Thursday, March 17, 2011

A Picture is Worth Three Words

They being "WTF?"
As I approach middle-fartfullness it has fallen upon members of my family to consider me the archivist of our brief but mildly twisted span on this earth. After all, aren't I the one who, after dinner, bourbon in hand, can spin colorful yarns to the next generation of my generation-marked by singular dullness and outfits from the seventies that look like I'm heading to a luau in Edinborough-and the generation preceding me that causes current youth to wonder:
"Why is this man still breathing?"

But stories aside, somebody's gotten the grand idea to dump the old man's slide collection upon me. Shipped via UPS in two convenient, coffin-sized boxes and now its in my attic alongside a light table and legal pad for me to stuff into a familial dewey system that can only be conceived by someone in serious need of medication.

Case in point the herein displayed. A couple of posts ago, I wrote "Sundaes in the Car with George" which recounted my parent's foray into a state park to corrupt the wildlife. The kid thought it was a pretty funny tale but when photographic evidence surfaced she was agog in astonishment that we were all once this stupid yet had access to big cars.

When you're in a state park and you see wildlife in its natural environ, the correct reaction is to:

A-proceed slowly and let deer alone and untouched by the meddling hand of man.
B-squeeze off a brief snapshot, take only photos, leave only footprints and move on as above.

C-stuff a twelve point buck's head into a paper bag full of popcorn.

This was 1959 so "c" is the gimme. Notice also that the enormous vehicle is probably still idling. It's license plate is no doubt also the home phone number and no, the old man did not sell Mary Kay, that was just the color of the thing on the used car lot.

Of course, mother got into the action too. Can't let plaid capri pants go unnoticed.


Check out the fins on that monster (the car, not the deer and neither mother since I was still a few years away from being a Mardi Gras-inspired conception.)
If you're shocked and horrified, don't be. Take into account the year and remind yourself that you still think "Mad Men" is cool. It is. In fact, their first apartment could double as a set today which makes me think that we should all construct our domiciles in four stages and erect them on a turntable with a giant selector switch. With a flick of the wrist a giant axle would turn the next living room scenario into view and livability for a decade. We'd have fifties cool, sixties mod, seventies gaud, eighties traditional and we'd then dial back to the fifties. Think of it. One big purchase and then Raymour and Flanigan could retire fat, dumb and happy.




Given the weird drapes, wall to wall carpeting and sofa that is still in my house today, can you forgive them teaching deer poor nutritional habits? The deer probably eventually died of natural predation and not blocked arteries but just in case, and levelling the playing field, the old man, true to form, introduced bear to beef jerky.
As I continue my spastic waltz through the decades of Kodachrome...

Bunny on.















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