I said I’d have 50s ads here today and by Claus I will. But first, a note. The rest of the week will be sloppy and spare - usual below-the-fold on Thu and Fri, but scant on top. Next week will be the same, although I’m emptying out the detritus bucket for good so I can start 2020 on this site all fresh with no hold-over material.

Why yes I am lying I have stuff here from 2015 and packages from 2009 not yet scanned

Football game with the Giant Swede and the Crazy Uke. The end of a long year for us all, but good friends trump hard times, and it was a fine time spent together. The desultory game seemed to be an actual reflection of the general mood, and in retrospect it was as if we willed it to be so.

Anyway! That was but one aspect of the Holiday Season, which has been compacted and generally lovely. I did some shopping - everything was mad, daft, jammed, compacted, but generally merry. At Patina, a boutique store that caters to the well-educated wine-mom demographic, there was so much of this:

		It’s so tiresome.

I mean, this is a really nice store full of delightful merchandise you won’t find in big-box places. Everything’s eclectic. But hand-in-hand with this upscale vibe is the most tiresome, off-putting, anti-social meanness of spirit and language. The target market thinks they’re clever and special and, you know, spirited! They don’t suffer fools! I also suspect they regard themselves highly for holding the Proper Opinions on Things.

Oh you swore. You must really be interesting.

The look on their faces if you said these things to their five-year-olds - you know, the kids they brought to the store - would be priceless.

It's Product Tuesday, and since it's Christmas, we'll overdose on ads.

This is a normal ad from the Lost World.

Is Grandma a bit peeved at Granddaughter for not saying the right thing? Or is the posture she assumes when she's talking to the kid and treating her like she's older than she is? The latter, I think.

I have no idea what Grandma's outfit is supposed to suggest. Old style, or modish?

Gramps is old. Probably in his mid-60s. That was old.

Mom's perfect. She made that apron herself, too. You know she did. From something she saw in the magazine.

		Dad is a robot, unsure how to manufacture the proper human reactions for this situation

You can find a large version of the image here. It's gloriously ordinary.

It’s Christmastime in the high 20s!

No one seems happy about this. It’s like they’re writing their suicide notes.

The artist was Cole Phillips. He got “tuberculosis of the kidneys” in 1924, and was dead of it in three years.

It’s that 56/100ths that makes you wonder, no?

But it’s White! The vogue for sanitary things was still going, and White meant pure. White Castle sold a billion burgers off the idea.

Mr. & Mrs. Pedestrians were advised to visually inspect all the tires of oncoming cars.

Single people were safe to run over, I guess.

A more Twenties piece of design you’ll never see.

From Wikipedia, natch:

Advertising slogans were "There's a Touch of Tomorrow In All Cole Does Today" or "Did You Ever Go Ballooning in a Cole?", the latter referring to the adoption of balloon tires as an option that year (they became a standard feature finally in 1925).

The factory still exists.

The former Cole Motor Car Company Building, also known as the Service Supply Company, Inc., is located at 730–738 East Washington Street in Indianapolis. It was built between 1911 and 1913, and is a four-story, "L"-shaped industrial building. The front facade is faced in white ceramic brick and has Art Deco style design elements.

No, it doesn’t.

Killed more people than the cars.

Hammer the hammer:

Drop it, kick it, knock it, thump it - no bullets will emerge with lethal velocity! Never! Hence women are okay with it.

The invention of the safety was no small thing.

Forget that Victrola - you want a Grafonola!

A luxury item - some of the Grafs went up to $2100, which was a lot of hay.

What everyone wants for Christmas: toothpaste!

Well, no. The brand covered more than that, as you can tell by the shopping list.

Oh, really? You just brushed your feeth, Santy.

The tassles on the boot are an interesting touch.

That will do, if you got this far - I imagine you're busy. Merry Christmas to all Bleatniks, and I mean that in the generic and specific senses, and I hope it's all you wish. I wish I could call my dad, but I still hear his voice in my head, and who knows. Who knows. Perhaps I'll hear it tonight when I'm filling the stockings.

He was, after all, the First Santa.

Dad and your host, The Station, c. 1962.