These happy patrons were enjoying Wurstfest, a Texas tradition since 1963. Held annually in New Braunfels, Texas, they offer “good food, music, dancing, exciting carnival rides and games, German, Texan and domestic beer, special events and the finest in Alpine and Bavarian Style Entertainment.”
This sign from the 1975 event reveals that the drinking age was then 18, not 21.
Local colleges had been preparing students for weeks.
University of Texas students who could not travel to New Braunfels participated at home, drinking from kegs in homage to Alpine and Bavarian tradition.
These gals didn’t even mind singing for their supper frosty mugs of beer.
What about you? Would you sing a chorus for an ice cold beer?
If you are too young to recall the famous wedge haircut made famous by 1976 Olympic figure skating champion Dorothy Hamill, consider yourself lucky. It was a trend amongst women of the late 1970s, and the immediate regret caused many to self-medicate with frosty longneck beers. Consider these two ladies, rocking the double H: the Hamill and highwaisted jeans. And just in case you can’t read their shirts, they say: Bored Martyrs. Indeed.
Here’s another “I Don’t Get It” ad from 1941, suggesting a pint of the “dark ruby ale” as a remedy for fatigue. Yes, technically, Guinness is not black or even brown, but red. The man buzz-cutting these recruits looks tired now. Is now a good time for Guinness? Should he pause in the middle of shaving heads? And speaking of head…
Bartenders are not being fussy when they insist on the double-pour. Unlike other taps, Guinness is dispensed through a five-hole disk restrictor plate. It supplies an uncommon amount of nitrogen, making the head extra-effervescent. As such, two shifts are needed: one to start the magic, and a second to finish the job. The perfect pint is said to take 119.5 seconds to pour. But who’s counting? (www.foodrepublic.com)
And did you know that Africa accounts for about 40% of Guinness’ total worldwide sales? I don’t get that statistic either.
The full ad ends with the tag: Guinness Is Good For You. Many years ago, pregnant Irish women were told to drink a glass of Guinness every day to fortify themselves and their baby. More sound advice. Sounds like it’s time for a pint!
This 1933 ad for Budweiser is so colorfully delicious, that I almost forgot my many encounters with the “King of Bottled Beer” and the inherent mehness it consistently offers. My Bud experience has ne’er entailed a sunbursting orchestra as fancy dancers trip the light fantastic. Then again, 1933 was the year that the 21st Amendment to the Constitution was ratified, ending national Prohibition. Any ale tastes good after 14 years of illicit backwoods hooch.
One thing I lack on my po’ person’s WordPress theme is the ability to change font (or the skill to access it). But if I had a genie and three wishes, one would be to sleep seven magical hours without changing positions at twelve minute intervals and/or pee out water I drank way back at 8pm, and then the second might be to imbibe endless ice-cold bubbly Cokes (with the perfect syrup to CO2 ratio) without harm to my stomach lining or causing inflammation, but surely the third one would be to have a blog with this sweet-a$$ font, which I would call (of course): Jack’s Barber Shop. I hate that I can’t type that in the actual JBS font. Curses!
Most of us didn’t give much thought to font when we were young, but nowadays, it can change everything. Perhaps you’ve witnessed the hate crimes against poor Comic Sans?
Yeah, that’s pretty swank, and most everyone loves lemon (or a glass of limoncello). But the reality is that lemonade stands are not lucrative. No one knows his neighbor these days. That nasty diluted dixie cup of Country Time might be poisoned like Jonestown Kool-Aid. So thanks, but no, thanks.
Instead, you’re all invited to my tavern (it’s two blocks down, just past the Walgreen’s), and tonight we’ll serve $3 pints of Shiner Bock and mojitos until we run out. Or whatever it is your state enjoys…
And if PERHAPS you live on Fantasy Island where all the words have K’s in them, you may find yourself on this craft beer snob map–although it is impossible to read because you are, after all, made up of teensy tiny islands.
The Wurlitzer jukebox still offers four plays for a buck, and if you are Fonzie and know the sweet spot, you can get your selections gratis. We have a Happy Hour special on raspberry chipotle buffalo wings (with ranch, blue cheese, carrots, AND celery), cooked by my husband, and my famous crispy pepper bacon brownies. The early bird gets the worm. And when you have to use the restroom, it’s to the left, down past the pinball machines and Mrs. Pac-Man. Use the door for your gender (Jack or Jill), both written in Jack’s Barber Shop font. See you tonight!
I just got another stack of old magazines, and this ad jumped out at me from a 1960 Look.
What’s right with this ad:
Sexy moodlight
Her smooth, parted hair, clipped low at the neck.
It rhymes. That’s pretty cool. “Put the finest label on your table.”
What’s odd with this ad:
He’s pouring Miller (the champagne of bottled beer) from one presumably cold glass container into another. What was wrong with the bottle? I’ve never understood that. And he’s not even tilting the pint glass to reduce that drastic amount of head. Hold it at at a 45° angle!
Miller is from Milwaukee. Why does this ad look so Polynesian? Is this a theme party with Mediterranean olives and French bread and Greek spit-roasted lamb?
I’m frightened by the menacing tiki sculpture in the background. It looks like one of those angry apple trees in The Wizard of Oz.
The seasonal conflict: his shirt says winter, her dress says summer.
His apron is too clean. Somebody had to rub that meat.
This is too much food for two skinny white people. In fact, the lettuce appears to be making a getaway from the salad bowl. And you know such a demure, classy woman would never dare to consume more than 4 oz of meat at a time. Perhaps that partially lit door indicates a patio party. And those half a dozen plates imply guests are coming.
If they are preparing for said patio party, why aren’t they arguing? You know he didn’t buy all the ingredients she asked him to pick up at the store. He should have brought a pen to cross them off the list, like she told him a million times. Perhaps her look is one of passive aggressive seething rage. He’ll get his later.
He knows he’ll get his later. That’s why he’s topping off his third glass already. The fact that he forgot their anniversary last weekend didn’t help matters. Keep drinking, Ted. Keep drinking.
I Don't Get It 