In the Nightmare Kitchen

You've never seen anything like it!

That's right. And I never want to see anything like it ever again. This is straight out of a Maurice Sendac nightmare, this - this thing watching you, eyes shifting right and left constantly, as you try to coordinate your dinner preparations.

And then, when you are completely stressed out, and all the pots are boiling over - his hat alarm goes off. B-R-R-I-N-G!!

Let's just hope he can't hop across the room and start giving you what-for like a mechanized Gordon Ramsey.

Another fabulously weird product from retro Chicago - ad from Billboard, April 11, 1953.

Make Way For Weaklings

Oh, I think I know what your job is, Mr. Atlas.

It is standing at a table in your bathing suit, making dolls that look just like you.

This is an "actual photo" of Charles Atlas, grinning at his craft table, you see. The skinny dolls are on the right, and the little Charles Atlases are over on the left.

The All-Over Muscle and Strength and Energy come out of little pots. I don't know whether he dips them in the pots, or paints the stuff on them with brushes.

It takes about 15 minutes per doll, apparently. I do not want to let him make ME a new man though - I don't want some new little man running around the house! Our cats would probably terrorize him - I don't care how much Strength goo he has been shellacked with.

Maybe the little weakling dolls have to pay their money first. But it doesn't look like they have all that much extra cash. Where are their wallets? Hard to say. And their money is - well, tiny. Tinier than Monopoly money, even. I don't think Charles Atlas will be smiling quite so much when he tries to collect his fees from them, do you?

Advertisement from Popular Mechanics, June 1946.

Pudding On the Ritz

When you're blue and you
don't know what to serve next
Why don't you go and get this fix -
Pudding in a mix!

Or, of course, you could just put pudding on a Ritz - chocolate would probably go best with a Ritz cracker. Don't laugh, Betty Crocker probably made these all the time after she got off work. She was too tired to cook anything fancy. Speaking of which....

Jell-O Pudding is the subject of this strange little commercial from the 50s. First let's watch the commercial, and then let it inspire us to make fancy desserts very quickly!



Yes, we've probably all been on that particular treadmill, haven't we? But I never had a baby levitate up to the ceiling, as far as I can remember.

All right, time for dessert. Jell-O Pudding mix had a fancy cousin back in the day called Whip-N-Chill (also made by the Jell-O people), and you could make many extraordinary things out of it. The Whip-N-Chill cookbook says so! These are magical, extraordinary desserts!

Take this Strawberry Sparkle, for example. The pudding bit is easy, just like that commercial says. Put powder in bowl, add milk, beat it for awhile. But then! Then you add the sparkle, because Strawberry is not magical enough on its own. It's got to sparkle! This entails going off and making some strawberry Jell-O and then - get this - putting it through a ricer!

This must be the sort of thing that put the treadmill lady over the edge. When you find yourself ricing Jell-O, it really is time to take a break - even from instant pudding.

Let's all chill out, and I'll see you tomorrow!

The Ballad of Pie Plate Salad

There is a Sad Café somewhere,
The subject of this ballad
And if you end up there for lunch
You might get Pie Plate Salad.

The menu features foods which are
Quite Gross, yet Quick and Easy
Ensconced in horrid see-through gel
Which makes a person queasy.

Oh, Pie Plates that in kitchens lurk
What wicked impulse must
Fill them with this revolting gel
Instead of fruit and crust?

Who, tell me who, thinks this is food,
Where horrid veggies gleam
Under a clear top layer, like
Bits of a scary dream?

Perhaps a housewife sick of kitchen,
Pot and salad spinner,
Who said: I'll give them something new,
And take revenge on dinner!

Or maybe the admen took advice
From some facetious granny
Who cooked this horror up for fun,
To make what's canned uncanny.

And so if you should see this Pie
Pity the hapless diner,
And then escape by foot or car
Plane, bus or ocean liner.


This beautiful and inspiring ad is from Janet, via JB Curio.

Imitation Of Lifebuoy

Another day, another relationship saved by a bar of soap! And this time, the stakes are higher than a pair of dishpan hands.

Also, the whole family is getting involved. Sticking their nose in, so to speak. The doctor seems to be the uncle of the woman tattling on Jim and Myra. But he also seems to know Jim and Myra too. Really, he shouldn't be gossiping about people like this. Tell Louella Parsons here to stop!

But no. He loves it. And he is seeing patients in his tuxedo for some reason. All they need are a couple of cocktails. Maybe the nurse could shake up some martinis in the tongue-depressor jar for them. Just as long as she remembers to take the tongue depressors out first.

Anyway, Myra's busybody friend/sister/mother is telling Dr. Tux that Myra's given Jim the boot "because he's a little careless about 'BO.'"

Dr. Tux agrees that this shows deep moral failings on Jim's part and who knows what else he's careless with. You have to make an effort in a marriage, for heaven's sake! And not stinking is pretty high on the list.

Jim just hadn't thought of it like that. So who knows what other foibles he is concealing? Hmmm....

Then, Uncle Tux says well, he likes Jim (from a distance) so he'll have a wee word with him. Probably on the telephone.

Jim is the sadsack in the hat, middle row right. Boy, gosh and golly, he had NO idea! "Wow, that was plain talk from the doctor!" I'll bet it was, too.

Cut to the shower scene. Bar of soap, lots of lather, enormous happiness. Although it does take a whole year for the now-happy couple to assure the doctor that everything is copacetic.

Why did it take a year? Well, I noticed something weird in the last picture. Take a look at the doctor's face, as he sits downwind of Jim's bent arm!

And Myra - goodness, she doesn't look all that thrilled either. What is going on? I sense trouble. Jim is oblivious (as always). The doctor and Myra are giving each other a look. Something's gone wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Another fabulous ad (circa 1935) from Ad Access.

A Little Too Fresh

He's fresh-up with Seven-Up. And she - well, she is fresh too - fresh out of luck. No more blind dates for her!

Yes, the problems are certainly piling up, and not just on the table:

I suppose it's the kind of Bad Date where she's just sort of given up and starts laughing, with a tinge of hysteria, because she never dreamed that Clyde would turn out to be so - so weird.

He spent the first hour of the date talking and talking - and talking - about his many problems. Did he even think to ask how her algebra final went? Or whether she liked Sinatra's latest record? I don't think so!

And now he's demonstrating what his many, many problems look like, in his head. They look like notebooks and hamburgers and drinking straws and possibly a few cookies. Also, a few earrings on a plastic rod.

It's best not to ask why he brought all this rigamarole with him. Just smile. And maybe take your hands away from your ears. I'm sure he'll quiet down once he's finished building his little Palace of Despair.

The white socks with the all-black ensemble, that's another problem. But not as big a problem as the spatial ones. Because they've managed to find a diner with chairs and tables in three dimensions - but with a counter, a jukebox and presumably the food and drink - in only two.

Except for the shimmering green bottles of 7 Up. Of course. Because they are special and can transform from one dimension of space to another. That's some high-energy drink, huh? They have been coaxed from the faint and terrified counterman, who is trying to hide behind a menu. And the ad (see link below for the big version) tells us that after a bottle of 7 Up, in 2 to 6 minutes exactly, you will have tons of new energy.

Just what Clyde needs, more energy. How about the counterman make him something to slow him down, like a big glass of milk. And a turkey sandwich, full of tryptophan. He really needs to cool it.

Because they probably are not on planet Earth at this point. Even if they are, and even if she has a whole purseful of Mad Money, the laughing girl is really going to have a hard time getting a cab to take her back to reality.

******

Many thanks to Tom Cook at Retro Ads and Graphics for this amazing ad. Speaking of amazing, his site is - well, totally amazing! Please go take a look, if you love retro ads (and graphics) you are in for a fabulous treat.

Thing One and Thing Two

I've got two things for you today. Just like Thing One and Thing Two in The Cat in the Hat, only easier on the furniture:

Thing #1: life is going to get a little bit chaotic over the next week or so - and I will be rather like the Cat in the Hat juggling all those things while bouncing on a ball - the cups and cakes and little toy boats. You know the kind of time I mean.

However - I have kitsch and retro posts aplenty for you! But the dear old Entrecard drops may not happen as much as I'd like, so apologies in advance and I will be back up to speed by the middle of next week. I'll try and check in once a day and answer comments. I love your comments exceedingly, you know - it's such a treat to read them! If you could only see me laughing and trying not to spit coffee on my keyboard.

Oh, and also...

...Thing#2: I have a third blog now. Like a third eye, only not! Because there are actually other things I like besides retro ads and Victorian weirdness - and so The Doubletake is going to be total miscellany and, I hope, fun too. There are a few posts over there, and I'm slowly linking the blog up with things. But like I said, I'm going to be orbiting-the-ceiling busy for a few days so things won't totally be up to speed for awhile.

What sort of things will I be doing a doubletake over? Urban legends, slang, weird news (there's a Doubletake archive from 2007 which I'll put up, it was going to be an all-weird-news site then), maybe book reviews, old and new celeb stuff. Things I think are cool and interesting, because if I don't find it entertaining, it stands to reason that you probably won't.

Oh, and I might do some really bad recipes over there, like the original Kitchen Retro. So there will be a bit of retro. Just not, you know, all the time. That lady in the top righthand corner is retro, of course. She's from a 1947 camera ad and that will be my EC avatar, when I get around to that. And I got the Cat in the Hat picture from NPR.

Height Increase Bureau: Confidential!

The Retro Scam of the Week: grow one or two inches taller for the low, low price of fifteen cents!

The name of the organization is priceless, though: the Height Increase Bureau. It was in Brampton, Ontario. It probably was just the PO Box, really. Maybe the people working there were really tiny and the PO Box was their office. Which would be kind of ironic, don't you think?

The Height Bureaucrats had a fantastic, breakthrough method of making you tall - quick, safe, natural, blah blah blah. You would not be exhausted by exercise. So no stretching oneself on a rack. And yet, no elevators were involved! Not elevator shoes, elevators. So perhaps the Method involved taking the stairs?

Yet that can be exhausting and it is certainly exercise. A conundrum, indeed.

No elevators, no drugs, no appliances. OK, well - what IS it, this amazing secret? Sorry, all Height Increase Bureau undertakings are strictly confidential! But if you sent a dime and a nickel they promised to airmail Proof (with a capital P).

If only we knew what sort of Proof it was. I suspect that they didn't even know, really.

This is from an early 1970s comic book from my collection (which consists of one comic book).

Stranger On A Train

Roy? Excuse me, Roy? We have just - a tiny problem here.

The engineer can't get the train moving. Why? Um, that's because you're sitting on it, sir.

Could someone please get him to stop shouting "Yippee!" and come down from there? We really need to get out of the station. We're an hour behind schedule, and the folks up in the club car are awful tired of looking out the window and seeing a giant trouser leg.

1951 ad, from Ad Access.

Joke Ties and Their Relation To the Unconscious

This is just what I'll be getting Dr. Freud for Christmas...Because, as you know, it's so hard to shop for psychoanalysts. They don't really just come out and say what they want. They veil things. They say: what do you think I want for a present? And honestly, that makes it tough when you're making out a nice shopping list.

Men roar - women shriek. Must be some terrific party. Or group therapy. One or the other. And all because of the wondrous Snake Bow Tie.

On the surface, it is just an ordinary, tacky checkered bow tie. But when you squeeze the little hidden thingie on the string there (that is the technical term, I believe), a toy snake jumps out. Lots of fun symbolism there. Lots to talk about. Listen to the girls shriek with horror and squeal with delight. Uh, OK. But - I just remembered...My social persona and I have another appointment downtown - gotta run. This was great, we'll have to do it again sometime. Say goodbye to the snake for me, will you?

From Billboard, June 28, 1952.

Note: I thought I might have used the title pun before and well, my subconscious was right: here's an ancient Kitchen Retro post about starch. And corn syrup. I'm glad it was all below the level of consciousness, whatever that means in this case. I'm not even sure I know.

À Votre Lontay

Look at the expression on the model's face. She is not in a happy mood at all. It's Monday morning times a hundred, with a styrofoam cup of weak coffee and some burnt toast to go!

Her eyebrows are different colors and sizes, for a start. As for her hair - well, let's hope it is just one of Barbie's castoff wigs, because it looks like it is thinking about getting its own makeover and running off to California. And it is going to need its own makeover, certainly. Its lefthand side in particular is just poised to bolt when the cameraman isn't looking.

In other words, the photo contradicts the premise of the ad, which boils down to:

(a) Restyling can be easy.

(b) Anyone can be an Expert.

Restyling clearly is very hard, we can all see that. That hair isn't straightened, nor is it on straight. I really doubt that people were lining up to pay $20 for the Lontay treatment - that was a lot of money in the early 1960s.

And can anyone be an Expert? They didn't say what kind of expert, so that could be true. We all have something we're pretty good at. It just isn't usually hair-straightening.

The Expert who styled the model's hair was possibly a local soda jerk, expert in milkshakes and ice cream scooping. Or perhaps it was the cameraman, who knows how to load film into a Kodak but was baffled by the tubes and jars of Lontay. Or perhaps it was old Dr. Stegistaurus down at the Museum of Ancient History. He's an expert, all right. Just not about hairstyling.

Whoever it was, they ought to watch their back, because Miss Lontay looks dangerously annoyed. And as soon as that wiglet runs off to seek fame and fortune, she'll be ready to seek revenge.

[Advertisement from Hairfinder]

Visions of Arthur

Arthur Rhodes is a fellow from Lowell, Massachusetts - just like Jack Kerouac. Call Rhodes the Kerouac of Hair Dye, then.

He has had "forty years' European American experience." Wait a minute. Was he experiencing things in America, or in Europe? Presumably the former, since he's hanging out in Lowell, which last time I checked is not a suburb of Paris or Rome.

Arthur thinks you will like his hair dye because is is not a "messy mixture" - though it is sort of like hair tonic. And hair tonic is - kind of messy.

Also if "it can't leave stains" how does Arthur's non-messy mixture actually dye your hair? Because it has to leave some sort of color, somewhere. Still, Arthur is the Hair Color Expert, he ought to know. He even wrote that best-selling book All About Gray Hair. It's his version of On the Road, only with dandruff.

Ad from Argosy, February 1940.

The Spork In the Road

Yes, the Spork tin has hit the road all right. It is in the road because it is running away from a life of limits in Spork Falls, the strange little town with a condiment obsession that features in that noted soap opera you never heard of, As The Cake Stand Turns.

And here is the home economist it is running away from. Because she wants to turn it into a salad! And terrible supper dishes. And also many other horrible things.

Here is the handbook that she uses to whip up her sinister preparations. Are you feeling queasy and frightened yet? Do you feel that perhaps - just perhaps - the Spork Lady is behind some of the strange behaviour of the townspeople?

It could very well be. It was a mere coincidence that Spork Falls (named for fictitious Colonial explorer James Van Buren Spork) shared the name of "the new meat sensation of the day." What day was that again, anyway?

Run little Spork tin, run like the wind! Or else you will transform from a happy little blue and white tin (though perhaps with dark secrets within, as who does not) into - well, the Spork Lady took a few black and white photos of what she did to some of your little friends from the Spork factory. I can't figure out which recipe it is - could be Spork Potato Aspic, or Spork Salad in Tomato Jelly. Or, um, Spork and Cider Jelly Loaf.

You don't really want me to scan in the recipes, right? The Cider Jelly Loaf includes raisins, brown sugar and - Spork. And cider. Oh, and jelly. Just to give you an example.

The little Spork Tin is hurrying (somehow) down the road leading out of town, as we draw this post to a (merciful) conclusion. I believe he's going to New York City to find his friend the Gingerbread Man, who ran away last year and said the Spork Tin was always welcome to crash at his place. And the Home Economist is still asleep, dreaming early-morning dreams of Spork Chops and what sort of condiments might go with them.

As The Cake Stand Turns

When we last tuned in, the Ersatz Trifle had sneaked into the Wilsons' kitchen in lovely Spork Falls, hoping to convince them that it was an elegant English dessert.

"Well, no one will know that I come from a cheap Betty Crocker mix. I've learned how to act. I can do the accent. I'm wearing whipped cream and whole strawberries, just like those fancy English desserts that think they're so special."

The Trifle remembered how the Victoria Sponge and the Chocolate Gateau had made fun of it, even though the Victoria Sponge was only two layers of plain cake separated by a bit of jam. "But I am English and therefore awfully refined," Victoria had said. "Pardon me, but you wouldn't know how to behave on a tea table in London. You'd probably spill on the floor and taste like - "

"Like a cardboard box," sniffed the Chocolate Gateau (and that was no mean feat, as you can imagine). Ah, memories, thought the Trifle. Memories so poignant, so powerful! I don't even think they're real. Where'd I meet those snobby cakes, anyway? I've spent my whole life in a Betty Crocker box, and then I got baked. But I want more than that! I want fame, fortune - and most of all, to be English.

Just then young Bobby toddled over to the side table. But he did not look at the Trifle. He was looking at the Chocolate and Cream Thing in a Bowl which stood in front of the Trifle. It was a Trifle Wannabe - a flashy upstart that didn't even pretend to be anything but an excuse to mix pudding, cake and fruit in a bowl and call three desserts One Big Mess.

"Look at me, me, me," the Strawberry Trifle thought. "I'm the focus of this ad, not that floozy with the toasted almonds on her head!" But Bobby ignored the Trifle, for in the realm of small children, chocolate trumps strawberries pretty well all the time.

"Eat your tuna casserole first Bobby," said his mother from across the room. "And then maybe if you're good, you can have some cake. Now come sit down right now, it's time for us all to stare at the condiments." The rest of the family sat at the kitchen table, focusing their gazes upon the magical mustard and ketchup squeezy bottles.

"Trifle! I'm an English Trifle I tell you!" the Trifle tried to shout. But since it was an instant dessert in a glass bowl, no sound came out. "Trifle trifle trifle! Stop looking at that stupid mustard! Over here!"

The silence grew ever louder. And alas, the Ersatz Trifle was running out of witty rejoinders. Not that it had ever had any to begin with. Cake mixes seldom do.

Tune in next time to learn the answer to these thrilling questions:

-Will the Wilsons really believe that the Trifle came from London, enjoys a good cricket match and personally knows the Queen?

-Will Bobby ever go sit down at the table?

-And finally: what is the origin of the strange Spork Falls condiment-staring ritual which has the entire town in its hypnotic spell?

Exquisitely Fake Diamond Rings

You can plan the whole wedding around these amazing rings. Catering? Nah, just set out some gumball and candy machines. That'll help offset the cost of the rings. Party favors can be those little troll dolls in plastic eggs. What will we wear, though?

This tiny little post brought to you courtesy of me taking a day off. Sort of! And the ad is from an early 1970s comic book, which is also resting, on a nice comfy bookshelf. Now back to trying to plot that mystery novel...I guess that isn't resting exactly. But I thought we all needed a break from the long posts.

Little White Sheet Lies

1. This is not really burlesque queen Gypsy Rose Lee's favorite 'nite' spot. Because:

2. A cotton sheet is not comparable to a night club. For one thing, it'll get crowded on that bed and someone's bound to fall off - probably the piano player, for one. Plus someone always spills a tray of drinks, don't they, in the course of an evening. And then Gypsy will be doing the laundry all night.

3. In which case, advertising wash powder would have made more sense.

4. Miss Lee was not a "prominent hostess of New York and Paris." No, you just can't say that! She was not the low-rent version of Babe Paley.

5. And she was not an "aristocrat" either.

6. Miss Lee "has never felt it necessary to mingle with cafe society." But she does like "international society." Miss Lee was too busy performing her burlesque act to mingle with the 400, I suppose.

7. And finally: prominent society dames do NOT have Big Eyed Mona Lisas on the wall!* They just don't. Please, Miss Lee, get that terrible thing down off the wall. No one is going to sleep well with it looking at them - I don't care what kind of high society sheets you've got there.

Ironically enough, the Wikipedia article I linked to at the top (oh, and here too) says that Lee was known for her art collection and that many famous artists gave her their paintings. She had works by Picasso and Chagall, for example. Perhaps they were all out being - dry-cleaned or something, when this picture was taken. Because I am thinking that that is not a Picasso.

Advertisement from True magazine (which was aimed at guys), February 1954.

We'll Always Have Ex Lax

This is the man who said "What's the difference, all laxatives are alike!"

If ever there was a symbol of modern malaise, this has got to be it. Never mind Charlie Chaplin's social satire in Modern Times. This man is weary of being a cog in the machine, all right. And machinery that doesn't work...And - well, you do the math! He's stopped up, literally and metaphorically.

It's 1936 and the middle of the Great Depression. Also, of the Great Constipation.

It's a black-and-white-with-shades-of-grey Monday morning, and he's been gorging himself since Friday like it was still the Jazz Age and he was the F. Scott Fitzgerald of Louie's Diner.

Ex Lax to the rescue. Cue the big band music! For Ex Lax is dandy and copacetic and many other retro adjectives denoting a good time. And it is so mild, according to this most informative ad, that you will hardly know you have taken it. And when you do take it you will also be waving bye-bye to "bitter, nasty-tasting purgatives and cathartics." Although this man has not quite made a total break from bitter and nasty - look at him!

He needs to be saying hello to something that tastes "just like delicious chocolate." Well, sort of like delicious chocolate. Maybe it's more like chalky, not-very-delicious fake chocolatey stuff. That's it. Well, sir, say hello to it, whatever it is.

Here's looking at you, kid. We'll always have Ex Lax.

Rescued from a secondhand store, torn off of some issue of Argosy circa 1936, that was lying in a box with some other stuff. Mixed with various movie references careening madly from the 1920s to the 1940s, making this post rather like that box in the secondhand store.

Eat Here And Get Gas

Walk in the house on the right. You'll know what they had for dinner - yesterday. In this house, you get yesterday's air warmed over.

Great dinner the folks on the right had last night: a large smoking pipe, a raw Spanish onion cut in half, and a pot that appears to be on fire.

No wonder the yellow lady looks so besieged by indigestion.

The lefthand lady, on the other hand, is thinking about the ersatz-Peter-Max butterflies and flowers that she had for dinner last night. She seems to be wondering if this really was a good idea or not.

I can definitely say that the pale blue rompers are also not a good idea. Nor is the lucky skunk tail that appears to be depending from her braid. And I ask, How come?

Gas may indeed make a big difference, but I suspect there's something more to it, too.

There always is.

******
Thanks to my pals at the University of Virginia for this gem from 1968. Now, they don't know that they are my pals, but they posted these ads and seem not to mind me using them, so they are pals indeed!

And a general thanks to all my other pals who have sent me ads or said it is OK to use them. You are all exceedingly groovy and cool - and if I haven't partaken yet, I will.

Fat Chance

Men, don't save money! You can spend any number of dollars on useless diet scams. You can lose weight right from your wallet, guaranteed.

Now you could lose up to 7 pounds a week. Or you could lose nothing. Anything in between those two numbers, that's what they are promising.

"Absolutely harmless" is not a phrase one really wants to see in an ad though. When someone tells you something's absolutely harmless, run like the wind, because - yeah, it probably isn't.

Protam is no exception.

Protam is delicious "laboratory tested" food that will make you lose loads of weight. Not a drug, not a "thyroid," not a laxative and not something to wear. Well, I can believe that, because with the exception of Carmen Miranda, one does not tend to wear food.

You will have "New Energy" - and yet it is Not A Drug. Jackie Gleason's humorless cousin in the ad is definitely having trouble digesting that little nugget. Even he thinks it is probably some kind of drug.

Now if you are in Canada you can't have this. Sorry, Canadian guys! And Canadian ladies, too. It is Good For Ladies - but not Canadian ones. You are going to have to find your own diet scams.

If you are in the US, well, then you're good to go. Just chug down some delicious Protam Surprise, then stand still and let powerful rays of light radiate from your back, just like Jackie in the ad. The light must be the fat oxidizing.

You may go into orbit after that, but it's a small price to pay. Just don't forget to pay the postman on your way into space.

From Popular Science, June 1948.

Paint Job

There's an art to looking crisp, cool, lettuce-fresh.

Yeah, there is. It's called being a piece of lettuce. Well, not the cut-up lettuce in those plastic bags. Or some of the iceberg I've seen in corner stores. OK, let's start again.

What you need in the summer is paint. Lots and lots of paint. As in the Helena- Rubinstein-makeup kind of paint.

If you don't slather on lots of foundation and powder and "bright lipstick," you just won't be fresh! Of course, your skin might possibly be able to breathe. And stay clean. And the circulation of air on the epidermis wouldn't hurt.

But if you do not want to "wilt in Victory Gardens," you will get out your brushes and start painting! You need to be dressed for a cocktail party and made up to the hilt when you are gardening, ladies. (Who knows, maybe you'll meet some debonair turnips and share a martini or two.) This is what your skin needs when you're digging in the dirt.

And the Victory iceberg lettuces will thank you.

[1943 ad, from Ad Access. Thanks for the access, Ad Access!]

What Ever Happened To Baby Alice?

Who are these "leading baby specialists" who are so approving of a medieval wire torture device for infantile thumbs? I notice that none of them are giving their names.

And if it's so comfortable, I'd like to see some of those guys wearing it. The surgical dealers, too. Let's see you go around with a big old thumbscrew on and see how that works out.

I know why they aren't naming any experts' names. Those experts probably know - at least subconsciously - that Baby Alice is going to grow up and come looking for them. And she isn't going to be coming over to say thank you, either.

In fact, she's all grown up and very, very angry. There's a dark movie behind this ad, all right. Paging Bette and Joan...

******
Thanks so much to my pal Heather for the ad (I'm guessing it is from about the 1920s).

Pears On the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Who could resist this delectable Chocolate Pear Gateau?

Ah, but wouldn't the Cadbury Cocoa people be surprised at the number of hands being raised right about now.

There's something fascinating yet disturbing about the coloring of the pears - they have obviously been residing in a tin for some time, but after their liberation were subjected to some bizarre tinting ritual. It's like makeup for fruit!

Blusher, and then concealer in the form of whipped cream piped all around them, as if to partially conceal them. All of which brings to mind - well, Winnie the Pooh's behind stuck in Rabbit's front door, times twelve, for one.

Also, the tinned pears look terrified. As if they are hiding in that whipped cream. What are they so frightened of?

Perhaps they fear the cook wielding the blusher and the Bournville Cocoa. Perhaps they are frightened of the oven. Or of the hungry throngs gathered round the tea table in the next room. Whatever it is, burying yourself in cream cakes never helps, little pears! Trust me on that one.

[Why the title, one might ask? Oh, one might indeed...You could call it a failure of imagination, or else an excess of it. It just came into my head in the midst of the usual Desperate Search For A Title. It was a good movie, too. Antonio Banderas is in it, it was one of his earliest films. And those pears - they started looking more and more anxious to me as I wrote this...]

Thanks so much to Mags L. Halliday for this delectable image! Mags also presides over the wonderful Moosifer Jones' Grouch, which I highly recommend.

Little Shop Of Flosso

If you are a comic book reader with vision -
You too can become an amazing magician!
Who can resist when the great Flosso lures?
He'll make Houdini's secrets yours:
But Houdini's known for escaping things
Not for conducting girls through rings.

Puzzles, hypnotism, jokes
Are sure to captivate the folks;
Your friends will be amazed all right
When the amusement lasts the night
And you're still going at half past one:
Five thousand tricks is a lot of fun!

Act now! Don't hesitate or stop!
To Flosso Hornmann's Magic Shop
Send off a quarter, and right here
Your catalog will soon appear.
And not too much time after that
You'll be looking silly in a stovepipe hat.

And "even magicians don't know these tricks" -
But logic like this is hard to fix:
For how can magicians help us muzzle
The power of the mind-reading puzzle,
And teach us jokes and tricks with rings
If even they don't know those things?

Perhaps the magicians that Flosso could find
Had to read Flosso's catalogue like a mind.

******
[The Bowery Boys have a great post on the Flosso-Hornmann magic shop, which was established in New York in the 1870s - and I seem to have commented on it, too! And the ad is from a 1971 comic book.]

Be Fair To Your Hair

Darrin from Bewitched wants you to know that Samantha isn't the only one in the family with magical tricks on hand.

He's having fun, relaxing with his new Vitabrush, trying to wake up his scalp. From the look of that plastered-on hair, it's been unconscious for some time.

You see, Darrin's been letting his hair sleep in every morning. So now he's going to wake it up and tell it to go work out! That no-good lazy hair. It isn't just snoring, it's falling out. What a layabout. Let's blame his scalp for all that - it's lazy too. Doesn't get enough blood flow. It's flaking. And in keeping with his general persona, a little bit out of shape,too.

It certainly does look fun and relaxing holding the brush the wrong way, just grazing the top of your head. Darrin looks awfully pleased with himself. Samantha might have some fun making it disappear, or change into a toothbrush or something, though - once she finds out what he's been up to.

This fine product was made in Chicago; the ad is from Popular Science, April 1949.

Hit Or Miss

I was looking through some more old Billboard ads - going deep into the world of bizarre retro carnival prizes and terrible novelties. I had no idea that there were all these strange little things. I was struck by this teeny ad, which has been enlarged here, somewhat at the expense of clarity, but...no matter.

In the middle is our old friend the Electric Bow Tie - a tacky classic. We've been around the Electric Bow Tie block a few times, haven't we? If you missed out, you can wander over here and here.*

Now there's also a Magic Light Bulb, which lights up when you hold it in your hand. It doesn't do anything when it's in a lamp or a wall socket, though. That's useful. Just stand over there in the corner dear, right behind my chair. I just want to read the paper for a few hours.

But my favorite is the Zen-like nuttiness that is the Roll-Up Necktie. It is a TERRIFIC Fun Novelty. The capitals in the ad prove that it is the clear favorite of the three. It is "a necktie that ROLLS UP and hits your chin whenever desired."

See, I love that. Love it. Yes, they must have imagined loads of people who desired nothing more than to have their neckties roll up and hit them in the chin. And not just once, but again and again! Who are these people? Do they also wear shirts that slap them when they eat too much pie? Hats that fly off and bop them in the nose if they say something rude?

I'm thinking that D. Robbins and Co. of New York really missed the boat on this. You know that in Chicago they would have done a whole clothing line of reprimanding novelty clothes. Get with it, New York!

[From Billboard, October 4, 1947.]

*Probably this is the last time I'll mention the Electric Bow Tie, in case you're wondering.

Frank Holiday

Safe, yes. As long as you keep this disturbing child away from the barbecue pit. Perhaps.

Sane? I just don't know. Throw a Weeny Party and expect it to be sane? Consider, if you will, the holiday menu: Weeny Crackers. Weeny Rockets. Weeny Cannons. Also a frankfurter dressed up as Uncle Sam in drag.

There's no telling what will happen here.

But (you are asking, I am sure) what will I serve to compliment my Weeny Cuisiney?

The strange boy on the left - deeply under the influence of Red Dye No. 2, or hot dogs, or something even stranger - has a few suggestions:

Meat Loaf: well, perhaps he could sing - but just a little. Maybe he could invite Dr. Frank N. Furter to come along, that'd be fun. (I suspect that the latter is the mastermind behind that little figure on the plate, don't you?)

Sausage: redundant, yes, but whatever - let's not argue with someone who has such a disturbing stare.

Fancy Cheese: please leave the Everyday Cheese at home. Actually, this ad is pretty cheesy just as it is. So leave the Fancy Cheese in the fridge, too.

Lemonade and/or Milk: I think we might need something a little stronger, actually - and I believe that this boy knows all about that. Because clearly he's been getting into Ginger's ginger ale.

After all, this is exactly the sort of fun occasion Ginger would be in on, isn't it?

******

A very happy Fourth to everyone who is celebrating it!

Once again, many thanks to SA Steve at Flickr for the perfect retro ad!

House of Wax Paper

I laughed in my sleeve when persnicketty Tim raved about my cooking! He never dreamed he was eating leftovers...

I never waste anything
No leftover lingers:
My new kitchen blinds
Are last year's ladyfingers,

And the tiles were once canapes
That nobody ate
That's no reason to toss them:
On the wall they look great.

So day-old corned beef
Is no challenge for me
Though persnicketty Tim
Doesn't want to agree.

The heck with old Tim!
I will laugh in my sleeve
And that's tricky because
It's too short to receive

The guffaws I conceal -
Fun and games are for dinner:
At the leftovers game
I believe I'm the winner!

Chop stuff and add cream sauce,
Then dump it on toast
Tim will chow down with glee
On last week's supper's ghost!

I fool him each time
With my wax paper tricks!
He won't look in the fridge
At the packets I fix

Full of mystery meats
Topped with scribbled inscriptions;
Then I serve as brand new
What the ancient Egyptians

Would throw out at once,
As if to defy us;
But perhaps that's because
They had no wax papyrus.

Thank you to Janet at Found In Mom's Basement for this slightly unsettling 1947 ad for Cut-Rite wax paper. Doesn't she look devious?

Better Than Fiction, No Obligation

Secret Service Operator No. 38 is on the job...follow him through all the excitement of his chase after the counterfeit gang. See how a crafty operator works.

I think I'd rather see Nancy Drew chase after the counterfeit gang, actually. At least she has that little blue roadster, and she's got Bess and George to help out on occasion.

This guy I'm not so sure about. For one thing, his best idea seems to be the arrow labeling him as Operator No. 38. If he needs this to distinguish him from the police officer, who is in uniform, and therefore easy to spot - then we're all in trouble.

And where are Operators 1-37? Answering the phones. So much for excitement, thrills and travel.

So the point of this ad is - what? Are you going to be Operator No. 39?

Uh...no. Not really. This is all supposed to "open your eyes" to the thrill of being a Finger Print Expert. And you can achieve this by sending for the inevitable correspondence course.

You will also get Operator No. 38's confidential reports, if you act now. For free! I hardly think it's accurate calling those reports "confidential" - and as for the Chief, he needs to be a little more secretive. What's with all this handing out Confidential Reports to any old Joe who sends him a coupon? He must be running a TMZ type thing on the side.

Still, the Institute of Applied Science (in our favorite town, Chicago) knows - for they are in the business of knowing stuff, are they not - that this is "the kind of work you would like."

How do they know that? I see a guy sitting at a desk handing a very small piece of paper to a policeman. If you are "a boy under 17" you are not allowed to hand out small pieces of paper at a desk, though.

The little pieces of paper must be the coupons that everyone filled out. Operator No. 38 doesn't know it, but the policeman is about to send out all his Confidential Reports!

Let's just hope that the counterfeit gang doesn't send in a coupon.

*If you do send for the course, remember that exactly 47% of all Identification Bureaus in the US are headed by graduates of the Institute. Just don't ask yourself how any bureaus are they talking about, or how they figured out that 47%.

From Argosy, July 1936.

Happy Canada Dry

They call him GINGER (He's Got So Much Of It!)

Oh, he's full of it, all right. Full of ginger! Obsessed with it, as a matter of fact. Carries a big bottle of Canada Dry Pale Ginger Ale around with him, all the time.

This is his life! His world! That big old glass bottle of fizzy drink. It does have a great looking label, I'll give him that at least.

And it is GINGERVATING! That is a nice word for what it seems to be doing to our young friend on the right.

It has had a different effect on each of his eyebrows. One is thin and brown, the other thicker and reddish. And he has bags under his eyes. Guess he stays up late carrying the ginger ale around.

It isn't clear what he wants out of all this gingerful activity. He ain't sharing, I don't think. He does want people to notice him extolling his favorite beverage. Be careful though, young Ginger - too much soda and you might get gingervitis. See, you're not the only one who can make a bad pun.

Now, since Canada Dry "picks you up and aids digestion," perhaps Ginger here has the worst digestion in town, requiring him to carry ginger ale everywhere. How flattering this must be when he shows up at the dinner table. As for the pick up action, let us hope he will not be gingervated enough to try anything in that line for a few more years. And even then - well, let's just say he'll do better if he puts the soda bottle down somewhere.

Happy Canada Day to everyone it applies to - have a gingeriffic day!

And a thousand thanks to SA Steve at Flickr for this effervescent, dare I say gingervescent (and I promise that's the last of that) ad.