There are plenty of ways to make a point quickly and emphatically, but few are as economical as a good interjection. Compared to the expressions one never runs across anymore except in Shakespeare, eighteenth century novels, and Mad Libs, most recent examples are pretty unmusical, uninspired, and linguistically dull: “wow,” “cool,” “awesome,” “Jesus.” This extends even, dare I say, to profanity (although I do enjoy “fuck” as much as, or maybe even more than, the next person). These exclamations are also fairly interchangeable – in other words, in many respects they’ve lost their sparkle, their spunk.

Looking back, some of the best sounding words were expressions of surprise or simple emphasis – basically, strategies to avoid uttering an oath. Shorthand blasphemy.

Oddsbodkins!: God’s body
Zounds!: God’s wounds
Gadzooks!: God’s hooks (those nails used in the Crucifixion)

Then there are the more secular tropes – also a kind of conversational shorthand.

A great (two-word) expression that, like all proper idioms, seemed to have no obvious connection to its meaning was “Brown Salve!”, which communicated both surprise at and understanding of whatever the hell it was someone just told you. You can consult John Camden Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1859) for more delicious morsels.

A popular recent example is probably “Not!”. “Not!” enjoyed its heyday in the 1990s, and popped up in everything from the New Republic to commercials for dish detergent. “Not!” is not a new expression, however. In its contemporary usage, it first appeared in 1900, and I first noticed it in Ellis Parker Butler’s short story “Pigs is Pigs.” In 1908, the expression cropped up in a panel of Dreams of a Rarebit Fiend, by the pioneering Winsor McKay: “That confounded rarebit I ate last night is making me sleep lovely. NOT!!!”.[1] “Not!” is used to negate an idea for humorous rhetorical effect, but it basically operates as a means to shut down a particular line of conversation or thought. In happier times, the preferred method by which to perform this was “Quoz!”. [Read more →]

This edition of “Animal Rummy” is an Arrco “Pla-Mor” game: “Ten true to life animals of the woodlands make the all-time favorite game of Rummy more fun to play.  The beaver, the bear, the squirrel, and even the skunk are mixed and matched in this new version of a great old game.”  I’ve selected the bear: nice work there, I think.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

I think my high school offered one basic course in psychology, which I did not take. Surely it dealt in stripped-down basics – the classification of emotions, some de-sexualized Freudian theory, and maybe a little Jung thrown in for the artsy kids. I’d like to think, if I’d had the opportunity to take a class like this, my life’s trajectory would have been radically different.  Pet psychics are always in demand.

From yesterday’s Guardian:

From next month, potentially thousands of teenagers at schools and colleges throughout the UK will start lessons that deal with telepathy, psychokinesis, psychic healing, near-death experiences and talking to the dead. Surely the minds of the nation’s youth will be corrupted by all this mumbo-jumbo?

(Posted by Lisa Hirschfield)

This “Old Maid” was published in 2001 by Cardinal Industries.  I’m intrigued by the fact that Piano Pete seems to be playing inside the piano.  Is he performing a piece using extended techniques?  Or is he simply tuning — in black tie?  At any rate, it’s a bold and bright design.

And here’s the Old Maid.  This, by the way, will be our last “Old Maid” for a while; other designs, other games, await.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

To most of us, the name “Tiny Tim” recalls the late Herbert Khaury, he of the uke and falsetto. We may also think of the plaintive tot in Dickens, or — if smitten with old comic strips — Stanley Link’s minuscule hero of the ’30s.

But there was another, now forgotten, yet once a familiar New York character: “Tiny Tim” Felter, who peddled his “Soul Candy” in the tearooms and coffeeshops of Greenwich Village, back in its boho heyday.

Curiously, he sounds much like the later tiptoer; so much so, in fact, that I can’t help but wonder if he inspired Khaury’s stage name. He was tall, thin, pale, with long black hair, and adopted a markedly fey persona.

Edmund Wilson chatted with him, and noted his impressions in his diary (later collected in “The Twenties”): “Soul Candy — wide-brimmed Stetson hat and green suit to match the day — “Inspiration” — said to have made such a good thing of it (May 1923) that he is able to live uptown with his wife and children — some say he merely has a house in the country — has written philosophical pamphlets, which he produces and presents to you when sufficiently encouraged — never comes out of his character, even when engaging in serious conversation…  curious smiling expression which never betrayed his character.”

Clement Wood, in his booklet “Bohemian Life in N.Y.’s Greenwich Village” (issued as a Little Blue Book, #1106), was less amused: “And there was the dreadful unnamed character who would lisp and purr his way into the Greenwich Tavern and others of the eateries patronized by the slummers, who would offer for sale, in a wheedling treble, “Soul Kiss Candies,” a quarter for two or three bonbons which had cost him perhaps two cents! He would get the quarters, too, amid memories of ‘How quaint!’ ‘How adorable!'”

To my delight, Tiny Tim’s sales pitch has been preserved, in a “Souvenir Book of Greenwich Village,” by Ralph I. Bartolomew, published in 1920. And it’s worth preserving, too. Here it is:

“Every taste and every flavor has its own particular vibrations. They vibrate as truly as the sounding-board of the piano vibrates. If your ear is trained you can detect vibrations in music which the uninitiated would be unable to hear.

“One day I discovered, by the merest chance, that I am so sensitively constituted that my soul is in constant vibration with taste waves. I determined to devote myself to humanity and the manufacture of Soul Candy, which produces marvelous results in the souls of those who eat it. Would you write the world’s greatest epic, conceive a super Moonlight Sonata, paint a more perfect Mona Lisa? Then partake of this Soul Candy. I make it for altruistic reasons only. I desire no monetary reward. Eat, I pray you. It costs you nothing. In fact, money could not pay for it. You object? You are embarrassed? You decline? You are unwilling that one whom you consider a perfect stranger should thus endow your soul with lasting benefit? Money I despise, but if you insist upon it, if you will not eat without making vulgar compensation, then give me a quarter and take a bag of this Soul Candy.”

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

I suppose this isn’t really a game.  It’s taken from a pack of “Trader’s Cards,” published by E. E. Fairchild.  There are twelve cards, neatly done up in a wrapper.  The copy tells us they’re “all different,” adding “You will want to get all nine series numbered 1 to 9, each containing twelve different cards.”  The fact that the sets are numbered is indeed tempting; that saves trouble.

I presume the cards were traded among kids; the fact that none has any pop culture or franchise tie-in seems both quaint and refreshing.  The selection also seems oddly random: a totem pole, a photo of a buttercup, a Renoir portrait, a photo of a church, a yellow and black drawing of a house, a map of Cape Cod, a colored print of a ship, a cookie jar with a decorative border, a photo of three kittens, a painting of a dog’s head, a painting of an oriole, a drawing of another kitten.

I was puzzled, until I realized: these were probably stock designs for playing card backs, repackaged as trading cards.  I especially like that totem pole. 

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

People lie for different reasons: cowardice (the truth can hurt), cupidity (falsehood can be more profitable), arrogance (the truth can be improved), or ignorance (the truth is unknown).

I don’t know what motivated Jeanne des Armoises.  True, she got attention and cash, but she must have known it couldn’t last.  In fact, I don’t know how she kept it up as long as she did.

But there she is: an odd footnote to the life of Jeanne d’Arc.  In 1436, five years after Jeanne’s execution, a young woman surfaced in Metz, declaring that she was Jeanne, and that she had returned.  There were many rumors afloat of Jeanne’s survival or escape, so a reappearance was not unexpected.  The family recognized her; others followed.  The new Jeanne married a knight, Robert des Armoises, and created a sensation in Orléans, where she was treated to food, wine, and gifts.  The city abolished the yearly mass commemorating Jeanne’s death, since she was obviously alive and banqueting.

Jeanne des Armoises traveled around, garnering plaudits and celebrations, and was eventually received by Charles VII.  He reportedly recognized the deception, but kept mum, since a revived Pucelle was expedient.

In 1440, she finally confessed to the University of Paris.  She left for Rome to ask the Pope’s pardon; according to some accounts, she got sidetracked into fighting in the war of St. Père Eugène.  And so ended the brief career of the false Joan of Arc.  She seems to have had better luck than the real one.

It’s worth noting that there were several other impostors, including Pierronne and Catherine de la Rochelle.  And it should come as no shock that there are historians ahoof who argue that Jeanne d’Arc herself was a hoax, man, lesbian, or hermaphrodite; that her brothers were ringers; that Jeanne des Armoises was indeed Jeanne d’Arc; and other curious speculations.  Just as anyone could claim to be Joan of Arc, anyone could claim anything else they wanted.  The old saw has it that history is written by the victors; more often, history is written by whoever feels like it.

(Posted by Doug Skinner.  I point gratefully to Jacques Heers’s monograph, Gilles de Rais, which provided many of the supposed facts above.)   

“Old Maid: Mother Goose Edition” was published by Russell; no date is given.  It features illustrations from Mother Goose, done in rich colors in a sober storybook style.

And here’s the Old Maid:

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

Many people have asked me about a memorial service for John.  We’ll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, here’s a brief poem John wrote when he was sixteen.  It’s called “My Last Wish.”

the thing I would like most to do
is look upon my friends
and hear what they say about me
after my funeral ends.

We’ll give you an earful, John.

(Posted by Doug Skinner) 

John A. Keel died a few days ago, on Friday, July 3, 2009.

As some of you may know, I knew him for many years.  Larry Sloman and I were his medical proxies for the past couple of years, and did our best to help him with his legal and medical problems.

He was in and out of the hospital in recent years.  Fortunately, his last stay wasn’t long, and he was mostly cogent and ambulatory until a couple of days before he died.  He was in a coma Friday, but I told him we’d done all we could for him, that we’d miss him, and that we’d keep reading his crazy books, and bid him good-bye.  I’m sure many of you will join me.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)