Wing Droppings

What do you think of when I say “wings”?  Red Bull?  Paul McCartney? The 90s NBC sitcom?  Well, if you’re like most gluttonous Americans, probably these:

If you’re a lady between the ages of 13 and 49, currently bloated and irritable, craving chocolate and Pinot Grigio, it might mean this:


“Normal Plus?”  Three drops of moisture denotes, “Don’t worry, you may be losing an inordinate amount of blood today, but you’re only borderline anemic, and consequently still in the spectrum of normal.  Congrats!”  Chafing wings in your bikini area?  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

But if you don’t foresee buying many more of those boxes in your future, or you’re done with them entirely, “wings” might mean this most awesome of hairstyles.    You probably attempted some semblance of it at one point.

I’m familiar with all of those wings, sometimes incorporating the three of them in the same moment.  But never had I seen a power mower with wings until today.

my 1955 Life magazine

my 1955 Life magazine

The small print reads, “This giant of precison mowers…is the pride and joy of many men who mow grass for a living–and more than a few wealthy men who mow grass for fun.”  For fun!  Interpret as you will.

Hey, BTW, is it wrong of me to assume that any print image I’ve ever seen should be easily accessed on Google Images?  I found this ad in my 1955 Life magazine, but could not find its digital counterpart on Google.  Maybe I should have risked carpal tunnel and scrolled down seventeen more pages.  It just seems like if Google Maps can deliver the address and photo of the backwoods Smokey Mountain hideout of my eighth grade volleyball coach, then it should have the power to deliver an image printed on twenty million Life magazines.  That’s all I’m saying.

Ahem.  There are also scads of songs with “wings” in the titles.  Broken wings, dove’s wings, eagle’s wings, butterfly wings, pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp…Oh, sorry.  I had a Bubba moment from Forrest Gump.  Little wings, silver wings, paper wings.  But the song I never ever want to hear again, so help me God–not at a wedding or a funeral or a bris–is “Wind Beneath My Wings.”  I can’t take it one more time.  I really can’t.  Not by any artist, and not by your cousin Sheila.  It makes me cringe.

INXS told us that, “We all have wings, but some of us don’t know why.”  Does this gal know why?  To fly from catwalk to catwalk?  Those look heavy.

Victoria's Secret model Candice Swanepoel during the 2009 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show

Victoria’s Secret model Candice Swanepoel during the 2009 Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

Wings have inspired quotes from Shakespeare to Charles Dickens, but only one as elegant and classy as Mae West could have confessed, “I’m no angel, but I’ve spread my wings a bit.”  Which reminds me of this:



What’s the shelf life on that tat?  A wee bit more than this unfortunate gal’s…

Ouch.  Pass the blue cheese.

So whether you are right wing or left wing or a Detroit Red Wing, remember that we can all soar on wings like eagles.  Or not.





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!



Crouching Cody, Hidden Dragon

“Another day on the river brings another opportunity for rescue.”

Well, it’s tit for tat night, and since the hub had to endure the Grammy Red Carpet on Sunday, I am gamely watching my second hour of Discovery Channel’s Dual Survivor.  Crouching Cody is present and accounted for, but his former partner, Dave Canterbury, has vanished (due to an embellished resume), replaced with special ops Joe Teti, a younger model.  Joe’s beard has less grey than Dave’s, and he wears a ball cap while Cody dons his same old purple do rag.  From my perspective, Joe is the boy, and Cody is the girl.

I don’t care about survival or knives or knots.  All I see is the patriot and the hippie. Joe is a bit of an eager beaver.  He needs to pace himself.  He also drank his urine twice in a row, and that’s a no-no.  Cody builds the fires.  Actually, Joe built a fire tonight with a battery and a gum wrapper on his second try.  Yay, Joe!  But it was Cody who pointed out that they couldn’t sleep in a baobob tree due to risk of contracting the bubonic plague.  Duh, Joe.

If it were me, lost in the wilderness, I would just lay down and die and wait to float up to heaven.  I’ve got nothing to prove.  Let that hippo trample me.  But if I had to be dually surviving with one of those guys, Joe seems the obvious choice.  Cody rubs me the wrong way.  It’s not just his Sequoia-sized thighs.  Even his voice irritates me.  And he looks like a steroided lesbian bodybuilder who you only have to look at to know her voice is crazy low.  And what is up with all this squatting??

I can think of a handful of men with whom I’d rather be bludgeoned to death than stuck on a desert island: Kevin Smith, Quentin Tarantino, and Michael Moore, for starters.  And Cody is not nearly repulsive enough to join the ranks of that trio.  Not even close.  It’s just a certain je ne sais quoi.  I can’t put my finger on it.

Now I know full well that shoeless Cody could provide for me.  I’m not against collecting rainwater and composting waste.  He’s certainly proven he’s got skills.  I imagine those bare feet can tread lightly and those butch arms can carry a big whittled stick.  And, really, it should be kind of a turn-on to see him construct a bamboo spear to provide us with a fresh fish dinner, but then again, he’s wearing a handkerchief on his head, and tossing his long braids about.  And don’t get me started on his Daisy Dukes.

Tonight I looked at Cody’s left hand and noted there wasn’t a ring.  It must be hard to court a woman and start a family when you live off the grid, far from shopping centers and coffee shops.

Truth be told, I’d rather be stuck on that island with Myke Hawke (don’t say that one too quickly) of Discovery Channel’s defunct Man, Woman, Wild.  Now that might be worth surviving.

pic courtesy of fellow blogger at

pic courtesy of fellow blogger at

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

all BxW pics courtesy of

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

Chicago moviegoersThe Philadelphia StoryApril41

Check out these folks riding bikes…

Schwinn1949 February 7, 1925. Washington, D.C.Mildred Billert and Hazel Bowman of Ned Weyburn's Revue

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.

StreetGang1916Minus 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?

Frankie Says Crap Your Hands


Crap Your Hands, Everybody!  Everybody, Crap Your Hands!   I think things were actually GAINED in translation.  Hopefully, a kind stranger will inform him what a difference a letter can make on his sweater that appears to have been stitched in the style of a Quaker.  But at some point, he can remove it and toss it in the Goodwill pile.  This lady is not so fortunate.

the Hanzi Smatter blog Rice_0This pic hails from the Hanzi Smatter blog, dedicated to the misuse of Chinese characters in western culture.  The lady who owns this arm believed the Chinese symbol to mean “chi.”  Maybe she identified with the idea of vitality and life force and energy.  Well, it’s not chi, per that blogger.  Sadly, the symbol translates to “rice.”  Rice.

But not all is lost.  I mean, rice is still consistent with the Asian theme.  Toss it in with that eerie koi (not to be confused with Iriquois), and it might make a great meal!  Maybe she could stir fry it in a mild chili sauce and fresh orange peel, like P.F. Chang’s hunan style hot fish.  Yum!  As Winnie the Pooh says, I feel a rumbly in my tumbly.  Actually, it isn’t farfetched to be associating food service with this colorful sleeve, since the enormity of it excludes her from many upper level management jobs, save quirky ice cream and sub sandwich shops.

Should we cut her (and the thousands of others who failed to research the symbol they had permanently inked onto their skin) some slack?  I mean, there ARE 50,000 characters in the Chinese language.  One cannot assume that all tattoo artists are fluent, no?  And P.S., simply branding your arm with symbols does not automatically induct you into the spiritually enlightened hall of fame.  It doesn’t give you a rich tapestry of character and dimension.  Not all Chinese people do Tai Chi and catch flies like Mr. Miyagi, philosophizing near lily pads.  It doesn’t make you deep.  In the case of rice-girl, it just makes her ignorant.

So what’s the flip-side?  When Asian people see things written in English, do they assume it’s all trivial and frivolous?  Everyone knows Americans are fun and hip because we’re constantly shouting black music.  Even our President does it.    everyones-shouting-black-music

If you’ve ever made a trip to the Engrish site, you’ve seen how desperately Asian designers are in need of skilled translators.  But really, why would you walk around, wearing something that makes no sense?  How can you make a statement when you don’t know what the statement is?

Maybe they like America’s bold stance on immigration, so they put it on a shirt.



And who could argue that Pacino reeks of cool?  Even if he commands you to say hello to the bad gay…


And check out this question for the Creator.  Are you there, God?  It’s me Chao-Xing.


My bet is he’s at the nearest head shop.  Now this next one is complex.

dwarf-braveryFirst, and foremost, lollygag, unless it’s loitering in front of a 7-11.  Second, repeat a random Wilson Phillips lyric.  Next, the typical association of a foamy kitten and dwarf bravery, because those two go together like peanut butter and jelly.  I hate to admit that dwarf bravery has NEVER shone on me.  Not once.

Americans have spent so much time thinking Asian culture has the answers, but what if they think WE’RE the deep ones?

hung-in-the-sky-blessingHung in the sky blessing.  Need drift on the waves.  Preach it, brother, preach.  That reminds me, I need to rent “Point Break” again.

Who knew Americans had the secret of life?  We had it all along!  Honey Boo Boo and Mama June can testify.


Well, it is.  And it’s way better than crapping your hands.

Kiss Me, Kate–After You Gargle

kate moss for LONGCHAMP

kate moss for LONGCHAMP

Yeah, yeah–I realize this ad is old.  But it’s not old to me.  I grabbed a stack of old In Styles while at the used bookstore yesterday and this shot in a 2010 issue made me stop.  Not to collaborate and listen, but to wonder WTH?  Are her clothes in the bag?  Does her driver have a brush she can borrow?  Is she fresh from some coke-fueled rambage with ex, Pete Doherty?

This demands a caption contest.  I’ll start with the lamest one that dates me:

Raise your hand.  Raise your hand.  If you’re sure.