Are You In The Know? Part III

The next chapter in the little etiquette and dating guidebook is on grooming. The 1950's must have been one helluva time to be in mirror sales.

Are You In The Know? Part II

Yesterday I posted the first 6 pages of an etiquette & dating advice guidebook that was published more than three generations ago. Here are the next 6 pages, which contain dating advice for the young ingenue of the mid-1950's.

Are You In The Know? Part I

I found an old etiquette and dating guidebook at a garage sale - it's circa mid-1950's, with illustrations by an artist named Irving Norick (I think - could be Irving Nurick or Irving Nurlack - very small signature visible on just a few of the illos).

No author receives credit for the hints and tips, which, being from the mid 1950's are quite the hoot.

Here is the cover and first 6 pages of the booklet.

Representational Form In A Durable Material

The Duke Of Minor Discomfort

The Duke of Minor Discomfort
Sat on his tin-plated, wobbly throne
Contemplating the state of his domain

He shook his head and tried to focus his thoughts
On everything that needed to be done
But despite his efforts his thoughts either remained in knots
Or unraveled like a hangman's noose coming undone

The Duke of Minor Discomfort
Tapped his fingers on the broken screen of a cellphone
While staring at a painting in a crooked picture frame

He pondered his situation and asked no one in particular
How did the world around him become so very, very uncomfortable
And no one in particular answered in the vernacular
That it was better to be uncomfortable than to be insufferable

The Crux Of It All

Everyone has their own take on everything, their own ideas about what is really happening, and their own favorite individual (or group of individuals, more likely) that is to be praised for what is going right and blamed for whatever is going wrong.

And therein lies the source of all the problems that befall the human race and the planet earth. Not a lot of agreement going on.

Obliterated Passion

Like millions before them they started out with good intention
This one was going to be The One
Body, mind, and soul all blending together
Harmoniously
Romance and mutual admiration, adoration, infatuation
Darling, Sugar Plum, Buttercup, Honey Bun
Together they would ride out the stormiest weather
Cooperatively
This was pure, this was not a passing fancy or obsession
They told themselves they were both in it for the long run
Nothing would derail their commitment to one another
Positively
Whenever he worked late she told herself it wasn't inattention
And had nothing to do with the weight she'd put on
He told himself that her sudden distance wasn't displeasure
Complacency
She started noticing him speaking words of condescension
Started thinking she wouldn't miss that when he was gone
He started referring to her as his insignificant other
Sarcastically
Their mutual friends all started to feel the incessant tension
Agree to disagree became I'm right and you're wrong
Each now believed they were starting to smother
Drastically
Neither of them knew it was possible to rebuild affection
To restore the connection that had come undone
They both could only think the other was an oppressor
Tragically

Careful On The Ice, Bernie

Enveloped On The Dance Floor (Against His Will)

She walked on over and held out her hand

And said, "Hey let's dance to this one"

He got up and replied "This one seems alright"

And they made our way to the dance floor

Even though deep inside he wanted to run

She moved to the beat without hesitation

His feet tried to do the same but couldn't get it done

Everyone and everything was churning swirling

Still, heavy as his legs felt  started to move

It took all he had but he started to have fun

The Weight On The Scales

"Hello Mr. Turner, how are you this afternoon? Far better than you were that one afternoon in November of 1987 when Mrs Darcy had to send you to the principal's office I trust."

Eric Turner froze momentarily and the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened as he looked at a short, slight man with perfect posture, and asked, "Do I know you?"

"No, Mr. Turner, you do not. However, I do know you. I know you very well indeed, and today I am here to talk to you about what I know - specifically about what I know about your lies."

Eric forced himself to sit up. He sat and stared at the almost uncomfortably thin and immaculately dressed stranger who had taken the seat across the table.

He then asked, most succinctly, "What?"

"Your lies Mr. Turner, your lies. The lies that have caused an untold amount of harm. That's what."

"Look, uhm, I have no idea what the hell you are trying to pull here, but I'm certain that you do not know me at all, so why don't you get away from me before I get upset, understand?"

The genial expression on the face of the smartly dressed man did not change in the slightest. "Ah, the thinly veiled threat - I was told that was a favorite of yours. Well, allow me to riposte, Mr. Turner, by making one thing perfectly clear. The job I am here for is one I am most decidedly going to do, with or without your co-operation".

Eric Turner look around the small patio where had been sitting alone just moments ago, and then back to the gentleman who had appeared out of nowhere and had helped himself to a seat.

After a few seconds he answered the uninvited guest.

"What? Look, is this some sort of prank? Who put you up to this? Where's the camera, in that tree? Is your tie-clip a microphone? This has got to be the lamest joke ever."

"This is no joke Mr. Turner, and you are not on a candid camera show. I am here to weigh your lies and that is all there is to it."

The gracious manner with which the man spoke was beginning to make Eric Turner uncomfortable. He looked around the patio once again trying to think of something he could say to the man that would make him leave, then with a resigned shrug simply stated, "Hell, then go for it. What could you possibly know about me, Mister, uhm, whatever your name is?"

"I know most everything about you Mr Turner, and you may call me Mr. Smith if you like, or Mr. Jones, or whatever you chose - it's not really all that important what you call me. What is important is the weight of your lies Mr. Turner, and that is what I am here for - to weigh your lies."

The fastidiously dressed man smiled warmly at Eric Turner. "I realize how preposterous what I am saying may sound to you Mr. Turner. I could present any proof you desire to verify I know what I know. Would you like for me to tell you exactly what you said to Anna Barberini when you broke up with her after she got the abortion in 1998?"

"What? How the hell do you know about Anna and the abortion?! I never told anyone about her - hey, wait a minute, did she put you up to this? No...no, that's impossible, she passed away almost 13 years ago. This is too much, I can't wrap my brain around this."

"As I've stated Mr. Turner, I know what I know, and I have a job to do. The weight of your lies Mr. Turner. We must get started or we'll be here all day." 

"What do you mean by the weight of my lies? What lies? When? Do you mean every lie I've ever told? The lies I told my parents to try to get out of trouble when I was a little kid? Or the lies I told them when I was a teenager? The only lies I told them as an adult were solely to keep them from worrying, so those can't possibly count."

The little man adjusted his posture so that he sat up just a little straighter and said nothing, just looked straight into the eyes of  Eric Turner.

Eric stammered a little as he picked up where he left off: "Are you talking about the lies on my resume? C'mon, those are exaggerations, everybody does it, they can't mean anything to anybody. What then? Lies I told my friends? Hell, everybody lies to their friends, it's part and parcel of being friends, it's expected. Those lies wash each other out. What lies can you possibly mean?" 

The dapper little man simply stared up at Eric, his face calm, almost beatific.

"Geez, this is is insane...do you mean the lies I've told girlfriends or my wife? I haven't lied to my wife in years, and it's been at least a decade since I even was with anyone other than my wife, not since the second or third week after Steph and I started dating. I can't even remember that far back. Would you please stop staring at me and tell me exactly what lies you are referring to?"

"Mr. Turner, none of what you have just mentioned is of any consequence, and is certainly not the reason for my visit with you today. No, Mr. Turner, not one one bit."

Leaning almost imperceptibly forward, the well-dressed man with the calm smile looked directly into Eric Turner's eyes once again and said, "No Mr. Turner, all those other lies were fairly harmless, innocuous if you will. The lies I am here to weigh today are so much more damaging than those you have mentioned...far, far worse."

"The lies I will be weighing for you today are the lies you tell yourself."

Stop Kicking Your Ball Into My Yard!

Endogenous Passive Aggressive Manipulation Of The Soul

No clear signal coming over the radio

Maybe I'll stick my head out the window

Catch a glimpse of something enthralling

Sing a little a cappella calypso

The French vegetarian ran over a squirrel

Can't get him to stop crying about it

Doesn't want to sing the Circle of Life

Between snivels he's labeling himself a hypocrite

How long are we going to stay atop this plateau

Will we ever live in the jungle again

Somewhere, anywhere, without a paved street

Will we ever live in the jungle again

Somewhere, anywhere, without a paved street

The wind and rain are peeling the paint off the facade

Carpets been eaten by rats

Door hangs forlornly from one last rusty hinge 

Tiles fall from the ceiling like so many drunken acrobats

Living in fear of your own ambitions

Building walls between you and your dreams

Have to learn to break through that past

Have to stop reacting only in extremes

How long are we going to stay atop this plateau

How long, how long, how long

Will you keep yourself locked up

The Secret Strange Yet Ordinary Differences Of The Easy Eight

"Man, I wish I was taller"
Stated Handsome Stan as they walked down the street
"Man, I wish I was better looking"
Retorted Stretch McCoy as he stared at his awkward feet
"I hear you on that" 
Chimed in musclebound No-neck Manny
"Man, I wish I was much more athletic"
Declared blue-eyed dark-haired Dreamboat Danny
"I'll have to admit, I miss my hair"
Surmised the bald headed Bad Ass Ragu
"Well, I wouldn't mind being a lot more confident"
Countered footloose and fancy-free Lucky Lou
"Same goes for me, only double"
Proclaimed trustfund baby Happy Hank
"Hell, I wouldn't mind being a little more carefree"
Said fashionably uptight Fantastic Frank

And so it went as the guys known as the Easy Eight
Made their way from 32nd to 28th
With every eye on the neighborhood filled with envy
Because not one ear could hear their collective doubts

This Year's Winter Fashions

I'm Getting Too Old For This Shite

From the looks of it one might assume I've been fighting wildcats...but all I've been doing is replacing some engineered flooring.

Note to self: Engineered flooring puts up a good fight.

You Gotta Get Tough

Just What In The Flibber Flap Krick Krack Schick Shack Is This All About

Been sleeping

In the graveyard

I'm dreaming 

Avante-Garde

Goin' strut like King Tut

Heard all the scuttlebutt

What's all that squealing?

Get those kids off the playground

My skins still peeling

Sunburn finally turning brown

Now I wanna donut

Foot loose

Big moose

Think I'll paint the room chartreuse

Sleaze

Strip tease

Swing naked from a trapeze

Smack

That's wack

Someone stole all my prozac

Snooze you lose

Everybody's covered in tattoos

What My Vehicle Of Choice Says About Me

I have found myself with a lot of free time at the moment, like, a whole hour or maybe even more with nothing to do, because I am sitting in a small waiting room waiting on an appointment that has been delayed due to the person I'm supposed to be meeting being delayed by a small traffic accident they were involved in.

I could leave and come back, but then I'd either have to walk around downtown looking for something to do, or drive somewhere looking for something to do (and hope I can find as good a parking spot as I have now when I get back).

Or I can just sit here and get on my laptop, which is what, obviously, I am doing.

One of the drawbacks to having to keep myself entertained when I thought I was going to be doing something other than just sitting around is that I invariably begin to start thinking critically of...things.

Things that irritate me, specifically.

Such as this website that features top ten lists (Top Ten Places To Vacation, Ten Foods To Absolutely Avoid, etc.) that somehow got a hold of my email address (which can't be that hard - probably a result of my incessant search for arcane trivia on the internet).

A list titled "Ten Things Your Car Says About You" was in my inbox this morning, and of course I read it - can't help myself, gotta read items of that nature.

The list must have been compiled by a bored high school student who has yet to hone their critical thinking skills, as every single item on the list was simply a regurgitated stereotype.

For example, the list declares that if you own a mini-van or SUV (specifying a Honda Odyssey for the mini-van, oddly enough) you are probably a Soccer mom - not a stretch to imagine that there are a number of Soccer moms that own mini-vans or an SUV (here in Colorado, it's most definitely an SUV) but that is far from the only demographic that owns mini-vans or SUVs. 

Heck, I know a number of electricians, plumbers, and the like who own mini-vans, simply because once you remove all the seats you have a huge amount of room for gear, and a far more comfortable front seat (and many more convenience features) than you get in a conventional van configured for the construction trade.

The list goes on to stipulate (with sources cited as "according to recent studies"), that if you drive a sedan you probably vote Democrat & if you drive a truck you most likely vote Republican, if you drive a Nissan 350Z or a Dodge Charger you're probably a speed demon, If you drive a "tricked out" truck you lack confidence but if you drive a dark blue car you are not only confident but probably want to be regarded as an authority figure, if your vehicle sports stick figure family decals you are probably establishing your place in the social hierarchy/declaring your status (wtf?), if you drive a muscle car (or sports car) you probably love driving and working on cars - heck, the list even makes the claim that if your car is messy you're probably a multitasker.

There are a few more claims on the list that are just as egregious, but I'm beating a dead doorknob here.

It is obvious that the writer of the list knows absolutely nothing about automobile (or transportation) culture, or about regional, class, peer, or ethnic influences on vehicle choices, not to mention what is possibly the ultimate deciding factor in choosing a car - economic status.

In my experience, both as a car buyer and as a car salesman (for almost five full years at a car dealership that sold over 400 vehicles a month), I think I can safely make that claim.

And I can safely refute the claims made in the list as well.

I wrote at the get-go that mini-vans are as likely to be driven by people who work in the construction trades as they are to be driven by Soccer moms, but I'll add trucks and SUVs to that statement.

Yeah, it's rather obvious that construction workers are more likely to drive trucks, but in my experience, construction workers love SUVs as well, especially the barn door Suburban. You can easily access materials and gear in a barn door Suburban, and you can get to most any job site, no matter how unimproved the access roads are.

Just based on the people I see nearly everyday (people I work with, friends and relatives, people in my neighborhood) I am at a loss as to how the writer came to the conclusion that sedan drivers are more likely to vote Democrat and truck drivers are more likely to vote Republican.

Maybe it was some statistical extrapolation - I mean, if you look at the list of top 299 vehicles sold in the U.S. for 2016 and do a little math (available at www.goodcarbadcar.net) you will see that nearly 2.7 million trucks were sold that year (I'm counting every size and configuration of truck on the list, btw), while if you count just the vehicles that qualify as sedans (meaning it has 4 doors and is not a truck or SUV or Crossover SUV), you will see there were well over 4 million sedans sold. 

So maybe the writer thought that must mean more Democrats drive sedans because, well, I don't know why - maybe because it's just hard for the writer to imagine a Democrat driving a truck? 

I wonder if the writer is not aware that a huge number of people who work in the construction trades drive trucks, and that a large percent of them belong to Unions, and that the vast majority of Union members vote Democrat? 

Of the aforementioned people I see everyday most everyone drives an SUV or truck. Of course I live in Colorado, which almost mandates driving an SUV or truck.

Jeeps, Highlanders, trucks of every make, and of course Subaru's aplenty in these parts.

I know three people who drive sedans. I know one of those people votes Democrat and one votes Republican. The third person does not vote, and makes that fact known.

Lets see...I can think of six people I know I would consider speed demons (as in, they drive much faster than I ever would and have the speeding tickets to prove it)

One drives a Scion tc, one drives a Ford Focus, one drives an older Mercedes sedan (I think it's a 2003 SL500) one drives a Volvo XC90 (the twin turbo, which hauls ass btw), one drives a Subaru WRX, and one drives a Ford F-150

Being a speed demon is not determined by the vehicle one drives IMHO. It's determined by one's driving habits - and whether or not you're late for work.

The claim on the list that I think is most ludicrous is the statement that people with messy cars are multitaskers.

No. Eleventybillion times no.

In the nearly 5 years I was in the car business, every single trade that came in looking like a trash receptacle was owned by a person who was as disorganized as a person could possibly be and still manage a way to procure a driver's license.

Those people, each and everyone of them, were disorganized in every aspect of their lives - I can clearly remember watching individuals that came in with trashed cars digging through wallets or purses looking for licenses or proof of insurance, and waiting for them to provide car titles would sometimes take weeks.

Most of the people I know personally who have messy cars I wouldn't trust to carry scissors while walking.

Oh, and dark blue vehicles being driven by confident wanna be authority figures? Dark blue vehicles are fleet or government vehicles.

And drivers of "tricked out" vehicles of any type - trucks, sedans, SUV's, etc., do not necessarily lack confidence. In fact, the opposite is probably true - it takes confidence to drive a very conspicuous vehicle, and "tricking out" a vehicle usually indicates participation in a specific type of vehicle culture - the writer needs only to watch at least one of the Fast & Furious movies to understand that.

Who the hell uses "tricked out" to describe a modified vehicle, btw? 

Whoops, appointment is now here, gotta go.

By the way, I currently drive a truck, an inferno orange truck, but over the years I've driven everything from a VW hatchback to a Ford Tempo to a Range Rover.

I drive a truck because I work in a field that requires being able to haul things, large and small.

The Kinda Thing I Did In '82

                                      Something I did in 1982, just about 18 X 24, Gouache on board cut and reassembled

The Morning That Mad Professor Clark Planned To Poison His Dear Wife Vivian Christine

He had carefully planned every movement he would make

For the morning of Saturday the 26th

He was sure of his motive and knew, for goodness sake

How he would do it and what with

Before she arose he would sneak down the stairs

And go straight away to the coffee cupboard

Being carefully quiet to ensure she remained unawares

That he was fixing her end as she snored

A little of this and just a dash of that

Mixed in with her favorite morning tea

Not enough to kill a bear but more than needed for a rat

Should be sufficient to end his misery

His only regret he repeated to himself again and again

Was that he would not be able to witness the act

For his plan called for him to be on a plane

When his dear old darling drank the extract

So when he heard her say "Good morning dear"

It really gave him quite the start

He looked up from his vials to the top of the stair

And suddenly felt his well-laid plans falling apart

What was she doing up so early on a Saturday?

This just wasn't possible, she always slept in

He couldn't believe it, no how, no way

How had the rug been pulled out from under him?

He managed to squeak out an "Oh, good morning"

Through nervous, trembling teeth

And when down the staircase she began descending

He didn't think he would be able to breathe

His vials were spread all over the table

Her tea jar and sweetener too

He tried to grab them all up but wasn't able

She was sure to see what he was planning to do

In a panic he desperately knocked over the tea pot

The hot water washed everything away

"Oh my", he exclaimed trying to sound distraught

"It looks like I've ruined my surprise for you today."

"Not to worry dear," she said, "It's the thought that counts"

"I'll put more water on the boil"

And as she filled up the pot she added a special ounce

Of the professor's own flavoring oil

A Horse In The Neighborhood

                   A Horse Stabled About Two Miles Down The Road, 10 X 18, Watercolor on Cold Press Paper, CRB 2005

The Christmas Eve Rave

        I took a poster for the event with me as a souvenir, and I've kept it all these years

Alex was a guy I met in Glasgow who walked with a limp, which he explained was the result of his involvement with a gang of punks and their involvement in a notable riot during his misspent youth, when his family lived in Manchester. 

He also talked like he was gargling marbles, but that was common enough in Glasgow that a few months in I barely noticed.

We had become fast friends after meeting at the Burrell museum one afternoon, both of us having been overwhelmed by the collection, especially the wide variety of stained glass panels from medieval Europe.

On a Wednesday evening that happened to also be Christmas eve, Alex came by my room with a flyer advertising a Rave, and after he shoved the flyer in my hand he exclaimed that this was something we must, absolutely must, attend.

Primarily, he said, because I had never attended a "real" Rave before, something I made the mistake of admitting one night when we were at a dance at the GSA, standing around talking about the differences between the club and bar scene in the US & Scotland.

Plus, he was quick to add, it was better than sitting around doing nothing on Christmas eve. 

This Rave was going to be held at a venue known as The Arches, a name derived from the fact it was built in the arches of a railroad viaduct a few miles from where I lived off the Great Western Road & Belmont Street in the West End of Glasgow. 

Now, my idea of what a Rave was at that time (late 1990's) was based entirely on what I had read in various magazines, and what I had been told by a few people I knew who bragged endlessly that Raves in Scotland were the best and that I would be lucky to be able to experience one.

So it was with a bit of expectation that I dressed up for this  (as Alex explained I usually would be able to dress like an American, as Raves were not like the clubs - no dress codes to speak of - and I was probably going to want to wear trainers (aka tennis shoes) as we were going to be on our feet for a long time, but it being Christmas Eve and all, I probably should dress up a little).

We got a cab down to the City Centre and I was surprised by how many people were already there - Alex said we should be getting there early enough to beat the crowd, but the crowd had apparently had the same idea.

It was December, and it was cold. There was a light drizzle falling and we had to stand in one of two lines to get in. I remember quickly checking out what everyone was wearing as I stood in line, reassuring myself that the doorman wasn't going to turn me away because I wasn't wearing the right shoes (up to then, every club I had gone to in Glasgow had had a strict dress code which stipulated "no trainers", even the somewhat dodgy Cleopatra's).

The line (or, to use the vernacular, the queue) moved quickly, and after we paid the 12 pounds each to get in, we were able to move about the large crowd rather easily as the place was surprisingly huge - my initial impression was that it was the largest cellar I had ever been in, as it was literally just the large open space below the huge brick arches that supported the spans of a railway. It also felt slightly damp and musty, though that may have been the large crowd that was already dancing to the music being played by two DJ's who stood in front of a long table at the far end of the large arch we were under, which kinda felt like being in a very wide tunnel.

I remember thinking at the time about a film that centered around French resistance fighters in WWII - the venue looked strikingly similar to where the fighters were hiding from the NAZI's.

The music being played was Techno, and it was non-stop. The two DJ's were damn good at what they did, which was play high-energy music that keep everybody moving as if they were all those tiny football players on the vibrating metal football field my friend DV had gotten for Christmas once twenty years before.

Being as this was during my sober years, I did not indulge in the free drink that came with admission, nor did I indulge in any of the various drugs on offer. I just danced, with a lot of women and for a very, very long time.

'course, this was back when I could dance for a very, very long time, before my knees starting rebelling.

I danced to music I did not recognize, and I danced without a care in the world. It was quite refreshing to just get out in the middle of a crowd and dance without having to bother to ask a girl if she wanted to dance. Everybody just danced, and everybody just had a great time.

Every so often I would make my way out of the crowd to get some water and cool down a bit, my body (and clothes) soaked with sweat, my thin blonde hair matted down as if I had just pulled myself out of the ocean.

I lost track of time, and I lost track of Alex (he had left, I learned later, with a girl he had been hoping to run into), but man, I don't think I had ever enjoyed a Christmas Eve more.

It escapes my memory what time I finally left, but I do recall clearly not being able to hail a cab and having to walk back to my room, and that I was freezing the whole time, what with the sweat and the cold damp coming up off the river.

When I got up the next morning my legs ached like I had just clambered up 10,000 stairs, but despite that I was happy as a clam. All those people were right - Rave's in Glasgow were fantastic.