It is so not on.
It Is So On
Category: Pics
What You Talkin’ ‘Bout, Easter Bunny?
Check out these basket-toting cuties during an Easter egg hunt, and the boy’s priceless expression. That suspicious gaze brought to mind shades of Arnold Jackson from Diff’rent Strokes–except in much more fashion forward overalls.
Old Greeks And Hookah Pipes
Thanks for stopping by for the final installment of sponges, something about which you’d never thought you’d waste five seconds of your (mostly half-lived) life reading. Fried shrimp and tobacco never looked so fun. 
One thing I’ve discovered is that the writers at NG were pretty clever. I especially enjoyed this reference to “Milady’s bath.” 
And now to the weird part of the Tarpon Springs culture, where young men (and future sponge-divers) dive into frosty January waters to retrieve an emblem. You know, like Labradors do. 
To the winner, go the spoils. You’d think having washboard abs is its own reward, but evidently the blessing was nice, too. 
Well, I hope you absorbed all that. Like. A. Sponge. Come on; I had to.
The Errol Flynn Of Sponge Divers
I scored some pretty cool National Geographics last weekend, including this one from January 1947. Although I’ve seen the yellow and black covers throughout my life, including an entire wall in my grandparents’ den, I know of no one my age who ever sat down and actually read one. Perhaps the boys flipped through them for images of topless tribal women, but not to read what I have realized are 50 page articles. FIFTY PAGES!! I guess that’s what you did in days before TV and WordPress and facebook updates. You sat and read about sponge diving for six days solid. I don’t have that kind of time, but I did learn from looking at pictures that a tube went directly from their helmets into their butts.
I also found out that ladies were paid to fashion sponges into fluffy wreaths, fit for a Christmas tree.
Uh-oh, happy hour is about to start. Come back tomorrow for our final installment of sponge culture.
Fast Times At Martin High 1956
One can only wonder what sorts of shenanigans ensued at the water fountain between a leather jacketed victim, a topless accomplice, and one fellow suffering from a damaged pinky.
These fellows seem pretty psyched to cast their votes for class president.
“Don’t forget to calculate the area of the trapezoids and rhombi, Ese.”
Sometimes you just want to strangle your typing teacher because she’s a controlling bruja.
Been there, my friend.
The Face That Stirs No Emotion
I used to be a sappy, squeezy, snuggly dog person, but after the unspeakable incident of ’03, I have made my heart dead inside. To an extent. So even the cuteness of Tonto fails to arouse a wellspring of joy.
I feel like Jemima looks. Oh, the ennui.
Barely tolerating the wretched burden of this life thrown upon her. She used to be a contender, dining on duck treats in a pre-Hurricane Katrina Big Easy, but then she got craigslisted by the lumberjack-bearded friend of her dead owner and wound up in our back yard, hardly suffering Tontos gladly.
So she chases him. Tries to chase the stupid out of him. To no avail.
Round and round they go, her ten-year-old limbs chasing his younger, jauntier, more bassetty frame. 
And still she is bored. And still he is stupid.
We Wear Short Shorts
That’s a tight formation, boys.
Other than the silkiness of the shorts, the track and field outfits for these Dallas high school fellas in 1967 didn’t vary much from those in 1936 at the University of Kansas.
Less fabric = more ease of movement. And what a fine-looking trophy.
Still, a little more length in the shorts might be preferable. I don’t think he’s going to clear this one, y’all.
When School Was Cool:1968
Hello? A jukebox in your high school lunchroom? What a great way to burn calories after a meal of cubed ham and ambrosia.
And lollipops, too? Sugar, sugar.
Bask in the sweet threads of Double V-neck and Paisley Prince, playing with electric race cars. Did they get class credit for this?
Even Algebra looks fun!
Perhaps I spoke to soon.
Boy, The Way Glenn Miller Played
Songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us we had it made.
Those were the days.
Parasol Fit For A Queen
Before there was Her Majesty The Queen, there was Mary of Teck, strolling in the shade of the world’s largest tassled umbrella. Today’s umbrella-holders aren’t just reserved for royalty.
In this pre-“Happy” days pic from October 2013, Pharrell Williams is flanked by what looks to be a character from the extinct TV show JAG, along with a tipsy poor man’s Cameron Diaz. It’s all too reminiscent of bare-chested Puffy/P.Diddy’s manservant back in the day.
Per www.standard.co.uk, Fonzworth Bentley, former ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ (the Jeevesian term he favoured) to US rapper Sean ‘Puffy’ Combs, was obliged to follow his master with a parasol in hot weather. On one occasion, he had to jump straight back on a flight to the States from the Côte d’Azur after neglecting to bring the rapper’s chosen ties.
If you have the funds to send your butler on a flight to retrieve a specific set of ties, you might not have your priorities in order. Just think what good those funds could do elsewhere (homeless shelters, St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, etc) if only Diddy could grip his own hook. It makes one wonder if Fonzworth buttoned that one button on Diddy’s shirt for him as well.
Moving on, we see POTUS has his own minion to shelter him from dastardly precip. Not exactly doing a spot-on job.
I don’t get it. Does it make you feel powerful to pay someone to perform menial tasks? Look at me; I came from nothing and now I have a butler. Or is it more like, Daddy didn’t pay attention to me, so by golly, I’ll show him? News flash: A lot of daddies don’t pay attention. Imperfect people make for a crumbling world. But your self-worth should not be tied to the extent of excess you’re willing to indulge.
And as Snoop Dogg shows us, flaunting one’s wealth is a key part of rap culture. It may be a shift from in-your-face gold chains and gold teeth, but it’s hardly discreet, an unfortunate show of extravagance. All I see is a little boy, trying to prove his value. But value will never equal money.
Geese: The Mean Girls Of The Fowl World
Look at them with their noses beaks up in the air like the Heathers of the park. Fat chance they’d condescend to to come into contact with the humans.
Chin, high, ladies! Don’t even glance at the homosapiens!
Getting My Ducks In A Row
Yesterday’s sunny weather allowed us an outing, where we saw these three mallards on the river, their feathers glistening in the sunshine.
It was a nice, if not brief, hint of the spring that is to come.
I Don't Get It 