Winterlude ’20

Though it hasn’t been a harsh winter, it has been winter, so time for a short hiatus. Back posting around March 1.

It turned out to be a good idea to know as little as possible about Parasite before seeing that movie, which we did last weekend, weeks after we’d originally considered going. All that time, I did my best not to read about it. Not knowing the arc of the story helped maintain the suspense, which was as riveting as anything Hitchcock did, especially after the midway twist.

I did know that the movie came highly recommended, and by sources I respect more than the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Could it, I wondered, be better than 1917? It was. That’s a remarkable achievement all by itself. One of those rare movies that is as good as people say.

I’ve updated my vanity North American map again.
The key to the colors is here. The color scheme is wholly idiosyncratic, so I do have certain ideas about certain places. For instance, if I spent some time in following places, I’d color the respective states blue: the Northwoods of Minnesota; Norfolk and vicinity in Virginia; Mobile, Alabama; and Tuscon, Arizona. If I spent a night in West Virginia or Delaware or Rhode Island or Manitoba, they’d be orange. Just means I need to get out more.

Though cold today, the sun was out. Time to take my new garden gnome outside.

Gnomish Stalin was a Christmas president from my brother Jay, shipped to me from the UK. Cornwall, specifically. For all I know, Cornwall might be the world hub of eccentric garden gnomes.
This year, I got Jay a Russian nesting doll — a political matryoshka doll, made in Russia. He sent me a picture. Nice set, though you’d think there would be room for Khrushchev at least, whom I’d pick for inclusion over Yeltsin.
Coincidence that we both sent Russian gifts — political Russian-themed gifts, no less? Or synchronicity? Who knows, I’m just glad to have a new conversation piece for my summertime visitors.

The Perfect Man

Yesterday I visited one of the major drug store chains for reasons unrelated to chocolate, but also took a look at the discounted Valentine’s Day candies. Among the supply, mostly Russell Stover, I found The Perfect Man.

Not something I’d ever seen before. There was one left, so I bought it for the reasonable price of 34 cents. It’s one ounce of milk chocolate made by an outfit called Treat Street.

The About Us page on Treat Street’s web site is one of those long on marketing and short on actual facts, but there seems to be an affiliate (parent company? subsidiary?) called My Favorite Company, which is based in Los Angeles. Anyway, the two entities’ specialty is novelty chocolate and other confections.

The Perfect Man, as you can see from this 9.5-oz. version, is wearing only boxers with hearts on them. (What, no version wearing gold briefs?) The package also says Made in Germany, but I have my suspicions that the real makers are a breakaway faction of Oompa-Loompas tired of working for that slavedriver Wonka.

Presidents Day?

This came to my attention ahead of “Presidents Day.” It exists in the realm of not just the ignorant, but the proudly ignorant. Not recognizing Warren G. Harding is a fairly minor bit of ignorance, but the subtext is that everyone is, and should be ignorant, of the past.

Arguably today isn’t even really Presidents Day, not if you cite the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1968, which calls it Washington’s Birthday. Presidents Day seems to be an invention of calendar makers and ad men, who can’t even agree on whether there should be an apostrophe or where it should be (AP says no apostrophe).

So no Presidents Day unless, however, your state uses the term “Presidents Day,” or some variation. There is no agreement among the several states. Or unless you feel like calling it that. At this point, it’s a touch pedantic to deny the name at all.

“…we now have a hodgepodge of state holiday schedules in the USA: some states still observe Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays as separate holidays, some states observe only Washington’s Birthday, some states commemorate both with a single Presidents’ Day (or Lincoln-Washington Day), and some states celebrate neither,” Snopes says.

“And there are odd exceptions such as Alabama, which designated the third Monday in February as a day commemorating both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson (even though Jefferson was born in April).”

This state of affairs might rankle those who are fond of dull uniformity, but the more I think about it, the better I like it. Each state honors Washington in its own way, just as the proliferation of Columbus Day alternatives and dope law is according to the states. Keeps things interesting.

You could also argue that today isn’t Washington’s Birthday either, depending on how you feel about the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, though I can appreciate the urge to create three-day weekends. The Father of Our Country was born on February 22 N.S. or February 11 O.S., to complicate things just a little more. Try explaining that to someone who doesn’t know Harding’s face, even with those distinctive eyebrows.

Salado Creek Greenway, February 2015

Late February’s a good time to visit South Texas. Five years ago, during a trip to San Antonio, I was even able to enjoy some outdoor greenery. Just budding, but there.

I took a walk along part of the Salado Creek Greenway.

Salado Creek Greenway San Antonio

Any day in February when you can wander out in the non-freezing air is a good one. At least for us Northern Hemisphere, Temperate Zone dwellers. Roughly above the 40th parallel, that is. How’s that for overqualifying? Never mind, it was a good walk.

Salado Creek Greenway San AntonioSalado Creek Greenway San Antonio

Salado Creek Greenway San Antonio

Speaking of latitude, the Tobin Trailhead of the Salado Creek Greenway is —

Salado Creek Greenway San Antonio

— at exactly 29.51512 N (and 98.42812 W).

The Bears’ Cookbook

The pit of winter hasn’t been very deep this year, but on Wednesday night, snow fell and today temps have been sliding all day. As of this evening, it’s about 5 degrees F. above, with subzero expected by dawn tomorrow. That’s the classic harsh winter pattern we’ve mostly avoided so far this year, when temps have actually risen after snowfall, enough to melt most of it each time.

Then again, forecasts call for above-freezing air by Sunday. The pit still seems pretty shallow. Suits me.

One more unusual book around the house: The Bears’ Cookbook. In this case, I didn’t nab it from my mother’s house. Rather the authors, Steve Freitag and Jack Garceau, gave it to Yuriko and me as a gift in 1998. I knew Steve back at VU; in fact, I was a senior staff member at Versus magazine when he was editor in ’82-’83.

The Bears’ Cookbook was a spiral-bound, privately published effort by Steve and Jack, who produced about 100 copies. As they explain in the book:
“What could be a better Christmas gift for our loved ones, our friends and family, than a cookbook of our favorite recipes? Welcome to our table. Sit, eat, enjoy.”

And so we have over the years. Yuriko and I have used the book, especially her, but so have Lilly and Ann, as soon as they’ve gotten old enough. Just a few weeks ago, Ann made chocolate chip cookies using the recipe on p. 97.

Besides cookies, subjects include breakfast, appetizers, soup, salads, breads, pasta, chicken, other meat, seafood, vegetables, condiments, and cakes and pies. Sources — one given for each recipe — are as diverse as “Ivan, a friend from New Brunswick who now lives in Vermont,” Alice’s Brady Bunch Cookbook, “Mayflower Restaurant in Albany, NY,” “Some men’s magazine Steve read long ago,” Julia Child, and “lost in the mists of time.”

The book actually has three covers. Flip over the first one, and you encounter this amusing, all-text cover.

A note inside the book explains: “We wound up with several covers, each with different titles, and we couldn’t decide which one to use. So we decided to use them all! Well, actually, just a few of them…

“Pick the cover you like best for a cookbook that may very well grace your coffee table, bookshelf or nightstand for years to come. Fold back the other covers (one of the few advantages if spiral binding), so that the excess covers become mere interior pages. Voila! The cover you prefer graces this lovely book.”

The third cover.

The inside cover of each of the covers includes biographical notes about Steve and Jack, such as under a cartoon of them:

Steve Freitag and Jack Garceau are not cartoon characters by a real flesh-and-blood couple who live high above San Francisco in an 18th-floor apartment they never call the ‘Treehouse of Justice.’ 

They’ve since moved to Palm Springs. Under a photo of them decked out in Western duds:

Steve Freitag and Jack Garceau — known far & wide as two of the orneriest, grizzliest old hashslingers in the West! — started out as mama’s-boy East Coast fops…

Under another cartoon of them with oversized heads:

Enormous heads like these require plenty of food! So it’s no surprise that Steve and Jack like to cook. Like to eat and like to read — and now, write — cookbooks.

I’m no judge of cookbooks, but I know this one is fun to use and fun to read.

A Cartoon History of United States Foreign Policy Since World War I

Not long ago I looked up the Foreign Policy Association. Turns out the organization has a mission statement.

“The mission of the Foreign Policy Association today, as it has been for over 100 years, is to serve as a catalyst for developing awareness, understanding, and informed opinion on U.S. foreign policy and global issues. Through its balanced, nonpartisan programs and publications, the FPA encourages citizens to participate in the foreign policy process.”

By gar, that’s positively Wilsonian in its optimism that citizens can influence foreign policy, and that in fact U.S. foreign policy can be a force for good in this wicked world. Maybe it can. It’s certainly pretty to think so.

Another of the books I liberated from my mother’s house in recent years is A Cartoon History of United States Foreign Policy Since World War I — by the Editors of the Foreign Policy Association, the cover says, published in 1967. In the book’s acknowledgement, one Norman Jacobs is given as the editor of the association, but he thanks half a dozen people who participated. A group effort book, then.

The book includes about 250 editorial cartoons in 19 chapters. Actually, two examples are comic strips that editorialize, but they are exceptions, with most of the content one-panel cartoons. (Remarkably, included is a B.C. strip: two ants are watching two larger animals fight, and one ant says, “If we had ‘the bomb,’ we could intervene.”)

The editors provide a few lines of context for most of the cartoons, usually going out of their way to be nonpartisan and mostly nonjudgmental, at least as far as U.S. policy was concerned. For instance, before the U.S. entry into WWII, there are cartoons for and against intervention in European affairs and then the war itself.

The chapters, and the cartoons, are more-or-less chronological, beginning with the argument about U.S. participation in the League of Nations, continuing through the prewar years and the rise of fascism and then the U.S. in WWII. After that, as you’d expect, comes the Cold War and all its complications and players, which was ongoing as the book was published.

Lots of famous things are touched on — Munich, isolationism, Pearl Harbor, the atomic bomb, the founding of NATO, the wars in Korea and Vietnam, sputnik, the Berlin blockade and wall, and the Cuban missile crisis. Other less-remembered events were the subject of cartoons as well: the Washington disarmament conference, the sinking of the Panay, riots in Poznan, Poland, American marines landing in Lebanon in 1958, and so on.

I probably first read the book in junior high. I learned a great deal from it — maybe as much as in some of my classes — about the history referenced, but also a notion of how things considered settled now were once contentious.

One good example is the Marshall Plan and the creation of NATO. Few would consider those mistakes now, or even 50 years ago, but in the late ’40s not everyone was on board, as illustrated by a cartoon that shows a man — labeled Our Global Meddlers — happily offering a diving board to a character called U.S. Senate. The board is labeled Atlantic Pact and it’s leading to shark-infested waters (labeled War Dangers).

I read through the book enough times over the years that many of the images are still familiar when I look them now. A Cartoon History of United States Foreign Policy Since World War I was also an introduction to some first-rate, or at least then-famous editorial cartoonists, and the art of such cartoons, which has been slipping away from us in recent decades.

The index is instructive. You can tell which cartoonists appeared the most in the book, such as John Fischetti (1916-80), Herblock (1909-2001), Bill Mauldin (1921-2003), Edmund Valtman (1914-2005) and Ralph Yardley (1878-1961). Other cartoonists rated a few examples, and many more only one. One editorial cartoonist not represented: Theodor Geisel, who had a lot to say.

Looking at it now, I’m interested to see the many ways the cartoonists used Uncle Sam. A quick glace has Uncle Sam as the bridegroom of Foreign Entanglements, surrounded by lions, one of the Wise Men, looking on as Europe burns, someone who’s tied cans to the tail of Hitler’s dog (it makes sense in context), as Gulliver tied down, a robbed man with empty pockets, a soldier in Korea, and many more.

Curiously enough, depictions of Uncle Sam seem to slack off in the late ’50s and early ’60s. More often presidents — Eisenhower, JFK and LBJ — stand in for their administrations in those years, though Wilson, FDR and Truman appeared often enough before then. Yet Uncle Sam isn’t completely gone, even in 1967: the second-to-last cartoon has Uncle Sam as a knight, riding (barely holding on to) a horse called U.S. Power. “Of course I’m in charge — I think,” he says (Bob Bastian, San Francisco Chronicle).

Plenty of non-American characters also appear, such as Hitler and Stalin, many times, but also Mussolini, Neville Chamberlain (but not, oddly, Churchill), Chiang Kai-Shek, Khrushchev (many times, but not Brezhnev — too new, I guess), Nasser, Mao, Charles de Gaulle and Fidel Castro, among others.

A few panels are outstanding examples of the editorial cartoon. One is “High Noon” by Bill Crawford (1913-82), which is exceptionally simple and effective. It depicts a top slice of a globe. Toward the bottom of the panel is an arrow on a rocket launcher, ready to fly; a world away, at the edge of the globe almost out of sight, is another arrow, the exact same one on an exact same launcher. The arrows are pointing at each other. This of course illustrates the height of the Cuban missile crisis.

One by C. D. Batchelor (1888-1977) from 1948 shows two figures heading up a luminous (golden) staircase, into heavenly clouds. They are holding hands. One figure is Czech Liberty. The other is Jan Masaryk.

An August 1945 cartoon by Daniel Fitzpatrick, “Journey’s End,” is also simple and effective. Small figures, looking much like the flagraisers on Iwo Jima, are on top of a globe raising a banner that says, VICTORY.

Finally, the two I consider the best in the book, and which were by the same cartoonist: Sir David Low (1891-1963), also known as the creator of Colonel Blimp. I believe both of the cartoons are also better known than the others in the book, and for good reason. Interestingly, neither are directly about U.S. foreign policy, just events that concerned the nation very much.

One is 1939’s “Rendezvous,” which has Hitler and Stalin politely bowing to each other over the body of Poland, whom they just murdered.

Hitler: “The scum of the Earth, I believe?”
Stalin: “The bloody assassin of the workers, I presume?”

The next year, after the fall of France, Low drew a tommy on a beach, invading airplanes overhead, waves crashing around. He holds a fist high. “Very well, alone” is the caption.

Both of these Low cartoons are here, along with a lot of other good ones he did.

Bennett Cerf’s Treasury of Atrocious Puns

Who knows Bennett Cerf any more? I’d guess that out a 100 randomly picked men and women on the street, the number who did would be a small scattering, if that. Even people my age wouldn’t really have much of a clue, despite United States v. One Book Called Ulysses, which ought to (does?) come up in school.

I might not know much about him myself except for a paperback we had around the house when I was growing up: Bennett Cerf’s Treasury of Atrocious Puns. It was published in 1968, toward the end of Cerf’s life, since he died in 1971 — another reason my cohort wouldn’t know him.

If he’d lived longer and appeared on game shows in the ’70s, maybe we would. He might have taken Wally Cox’s place on the Hollywood Squares when he died. Then again, Cerf was part of the New York literary milieu, and might not have been interested in a California game show.

I brought our copy home from San Antonio not long ago. It’s more amusing than the 1963 topical New Frontier Joke Book, though some of the puns are 1968 topical, too. Such as the captions for a drawing in the book that depicts someone being electrocuted by a wall outlet. Three other people are watching, and their speech balloons say: “A real life wire.” “One of the turned-on generation.” “Socket to me.”

Mostly, though, the punning reflects an earlier 20th-century vintage that isn’t necessarily moored to its time but does expect the audience to know certain things. Such as these lines from Cerf’s introduction: “In Rome, the great Caesar (the roamin’est noble of them all), when asked by his friend Brutus at the Forum one afternoon, ‘How many hamburgers did you consume at luncheon today, Julius?’ couldn’t resist answering, ‘Et two, Brute.’ ”

After the intro — in which Cerf assets that the pun isn’t the lowest form of wit — the book groups its puns into various chapters, including puns about animals, show business, education, sex, food and drink, commerce, health, the law, literature, music, sports and more. There are also puns on signs and punning definitions for words.

Many examples feature a few paragraphs or even half a page of build up before you get to the pun. Mostly more than I want to transcribe, so I’ll do only one — one of the more convoluted examples in the book, I think.

A resourceful Floridian not only harbored four playful porpoises in a pool beside his house, but discovered a way to keep them alive forever. All he had to do was feed them sea gulls.

So he ventured out in Biscayne Bay and trapped a quantity of gulls. When he tried to re-enter his house, however, he found his way blocked by a peace-loving, toothless old lion who had escaped from the zoo and was stretched clear across the doorway. As our intrepid hero jumped over the dormant beast, a posse of game wardens burst from the surrounding shrubbery and took him into custody.

The charge: Transporting gulls across a staid lion for immortal porpoises.

Which, in an aside, Cerf points out is a quintuple pun.

Other puns are shorter. Such as these “Daffynitions.” (By Webster? Noah! Noah!)

Bulldozing: Falling asleep during a political speech.
Disbar: As distinguished from some other bar.
Exchequer: A retired supermarket employee.
Gambit: Bitten in the leg.
Hangover: The wrath of grapes.
Hypotenuse: The washroom upstairs is occupied.
Incongruous: Where the laws are made.
Molasses: Additional girls.
Pasteurize: Something you see moving.
Polygon: A dead parrot.
Ramshackle: A chain used to tie up a he-goat.
Specimen: An Italian astronaut.

Supposed real people and the places they live:

Quoth D. Raven: Never, Mo.
I.M. Phelin: Slightly, Ill.
C.U. Sunday: Early, Mass.

A few of these made me laugh, but mostly — if you have any taste for puns — the book is good for smiles. Except for the puns about sex, which are very dated.

The New Frontier Joke Book

Pick up a book like The New Frontier Joke Book and be reminded that humor doesn’t age well. With some exceptions, of course.

I picked up the paperback at my mother’s house some years ago and now it reposes on one of my bookcases. I assume my parents bought it new. That is to say, in 1963, which is the copyright date. Meaning that not long after it was published, sales fell as flat as Vaughn Meader’s career.

Still, enough copies must have sold to make the book a non-rarity on Amazon in our time. If you want one, you can get it for $2.30. The original price was 50 cents, or about $4.20 in current money.

Gene Wortsman was the author (aggregator, really). He was a newspaperman from Alabama, covering Washington for the Birmingham Post-Herald, which ultimately folded in 2005. Apparently he also wrote a book about Phenix City during the 1950s, which seems like a thing a newspaperman from the region would do, though Ray Jenkins of Columbus, Ga. (who died only last October), was better known for his coverage of Sin City, USA.

The promotional text on the back cover of The New Frontier Joke Book says, “Use this sparkling collection of the newest, brightest, and fanciest quips and cartoons about THAT FAMILY in the White House. Read it aloud, for the delight of your friends. Or save it for your private enjoyment — as a sure cure for the frustrations of thinking about the Cuban situation, income taxes, government spending, or any of the other joys of modern living.”

I thumb through it, looking for something that’s still funny. It isn’t easy. This was worth a chuckle:

“Son,” said a corpulent businessman, “it gives me a glow of pride to know you hate Kennedy the way I hated FDR.”

Other quips are mildly puzzling.

Thanks to Postmaster General Day, the nickel wins the award for the greatest comeback of the decade.

I assume that had something to do with an increase in the price of a first-class stamp.

These days, everyone in Washington wants to know if the President is off his rocker.

Ah, yes. The president was known to spend time in rocking chairs. (Which would account for the book’s cover art.) Bad back, you know. You can still buy one of the style he used for $549.

Some are Johnny Carson sorts of jokes, on his weaker nights.

Averell Harriman went on a mission to Moscow for FDR and a mission to India for JFK. That guy has more missions than the Salvation Army.

It isn’t true that JFK had a locksmith go through the White House and replace all of the Yale locks.

There are jokes about Jackie Kennedy’s wardrobe, the John-Bobby rivalry, the president’s relative youth, taxes, LBJ chaffing at the vice presidency, the size of the Kennedy family, Khrushchev, the space race, etc. etc.

Even one making fun of the Secretary of Agriculture.

So the Yankees are still winning baseball games. The only way to stop them is to put Orville Freeman in charge of their farm system.

Not a very good joke — I think, it’s a little hard to tell at this late date — but I suppose that was better for the secretary than being known for telling a remarkably crude joke.

Davis-Kidd Booksellers, Nashville & Squeezebox Books and Music, Evanston

I have envelopes containing paper debris — keepsakes, if you’re in a generous mood — from various periods in my life. They aren’t quite rigorously organized, since that wouldn’t fit my temperament, but most of the items evoke a certain bit of the past.

Such as the pleasant times I spent at Davis-Kidd in Nashville in the mid-1980s. The store gave away bookmarks. I still have one.

Davis-Kidd Booksellers bookmark

There are few pleasures like browsing a bookstore, especially an independent, intelligently stocked one, as Davis-Kidd was. It wasn’t enough to browse, either. I also bought books there.

Of course I have to report that the store is gone. About nine years gone, at least the one in Nashville. Nine years ago, the betting money was on the complete disappearance of the independent bookstore. Fortunately, that hasn’t quite happened. I do my part when I can, though such bookstores, new or used, are thin on the ground in the suburbs around me.

But I still find them further away. Last summer, for instance, I chanced across Squeezebox Books and Music when I was in Evanston.

Squuzebox, Evanston

I like a shop that has non-English versions of Calvin & Hobbes for sale.

Squeezebox, Evanston

I didn’t buy any books there — I don’t buy as many as I used to, since I have so many — but I did buy postcards.

The First Robo-Call, Others to Follow

A few above-freezing days lately melted our snow cover. That’ll never do, Old Man Winter mutters, and so this morning we had a fresh few inches. At least it’s light snow this time, and proved fairly easy to remove from the driveway and sidewalk.

This was fun to write. Since then, a reader suggested Lex Luthor as a real estate villain. In Superman (1978), he hatched a scheme to sink most of California so his desert land would be the new West Coast, and thus instantly worth a fortune. Not a bad suggestion for a villain.

Still, Luthor’s plot is comic-book logic for you. I’d think the destruction of California would set off a deep economic panic worldwide, and so it might be years before much is developed anywhere. Also, people might be a mite skittish about repopulating the “new” West Coast, even after the economy recovered.

Not long ago, we got the first political robo-call of the year. From an unexpected source. I quote in full:

“Hi, this is Jessica with Mike Bloomberg 2020. We have brand-new yard signs. Will you show your support with a yard sign at your home? Go to w-w-w Mike Bloomberg dotcom slash 2020 slash yard hyphen signs to request one now. Thank you and have a great day. Paid for by Mike Bloomberg 2020.”