Leftovers I Love You

Leftovers, I love you
You're very nutritious
At least, that's what I tell folks
And no one's suspicious,

'Cause Thanksgiving's great feast
Like a culinary isthmus*
'Twixt Halloween and Yuletide
Means leftovers 'til Christmas:

There's turkey in pieces
And some pie the cat found
And strange Tupperwared veggies
Left lying around -

There's some cold mashed potatoes
And cranberry jelly
So get out the mustard
Don't go out to some deli!

Hot Dan to the rescue
With condiments galore
Will drown out the boredom
And make you eat more!

So throw it on sandwiches,
Trifle and custard
Clear out the whole fridge
By mustering the mustard

Leftovers, I love you
You are mighty appealing
Though the turkey is dry
And the stuffing's congealing

For you sit on the table
When the family comes looking
For something for dinner
And I don't feel like cooking.

[This 1949 ad comes to you courtesy of TJS Labs.]

*And isthmus? Well, something has to rhyme with Christmas, right? It means a narrow bit of land connecting two big land masses. It doesn't work, completely. But it stays for now, because it's Monday. Always blame Monday, I say!

Oh, and for more Hot Dan, you can go on over and see these leftover posts:

Hot Dan the Mustard Man
Hot Dan Redux

The Ballad of the Sad Macramé

Who knew that even macramé items could feel such poignant sadness? Or anything, for that matter.

Meet the Wistful Purse and the Wistful Belt. They have been hanging off a tree since 1977, in a lovely book called Macramé Enchantment. But they are not enchanted! They are wistful. Full of wist! Longing for all the good times they used to have back inside the house, lying on the couch watching a little TV, having a snack or two, maybe even getting worn out to a few parties.

And now? They are full of nothing! They're all hung up. And if you think they're unhappy, just imagine what that tree must be feeling. You just know that all the other trees are laughing their heads off at this.

All Kooped Up

Well, once you give your baby a nice bottle of Seven-Up - and you burp them, don't forget that!  - you're going to want to let them have a nice nap. Where do you - the modern mother of 1950 - put that baby?

Why, coop that kid up in a Kiddie Koop, of course! Just like the proverbial chicken coop, this lidded crib is just the sort of personal space your baby needs.

It also seems to double as a tanning bed, judging from the light emanating from it. You can use that later, when the kid wakes up and needs a little Vitamin D (because you know he isn't getting any in that Seven-Up, let's be honest).

It comes with a nice Hairflex mattress, too - boy, doesn't that sound comfy? Just don't forget to give your baby a couple of Reader's Digests or something when you pop him in the Koop - because it might get a tiny bit boring in there, inside the box.

The advertisement for this astonishing device, dating from 1950, is from Duke University's Protestant Family advertising collection.

The Mystery of the Flaming Canned Fruit

Well, first of all, it is Flaming Fruit. Not Flaming Youth.

And not only that, it's Flaming Diet Fruit. You see, I thought that the point of the flambé was to caramelize the sugar in a food  - you know, like fresh fruit. Or to finish off crepes doused in brandy or something.

So let me pose a scientific question to you:

What will happen when this soggy canned fruit (and believe me, the stuff out of the can will be WAY soggier than the fruit in the ad) - drenched in Sucaryl, is stuck on a skewer and set on fire?

Actually, I don't really know. But I'll bet it doesn't look anything like this picture. What do you think?

This little post was brought to you thanks to a lovely ad from - yet again! - Life magazine, October 15, 1965.The big version is here.

A Talked-About Holiday Hostess

Oh, you'll be talked about, all right. And you know what they're going to be saying about you?

"Boy, Sally sure is obsessed with that Reddi-Wip! Can you keep her away from me for a minute? I really, really don't want any on my Brussels sprouts."

Sally is all tuckered out from Thanksgiving. I guess that's her excuse. She's been up since 6 am fighting with a turkey's innards. She's been chopping and slicing and dicing and baking. And now - now you're all going to pay!

Reddi-Wip must go on everything. You have a piece of cake or pie? It's going to get a blast from Sally's magic can. And you folks over there, the slowpokes who are still chowing down on stuffing and mashed potatoes and turkey wings? Guess what you've got coming to you!

So talk all you want. Sally knows just what you need. And you're lucky she isn't doing any face painting with it. Yet.

Happy Thanksgiving! And watch out for Sally and her Dessert Sensations.

[From Life, November 22, 1943.]

And many thanks to my friend Heidi, who presides over the wonderful kitschenfeast, for the Kreativ Blogger award!

The Candlelight Dinner

Ah, dinner by candlelight. And dinner of candlelight, too.

This is the ultimate incarnation of the Candle Salad of the 1940s on, which, as you may recall, involved a banana, a pimiento wick and dollops of mayo. And other things, too, sometimes, like pineapple rings and cherries. But here in the super-modern 1960s, we have to do better! We must mold cranberry/mayo gel in cylinders (maybe we can use the Ocean Spray cranberry jelly cans) and then sticking birthday candles on top.

They really do look awfully realistic, don't they? Awful being the operative word, I believe. Would you love to see this at your place at Thanksgiving?

What are you looking forward to seeing, if not an edible candle at Thanksgiving? I'm in Canada now, so we had our Thanksgiving back in October, but when I was a kid in New York, I favored the stuffing and a slice of that cranberry jelly, sans mayo and birthday candle of course.

Hope you all have a splendiferous time tomorrow, whatever you're doing Thanksgiving-wise. I'll be posting a lovely Thanksgiving-themed post over at Kitchen Retro tomorrow, so I hope to see you there, maybe while you let someone else clear up and do those dishes...

[This is from Life, November 14, 1960. Here's the bigger version in case you'd like to know exactly how this magic was, er, wrought. And here's a link to the variation Chanukah Candle Salad, in advance of December.]

Laughing With Lipton's

If a hotel says there's "no room today"
And I don't know where I'm going to stay
I wouldn't just wail in dark dismay:

I'd be complaining and threatening to call the management for lousing up my reservation. And then I might let the canary out of the cage and see what happens (he's cranky too, because he's been in that cage in the limo all day). I am One Fancy Dame and I cannot be expected to pack up my hat boxes and shuffle off to the Motel Six, can I? Indeed not.

Would I have a cup of Lipton's after all that? Maybe, because it is a "swell-tasting drink" that is guaranteed to make me less "jumpy and jittery." And if I was sipping it in the Penthouse Suite, that would make me laugh with Lipton's, definitely.

"And a round of your best birdseed for my little friend, my good man!"

[From Life, November 22, 1943.]

Scatter Perm! Scatter Perm!

When you think about having a Good Hair Day, does the word "scatter" spring to mind? I didn't think so.

The Scatter Perm people beg to differ, though. Here's the exciting new concept (new in the 60s, anyway): Scatter perm rods through your hair so that some of it is straight and some gets curly. Wow, groovy, man!

However, it does not look like these gals scattered the perm at all. The little curling rods are geometrically precise, and even.

I used to play around with those little rubber curler things (not perm rods, but whatever) in the 70s. And it was a ridiculous endeavor from the get-go since I have unruly wavy hair, which is described kindly as Pre-Raphaelite, i.e. frizzy. That was a Scatter situation. Curlers hanging off odd clumps of hair, dotted all over my head. It would not have convinced anyone to buy curlers, ever.

So there you go. "It's a perm that doesn't show!" says the smarmy voiceover lady as faux Herb Alpert music perks along in the background. Um, yes it does show, smarmy lady - and we can all see just where you scattered that perm.

The Merry Wives of Dormeyer

I think we can all see who this ad is addressed to. You WIVES out there - this is what you have to do! You may want to make some notes. Look at all the pretty pictures here and when you see something shiny that you really like - say, a toaster or a lovely coffee pot - put a Great Big Circle around it. That means "a round shape" like an O. Can you do that? Good. Then bring the ad right over to Him and show him what you did.

He should jump up out of the Barcalounger and go straight to the store. Really! He will. But in case he does not go immediately - you are going to have to step up your game a little. Crying is good. Just a little because you don't want to get the ad wet, right? And you also don't want to frighten him.

Husbands: you get the smaller print message at the bottom, because you big boys are So Smart you do not need Great Big Sesame Street Letters. Good for you! You are reading very well now! Anyway - just get what she wants, OK? It'll make her happy, and we here at Dormeyer will also be happy, and won't cry.

If you don't - she will cry. You know why? (Here comes the Plot Twist...) Well, sir, your wife has a Secret Life. She is in fact the CEO of Dormeyer and her big Christmas bonus is riding on lots of extra sales.

Either that or she really really likes toasters.

This is from the London TimesOnline - they have a panorama of the 10 Most Bizarre Sexist Adverts for your reading pleasure today. You won't be surprised to learn that this caught my attention at once, so I stopped reading the Serious News and went right over. I made the ad a little bigger over here, so you can really see all those fabulous presents.

I had already written about the Dave's Locked Out Listerine Free Wife, so that was out. So I chose the one that looked the most like something that comes from my magazine collection - the one that looks a little chewed-up and tired. Perfect for Monday.

Jack The Zipper

This did not catch on, apparently. Even though with "no buttons to bust," you would have plenty of leeway for enormous three-martini lunches. And you could pretend you were an Airman, too - the Chevy magically transformed into a fighter plane as you sit in traffic every morning. Like Snoopy when he was pretending to fight the Red Baron!* Only he didn't have a zippered Airman shirt to dress up in, did he.

It came in "white and smart colors" - I guess white isn't that smart. Plus the steak sauce spills are going to show on white. What is a Smart Color, anyway? Blue, maybe. I don't think they mean orange or purple or red, those are Fun Colors. Brown would be smart though, you can spill all you like on that.

And goodness gracious, don't these folks look happy about it? Maybe he has trouble getting the buttons to come out even. That could be. The zipper has cut twenty minutes off his getting-ready time in the morning.

Big version over here at my Flickr thing; this is from Life, October 16, 1950. The Snoopy image is from What I Have Read Since 1974.

* Thank you, Tori, for setting me straight about Snoopy and the Red Baron being, of course, two separate entities. I adored Peanuts as a kid (still do) and ought to have remembered this!

Cool and Calmanac

Well, look at this -  beauty advice from your wittily-named 1956 Vicks Calmanac? They are experts in cough medicine and cough drops and, of course, in Vapo Rub. But beauty hints?This is surprising. Of course what they really needed to show us was how to look great when you have a bad cold: how to put concealer on a red nose, or how to get just the right Lauren Bacall voice out of a bad cough. Also they should have made Vapo Rub in a variety of delightful scents, like Chanel No. 5.

Instead, here are the usual things about blotting your lipstick (good thing you have lots of Kleenex around anyway) and applying perfume to your pulse spots (or Vapo Rub No. 5).

The blue earrings will not only set off your pearls, though, but will make a nice contrast with that red nose.

But one thing no one wants to do is whiten their teeth with a Q Tip dipped in peroxide. They think twice a week is often enough? That's twice a week too much, actually.

A slightly bigger version of the Hints is here. I am going to make more of my terrible (and not-so-terrible) scans public, I promise. Maybe it could be one of my New Year's resolutions.

Splish Splash

Prince Charming got his equine pal
A weekend at a spa
White horses get dust-grey and tired
From running near and far,

Rescuing princesses and maids
From dragons and high towers
Is a tough job that will demand
Appallingly long hours.

So on this Mental Health Day,
The White Horse went to a spa
And told Prince C. to catch a train
Or even take the car.

The spa suggested a herbal bath.
The horsie said: I'll try it!
A therapeutic bath sounds fine,
And a little peace and quiet.

But something isn't peaceful here;
The horse thinks: That's the rub -
My only day off from weird dames,
And here's one in my tub!

Spa lady, please remove yourself
From that foamy bath corral
How did you get here, anyway,
You silly tiddly gal?

Spa lady, this is out of line
This bath is not for you
So take your bottle when you go
And the leafy beanstalks, too.

But she cannot interpret neighs
And is too tired to think:
She's tired of giving facials
And she really needs that drink.

Politely ired, and circumspect
The horse tries to ignore
What's going on, and thinks: Next time
I'd better lock the door.

And the motto of the story is: You can lead a horse to bathwater but he can't get a drink.


[Advertisement from Life, November 19, 1971.]

Window Pain

This storm window clearly did not come with any instructions. Rule #1: do not attempt to walk through it.

Because that's one thing you can't protect your family (or anyone) from: being stupid enough to walk through a storm window. A storm window that they are holding in front of them!

Installing in minutes just isn't soon enough for this lady. They should have installed it in the few seconds they had before she came crashing through the front door.

From Popular Mechanics, October 1956.

Dubious Fun With A Duoped

Here we have the Duoped, a 1950s Fun Item which looks like pretty dubious fun at best. Hence the title. Yes, it's a slow day here but I wanted to check in at the Doubletake and I've been saving this one for awhile. I updated my other two blogs (links in the left hand sidebar, ahem) and now I have to go out and buy some birthday stuff. Because not only is November NaNoWriMonth it is Birthday Month around these parts. Hey, things will quiet down in December, maybe. That holiday stuff ought to be a snap. Right? Right? Hey, at least I'm not riding around on one of these. That's something.


That kid shouldn't really be wearing sandals while she's wobbling around on the bottom third of a tricycle, should she?

What A Sap

What a sap you still are!

Because that's an interesting choice of words, don't you think? This is the first time I've seen the term "sap" defined as "someone who takes a liquid laxative instead of Ex-Lax."

And if this is a sample of her current conversational style - she does appear to be speaking to someone (to lucky us, it looks like) - well, lady, you are still pretty sappy. This is not anything we want to talk about with you!

And the same goes for those other folks with you in the photo at the bottom. Happily munching their Ex-Lax and then, no doubt, chatting to each other excitedly about how clever they are now. What a fun bunch.

There is also a literary hint of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" in the "Happy Medium" part of the ad. Ex-lax is not too strong - it's not too mild - boy, it's just right. So if the Three Bears didn't have any porridge around, I guess - well, you know how they'd do the 1942 remake. Maybe.

You're very welcome for that image.

Oh, and more Goldilocks shenanigans over here (sans laxatives, but with underwear).

[From Life, November 9, 1942. The bigger version is over here.]

Roofing Slices and Tasting Tiles

Here's a great idea for a fundraiser: how about some fruitcake that's been tossed around the Post Office for awhile, and has been prepackaged in Sample Slices? Yum, that's going to be good. Good and stale.

So here we have Benson's Sliced Old Home Fruit Cake. I assume that it is the cake that is sliced, not the Old Home, the wording is a little unclear. Perhaps the cake is made out of Benson's Old Home?

Even if this is not the case, there are two problems with this name: Sliced and Old. You really don't want to draw attention to how old the cake is, right? And old slices? This can only mean antique tablets of cake covered in hieroglyphs of ancient candied fruit. Hmm, yummy.

And specifying that the slices are Tasting Slices implies that you can do other things with them. Fix the roof, maybe. Or there might be holiday craft projects where you will need a little balsa wood or styrofoam and - well, you know how it is, it's so easy to run out of that sort of thing.

A little bowl of cherries and a few nuts have gathered in front of  the cake. They are worried about their reputations. This Old Cake is going to give them a bad name! Maybe if they can block the cake, people will just look at them and think: Oh, I like cherries. Nuts, how festive is that?

Now, the eggs, the raisins and that lurid green pineapple - they don't care. Standing up nice and tall, giving the camera a look that says: yeah, so we've been around the block a few times, so what? It's cake, what do you care how old it is?

In the background, a bowl of library paste hovers. And it really doesn't care what you think. It's ready for anything: book labels, children's art projects, shellacking fruitcake, gluing down tiles - go ahead, start spooning it out! Don't forget to check the roof, too, what with winter coming up.

This is from a little magazine called The Workbasket, from 1968.

Thinking Inside the Underwear Box

Something about Maidenform gives women strange hallucinatory dreams - and we can't blame this one on Halloween. So many questions spring to mind; springing, as it were, like nutty ladies out of underwear boxes:

-Would she not be a Jill-in-the-box, for starters?

-This does not seem to be a bad dream, she looks pretty happy. But being stuck in a box in a stupid outfit is not most people's idea of a good dream. On the contrary: being seen out in public in one's underwear is the stereotypical bad dream. Never mind being also stuck in a box.

-And her right hand - what's up with that? The left one seems to have disappeared altogether, although there is part of a glove still hanging on.

-Why is her outfit decorated with pineapple leaves, or possibly shellacked banana peels? Maybe she's happy because she's ahead of her time: recycled fashion!

-Why does she have a scarf wrapped around her head and neck? She can't possibly be cold, can she? If she is, why would she go around like this?

-Why are the little cartoon elves looking so pleased to see her? And there is a miniature horse there, too. (What's he doing there?) If I was a tiny cartoon creature, I would be terrified to see a large excessively happy woman in a strange semi-outfit popping out of a box.

-Finally - and this is important, I think - how on earth is she going to get out of that box? I mean, look at the skirt, it's a bunch of big rubber bands sewed together.

-Come to think of it, how did she get in the box in the first place?

Thank you Retro Ads and Graphics for this peculiar ad from 1949.

Carefree Knits, Matching Socks Required

Happiness is knowing that you have knit yourself a perfectly coordinated outfit - from the dopey kerchief right down to those pernicious pink tights. Well, at least she's happy and that's what counts, right? The gal on the left is not quite so happy. Apparently, an orange high socks with bermudas and a matching orange sweater compel you to grab your arm awkwardly from behind and gaze into the distance.

The girl who is being stepped over has no matching socks or tights, but she's putting a brave face on the situation. In fact, she hasn't got any socks at all. Why is that? Maybe she hasn't finished knitting them. In which case she's lucky they aren't trampling on her. That's a serious fashion infraction, madam!

As you can see, the right hand shutter, in the background, does not have a lovely white design. That is because when I was carefully removing the sticky price label that the thrift store had very helpfully put right on the front cover, it tore. So I fixed it with a little Picnik sticker over at Flickr. A Picnik Flickr sticker - say that five times fast!

This is the front cover of a charmingly strange Lady Galt knitting book from 1969, full of oddly posed retrofolks. I'll be posting more of them, I'm sure.

The Greatest Thing Yet

This is the "greatest thing yet" - and all for fifty cents. And "everyone is delighted with it," so you'll know how to react when you receive it in the mail. You will be delighted with it. It is "odd, curious and interesting." Just stick it in your pocket (if you can manage to fold down all the little wheels) and you'll be ready to head out the door and start your day. It is nine separate instruments all in one:

-a Double Microscope - for all those "wonders of nature" you'll be needing to check out on your way to school or work (perhaps the bus stop sign);
-an Opera Glass, in case you wander into La Scala;
-a Stereoscope, so you can look at amusing pictures during the opera (in case you get bored);
-a Burning Lens, because - what if you then miss the bus and end up in a boreal forest? You will need to make a little bonfire and toast marshmallows (don't forget the marshmallows when you leave the house in the morning);
-a Reading Glass, which will be handy because if you are stuck in the forest, I hope you brought a few magazines.
-a Telescope, which will tell you it isn't the forest, it's just the local park.
-a Compass, handy for figuring out how to get back to the bus stop;
-a Pocket Mirror - so you can check that you still look fabulous!
-and a Laryngascope, "for examining ear, eyes, nose and throat. It is worth all the cost to locate even one painful cinder in the eye." You can blame that cinder on the fun with the Burning Lens.

You will be equipped for anything when you stick this "wonderful instrument" in your pocket. Cue Mae West quotation here: Is that a wonderful instrument in your pocket, or are you just happy you found your way back to the bus stop?

[From Popular Mechanics, October 1922.]

Dishenfranchised

Velvet suds and sparkles?
What a load of crock
If you're in the kitchen
With a bossy clock.

She's just acting happy
With that stupid watch;
Her bottle's full of Ivory,
Too bad it isn't scotch.

Soap suds are not velvet,
Sinks are not a spa;
Baked-on crud is lousy
And no kind of Shangri-la.

Still and all, Nice going, lady!
Those are mighty lovely hands
Soon they'll toss that noisy pocket watch
In with the pots and pans.

[This ad is from 1942 and the bigger version is here at Ad Access.]

Seven Months? Seven-Up!

It's 1955 and this is the best, cleverest idea they could come up with at Seven-Up headquarters. Hey, our stuff is so great even babies like it! And it is so good for you (ahem!) that mothers give their babies bottles of Seven-Up instead of milk or formula. And guess what folks, they say in the copy, this kid is eleven months old and he isn't even our youngest customer.

The ad copy (click on the Duke link to see the big version) says that it is "pure and wholesome" and that because they list all the ingredients, it is good for babies. Oh, and here's a little childcare tip: if you can't get the kid to drink milk, mix the milk with Seven-Up. Won't that be entrancing for you both to look at. And so healthy, too.

And they don't even talk about all the other benefits, like dental problems and an early addiction to sugar. Nothing does it like Seven-Up? No kidding.

This horrific 1955 advertisement is from the non-horrific, indeed quite wonderful Duke University.

A Lot of Baloney (Rarebit)

This is how to make Rarebit, according to the McCall's classic, the Practically Cookless Cookbook (1965): take some spongy white bread and put baloney (spelled the Fancy Way, i.e. bologna) on top, as if you were making a sandwich. But if you then drench it in canned cheddar-cheese soup and add chablis and parsley, voilà! Instant gourmet Rarebit!

Does this recipe mean you've given up altogether (cue the Wonder Bread, cheap baloney and canned cheese soup) or are laboring under strange delusions of grandeur (adding chablis to the Wonder Bread, baloney and canned cheese soup)?

Probably both. And since you're not really cooking, you don't need to use anything that goes into the real Rarebit, i.e. nice crusty bread and real cheese. Because that would take too much cooking time. That would not be Practically Cookless. Oh...actually it would be - because real Welsh Rarebit is a very easy meal to prepare.* But McCall's in 1965 does not agree.

Don't forget that sprig of parsley on the side which screams: this is Fancy Cooking all right. And don't forget the glass of beer either. It will distract you from what you have got on your plate.

If you want to see this recipe up close and personal, here is the larger version.

* Although the late British cooking authority Keith Floyd insists that you make a roux, and that is not necessarily easy and quick. Not in my book anyway. Oh look, Alton Brown insists on roux too. Now I see why McCall's was seduced by that can o' soup! But I have had real Welsh Rarebit (the roux-ified version) and it is really good - well worth a little rouxfulness.
Bologna

Magic Sauce Cubes

The dogs do not want to discover this new taste. They may want to cover it, though. In the backyard, where it will not bother anyone ever again.

Even the disembodied head on the box looks skeptical. It is not even looking at the Magic Sauce Cubes. No one wants to.

And no one will thank you for this: not your dog, not the people you live with who have to look at this, and certainly not the cat (she's just glad she doesn't have to get involved). And naturally, you won't like it either. Imagine having to perform culinary magic with these horrible cubes! It "releases its own delicious sauce - like magic." No, just no.

Do you get the impression that this product was fairly short-lived?

[From Life, November 16, 1962.]

Wiglomeration

Go casual one minute. Go glamorous the next. Oh, OK. But...which one of these is supposed to be casual? And...err...which one is supposed to be glamorous? I see a lot of hundred-pound curl skyscrapers. And reinforced-with-steel mini flips. And something that you might wear if you're playing the title role in the suburban-dinner-theater version of I Dream Of Jeannie.

I suppose this was the height (so to speak) of fashion in 1966. I was four years old, what do I know about it? I had pigtails and bangs.

Pick the look you'd like to have and a David & David hairpiece will create it for you. Really? I had no idea a hairpiece could do all that. Maybe it could run out and get me a few things at the store, too.

[From Life, May 20, 1966.]

Wiglomeration is a word made up by Charles Dickens in Bleak House. It means legal fussing and complications that end up in a huge intricate mess - which made me think of these wigs. "How mankind ever came to be afflicted with Wiglomeration, or for whose sins these young people ever fell in a pit of it, I don't know..."

Hopalong Casualty

Yes, you too can be "a Spaceman or Hopalong Casually." How casual is this, to be bouncing along the sidewalk in your Space Shoes? It will soon be followed by your casually falling on your face.

These mini-surfboard-and-springs devices are strapped to your regular shoes and will keep you hopping for the proverbial "hours of fun."

I've always wondered, precisely how many hours are "hours of fun"? I think it probably translates to "about five minutes or less."

Please note that all you fun-loving Canadians will have to shell out $2.75 instead of $1.98. That's just the way it is. Too bad they can't just lob them over the border - I'm sure they are springy enough.

I would guess that the Space Shoes ad is from the 1960s. In the 1960s, Murray's in New York made "sensible" shoes called Space Shoes (I didn't find a picture, but I'll bet you can imagine them) - and then there were these exquisite Outer Space Shoes from 1973. To go with the Lesiure Spacesuit, no doubt (medallions not included).

I have no idea why they are called Outer Space Shoes. Maybe that's the only place you'd be in fashion when you wore them. Those white ones with the buckles in particular.

Many thanks to tomheroes for the springy Space Shoes ad. The Outer Space Shoes are from The Rotarian, April 1973.

The Slumber Helmet

Last Friday I found a copy of the Woman's Journal, an English magazine, from 1937, for only a couple of dollars. It was up on a really tall shelf and it took me about an hour to get it down without having the whole entire floor-to-almost-the-ceiling bookcase fall over on me. But there were no step stools in the place. They did have the ladders that are attached to old tall bookcases (like they always have in English country house libraries in Agatha Christie novels) but this bookcase didn't have a ladder. And there were no tall people to ask to get it down. Anyway, I did get it down without ruining the bookstore or my cranium so hurray.

There are tons of wonderful ADS! in there but it is a big magazine and my scanner is small and frightened of large items. So...what I can do is scan some of the little ads. Here is one of my favorites:

Behold, the Ladye Jayne Slumber Helmet! That extra 'e' on the end of 'Lady' makes it so much more elegant, don't you think?

The words "Slumber" and "Helmet' do not go together. At all. Thus, the Ladye Jayne ensures that you will be very uncomfortable trying to get to sleep. Because it is a bathing cap, pretty much. A tight bathing cap that you stuff your permanent-waved head into every night so that you will be gorgeous in the morning.

I'd almost rather have a few books fall on me than wear this.

The Shelvador Dali Refrigerator

The Shelvador Dali is a surreal refrigerator. That is because it is claiming to defrost itself. But in fact it is actually creating surreal art in there. Rearranging the fruits and vegetables to make strange faces. And if all your clocks end up in there looking like soggy pancakes, you'll know why.

At three o'clock in the morning, fully made up under studio lights, she's just pretending to dream, really.

And the Shelvador? It's just pretending to defrost itself. I remember those old refrigerators. They did not defrost themselves, ever. You had to put pots of hot water in there. Or a special defroster that looked like five curling irons welded together, that you plugged into a socket in the kitchen. It took hours to get that layer of ice off. It was like polar ice.

This lady is dreaming all right. Because the Shelvador's little gimmick has to do with Shelves. It is not called the Frostador or the Icepicador. You buy it for the shelves. And, of course, for its artistic talents.

[From Life, July 13 1953. Salvador Dali's 1931 painting, The Persistence of Memory, is from Wikipedia.]

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Thank you so much to Melissa at Melissa's Homeschool Blog for the Best Blog award!

The Pop Art Fresca Pillow

The key to jazzing up any room: Pop Art Fresca pillows. Also Tootsie Roll and Sylvania Flashcube pillows. (Flashcubes, children, are what we used to use on cameras back in 1969, when this offer appeared, when taking indoor photos. They were actual cubes that you stuck on top of the camera.)

Three things I love about this picture are:

1. The incredible skyscraper hair on the model.
2. The assumption that we all have Faux Louis the Something rooms in our houses.
3. That a Fresca pillow and its friends are going to make the Faux Louis room look groovy and modern: "they'll make any room of yours contemporary."

But this seems unlikely, doesn't it? The model is not happy about it, in any case.

[From Life, February 21, 1969.]

A Canary Star Is Born

So you have a canary - or a parrot, this works on parrots, too - and he or she just doesn't want to sing. Just doesn't feel like it! I'm sure we can all relate. I myself do not feel like singing every minute of the day (much to the relief of the rest of the family).

After all, life is not an MGM musical, with an orchestra starting up every time someone has something important to say (or sing). This is good. And canaries sense this. They are smart. Parrots, too.

But is this good enough for Johnson Smith, purveyors of 1920s novelty items? Oh no, it is not. You must have a bird that sings like Bette Midler 24/7! Yes, that's an anachronistic reference, but never mind. (Insert "Wind Beneath my Wings" joke here.)

So what you do is you get Johnson Smith's lovely rubber canary - painted Canary Gold, and packed in a "handsomely decorated box." It will be sitting on a rubber perch. And it has a little tooting tube attached to it.

Then you must find a confused child to blow into the tube and make the rubber canary sing. It will probably sound like a pathetic 'toot toot' as opposed to accurate bird song but no matter. Oh, and the bill and tail will move, too. So your very smart canary (or parrot) will be totally fooled into thinking it has competition. In no time at all your real canary will be belting out numbers like an avian Ethel Merman. And even your parrot will be warbling in no time at all. You will be able to put on quite a show, with a few of these Victory Canaries in the chorus line. So buy several, and start packing - you're on your way to Hollywood. These birds are heading for the big time!

[From Popular Mechanics, October 1922.]

Queen of theThingumajigs

Oh, Louise! Don't you know anything about those Tampax thingumajigs? Mary thinks you are a foolio for even asking.

You see, Mary, you're supposed to be polite to your so-called friends. And that means at least pretending that you think they do not ask dumb questions. Just consider Ms. Frizzle, if you will, for a moment. She is the cartoon star of the Magic School Bus - Ms. Frizzle, the science teacher who takes her class on field trips to the moon and to the interior of baking cakes and frog ponds (with nary a signed permission form in sight, by the way) - she is always telling her class to keep asking lots and lots of questions. Because no question is dumb.Strangely, Ms Frizzle's class never do ask the really important questions like: where are the bathrooms on the moon? And if we just got baked into a pie, are we going to have to go through a car wash on the way back to school to get the lemon meringue out of our hair?

Mary would not make a good cartoon science teacher, though, would she? She says if Louise truly doesn't know about those thingumajigs, "I'll give you credit for less intelligence than I thought you had."

That's harsh. If I was Louise I think I'd pack it in right there, give Mary a little accidental-on-purpose shove off the picnic bench, and go home. But she keeps on keeping on. She is surprised that Mary uses Tampax bcause Mary is "conservative."

Mary responds by saying "I'd be stupid not to use it."

And still Louise persists. Asking more questions. Hanging on Mary's every word, through the bragging about her friend the nurse, and all the up-to-date girls at the office who use these thingumajigs.

Mary is on the left in the ad, obviously. She has that Joan Crawfordesque look of sophisticated exasperation. Louise, at right, is straight off the cover of a pulp magazine for girls: she just didn't know!

Just like I don't know what's going on in the Teen Confessions cover story on the left. But there's the usual triangle: Catty in the background, Confused up front, with Dopey Guy stuck in the middle (he is sitting out the whole Tampax ad thing, which is wise). Added twist: a Christmas tree, which is taking it all in, and is about to make itself heard.

Maybe next time Louise would do better asking the Christmas tree for advice.

[1942 ad, from Ad Access. Ms. Frizzle from Scholastic. Teen Confessions cover from Cover Browser.]

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Many thanks to Vickie at digivickie's word art for the Best Blog award!

Crazy Hat Day, 1940

Maybe you have to get used to it: it's not the glasses, it's the hats.

What kind of hats are these supposed to be? On the left, dark foliage picked off a leftover fake Christmas holly centerpiece from 1937. Suggested facial expression: Judy Garlandesque, yet bemused. As if you were about to start singing "The Trolley Song." Clang clang clang went the holly!/Ding ding ding, a dingbat/That's what I really feel like/As I simper and pose in this hat.

In the middle, bits of aluminum foil with a burnt cookie dangling over the forehead (a tribute to Baking Gone Wrong). Suggested facial expression: high-mindedness (think Eleanor Roosevelt here, though she would never bake, or wear, such a contraption. But if she did!...) For extra credit: a white pre-tied bow taken off a wedding present and stuck in your décolletage.

And on the right, a View-Master disk covered with colored paper, glued to a black and a white headband sewed together. Suggested facial expression: haughty. She's better than you, because she has twelve scenic views of Cleveland stuck in her hat. That's got to count for something. In Cleveland, anyway.

The ladies do have a problem with their "goggles" though. Clearly, they got their prescriptions all mixed up, and each of them has the wrong glasses. Because not one of them got a good look at what is perching on their heads.

From Modern Mechanix (1940).

Dinner On the Rocks

Why is Steve so glum and grim?
This dinner disagrees with him,
He wishes he had never come,
For gooey stew all overdone;

And gruesome guests are all round
The table making little sound
Except to gasp and look askance
At plates of stuff that came from cans:

Jack's telling the same old awful story
To his dinner partner Maury
Whose terribly morose expression
Suggests a case of indigestion.

And Herbert's giving the stink eye
To everyone who tries to lie
About the lovely time they've had -
He knows this party's pretty bad:

They must have dined on something cold
Ensconced within a Jell-O mold,
Washed down with Chateau Mauvais Vert -
Oh, how they wish they weren't there!

So fill them up with Hiram Walker!
It turns the most annoying squawker
Into a sycophantic guest
Who'll give the grumbling groans a rest.

This fine liqueur is all you need:
It does not matter what you feed
To people: veggie Jell-O? Fine!
And cheaper brands of table wine

Of very very recent vintage
Evoking socks and dryer lintage,
With leftovers that look primordial -
Just wash them down with Hiram's cordial.

The Brotherhood of the Travelling Pants

Oh, clothes "tell a story about taste and individuality" all right. Don Parker ought to know. Because the pants he made in 1967 had a few things to say. A few dramatic things.

This is the story of one seemingly ordinary pair of pants:

I don't suppose you want to hear about how they cut the flannel and I was sewed up in some factory. I had a large family. Well, really quite large. There were a lot of legs, a lot of belt loops and pockets and it was all too easy to get lost in the machinery. 

But I didn't mind. I was always - oh, I guess I was something of a dreamer. I thought: someday, some brilliant celebrity will be wearing me on a transatlantic jet, almost but not quite spilling champagne on me and ordering minions about.

But life took a wrong turn for me. It all started going wrong when they put that permanent crease in.  The Immacula Durable Crease, they called it. Sounds like Dracula to me. And I call it a nuisance.

It cheapens my look, you see. No really expensive pair of pants has that cheap permanent dividing line. And that ridiculous super-tight fit which says: don't sit down, or there'll be a wedgie in your future.

Anyway, I ended up at Sal's Haberdashery in Des Moines. Was bought by a used car salesman named Al. Al stands a lot, trying to pester folks into buying clunkers out on the back lot. So the famous crease stays put. But it is - well, boring. And I'm tired and worn down, to be honest. 

Champagne and minions? I'd just settle for a martini and pretzel sticks at the local Holiday Inn.

And I could sure use a sit-down, for a change. A wedgie? Who cares anymore! Not me.

[From Time, May 1967.]

Mayo Clinic

When two disembodied heads start gossiping about you, well - you'd better watch your back. And your head. These heads put the dis in disembodied, as they light into Sue because - well, just think of it: she had never tried Kraft mayo before. The nerve of that wench!

Simmer down, ladies. If you don't watch out, you're going to fall right into that salad platter. Which may be what was putting Sue off all this time.

And from the look of that salad, Sue probably was better off before. And so were her dinner guests. I mean, just look at that Avocado Salad! What in the world did Sue put in the avocados?

All sorts of disturbing possibilities spring to mind.

[pause to consider some]

Ugh.

Oh, don't worry, I'm just kidding!  It's only tomato aspic. But still. It looks so - so soft and viscous. Nothing, not even Kraft mayo, is going to ameliorate this situation.

Kraft mayo, however, is flattering. It is "flattering to everything." We all know people like that, right? Well, now you also know a condiment like that -

"Gee, Sue, you look swell today. And ladies - boy, I never saw such bee-yootiful disembodied heads. You are stunning! And the tomato aspic - it's so...so - gelatinous."

Looking at that aspic, even the mayo is at a loss for words.

[From Life, October 16, 1950.]

The Charlie Chaplin Contest

Did you know that Charlie Chaplin entered a Charlie Chaplin lookalike contest around 1915 - and lost?

According to snopes, this is absolutely true. The contest took place in a theater in San Francisco. Many Chaplin contests were held in the early part of the 20th century but the contestants were judged on how close they came to imitating Chaplin's Little Tramp character, especially his cane-swinging walk. Since Chaplin wore a baggy costume, a false mustache and hat as the Little Tramp, the everyday Chaplin was hard to recognize and so was able to enter the contest.

The photo at the top left shows a 1922 Chaplin contest, and is from Webshots. The little film clip is also from the 1920s and shows Chaplin judging a contest and showing the participants how to do the Little Tramp walk.