Dotty Parker

ephemera

I'm eternally fascinated by 30s, 40s, 50s and 60s commercial artwork. Advertisements, packaging, books all make me smile with a nostalgia I'm too young to possess. I like the bright, bright colors. I like the naive captioning. I like the irrelevance of some of the illustrations--just as irrelevant as now, but with what, at least now, seems to be less pretension.

There's a site called EphemeraNowthat has bunches of super-cool ads and pictures and ephemeral stuff.

Looking through it is a bit like a museum of things you'll never have because they aren't real. It's like going to some attraction that has "The Home of the Future". Even though some of the things in that home will exist, or maybe even all of them will exist, it will never feel like the home of the future because it's the home of now.

These ads make me wonder what it was like to be so happy about a car. It makes me think, "Wow, people used the words, 'utilize fast yachts' and didn't think it was so weird."

So I'm sharing a few of these. I may share more in the future. They delight me, somehow. I like seeing them and reading how I should believe them just because I should.

I do like these. A transportation theme to take you back in time...

What a powerful difference this high-octane gasoline makes!
Ethyl Corporation, 1954 | William Adelbert Dolwick (1909-1993)

Fight carelessness, the Master Saboteur!
Eveready Batteries, 1942

"I want to speak to Mr. Gordon Page, please. He is now over southern China, on Air Flight 625. This is Mrs. Page, and my telephone number is Lombard 0100." . . . "Hello, Gordon."

Fantastic? Not in the electronic world of the future!
General Electric, 1942

"For the holidays until spring, utilize fast yachts"
Sterling Engine Co., 1933 | Douglas Donald

Linked together . . . by Induction Telephone
Pennsylvania Railroad, 1945

gawn tuh see the fam

I went to Albany to see Gram and PTAMom's family and AngerTrain. Gram has recently moved from the apartment she inhabited for twenty years. She's in semi-assisted living now. It's a sort of sad little place. It's got a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen. There's a sort of large hallway in the front that has two big closets. In all, it's a very appropriate place to live for my grandmother. In all, it totally stinks because she's not overly fond of it.

Although I'm sad about seeing her living in a place she doesn't like, I was glad to see her. She's 86 years old and she's still pissed off that the doctor who delivered her put the wrong date on the certificate. She was born at 11:30 pm on 31 October. He wrote in November 1.

And she's still pissed off!

It's good to know that things change, but there are some unchangeable items that we must always carry in our pockets to reassure us that we're still who we think we are.

I spent some time with my wee cousin. He's almost four. He colored in Tigger in his coloring book. I played with the MagnaDoodle. Then he had to pee. So I got up to open the door and turn on the light. I asked if he needed help or anything. He said, "Nope." I told him that I'd be right nearby if he needed anything. "Okay. You can leave the door for me to close." I nodded and walked back to the living room where the wee cousin's dad (my regular sized cousin) was sitting. Wee cousin walked out with his pants unbuttoned, one hand on the waistband holding them up, and the other prodding me in the side. He said, "If someone wants to come with me into the bathroom, that would be okay."

Fabulous! How fabulous is that! He's a smarty, that one. He also mentioned, earlier in the day, that he had heartburn. He said that it's when you have fire in your heart and it goes up your throat and you have heartburn. You can't make it better by eating. You have to drink.

Fabulous! And for some reason, the doctor said that he shouldn't drink milk for a while. So they were giving him Gatorade. He couldn't remember the name. So he called it Alligator Ale.

Fabulous again! And he tired out my grandmother so that she didn't want to play anymore. That takes some doing. But he did beat up AngerTrain with his double-chop karate chop. And when he did the Power Ranger "power-up!" Man, it's like a different planet when you're around someone who says that it's okay to have a pal in the bathroom.

what's gnu with you?

Noam sent me a photo of a hybrid gnu.

He neglected to include the monograph describing this beast.

Nevertheless, I want one of these. I'm not sure why, perhaps to protect it from starving. I can't imaging how this birdie would fit into a tree or a next or keep its horns free of entanglement with a passing head of hair. If it can't do those things, how could it feed itself?

I bet you don't know either.

I would feed it chicken and biscuits. Hold the gravy, though. It would mess up the beard. I would also give it seeds and fruit and dark vegetable matter. Bugs, too. I wouldn't do the bugs, though. Those could be ordered from catalogs.

Because of its unusual mammally hair characteristic, but its lack of mammary glands, it would certainly require much affection and reassurance. Unfortunately, this gnubird would be temperamental and chomp with his powerful jaws. The teeth, however, are made for grinding.

It wouldn't be a clean bite if it broke the skin, but it would be less likely to break the skin than its cousin the foxbird. You are certainly less likely to be burned by either of them than by the firebird. And although the gnubird has a mighty, gargling yodel of a call, it cannot compete with the mighty rumble of the thunderbird.

This would be a thoughtful creature, given to gazing with longing into the sunset while pontificating with a murmuring coo in the morning. It spells out haikus with seed hulls. It uses its feet to create Zen drawings in the snow.

It signs all of its work, even the Zen drawings, with its horns.

uh

Write what you know. That's what the big, bad writing teachers say. If I recall, and I do, that's what people who write say, too

Now that it's grown later than I'd intended and I'm getting wound up with thoughts of not sleeping and the dire consequences that will surely befall me due to this horror (the horror!), I've discovered that right now I know very little, indeed. That makes it hard to write what I know.

I'm not whining about not knowing anything. I do know some stuff. It's just that right now the interesting bits are escaping me and I'm left with some residue concerning the magical cleaning powers of baking soda.

It seems to me that baking powder should be more magical than it's culinary cousin, soda. The word "powder" is more magical than "soda". "Dust" is more magical yet. Pixie dust, for example. Or angel dust, I suppose. Tummy ache powder (a special discovery made many years ago by Moondog and me). That's magical.

But soda.

What's that all about? "Now use the mystical club soda!" No, the sentence just makes a thudding noise. In the old Willy Wonka movie they had bubbly soda, but even they recognized the non-squizzliness of soda. They called it Fizzy Lifting Drink.

Back to baking soda though--you can put lots of baking soda in a lake full of acid rain and begin to bring the pH back up to where it should be. It seems like a cool idea until you realize that it would make the water kind of salty. And that's not cool, either.

Less cool than baking soda, even.

egg whites sale

I was looking for recipes for dessert today. When I clicked on one, it had ads by Google. One ad was from eBay. It said, “New & used Egg Whites. Check out the deals now!”

I said to BrilliantEditor, “Do we have to get eggs at eBay? It just doesn’t seem sensible.”

BrilliantEditor agreed. We neglected to purchase our eggs by auction. I was reminded, however, of a fancy site I once found while looking for pictures of monkeys that crash cymbals together. It’s called DisturbingAutions.com. I highly recommend it.

A few of my favorites follow.

lots of salt and pepper
This was likely the goal of my early teen years. As I whispered to myself, “I must, I must, I must increase my bust!” I surely envisioned this salty career for myself.

nobody likes a drunk monkey
It's not exactly true that nobody likes a drunk monkey. I think I would like one. Within reason, of course. A very drunk monkey might be less fun. But this guy, I think he's on the edge of what I'm willing to deal with.

the "watch-where-you-put-that!" pen

I'm trying to convince myself that the pen is meant to be a tail.

I'm having a hard time doing that.

gross, but inspiring?

Sometimes a girl gets discouraged by her lack of incredible artistic genius. The girl might feel like she should learn to do her math better and go off and be some kind of substitute teacher for surly students.

Then the girl finds something like this picture and she knows that she has more vision and more talent than these devil spawn.

And she feels better.

singing the contextual blues

I had some errands to run today. One of them had me walking past the county mental health building.

I rarely do this, but I was singing to myself out loud. Generally, I'll do it in my head, but today apparently warranted something more vigorous. Once I realized that I was walking past the mental health building and that I didn't want to be mistaken for a gal who mistakes her aloneness for some quality trio singing, I stopped making the wee mouth shapes that indicate talking out loud. I suppose I didn't want people to think that I needed to be corralled back inside the building

I wondered how I would feel, though, if I were doing my taxes and I walked past H&R Block's tax prep service. Would I be distressed by the possibility of being identified with generic tax preparation folk? Would I put my W-2 back into my pocket along with my schedule C and the short information pamphlet containing charts and columns all so I wouldn't be confused with a tax person? Or would I start singing outside of H&R Block, just to make sure no one would think I looked at taxes?

And if I walked by my workplace when I was taking a day off, legal or not, should I stand out front saying, "Gosh! I wonder what they do in there! What an interesting job those people must have!"

I think the short answer to all of this is, "Why care what anyone thinks?"

The slightly longer answer is, "Why care what they think? Make sure you're absolutely fabulously entertained."

mistah sprinkles, he sick

Mr.Sprinkles was here this weekend. I anticipated a weekend full of nonsense and monstrous silliness.

Although I did get monstrous silliness and nonsense, I got neither one in the quantity I desired. You see, Mr.Sprinkles arrived with a minor cold that grew into a major cold that left him cold and hot and shivery and in bed all weekend.

Happily we moved the bed into the living room so we could force him to watch cartoons with us. Unhappily, he was too sick to have a good time. It makes me sad. Still, he did manage to smile now and then, look at the tv, and say, “Bugs!” Referring to the bunny, you see. He also said, “Bugs!” when speaking of Daffy or Porky. But that’s all part of the charm.

thanks for the injuries
One thing Mr.Sprinkles would have laughed at had he been not-so-sick, is one of the headlines BrilliantEditor put up on his Living in Dryden site. (*note that this headline has since been changed. It now says, "Trash collector injured; hell yeah!")

The headline reads, "Trash collector injured; many thanks".

Now. I know that BE always uses the same format to string headlines together. I've suggested before that he choose a new format, since it sometimes makes odd headlines. Will this convince him that I am right?

I'm betting that it won't change his mind at all. Nevertheless, I must tell you, I'm right.

No one hated the trash collector that much that the perpetrator needs thanks.

feldergarb

Mr.Sprinkles is coming into town on Friday! It means that mayhem, madness, and marvelous things will ensue!

Although I have yet to make hats for this occasion, I guarantee that they will be of equally shoddy quality. They will also have a dubious hat nature. Many times these hats began as something else. What else? Bags, of course.

The time for shilly-shallying is over. It is time to move forward anticipating the marvels that await us. There will surely be abundant nonsense and tomfoolery. And we're going to bookstores, too!

The delights sure to greet these eyes in the days to come will likely alter my senses. Or alcohol will. Or both things. Probably both things.

Good things.

pretty little pita

In front of me is a package of pita bread.

It says "SAHARA", but at the top it has a team of horses pulling a stagecoach. What's that all about? Wouldn't he get stuck in the sand in the Sahara?

I suppose it's about Thomas' making them. Making the pita and sticking their little logo on the package. But it's a mystery, isn't it? Why place the stagecoach right on top of the H in "SAHARA"?

I say they should put the little carriage guy on top of "THOMAS'". That way the wheelse of his stagecoach/carriage won't be stuck in the Sahara. It would make me sad if the horses got stuck in the desert. They aren't like camels at all. They hardly spit at all.

I don't think Thomas' will take a shine to my idea, however. It's silly, first. Second, we can gather from their very foolish creation of a singular possessive noun using the method meant for a plural...well, do I really need to say any more?

cowabunga kurosawa!

I’ve determined that I need a new hobby. My new hobby should be watching foreign films so that I can feel better about putting my education to use.

I like watching foreign films. I watched Talk to Her yesterday and started to watch the commentary today. It’s a very intriguing movie. Very very.

My current hobby is to "watch" movies. I actually listen to them while I do other things. But foreign language films, I don’t know enough of any language, except English, to be able to listen-only to a foreign language film. A girl can’t hear subtitles.

I determined, however, that a girl could walk on a treadmill or use an exercise bike or engage in some kind of activity that requires being stationary, and read subtitles at the same time.

Some people might read books, and I think that’s a great idea. But you can read books almost anywhere. Why not squeeze in a couple of foreign films? Or maybe one or two of those silent ones? I think it’s a dandy idea.

It could also be a dating kind of thing, like people getting hooked up at the gym. If someone hops onto the exercise bike next to you and says, "Oh! I love Kurosawa’s work, too!" then you know they like at least one thing that you do and that they’re just as confident in their taste in films (I betcha they don’t say the word movie) as you are. Of course, if they do say the word movie then we can all agree that this is a person of the proletariat. The proliterary-ate.

The dating aspect would be optional, as some folks aren’t looking for a date.

Oh, and at this place, renting a movie (film) to watch while cycling or walking or running would be included in the price of membership. Earphones would also be available so that intonation and music could be appreciated.

This is genius, I say.

loving the nightlife

Since it's Valentine's Day, I'm skipping out on my obligations to write here.

Here's a treat, though, that might serve as a valentine for you. A little piece of Lewis Carroll's silliness, that will make you smile, oh very much indeed.

happy heart day

Valentine's Day.

Every year I hear the story of St. Valentine: who he was/is and how he was martyred and how those things have nothing to do with the happy, heart-filled celebration we have now!

Since we've heard it, I will not recap.

What I will do, however, if steer you toward some valentine cards that will make you want to go back and check up on the St. Valentine history. Some of these are a bit, uh, odd. They're dark, sick, scary, and very, very intriguing.

So yeah. It's a sympathy card tended to by a cherub in formal dress, except for his trousers, whose purpose is admirably served by a funnel and a curtain tie back. I never meet anyone so cool.

These all come from My Creepy Valentine and it's
second page.

When you go to look at the Valentine cards, do allow yourself a full ten seconds with each one.

Note the above Valentine. This may be the place to give yourself the full ten seconds. If necessary, count to ten again. You'll discover that the creepiness you see at first is only the beginning of the creepiness. There are two bananas. And what's up with the jewelery the monkey seems to be wearing? And is that really a little girl?

Man/Boy love? Or dad cuddling up his sweet baby? Or a forced declaration of duckydoodle fealty?

Be your own Valentine, and git yerself some fun: Check these babies out.

are you a good witch or a bad witch?

"Why, I'm not a witch at all! Witches are old and ugly!"

Oooooh, guess what's happening Saturday night! It's the Wizard of Oz sing-a-long!

Sing-a-Long Wizard of Oz- Ithaca Premiere!
February 12, 2005 - 2:00PM to 3:00PM; 7:15PM to 8:15PM
1939 > USA > Directed by Victor Fleming
With Judy Garland, Ray Bolger, Toto & Munchkins galore There's no place like Willard Straight Theatre packed with costumed viewers singing along to the classic road movie musical, The Wizard of Oz. Just like the Sing-a-Long Sound of Music we did a couple years ago, this digitally restored version of the 1939 MGM classic has lyrics on the screen, so everyone can join in the fun. So break out the blue gingham, rustle up some straw, find that old oil can, dust off your ruby slippers and come join us as we bark along with Toto, hiss at the Wicked Witch and blow bubbles when Glinda the Good Witch appears. A costume contest, prizes and a fun pack of props will make this an unforgettable event! Advance tickets available starting Monday, February 7. Call (607) 255-3522. 1 hr 50 min

LOCATION: Willard Straight Theatre
SPEAKER: Richard Driscoll
WEBSITE: http://cinema.cornell.edu
ADMISSION: Open to Public, Alumni, Students, Faculty, and Staff.
CONTACT: Breean Kay
255-3522
bak36@cornell.edu

How tempting is that?! I vote very, very tempting. If only I'd been Dorothy instead of little red ridinghood. And I would have been Alice this year, but I didn't get to it. I have the gingham, though. Yes, indeed. And some shoes I don't like that could be sprayed red with glitter!

Then, of course, I'd feel like an ass. Because I'd be one, perhaps?

Nevertheless, everyone should go to this. You know the words. I know you do.

It sounds like my kind of event: fun, kind of stupid, with movies.

And!

BrilliantEditor's "Living In Dryden" noted that there's a chocolate festival! While I have my doubts as to the true coolness of this event, it might be time to eat chocolate anyway. Even if it isn't sexy-cool chocolate.

Just sexy chocolate.

sprocket, queen of the boogie woogie

I actually have no idea what Sprocket is the queen of. But here's the new Vogue magazine photo spread for Miss Sprocket.

ooooooo, that might not be right.

I've been writing today. I've also been erasing today.

Just now I lost a fight against my urge to delete what I'd just written. I don't see things improving much in the next few minutes. I might as well sit back and re-write. Or just erase.

I would like to go back in time and re-write what I said at that baby shower. I'd also like to erase my commentary on the plastic babies floating in the punch bowl. (They were removed before guests arrived, but I couldn't get them out of mind.)

There was also a doll of BoPeep. Her mom made her.

I think it's weird.

I'd probably erase that, too.

But I'd erase my commentary here as well.

hm.

I'm going to bed.

it's not that easy being green

I've had a tummy ache for a few days that has occasionally threatened to be an angry tummy ache. Generally the fire and fury subside into a passive aggressive tummy ache. Yet, when the angry tummy threat arises, I begin to feel a bit green. Eww.

I went to BoPeep's baby shower today. I intended to bring a green blanket and a yellow one. I only managed the yellow one. My face, however, may have counted as just as much green as BoPeep could have wanted.

I wasn't succeeding in ignoring the conversation coming from the other side of the room. From there, wafting on putrid breezes, were stories of how delivering a baby feels and how anything and everything might be experienced.

But they were only talking about the "horror stories".

If I were the mom-to-be, I would want people to lie to me. Oh yes, please, lie to me about everything. Tell me that magical flower petals will fall from the sky. Show me a delivery room with a disco ball and plush carpet. A silk charmeuse hospital gown. Explain, laughing, how the Vlaasic pickle stork will come flying through the window. He'll throw a pickle spear at me and hey! A baby! Boy or girl? Dill or sweet? That's the surprise!

There were no lies. And my tummy ache began saying, "Don't listen. Don't listen." It was getting much easier to be green. Although it didn't feel so easy.

Then, on my right-hand side, saving the day, a woman began talking about the hot flash she was currently experiencing. I fanned her with some baby stickers to try to cool her off. She had limited opportunity for cooling herself since she can't move her neck since undergoing a surgical procedure, the recovery of which involves wearing hockey gear to keep her head on straight.

Why was it better to listen to some of the gorier details from spinal surgery?

I've determined two reasons:

One, I'm allowed to make grossed out faces when they talk about how and where the surgeon makes the incision. (It's not always a good thing to squish up my nose and say, "Jesus, that sounds like it sucks.")

Two, I can't see the problem Madam Head Gear was talking about being brought up about me at dinner. "So, Dotty! Do you and BrilliantEditor plan on having your spine surgically altered with bone from your hip?! Oh! But it's so rewarding! You'll change your mind. You hardly remember that skeletal scarring."

A disclaimer--Babies have been starting to seem as very cute little monsters. It's a jarring revelation to realize that biology might, in fact, influence my view on the world. An inescapable biological drive to see what I would look like smaller! Yet we must recall that the biological influences can go both ways, and today, well, these particular biological details were making me feel green.

And it's not that easy being green.

you heart what?

I came home from having coffee I walked up to the house. There, in the snow, was a message that all mammals would cheer.

I laughed. That's a funny thing to greet a person. At least around here it is. I understand there's an entire town in North Ontario where people are left absolutely helpless around boobs. Who knew? Now you do!

I walked in the door and asked, "Was Tex here?"

Indeed, Tex had been there. So had Florette. I am unable to determine whose handwriting scrawled this message into my snowbank, but I'm willing to bet that it was Tex's idea.

Graffiti, if that's what it is this way, is a puzzling thing, especially when you're trying to do it. When I was little we had a can of red spray paint and we wanted to go spray stuff. But then what do you spray? And what do you write? And how do those people get their words to come out looking so nicely when mine dripped and looked cruddy?

I don't know. Practice, perhaps.

Downtown there's a graffito on the back of a sign. It says, "Teeth??? Dentist." Something like that. Then there are little reminders all around town.

"Bush Is a Nazi!"
"Think"
"Dig All Jive"
"This is the elevator" (written in the Commons elevator)
"Lose Bush"
"Bush=War for Oil"
"F.H. Fox is 81"

But figuring out that the back of a route number sign is the place to write about dentists, my darlings, I may never understand.

This is why we must bow down before the graffiti artist: Tex. In what way you determined that a snowbank would be the place to proclaim your love of the mammary, I do not know. I do know, however, that I will one day extract the truth.

groundhog snorfles

Punxsatawney Phil, the groundhog known for his complete lack of accuracy and extraordinary charm, has predicted (oh! shocking!) that there will be more winter. Yep. He says this while there's ten inches of snow still lying on the ground and colds and aches and flus skipping around our closed up houses.

I've been reading these nonsensical articles about how we get colds and how we don't actually just get the flu in the winter and blah dee blah.

Who cares? Groundhog Phil has predicted more cold weather and a few more weeks of runny noses, coughs, and tummy upsets.

I don't know how Phil feels about having himself grabbed by the scruff of his neck every February second. At least he has time to clean the house...I suspect his predictions of six more weeks of winter are punishment for our invasion of his home.

Do you remember when Sprocket tried to chase a groundhog? This winter thing is likely revenge for that, too.

groundhog's day

Is it the day belonging to the groundhog, thus called Groundhog's day? Or is it a day that happens to be named near to an event, thus called Groundhog day.

I don't know and the battery on my computer is running out, but the short version is that this is the most delightful holiday because it really isn't one. In college we had marshmallow fights on Groundhog's Day. I don't know why. Maybe it's also Dada day. It doesn't matter!

But check out these sites, if you so choose, and you may become delighted by the glories of groundhogation and have a marshmallowy fight of your own!

Groundhog.org Now that's a sexy set of teeth.

Groundhogstuff.com I highly recommend the furrier choices. Plush is best on occassions such as these.

Blame it on the Celts. It's always the damned Celts, isn't it? Solstice this and festival that. Didn't they do anything else? (Then again, how could they have? It was too dark and cold. I think. I think they had a festival regarding this kind of thing...)

Enjoy your happy, furry day. Chuck a marshmallow at someone's head, please.