Dialing For Doilies (Trouser Truths)

Oh, Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz…

Oh, Lord won’t you buy me a color TV

Dialing for dollars is trying to find me

I wait for delivery each day until three…  –Janis Joplin–


Remember doilies–those white crocheted things on the back of your grandma’s couch and overstuffed chairs.  They would slide off and granny didn’t like little fingers playing with them.

There was an old TV show, called “Dialing For Dollars,” viewers competed to win cash.  I don’t think “Dialing For Doilies,” would have been nearly as popular.

Before I fire up the grill, more silliness for a Sunday afternoon–a grandfatherly conversation.

When I was your age, we wore real trousers–made from real fabrics.

Wore them with pride.  Snugged them up to our chests–like they should be.

Because we were real men–and that’s what real men did.

Does This Make Any Sense?

Perhaps some folks would like to relive their high school years.  Not me.  Introverted, anxiety-ridden–it’s better left in the past.

“Just order one,”  Came a shout from the kitchen.

“I know, they’re expensive as all heck,”  I answered.

“Would you like some popcorn?”

“Yes, Dear, that would be nice.”

Should past practices that are out of date be considered wastes of time?

What if someone were the best bloodletter in town?

“Last week I went to Cyrus because I was feeling a bit phlegmatic.  I didn’t feel a thing when he pricked my arm.”

It shouldn’t matter because no one knew any different back then.

People were accustomed to dealing with pain.

They were offered whiskey or a bullet to bite on–if they were lucky.

Some cultures still used horses and buggies.  It was part of their religious beliefs.  Did that make the practice a waste of time?

“Why did men always wear hats in the forties and fifties?”

“It was the style back then.  Haven’t you watched any old movies?”

“Your grandpa–my father wore a gray fedora hat.”

“If he were still here, his opinion would be, that people today dressed too casually.”

“He probably felt incomplete without his hat.”

For those of us with OCD tendencies, “whatever we do we’re never really through.”






beekeeper hat

I’m walking around like a zombie.  With my mind befuddled, from antihistamines.  my eyes are bloodshot.  I’m grateful to have made it back home ahead of a cloudburst this morning.

There will be no outdoor activities today.  I needed a respite, anyway.  There was a price to be paid for yard work all day yesterday.  Two weeks ago, it was still below freezing.  Pardon me, while I sneeze.

My thoughts are drifting today, like pollen in the breeze.  Long term blog stats–while important, are sometimes a mystery.  In particular, my post with the most views, (906), has had only seven likes in almost three years.

“Beldar Conehead and the Language Police,” has been compelling enough to read, but not enough to like.  I wish there were a dislike button.  Readers could disagree if they wanted–I wouldn’t object.  Like it/don’t like it–I would like to know.

I expressed disdain for political correctness, in this post, as it applied to descriptive speech.  I failed to mention my hatred of history revisionism.  History should stand for what it was–ugly or not.

From scathing commentary, read on the net, about a variety of topics–people can’t be afraid of the PC police.  Character assassination and bad taste seem to flow freely.

Regarding pollen and allergies–would a beekeeper’s hat with netting work when doing yard work?  The heck with looking ridiculous–if it worked; I’d try it.  Perhaps, in the process, spawning a new fashion trend–“Beekeeper Chic?”

–Image http://www.groworganic.com