Yellow Pages
Category: Vintage
The Power Of Velour
A friend’s Facebook post today of his infant self, garbed in velour, got me thinking about my days of velour, which, incidentally would be a great autobiography title. I stumbled across this 1979 Sears catalog image, and was reminded of a velour green dress I donned at Christmas that year (with a white satin blouse underneath-trust me, ’twas all the rage), in the final vestiges of the unseemly 70s. Or was it velvet or velveteen? Who can discern the magic of textiles?
Listen, I could collage up this joint and post all kinds of velour images across this page, but honestly, it’s overkill. I think we get the gist of velour off of just this one plush-fabric pic. It’s a lipglossy, pre-Working Girl meets Studio 54 (I almost said Area 51; Freudian slip) era, with the skinny belt, skirt slit, and stilettos, to boot. I can’t tell if they’re 13 or 43. But look at Miss Purple’s jutted elbow. She is NOT having sassy backtalk today. You flip through that Rolodex, girl. Fierce.
Now should we bring velour back? Heavens, no. When I see it in the wild nowadays (once just this year at church), I shake my head. The moment is over. It only whispers “Goodwill reject bin” from the fibers of its sheen. And we all know the only relevant sheen in 2018 is a Netflix Martin.
But can we take two minutes to appreciate it today? Even just saying the word is fun. Velour. Make it rhyme with sewer. Is it flattering? Heavens, no. It makes pre-teens look four months pregnant. Does it keep you warm? Yes. Did it take these girls from playgrounds to champagne? Or is the lyric “from crayons to perfume”? Whatever. Velour does that. That’s the power of velour.
A Car Is Shiny, But A Burro Is Sure
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.
But what do they do with the CAR??
No, It’s MY Turtle
We’ve all been there, right? Stuck in a boat, wearing our wifebeater and cuffed dungarees, wrestling a half-naked man for rights to the Galapagos Island sea turtle… Actually, these were 1949 National Geographic staffers, who had initially been searching for land turtles, but came up empty-handed. Nice work if you can get it.
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When The Movie Is About To Start But You Don’t Want To Rush Her
And the concession girl is making eyes at you
and you’re wondering why you even bothered to ask Nancy out
in the first place
to see the stupid “Pink Panther”
when you’d really prefer “The Great Escape” in the theater down the hall
and you’d just as soon shove the Necco wafers and Charleston Chews down her throat
so you don’t have to stand here impatiently
as the minutes tick by
Vance Redfern Tees Off
Vance Redfern. Now THAT is a name worthy of an athlete, a news anchor, even a politician.
Those of you have visited The Blog of Funny Names already know my fondness for amazing names, and this ranks on the list of grand ones indeed. Have you ever met a Vance? It’s better than a Vince. Actually, the name Vance is of English origin, meaning “someone who lives near marshland.” I don’t think marshland when I think of New Mexico. I think Louisiana, which is technically where the Red Fern grows. But not where the Vance Redfern grows.
He graduated from Western New Mexico University in 1963 and still holds school records for his prowess on the golf course. His 73.6 stroke average is the lowest single season mark posted by any Mustang player, a fact not lost on these hat-donning ladies who witnessed said prowess.
Today we salute this awesome name. Together, we can encourage fertile young people to take this name from its current ranking of #838 in boys’ names and push it up where it belongs. And Vance (if you cannot surmise from the broad shoulders and the standard issue NASA astronaut flat-top) is second from the right.
If I Was King For Just One Day
Pup Takes Precedence Over Pop
When You’re Really Bad At Hide ‘N’ Seek
Guests, Like Fish, Begin To Smell After Three Days.
*Quote by Ben Franklin
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. 
But let’s not go there.
It’s Just Fun To Say
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?
It bears repeating:
Piggy Pears
Piggy Pears
Piggy Pears
But don’t go overboard.
I Don't Get It 