Hmmm...

lifeasyellowjackets:

What people think we do:

What we actually do:

w0rd.

theniftyfifties:

Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward on holiday in Israel during the filming of ‘Exodus’, 1959. Photo by Leo Fuchs.

Thinking about some serious salad dressing.

theniftyfifties:

A 1951 Coca Cola advertisement 1951

This is a little too provocative for 1951.

“Look at me, I’m using the glory of past presidents to make a political statement!”

omggg uR sOoOo sMaRt!!!!!!1111!

1. Know your history before you spout off, please. Ronald Reagan was elected to office on a platform to fix bad times. The country was under the weak leadership of Jimmy Carter, who capitalized on his weakness with his inability to handle the Iranian Hostage Crisis. Stagflation was still around. The Soviet Union just wouldn’t die. The Middle East was evolving into the mess we know today. The Energy Crisis was still going on. The early ’80s weren’t the days of shoulder-padded, new-wave glory like you’ve got it in your head to be. There were bigger things going on; I’m pretty sure he saw bad times.

2. I hate to say it, because at the time it was the means to an end, but Reagan sorta-kinda started the trend of big time government spending. “OH MY GOD A REPUBLICAN NO WAY YOU’RE LYING!” Nope. His strategy was to finish the Soviet Union off once and for all by spending more money on the guns we had pointed at them. Naturally, they felt compelled to spend money on their guns, too. This continued back and forth, and before you know it, they were bankrupt. Voila! Problem solved… kind of. Now all there was left over was the new-found ability of the government to hurl cash at, namely, military ventures. Overseas problem from this point on? Spend lots of money until it works out! But at the time, that didn’t matter. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? The government burning through cash it doesn’t have on defense spending? And for the record, bone-headed Republicans, that darn welfare ain’t the majority of the government’s expenditurin’, so don’t y’all throw that card out there.

Morons.

It has come to my attention that I need to start sharing all the little things that I notice and have cross my mind throughout the day.

Watching other people try to walk Mason is hilariously pitiful. They let him do whatever he wants, so it ends up being Mason walking them. He zig-zags them across the sidewalk, runs them bushes, takes them along for squirrel chases, bites the leash, or tries to chase after runners and joggers. It makes him look so undisciplined, but he really isn’t that bad, at least for me.

He ignores runners. He never bites the leash. He knows if I tug on his leash that he needs to stop walking faster than me. He knows that all hell is going to break loose if he tries to chase after squirrels. He isn’t that dumb.

So, for the most part, walks with Mason are fairly relaxing.

Naturally, when walking a Saint Bernard through a college campus, you’re going to get some strange looks. These manifest themselves in a variety of fashions.

First up, the dog nut.

I dread the Dog Nut. They are usually middle-aged women whom I have no idea as to why they in the middle of a college campus, because they don’t look like professors. The Dog Nut will disregard the lack of eye contact you attempt to make as you pass by them and turn the encounter into a petting zoo without asking permission. “Oh my god! This is such a great dog! What’s his name? How old is he!?” I try to be politely short with the Dog Nut hoping that they will catch on to the fact that I really don’t wish to talk to them. But no hints are taken. They cannot get enough of this damn dog. Then, comes the best part: they decide to tell me everything about every dog they’ve ever owned. I don’t know how many dead dogs I have heard about walking from Mason. The real winner is the Dog Nut who has a background in Saint Bernards, because they feel like it is their god-given duty to tell you everything they know about the breed.

“Does he ever try to stand in his water bowl during the summer?”

No, ma’am, he does not. My dog is not amphibious last time that I checked. “He likes to play in the hose, but I think that’s just because he’s a… dog.” 

“Oh, well, they sometimes stand in their water bowl because they sweat through their paws.”

Mmkay, whatever. I thought this was the reason they pant, but tell me more!

“He’s so nice!”

“Yeah, he couldn’t be mean if he tried.”

“Well, you know, niceness isn’t in a dog breed. Dogs are nice or mean because we train them to act that way blahblahI’mthedogpsychologistlolblahblah.”

It’s always awkward when you finally manage to get away from the Dog Nut, because you’ve only met them for a short period time and a “Bye” would be awkward. But at the same time, you’ve uncovered most of their life story and there may as well be some sort of connection there.

Progressing on to another type of reaction to Mason, you have the Discreet Observer. We’ll let D.O. suffice for now.

The D.O. is a sneaky little bastard. Inside, they are itching to pet this dog, to get down and tell it how wonderfully cute and drool-filled it is. Yet, they do not want to be awkward, so they try to act like they do not want to pet him. But as they pass by, you must watch for the key moment that qualifies them as a D.O.: the moment they are out of your immediate site and behind your back, they will stick their hand out and pet Mason, gliding over him as he passes by. It’s the weirdest thing, like a sniper-pet. After they receive their .05 seconds of sheer bliss, they continue on as if nothing ever happened, content knowing that they were able to pet the dog without me knowing it.

False, though. I notice everything.

Moving on.

Now, Greek kids fall in their own special category.

Greek guys are completely unphased as they walk by in their Costa-ed glory. It wouldn’t be fratty to notice another fraternity’s dog. Seriously, they don’t even blink. They stare straight off into the distance as they pass by.

Now, on the other hand, almost every girl in a sorority is best friends with this dog when you’re walking him. They’ll know his name, and call it out if they’re from a distance. They will come running across the street to see them, crouch down, and tell the dog how great it is in that dumb voice girls all use to talk to dogs with. “Mason! Shusha shuweet wiwwtle poopy!” Mason may not be all that smart, but I like to think he knows this is absolutely ridiculous. It’s always awkward for me, especially when I don’t know the girl; for the duration of the encounter, I cease to exist. Mason may as well be strolling down the street on his own.

Black people. They love this dog more than I do, I think. They have no problem coming up to him and seeing him, which is weird, because I always thought black people were scared to death of dogs. SERIOUSLY. One of my friends had this little fluffy dog named Misty. When the one black kid in the neighborhood came to the door to see what he was up, Misty would come running to the door. The kid would flinch, no lie! But not with Mason. They all love him. These are my favorite people to run into, though. They’re so much more fun and lively to talk to. 

There is one thing that I cannot understand, though. All black people shout “He looks like that dog Beethoven!” How the hell do they know about Beethoven movies? I watched every single Beethoven movie as a kid, but these are grown adults! Yet they all know about Beethoven! It blows my mind. Tyler Perry, take notes. “Madea Meets Beethoven” could easily be the top-grossing film of all time.

That’s all for now. Stay tuned for more random shit I notice.

“Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off his horse and helping your uncle jack off his horse.”

Or, for punctuation, the difference between saying “Let’s go get some, boys!” before a party and “Let’s go get some boys!”

Word.

ourpresidents:

The world’s first canned beer is sold on this day - January 24, 1935

How’s that for a historic anniversary?  You can thank Krueger’s Beer in Richmond, Virginia for making it happen with a first run of 2000 cans.  

This photo from the FDR Library shows soldiers receiving World War II beer rations:

Sgt. Henry Klein sells T/4 Ralph Lohman his ration of American beer. Seven cans were rationed in Sept. but future deliveries were uncertain.

Birthday cheers for Canned Beer!

-From the FDR Library’s Public Domain Photographs

clientsfromhell:

A client has various business areas which are identified by acronyms, including LAP, EQP and FAP. They wanted some new online adverts made up. I asked what ideas they’d had for the text. This is what they came back with

FAP online (everyone is doing it)

FAP in schools

FAP for life.

Oh god.