Monday, April 17, 2017

Thanks for the Memory





Thanks for the memory
Of rainy afternoons, swingy Harlem tunes
Motor trips and burning lips and burning toast and prunes
How lovely it was

Thanks for the memory
Of candlelight and wine, castles on the Rhine
The Parthenon, and moments on the Hudson River line
How lovely it was





Many's the time that we feasted
And many's the time that we fasted
Oh well, it was swell while it lasted
We did have fun, and no harm done

So thanks for the memory
Of crap games on the floor, nights in Singapore
You might have been a headache, but you never were a bore
I thank you so much







Thanks for the memory
Of China's funny walls, transatlantic calls
That weekend at Niagara when we hardly saw the falls
How lovely that was

Thanks for the memory
Of lunch from twelve to four, sunburn at the shore
That pair of gay pajamas that you bought and never wore
Say, by the way, what did happen to those pajamas?







Letters with sweet little secrets
That couldn't be put in a day wire
Too bad it all had to go haywire
That's life, I guess
I love. . . your dress

Do you?

It's pretty.







Thanks. . . for the memory
Of faults that you forgave, rainbows on a wave
And stockings in the basin when a fellow needs a shave
I thank you so much

Thanks for the memory
Of Gardens at Versailles, and beef and kidney pie
The night you worked and then came home with lipstick on your tie
How lovely that was






Thanks for the memory
Of lingerie with lace, and Pilsner by the case
And how I jumped the day you trumped my one and only ace
How lovely that was





We said goodbye with a highball
And I got as high as a steeple
But we were intelligent people
No tears, no fuss, hooray for us





Strictly entre nous, darling, how are you?
And how are all those little dreams that never did come true?
Awfully glad I met you, cheerio, toodle-oo
Thank you.

Thank you.


Sunday, April 16, 2017

Black cat blues




The Modern Kitchen






NOTE. I don't know what year this little educational gem came out - the tags on it say 1950s, but I think it was much longer ago than that. Just the idea that boiling water in a glass container is revolutionary dates it to the '40s or even 1930s. But what really places it in time for me is the background music, a song called You Took the Words Right Out of My Heart, which appeared in a movie called The Big Broadcast of 1938 (Bob Hope's first film, and the first appearance of Thanks for the Memory - I might do another post on that one because the lyrics are so great).

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Bentley beauty shot




Balloons don't suck, but they blow




My God, I am so glad I am not the only one who hates this horrible, disgusting practice! It is ubiquitous for all sorts of occasions, happy or sad, weddings and funerals and christenings and divorces and this and that, and apparently not one person considers the consequences, or else they'd stop it. For some reason most people don't even think about where all that latex goes, or just sort of assume it dissipates into the air and disappears. If we can't see it, it can't be there, and certainly couldn't be doing any harm.

I'd like to know the stats on how often this is done every day worldwide, and how many TONS of filthy shredded latex end up casually discarded in the environment, the air and the water and the forest and city streets, along with countless masses of those nice curly lengths of ribbon that can choke magnificent marine life to death. Slowly.






Aside from all the animals it kills, balloon releases are kind of like firing tons of used condoms into the air and somehow seeing nothing wrong with the practice, even viewing it as something so beautiful and meaningful that other concerns are trivial and unimportant. Yet if you say anything about it, you get hurt or astonished looks from people, as if you've said, "I like to stomp on Easter chicks". 


And just try NOT attending a balloon release in protest. Whether you explain it to people or not, it will be extremely awkward, the kind of thing that prompts a down-inflected "oh," while you honestly wonder if they think you're just an antisocial crank. "Oh come on, we know you don't like it, but they're going to do it anyway, you know? Be a good sport."

Everyone
loves balloon releases, don't they? They're a way for people to express their deepest emotions. To "let go and let God". And for heaven's sake, they can't be harmful or they wouldn't sell them. (You're not one of those whackjob environmentalists, are you?) There it is right on the package: biodegradable.






Alternatives to the colorful aerial spectacle, whatever they might be, aren't given much play because nobody has really thought about it. It hasn't occurred to them they could do something else. Why should we, when we can go down to the dollar store and have them fire up the helium tank? It's what we always do, we do it every year, the kids would be disappointed if we blah blah blah, and anyway it hasn't done a bit of harm. 

Has it?

What's behind this bizarre and extremely selfish practice is something so naive that I can barely wrap my mind around it. People still seem to think God lives "up there", and that these overinflated multicolored condoms are somehow going to carry everyone's grief and hope and joy STRAIGHT UP TO GOD, where it will of course be dissipated into pure light by the power of divine grace. Soggy multicolored condoms raining down from the sky don't even enter the picture. So it's worth "whatever", isn't it, all that stuff you're so bothered about? It's a spiritual practice, for heaven's sake, and God wouldn't mind if we do it just this once.


Low-flying planes: this is bad for my health





Why are there helicopters and planes flying over my town, day and night?

My face was in shadow for this, but perhaps that's just as well. Bentley is in silhouette.


Friday, April 14, 2017

Strange tendencies




Strapping 12" wheels onto your ankles. What could possibly go wrong?



Creepy Easter bunnies!





I wasn't gonna do it. No, I mean I REALLY wasn't gonna do it - that thing I do every year, where I find photos of really hideous, creepy, scary Easter bunnies and post them here. As a matter of fact, I've barely thought of Easter at all this year - that wonderful time of violent death and bloody crufixion and Cadbury cream eggs.

Then somebody asked me, "So what are you guys doing for Easter?"

I thought: you mean we have to DO something? I thought Easter was a holiday, and the whole purpose of a holiday was to do nothing.

Then I told myself: no, Margaret, you will NOT make a photo montage of Easter bunnies in hideous costumes with screaming little kids attempting to flee from them. It's sadistic, isn't it? - because these little kids aren't just upset or uncomfortable. They are TERRIFIED. They fear for their lives. They hold their arms out begging for rescue, while their parents. . . their parents take pictures.

These montages at least explain WHY kids cry like that. I can't say as I blame them at all.










Techno Bike Wheel Chicken





Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Yes sir, that's my Bebe




A two-frame animation I made from gorgeous photos of Harold Lloyd's first leading lady, Bebe Daniels.


Donald Trump's film debut in STARCRASH (1978)







Long-suppressed by Trump's advisors, profoundly censored by the White House, seen by practically no one: it's STARCRASH! In 1978, Donald Trump decided that though he was rich and famous and excelled at everything, he had not yet tried movie acting. His agent Bugsy Siegel signed him to this tawdry low-budget sci-fi picture, sight unseen. Co-star Marjoe Gortner was a famous fake evangelist with a 5-minute movie career, though whether or not he was actually green (or actually an evangelist, or actually an actor) is still hotly debated in sci-fi circles. 


The following Highly Secret Conversation was tape-recorded via hidden microphone by a spy hired by George Lucas:

I gotta tell ya, it's a mistake to put me under that dome.

(director) But Mr. Trump. This is the only special effect we can afford in the picture. Besides, you won't be under the dome. It'll be added later.

Because I don't wanna look like some kid's birthday cake or a pheasant under glass. Nobody told me about all this shit, the green skin, the lobster hands.

But Mr. Trump. Isn't it an honour to play the most formidable movie villain since Darth Vader?

My guy will call your guy.

PRODUCTION NOTES. The Wizard of Oz atmosphere in this scene is only partly intentional. It just kept turning out that way.

Those lobster arms are actually asparagus spears being overcooked in a microwave, another dazzling special effect.

The backdrop for the globe/"cake dome" is a defective lava lamp that Marjoe had lying around.


Monday, April 10, 2017

Some cats know




The old prospector’s nose for gold

the sailor who can read the sky

the gambler’s sense of when to fold

the trick to making apple pie





























these mysteries one cannot explain

this old black art

so queer and quaint







































like making love, or making rain

either you got it,

or

you

ain’t
































Some cats know

you can tell by the touchin’






they don't come on huffin’ and puffin’

and grabbin’ and clutchin’






































some cats know

how to take it nice and slow













but if a cat don't know

a cat don't know








































some cats know

how to stir up the feelin’

they keep foolin’ round

till they're half way to the ceilin’


































some cats know

how to make the honey flow







but if a cat don't know

a cat don't know









































some cats know just where it's at

they are not like some others

I would ruther one like that

If I had my druthers






Some cats know

how to play nice and pretty










































nice and soft

and soon you're off to

good time city










































some cats know

how to take it nice and slow








































but if a cat don't know

a cat don't know





he just


don't


know





(Lyrics by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller)