Hiking in Hawaii

SOLVED: the mystery of the Narwhal!

                                               The mystery revealed!

I WILL fit in this box.

The view

Curling with kitty

               What a man won't do for his cat.

Ghost owl

Corset Queens: a Victorian gallery

Catfight!!

       Go full-screen, you've got to hear that "meow"!

Cat Drag Race

Elizabeth Holmes: time's up

                                       Time's up.

I WANT THIS TROLL!

I. Want. This. Troll.

Don't ever start a collection, of anything, or this will happen.

What happened was - I don't know if I want to go back that far! Let's say I had a troll collection already, but somehow it was never complete. I felt guilty about every purchase I made, since we're on a very modest budget all the time.

AND THEN.

And then, today, rummaging in my wallet for my bus pass, I spied - a cheque. It had my name on it. I had almost forgotten I had it! And it had a tasty amount on it, too, very tasty.

The Canada Council for the Arts had sent it to me, not for a specific work but for contributing to "the arts" through publishing three novels and writing approximately 300 book reviews and over a thousand newspaper columns over a substantial period of time.

Pay.

I don't get pay from too many other sources. It also delighted me because it easily covered ALL my trolls, most of them costing five bucks and none of them more than forty (most of that being postage and handling).

I couldn't think of anything more apt than covering the cost of all my trolls with my Canada Council cheque. But do you realize what this means??

That's right. We're square, and I can once more feel guilty lusting after new trolls, looking on PicClick (an eBay search site) late into the night. My last "big guy" was most unusual, looked brand new which he couldn't be, and had a totally different configuration, as if made by another company. The troll world is odd and full of anomalies and huge gaps in information. I assumed however that he would be my last "big guy" and that if I got anything else, it would be a small Wishnik, simply because I didn't HAVE any Wishniks and it made a hole in my collection.

But I don't like Wishniks. I tried to like them. Their bulging eyes were pretty much their only outstanding feature. Most of them were old and the worse for wear, with sad clumps of hair coming away from the scalp. Some had no hair at all. The larger ones had hideous flat, elongated heads with huge ears and evil faces. No charm at all.

Wishniks were a direct knockoff of Dam trolls, which are still the gold standard for collectors, mainly because there are just more of them, at different price ranges, different manufacturing dates, and with vastly different designs. Wishniks are just, well, Wishniks. The ad that used to run when I was a kid irritated me: "Just let a Wish-nik/Let you come smi-ling through." They have double horseshoes engraved on the bottoms of their feet. 

Plus they just cost too damn much, $40.00 or more for a small troll in so-so repair.

Whether I get this "big guy" troll or not is undecided. There were a ton of photos on the eBay page, which was nice because sometimes you only get one grainy one, so I was able to make this wonderful animation. Often when I finally make my move, the troll is gone. Or I suddenly change direction and decide that I hate that troll and want something else.

THAT troll.

Post-mortem. Sigh. It happened again. Somebody bought that troll. That troll that was far too expensive for me, anyway. This is what happens when you start a collection. And the weird thing is, I've never collected anything in my life before!

Now I know why.

Horse joy: kicking up his heels

Twirly girls

Glory be to Dog, Part 2

                                   Fluffdog 2

I don't know if this is a gag or not

Of all the food abominations I have ever seen - and I consider myself an afficionado - this has to be the most grotesque. "Salad" takes on a meaning never even thought of before when you stuff a prune with cottage cheese and ram it into a doughnut. And serve it with mayonnaise.

I suspect a gag recipe here (speaking of gagging!), in part because it's just so extreme, and also because it stretches the idea of "salad" to the point of snapping. This was something they did a lot in those days. Usually it was anything encased in jello. The idea of the "manly" salad was also prevalent, with men chiding their wives that their salads were too "sissy".

Another giveaway is the spelling of "doughnut". "Donut" didn't come around until much more recently. It, too, is an abomination. The "serve with mayonnaise" seems to top it. But you never know! There used to be something called a prune Danish, and it actually had prunes in it. Why not just pour Ex-Lax all over your "donut" and EAT it?

The other thing  I saw was an "ad" for Mickey Rooney's Potato Fantasy Restaurant, which turned out to be totally bogus. Totally, but it had me going there for a minute. No salads, no prunes, just a lot of potatoes.

Elizabeth Holmes: She Who Does Not Blink

I honestly don't know if I posted this video before. But if I don't know, how can YOU know? I've been on a bender lately with this celebrated sociopath/bloodsucker, mainly because her face in slow motion reveals everything about her. The smile in this gif/video (enhanced by recording it off my computer monitor with my old cam-corder) looks manic, if not maniacal, with the utter self-assurance and grandiosity of one convinced of her own immortality. 

The smile just goes on and on, unblinking, but when she DOES blink it's just as weird. It's a sort of Disney blink, the head turning minutely to one side and the curly black artificial lashes slowly fanning the air. It reminds me of those ballet-dancing ostriches in Fantasia. In fact, an ostrich would probably have more intelligence than this so-called genius. Guile she has, and cunning, but both of these are traits that cats have in abundance. And they also do that slow, predatory eye-blink that mesmerizes us so much, hypnotizing people into handing her $9 billion and breaking every regulation in the book.

Baby cat, baby horse, baby human. . .

I love these tiny videos with animals in them, but why is it always "baby horse", "baby cow", "baby dog", "baby cat"? Do people really not know the names of these things? There is much on the internet which seems badly translated from some unknown language. 

A peanut butter sandwich made with jam

This adorable gif of the adorable Emmy, as in emmymadeinjapan,was going to be a short YouTube video until I flew into a panic. Usually I know when I'm going to violate copyright, and stay well away from it. Now I'm not so sure. I think a gif is OK (isn't it? Especially on a blog no one reads.)

The whole reason for this paranoia is the "strike" against my account I got from "violating community standards of decency" with my Eadweard Muybridge animation, the same animation that appeared on several other videos which were allowed to stand. The video consisted of seven or eight frames of nude women, mostly shown from the back, with one woman playfully dumping a bucket of water over the other's head. I was warned that this was considered filthy pornography, and if I got two more strikes against my account, I was "out". I mean, now and forever.

So now I'm freaked out.

Never mind the jaw-dropping and even horrifying stuff I see on YouTube now, including a recent one about a woman who "FUCKS A DOG!" (and this news screamed at us by some millennial loser). Horrible, horrible stuff, because it's ugly. It's cheap and doesn't accomplish anything. I'd rather watch a person shit. I don't look for others of this genre and don't want to find them, but I am sure there are  some that are a thousand times more explicit than my two little frollicking Muybridge girls.

So at least we get this gif, this very cute snippet of Emmy looking at her peanut  butter sandwich seven times. I'm not sure why seven, but it's adorable. Most of her stuff is quite watchable and relaxing. I like her respect for other cultures, other eras, and other ways. She featured a series on prison recipes, real ones I mean, from  a cookbook written by a former inmate. The treatment was not mocking in any way ("Boy, all those guys in the slammer, they must get horny as hell" - I can just see it), or satirical or even funny, but respectfully fascinated at how people make do with limited resources. That's how Emmy approaches things. No spit-takes, no mugging (though she does put on funny accents once in a while and does a split-second "bit" at the very end), no screaming into the camera with her face half an inch away from the lens.

In other words, no cheap tricks. 

I hope this is the new YouTube, but I fear not. She's considered old school now. YouTube has been hijacked by the gamers, loud millennial slackers with the IQ of a gnat. Almost all of them are young males who experienced failure to launch, and sit home alone in their Mom's basement all day, perpetually playing  video games and "fapping" to pictures of their latest female android superhero. 

Nearly-identical vintage toys: compare and contrast

It strikes me, after the fact, that I need to include a BIT of explanation with these ads rather than just throwing them at you. Unlike me, you may not remember them. These are vintage ads for kids' toys that are practically interchangeable. I don't know if Digger the Dog came ahead of Gaylord, but both toys had very catchy jingles. Digger had an adenoidal little boy who, while almost unintelligible, was mighty cute. The men who wrote these (for they were almost surely men) were geniuses in their own small way, for their little ditties plied drill-bits into our brains that screw with our memory to this day.

As a child, I wanted a horse so badly that I'd "ride" anything. I would hang upside down from the railing of a gospel church door and pretend it was a horse. I would pop the legs off one of those tin TV trays, stand inside the legs, and pretend to gallop around. Never did I get anything as impressive as Marvel the Mustang or Blaze, which would probably cost more than most families were willing to pony up.

The pooping dog was not something I experienced or wanted, not being a Barbie afficionado. In my day, it would have been considered horrific, since back than nobody pooped. I mean nobody, not even dogs.

These have only the fact that they're robots in common, but they're cool. Why am I bothered by the thumbnail in the bottom one? Does it remind me of a TNT blast, or something more ominous?

In any case, I remember most of these ads, particularly Digger the Dog and Gaylord, who seemed to be almost the same product. Likewise Marvel the Mustang (who came with the unforgettable slogan, "What horse do?") and Blaze, though unlike Marvel, he didn't really go anywhere. Though boy and horse seemed to be barreling along, it was obvious that only the background was moving, while Blaze just bounced up and down in one spot like those awful horsey-things mounted on springs. Marvel, on the other hand, kind of shuffled along, front and back legs stuck out awkwardly like diagonal table legs. No winding. No batteries. But no horse ever "did" like that. 

(Wasn't there a Romper Room caterpillar that you rode that was something like that? Let me think. . .) 

The pooping dog is quite a bit after my time, but I do remember the stir it caused when Barbie came out with Tanner. The idea was repeated some time in the '80s (?) with Pax, my Poopin' Pup, a much fuzzier, cuter dog who nevertheless produced the same stuff. Put it in one end, and it comes out the other.

SPECIAL BONUS AD! This one may only faintly resemble Marvel the Mustang and Blaze, but it's a mechanical horse, what the hell! This one DOES take batteries. What horse do? This one does.

POST-PONY: Sometimes, it just all comes together. Looking for that Romper Room riding caterpillar (which turned out to be Inchworm, with a jingle too dreadful to repeat here), I found - a riding DOG, so much like a cross between Digger the Dog and Gaylord that it almost made my hair stand on end! Well, not quite. But it's interesting.

Elizabeth Holmes: Blah, blah, blah