Retrosnark

Dorothy's back in Black-and-white-ville

You know how Dorothy ends up back in Kansas at the end of "The Wizard of Oz," and she's on her bed, and all the characters she's seen in Oz show up as real people, and she starts telling them, "You were there, and you were there..."? Well, that's about how I feel. I'm back from Oz, and Crowchick was there, and Jenn was there, and Penguin Pete, and Ruth...

Which is to say, even though lately new posts have been as scarce as black actors on "The Andy Griffith Show," I'm going to try to be a little better, starting with some more from that October 1909 issue of The Century. Enjoy!

Two different approaches to ad copy

At the top, the full-bore, in-your-face, "Don't you feel guilty for even thinking about doubting us?" method. I love the "Are they not competent witnesses?" line.

And what a list of afflictions. I suffer from gout, but thank goodness I've never had gravel.

On the bottom, you have the polar opposite: a sell so soft, it's not really a sell at all. Actually, I don't know exactly what's going on here. It could be an ad for a book listing what farmers buy, but then again, it could also be a lonely-hearts ad for farmers. I wonder if Mr. G. Herbert Potter ever had a bout of gravel.

Slezak and Tetrazzini, Attorneys at Law

If I were going to splurge a whole dollar (not being facetious; that was serious coin in 1909) on something to play on one of them new talking machines, I think I'd buy something a little more appealing visually than Marie Antoinette or a woman with a Van Dyke glued on her fac.

Sapolio? Really?

What, was Percancer taken? Maybe Dakidneystone? Geelockjaw?

I understand that Pro-Phy-Lac-Tic has changed in meaning, but it's not like polio wasn't known back in 1909.

Oh, my aching sides

She: Whoever started the habit of calling a boat "She"?
He: Probably the first man that tried to steer one.

Oh, I fear for my innards, I've laughed so at this. I think I'll take it down to the lodge. The brothers will certainly enjoy such a sterling gut-buster.

I know that humor has changed in almost 100 years, but this had to be a pretty arid bit of jocularity, even back then.

You want what kind of toothbrush?

(Begin Seinfeld voice) Who names a toothbrush after a family planning device? Who are the ad wizards who came up with this idea? I want to know!

I'd like to have me one of them "Uncle Sam in the Pacific" picture puzzles, though.

The Prestige of the Pianola

Admit it: You're one of those rapscallions, those blackguards, those ne'er-do-wells that goes around calling all Piano-players "Pianolas," aren't you? Out for a game of whist or a good bout of rounders, and you can't help but spout off on how your Aunt Tildie has a Pianola, when you know it's but a garden-variety Piano-player.

A pox on you, Sir! In the name of Theodor Leschetzky and Josef Hoffman, I pox thee!

Winston was right

Sir Winston Churchill once said:

"Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public."

Wellsir, for the first time, I can say that I know what one of my heroes was talking about. I just finished my book. More accurately, I just finished my half of the book, since I had to call an audible and hand off half of it to another author. But that's not important right now. What is important is that, barring some reworking here or there, I'm finished with the thing. By the end of the year, you'll be able to buy a bathroom history book co-written by yours truly. I don't know the title yet, but I'll of course let you know when I do.

So, now that that's out of the way, I'm gonna take a few days off, then hopefully get back to posting regularly. At least until it gets closer to baby time, when I plan on handing off again, this time to some lovely and talented co-bloggers.

Thanks for bearing with me.

 

Well, that's a first

I never thought I'd get downright emotional about a groundhog, but I have. And if you're waiting for a punchline, it ain't happening, unfortunately.

Here's what happened. Last year, we started seeing a groundhog down the hill from where we live. I have no idea how prevalent groundhogs are in Alabama, but this was only the second one I'd ever seen in the wild, and, being a big-time animal lover, I was tickled to death. (I'm aware that the cuddly creature is a member of the squirrel family, and would no doubt have ripped off my hand if I'd ever gotten close to it, but I've never been one to let facts get in the way of a good fantasy.)

This year, we started seeing one at the same place, so I assumed it was the same one. Lately, he/she been visible, right on the side of the road, several times when we'd come home from work. I'm off from work today, so I thought I'd drive down and try to get a picture. As soon as I topped the hill, I saw his body. Somebody had run over him and killed him. I swear, it's like one of my dogs got run over. I had to come back to the house and get a shovel and bury him. I just hate it when a critter gets hurt.

So, now that I've completely killed your Friday buzz, I'll get back to the book. Consider this my once-a-blue-moon sad post.

Oh come on, people!

It's not as if I don't have enough to do already, what with baby/book project/day job and all that, but then some irritating reader has to go and give me a donation. So that means I have to log into Paypal and make two or three clicks! I don't have that kind of time, people! What am I supposed to be, Mr. Doeseverythinginfiveseconds Man? Holy Moses, cut me some slack here, would you?

In other words, a great big Sa-lute to Duncan M. for the tip! As always, I only use donations to buy more stuff for the site, so hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to eBay I go. Much obliged, DM!