Retro stuff, part ? (it doesn't matter anymore)

Haha, I know what you're going to say: "Not again, Joshua, you silly-head." Mind your manners, reader! You don't have to partake. Go read your Reader's Digest or something. I'm on a proverbial roll, whether anyone is along for the ride or not.

The above advertisement seemingly tells me how to get the girl of my dreams (you know who). What a wonderful service. I mean, that's advertising at its best — getting what you want. I wish it was always so easy. Sometimes advertisers forget to uphold their end of the exchange. After all, we exchange money (which is the fruit of another exchange, when we give our time to our employer and get said money) for goods and services. We expect those goods and services to be delivered as expected. So, where's my girl? Oh, right, you want some money first. Let me find an ATM ... and, in the meantime, y'all enjoy this trip down memory lane. Or your Reader's Digest. 

Who knew it would be so easy to add some "foreign intrigue?" Not me. Just add some curry powder or onion soup mix. Those likenesses would likely not be permitted in today's ultra-sensitive atmosphere. They would be considered more than intriguing. Actually, I'm intrigued why one has a sword. And the other doesn't seem to have any arms. Could it be ... nah. 

Now, this is rather intriguing. It's more like a who-done-it — a murder mystery — than anything else. They don't even know what the hell to call it. And they resort to the punny wordplay of the era with Stewpendous Suppers. And then they call it Franks Dippy-Do Dinner. You're a monster! Stop! Anyone who throws hot dogs (cut on a bias, just to be extra dippy) into a stew is a madman. Beanie Weanies I understand. This I don't get. This concoction is not stewpendous. It's the work of satan. 

No time to make something straight from the mind of satan? Good. Why not make a mac and cheese dinner (put in a mold to make it more eye-pleasing, of course) ringed with some sort of meat product that probably came from a can topped with what appears to be pickles with catsup on them? And, if you're still too busy, why not bake a pie and cut up some fancy vegetables? Cus that's what I do when I'm too busy to cook. Meals like this make me look like a culinary maestro. 

Oh, I see what you did there. You put some eggs in the meatloaf, thus the "tuck away." But someone needs to tuck away a few of those peas. I've never seen so many peas in my life. 

What the ...? Is that dish water in the middle? Perhaps there is a likelier explanation. But who can explain the excessive number of porcelain cats viewing this spread? And the toad? Maybe they're wondering why their host is serving murky dish water. Dig in! 

Go ahead and stuff things all you want. And with prunes and whatnot. I just have a question. Why is this covered in slime like it was just birthed? No, I don't want to know. Never mind. 

Wow, that looks delicious. All zero calories of it. No wonder so many women in the 60s and 70s got turned onto Valium. If I had to eat that, not much else would stop me from stepping in front of a bus the next chance I got. 

If that is real crab meat, I'm down with it. I'd even brave that mold that resembles Mt. Fuji to eat the succulent crab. I'm not sure why the iced tea or whatever it is has tiny coozies. For effect. I guess. Just to live up to the "fancy" crab meat next door. I'm still trying to figure out the little umbrella things. Are they supposed to be like that? Like some kind of Japanese hydras? 

Maybe we should go over what a circle looks like again. Really, we're talking about semi-circles here. Oh, but there's pie! All is forgiven. 

I'm glad there is no description with this. It allows my little squirrel brain to come up with all kinds of explanations. What if I don't want a dollop of white stuff in my drink? Too bad, apparently. Remember the era when you didn't get to choose how you got your food? I recall sitting at the kitchen counter with my mouth full of liver long after everyone was done. I couldn't leave until I ate my liver. I drank so much milk to wash it down. It was the most horrible thing I had ever eaten. Good for me or not, I hated it. I still do. If I had some of this green stuff with white dollop drink, maybe things would have gone down easier. Or maybe it would have killed me ... but then I wouldn't have had to eat more liver. Win win. 

You didn't make a discovery! You put liver in a can! This is my worst nightmare. 

Nostalgia drives a lot of food consumption. My dad still talks about the cereals he grew up with, this one included. Personally I think shredded wheat tears the living &*$# out of the roof of my mouth (it's definitely not flimsy), so no thanks. I guess I used to eat a lot of cereal but haven't touched it for years. It's little kid food. I think adults eat it with their kids to pass down the love of it (again, because of nostalgia) and hope it continues, even if it tears the #@$% out of the roofs of their mouths. 

You can buy just about anything your heart desires at your local grocery store. But good luck finding yam ice cream! First of all, yams and sweet potatoes are not the same. Most people don't know the difference. Honestly, neither do I, except sweet potatoes and me don't get along. No one told me adulthood would consist mainly of me avoiding certain foods forever. I won't say anything about the cornucopias. That's probably something I would try and then quickly regret, trying to hide the leftovers in the parsley or something. Just turn it a little so no one can see I took a bite. There. All good. 

These celery hearts look like they were ripped out of the chest of some poor celeries, still covered in blood. Shudder. But, seriously, what's the deal with celery? It used to be on the menu for every dieting woman in America but somehow fell out of favor, probably because it offers zero nutritional value whatsoever. Even if you cook it in its own blood, it probably doesn't offer must sustenance. I can't look at this anymore. Those poor celeries. 

Asking for a friend, but what on earth makes this a salad? I think the goal of Weight Watchers was to make everything so unappetizing the unwitting weight watcher had to either forego eating or would throw up immediately after eating, thus losing a great deal of weight. 

Who does this to pancakes? Why would you take a good thing and put something that looks like cat vomit on it? Moving on. Quickly. 

I don't know which is more unappetizing, the presentation of this meal or the fact that it is once again covered in a substance that looks alarmingly like cat vomit! Enough of the food photos. Let's find something else disturbing about our recent past to talk about. 

The town I was born in had a Piggly Wiggly. It wasn't far from where I worked (yes, my family. heartily believed in child labor) and my older brother Jon would often send me there (with money he pilfered from our mom's purse) to buy him and myself candy. He would give me a list and I would dutifully buy the candy, even though it was often dark out and I had to go alone. One time, while coming back with a bunch of said candy, I was running through the backyard of the city library which was between the store and where I worked. I was probably scared because it was dark. And, what do I see ahead of me but a man peeing in the bushes behind the library. There weren't a whole lot of places to get through the bushes, and he was right by one of them. I tried to get past him but he grabbed me, and that's when I realized he was my father! I somehow got loose and ran to my mom (scared to death by the whole thing), and my dad laughed it off somehow. I've never forgotten that odd event. Somehow the candy was taken away from me and I was the bad guy for 1) not performing my mission successfully (undetected and with the goods) and 2) also revealing the fact that my dad was not, in fact, house trained. The whole circumstance was frightening enough, but the fact that I came out the bad guy reveals a lot about how my family functioned (or didn't). Every time I see a Piggly Wiggly, I think of that night. Luckily, there aren't many around anymore.

Since print has largely gone the way of the dodo, many don't remember how magazines used to look. Women's magazines all looked like this. And they were thick. I recall reading my mom's women's magazines like Glamour and trying to figure out women (I never could). I'm still as clueless as I've ever been. Honestly, I want to understand only one. I don't need to understand them all. 

I definitely don't understand this. Who wants a peasant-themed wedding? This is probably a short-lived trend. After this, guests were seen dining on porridge and drinking tepid beer, whilst challenging one another to "get medieval." Whatever that means. 

Speaking of weddings ... hey, give me back my wife, Captain Dildo (yes, there is an actual Captain Dildo out there)! 

My first thought was maybe it was that time of month. I don't know, man. How am I supposed to know why women do anything? Then I see it's about weight loss. Then I'm thinking that girl probably wouldn't be considered overweight today. Overweight today is ... vastly overweight. Since I'm a man, I'm probably not allowed to talk about women's weight issues, but I recall my mother once asked me if I married a girl who was skinny and she got fat, would I still love her. My answer was yes. What a strange question. I guess it does happen. Maybe those ladies just need a product with a tagline of "stop eating." 

I wouldn't recommend this course of action unless you don't mind be slapped upside the head, ya numbskull. Saying "ho" in any shape or form to a lady is tantamount to declaring war. I don't care how cute you think you are or how drunk she is. War, I tell you. War. On another note, I recall living near a family with a cat named Captain Morgan and when that cat went missing, their mom pulled those pitiful children around the neighborhood in a little red wagon while the children sang out over and over again in the most mournful voices, "Here, Captain Morgan, come home, Captain Morgan." Their mom came to visit us, too, (I don't know why) asking if we'd seen said captain. I don't think we told her he came in the night and flung himself at our window repeatedly while our gentle giant of a cat named Milo threw down the most ferocious sounds and threatenings I've ever heard a cat muster. It sounded like a monster in the night. Anyway, we didn't see Captain Morgan after that, probably because Milo scared the piss out of him. Herein lies an important lesson, though. Be careful what you name your cat because you may have to put your sad, little kids in a red wagon and pull them around the neighborhood while they cry out for their beloved pet. Naming your cat Captain Morgan probably isn't the best idea in that case. That's why I named one of the feral cats that stops at my ex's house Bob. By the way, no one has seen Bob for a while. Anyone have a little, red wagon I can borrow? 

Never mind us. Just reading books in our underwear. This looks like the 80s. I'm not sure if that's an explanation or an apology. Sorry, it was the 80s. This was what we did in the 80s. We didn't have internet or much on TV except Dallas. So we read books in our underwear. While sometimes standing up. Or laying down. We were wild like that. 

She actually appears as awkward as she should, all things considered. No, you can't hide in the fireplace, girlie. You have to pose in your wonderful knit gauchos. She reminds me of the mugshots where the person did something horrible yet they smile like it's their birthday. And this is actually a crime, wearing these pants, I mean, gauchos. I mean, oh, make it stop. Even the dog looks sad for her and probably doesn't want to be associated with this scene. He lost all respect.

Honey, do we need a new wagon wheel for the corner by the fireplace? The old one is out of style. How about a crock where we can keep our books or put our drinks on our simply take it apart for some unknown reason? How about a new lamp? We can get a variety of ugly lamps, and one even has the Nazi eagle thing. Or one with a Spanish galleon. Or a canon. One has a lamp inside a lamp. Whoa! Wouldn't that cheer up the place? No? Let's get a plastic plant, then. 

I never expected this one. I mean, what does chicken — Chinese or not — have to do with Vincent Price? Or vice versa? Did I miss something? Then he proceeds to tell us Chinese chicken always tastes better in a restaurant. But (illogically) here's how you can make it at home. Vinny, what you doin? 

My hair is actually starting to look like this (as of this writing). Okay, not exactly. But it is voluminous. And I went for a bike ride with my son when the wind was blowing and my hair, to my great surprise, caught the wind like a sail and blew up. I had much volume. But, anyway. Holy crap! Did anyone else notice the naked guy in the background? Good thing the wig has such volume. I wouldn't want to see more of what's going on there. Whew. 

Ah yes, the wingmen of old. Looking dashing. Debonair. All that. In their turtlenecks and with their lecherous looks and jutting pelvises. Even the bartender looks a bit disgusted. You guys want anything to drink or are you full of yourselves tonight? Where do men learn this behavior? 

Oh, that's where they learn it. Man, I wish I had a soft, green sweater and matching outfit (down to the green socks!). What a spectacular spectacle I would make of myself. 

I don't want to know! Rod Marsh, you better keep that robe on. Okay, I think we've all seen enough now. Hope y'all enjoyed this trip down memory lane. I don't know about you but I'm hungry for Chinese chicken ... and a valium sounds good right about now. Take care. 

***

One thing that comes up repeatedly when talking about consumer culture is perception. I used to work in retail and I recall how many of our store brands (we had several which were tiered based on price) came from the same factories as the national brands. Just different packaging. Sometimes the coloration was different, I assume to assure separation in the factory. So when consumers are looking at all those choices in front of them (like 50 jellies and jams), what are they thinking? If someone isn’t entirely budget-based in their decisions, on what are they basing their decisions? Often it is perception. They’re buying a label, essentially, because the choices are really all the same. Buy the national brand and you’ll pay more but you’ll feel different walking away. 

On my frequent evening walks through town I get to critique and wonder at the many strange ways people express themselves in their possessions, mainly their homes. I’d like to make a post detailing those thoughts but some may not like a random stranger taking photos of their homes. (But, tell me, man, why do you need five garage bays?) So, I guess those thoughts will remain unexpressed. I know. So sad. On a similar note, this post has a sister, which I’m finishing up. After that, nothing is planned. Unless I get some wild inspiration, that might be about it for a while. This blog helped me process a lot of big stuff over the years, so it’s probably a good thing I don’t need it much anymore. Take care, everyone. 

Thank you for reading. And God bless.

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