Dessert Excavations

I recognize Jughead's little head at the bottom, and Wishbone the Dog up at top left. But most of the little severed heads that dear Betty Crocker has stuck atop her totemic brownies are not ones that I know.

One of them appears to be asleep, or at least trying to block out the feeling of being watched from behind by a goofy pumpkin who has eaten too many popcorn balls.

And the one with devil horns at the back looks extremely grumpy. Try putting him on your plate! You will probably be sorry.

According to Betty, in her Party Book (1958) these are made out of lumps of hard sauce. So they will probably melt and fall off if you try and pick up a brownie. Betty was too busy rereading Gods, Graves and Scholars to remember that she had a bag of marshmallows handy, I guess.

Ice Cream Pranks

We can come up with better ice cream pranks than this! These aren't pranks, they're desserts. Ice cream mischief is more like this (note the retro-ad exclamation marks):

1. Serve scoops of your favorite ice cream down the back of your guests' necks!

2. When trick-or-treaters come to the door, give them each a generous scoop of Sealtest ice cream in their goody bags!

3. How about an ice cream jack-o-lantern on your front porch! That'll be fun to fall over and fun to clean up the next day.

4. Or play bobbing for ice cream! Boy, that'll keep people amused for hours.

5. Tell some scary ice cream stories while gathered round a container of Sealtest in the dark. Like the story of the time you ate the bubble gum pieces in the Baskin-Robbins.



Feel free to add your own ideas in the comments!

Speaking of which: I love and appreciate all comments and I really, really do try to respond somehow or the other, and if I don't it's because I was probably in a panic about getting other things done in real life or on that other blog of mine. And with NaNoWriMo coming up...well, you know. I will be posting (oh, yay) but my comments appreciation might be sort of - implicit. But there.

Pumpkin's Complaint

From a session with the celebrated analyst Dr. Pepper (who is rather a mystery figure, since no one knows if he is a condiment, a vegetable, or a soft drink)...

Little Depressed Pumpkin Cookie: It all started with that Charlie Brown special. You know the one. The one with that...Great Pumpkin. All that fuss Linus makes, sitting around all night waiting...it just got me thinking, doc, how there was this huge thing I had to aspire to - that I could never be. How can I be a Great Pumpkin? I'm just a little sugar cookie - no, its true. It's just that I'd never thought of myself that way before and frankly it got me down.

And then I began to notice all the real pumpkins. Those big orange things. I began to feel so little! I tried to tell myself, so all right, you're a cookie. That's something. People like cookies.

Then it occurred to me that people who like cookies tend to - eat cookies. And I started to feel very anxious...about being consumed.

Dr. Pepper: By the mother figure, perhaps?

LDPC: Not really. I think she might be on a diet. I mean by anyone - anyone can just open the tin and take one of us. Or maybe they're going to throw us in someone's bag on the 31st! Just whoever comes to the door, ding-dong, trick or treat! Oh here you go, have a nice cookie, little boy pretending to be a robot! Only that's me they're tossing, doctor. Without any thought for my feelings. My needs. Do they ever think of my needs as a small baked seasonal confectionary item? I don't think so!

Dr. Pepper: That seems to make you angry.

LDPC: I notice that candy is allowed to be angry. You ever read that e.e. cummings poem about Angry Candy? What about us cookies? Open any cookbook and you see us with big smiles and happy gumdrops all over us...I don't think that's really fair, do you?

Dr. Pepper: I see that Good Housekeeping - is that it?

LDPC: Oh, that. I don't read that magazine. Too many ads.

Dr. Pepper: I notice that they put a picture of you in their Party Book. And you are certainly not smiling. Nor are you covered in - how do you say? - in happy gumdrops.

LDPC: Woody Allen, Portnoy, e.e. cummings' Whitman Sampler - it's OK for them to whine and call it art! What about me? Just because I'm not a gigantic vegetable deity in a Peanuts special, does that make it all right to treat me like a little snack?

Dr. Pepper: Hmmm...a fear of abandonment. A fear of being consumed...This is very normal. And even more normal if you're a cookie, I suppose. What about the little Halloween cat next to you, you are friends, no?

LDPC: Well, not really...he keeps to himself. He's turned away from me, you see? Hostile. I always wanted to talk to that gingerbread man, the one in the story - he ran away, he got out, you see. My hero! The Jack Kerouac of cookies. I'd love to meet that guy.

Dr. Pepper: And the snowman cookie? Do you speak with him?

LDPC: The snowman? Are you kidding me? Stick coconut and a hat on him and he'll smile 'til next Tuesday! I tell him, just wait until that Santa Claus guy comes around and you're sitting next to a big glass of milk. Does he listen? No, hey....hey, doc! Wake up! You haven't heard a thing I've said! I want to tell you about my dream where there's this big Mixmaster and...

Dr. Pepper: Oh look, that little clock cookie is telling me that our time today is up...I'll see you next week, at the same time. And next time I would like you to bring a big glass of milk, yes?

The Ghost Room

Just what you need for those last-minute Halloween visitors, I guess. Our hostess looks pretty moody sitting there in the guest room - or is it the ghost room?

You know, if she just invites some ghosts over, that would solve the linguistic problem right there.

For the decor problems, Singer suggests that you make their Sewing Center one of your regular - er, haunts.



Look at the lady working away at dolling up the dressing table. Why, she looks like she's getting ready to invite Miss Havisham to stay. The draperies are shadowed so that they look rather - shredded. And where are the "reams of exciting trimmings," anyway? Whatever could they be? Strings of flashing lights? Glow-in-the-dark draperies?

We can only hope that these ladies cheered up after they went down to the Singer store. I wonder how they perked up those dark, eerie rooms. I am not sure that there's enough scat-singing silver rickrack in stock to perk up this Suburban Bungalow of Darkness.

Maybe opening the curtains would help.

This special Halloween-flavored ad was offered up in the October 1946 Ladies' Home Journal.

Tune in tomorrow when we'll eavesdrop a little on a pumpkin cookie who is glum enough to want to visit the Singer sewing ladies.

But Liquor Is Quicker

Welcome to a week of Halloween Retro...which means, in the main, candy ads and - well, later this week we'll meet a depressed pumpkin cookie (and possibly eavesdrop on one of his analytic sessions), learn some wacky Sealtest Halloween non-pranks...And last but not least, we will encounter some little shrunken heads that Betty Crocker, that noted anthropologist, stuck on some unsuspecting brownies.

And that's just the beginning!

Wait...no, that's not the beginning. This is:

In this case, candy probably isn't so dandy. That candy is squashed from the Lady in Red sitting on it by mistake.

This must be a classic Halloween date - also known as the Trick Or Treat. First she gets tricked: her friend said he was a Byronic, dark, moody type and look who shows up - Zeppo Marx on a sugar high. And the chocolate is the treat. Get it? (Oh fine, don't laugh...it's Monday morning, and we're all doing our best, I suppose).

And what smirking behind the couch is in aid of...nope, not gonna speculate. If I were her, I'd grab my mad money and go. Don't forget to take the chocolate, Sally - it looks salvageable. You can eat it in front of the TV later (perhaps one with an amazing blaxide tube, if you're lucky).

(Ad from Duke University Ad Access; they say it's from 1947, and I believe them!)

The Wonderful New-Shape Box

What a fiendishly clever plan!

After you go out and buy your Modess, wrap them up like a birthday present. You may want to buy some special polka-dot paper for this purpose.

Oh, and don't forget the twine, either. Make a nice knot when you tie it up. The idea is to make it so difficult to get at that - here's the clever bit - no one will know what you have inside the little box.

Because people know that you usually carry little wrapped boxes of note paper, and candy, and bath salts, and Kleenex, around with you - that's just a normal day for you, isn't it?

And keep holding the box up high like that - that way no one will even see the box. So they won't think, hmm - Arlene's sure got a thing for carrying wrapped boxes around, doesn't she? And she never tells anyone what's in them!

And there's a different-colored box every day.

She shouldn't really worry about hiding those Modess thingies, you know. Because after a few weeks of this, I think people are afraid to ask what's in the box.

Image, dated 1949, from Duke University Digital Collections: Ad Access.

The Amazing Blaxide Tube

What the heck is blaxide, and why is it so amazing? That's my first question.

But I have more. Check out this 1950 television ad and see if you don't have a few, too.

Why is the TV screen round, like a porthole?

Is this how these people dress to watch television?

What exactly is the relationship between the couple and the strapless-green-satin dame posing in front of the TV?

What, pray tell, is that leafy thing on top of the TV? It looks like Carmen Miranda's nightcap.

Why isn't anyone even watching the TV? That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, is it?

Image from the spectacular Duke University digital collection, Ad Access.

Out Of The Shadows

Another still from a film noir movie that never was...

When it's 1951 and you're the eternal star of The Constant Bridesmaid, it's time for Drastic Measures.

That smirking bride thinks she's the Queen of the May - just because she doesn't have any zits. She's been making her supposed best friend run errand after errand. Boring her with long stories about the sweet things Albert does for her. What he says about her complexion. The presents he's shelling out.

And after all that, when it's photo time, she tells Alice to stand back in the deep background. Smile for the birdie, everyone.

Alice is tired of those shadows. Look at her, you can just tell. And soon, thanks to Camay, the Soap of Beautiful Women, her fiendish masterplan will be implemented. She will use that Camay somehow - somehow - to overthrow the bridal monarchy.

And then she will be triumphant. She will be the one wearing that veil with the strange butterfly thingies over her ears.

The Emperor's New Zipper

An intriguing little sewing notion from 1967, is what we have here - the Lightning Zephyr, it's called, which is more what you might want to call a train or - or a plane. Or something in the transportation line. Although it is not bad to have a zipper that works so - so quickly. Ahem.

A stuck zipper is the fastest route to a bad mood - so goes the Zen koan. Well, or so it would go if they had had zippers in Zen monasteries.

Anyway...

The most intriguing attribute of this zipper is that it remains when the rest of the garment has disappeared:"it will outlast the garment you put it in." Imagine opening the closet door and seeing - instead of your nice sweater or dress or pants - a triumphant, though forlorn, Zephyr zipper depending from the hanger.

Furthermore, I do not think that one should ever forget a zipper. Sew it in and forget it? Bad idea.

It is good that it won't "snag, or bite, or bulk." After the vicious false teeth earlier this week, I certainly don't want a zipper that bites and snags. It's getting so it is dangerous just getting up and getting ready in the morning.

And whatever a zipper does when it bulks (a verb I have never come across before, though I do know what they mean) - that doesn't sound too good either.

That must why it outlasts the clothes! It eats them and bulks up, as if on some sort of fabric-based steroid. And as for it not glaring - all bets are off now!! I think it may glare after all. Watch out when you open the closet door.

And now for something completely different...I don't know where else to put this, so cue the non sequitur. You may have seen the NaNoWriMo widget over in the sidebar. Or not. Anyway, there it is - and if that sort of thing interests you, I wrote about it over on my other blog. And am too lazy to write something over here, it seems.

Kitchen Retro will carry on as usual in November, by the way - so the only difference will be the widget, and the caffeine levels in me. Which might prove interesting.

The Wallet Wardrobe

In Retrogirlworld, there is no end to the matching that has to happen - and I'm not talking about matchmaking. This matching business is, if you will, the prerequisite to the matchmaking.

Because in order to look your absolute kickiest most fabulous best, you just have got to MATCH. Match the dress to the shoes, the shoes to the hose, all that stuff to the purse, the legbone's connected to the hipbone...All that.

But most importantly, your wallet has simply got to match all that other stuff. If people notice that your wallet is Revolutionary Red, or Cosmic Purple, or Boring Black - why, there's no telling the consequences.

And you certainly won't be in fashion. Oh the horror.

I notice that girlfriend in the picture up there has a pretty unmatchy dress thing on, though. I do see a little yellow in it. But it is busier than Times Square on New Year's Eve. And the lime green vest! That doesn't match. It clashes! It all clashes! Why contradict the basic premise of the ad? She might as well have some accessories in Revolutionary Red.

Do not make this mistake. Retrogirls of the world, unite! And please, please take note of the very matchy, very yellow Wallet Wardrobe above. Wardrobe is an interesting choice of words. I don't suppose you're supposed to wear the wallet on your dress - are you? Or make the dress out of the wallets?

Mind you, that could be interesting. And at least it would all- well, you know - match.

Talking To False Teeth

We're gearing up for next week's Halloween Retro, and what better way to do that than with a surreal set of false teeth - the kind that not only talk back, but when they do, they speak of "raising biting power."

These are very bossy dentures. Who invited them over? Not me. I don't want anyone to crab at me like that. And I certainly don't want a prosthetic device doing it, either. Especially not dentures. They're strange dentures, after all. Who knows where they've been? On some sort of chomping rampage, from the sound of it.

Even the ad writers can't help mentioning that "false teeth get on your nerves." That's not even a subtext, that's right out in the open.

I'm surprised they had the guts to say it. That set of dentures will be coming after them, seeking revenge. And as for mentioning "plate odor" - well, the Fasteeth people had better lock their doors tonight.

And they'd better be careful when they open the medicine cabinet - who knows what's hiding in there, waiting to have a few biting words...

Never Been Soup Before

Wow, man. Far out. It's like a Zen koan for soup! It's powdered, and yet - and yet it must be fresh. It is fresh because...it has never been soup before! It has not yet achieved soup-consciousness.

Look deeply into the bowl of newly-born soup. See how green it is! The green of new things. The green of spring. The green of artificial, very salty, powdered, chicken-flavored chemicals.

It is fresh though. It is. And it exists in the right-now. Not only that, but it's nice soup. Never hurt anyone (not yet, anyway - we'll see what happens after dinner).

You have to go outdoors to eat it though. And wearing overalls helps. And if you can make friends with a large burlap thing, that also digs soup - that's all good too.

Be one with the soup. Make some analogies that connect you with the soup...Oh, like how you have never been friends with burlap before. Maybe the burlap is powdered. Or you are. Or something is, anyway.

The burlap thing scares me a little. What does it want with Lipton soup? Kids like Lipton's. That's not a kid though. Is it? Am I seeing things? Maybe I had too much soup!

That's it, I've had it. I'm switching to sandwiches from now on.

Advertisement from 1968.

Your 1913 Tax Dollars At Work

And why is the War Department analyzing dust, you may ask?

Because for one thing it is 1913, and they are not busy with World War I.

It doesn't seem, judging by this advertisement, that the War Department had enough to do in 1913, really.

I didn't know what dust contained (aside from, well, dust particles) so I went over to my pal Wikipedia. And it says that dust is made up of solid particles of soil, pollution, hairs, synthetic fibers, paper fibers, and minerals.

But this is not dramatic enough for the War Department! Dust is "filth in its most dangerous form" and it spreads diseases. It is quite disgusting! Pretty well evil, really.

Which is where the B-B Mop comes into play (as opposed to the BB gun, I guess - because shooting pellets at dust does not really work).

If this B-B Mop and all its B-B friends are Dustless, does this not imply that they don't really work? If they did, they would be - well - dusty. It is the very nature of the Dust Cloth, for example, to end up being full of dust. Hence the name Dust Cloth.

Also please note that the B-B Mop has "here and there a yellow thread" unlike all the other black mops on the market. So you really do have to examine it closely. Just like all the flunkies over at the War Department who really, truly need something a little more pressing to do.

Broiling Radiantly At Waist Level

Here is an early 1970s advertisement that may or may not being trying for a risque tone. Please insert off-color jokes, if you can think of any, right about here.

This is not appealing. Who wants to broil at waist level, anyway? Even if you are radiant. Even without scouring.

And don't tell me this woman is actually doing any cooking in her fancy muu-muu and slave bracelet and the perfectly flipped hair. She isn't even looking at the stove and she has her hand on one of the burners. Does Magic Chef really think that this is the sort of person who should be near a stove?

She'll be radiant, all right. I just hope she doesn't trip over the open oven door on the way to the first-aid kit.

The Bizarro Shirley Temple

Meet the Anti Shirley Temple. Or, as they might say on Seinfeld, the Bizarro Shirley. She's got the blond curls, and you can practically hear her high-pitched and annoying little voice.

But the real Shirley would not have a mouth on her like this one. Well, not unless she'd been in the studio all day and all night tap-dancing and singing some sugary little song over and over and over. That would be enough to break anyone, really.

You have to feel sorry for Auntie May though. Why exactly is she stuck with the kid? Her parents probably ran away. Heaven knows what Bizarro Shirley said to them!

Oh, it's a fun family, all right. Shirley came by that fresh mouth honestly - specifically from Daddy, who's been saying how Auntie's dragon breath knocks out all the men in whiffing distance. And she must be Mama's sister, since Mama is supposed to talk to Auntie about it.

Fat chance of that happening! Mama is probably hiding in the closet. Poor woman - stuck with a husband and a kid like that. And Daddy is not much of an advertisement for this husband-catching racket, by the way.

Mama should have thrown him back. Or had Auntie May breathe on him.

It's still an idea, you know.

But alas, Auntie discovers the amazing modern invention called toothpaste and hey presto! a B-movie second-lead actor shows up, on cue, to marry her - all "thanks to Colgate."

In that last group shot, Auntie May is just about to stick Shirley in the behind with a large hatpin. See how happy Auntie looks! She can't wait!

And to answer that initial question, young Shirley - no, bad breath isn't catching. But bad manners can be! And bad moods, too. So watch your back next time Auntie May and Uncle Brylcreem come to call.

And do remember to let your Mama out of the closet.

Dr. Grabow Pre-Smoked Pipes

Another bizarre idea from the 1950s. I don't quite know what to say. But take a look at that little Pipe-Smoking Machine they have going there. What does the guy standing there in the lab coat do all day? How many times do the pipes smoke themselves before they're sent out to the store?

And does one really need to break in a pipe? It's not shoes we're talking about here. You don't wear the pipe, gentlemen, you know.

New shapes available, too, apparently. That's one in the big picture. I wonder what other shapes Dr. Grabow has on offer - pyramids, bears, Alfred E. Neuman's head?

This is from Outdoor Life magazine, 1950. There were a lot of pipe ads in men's magazines in the 50s and 60s. I mean a lot of pipe ads! This was the thing to do if you were a guy.

I suspect that Dr. Grabow just liked to try out the merchandise and then put it back in the rack. That pipe-smoking machine is just a front.

Mrs. Murphy's Rough Guide

Mrs. Murphy, as we can all see, is ready for just about anything - including, but not only, a tour of the Pacific.

That's quite a bathing suit you have got there, Mrs. M. That will come in handy when they are doing a head count of the tour group. You will be impossible to miss.

I remember women of A Certain Age wearing this sort of thing on the beach back then (this advertisement came out in 1968). But the one-piece kind. Mrs. Murphy has gone for the bikini this time. She is a wild and crazy gal!

And she does not appear to have packed anything else. Is she planning to wear that to all the other tour events? Let me see, they say that she will be a "beach belle" all over the Pacific and she will "have the time of her giddy life."

OK. Now we're talking. I want to know all about this giddy life Mrs. Murphy has been leading! I mean, not even the most exciting BOAC tour could stack up against what she's probably been up to.

I also want to know what Mr. Murphy thinks about it all. Let's ask him! I think he's stowed away in that ginormous purse.

I am sure that this is the Mrs. Murphy whose chowder ended up with men's overalls in it. This is a lady who knows her way around a large pair of pants, after all!*

*There is, believe it or not, another song about Mrs. Murphy's chowder, see here. That must be some recipe.

A Mad Magazine Tea Party

What - me worry about my tea?

Actually, I'd rather not drink tea (or anything else) out of Alfred E. Neuman's head.

The same goes for his girlfriend, too. Why are they winking at us? Do they know something about the tea?

And what are they doing in this 1953 tea ad anyway? Don't they need to be doing stuff for Mad Magazine?

The rest of the ad makes a lot out of absolutely nothing. Yes, sure, they only use the tiny little new tea leaves. That's what they all say, though; we only use the best! Just once, I want someone to admit that they use stuff that is OK, but not the best. "It's all right - our tea leaves. They're medium-sized. Not little baby leaves, but also not scraped off the bottom of of George Washington's old tea caddy"(that would be their finely aged premium blend).

And that tea bag, how about that for innovation! Each bag in a little paper envelope. Wow. Just let me sit down, here. This is huge!

As far the "kind words" go, as long as they aren't coming from Alfred and Alfreda, I guess that's all right. I don't want them talking to me. That tea cup would be flying out of my hand the day it starts talking to me!

They do look like they're about to say something pretty snarky, though - once they're finished winking. That tea is - how do they put it? - "naturally lively."

I'd have something pretty lively to say, too, if someone poured tea on my head.

Let Them Eat Wacky Cake

These are the options. A stream versus a washing machine. Hmmm, that's a tough one. Let me see.

OK, I choose the washing machine. That was easy!

But this glamorous lady is extremely pro-stream. Look at that stack of blankets she's brought down to the water's edge! Maybe she just likes to pose there with the blankets, pretending to be a pioneer woman. Who knows why?

She probably likes to take the Imperial margarine out of the tub and churn it, too.

And don't forget, this is an electric blanket we're talking about. You can just see a cord on top of the stack of blankets. I hope she isn't going to be dunking that in the water. She looks mighty calm for someone flirting with electrocution, don't you think?

The blanket looks clean already, too. Don't tell me she has nothing better to do than haul a stack of clean blankets down to the riverbank to rewash them by hand!

Finally: there is no soap. That's another clue right there. Conclusion: this is the Marie Antoinette of Levittown, pretending to be a peasant girl (I don't know how she found such a rural looking stream though - this must be way out past the development).

Soon she will be flouncing around saying "Let them eat Wacky Cake!"*

But first, before they do that, they have to help her wring out that blanket.

*Bonus recipe, from Kate Aitken's Canadian Cook Book (1965 edition). Advertisement from 1960 House Beautiful.

The Sunday Edition: Thanks, An Award, And Some Memes

Dad appreciates the thanks, but he would prefer not to be choked from behind. He looks like a shopworn Jimmy Stewart. But the rest of the gang looks mighty pleased.

(And now here comes the really smooth transition!)

And I have some thanks to dish up, too - for an award and two memes, which have made me as pleased as the gals in the ad. I promise not to choke anyone or anything, though! Instead, I'll do the memes - in just a minute.

But first, thank you so much, to Chica & Pumuckl for this award:
The memes are from Jennifer at Extreme House Wifeing and Amy at I Love Retro Things. Jennifer's is to tell 7 random facts about yourself and Amy's is to tell 6 unique things about yourself. Hmmm, this should be challenging. But I will try. I hope I have not dined out, as it were, on any of this amazing trivia before! Here we go:

7 Random Facts

1. I went to high school on two floors of a NYC office building until grade 9 and from grades 9-12 in an old Armory building.
2. I can say the "Peter Piper" tongue twister very fast and perfectly but that is the only one I can do. And I don't know why I can, either.
3. I'm left-handed.
4. One of my ancestors was a Dutch pirate.
5. I really love old maps, but hate giving directions from maps in the car.
6. I am not all that crazy about cars in general, either.
7. I love chocolate mints. Dutch mints especially (no relation to #4).

6 Unique Things

1. I really, really like popular Victorian novels (even the not-so-good ones that most people don't like).
2. I've kept a journal since I was 12.
3. I would love to write and publish a mystery novel.
4. Running is the only sport I have ever really liked. Oh, and badminton, sometimes. Not always.
5. I have a lot of weird food sensitivities and allergies.
6. I don't really like a - what shall I call it, a purse, a pockabook (New York talk!), a bag - a bag, OK, a bag, unless it has a LOT of pockets, inside and out. There must be many pockets!

Feel free to do the memes, too, if you like.

Thank you Ana, Jennifer and Amy, once again!

Oh, and finally? Thanks to Duke University Digital Collections for the terrific ad.

The Starter House

Oh, I'll say there's nothing like it!

"Even after your house is built, home planning goes on forever," the ad says. Just think of all the planning they will have to do to get the Westinghouse in. And all the other 1950s mod cons.

Do they really think they'll be able to fit all the furniture in there?

Or perhaps they are playing with a doll house, which is equally startling. I can't begin to speculate on what that might mean - oh well, I can, but it is pretty early in the morning.

How exactly drinking beer helps with house-building, I cannot see. But maybe if you drink enough Budweiser, the house looks plenty big, honey! Sure, we'll be real happy with all that extra space!

That guy is just so proud of himself, you can tell. It probably took him three hours to pick out a cravat that was the exact color of his beer.

Advertisement from the back cover of a 1950 copy of Outdoor Life. Which is just what I predict for these two if they don't wise up to the fact that they are going to need more room.

Mood Eyelashes

Well, "wow!" indeed. Put away those mood rings, you need something infinitely more fiddly and - if you have more than one mood - more expensive.

This one is a little bit weird for me - not just because it is a weird ad, but because I actually remember being horrified and entranced by this ad way back in 1973 when I was 10 going on 11.

My love of retro advertisements must go back to that era of poring over my mother's magazines. I loved all the ads, especially the little ones at the back. And when I found the copy of Woman's Day that this comes from, I had some major deja vu.

Proust had those madeleine cookies; I have got an ad for fake eyelashes.
"Bring Out the Real You" with fake lashes - yeah, that makes sense!

I don't know where moods numbers 1-10 went (or 12,14, 18-22, etc). Some eyelash moods are - secret, I guess. Why can't they tell us what they are?

I can't make the ad any bigger, so here you go, these moods make up the Real You:

11. Career?
13. Natural?
15. Sophisticated?
16. Outdoors?
17. Now?
23. Romantic?
26. Home-Loving?
28. Feminine?
31. Child-At-Heart?
33. Intellectual?

-Why all the question marks?

-What is Home-Loving or Intellectual about eyelashes?

-If you have mixed feelings or more than one mood, do you have to wear 2 or 3 (or more!) pairs of fake eyelashes? That would put me in a Bad? mood.

-Speaking of which, I think they missed some moods: how about Cranky? Anxious? Frustrated? Tired? Had-Enough? Need-Chocolate? (Perhaps these are the moods the ad refuses to mention)

-And is that Cybill Shepherd trying to look Intellectual in the last photo (bottom right)?

The main point to take away is to buy MANY, MANY pairs of MOD eyelashes and "match each changing mood" - sure, that'll keep you busy! If you are feeling "Now?" and then suddenly change to feeling a little bit "Career?" instead of getting on with work, you need to go and change eyelashes.

What, Now? Yeah, right now!

School Of Hard Knox

It's not only your nails that grow stronger when you drink this. Apparently you also grow quite a pelt. It's the drink that really puts hair on your chest!

In 90 days she will not only have fingernails made of Teflon, she'll also be living in Tibet as a yak.

Now that's a kicky drink!

From a 1968 Good Housekeeping.

Fluffernutter

Well, here it is, National Fluffernutter Day. I only just found out about this myself, and I thought you might like to know. Louise over at Months of Edible Celebrations has a terrific post on marshmallow fluff, which mentions the fluffernutter, right here.

I've been doing a little Fluffernutter research and trying to pin down just when this sandwich was invented. I know they were around when I was an older kid, in the 1970s. And you can see that this ad - dating from 1953 - does not discuss any sandwich options. They're coming up with things like cake and graham crackers to put the stuff on. Quiet desperation, that. The elf looks tense, you can tell. That's a tense smile.

I don't even now what it is that he's holding up there. He's having to cope with a lot of fluff on the - is it an apple?

No, that's no good.. Don't put this stuff on an apple. I know they suggest it. But don't.

Ideal for more exciting desserts? No no, it is ideal for slopping on a piece of bread and smushing that onto a piece of bread with peanut butter. This makes a perfect seal. It's been scientifically proven, I believe.

This was probably a 1960s invention - the fluffernutter. It just sounds 1960s, doesn't it? It could almost be the name of a Haight Ashbury rock group (on the Vanilla Fudge/Strawberry Alarm Clock continuum). The Fluffernutter. Yeah, they put out one album, Sugar High, and then broke up.

Actually, there is a 1969 song that mentions fluffernutters, by Free Design, called "Love You." They mention it at the end, you have to get through a lot of a capella happy first. I'm not sure how much I like it, so I'll just give you the link. Here you go.

Over here at Foodaphilia you can see a Fluffernutter Cake.

Now at this point I must tell you that I never have had a fluffernutter. My mother was not the sort of person that you asked about the merging of bread and marshmallow products. A few years ago, I bought a jar, with the idea of making some - and then I forgot about it. For about a year. I mean, it wasn't at the top of my priority list.

Then I threw it out - because that stuff separates eventually. It is gross. So if you buy the fluffer, don't delay the nutter.

The Magic Fruit Cake

I know, I know. A recipe on Kitchen Retro! How very extraordinary.

But this recipe really IS extraordinary. As a matter of fact - it is magic. The Magic Fruit Cake! Sounds like the opera Mozart would have written - if only he had been around in the 1950s, privy to the cultural wonders of Eagle Brand Sweetened Condensed Milk.

Another special thing about this recipe is that it's a Canadian Magic Fruit Cake - thanks to the beneficence of Elsie the Cow and her friends at the Borden Hostess House. That Hostess House must have been quite a fun place. What with Elsie - who looks like she's been dipping into some sort of Magic Fruit herself - not to mention all those Magical recipes. There are 70 of them in the booklet, mostly involving confectionary.

After a few pages, you really do start to feel a bit overwhelmed. Although that could be dessert overload.

This recipe was on a separate piece of paper inside the booklet, inserted for the benefit of the Canadian market. For alas, Borden's Condensed None Such Mince Meat was not to be had outside of the US. Considering the name, I guess they were lucky to find it there. How much more can you condense regular mincemeat, anyway? That stuff has its own gravitational pull.

I do want to know is what, precisely, is Magic about this cake - and about the Magic Fruit Surprise Cake on Page 22 that they mention at the top. Just how surprising is it? Does the fruit do magic tricks? Does the cake talk you through an awkward dinner?

Maybe it washes the dishes afterwards. Say, I ought to try that cake out. I could use a break!

Princess Wendy of Monaco

Thank you, I would love to spend this season in Monaco!

First of all, it is so handy for the Riviera. And the dining and shopping are quite good, I hear. I hope that you have booked us a nice villa with a view of the sea, your Wendyness!

Perhaps we can take the yacht out, too. If you see Prince Albert, do invite him for tea. And no jokes about letting him out of the can, if you please.

Oh...oh, I see. Monaco is a fluffy yarn. Spending the season there means - spending the season in a thick sweater.

But I spend most seasons in a thick sweater, my dear! This is Canada, you know. You say that I will "spend the winter in style" - in a sweater.

How about we take the sweaters and then go to the real Monaco?

I'll bet we will not even need them, there. It will not be frosty and cold. It will be lovely and invigorating! Boy, I'll bet they have good spas there, too. Book me in for a day's worth, won't you - hot stones, facials, whatever's on offer. The works!

Let's all go! Wendy has invited us all! Just bring some of her yarn, that's all she's asking.

A Whiter Shade Of Jacket

This is an ad that is really trying very hard. Heller's Menswear is digging down deep to think of nice things to say about the tuxedos. They are - hmmm - "really white." I guess that is a good thing. As opposed to "white, but sort of dingy." Or, "they used to be white, but are a bit yellowed - you know, like old book pages."

Also, they are brand new! That's good. But once you rent one out, it isn't brand new anymore, is it? How can it be?

Are they saying that they have never rented them out? Or that they are made of paper, like those 1960s paper dresses that you wore once and then threw away? "Featherweight" may be a clue. Paper is light.

Finally, I notice that pants aren't mentioned. It would be a good idea to include pants. Why don't they mention the pants? Where are the pants?

Another unsolved mystery from the early 1960s. We may never know.

The Unbearable Lightness of Beans

Ann Page is getting philosophical, now that the weather is getting, as she so rightly says, frosty. The inner man! I thought the inner man fed upon the intangibles - the beauty of nature, a really good book, a seat on the subway.

Not baked beans. But Ann Page says that the inner man is hungry. Hungry for canned baked beans. Ann Page brand baked beans, strangely enough.

Now I would not appreciate a lumberjack crew roaring home, as Ann puts it. And certainly not while brandishing a lot of firewood.

That is a pretty tiny crew, though - they are about a sixth of the size of their dinner. Their roars must be a little squeaky.

And they are bringing firewood to the table. Please leave the kindling on the front porch, gentlemen.

They are only going to roar louder if this is what they are getting for dinner. I mean, just look at it. Canned baked beans dumped on top of some big old onions. Why is this called Northwoods Beans? What does this have to do with the Northwoods?

And do I really want to know?

Not really. I can free-associate some things that this picture makes me think of. And some of them might have to do with the great outdoors.

But I am going to leave it to your imagination. It is the weekend and the weather (here, anyway) is going to be really nice. Perfect for a nice October hike.

And I promise that no one will have to eat Northwood Beans afterward.

Jackey Blue

I don't think I want to put Jackey anywhere near my head, thanks. Not even if a child is offering to help.

If it doesn't use heat or electricity, how on earth do you think it worked? Did you use a wave lotion or chemicals? That must be it, but they don't mention it.

I looked up the patent (the patent number is right there in the ad, which is handy) and it was designed in 1936 by John B. Copenhefer of Lousiville, Kentucky. I read as much as I could, and then I sort of got a headache. You have never read anything so detailed about a plastic comb device, I promise. It just goes on and on! I do know that the "comb element" grabs the hair, but that's about it.

The picture in the ad is kind of nice, though - it looks sort of Victorian, except for the hairstyle. It is from a 1939 Ladies' Home Journal.

This ad also made me think of the song "Jackie Blue," by the Ozark Mountain Daredevils. I remember hearing it on the radio a lot when I was a kid:

Sparkling Links

Sparkling and refreshing links...just the ticket for the end of the day. I usually don't do two posts in one day but here's the exception that proves the rule. I was honored and touched to get two awards from two of my very favorite blogger friends and I want to thank them both so much.

First of all, the lovely Jennifer at Extreme House Wifeing has given me the Proximidade award. I wish I could give it to her too, but she already has it (of course). By the way, her new site, Sassy Vintage Ephemera, is terrific - do go and visit!

I get to give it to 8 other blogs - and it was so hard to choose only 8:

I Love Retro Things
Life On Planet Bill
Hollywoodland
Sandwiched Mom
Chica and Pumuckl
Lit and Laundry
Queenly Things
Little Grey Bungalow

Furthermore, the charming, delightful Margie and Edna at Margie and Edna's Basement were kind enough to give me this Tea award - however did they know what a tea fiend I am? They are so clever!This award does not travel - tea is after all best enjoyed at home (preferably, I think, in a cat mug - but that's just me). So with my thanks, I will offer up a tea recipe right about now.



[From Any One Can Bake, 1929]

A Bottle Of Odors

Here's a weird little scene. I think this is a mother and daughter. The daughter is talking fast, sounds defensive. She probably wasn't supposed to send fifty cents to Lundborg's for a frivolous perfume price list. She was supposed to buy some thing sensible, like cotton thread or wool underwear. Or donate it to the Ladies' Aid Society. Or something. Not this nonsense where you douse yourself with essence of Alpine Violet!

"Everybody says that Lundborg's is the best. And everybody is right." Peer pressure! You just know the mother is going to say "And if everybody said that they were going to do the can-can in the middle of Madison Avenue, would you do that, too?"

She probably would, you know. Check out that fancy sharp little parasol. Mamma had better watch what she says!

And to top it off young missy says that she is going out to buy "a large bottle of one of the odors" right now - going right back outside, she isn't even going to put that parasol down.

That seals the deal all right. What a brilliant ad copywriter! A bottle of odors - yes, we are all going to be putting that on the top of our shopping lists!

Advertisement from the mid-1880s, from Harper's Weekly.