Is it me or does the bearded one look out of place among the other boys of Boyden Hall? Are they comparing notes in their little black books? Why is one guy wearing the potent combination of pajamas and flip-flops (and possibly a priest’s collar)? I don’t get it.
Students of Indian descent pose for a group shot, although only one woman seems aware of where to focus. I’m going to take a guess and say none of these is a common Indian surname. But keep in mind our family has visited three different Dr. Patels in the past year.
September 1, 1997
Two Medicare-eligible ladies in sensible flats don their finest LSU purple apparel (they have spirit, yes, they do) and enjoy a pre-game tailgate lap luncheon.
Marlon Brando goofing around with his then-girlfriend Ellen Adler.
Nope, those aren’t creative trick-or-treaters; it’s a family of Colorado Indians in Santo Domingo de los Colorados in Ecuador. Evidently, a new asphalt highway had been paved across their forest home, and the value of their land gave them beaucoup spendin’ money. So off they went to score Dad more sheer yellow scarves, whilst donning the traditional tribal stripes–regardless of the fact that horizontal lines are not slimming. In lieu of mousse or gel, Dad styled his hair with achiote paste, scooped from the plant pod.
For a closer look, fellow Colorado Indian Felix Calazacon models the red-paste hairdo.
Impressive. Should you so desire to mimic said hairstyle for your own costume desires, products are available.
Tradition still goes strong in 2016, and this happy family seems to be enjoying life.
I. Don’t. Get. It.
Unless that panda is sassy backtalking.
Even from this side view, you can imagine what a target the sun makes on his back. It says, “Check out Mr. Snazzy.” No bully would dare shove him in a locker.
Today’s designers could never compete with Wally’s smooth graphic Spirograph shirt of yore. So they resort to comedy.
Look! It’s a cat inside an Aztec sun, shooting lasers out of its eyes, which makes it Caturday. What? Maybe you have to be stoned to get it.
Or they abandon the Aztec sun to reflect something vaguely spiritual and Native American, like this sun/moon/horn/dreamcatcher tee on a trendily-tatted twentysomething. Now we know where she stores her rubberbands.
Wait, those are bracelets.
Now these boxers are pretty cute. I have to hand it to them. Cartoon suns keep it light.
Just remember–boxers are temporary: tattoos are forever. Even the tattoo seems steamed about it.
Why is FDR howling with laughter? He and son James, along with William McAdoo and advisor James Farley, are responding to the quips of Will Rogers as he introduces the new president in 1933.
“Mr. Roosevelt is a plain-spoken man. Remember that speech last night about the banks? Long adjectives and nouns–he didn’t mess with ’em at all. He knows what the country wants is relief and not rhetoric. He is the first Harvard man to know enough to drop three syllables when he has something to say. Why, compared to me, he is almost illiterate.” — May 7, 1933
I Don't Get It 