The Eleven Minute Blonde

Anyone older than 42 is out of luck, and anyone younger than two - is lucky. That's the way this powdered hair dye works! You must be between those ages. Because by the time you're two, well - you'd better start thinking about how your hair's darkening. That's no good! That would be "old-looking." Of course, so's a toddler with a Jean Harlow peroxide job, but no matter...

So here's Blondex, a "fragrant powder" (oh goody, it doesn't stink!). Apparently those of us whose blonde hair darkened as they got older have a "dingy, dust-laden film" that Blondex will remove. This is akin to the men's Grecian-Formula type things that "restore your natural color" or "comb away grey." It isn't your true destiny to have dark blonde or light brown hair! You must lighten and brighten. Starting almost as soon as you have a full head of hair!

The two year old looks skeptical. She's the brains of the operation. She is also thinking that the 12 year old's bow is mighty silly. She may have to grab it.

The twelve year old has Blondexing for ten years, I guess. The frozen happy-face is a just a side effect. As is a desire to be the new 1940s model Shirley Temple.

The elderly-looking 22 year old is the happiest one of the bunch. She loves that Blondex all right. Her hair is unwaveringly blonde and can withstand a hurricane. That's happiness all right.

Finally, the 42 year old is - well, kind of thinking things over. She hasn't got much time left to be happy and blonde. Enjoy it while you can, once you hit 43 it'll be all over.

*****
I am very thrilled and pleased to tell you (hanging head modestly) that Kitchen Retro has been chosen as a SlogBite Featured Site. SlogBite is a terrific community of bloggers run by the amazing Mel Kaye, and I highly recommend that you go and check it out. There are lots of wonderful bloggers hanging out over there and it is a beautifully run place.

What The Ox Is Really Thinking

1. "This guy is the worst conversationalist I have ever seen!"

2. "And he claims to have won every staring contest he's ever had. Wow, I am SO impressed. Not."

3. "I guess he would've made a good snack, at least - except for the fact that someone marinated him in - what is that stuff called? - Vitalis."

4. "This advertisement is unfair to musk ox. I have gorgeous hair. But that's because I use Halo, of course. In the beautiful gold bottle."

Halo Kitty

A Susan Boyle moment of the mid-1950s: great singing voice, too bad about that hair.

Here we have two lovely, gossiping ladies (the 1954 version of internet commenters) saying: "Isn't it a pity about stringy-haired little Kitty!* The other Kallen kids are so cute!"

These ladies are pros. They can diss people in rhyme! They are the ones who should be up there in front of the microphone, doing a little ladylike retro rapping.

But it transpires that even Kitty thinks no one likes a singer with "gruesome hair." Honestly, Kitty, it looks OK to me. But once she discovers the right shampoo her hair "is as big a hit" as her voice. Which means - what, exactly? Does it sing too? Or rap?

Now, that would be worth buying a bottle of Halo for. Definitely.

[*Kitty Kallen was a popular singer of the 1940s and 50s, best known for her 1954 hit "Little Things Mean A Lot."]

Advertisement (1954) from Ad Access. There's a big version there, so you can read the whole saga if you like (if I make the images too big here, it'll take about an hour to load the site, so...I don't). But you can probably imagine it from here.

The Dreft Dodger

"Mom? Mom? Oh fine, she's hypnotized herself with that glass again. Now I can stop putting these stupid yellow dishes away and get back to my real work: hanging out the window yelling to my friends, inviting everyone over for drippy ice cream sundaes in my room, and putting makeup on the dog!"

Yes, Mother is so thrilled by Dishwashing Power and Beauty Mildness that she'll be out of commission for some time.

Just remember to get her out of that trance state in a hour because she needs to start production on the tuna noodle casserole. Otherwise it's TV dinners all around!

Guess where this slightly wrinkly ad is from. Oh, take a guess...Yeah, I'm still mining that archeological find. I've got plenty. And this is a huge improvement, wrinkle-wise, from the state it was in. Just saying!

Noxzema Haiku

A poor complexion
Is no reason to give up:
Spotty chins up, girls.

No need to look glum
As last week's Sunday paper
Left out in the rain.

Just buy a big pot
Of medicated white cream -
It's called Noxzema!

O wondrous potion
That makes unsightly skin glow
With happy smoothness!

Girls, this stuff is grand,
Life-changing for thousands who
Were thrilled beyond words!

So go out right now
And spend some money, honey:
Go buy lots and lots

Of you-know-what cream.
And very soon you will smile
Pretty much non-stop.

Yes, it is that good.
No, the supplies will not last:
Get cracking, sister.

******
Advertisement from Song Hits magazine, February 1942. So you could sing a little song on the way to the drugstore, you see. Through the paper bag over your head. You know the Before Girl is thinking about doing that.

The Picture Stays In the Ring

Think of all the fun you could have with this - you could use a candid photo of someone making a funny face, or eating spaghetti, or sticking their tongue out at the camera. That would make a nice ring!

Or you could use a photo of your cat. I would like that one, actually. Just send them a picture and a paper ring in your size. And then let's hope they don't just paste the photo on the paper ring and send it back.

Then after you get your ring you can start selling photo rings to all your friends and MAKE MONEY.

Please note that if you or your friends are Canadian they have to send an extra 48 cents. Why is that? Why the penalty for throwing the rings across the border? Are they tossing the packages across Niagara Falls? Are they portaging across the Canadian Shield? And why 48 cents rather than 50?

This 1942 advertisement is from my latest find - a magazine called Song Hits, which I found in a bin of sheet music in an old bookstore yesterday. It is full of bizarre lyrics to popular songs (one-hit wonders all, never to reappear again!), plenty of peculiar little ads, and a man on the cover making the funniest face I have seen in a long time (and that is saying something). I might scan that cover for tomorrow. The best $2.50 purchase ever! And I didn't even have to pay a 48 cent tax, since it was already here in Canada!

The Box From Another World

One day it just appeared on the coffee table. We weren't sure who had given us the black box, or why. "It might be from another dimension," Marvin said. I said he'd been watching too many bad movies.

Shiny, plastic, inscrutable, it sat on our coffee table. We left it there for days. Didn't talk much about it. Tried to ignore it. But there it sat - that black box. "Wonder what's in it," I said. "We'd better not open it," Marvin said. "Anything could be in there."

We puzzled over it. It really gave our brain cells a workout, I tell you. It sat there - sinister and waiting - for a week.

One day we just couldn't take the stress anymore. "I'm just going to flip that switch," I said. It was just making me mad, is all. It was driving us crazy. You don't know how crazy. We were fighting over little things. Couldn't sleep, thinking about the box. Making lists of who might've sent it. Maybe Marvin's Aunt Lucy, who had never forgiven him for leaving the milk out overnight all those years ago.

Maybe my old roommate Dolly, who liked practical jokes. She was always putting rubber spiders on my desk. "Maybe it's Dolly," I told Marvin finally. "I just have to know. Maybe there's a note inside. I'll bet it's her."

"Whoever sent it, I just want to know what's inside. Little puzzles, maybe. Or candy - maybe there is candy inside. Sometimes fancy chocolates, they come in a black box," I said. If it was candy, it wasn't from our world, I thought. That made me curious to see, so I flipped the switch and took a few steps back. We waited.

The box had began to jump. "Probably it isn't candy," I said. "Maybe Mexican jumping beans?" The lid rose slowly...very slowly. Marvin retreated to the doorway, ready to bolt.

And then the hand reached up out of the Mysterious Box. We stared at it, frozen.

It waved impatiently, like it was hailing an invisible taxi. "Hey you out there!...Yeah you, c'mon, come over here. I'm not gonna bite ya. Not unless you're a cookie! Har har....Speaking of which - you got anything good to eat?"

"You're a hand," I replied, trying to hide my dismay.

"It's not for me, folks. It's for him."

"The big intellectual genius in here." The hand made a huffing sound. It jabbed a thumb downwards. "He's been thinking inside the box for too long. He says it makes him hungry."

Marvin muttered "OK, I'm out of here." Didn't see him for three weeks after that, either.

"Well - um, OK. What does he like?" I said. "We have some leftover clam dip, I think."

"Nope, no good, sorry Charlie! What else? Desserts, how about desserts? He likes chocolate chip cookies. Even graham crackers would do, in a pinch."

"Sorry. We ate up all the Chips Ahoy last night. But I do have some Jell-O salad, I think. It's called Ring-Around-The-Tuna."

The hand shuddered, and made a - well, a very rude gesture. Then it grabbed the switch, turned it to OFF and slid back into the box, slamming the lid behind it.

I didn't want to touch the box but I wasn't staying in the room with it either. Went in the kitchen and had a look at the Ring-Around-The-Tuna. It was a "beautiful jewel-like entree salad," that what it had said in The Joys of Jell-O. But it was also a powerful weapon against the unknown and unseen.

The Jell-O salad shimmered strangely, looking more luminous than when I had made it - I was sure of that. It was positively glowing. Something was happening. And things were going to be different around the house from now on. I was sure of that, too.

Bee Hive Yourself

For ACTIVE people...a great source of food energy!

...Yeah, and it's also a great source of energy for hyperactive people, too! I mean, just take a look at what is going on over there on the right.

This gentleman clearly does not need to be consuming any Bee Hive Corn Syrup. In fact, it might be wise to keep him away from sugar of any kind, altogether.

And also away from the furniture, come to think of it.

I really don't like the perky look in his eye. And he doesn't seem to be holding the axe properly, from the little I know (I have watched other people split firewood so, yes, big expert here!)

Also, the can of corn syrup is roughly the same size as the tree trunk. We really need to take that away, too. That's going to be split in two next.

This slightly wrinkly ad is from the 1950 newspaper that was in the basement floor joists until last month, when it was recovered during an archeological expedition which was taking place alongside some renovations. I am going to be ironing and scanning the rest of the paper later today. I hope I can get more wrinkles out than I did with this hyper woodsman and his axe.

An Oily Warning

Dear Beauty Expert:

I am a married woman with a big problem. And his name is Waldo.

Waldo thinks he is some kind of Valentino clone and is constantly giving moody smouldering looks to other girls when we are out at nightclubs and parties. And as you can see from the enclosed photo-bubble, those little floozies are not exactly telling him to go fly a kite!

I have tried everything, Beauty Expert. I have dyed my hair the exact color of a corn muffin. I am a heavy makeup user. I am charming and refined in my celery velvet lounging pajamas. And not only am I gorgeous, but practical, too: I made them out of the boudoir curtains.

Tell me, what can I do to attract Waldo's attention once and for all?

Signed, Miffed in Manhattan

My dear Miffed,

First of all, go straight out and buy a case of Palmolive soap. Then wash your face with it. Wash it a lot. That ought to impress him, as well as make a dent in the pancake makeup you have got going on there. I am sure you will both feel better when you're down to the last layer - don't you?

But you will probably need to follow this up with something a little less subtle.

So the next time you go to the Stork Club, and Waldo starts making eyes at that saucy minx at the next table - try throwing a bar of Palmolive at him (wrapped or unwrapped, that is up to you). Because not only is Palmolive full of oils that make your skin divinely soft, they are just the right size for a glancing blow.

That will make him notice you, all right!

Yours very truly,
A Beauty Expert

[From Ad Access, 1932]

The Emperor Of Jell-O Ice Cream

Comedian Jack Benny wants to know if he likes ice cream. Well, Mary, does he? Of course he does!

And Mary, do you like that plaid jacket? Maybe not so much as Jell-O Freezing Mix, which is New and Amazing. Jack's jacket, on the other hand, is Old and Appalling.

Jack Benny (1894-1974) was a famous comedian in vaudeville, radio, TV and films. At the time of this ad in the late 1930s, he and his wife, Mary Livingstone (a cousin of the Marx Brothers, and a comedienne in her own right), were starring in the very popular radio show, The Jack Benny Program. Jack was especially known for his violin playing and his comic timing. According to Wikipedia, one of his trademark phrases was (are you ready?) "Well!" I am disappointed that he is not saying that here. Because that is the perfect response to Jell-O mix that is whipped up with some cream and stuck in the freezer."Well! Will you look at that...frozen stuff."

That frozen stuff came in "six gorgeous flavors" with varying degrees of authenticity about them. The fruit is real, the walnuts in the stuff Mary's whipping up, they're real. Also the vanilla. But the maple flavor? Sorry, it is fake. But then, this is really not ice cream. It is Jell-O pretend ice cream:

Let Jack Benny's jacket shout its loudest hello/ The only emperor is the emperor of Jell-O.

It's still National Poetry Month, you know...but I promise I won't do this every single day. This advertisement is from the Canadian newspaper Saturday Night, August 1939.

The Telltale Skin

Telltale skin - if only Edgar Allen Poe had known about this product, he could have written a dark story about it. But he didn't, did he? So we'll be moving on.

First of all, is this guy 30 or 50? Let's take the average and say he's 40. I guess he looks all right for 40. Sort of boring and smirky, but this ad is from Esquire in 1966. He probably looked good in that context.

He may want to consider skipping the Brylcreem, though. Or perhaps he put Shape-Up in his hair. It does look "excessively moisturized." In other words, greasy.

And that Shape-Up stuff doesn't seem to prevent him from wrinkling up his forehead. Speaking of "telltale skin that shouts 'old before your time!'" That forehead certainly is shouting "old before his time!" I can hear it from here.

The ad also says that male skin is more fibrous - like they all had coconuts for heads. That girl behind the guy is thinking: Darling, you have a complexion like a sisal mat! Well, here's a bottle of cosmetic shellac for you. From Baxter's of California! In a BIG bottle. Because you need to use it round-the-clock. Forever!

And "facial depletion" - that's right out of a horror movie, isn't it? Edgar Allen needs to get on this concept right away! And he could be the next model for Shape-Up, too - because, well, take a look at his 'Before' shot. This is probably just what Poe needed!

You Will Roux the Day

She's being brave about it, you can tell. The tight smile, the tenseness in the eyebrows (or perhaps that's just an excess of eyebrow pencil).

What can you do with Roux Shampoo, exactly? Aside from rhyme a little, that is. And make bad puns.

Make gumbo, perhaps. Or some sort of white sauce. "Oh my, that stew does look lighter and brighter - and - and richer, dear - but I just ate. Really."

They still make Roux shampoo, as you can see right over here. The Roux crew also make a hair-color mousse called Fanci-Full, which I remember seeing years ago on the bottom shelf of the hair-color section in the drugstore. That's where you find all the oddball stuff, like Dippity-Doo hair gel. Which rhymes, of course, with Roux. And, uh, shampoo.

All women who think "they can do it,"
What ever it is, they will Roux it:
Then to make some amends
They will gel the split ends
But Dippity Doo tends to glue it.

Happy National Poetry Month, and all that.

This splendid 1960s ad is from Hairfinder.

Hills Like Short Paragraphs

His name was Barrett, he said. He sat down at the table. I was waiting for the train to Pamplona and drinking the wine.

"This is good wine," I said.

The waiter brought Barrett some wine. He drank. "Yes, it is good," he said.

"But I have no money for the wine," I said.

"I can teach you how to make money."

"Really." I looked at the hills, in the distance. They were big and square. Like typewriters, I thought. Except that they had no keys. Maybe they were more like rocks.

Barrett was speaking. "You can write short paragraphs. I know plenty of editors. I tell you what to write. And where to write."

"Where will I write?"

"You can get a room at the local inn."

"But I am waiting for the train to Pamplona. I'm going over those hills over there. The ones that look like big grey rocks."

"No no no no. You mean, like white elephants." He paused. Frowned. Then he pointed at my notebook, which was closed. "Write that down," he said.

"Who are you again? Do I know you?" I said. I stood up and looked down the track. No train in sight. Also no money. So I sat down again.

I said, "Promise me one thing."

"Depends what it is," he said. He drank some more wine. Then he belched. He thought I didn't hear, but I did.

"Promise me that there's no tedious study."

"There won't be."

"And tell me about the checks."

"They will be small, and in a hurry. And there will be many. And they will add up quickly." He paused. "They will bring cash," he said at last.

"All right," I said.

But then Barrett stood up. He threw some coins on the table. "Write to me in Chicago," he said. Then he walked away. I never saw him again.

Charmed to the Teeth

I found a nice charm school for the Face-elle girl from yesterday's post!* She'll have to commute from Windsor to Toronto, but the opportunity to study with Eleanor Fulcher is just too good to resist.

For 4 Exciting Weeks she can learn all sorts of things. Well, four things. I guess that's one per week. And there's a menu right on the ad so that the charmless, gormless students can choose their very own combo plates from the following: Figure, Walking, Skin Care, Make-Up, Hairstyling, Wardrobe, Hand Care, Etiquette, Voice and Poise.

If you don't learn how to Walk, how do they teach you Poise? Are you only going to be poised when posed in a chair? And if you choose Skin Care but not Hand Care, does Miss Fulcher make you wear mittens? So many questions...

But the results speak for themselves. That's quite a dramatic Before and After. In fact, it looks like those are two entirely different women. The one on the left is Awkward and Unsure, supposedly - though she looks pretty sure to me. After Girl is Poised and Confident. That's because she has had a nose job and is wearing two inches of solid makeup. They both look happy, though. That must be because they are enjoying Modern, Air-Conditioned Comfort - in the middle of December. The Art of Faking Smiles must be a prerequisite for the course.

Eleanor and Co. are still around and their website is over yonder. This ad is from the Toronto Star, November 1963.

* Thank you so much to my pal Hairball for inspiring this post!

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

Do you want to know a secret? Well, do you?

Depends on what it is. There aren't any secrets about nose-blowing that would enhance my life, no. Although this perky gal on the right would disagree.

Is there really anyone still on the other end of this phone, listening to Mitzi ramble on and on and ON about her obsession with ersatz Kleenex?

Face-elle made these plushy, velvetty, "completely Canadian" gems in its "newly-enlarged mill" - so says the tiny print under the banner. They must have needed the extra space down at the mill because Face-elle are the size of luxury hand towels!

Mitzi doesn't even know the SECRET of Face-elle tissues, she only knows that they are "wonderfully different." Wonderfully different than what, an elephant? A TV dinner? The telephone? Who knows.

What we do know is that they are Softerized and "Melobonded for super strength." Just like Superman - he has super strength too! Perhaps this is what he uses when he has a super sniffle.

And then Mitzi says, "they won't 'blow through' even with the gustiest sneeze." She's quite the conversationalist, is she not? It is probably just at that point that the person on the other end gently hangs up the phone and tiptoes away, shuddering slightly.

This gem is from the Windsor Star, 1959 (that's Windsor, Ontario, by the way).

The Bronze Age

It's profitable, fun and free
This retro opportunity
Just send your address to LA
Start now, you must obey, they say.

And thus they will enlighten you
On how to bronze a baby shoe;
O glorious business - when you're done
You'll be both rich and having fun!

But though the head asks not for dough,
Don't be so sure he's in the know:
His source of fun and good advice
Has trouble spelling "metallize."

I do not like those little shoes,
I wish that they would just vamoose,
And toddle off some other place,
And take away that creepy face.

Why do these floating heads all work
Endorsing products for some jerk
Who wants to sell us retro trash
In order to amass some cash?

But worst of all, they send a shoe.
Where did they get that shoe all new?
Or what is worse, a worn-out one:
Not profitable and not fun.

Night School Confidential!

Someone needs a holiday. Maybe a sabbatical, come to think of it.

The Bourn-Vita is made by Cadbury's - does that mean it's like a chocolate bar? They say you "sleep sweeter," so it must be. That would be great, wouldn't it? As long as it didn't have a messy caramel filling, because that tends to get on the sheets. And the globe. And her notes. And then she'd probably want to get up and run the washing machine. Which would defeat the purpose of the Bourn-Vita.

I just want to know whether her husband is sitting at the little molded chair-desk she has in the bedroom, taking notes and trying to look interested. He'd better - there's going to be a pop quiz at 2:30, just before math class.

Many thanks to Amy for the ad, from the New Zealand women's magazine My Home (1955).

Potato Chip Haiku

Golden Flake floozies,
You are dressed for fun all right
In that crinkly sack,

Like a tinfoil dress
Whipped up by Rudi Gernreich
That is one mod bag.

Cooked up by an F,
Who wears a little apron
And waves a big fork.

I doubt that letters
Moonlight as junk food pushers -
This is quite dubious.

These Red Seal chips
Are like rowdies at the hop -
Light, fresh and noisy,

And delicious too!
So says a cartoon squirrel
Who's smaller by half

Than these falling chips
With their strange red undersides,
Whose main selling point

Is this new package
Of bright primary colors
Pretense of newness -

But ultimately
You open the bag and think:
Relax, they're just chips.


Thank you so much Heather for the inspiring ad.

Paper Plate Tectonics

"You'd never think they were paper..."

Au contraire, madame! I think we all can see that they're paper plates. Because:

1. China plates don't tend to be shrink-wrapped in packs of twenty.

2. And fine china is not found in the grocery store on the same shelf as plastic knives and forks.

3. Or, in fact, in the grocery store at all (unless it comes in a box of detergent - we'll get to that later this weekend, if I can find the scan).

Having said all that, they are a useful product. You can do plenty more with Royal Chi-net plates besides serve cook's Beef Wellington on them! You can use them as falsies, just like Mrs. Knickerbocker over there on the right, who clearly has a sense of humor about the whole thing - absolutely a prerequisite for this fashion trend. Mind the plate dividers, though.

Many thanks to Uh...Bob at Flickr for the ad.

Ultra Tiresome Wireless

Well, Mike - you certainly won't be making any meaningful connections with people once you start using this wireless nightmare.

As for hookups - uh uh, not gonna happen.

That's because you'll be walking around everywhere - parties, the office, campsites, the movie theater - and, as they say, "your voice comes booming through." Won't that be swell!

Ultra-Mike is not a toy- it's a rugged, scientifically engineered transmitter in mike form that gives high fidelity - performance.

They hesitated there, didn't they? They're not sure if it's a performance or - something else...Noise pollution? Civil disobedience? Violation of municipal by-law? You be the judge!

This has got to be the final, frightening endpoint of fun-with-microphones ads, doesn't it? Ultra-Mike was the Godzilla of proto-karaoke. There couldn't have been anything more mobile, more obnoxious - could there?

Advertisement from 1948. For a review of the increasingly menacing microphones, please see:

The Life of the Party
Hey Kids! Let's Put On A Show!

The Accidental Investigator

If you are an amateur man, you can change that in a hurry. You can learn to be expert in the Ways of Guys.

Plus you can become the Sam Spade of your social circle. That too.

Men are urgently needed to interview women sitting up in bed, simpering. What sort of accident would this be? One waiting to happen, no doubt. That guy in the picture isn't even taking any notes. Maybe he's sketching her. Or doodling. I don't know what's going on here, but it isn't professional and it certainly isn't any kind of investigation.

But the FREE book will reveal all: the highly inflated projected income, the empty promises of a company car and expense account. And you don't really need to study much or leave your house to get all this, either. You could just have a nice nap in the Barcalounger while you train for this high-powered new career. I guess your cat could do it, too. Maybe you two could team up and become cartoon detectives.

A classic scam ad with more trimmings than a turkey dinner from a 1964 Startling Detective. Your first case is to find the identity of the big turkey in the dinner. First try searching the mirror over by the Barcalounger.

The Cooking Party

A cooking party
Is one big oxymoron.
A party's a thing

Where you get dressed up
And go out somewhere fancy,
Snacks already made.

If I really want
A so-called cooking party
I know what to do -

Go in the kitchen
At that hour in the evening
When the city lights

Begin to glitter
Like tin foil on leftovers,
And talk to the stove.

It's in the corner
Looking a little bit bored,
Not good at mingling.

I say: how you doin'?
Got anything going on?
What's up with dinner?

But it is silent.
The fridge is chattier though,
Buzzing something like:

You come here often?
Yes, I answer, every day.
Party at my house!

But when I combine
The words cooking and party
That equals takeout.

The Atlantic City Matador

Joe Smith wanted to impress and puzzle his friends. Which called for drastic measures, since the electric bow tie didn't really do either of those things. And that had been - up to now - the best idea he'd had.

Spencer Gifts came charging to the rescue with this fabulous offer. Spencer promised that everyone's reaction to the above will not be (a) uncontrollable, hysterical laughter but, in fact, (b) hushed, admiring remarks like, "Joe Smith has lived dangerously!" And that is the whole point of the Genuine Bullfight Poster: genuine awe. Because it's a genuine poster, made of real paper. It's just got a fake name or two on it - and is completely, laughably misleading, that's all.

But Joe just wanted to be "the first matador in his set" - all those "bull-throwing friends" of his. But no one threw bull as well as Joe. And when his friends got an eyeful of this poster - well, they were completely confused. Astonished. "Gosh," they said, "We thought Joe was a used-car salesman...but apparently, when we thought he was going to all those Ford conventions in Des Moines he was really in Spain fighting bulls!"

Now Joe really only got as far as Atlantic City - that is where he had this delightful poster made. And he remembered to get George to send some postcards from Barcelona, just to impress his friends a little bit more.

Soon they all wanted to be pretend matadors. And that livened up the local cocktail party circuit. Red capes flying, martini glasses keeling over as middle-aged suburban males charged around someone's living room, pretending they were in a sunbaked bullring.

Just mind the coffee table, boys. And the hi fi speakers. Oh, and the bowl of onion dip....never mind. Too late. Just make sure you hide the Waterford punch bowl before Joe sees it.

Playing The Saw

This 1948 ad startled me, since I had never heard of such a thing. And "voice-like beauty"? Well, I could not imagine that. But then I went off to You Tube and sure enough there were loads of clips of people playing the saw, and saw-playing tutorials. The things you learn on YouTube!

According to Wikipedia there were 10 companies manufacturing musical saws in the early 20th century. And did you know that Marlene Dietrich was a sawyer (as they are called) and played the saw both in Berlin and for the troops in World War II? Tom Waits and Sarah McLachlan are among the modern artists who have used the saw in their music.

Here's a Norwegian commercial for Christmas grogg, starring Natalia Paruz, the "Saw Lady," whose site is linked below. She is very gracious to the grogg guy in the silver jacket, don't you think?And the saw really does have a strange, haunting vocal sound.



Natalia Paruz, the "Saw Lady," has a most informative website, if you want to learn more. And if you're in New York you can go to the NYC Saw Festival - it's in July.

Quantum of Solis

Well, that certainly looks painful. The comb thingie is stuck right in and it's going to be nigh on impossible to get it out. And it does not look anything "like magic on the hair" to me.

As usual with these ads, key words are capitalized. Because, naturally, we are all too dumb to get the point without being hit over the head with it. Moe, Larry and Curly were pretending to be copywriters the day the Solis guys came around. It's like magic, honest - nyuk nyuk nyuk!

Curly was especially impressed with this comb. And Moe's probably the guy holding it in the ad - he's a real professional.

And will it really, truly SAVE time and ENHANCE my hair? Why, soitinly, lady!**

So send coupon now! Now! East or West, we don't care...and please note the Western Solis capital is Chicago. That is one happening town, Chicago.

Solis Comb ad from Hairfinder.

** The Three Stooges were hairdressers in the 1940 short, Cookoo Cavaliers. Really terrible, awful hairdressers (not surprisingly).

A Wooden Performance

Results guaranteed! Yes, something will happen. In either 60 or 90 days. Who knows what it'll be. But - something...

Mr. Maher guarantees many things. You will Make Money! Be Popular! Have Fun! Big Opportunity! And you will be the next Edgar Bergen, no doubt about it, soon you'll have your own radio show, TV series, be in the movies! Look how happy you could be, smiling maniacally, giving a creepy wooden mannequin the opportunity to do his (or your) Don Rickles impression. I can imagine how popular you will be, having this kind of fun.

But you will be very happy (even if no one in your house is). And very successful. Though your stage appearances may well be limited to Eddie's Banquet Hall over by the railroad tracks. And as for the radio, you might be broadcasting from the attic using one of these.

Now, for FREE Mr. Maher will send you his price list and his "terms"(which sounds ominous) - what a bargain. The Dummy Catalog is going to set you back a quarter, but who wouldn't want a Dummy Catalog? It would be such a great conversation piece, even if you didn't agree to Maher's "terms." You do have to be of legal age, though. Maybe it has to do with the jokes. That does sound fun!

But wait...which one is Mr. Maher? - the cheery bespectacled Babbitt on the right - or the wooden guy on the left? I'll bet is IS the the one on the left. One can only imagine what his "terms" are. He has a dangerous glint in his eye...

Advertisement from Popular Mechanics, November 1959.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Dishcloth

Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out like some groovy guy
Trying to act mod in front of the fire,

Let us find a certain dark suburban lair
With brick fireplace and not a single chair:
A boring evening full of cheap white wine,
Followed by a compulsion to malign,
Ending up later in a tedious argument
About the laundry and the rent;

Such that you in a red caftan
And him in a sort of half-tan
Are staring at some overwhelming tschotcke

Oh do not ask, what is it?
It's an ashtray or a trivet.

Somewhere in space, about to fall
Off the yellow dishwasher is a box of All.

How To Have More Fun In Bed

First, the implied insult: you don't really have much fun in bed, do you? Know what you need? A large plastic overhead device!

Oh, and you should be wearing full stage makeup. And your bedroom should be a black box, sort of like a darkroom.

Got all that? Excellent. Now you're ready to get your wallet out and buy this amazing life-changing Thing:

...So there you are, reading that Big Book of Girls' Adventure Stories - or maybe that new mystery novel, The Haunted Mascara Wand. And you finished the box of Saltines, so you can't have a thrilling snack. What's a gal to do?

Well, if you only had this scintillating Bed Lamp-Radio, - you would be having the time of your life there in bed. It looks like it could also be used as a self-tanning device. Or an oven vent, in case you feel like bringing the camp stove over and start making s'mores. After all, you're a girl who craves excitement and fun!

"Luxurious bedtime fun" in "gleaming plastic" - the possibilities are endless. For jokes, too. I know what you're all thinking, because I am too. But in the words of that purple philosopher, Barney, "Use your imagination!" (Which I did, when he used to be on TV, sullying the airwaves with songs and parables even more annoying than cars that whistle and give out electric shocks. But that, as they say, is another story).

Speaking of excitement and fun, the Bed Lamp-Radio comes complete with "the luxury of the Mitchell lullaby." This is where it gets really fun, doesn't it? Because - who's Mitchell? Who invited him ? That seems to be him, down in the lower left hand corner. He looks amiable enough, though exciting is not the first word that springs to mind.

And why is he singing? Is that all he does? Does he magically appear when you install the Bed Lamp-Radio, like Jeannie in I Dream of Jeannie? They should have made a 50s sitcom out of this. I Dream of Mitchell! Makeup Gal would be his boss, and make him get her snacks and do all the housework.

Advertisement (1949) from Duke University's Ad Access.