Tag: Good Housekeeping

Of COURSE, I’d Like Another Slice Of Real Yeast-Riz Pizza

I used to think I was born in the wrong era. Growing up, wearing plaid corduroy pants with striped brown shirts was not very feminine.  However, everything about the 40s and 50s delighted me: the hair, the poodle skirts, the staying at home and not working and having a husband support me, the aqua-colored appliances, the white picket fences.  And everyone looked so CLEAN, so hat and gloves, so put together.

I have STACKS of old magazines with endlessly fascinating ads, to which you will constantly be subjected.  I don’t mind sexist ads.  I don’t mind silly feminine hygiene ads.  I don’t even mind “husky” toddler clothes ads for kids that look positively svelte by today’s standards.  But the one thing that just baffles me is the food.  The food looks AWFUL.  Gelatinous and cottage-cheesey with potted meats.  Ewww.

Take a gander at these ads, all from just ONE October 1958 Good Housekeeping:

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Now I like hush puppies, as well as pancakes and ham, but this looks more like sweet ‘n’ sour chicken than actual breakfast.  Waitress, I’d like the General Tso’s fried gluten with extra cholesterol and sugarbeetees, plus a side of hardened arteries.  Pronto!

Now for lunch, we’ll add some healthy options.  Tomato sauce is a vegetable, right?

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I haven’t visited Sicily, but I’m fairly certain this is what a gen-u-ine Italian pizza looks like, with green olives at the tips of the star.  Didn’t Cher bake this for Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck?  They were totally Italian.  P.S. Did Mrs. America really want to be associated with yeast?  Maybe Miss America was busy endorsing Monistat?

Now save room, because we’ve invited the Johnsons over for a Souper Supper Loaf dinner, and Mom’s made a fanTABulous “handy ham appe-teaser.”  No, not REAL ham, silly!  You had that for breakfast.  This is deviled ham.  Pretend ham.  Satan’s ham.

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Don’t mind the fact that it resembles a voodoo doll for Mom to stab out her aggression, while indulging her perfectionist tendencies.  Every little plasticky processed American cheese square must sit JUST right!  Is the apple oxidizing at the toothpick hole?

Now time for the main event!  You better get your coveting on, Mrs. Johnson, because there’s no way you’ll EVER top Mom’s meatloaf.

G002I don’t know which looks better: the one oozing blood, the one covered in toddler wretch, or the one doused with thousand island dressing.  Oh, alright, already!  Please pass the celery-salmon loaf.  I can’t resist a river of celery running down that lovely loaf o’ fish. It’s like bundt cake, except it’s meat.  And it’s gross.  And it makes my throat fill with bile.

Stay tuned for more super keen ads from 1958!  I’ll try not to nauseate you.

What A Rank Amateur You Are!

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“When a man asks you for your first college weekend, it’s a big deal.”  So begins the article in one of my 1958 Good Housekeeping magazines.  Pardon?  What’s a “college weekend’?  Is he taking her to a college where she’s never been?  Does he attend that college?  If it’s her “first” one, does that imply many will follow?  I’m so confused.  Reading further adds no clarity.

“Nothing marks you as a greenhorn more quickly than arriving at the ivy-covered stations with bulging bags.”  The station?  Like a train?  Certainly not a Greyhound Station.  Is it located near an Ivy League college?  (BTW, a greenhorn is a novice.  Nothing like a longhorn, or a Foghorn Leghorn.)

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The rules also say, “The greatest threat to a return engagement is getting gay (read, garrulous) or daring (read, dizzy)…”  And if you DO CHOOSE to get gay or daring, “it proves nothing at all except what a rank amateur you are.”  Yeesh!  Rank amateur?  So harsh! So complicated!  I think I’d just bow out of the entire weekend altogether.

The whole thing reminds me of MIss Mona’s no-no rules from The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas:

And please don’t show us no tattoos
No hearts and flowers on your thigh
It’s downright tacky
Brands belong on cattle and that ain’t what we’re selling at Miss Mona’s

Maybe that’s why I never got a tattoo; I didn’t want to upset Dolly Parton.  Plus, if it’s trashy on a Chicken Ranch whore,  how does it look on a common non-prostitute?

dolly2The ladies all sing, “Just lots of good will, and maybe one small thrill, but there’s nothing dirty going on!”  Hmmm.  Maybe THAT’S a college weekend?