This morning on Animal Planet (the channel), they showed a water spaniel wearing a “snood,” so it could eat kibble without getting its ears dirty. God forbid. A stylish version is shown on the classy canine above. This ain’t no thrift shop snood.
Initially, I thought this might be a Hilton sister, due to the name, the lean Anglo features and fashion foward accessory. But this (female dog) favors Paris more than Nicky. It also begs the question: if poodles wear leopard print, would leopards wear poodle print? As if. They’d be laughed right out of the pride.
Imagine if they showed up in these jazzy little numbers. The Grinch stole Christmas and then some. Alrighty, let’s get our Jane Fonda Workout on!
spoiledbratzwear.mysupadupa.com
Let’s be honest: snoods look pretty gay on humans, much less pooches. (And I use the word the way we did in fourth grade, so deal with it. I’m not allowed to say it looks retarded, which it does, because that’s offensive.)
I can understand why clothing on animals is Jay Leno’s pet peeve. They have no choice in the matter; it serves solely to reflect the whims of its owners. And I’m not talking Halloween, when dogs get dressed up as Superman, etc. I mean everyday clothing. And don’t tell me they need a cableknit sweater because it’s cold out. Our dogs live outside. Yes, even when it’s 25 degrees. God gave them fur. They’re still alive.
Is this cute? Or would PETA people cry big salty tears over this?
Here, http://crankycaregiver.wordpress.com/, is the JELL-O yak ad, as promised. I’ve also included these nasty jello molds as per your request. Vile indeed.
thesocietypages.org
Spanish olives inside jello? What the WHAT? Is that Barcelona style?
And this shrimp aspic mold is undefendable. Two of those words don’t even belong in meals! You know what aspic is? Per Wikipedia, aspic is a dish in which ingredients are set into a gelatin made from a meatstock or consommé. Not necessary. I’ll take my shrimp Kung Pao, thank you.
The site where I found this (listed above) shows a picture of her husband “in a state of gelatin overload.” Visit it for more fun tidbits.
Likewise, I would be holding my barf back if I were about to consume a baked beans gelatin mold. You know how Duke, the golden retriever, has been trying to sell the Bush’s Baked Beans recipe for years? Yeah, I don’t think he could PAY to give this jello recipe away. Mercy me. But this one rivals the beans.
cheateat.typepad.com
Mmmm! Break me off a peice of that Kit-Kat bar! Delish. Just in case you’re not sure what that is, it’s PIG TROTTERS IN ASPIC. I’ll pass. I’d rather put Harlem Globetrotters in my mouth, preferably with a side of Meadowlark Lemon.
Now the jingle I recall from my youth is as follows: Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle. Cool and fruity, Jello brand gelatin. Of all desserts, you’ll love the one that tastes so light and makes such fun. Make Jello gelatin and make some fun.
See? Nothing in there about tripe or menudo or things that give you the trots.
Still, there was one man in the 50s who broke the mold (I couldn’t help myself). Thomas Lehrer, who taught classes at MIT, Harvard, and Wellesley, claims to have invented the JELL-O shot. I guess it DOES take a genius to find a better use.
I used to think I was born in the wrong era. Growing up, wearing plaid corduroy pants with striped brown shirts was not very feminine. However, everything about the 40s and 50s delighted me: the hair, the poodle skirts, the staying at home and not working and having a husband support me, the aqua-colored appliances, the white picket fences. And everyone looked so CLEAN, so hat and gloves, so put together.
I have STACKS of old magazines with endlessly fascinating ads, to which you will constantly be subjected. I don’t mind sexist ads. I don’t mind silly feminine hygiene ads. I don’t even mind “husky” toddler clothes ads for kids that look positively svelte by today’s standards. But the one thing that just baffles me is the food. The food looks AWFUL. Gelatinous and cottage-cheesey with potted meats. Ewww.
Take a gander at these ads, all from just ONE October 1958 Good Housekeeping:
Now I like hush puppies, as well as pancakes and ham, but this looks more like sweet ‘n’ sour chicken than actual breakfast. Waitress, I’d like the General Tso’s fried gluten with extra cholesterol and sugarbeetees, plus a side of hardened arteries. Pronto!
Now for lunch, we’ll add some healthy options. Tomato sauce is a vegetable, right?
I haven’t visited Sicily, but I’m fairly certain this is what a gen-u-ine Italian pizza looks like, with green olives at the tips of the star. Didn’t Cher bake this for Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck? They were totally Italian. P.S. Did Mrs. America really want to be associated with yeast? Maybe Miss America was busy endorsing Monistat?
Now save room, because we’ve invited the Johnsons over for a Souper Supper Loaf dinner, and Mom’s made a fanTABulous “handy ham appe-teaser.” No, not REAL ham, silly! You had that for breakfast. This is deviled ham. Pretend ham. Satan’s ham.
Don’t mind the fact that it resembles a voodoo doll for Mom to stab out her aggression, while indulging her perfectionist tendencies. Every little plasticky processed American cheese square must sit JUST right! Is the apple oxidizing at the toothpick hole?
Now time for the main event! You better get your coveting on, Mrs. Johnson, because there’s no way you’ll EVER top Mom’s meatloaf.
I don’t know which looks better: the one oozing blood, the one covered in toddler wretch, or the one doused with thousand island dressing. Oh, alright, already! Please pass the celery-salmon loaf. I can’t resist a river of celery running down that lovely loaf o’ fish. It’s like bundt cake, except it’s meat. And it’s gross. And it makes my throat fill with bile.
Stay tuned for more super keen ads from 1958! I’ll try not to nauseate you.
“When a man asks you for your first college weekend, it’s a big deal.” So begins the article in one of my 1958 Good Housekeeping magazines. Pardon? What’s a “college weekend’? Is he taking her to a college where she’s never been? Does he attend that college? If it’s her “first” one, does that imply many will follow? I’m so confused. Reading further adds no clarity.
“Nothing marks you as a greenhorn more quickly than arriving at the ivy-covered stations with bulging bags.” The station? Like a train? Certainly not a Greyhound Station. Is it located near an Ivy League college? (BTW, a greenhorn is a novice. Nothing like a longhorn, or a Foghorn Leghorn.)
The rules also say, “The greatest threat to a return engagement is getting gay (read, garrulous) or daring (read, dizzy)…” And if you DO CHOOSE to get gay or daring, “it proves nothing at all except what a rank amateur you are.” Yeesh! Rank amateur? So harsh! So complicated! I think I’d just bow out of the entire weekend altogether.
The whole thing reminds me of MIss Mona’s no-no rules from The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas:
And please don’t show us no tattoos
No hearts and flowers on your thigh It’s downright tacky Brands belong on cattle and that ain’t what we’re selling at Miss Mona’s
Maybe that’s why I never got a tattoo; I didn’t want to upset Dolly Parton. Plus, if it’s trashy on a Chicken Ranch whore, how does it look on a common non-prostitute?
The ladies all sing, “Just lots of good will, and maybe one small thrill, but there’s nothing dirty going on!” Hmmm. Maybe THAT’S a college weekend?
I took my state’s history courses when I was in elementary school, but now that I’m a parent, I have to learn the new history (based on which group is currently displeased with its depiction, or what we’d like to collectively erase, or what the editor accidentally cut and forgot to repaste). You know, kind of like when you’re dating someone, and you choose which past mistakes to reveal (Chinese tattoo, Minor In Possession, difficult break-up) and which to gloss over (lost weekends in Cancun, jail cells, crab infestations). It’s like that.
So I’m studying the new Texas history, looking at this picture, under the header, “Tipis: Early Mobile Homes.” Which makes me chuckle. First, “tipis” on my lips sounds like “tipp-iss.” I would have preferred “teepees,” even if that reminds me of toilet paper. Oh, there’s the school bell! Enjoy this Monday morning Spring Break history lesson:
When the group was ready to move on, they took apart their tipis to bring with them. The tipi’s wooden poles and buffalo hide could be made into a sort of “moving van” called a travois. The travelers packed all their belongings on the travois, a type of sled pulled by dogs and later by horses.
Really? Travois, from the French word travail? Was there a French influence in the Native American culture?
Now nobody thinks of tipis/teepees when one mentions mobile homes. Most of us picture the stereotypical manufactured home (broken Camaro up on blocks, Christmas lights strung across the porch, where the mildewy couch has caved in, and little spring coils are poking out, like grey hairs on an aging scalp). If you think that’s a stretch, I can point to a dozen just like that within a mile of my laptop.
Others will picture an R.V. (recreational vehicle), which technically IS a mobile home. Airstream trailers possess a kitschy coolness in modern times; Miranda Lambert sang about her desire to live in one with homemade curtains. And as taco truck culture grows, we see more and more Airstreams dealing affordableish foods, including Austin’s own “hey cupcake,” which could REALLY USE A COMMA in its name. SERIOUSLY, IN A TOWN WITH HALF A MILLION ENGLISH MAJORS, YOU’D THINK SOMEONE MAY HAVE CLUED YOU IN ON THAT ONE. It’s like the Gin Blossoms and “Hey Jealousy” all over again…
Despite the insipid and omnipresent SWOOSHES covering recreational vehicles, their insides can be pretty keen. We’ve seen the inside of a concert tour bus; we know how stars are living large on the road (except, of course, for Buddy Holly’s Winter Dance Party tour bus; its heater broke down in sub-freezing weather, which caused his drummer to get frostbite, for which he was hospitalized, which spared him from the chance to ride in American Pie, which crashed on the Day the Music Died, and two days later, the drummer had to rejoin the tour, grieving and frostbitten.) But other than THAT, folks can really pimp their rides in style, even make them downright classy.
Classy, however, is not a term associated with manufactured homes.
I have friends and family who live in site-built homes (that’s the term we had to use at the appraisal district), and a couple in manufactured homes. I have been in manufactured homes that were much nicer than some site-built homes. But like that poster says, stereotypes are based on reality. So here’s the question: were trailers EVER COOL? I mean, this 1950s model looks pretty swank. No stained wifebeaters on Dad, no chain link fence, no deranged “rabified” Pit Bulls straining to kill.
And this isn’t too trashy, although I am sensing some underage recreation behind that snack bar, involving Swisher Sweets and Boone’s Strawberry Hill.
Yeah, that looks like it’s pretty well-fortified against any sudden tornado, on the off-chance that one might come veering toward it…
Good or bad, train wrecks sell: see Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. And the network that brought us that gem just debuted Welcome To Myrtle Manor, a reality series about a South Carolina trailer park. Who knows? Maybe they’ll become cool again.
I spy with my little eyes a a trim little number working in the flower garden, wearing a jaunty yellow scarf and prissy white gloves to protect his manicure, with a clear oral fixation, hand on hip, jutted out all sassily. Uh-oh. The issue is not Mom’s beer. The issue is Mom’s a beard.
…it’s Dos Equis. Actually, that’s not true. I very rarely drink beer, and I can’t recall the last time I had a Dos Equis. But the fact that that tagline is in my head means Dos Equis did a hell of a job marketing their beer with their pitchman, The World’s Most Interesting Man–who, incidentally, reminds me of Ricardo Gonzalo Pedro Montalbán y Merino, the star of Fantasy Island, which came on after Love Boat. It always comes back to Love Boat for me. It’s my seven degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Women and wine go hand-in-hand. You’ve seen the ecards.
Grapes are healthy, right? Actually, these ecards seem kind of pathetic. The women are often alone. But beer is where it’s at for socializing. Check out this ad for beer in the Fifties:
“Friends from across the Lake”
It’s not wine, women, and song, but it’s beer, women, and song. The broads are dressed to the nines, spinning tunes and knitting, while casually-dressed men smoke pipes, throw back a pint, and wave to chums down at the pier, enjoying a twilight canoe ride. The soft glow of the lantern invites you in to the scene. I love it! And why wouldn’t I? It was painted by Haddon Sundblom, the man who brought us the genius of the Coca-Cola Santa Claus, the standard by which we measure all shopping mall Santas.
Another work of art is this watercolor by John Gannam, “Around the Swimming Pool,” used in an ad for the U.S. Brewers Foundation.
Keep in mind that this was 1948, so everyone was thin. And yes, everyone was fairskinned, so not every token ethnicity is represented, the way they are sprinkled in to department store ads in current acceptable proportion these days. Just get past that, you PC freaks. The focus here is on the technique. This is ART. You an keep your abstracts; I’ll take mine uplifting like this. A sunny day, a refreshing creek (clearly without water moccasins), stylish kerchiefs, Betty Grable legs, snacks at the ready… Who wouldn’t want this life? Even the most devout teetotaler is not immune to those Tang-tinted mugs o’ ale.
I imagine that creek runs down past the neighbor’s back yard, a few doors down, where the festivities continue.
Douglas Crockwell’s “Birthday Party for Dad”
What a sweet back yard! Is that a waterfall in the background? The current looks pretty strong there in the foreground, but that’s not keeping Esther Williams from playfully flirting splashing her friend’s husband, the one hiding her first trimester pregnancy in the robe. Seriously, who wears a swim cap to a Frank Lloyd Wright back yard shindig? She must have just had her hair did. Or maybe it’s tinted pink, from an inept Beauty School drop-out. Either way, beer belongs. You better recognize.
This ad arrived in my mail today, in the stack with Pizza Hut and Ken’s Dressing coupons.
ad in my mailbox
The model is pretty, but the throw rug in which she carved a neck hole is not. Here, you can see that the MSRP was $29.90 (oh, that’s ANOTHER thing I don’t get; why they can’t just list it as $30, like we’re going to dance a giddy jig for the dime saved!), but now it’s HALF PRICE! For only $14.95, you, too, can look like Mrs. Roper from Three’s Company.
ivoryandolive.com
Honestly, Stanley’s outfit is the nicest one in that pic. He could pass that one off today. The abdominal area of Crissy’s UPS jumpsuit is creating a curious diamond effect, like one of those God’s eyes we used to craft in summer camp. What you might not know is that Mrs. Roper’s caftan is constructed from the same material used to make Magic Eye 3-D pictures.
So, anyway, I went online to the http://www.fourcorners.com website, and discovered that this lovely safari caftan, modeled by Amy Poehler, is marked down even FURTHER, to $3.95. Well, bust my buttons! For the price of an order of cheese sticks, I can score “an elegant, figure-flattering” piece of silk-like material. Four dollars isn’t even the tax you paid on your last dress.
One of the selling points beside this ad says “So versatile around the house and yard!” Really? Is that appropriate to wear to go check the mail? To walk Timmy to the bus stop for school? To do some hedge-trimming?
It also says, “Perfect for lounging or entertaining at home – even pretty enough for candlelight dinners!” I don’t know about you, but my entertaining does not involve caftans. Let’s invite all the neighbors to investigate what’s underneath this tent of a dress–lions, and tigers and bears. Oh, my–that’s not a bear!
And lest you think you can do better than four smackeroos, let me clue you in on something. This here “double-ruffle MuuMuu” costs a whopping $58.00. But Imelda Marcos is loaded, so she can afford it.
I know, I know, a MuuMuu is for a cow-cow, but this woman (not really Imelda) is (probably) not overweight. Granted, it might look better draping a window or serving as a bed skirt, but let’s not overlook the fact that the neckline is elasticized, for nights when she’s feeling sassy and wants to wear it off the shoulder. But please don’t do that, because either your bra straps will show (and we all know strapless bras are a joke), or you’ll be unsupported , and neither is acceptable. Not even in the land of luaus and lava.
Vegans and vegetarians, this post is not for you. Get on your bike and pedal self-righteously to a co-op and buy yourself more hummus and tofu, kale and quinoa. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But this is for carnivores.
Ahem. I learned early on from The Smiths that meat was murder, but, then again,
And war is murder, and abortion is murder, and so on and so on. Now please make my steak medium rare.
Those of us of a certain age will remember this Saturday morning PSA, pleading with America’s then-non-obese children to not “drown our food.”
If you remember that, then you were probably wearing tapered jeans and shoulder pads when Sally (“Hot Lips” Houlihan) Kellerman exhorted us to come to Hidden Valley Ranch and slather copious amounts of the buttermilky goodness all over our baby carrots and celery sticks. It may be useful in getting your kids to EAT vegetables, but it’s a lousy strategy in TASTING them.
When it comes to steak, I can understand how some folks prefer grilled mushrooms on top, maybe some caramelized onions, even chimichurri on a flank steak. But for my money, a steak like this needs nothing more than the salt and pepper on the crust.
Consider this ad for Hunt’s (Hunt’s, people! Not even Heinz, the real ketchup–pardon me, CATSUP) in 1952.
Either Dad doesn’t know how to grill a tasty T-bone, or that’s a perfectly good waste of beef. Ketchup on a steak is an irreverent, impious act against the inviolable laws of steak consumption. It just is. Frankly, ketchup serves its purpose best on potatoes. While we’re at it, can someone explain this to me? Is this corn beef hash and cole slaw?
And what on earth is this next one? Baked BEANS with ketchup? Is that meatloaf wedges as the accompaniment? Or are those pumpernickel slices? So confused. And where is the hand holding the bottles in all these images? Hunt’s is so magically buoyant.
Enough already! I need something that makes sense.
I was Googling strabismus (don’t ask), which reminded me of proboscis, which reminded me (or–as my son says–remembered me) of proboscis monkeys, which are the bomb. If you haven’t seen them before, consider your life full now. If they seem familiar, they might bear a resemblance to a sepia photo of an ancestor from the Old Country.
borneoadventure.com
I always want to pronounce it “probiscus,” but I think that’s because I grew up in Hippietown, where the city council mandated all hip restaurants serve hibiscus tea. I love me some hibiscus tea.
This fella looks like Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two:
Now I’m not going to go all National Geographic on you and load you up with stats and preach how proBOScis monkeys are endangered, how they are the primate world’s most prolific swimmers, or how silly they can be when hitting the water with a belly flop SPLAT. Pinky swear.
I just want you to recognize their uniqueness. This guy has swagger.
At first, this looks like an ad for Reach toothbrushes or dental hygiene, but I think he’s just chewing a stick. All in a day’s work.
hunterkirk.livejournal.com
Now pretend I’m Oprah Winfrey, narrating the Discovery Channel’s “Life” series, giving you the 411 on all animals as if she created them herself, like she’s some Miss Know-It-All Omniscient Oprah, Queen of All That Is And Will Be. Sorry. Now here goes in my alto Winfrey voice: The males use their bulbous, pendulous noses to attract females. If that seems far-fetched, consider Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts. (I still love you, Lyle.)
Or the most obvious comparison, Jimmy Durante. If you don’t know who Jimmy Durante is, do yourself a favor and Google him.
He’s actually not THAT scary. And he did manage to wed two wives, so the nose evidently was no deterrant.
image-pics.info
This next shot makes me want to start a caption contest. Ever since Junior was born, it’s like I don’t even matter to you. Whatevs. I’m over it.
true-wildlife.blogspot.com
Well, I’m off to enjoy a tall glass of iced hibiscus tea now. Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!
I Don't Get It 