The caption tells me this was the staff of the 1955 Ranger. Journalists, I presume. Yearbook staff. But it doesn’t explain why a young Jay Leno looks so somber at the top, or why staff members are holding items on display, while laying hands on each other. Or why the fellow in the glasses looks like former SNL alumnus Andy Samberg doing his best Jerry Lewis impression.
You don’t see much of this style these days. Little wispy bangs curled and spiraled like a double helix. Those of you in your 40s may also recall the curse of the add-a-bead necklace back in the day: one was supposed to wear it UNDER the collar, but like Bad Bangs shows us here, it would often pop out from under the collar.
I’m pretty sure this is Pam Dawber during her Mork and Mindy days, but that has not been confirmed. In any event, she is distracting from her two bang pieces with this horizontal stripe (probably boatneck).
This next lady looks pretty self-satisfied, having shoved her curled partial bang off to the side of her forehead, where it will not interfere with activities of daily living.
Each of these lovely ladies can console themselves that they were not donning the Dorothy Hamill cut, so popular in 1976, a full SIX YEARS PRIOR. Poor Paula cannot say the same.
Way to keep the 70s in the 80s, Paula.
Fun entomology-related fact of the day: The term cuckoo bee is used for a variety of different bee lineages which have evolved the kleptoparasitic (no, not like Winona Ryder) behavior of laying their eggs in the nests of other bees, reminiscent of cuckoo birds. Female cuckoo bees can be easily recognized, as they lack pollen-collecting structures and do not construct their own nests (you mean the males do chores?). They often have reduced body hair, an abnormally thick or heavily-sculptured exoskeleton, and saber-like mandibles (wikipedia).
Try using that in a sentence today: saber-like mandibles.
I’m afraid you couldn’t pay me to board a Greyhound bus in 2014. Flying economy on Delta last week was enough to enforce that I am not a woman of means, and sharing a bus (other than perhaps Jake Owen’s tour bus) would be insult to injury.
But seventy years ago, I might have been game. The lady caressing her head above looks satisfied. Okay, perhaps quarters were cramped. Five bucks said she hit her head on that dome light more than once.
But I’m certain the porter kept the pillows fluffed. Pretty snazzy uniform if you ask me.
And take a gander at the streamlined style of the double-decker transportation. Jed Clampett (on the far right) seems impressed.
As stated in yesterday’s post, we ponied up the money to ride the famed SkyWheel in Myrtle Beach last week. At 187 feet tall, it’s the second-tallest extant (what is extant?) ferris wheel in the U.S. of A., after, OF COURSE, Texas. We stood in line in the early afternoon, when the wait was only about ten minutes, the time that it takes for the 42 “gondolas” (they don’t look like gondolas) to make three revolutions.
At night, it is lit with over a million LED lights, but it also costs more at night. I took this pic on the eve that we arrived. The multicolored prongs you see held some sort of bungee jumping device, from which one could hear shrill screams.
Not being a fan of heights, I was none too eager to board the spinning vessel. But when in Rome, as they say. I couldn’t not ride it; we were right there, after all. I sat quite still on my bench, searching for non-existent handles. To my right and left was glass. Just glass. Soon the parking lot became smaller.
To the north, I watched the beach extend, tallying up the price of our vacation (about three month’s salary, the price of a wedding ring), and multiplying that by every figure I saw on the coastline. Myrtle Beach was raking it in.
To the south, the sand and surf continued. And by the way, the price to “rent” one of the beach chairs? $32. Seriously. That did not include an umbrella.
A plane flew by, advertising one of the many attractions.
Soon we were eye to eye with the skyscrapers.
By that third revolution, I felt fairly comfortable in my bench, nearly certain we would not topple out over the side and splatter on to the pavement. When we finally touched down to earth again, we were forced to exit through the gift shop, where teens stood with fully-developed pictures of you and your family (taken at a green screen just prior to the ride). A poorly-PhotoShopped memento of our bodies in front of the SkyWheel, for only $25. Everyone around us declined the offer, and the teens chunked the prints into the trash. If they would just offer them for $10, they could sell more and make less litter. Too bad I’m not in charge.
(in a peaceful, non-threatening way)
I Don't Get It 