Sorry.
I had to go there.
Latin is a dead language, no?
Category: History
I See Dead People
To be fair, all these people are dead. It was 91 years ago that this shot was taken. Little Miss Mary Pickford in her ringlets and sailor dress makes the shot. Sorry if these pics are enormous, but you have to high-res these son-of-a-guns to see the details.
Remember when you were a freshman, and they called you “fish”? Well, evidently that term has been around for awhile.
I love the front-row girl with the double sunflowers.
There were three rooms total of fish in this 1923 class. Most of them are solemn-faced, but I see one with a mischievous smile. I think he’s pulling the hair of the scowling girl in front of him.
You probably think I’m the crazy yearbook lady by now. What do I care about these dead people, long forgotten? Their families didn’t even care to keep their yearbooks. But there is so much history packed into these volumes, young people of every era in all manner of style and economic background. And sometimes the cover itself is so beautiful, I wouldn’t think of setting it at the curb on Trash Day.
Trail Driver 1939
I saw this today on Traces of Texas, and it was too cool not to share.
Poetry In Motion
Oh, my goodness. This is too much for a Monday. It’s like West Side Story meets yoga meets Lionel Richie’s ballerina girl meets Mr. Roboto.
I do not like her rigid pose
I do not like her see-through clothes
I do not like her pointed feet
I really think that girl should eat
May I suggest some lean red meat?
With green eggs, it is quite a treat
Would you like them in Oklahoma?
No, I prefer them in a coma
I do not like their warrior stance
I do not like their modern dance
I do not want to have to watch
I think we should Febreze her crotch
I do not like that high slit skirt
I do not like boys’ groins that hurt
I do not like that turtleneck
I do not like it for a sec
I do not like them, Sam-I-am
I’d rather eat a can of Spam
And pour it in a cereal bowl
That precooked gelatinous pork bumhole
I do not like them here or there
I do not like them anywhere
The Year David Schwimmer Was Born
Honestly, I don’t care when he was born, but bless his heart, I doubt he’s seen his name in print in nigh on a decade, so this is just a charity shout out. And he was indeed born in 1966, which we’ll be criticizing in about a minute.
Look, it’s true the temperature has increased twenty degrees since yesterday, it’s sunny, and I even got an overpriced game of bowling in, but mercy, I’m Old Man Grumpus today! I’m off soda and wine this weekend, so all I can think to perk myself up is to mock others’ hair. So take a seat on the shallow and petty bus, and here we go.
First off, the 80s get a bad rap as the “big hair” decade, but can we talk about this structure for a sec? That is a seriously strong neck, y’all.
I know, I know: the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus. But this is a stairway to heaven, friends. This rivals even the most Florence Jean Castleberries of the world. I didn’t know you could have several SETS of bangs. Bangs upon bangs, like the cedar shingles on the treehouse built on last night’s Treehouse Masters, a show on Animal Planet that has absolutely nothing to do with animals, and lots to do with an attention-deficit host named Pete. Oops, I got a case of the ADD myself there. Deep breath.
Linda’s bangs are tall as well, but bleached and ratty, complimented by eyeliner that says, “Yes, I will sneak out at night to drink Boone’s with you.” You know now that I think about it, I think she’s that blonde girl in the B52’s. I’m gonna have to google that.
Now this one here is working some kind of Coalminer’s Daughter thing with the whole Loretta Lynn/Kentucky Waterfall hairdo. She’s cute as a button but that is some strange styling.
I left this person’s name purposely off because…Well, because…that’s just manners. Moving on to this fellow…
I know, right? Wow. Like the elusive jackalope or the Giant Crocostempy, this is a rare find: the male double part. And don’t argue with him. He is Who is Who, and that is that, my friends.
Enjoy this Double Creature Feature. Evidently a lot of effort was put into these looks. Hair was pulled and prodded and flipped and cursed in the name of the Almighty, but where is the joy, ladies? Suzanne looks like she’s got a switchblade behind her back, and Frances just caught a whiff of polecat cologne but she’s too polite to gossip about it.
Here is the big winner:
With black eyebrows and her post-Marilyn Monroe combover, dainty features, and slim neck, there is no denying that Connie Jo is the bee’s knees.
You know what, y’all? I feel a ton better now. I really do. I just needed to get that out of my system.
One Week And Counting
One More For The Road
It doesn’t seem like it’s been 22 years since I watched Bette Midler sing adieu to Johnny Carson. It still chokes me up each time. Carson was 66 years old then, and appeared very much an old man to me. Leno is only three years younger than that, and yet seems much younger, still on his A game, going out on top–not that it was his choice to make. It doesn’t make sense to leave us wanting more, but it’s better than waiting for the show to jump the shark.
Jay Leno was 42 (just three years older than Jimmy Fallon will be when he takes the reigns) when he began hosting The Tonight Show. His first show included Billy Crystal, who will be on tonight as well, bringing some levity to the show. I imagine Garth Brooks will later bring a tear to our eyes, as Midler did on Carson’s farewell show.
After the stresses of the day, I look forward to watching Leno’s jovial monologue, to hearing timely jokes that are relevant today, in this moment. I don’t DVR or TIVO or record any shows; I enjoy the feeling of experiencing them in the now. That’s why I enjoy late night television. I like to feel a part of what is happening now. Not yesterday. Not a week ago. I don’t Netflix, I don’t watch entire seasons of shows back-to-back. I am a fan of real time.
I like Leno. I like his kindness, his joy, the way he respects his guests. And no matter what the media wants us to believe, these past few weeks of celebrity testimony to his kindness reveals more than any rag mag headline. I’ll take him any day to Letterman, who may not be the grumpy old man he once once, but still seems confused and less than alert half of the time.
Speaking of relics, did you catch Mickey Rooney in the Leno audience last night? He’s 93 years old, folks. Wow.
Anyway, I’m sure Leno will find a way to spend his free time; on one hobby in particular.
Yep, the omnipresent denim. Evidently, it’s a not a recent predilection. He’s liked denim for years.
Yes, it’s the end of another Tonight Show era. People will cite the Hugh Grant episode as the go-to nostalgia moment, in the way that they always cite the Drew Barrymore episode on Letterman, flashing her pre-pregnancy boobs. But I remember watching the drunken cast of Cheers after their final show. Now that was a memorable night.
So goodbye to Headlines, to Jaywalking, to those awesome convenience store magician skits, to the witty lady in the photo booth, to every visit by animal expert Jarod Miller and his endless stream of animals, none of which ever frightened or intimidated Leno. (I like you, Fallon, but mercy, you are a wuss when it comes to animals…) I can’t count how many times I’ve watched Leno stroke a baby tiger or lion into submission.
Tonight we say farewell to the grace and charm of an unforgettable host. Best of luck in your new endeavors, Mr. Leno. And thanks for all the laughs.
Rodney Likes What He Sees
Molecular (Not G.Q.) Models
I’d Tap That
You know, I was gonna make a crack about Justin Bieber’s dad in the pedophile mustache, but then I remembered that the Bieber is STILL A TEENAGER. Yes, he is. And Papa Bieber is barely old enough to be president. Yes, Jeremy (spoke in class today) Bieber would have been learning what sound farm animals make and how not to wet the bed when this picture was taken. So maybe it’s Bieber’s granddad. Or fun uncle. Or Drunk Uncle.
Either way, it appears they’ve drained the bottle. And nobody likes an empty bottle.
Miller Time
She may look sweet now…
…but cowgirls like to get rowdy.
They like to throw back a few.
Mercy here was bold enough to enter (and win) a jalapeno-eating contest, and the Mickey Gilley lookalike appears only too happy to judge. 
Now she has some pocket money to put in these cowboy’s change cups.
Or maybe this dude’s more her style, in his Urban Cowboy Chic.
Either way, dancing is on the agenda.
Just don’t take it too far. Bikini bull-riding is no fun when you’re tipsy.
No Low T Here
What is this? Animal House meets the Village People? No, maybe not the Village People. Although they sang “In The Navy,” I doubt these Navy ROTC Midshipmen spun a lot of VP on their turntables. Check them out in their weapons and combat gear. This is where I make an obscure reference to Howard Jones in the way way back (the tall, Aryan one), but perhaps that’s more a Pandoran influence than reality. Anyway, I think we can all agree who the alpha male is here, in this portrait of masculinity. It’s knee socks guy. You know it is. The posture, the marriage of vest and tie and ripped daisy dukes, the sassy confidence. Damn, it feels good to be a gangster. Seriously no Low T here.
Don’t know what “Low T” is? Why the heck not? The TV is riddled with commercials about Low Testosterone, alternating between those hormone replacement commercials, where longhaired women in their sixties confess how happy their husbands are that “my libido is back.” Your grandparents didn’t have to worry about this stuff, right? My grandparents spent more time absorbed in Readers Digests than they did at the corner Walgreen’s, refilling prescriptions for afflictions they were too ignorant to know they had. BECAUSE THEY HADN”T BEEN INVENTED BY BIG PHARMA YET. Complaints were limited to arthritis, goiter, and bursitis. But not today’s society.
Let’s not. Who cares about your Low T? You’re not getting any action regardless, pajama boy. I bet that’s herbal tea in that mug. Yeah, I have heard about the lonesome loser. It’s you. Dang, just when I thought my libido was back, you had to send it away. Curses!
Just think, somewhere out there, hundreds if not thousands of pharmaceutical company employees are getting paid to brainstorm up some fake diseases to prey on our fears and our wallets. Did you know my gums are receding? Perhaps that’s blog-induced bruxism (BIB)? And just like diabetes, there are two categories:
- The bruxism (teeth grinding) I have at night while I sleep, wondering what to blog about the next day
- The bruxism due to reading blogs that oppose my core beliefs, causing me to clench my jaw in defiance and fight the temptation to respond with a violent outburst or clever barb
You, too, may have BIB. Where’s the pill for that? Oh, they’re working on it?
(Disclaimer: side effects may include sleepiness, nervousness, insomnia, dizziness, nausea, skin rash, headache, diarrhea, upset stomach, loss of appetite, dry mouth, anal leakage and sudden death. But really, isn’t anal leakage as bad as sudden death?)
I Don't Get It 