Have you heard about the TV series, Rake? It stars Greg Kinnear as a ne'er-do-well Los Angeles lawyer. No lack of material there, amirite? The show is pretty funny, but I discovered it is the American version of an Australian series (tagline: 'the bar has been lowered'). So I gave the original a look as well, which is also a scream. Because it features a lawyer, naturally there are many courtroom scenes. And here's the connection to the hair topic:
He has a curious craving for a bag of oats, guaranteed
What on earth is up with those ridiculous wigs the British empire lawyers, or 'barristers', wear in court?? A courtroom should be a scene of solemn dignity. Yet the most powerful guys in the room are all wearing what looks like a child-size vintage Easter bonnet. I should know - I had one (bonnet, not wig). Might as well have the President deliver the State of the Union in a Davy Crockett-style cap. Or an amateurish orange combover.
Turns out the wigs are a holdover from the 17th century wig craze. The Brits and the Aussies have given up wearing them except on special occasions. I'm sure they are all thrilled. Not only do they look silly, they were expensive and a pain in the tuckus to maintain.
The barristers aren't the only ones who are thrilled. The wigs are made of horse hair. I guess those donations from Manes of Love will have to go somewhere else.
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The first of two posts about everyone's favorite insect. Here's the second.
Long before the dawn of man, the mosquito was around, anxious to make a meal of him. In the 21st century, we have many years of scientific research providing us with a variety of complex chemical sprays and lotions to keep the pests away.
Alas, these modern products have only been available relatively recently. Early cultures had to 'make do', as we say here in the South, with other methods.
One of the first mosquito repellent methods consisted of smearing something on the skin. Early peoples didn’t know that only the female mosquito feeds on blood, or that she is attracted by a combination of aroma and temperature. All they knew was that the little buggers had an annoying, itchy bite. Therefore, if one could come up with something that would keep the mosquitoes off their skin, the battle was won. No one can know for certain how they decided on what to use, but it does make sense that they settled on something that smelled absolutely awful. After all, if it repelled their fellow humans, wouldn’t it work the same way on mosquitoes?
Journals of early European explorers in America relate the use of rancid bear grease, alligator grease, and even shark oil. The grease was simple to find – it was the layer of fat just below the skin of animals killed in a hunt or perhaps found already dead. The shark oil comes from the shark’s liver. The natives smeared the grease or oil, sometimes combined with dirt, over all exposed skin. As they often went with very little clothing, this meant they were usually covered head to toe with the smelly mixture.
Primitive cultures also figured out that if they built smoky fires, this seemed to keep mosquitoes away. Some cultures preferred a certain type of tree, such as black mangrove. Others were not so picky – any green wood was acceptable. The secret was to get the wood smoking while not allowing it to achieve a full burn. During the summer months when mosquitoes were in full force, much time and effort was spent collecting wood specifically meant to keep mosquitoes at bay. It is difficult to say which was more unbearable – being covered with dirt and animal fat, or withstanding the heat of a smoky fire in the middle of summer, complete with stinging eyes and choking breath. Clearly mankind was willing to do almost anything to keep the mosquitoes away.
This effect is easily achieved by forgetting to open the damper in your indoor fireplace. NOT recommended.
Less offensive methods evolved with the passage of time. Early peoples were very knowledgeable about the properties of the plants growing nearby. They soon discovered that plants with pungent or strong smells seemed to be effective against mosquitoes. Many of these plants are still used today for the same purpose. One of the most familiar to modern culture is citronella. Lavender, eucalyptus, and garlic are just a few of the plants that have some effect on keeping mosquitoes away. Before glass windows or wire screens were commonplace, people often constructed window boxes in order to grow some of these fragrant plants just below the window in the hopes of steering the mosquitoes away. Even today, in many countries where mesh screening is not widely available, window boxes still serve this purpose. These plant remedies have never been quite as effective as smoky fires or animal fat, but they are certainly more pleasant.
Modern man is still battling with the mosquito. We are still very interested in keeping those hungry females from biting us, no matter how unpleasant the solution. But the next time you complain about applying one of those high-tech creams, lotions or sprays, just remember – it could be worse. It could be alligator grease.
“gallinipper” is another word for mosquito.
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Some Broncos fan worked hard to carve that snow in the background
When I was a kid growing up in Dallas, Texas, there was a show on television called Bowling For Dollars. I rarely watched it as bowling was not super popular at my house. But somehow the name of the show stuck with me. I find it a handy metaphor for situations where people are trying to earn money, sports-related or otherwise. As time has passed, it has inadvertently circled back to a literal meaning when bowl season rolls around (see what I did there?).
When I watch a sporting event of any kind, my brain kicks into History Mode and I start thinking about its prehistoric precursors. Competition springs from our deepest survival instincts. We no longer have to run for our lives from saber-toothed tigers. But some of us still have incredible physical skills designed for survival. Technology has outrun evolution. The only hunting most of us do is digging through the sale bin at the local Piggly Wiggly. So instead of Usain Bolt chasing deer on foot, he chases world records. He runs fast for the same reason: to outrun whatever or whomever is chasing him. He probably still feels an incredible sense of relief and accomplishment when he succeeds. But today his prize is a paycheck. His prehistoric counterparts had to settle for not being eaten alive.
It's also human nature to want to watch. We want to see feats of greatness. Some part of our dinosaur brain wants to see the train wrecks, too, bless our hearts. We want to see the outcome, the drama. Sports is a world-wide, multi-billion dollar industry built on the most basic of human instincts. And long ago, someone figured out people will pay to watch. The Greeks had their Olympics. The Romans had their gladiators. Aztecs had their wacky, tongue-twisting soccer/basketball hybrid, ullamaliztli. Medieval knights jousted. Men sailed and jumped and ran and wrestled and swam and fought. And, sporting short-sleeved shirts and crew cuts on a small, snowy black and white TV screen, they bowled.
The TVs have changed (thank goodness). Some of the haircuts have changed. The 'bowling' has changed. The paydays certainly have changed. But it still all boils down to the same thing: some people wanting to prove they're better than the other people. And we still like to watch them prove it.
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I am no different from many other bloggers in that you will see a variety of posts from me this month on the topic of the Kennedy assassination. And why not? Dramatic, compelling, mysterious, with significant political and historical ramifications - it pushes all my History Nerd buttons.
I also have a couple of extra buttons on this topic. I am a native Texan. Dallas is my hometown. I grew up in Oak Cliff, not far from many of the key events that unfolded that day.
We were not living in Dallas in 1963. After bouncing around the Milwaukee Braves farm system for a few years (Boise ID, Lawton OK), my dad decided professional baseball was not going to feed a family of four. We moved to Denver, where my maternal grandmother lived, and Dad got a real job. I was five when Kennedy was killed. I remember being highly annoyed that boring grownup news shows were interrupting Captain Kangaroo. Yes, I am embarrassed about that now, but that's my vivid recollection of that day.
Not long after that terrible day, my folks decided to move back to Dallas. Both had grown up there. They met in 7th grade, were high school sweethearts. The title of this post is not a cliche. After reading a great article in Slate magazine (which btw features my cousin Darwin Payne, author and retired SMU history prof), I realized several of that day's events were literally close to my childhood home as well as that of my parents, especially my mom.
This cheesy screen grab of Google Maps brings things into a little more focus. After Oswald left the grassy knoll, he returned to the community of Oak Cliff across the river from downtown Dallas. At the time of the assassination, he was renting a room in a boarding house on Beckley Avenue (purple pin). Beckley Ave. also happens to be the exit off I-30 one would use to get to the house I grew up in (pink pin). Much has changed over the last fifty years, but on my end of Beckley Avenue, it's still the home of Lone Star Donuts and Ripley Shirts.
Oswald's boarding house on Beckley was about a block from Lake Cliff Park. This park was the site of much enjoyable recreation in the 1950s. It had an enormous public swimming pool (long since filled in), which happened to be my mom's first job as a teenager. According to Mom, much adolescent hijinx occurred there. Part of me wants to know more. The other part has adopted a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy.
The Slate article also says Oswald walked a mile or so south on Beckley from the boarding house to near W. H. Adamson High School (aqua pin). This is the first I have heard of an Oswald connection to that school. That's where my folks fell in love. That's where my dad played basketball and baseball and earned a scholarship to Sul Ross State University. That's where they made some lifelong friends who still get together occasionally for some of that classic Tex Mex you just can't get anywhere outside of Texas. I don't know if school was in session that day. It would have been the Friday before Thanksgiving. The thought of an armed assassin strolling along the sidewalk near a school filled with students gives me the chills.
After passing Adamson, Oswald had his fateful encounter with Dallas police officer J,D. Tippitt at about 10th and Patton (green pin). Reading that really rocked my world. My mom grew up on Patton Street (yellow pin). As the eldest of six, she was married and out of the house in 1963, but some of the family still lived in her childhood home then. They lived a few blocks north of 10th Street, close enough to have possibly heard the shot that ended Officer Tippitt's life.
Oswald's last stop in Oak Cliff was an attempted escape through the Jefferson Blvd. retail district. He was captured in the Texas Theater (blue pin). I don't recall ever visiting it in my 20-odd years living in Oak Cliff. For many years after the shooting, it was considered uncouth as a Dallasite to show morbid interest in anything related to that event. The closest I have been to Dealey Plaza is driving home from downtown through the triple underpass. Never, ever, walked the grassy knoll or pointed with finger or camera lens at the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. But as Oak Cliff residents, we certainly passed near or shopped at Jefferson Blvd. on an almost daily basis. It was home to many iconic Oak Cliff businesses, including Red Bryan's, the Charco Broiler, Skillerns Drug Store, and the Lamar & Smith Funeral Home (which I mention because the Smiths were our neighbors).
They say times have changed, that Dallas is no longer primarily known as 'the city that killed the President'. During this time of year when we are asked to pause and reflect on our blessings, that is certainly one of the many things for which I am thankful.
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I stayed up and watched the Mars landing when it happened in May of 2018, which is saying something for me since it didn't happen until 1:30 a.m. my time. Despite being hyped as '7 minutes of terror', everything went smoothly. Even though nothing blew up, nothing failed, nothing crashed, and no fights broke out, it was worth watching - and here's why.
I'm of an age that I remember what I was doing when we put a man on the moon. We were out on Grapevine Lake in our little 14 foot motorboat. The weather was hot. The landing was cool. I think this is gonna turn about to be one of those things you will remember what you were doing when we landed on Mars. I hope I am alive and kickin' when we put a human up there.
Inspirational programming
I'm also of an age that grew up watching the original Star Trek television series. I honestly don't remember if I liked space before that, or if that series ignited my interest in space. It was hard not to love all things space, growing up in the 60s with the space race, moon landing, Apollo program, etc. Space topics were the Facebook of that era. It was all around you and everybody indulged.
In addition to real life scenarios playing out on a regular basis, we feasted on some of the finest literary sci-fi ever known. Personal favorites Heinlein, Asimov, Bradbury, Dick, Clarke, and many others dominated my library check-out list. It was an embarrassment of riches.
So it's no wonder I am a space nut. When I heard a promo for the upcoming landing on NPR two weeks ago, I plugged it into my calendar.
In an age of mind-blowing technological achievements of which this may be the new leader, it was charming on the verge of quaint to watch the coverage of the JPL command center. Gradually ascending rows of JPL employees, all sporting their jaunty light blue Curiosity Landing logo'd golf shirts, sat peering at their computer screens. Many were fitted with snazzy Madonna-esque headsets (although interestingly, only a handful seemed to be connected to the TV feed). Occasionally you would hear a voice calmly asking this or directing that in uber cool rocket scientist lingo. It was difficult to tell who was talking, because so many of them had headsets and they were all wearing the same shirt.
The coverage was pretty low-key. It consisted of a female commentator who was nice enough but wasn't exactly going for depth;, plus a few cameramen roaming around trying to get different angles, which had to be a challenge considering the long rectangular room was lacking in visual excitement (not to mention difficult to move around in with a big camera weighing you down in addition to the 30 extra ell bees that seemed de rigeur for said cameramen). Stationery cameras were parked at corners of the room, capturing the event as it unfolded. There were long periods of nothing much going on other than flickering screens and murmuring scientists.
I turned it on about an hour before touchdown, so I had plenty of time to observe the participants. It was an interesting mix. Mostly men, of course, but within that demographic, there was a wide range of types. Several graying/balding older men; a few young pups. Most looked like your average middle-aged government or academic employee. Some were definitely on the outer edge. One swarthy young fellow had a wicked Mohawk, complete with a patch of hair dyed dark red. And I mean the color red, not the hair tint. Mars Red. One of the bosses had not one but two small hoop earrings in his left ear. Another older dude had graying hair long past his shoulders, plus the facial hair worthy of a Sons of Anarchy extra.
There were a few women sprinkled in, maybe a half dozen or so. All were in the 30-40 age range. None had gotten especially dolled up for their big moment, at least that I could tell. And good for them. If I were a rocket scientist of that caliber, I wouldn't give two hoots about getting my hair and nails did for the biggest night of my life, either. Wait, who am I kidding - of course I would! But these gals probably would have been hooted out of the room if they had showed up looking anything different than their daily science nerd selves. So brava, ladies of Mars Landing, brava!
Who is this guy??
This got me to wondering about the preparation the employees must have had for their big television debut. Remember, there are at least 30-40 people in this room watching what may be the most important event of their career, their life. But there are also several strangers invading their sanctum sanctorum, broadcasting their every move to millions of homes around the world. I can just imagine that staff meeting. Probably included a PowerPoint entitled Top 10 Things Not To Do While We Are On Live Television, No Matter How Often We Let You Do It When We Are Not On Live Television:
Chew Gum
Smoke
Indicate nerves, fear, anxiety or any other negative emotion by frowning, grimacing, or covering face with hands
Pick Nose
Pick Seat
Pick Teeth
Scratch Crotch
Curse
Wave and Say 'Hi Mom'
Hold Up Homemade Signs Or Any Other Overt Nerd Hijinx
A word about #10: I Am Not Making This Up - about 6 minutes into their touchdown celebration, one of the female staffers can be seen urging a male coworker to retrieve something from underneath the desk area. He complies, pulling out a weird little homemade paper doll. From the neck down it looks like my 8 year old Labrador sketched out a human on some white copy paper. The feet look more like flippers. He is nude except for a red swim suit/pair of shorts. I say 'he' because the oversize head is a cutout photo of someone I cannot recognize. Youngish man with dark hair and a nice smile. This doll has a narrow wooden strip to support it so it can stand upright. The two staff waved this paper doll around briefly but it disappeared soon afterward. Dying to know what that was about.
Aside from the weird paper doll episode, for such an epic event I must say the staff remained quite calm, even poker-faced, applauding each progression with admirable restraint and hiding any anxiety they were feeling extremely well. I noticed one Asian fellow who was obviously a high up mucky-muck (he had one of the live headsets) was cool as a cucumber from the waist up - but had an extreme case of Jiggle Leg. A few pencils were tapped silly; a few chins rubbed in that way guys do when they are nervous. All was Calm on the Space Front until of course the actual touchdown, when the staff was allowed to let loose for ten minutes or so. Complete chaos! Lots of hugs, grown men crying like toddlers, very touching.
Curiosity rocks!
I couldn't help but marvel at the brain power contained in that room. The creme de la creme, the pinnacle of human evolution who had sweated blood to get that project funded, built, and across 350 million miles in one (or two) pieces successfully. I hope other worthy projects are getting the same level of financial and mental resources. Also wonder how the discontinuation of the shuttle program may have helped financially with Curiosity. I miss the shuttles, but if this is their replacement - 7 minutes of terror, paper dolls and mohawks - let's rock on!
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A funny thing happened on the way home from lunch recently. We stopped into a pizza joint for said lunch and notice a new deli in the space next door. After enjoying a pretty decent veggie pizza (thin crust, natch) we dropped into the deli to give it the once-over. On our way out, a gentleman from the deli chased us into the parking lot. Nothing unusual, he just wanted to make sure everything was okay since we left without ordering. We explained, he encouraged us to come back some time, end of story. Except while he was talking to my husband I could not help but notice his barn door was wide open.
Awkward, yes! Where do I look, now that I know this and am trying desperately not to look down there again???? He must have been in quite a hurry to follow us out to our cars. Was he in the gents, or had he been wandering around like that all morning and no one had the courtesy to clue him in? I will never know. But this incident got me thinking about fastening our clothing, specifically our pants, and how we got where we are today.
Things were so much easier when homo sapiens was busy learning to stand upright and dispensed with clothing altogether. Eventually someone decided a loincloth was in order. That's fine, but how to keep the thing on with all that running for your life? Rawhide to the rescue! A simple string tied around the waist did the trick.
'Twas not exactly a direct route from loin cloths to Levi's. The ancients of the Western world could not be bothered with the string and abandoned the loincloth idea entirely in favor of tunics, which, yes, might look a lot like a dress to us moderns. But tunics did little for warming the legs in cold climates, so pants eventually but grudgingly made a resurgence during the Middle Ages. The toga-and-tunic crowd considered them gauche. But their practicality and warmth could not be denied. Eventually some variation of pants made their way into non-pants societies in the form of tights, then knickers - form-fitting pants ending at the knee, with stockings covering the gap from the knee to the foot. Drawstrings and buttons served for fasteners.
Modern trousers finally triumphed during the French Revolution, worn by many to thumb their noses at the knickers-wearing aristocracy. Moving away from the drawstring style, pants next had front flap with some type of closing device, usually buttons, on either side. By the early 1900s the center front closure (still buttons!) and looser fit we are familiar with today became the norm.
Front flap precursor to center closure. Try not to stare. photo source fanpop
If you have ever owned a pair of button fly pants, join me in being ever so thankful to Gideon Sundbeck and others for inventing the modern zipper. Button fly may look cool and retro, but try feeling fashionable when you are also feeling the pressure to get them undone in a timely manner! Buttons, drawstrings, sashes, snaps, hooks, suspenders, and elastic have all had a go at keeping our pants up or closed or both. Zipper definitely dominates. Ironically it is both most convenient and also mostly likely to fail, as in the case of Deli Guy. Though I am appreciative of the zipper's elegant simplicity, I don't quite trust it. It never hurts to give the occasional XYZ*. Don't be that Deli Guy.
*eXamine Your Zipper
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Martha Matilda Harper turned a hair tonic recipe into a beauty empire. Image from this article.
The year was 1882. The steamship Norseman left the northern shore of Lake Ontario in Canada. Many of its passengers were headed south across the lake to Rochester, New York. 25-year-old Martha Matilda Harper was among them. She brought what little she owned with her to make a new start in America. With only sixty dollars and a recipe for hair tonic, Harper would revolutionize American business.
Martha Matilda Harper was born in 1857 near Oakville, Ontario. She was one of ten children. Her family struggled to make ends meet. When Martha was seven, her father sent her away to work for some relatives. She cooked, cleaned and hauled water for them. What little money she earned, she sent back to her family. Martha worked as a maid for various families for more than twenty years.
One of Martha’s employers was a doctor. He was very interested in natural remedies. He taught Martha how to make a hair tonic from special ingredients. Martha used it to keep her hair clean and healthy. It really worked! Soon Martha’s dark brown hair reached all the way to the floor. It was thick and shiny. Martha was proud of her hair and worked to keep it in good condition.
When the doctor moved away in 1882, Martha decided to move to America. She had heard from a friend that America was a land of opportunity. So she packed up all her belongings and purchased a one-way ticket to Rochester aboard the Norseman.
Once in Rochester, she became a maid for the Roberts family. But she had a secret wish: she wanted to have her own business. She knew her hair tonic recipe was unique. She had an idea of how to turn her recipe into a business. She would create a pleasant shop where women could come and get their hair washed with her special tonic. She would also offer head and neck massages, and special treatments called facials to keep their skin looking its best. Every product she used was made from pure, natural ingredients. She created the recipes herself, based on what she had learned from the doctor.
The odds were against Martha. She was a poor working girl. In the late 1800s very few women had jobs outside the home. Of these, even fewer owned a business. But Martha did not let this stop her. Her employers, the Roberts, believed in her. They let her use their garden shed as a workroom to mix her hair tonic. She worked for the Roberts during the day and worked on her business at night.
Finally the day came when Martha was ready to start her business. She wanted to rent a space in Rochester’s finest building. The owner of the building was not interested. He thought her business would fail and she would not be able to pay her rent. But Martha had made some important friends in Rochester. One was a lawyer whose office was in the same building. He persuaded the owner to let her have an office on a trial basis. The owner agreed. In 1888, the Harper Shop opened for business. Martha had a picture of herself taken, showing her beautiful floor-length hair. She placed it on the door of her business. The picture, and her hair, became her trademark.
Martha was taking a big chance. In 1888 there were no hair salons in Rochester. Women had their hair groomed by their servants in the privacy of their homes. Facial products were not generally in use. Business was slow at first, but eventually word got out. Women from the finest families in Rochester heard about this new shop. At first they came out of curiosity. They came back time and time again because they loved the experience.
The Harper Shops were clean as a whistle with tasteful decorations and a pleasant staff. At first, Martha was the only employee. As business grew, she trained other women to work for her. She hand-picked girls with backgrounds similar to hers. Most were servant girls who wanted to make a better life for themselves. Martha trained them on how to use her products and how to give massages and facials. But she also trained them on how to please the customers. Their number one job was to make sure the customers were comfortable and happy.
Women of the 1800s had extremely long hair. Most did not have the type of bathroom plumbing we have today. Washing the hair was a time-consuming and messy process. Often they washed it by leaning forward into a tub or basin filled with water. Martha thought of a better way. She designed a padded reclining chair so that her customers could sit back in comfort while she washed their hair. She also designed a sink with a special cutout for the customer’s neck. Customers leaned back and relaxed in the special chair while Martha washed their hair. The wet hair and cleaning products stayed in the sink, not in the customer’s clothes or eyes.
Martha’s business was a great success. Soon she opened other shops in other cities. She hired and trained many girls to work for her. Each Harper Shop was built to look the same as the original. All of the girls were trained in the exact methods used by Martha herself. Each time Martha opened a new shop, the person she chose to run it became the owner of the shop. The owners shared in the profits of the Harper business. Martha’s goal was this: whenever a customer stepped into one of her shops, they would find it the same as every other Harper Shop. It would have the same products, services, and courteous help. She also wanted her ‘girls’, as she called her employees, to share in the profits of the company. In this way she felt they would all work together to make the company a success.
Martha’s ideas worked. At the height of her success in the 1930s, there were more than 500 Harper Shops in operation around the world. Martha’s rags-to-riches story was famous. Her customers included movie stars, millionaires, and presidents. Yes, even men enjoyed the relaxing head and neck massages. Martha’s hair tonic was thought to help postpone baldness.
Martha Matilda Harper died in 1950 at age 92. After her death, her fame declined. Today few have heard of her. But reminders of her pioneering ideas are everywhere. Many modern hair salons still use the basic design of the reclining chair she invented in 1888. Many women now own their own business. In Martha’s time, this was highly unusual. She gave many women the help they needed to succeed. Her business model, with shops built alike and individually owned, is what we now call a franchise. Giants in the franchise industry include many familiar names, especially most fast food businesses. Martha might be sad to know she has been largely forgotten, but she would probably smile every time she drove past a McDonald’s.
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I don't always play Monopoly, but when I do, I prefer the hat
I was amused by the hubbub over the annointing of a new Monopoly game token. Probably my favorite bit:
@KevinSeccia Monopoly dropped the iron?! Looks like it's your move, billion dollar video game industry
Even though this is the first time Hasbro has involved the great unwashed masses in the selection of a new token, it is hardly the first time they have changed their token lineup. Originally the inventor of the game apparently was smart enough to come up with the concept, but when it came time to decide what to use for game pieces, his genius had been depleted. His great idea was to use buttons. Buttons! His nieces came to the rescue, suggesting tokens based on the charms on their charm bracelets. Thank you, girls! Can't you just see them all hunkered over the claw-footed table in the front parlor, excited to play a new type of game? Then Uncle dumps out some ratty buttons to play with, and they simultaneously push back from the game table and head outside for a rousing game of Mumblety Peg. Buttons? We don't need no stinking buttons!
The buttons were just the first in a long line of tokens that were summarily dismissed from Monopoly. Don't get me wrong - I like the new token. I mean, cats, right? Cats are adorable. And I absolutely despise ironing in all of its forms. But I can't help but feel sorry for Iron, sent to the Island of Misfit Tokens. No doubt Iron was greeted warmly by Lantern, Purse, Rocking Horse, and Cannon. They spent their first half hour together talking about how Racecar was always such a self-important punk, and wondering how on earth Thimble has managed to remain part of the Elite Eight past the 1960s.
We wouldn't want kitty to have to nap on the floor, now, would we??
Meanwhile, Cat must be feeling pretty good. Cats in general are still riding the tsunami of popularity generated by the earthquake of countless adorable online gifs, memes, videos, toys, scratching posts, climbing towers - my goodness! the number of cat-related products out there is impressive. I guess you could say in this case the cat was in the bag. In or out, people do love their cats. It's a great feeling to be asked, chosen, wanted, liked, loved. We humans appreciate it, too. Many of us show our appreciation of this outpouring of affection a little more effectively than most cats, which is why Valentine's Day is a billion dollar industry.
But it's not always dark chocolate truffles and roses. I remember the first time I was the Iron. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming, but as a naive middle-schooler with her first boyfriend, I didn't have a clue.
I was having a pretty good year for a nerd. I tried out for and made what used to be called the 'drill team' (not a metaphor!) which was a cross between marching band and dance team. A drill team is the size of a marching band, but waves pom poms instead of trombones. We wore long-sleeved, short-skirted satin uniforms, top hats, gloves, white boots - very 70s Texas. We concocted elaborate dance routines choreographed to whatever happening tune the marching band had planned for that week (Oye Como Va, anyone?), and performed them at the football game halftimes.
It had been years since I had set slippered foot inside a dance studio, so I was surprised to be accepted into this group and doubly surprised to be elected as one of the squad captains. Being a squad captain was a big deal because our top hats were a different color (gold, not black) and we got to strut around in front of our squads and basically lord it over the other girls who were not squad captains. Not proud of that, but sometimes it happened.
ANYWAY. Not long after this surprise elevation in my social station, I was approached by a nice enough fellow student who wanted to be my boyfriend. Remember, this was in my hometown, Nerd City, long before sexting and Friends With Benefits. In that day and age, having a boyfriend was little more than phone conversations (land line), hi-and-bye at school, and the occasional awkward date being squired around in the back seat of one's parents' car.
The football season rolled by uneventfully. At last, the final game of the season was played; the final routine performed. And before I had even left the stadium, the boyfriend dashed up to me, said he wanted to break up, and handed me back my boot. Oh, I forgot to tell you about the boot.
Unlike in Monopoly, my top hat was not made of metal; hence the protection from the elements.
As any parent will testify, belonging to any sort of activity group, whether it be soccer team or chess club or drill team, often is accompanied by painful amounts of money spent on things deemed ridiculous by the parents and indispensable by the participant. Letter jackets, class rings, mums to wear to the games, assorted logo clothing items, uniforms, etc. One of these indispensable items for drill team was sold by the local jewelry store. It was a gold boot about the size of a quarter, engraved with the participant's name or initials on the back, usually worn on a gold chain as a necklace. As is still the case, back in Ye Olden Tymes it was the tradition to exchange a personal item as a sign of affection and commitment to one's significant other, so this boy had been wearing my boot throughout the football season. And now here I stood at W. E. Greiner Stadium with my boot handed back to me in front of god and everybody, like Iron's dinghy hoving to at the pier on the Island of Misfit Tokens.
I didn't cry. I didn't care for that boy all that well. I mean, he was okay, but I guess I was always a little mystified by the whole relationship - until he put that boot in my hand after the last halftime performance. Then it all made perfect sense: he only wanted to be my boyfriend because of some perceived exalted status due to my position as Squad Captain on the drill team. Once that was no longer a factor, the attraction evaporated. At least he was man/boy enough to return my boot!
I learned a valuable life lesson by being the Iron that day: when something doesn't seem quite right, it probably isn't. And even though it can be awkward and embarrassing, sometimes a clean break is best for everyone. So Iron, enjoy your retirement. While you are hitting the links with Lantern and Cannon, think about poor Cat. When she is not prowling the Avenues, being manhandled by thousands of grubby fingers, in and out of Jail, she will be stuck in a dark box, rubbing up against the hard corners of cheap hotels, and being hit on in the clumsiest, most unimaginative ways by Racecar and Top Hat. First time she gets a chance, I guarantee you Cat will be opting for early retirement.
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Charles is king of the pack. Anyone can tell that just by looking at him. His golden crown fits snugly atop his head. He wears a royal robe, brilliantly colored and elaborately designed. In his left hand he holds a mighty sword above his head. Though once vast, Charles’ kingdom now numbers only 51. He ruled supreme until an upstart known as ‘Ace’ took charge.
You may know Charles by one of his more familiar nicknames: the King of Hearts. The King of Hearts is named for King Charles I, or Charlemagne, after the great emperor who ruled most of Europe in the 700s. On some cards, his robe is lined with fur to indicate he is first among kings.
In fact, all playing cards that show a person on them have names. These cards are called court cards or face cards. During the 1400s playing cards became very popular in Europe. French manufacturers made more cards than any other nation. It was their idea to name the face cards. They are named for four of the greatest kings in the history of the ancient world.
The King of Spades is David, after the biblical King David. Long ago David ruled the kingdom of Israel. According to the Bible, as a young man David defeated the giant Goliath with a simple slingshot. Once he became king, David captured the city of Jerusalem and made it his capital.
The King of Clubs is named for Alexander the Great. More than two thousand years ago Alexander was king of Macedonia, a country near Greece. He conquered most of the known world before his death at age 33. Look carefully at the King of Clubs and you will usually find a ball-like object, or orb, somewhere in the design. The orb represents the world that Alexander ruled.
All of the kings in a pack of cards are holding swords except for the King of Diamonds. Instead of a sword, he is holding an axe. The King of Diamonds represents Julius Caesar, a general and leader of the mighty Roman Empire. The month of July is named for him. The words ‘kaiser’ and ‘tsar’, both meaning a type of king or great leader of people, come from the word ‘Caesar’.
The ladies of the pack were not overlooked. The Queen of Hearts was known as Judith. Judith lived during biblical times. She was a hero to her people after she killed the leader of an enemy army. Her story was very popular during medieval times, when playing-cards became popular in Europe. Another popular figure was Rachel, biblical wife of Jacob. People loved this couple’s romantic love story. The Queen of Diamonds is named for her.
The Queen of Clubs was a mystery figure named Argine. No one knows who Argine was. Some think her name is a word puzzle, for if you rearrange the letters they spell regina, which is the Latin word for ‘queen’. The Queen of Spades is called Pallas after the Greek goddess of war. Sometimes called Athena, she appears in Greek stories fighting bravely alongside her generals, giving them wise advice and leading by example. She was one of the most popular gods in the ancient Greek religion.
No royal court is without its servants. In ancient times the king’s man was called a knave. Knave could mean anything from a young servant boy, to a soldier, to a prince. Sometimes it even meant scoundrel or villain. In a deck of cards, ‘knaves’ are now known as ‘jacks’. Charlemagne’s knave, the Jack of Hearts, was known as La Hire. La Hire was a French soldier who lived during Charlemagne’s time. He served with the French heroine Joan of Arc when she led her people in war against the English. He was known for his heroic exploits. The Jack of Hearts carries a battle axe as his weapon. Charlemagne’s cousin Ogier is more familiar to us as the Jack of Spades. Ogier was known for his skills with a sword, as shown on his card. The Jacks of Hearts and Spades are the only two face cards that are shown in profile. They are looking to the side and we only see half of their faces. For this reason they are sometimes called the ‘one-eyed jacks’.
The Jack of Diamonds was once known as Roland, a member of Charlemagne’s court. Later this card was renamed Hector. Some think it was named for Hector of Troy, a mighty warrior of that ancient kingdom. Others think he was Ector, another noble figure and half-brother to Lancelot of the King Arthur legend. Speaking of Lancelot, he was the Jack of Clubs. According to legend, Lancelot was a skilled archer. This is why the Jack of Clubs carries an arrow.
Named court cards gradually faded in popularity. Today they are known simply as kings, queens and jacks. But if you know where to look, you can dig deeper into the secrets of the pack. Grab a deck and pull out the face cards. Look hard for clues to their identity. Orbs, arrows and swords are more than fancy decorations. They are hints to what’s in the cards.
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We have all been forced to sit through a class that we knew in our hearts we would never, ever use again once the final exam hit the teacher's desk about 15 seconds before the door hit our fannies on our way out of the classroom for the last time. Sadly, I have more than one. Currently, Introduction to Logic is the longest reigning king of my list. It has been 30+ years, and I haven't used it once. I must admit I am disappointed, because I am a great fan of logic (lower case l). But this class was upper case L aka Philosophy and that's how they getcha, otherwise no one would ever sign up for this class. Thankfully, there are a couple of others on my list that were pleasant surprises, in that I actually find myself using them occasionally.
Latin, for instance. I took four years of Latin in high school to avoid taking a language class that required much in the way of speaking said language. Work Smarter, Not Harder is my motto. Imagine my surprise when Latin turned out to be a class I use just about every day. It is very handy for sniffing out puzzling word meanings and thrashing opponents in the Words With Friends app. Physics and Geometry - also very useful when playing tennis and shooting pool. Fencing - well, maybe not that useful, but way fun.
The dark horse in my lame class recitation is not only lame, it is beyond obscure: Historiography. Never heard of it? Go ahead and Google or read a few more lines here. The added irony: this is a class I thought would be very useful when I was working on my masters in history and planning a career in academia. I will wait for you to stop laughing at the time and money I wasted on that degree.
Cosmo Kramer, the master of the Stink-Eye
Historiography should be renamed Skeptics 101. Basically it teaches you how to be a credible researcher, how to sort the shine from the Shinola. I wish I could remember the professor's name but alas. In any case he was great - just the right combination of knowledge, credibility, and accessibility. He was friendly, but not so chummy you would mistake him for an equal. Professor X taught us to be skeptical of everything we read. Consider the source! and What is their bias? were our mantras. Extra credit was given for those who perfected the Stink-Eye.
My planned career in academia went off the tracks almost immediately. But Professor X's training to question everything has stuck with me ever since. And, thanks to the Internet, I find myself using it frequently. Sweet Mother of Pearl, has there ever been such an overload of panicked Senders sending piles of pathetic pigswill?
Sadly, the folks at Snopes.com robbed me of the chance to turn my Skeptic Skills into a myth-busting, multi-million-dollar IPO. But they have also saved me a ton of Googling. Now all I have to do is put my Skeptic Skills to work. If anything gets forwarded or posted to me that doesn't pass the Smell Test (in case Stink-Eye is on the blink), off to Snopes we go, and the problem, she is solved.
In case you were standing behind a door when they were handing out Historiography class registrations, I will hook you up with some top takeaways. In emails and Facebook posts, there are a couple of dead giveaways for complete hokum. Anything containing the following phrases should be ignored/deleted immediately without costing you any additional time of clicking over to Snopes.
"Send this to everyone you know . . . "
"If you agree, post this to your profile . . ."
"Curious to see how many will actually read to the end of this post . . ."
"Click here for a free ______" (especially true if the 'free' item is valued at more than $20)
Occasionally the posts are better disguised with an iota of factual content, and there is a reasonable doubt the story may have some validity. Usually not, but when in doubt . . . Snopes! Here are a couple of examples. See if you can choose the one that is 100% authentic.
True, or Complete Nonsense?
1. Credit card users, beware! If you buy your gas at the pump with a credit card, be sure to press the 'CLEAR' button at the end of your transaction. Otherwise, your credit card is vulnerable to additional purchases.
2. Hard-to-digest materials such as chewing gum and red meat are to be avoided at all costs. They can accumulate, rotting in the gut, leading to weight gain and disease.
3. Hate the dollar coins? This may give you reason to love them. Millions of Sacagawea dollar coins were given away in boxes of Cheerios when the coin debuted in 2000. Their design is slightly different from those put into direct circulation and are now worth thousands each.
Drum roll please . . . .
A pleasant photo to create filler so you can't see the answers right away(Texas bluebonnets, btw)
The Answers:
1. False - the glimmer of true content is that unscrupulous convenience store employees have been known to steal your credit card information by a variety of means. But the CLEAR button on the pump has nothing to do with it, and will not prevent said theft. If the store or pump has been compromised, there is little you can do about it other than file a claim with your credit card company. More details here.
2. False - or, as one website says, complete crap 🙂 Unless a person has a digestive ailment or is taking drugs that slow digestion, the human digestive system is pretty straightforward. What goes in one end, comes out the other. Sometimes fully digested, sometimes not (see Corn and Peanuts), but it comes out. Lots of scientific sites debunk this myth. I will let you take your pick by Googling "digestion myths red meat".
3. True - I bet you thought I was going to trick you and make all three of them urban legends. Apparently the tail feathers of the eagle on the back of the coin have more detail. These coins are worth anywhere from $5000-$25000 each.
So people please, PLEASE (yes I am begging you) do a little research before bombarding (annoying) your friends with random bits of Internet flotsam. Lord knows we all waste enough time staring at the great glass teat. Stop sending garbage, and maybe at least a little bit of that staring will be a little less of a waste.
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