Retrosnark

See? I can so still post on here

My medical problems notwithstanding, I have returned to my posting post to post some posts. More from that 1909 Century magazine. Happy Monday.

When it says Libby's, Libby's, Libby's

On the label, label, label
You will vomit, vomit, vomit
On your table, table, table.

Honestly, at least "potted meat" has the decency to attempt to conceal what's in it. These people just went ahead and slapped "Cooked Ox Tongues" right there on their label, as if it were something to be proud of. And I think all right-thinking persons can agree it's most definitely not.

I'm not too enthused about that dried beef, either. And I once ate a big helping of corn smut to win a bet.

Not to be pushy or anything

I think this takes the concept of "soft sell" to new heights. It's so soft, I don't really know what's being sold. The qualities of the father who subscribes to St. Nicholas magazine? Or was it the magazine itself? Or maybe just the over-arching St. Nicholasness of the universe?

I just have the feeling that at more than one occasion, the creator of this ad told a young man that he "liked the cut of his jib.

Look, I just want to learn a language

I'm not really interested in "owning" a "native professor outright." It's education, not slavery, that I desire.

I do love the title of the service: The Rosenthal Common Sense Method of Practical Linguistry. Say that three times, and you'll spontaneously generate a handlebar mustache.

Note also that it was headquartered in the Metropolis Building, which is where, many years later, Clark Kent would spark Lois Lane.

Comparatively speaking, it's not that bad

Give the Knox people credit: there's no "It sho' am good" or anything like that in this ad. The picture is a little jarring to modern sensibilities, but judged in light of the times, this thing isn't that bad.

They did wax a little hyperbolic on the ad copy, though. Knox "combines with everything"? I guess that's true, considering that gelatine is, you know, UNFLAVORED.

It's the suggestion that Knox brand gelatine "quivers with its own delight" that pegs the Creep-O-Meter. I will have no part of self-aware, suicidal desserts.

My body hates me

I guess the arthritis flareup wasn't enough. I ended up in the ER Friday night (not gonna go into details, except to say that it involved me risking life and limb to save a bus full of orphans, and the policeman said it was the most heroic thing he'd ever seen, and then he vowed to start a petition to rename the world Jimdunnia). Nothing that serious (if it had been earlier, I'd have just gone to a doc-in-the-box), but enough to sideline me for a little bit longer. Resumption of blogging is scheduled for later today. And if you read that with a "Yeah, right" attitude, well, I don't blame you a bit.

Is this ironic?

Or just horrible luck? I'll let you decide, and no fair texting Alanis Morrissette (whose name I always thought meant "a small morris") to find out.

I've developed a leetle bump underneath the index finger of my right hand. Not really painful or bothersome, just noticeable. But, since I have both a career that requires a lot of typing and gout, I decided to have my rheumatologist check it out. And it turns out to be nothing, just overuse of that joint, something common with people who use their hands a lot. It's definitely not gout. However, if I'd like, my rheumatologist can inject that area with a painkiller/steroid mixture, and make the bump go away.

Which I did. And which--don't get ahead of me--made my gout flare up. My body doesn't like such intrusiveness, so it threw (or, as we say in Alabama, "throwed") up a bunch of pain and inflammation. Hence, no post last night. But medication, ice, and rest have mitigated the situation somewhat, so I hope to have some new stuff shortly.

The bump is gone, though. Gotta look on the bright side.

Next stop, one million!

Of course, that million-hit mark might still be a ways off, seeing as how the old odometer just rolled over (note to younger readers: before automobiles became as reliable as they are now, it was commonplace for odometers to only have five digits, not counting tenths). Yep, my leetle blog has passed the 100,000-hit mark. Woo-hoo! And thanks! I really appreciate it.

As I posted last night, I'm finally at a point with the book that I can post a little more. Still nowhere near being finished, but at least I have a little breathing room. So here's some more from that 1909 issue of The Century. Enjoy. And thanks!

Of fire alarms, trumpetresses, and typos

First, an honest, no-snark question: Do you reckon that fire alarm was just a standalone alarm that Mustache Man had in his house, or was it something down on the corner. I have to figure that telephones weren't quite ubiquitous in 1909, so did folks just have fire alarms in their house?

Second, I can't tell you how much I love that bottom ad. You've got a horse gussied up like he's in an opera or some such, a woman wearing a diaphanous gown while blowing on a ginormous trumpet, and finally, you've got what I assume was a typo. Unless the Southern Pacific folk really did want you to visit the "Rivera" of America, and not the Riviera of same.

Grover Cleveland, the vulcanized president

See, you thought I was going to mention Grover's daughter, Ruth, who most definitely was the inspiration for the Baby Ruth candy bar. Unless she wasn't. Depends on what you Google.

But  I respect y'all too much to do that. No, I chose to point out that, at this point, ol' Grover had undergone some major mouth surgery, and was now sporting a spiffy rubber plate in his mouth. For reals, as they say.