Nostalgia – Page 190 – I Don't Get It

Schnozzola And The Elongated Appendage

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, I’m off to enjoy a tall glass of iced hibiscus tea now. Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!

I Just Had Three Vials Of Blood Drawn, But I Can Still Operate A Camera

That's actually just lemonade. — That’s actually just lemonade.

Pelican full of leftover Valentine's candy — Pelican full of leftover Valentine’s candy

Swellest Menu Art, Part III

Today is the final installment of vintage menus. The above pic is a Thanksgiving menu, a feast that Americans celebrate at the end of November, which makes all politically correct people get their panties in a wad because Pilgrims and Indians (now called Native Americans) could never possibly have shared a squash and a smile. But whatever. We watch football with our families, gorge ourselves on turkey and casseroles, and save room for pie. Come to think of it, why would anyone be eating in a RESTAURANT on Thanksgiving? Anyhoo, here are the feast details (one may click to enlarge).

Those prices are pretty steep for modern times, and this menu is at least twenty years old. Mercy!

Here is a cute breakfast menu from Varadero International in Cuba, all in Spanish.

Coffee was A QUARTER. Can you imagine buying a beverage for ONE coin? What would the tip be? A nickel? Did waitresses walk around with jingling aprons as dimes clinked against pennies? Consider the pain involved if she chose to “make it rain up in here.”

The next menu is from the Alta Mira Continental Hotel in San Francisco. How this hideous design ever got approved is beyond me, as it’s ugly as a 1970s appliance set.

However, I would be willing to overlook that if I could still procure either the filet mignon or the Half Lobster Delight for under $5, as advertised.

Bratten’s Grotto in Utah included actual photos on their large fold-out menu:

Cattlemen’s in Fort Worth–in bright taxi-cab yellow–had an interesting cocktail menu, which included both a Tio Pepe and a Tia Maria.

This final menu shows the name of its owner in the left corner, and its age, with the dates from 1961-1972. I love the sea foam green, the cheese saltines, and the ten ways to prepare a potato.

Thanks for peeking back in time with me!

Sweller Menu Art, Part II

Today we have the second installment of menu art. This disturbing menu is from L’Etoile in Nob Hill, San Francisco. Are the cherubs protecting them from harmful UV rays? I’m concerned that m’lady is self-tuning in to Tokyo. Perhaps she is listening with her bosom–or is that Madonna’s great-great-great grandmother doing colonial vogueing?

Next is a Maison des Crepes, where you can get a crepe, salad bar, AND a drink for only $1.65. The Crepe Devil looks intriguing…

I don’t know where this is from, but frankly, it gives me the willies. The incomplete artwork looks like a storyboard scene from a Hitchcock film, and the writing is very aggressive, like they’re peeved they even had to bother with a menu. Just trying to read it out loud makes me sound like the Swedish Chef on The Muppets.

We’ll end with this festive Exposition Fish Grotto, which I’m sure you’ve heard of, since it’s “World-Famous.” Note more naked cherubs, getting merry and gay off a barrel of Paul Masson.

Yes, I also am thinking of Orson Welles right now.

Swell Menu Art, Part I

Maxim’s Restaurant Francais in Houston, TX

I scored some super cute vintage menus at an estate sale several years ago and thought I would share, since I find them aesthetically superior to any contemporary art museum collection.

From Campy:

To Watercolor:

To bonafide art on this 1957 St. James’s Restaurant menu (Juillet-Aout only), just so you know the sardines are FRESH:

MÉHEUT Mathurin, Sardiniers démaillant la sardine

Note the selections on the reverse side, and that delicious Cafe Sanka takes ten minutes to prepare–for the finer palatte.

And lastly, Fortnum & Mason had a very Around The World in 80 Days feel to it.

Their menu included Sardines on a Raft, Hot Cheese Flan, Ovaltine, and Horlicks–of which I had never heard. Hungry yet?

Friends Don’t Let Friends Drink And Operate Chainsaws

I’ve heard of helping your buddies move and then sharing a case of beer, but this is a different breed of cat.

Here’s how I think it all went down. Dapper Dan left the firm early, but not before enlisting Kip and Truman from accounting as his partners in landscaping. They floored their Studebakers to suburbia with an urgency mandating no time to change out of their office duds or set their fedoras down. Curse you, early sunset! In the past two hours, Dan has felled a tree, while Kip and Truman have laid the steps along the pathway. Won’t Betty be surprised?

Now it’s time for a break. Kip raises his spade, and Dan tops off his (third) glass of sociable whiskey (it pairs well with Pall Malls). Don’t snag your trousers while you straddle that trunk. And save some Corby’s for the other two. You remember what happened last time, Dan.

One More Bottle Ought To Do It, Gramps

US Route 30 - Life Magazine - 1948 — US Route 30 – Life Magazine – 1948

I’m no mechanic, but I don’t think beer goes there…

Oppa Chunky-Style

Sweet Lord, that’s a jumbo-sized newborn! I can see why Mom’s not smiling–or laughing-or jumping rope–or coughing–anymore. Unless that baby was delivered C-section, there’s a 99% of light bladder leakage in the forecast. Where is Whoopi Goldberg when you need her?

No one likes a fragile, underweight infant. A big chub is the picture of good health. But that double-digit pounded baby in the Mennen ad is intended to depict a newborn. Really? Here is the small print:

I think we’re gonna need a few more cans, Ma! There’s a lot of swaddling to be done…

According to the Guiness Book of World Records, the “heaviest baby born to a healthy mother was a boy weighing 10.2 kg (22 lb 8 oz) who was born to Sig. Carmelina Fedele (Italy) at Aversa, Italy in September 1955.” There’s no pic to back that up, but let’s just recognize that it’s even bigger than this one.

It’s straight to bottles for you, Michelin boy! Even La Leche League gave his mom a free pass on the nursing. Seriously, his arms look like little Pillsbury Crescent Rolls. Bless his heart.

I’m not saying the redheaded Mennen baby isn’t precious; with a good heavy lifting belt velcroed around my waist, I’d like to hold it as well. I’d just like a little more truth in advertising. BTW, I wonder what that now-fifty-five-year-old baby looks like? Could it be that that little porker was Kevin Bacon?

Life Is Like A Box Of Panties

It’s not too late to get your lady what she really wants for this inane Hallmark-induced holiday. Regardless of her age, her weight, or even her sign (which you probably don’t even know, you CAD), no woman can resist a box of panties. Just the thought of lying down on a yellow linoleum floor, surrounded by a veritable pinwheel of pastel-colored high-waisted granny panties gives me goose bumps. I know what I’m wearing under my Easter dress… Cupid, draw back your bow!

Look, Ma! I don’t have to do the wash for three weeks solid! Nevermind the scent from the hamper…

See how mesmerized she is as they swirl around her, like Snow White singing to the birds? The sheerish netting on the pair she is sporting is so seductive. Earl won’t be able to keep his hands off her once he steps down from his big rig. That’s sexy from the bottom of her bum to her naval. Nothing like scratchy fabric chafing her lower rib cage to put her in the mood for an amorous pretend holiday. Fasten your seatbelt, Earl!

Note how carefree she has become, tossing her brassiere to the wind, strategically placing panties across her bosom, the way Peter Pan mermaids stuck adhesive starfish to their own chests. That mermaid may seem jubilant in this scene, but her joy masks the pain of knowing she will never, ever be able to wear boxed panties. Curse you, Neptune!

Lookin’ Like A Fool With Your Pants On The Ground

Can you really blame Selena for kicking this one to the curb? There is no way to justify this catastrophe of an ensemble. Does this really appeal to teen girls? Where is the shame in looking presentable? When did we decide to stop dressing nicely? Was it when ladies started burning their bras? Damn you, libbers!

Now this was appropriate garb in a high school cafeteria back in 1943. No hoochie mamas present, thank you.

all BxW pics courtesy of www.shorpy.com — all BxW pics courtesy of http://www.shorpy.com

This was how people dressed in Chicago to attend the movies in 1941. No, it wasn’t even Broadway.

Check out these folks riding bikes…

Even if they leaned forward toward the handle bars, there was no threat of whale tail in effect, no tawdry tramp stamp to mark them past their due date.

See how modestly these gals of the paper mill were attired ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY YEARS AGO? Say what you will about the ruffles that appear to be multiplying and about to attack her head; she’s quite fetching chilling on the railroad tracks. And what comportment!

Even Granny’s mowing outfit looks better than how people dress for church these days.

But this–this is the sad part. Even this GANG from 1916 looks sharp by today’s standards.

Minus the smokes (and the gun), that’s street urchin style! You can bet your bippy these kids were not of grand means, but they took the time to put an outfit together. What happened, America? What happened?

The Levy Was Dry

I still don’t get this, either. R.I.P., you guys.

Now is ze time on Sprockets vhen ve dance!

Well, it’s day two of creepy album covers, and, oh, the things one discovers when perusing cover art! Today’s artist is a hammerhead shark/Andy Warhol named Heino. Again, musical ignorance has prevented me from being familiar with his extensive collection, which includes his 1980 hit, “Bier, Bier, Bier” (not to be confused with “Beers, Steers, and Queers”).

The best translations I could find for the title, Liebe mutter ein blumenstrauß der nie verwelkt, were, “Love mother a flower that never fades consuming,” and “Dear mother of one bouquet never.” I don’t get it. Is it Mother’s Day in Berlin?

And no, he’s not an albino, and no, he’s not Corey Hart. Heino suffers from exophthalmos due to Grave’s disease. But the Lord blessed him with a rich baritone, capable of belting out beer barrel polkas, so it all balanced out.

Once you really dig into the essence of Heino, you sense a cynophilic trend. He rather fancies poodles.

I mean, REALLY fancies them.

And German Shepherds (because he IS German, after all…)

Now that I look at it–this looks more like seeing-eye dogs leading him up the stairway to heaven. Clearly, he does not discriminate each time he visits the Humane Society.

And what is that badge in the hound’s mouth? A license to ill? The point is, the blonde Roy Orbison loves dogs. Even corn dogs!

Sorry–that’s not a corn dog; it’s a microphone.

After his stylist gave him a saucy Steve McQueen ‘do, he took it down to the farm and chilled with the animals. I believe this LP was later titled, “WARHORSE!!”

Months passed by, and when his mane grew into more of a Jean Seberg ‘do, he revisited his periwinkle farm friends.

As music and trends evolved, so did he. Here he is frisky and fresh from the leather bar, doing his Tae Bo jabs.

In case you’re wondering, tanless Heino is still going strong at 74, married to his third wife, with no trace of male pattern baldness in sight. And don’t even try to get your hands on that album; “das verbotene” means “the forbidden,” and Germans mean business.

In the words of Mike Myers’ Dieter himself, I say, “You have disturbed me almost to the point of insanity…There. I am insane now.”

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