Mafia committed suicide. Mary, Jackie, and Kaye were in the know about problematic pimples–and Tussy was the answer.

Not ‘Tussin, the cure-all touted by comedian Chris Rock, although one wonders if cough syrup could, in fact, cure outbreaks. Perhaps it could help with “breakthrough” COVID cases?

Nope, this Tussy was targeted at teens, not windpipes. As you can see, Tussy got top billing!

Dunaway Drug Store