Such is the caption in this 1968 Nat Geo, as I call them. Evidently, it was a common practice for motorists to attempt to cross the Rio Grande River at its low points in fall and winter, though I would personally advise to NEVER ford a river by car. Yes, the wheels get wet, but so does the engine.
Cue the enterprising young Mexican boy on the burro, who offers round trip rides for 75 cents to get across the river. Often, they neglect to mention that a dirty half-mile ride to Boquillas then awaits them. If they have another 75 cents.
In case you didn’t know it, today is National Cheeseburger Day, and Fuddrucker’s is offering their 3-Pound Burger Challenge. If you can finish your burger and 1 lb of fries in ONE HOUR, then you will receive a $25 gift card. Woot! That’s enough to buy some Pepto and Tums. At least now we know where the beef is.
And as far as the image up top, well, that’s actually football coach Bo helping Indiana University beat Minnesota’s Golden Gophers in the fall of 1942.
It’s an odd ad for the 40s indeed. On one hand, yes, get the mother-in-law out of the kitchen. Let Jim and Pam handle the dishes themselves. But on the other hand, don’t be so rough with Ruby that she loses footing in her swank heels.
Taken out of context, it would appear that the husband was spontaneously vogue-ing, a la 1990.
We ate quite literally high on the hog today because Labor Day and because BBQ and because America and because after watching over an hour of Senator McCain being eulogized, I felt deeply that it was what he would have wanted (RIP to a national hero).
The wall of our BBQ joint booth was covered with old fruit crate labels (gorgeous, bold color art that I find preferable to almost all modern art). Among the Frisco, Statue, Floyd’s, and Bellboy, was a Piggy Pears. I had to say it aloud.
What’s the pork-pear link? I don’t know. With that basket, it appears that Piggy just came from market. But we all know that in the nursery rhyme, “This little piggy went to market,” that doesn’t mean the piggy is going shopping. That means the piggy is going to BE the market, to BE sliced up at the deli, and eventually fried up and slid aside two sunny side ups. C’est la vie, no?
‘Tis an odd image indeed, of young women in the 1890s, taking part at “a drinking bee” in White Chapel, Dawson, Alaska–a base during the 19th-century Klondike Gold Rush. I can’t say that I understand the canine/wine connection, but I’m certain that it was before this label existed.
Is it me or does actor Howard Duff look mortified by his wife, Ida Lupino? It can’t be her florist skills; they’re right on point. At this point, in 1957, they’d already been married 6 years. Ida was only 39, but the harsh make-up makes her look much older. Though they separated in 1966, they didn’t actually divorce until 1984.
But perhaps Howard’s raised brows have nothing to do with Ida. He had, in fact, been listed in Red Channels as a communist subversive in 1950, so maybe he was still miffed about that.
In her own right, Ida was quite the woman, being the only one to direct episodes of the original The Twilight Zone series, as well as the only director to have starred in the show. Thinking many roles to be “beneath her,” the British Lupino spent much of her years at Warner Bros being suspended. But Ida was strong-willed. She wrote stories and composed music, including “Aladdin’s Suite,” which was performed by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra in 1937, two years after she’d written it while being on bedrest due to polio.
Here she is in one of your typical 1940’s “tug my own hair” pics.
Fresh as a daisy, happy as a lark. And yet by the next decade, cakey white pancake powder gave her an eerie vampire complexion.
Vampire or not, the issue seems to simply have been with Howard’s brows, perpetually in a forlorn state. Take note.
Pinterest
Even SMOKING, his brows fought gravity. Was that their natural state? Why, I’d wager he even SNEEZED with raised brows!
We’ve all had them. Even those currently without hair remember them. After an hour-long struggle with product and appliance, you give up and shove a hat atop your noggin. But there are other options. Like lace helmets.
Oh, sure, they’re hard to come by, although I contend that you could sew two of Granny’s doilies together for a similar effect. These three Netherlands maidens seem satisfied with theirs, which are actually thin-beaten silver or gold covered with lace. Sounds hot if under direct sunlight. And wouldn’t jealous others come snatch them off your head to sell on the black market? Perhaps lace helmets aren’t the best option.
Donald McLeish
Moving on.
Granted, this next low-ventilation choice doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but if you were a woman in Kabul, Afghanistan in 1968, you might have donned a traditional chadri like this woman. Birdcage optional. Nobody would ever know it was you, much less what your hair looked like.
Thomas J. Abercrombie
Want to creep out all your friends and neighbors? It’s better than showing them split ends or uneven bangs, my friends. Take a page out of these Achill Island, Ireland residents’ handbook and stick a broom on your face.
A.W. Cutler
Descendants of the “Straw Boys” who terrorized Ireland in days of yore, these two shared their fearsome disguises for the photographer. Straw is a neutral, so it goes with everything. But mercy, it is itchy!
Perhaps the best idea (and the most colorful) for those of the XX persuasion (although I can absolutely see Nick Cannon trading in his Sikh turban for this) are these Ivory Coast headwraps–and perhaps the sunglasses as well. They certainly seem happy.
I Don't Get It 