What keeps my skin so young-looking?

Well, not mine, personally, since I keep mine looking wrinkle-free by filling it internally with another double-chocolate doughnut and a scoop of frozen custard... but, if this particular piece is true, then some folks are making their skins all pretty in a truly disturbing fashion:

Neocutis’ key ingredient known as “Processed Skin Proteins” was developed at the University of Luasanne from the skin tissue of a 14-week gestation electively-aborted male baby donated by the University Hospital in Switzerland. Subsequently, a working cell bank was established, containing several billion cultured skin cells to produce the human growth factor needed to restore aging skin. The list of products using the cell line include: Bio-Gel, Journee, Bio-Serum, Prevedem, Bio Restorative Skin Cream and Lumiere.

The very idea that somebody took fetal tissue to turn it into a cosmetic treatment is seriously abhorrent. I can hear the justifications, already, though: "The thing was already dead, so what's the big deal? It would have gone to waste, otherwise."

Well, the thing is, the thing was a human being. It did not die a natural death, but was taken untimely. And now it's being used not to save lives, but to make somebody feel pretty. It's not entirely unlike like putting grandma out of our misery because her medical care is inconvenient to us, and then saying, "As long as she's not using them, can I have her teeth for a necklace and matching earrings?"

Granted, the article says the tissue sample from the aborted fetus was (a) donated willingly and (b) very small, and granted, most of the stuff (the "human growth factor") used in the cosmetic product is grown in a laboratory from said small sample. And, I'm sure people have built great medicines from small samples of stuff I don't really want to know about. I acknowledge that wonders come from unlikely and unseemly sources. Bread mold, pond scum, bee stings, snake bites -- who knows what unsavory thing will help cure the next big disease? Still, it seems to me this is an ugly little foot in the door to much more sinister possibilities -- and no, I don't necessarily mean "Soylent Green." Once we have a marketable product to be made from something only grown from aborted babies, how do we restrict the trafficking of the unborn for such a business? How do we prevent poor young girls from virtually reducing themselves to slaves of a new, modern sex trade? What other "unwanted" lives do we throw away to satisfy the unending hungers of hedonists?

Where is the line drawn on the value of life? What dollar amount marks the end of humanity?

Soupy Sales reaches pie in the sky

Milton Supman, aka Soupy Sales , the comic best known for taking pie in the face on his regular children's show in the 1950s and '60s has had his last pie hit. He passed away this past evening, at the age of 83.

Little lambs

Bo Peep, Illinois style

photo from negative ca. 1910- 1920, "Henderson County" purchased at auction

I could never get my hair to stay up like that, when I had it long. That's why it's so short, now. That, and shampoo gets expensive when you have nearly a meter of braid to wrestle each time you shower...

Certain things you convince yourself are part of your identity when you are young, you eventually realize are merely burdens. The long, wavy hair, the high heels -- sure they're comely, but they're also cause for considerable pain at the end of a day. So much nicer it is to relax, enjoy the breeze blowing on your scalp without worrying how you're going to get rid of the tangles, so much easier it is to walk when you use the whole foot, the way nature designed it to be. Femininity is not defined by silken tresses or stiletto heels, but by manner and by intent. A tilt of the head, a tone of voice, those mark a person as womanly as clearly as does a bottled, blended fragrance and a scoop-necked blouse.

Masculinity, however, sometimes is defined by its trappings. (Language warning)

On the Waterfront

Presumably, the Mississippi River waterfront.


Photo from packet of negatives marked "Henderson County", undated but circa 1910-1920, developed in Galesburg, IL, and purchased by me at auction in the fall of last year.

I don't know where on the river this photo was taken -- the packet of negatives was not clearly labeled, photo by photo. All I know is that many of the pics were described in the accompanying packet's note pages as "Henderson County", and that the packet design was patented in 1910. I don't know if there was anything like this industrial center in Henderson County, IL, during that time frame (the county seat was Oquawka, aka Yellow Banks, and it was something of a hub, then), but there were pics from other areas of the state, as well, so this may be as far-flung as Saint Louis or Rock Island.

Old-fashioned come-hither glance

subject unknown, film developed 9 August 1921

Postcard for college homecoming

This weekend is Homecoming for Monmouth College

Postcard ca. 1905

I'm thinking I ought to attend at least a few of the events, since this would have been the 25-year reunion for my class, had I actually gradgitated with them all. Some of my classmates have already electronically touched base with me or with my folks, so I'm set to spend time already with old friends. My not being terribly social is taking a hit or two, but I think I might actually enjoy the company. Not so much the events, though. I'm still too much a cellar-dweller for that.

We shall see if I survive the weekend...

Okay, so he's not a rocket scientist

I was fool enough, myself, to sit down with the television turned on in the room, again, while I was playing on the computer. I like a little background noise, after all -- otherwise, I hear the creaks and groans of a house and a dog and my own anatomy.

So, there I was, in a room filled with FOX News. No big. Except for the fact that Shepard Smith is demonstrating he is a journalist, not a rocket scientist (or even a reasonable facsimile thereof). And this is about rocket sciences. He's had a guest on, explaining the purpose behind the moon shot experiment, in which NASA has tossed an SUV-sized projectile at the south pole of the moon, in hopes that we may find, among the dust and debris kicked up by the impact, a little water.

If there is water we can mine at the pole of the lunar orb, there is a chance that we can expand our science and industry alike into space, giving us greater survival opportunities, as well as greater knowledge in general. If there is water up there, it means, among other things, the possibility of establishing a lunar station, lunar industrial centers, maybe someday even a small colony. Things needed for research and industry in zero-gee would be already up there, and we wouldn't have to spend huge sums of money and burn huge quantities of fuel (dare I add, contributing to atmospheric problems and other ecological issues?) to ship stuff up there to get the jobs done. That's generally viewed as a good thing.

Even if there is no usable amount of water, at least we will have more answers about the heavens and about our own place in them. That's generally viewed as a good thing, too.

But, at the end of Shep Smith's interview of his guest -- the one explaining clearly what the program was about, and what its benefits might be -- after the farewells and thank-yous were done, Shepard muttered, "I still don't see why we're spending on this, when there are so many other, more pressing ways we should be spending our money, like health care and unemployment and such."

Well, Shep, for one, this project has been in the works for many long years. It's already bought and paid for, long before the economy went into obvious crisis, and long before your invented crisis in the health care industry. The project was planned, the equipment assembled, probably about the first time you heard the words "anthropogenic global warming" and thought they tasted good on your tongue. To pull out now from the research project -- which may very well benefit us all in only a couple of decades -- would be to discard something which has already cost a few billion dollars already spent, and is near completion as of this week. That would be like making a fancy birthday cake, and then throwing it away just before you got the last candle lit, because you thought the money should have gone to buying a birthday scooter instead. You want to complain about waste?

For another thing, the point behind this sort of research is pragmatic. While most scientists enjoy research simply for the sake of greater understanding of the universe (a totally understandable goal, if you have the least portion of genuine curiosity about anything other than how your voice sounds when it comes out those little teevee speakers), they also find that discoveries in space have very useful applications for us groundlings. Everything from non-stick cookware to clean water technologies have come from our sending handfuls of brave individuals out there, away from Mother Earth. It continues to give us new information, new advances, new wonders and new applications every day. Research in space has saved lives. Is that reason enough for you to continue to look to the skies, in these days of crisis?

There's a Reason

Grape Nuts:

Things move for men of Mental and Physical Strength

"There's a Reason"

Full-page advertisement in back of Woman's World, 1927

(click for larger image)

Although, what that reason is, I'm not sure. It's probably something to do with the laws of physics, many of which I spend long hours trying to defy.

Question of logic, from my father, the Logician

So, Congress is proposing a tax on all these medical services and devices, in order to lower the cost of medical services and devices. Some of the items listed to be taxed are mentioned here.

Dad asks, "I don't understand... how does adding a tax lower the cost, again?"

Doll club stuff

Just got back from Warren County Doll Club meeting, posted my notes at the club blog.

Biggest threat, primary cause...

I've had a few minutes to mull over the statement by el Baradei, that Israel is the biggest threat to peace in the Mideast. Seems to me, that's comparable to somebody saying that the primary cause of divorce is marriage, or the sole cause of death in the world is birth. All may be accurate, in the end result -- and, Israel's mere existence as a home for the Jews may cause no end of strife among spite-filled Arabs -- but by such a declaration, it becomes apparent somebody has his spectacles on upside-down, to put things politely.

There's always room...

Is it time for dessert, yet?

Full-page advertisement from 1927 Woman's World Magazine.

Maybe I'm just old, but I'm not crazy about foods which won't sit still when I point a spoon at them.

The last time I made some of this stuff, I loaded it with tasty fruits and it still became a very messy plaything for my much-too-old-to-be playing-with-food nephews. More went on their clothes and the countertops than in their stomachs. I kept thinking that I needed fingerpaint paper.

They both now exhibit considerable artistic skills, so I guess Jell-O isn't a complete failure as a dessert, in our family.

Bonny (?) bonnets

From June 1915 Woman's World magazine.

I used to collect hats. I still have an accumulation, but not a serious collection, any more, because it got trendy in the 1990s and the early part of this century, so the sorts I liked most became a little too pricey for me. After all, the most I ever spent on a good hat was thirty dollars for a top-of-the-line Stetson, at an auction. Now, I just look and snort.

Nonetheless, I am usually attracted to stylish head-covers.

Not these, however.

Have you noticed, none of these three little tots has a smile on her face? It's because the hats are horrid. One of those hat-wearers probably grew up to be my grumpy grandmother.

Not ready for harvest

As corny as Kansas, but in Illinois.
This photograph was from a batch of 3.25" x 3.25" negatives from "Henderson County, Ills.", developed in Galesburg, dated ca. 1910-1919.

Last spring, my parents drove upstate to the Chicago area to attend the funeral of my mother's half-brother. We don't really have much in the way of emotional (or other) ties to that branch of the family, as Mom was raised, not by her parents, but by her mother's sister's household... several aunts, an uncle and a cousin, that is. That is where the bond is strong -- with the family on the farm, and with the land itself.

Mom has many great, fond memories of the place where she was raised, on the outskirts of a little town not far from Joliet. I have equally fond memories of holidays spent at the same place, listening to the great rusty windmill creaking, groaning, and complaining with each breeze throughout the night. We both still see, in our mind's eyes, or smell with the shifting winds of time, the musty corn crib, the grassy hayloft, the bleached bungalow out back, Grandpa's (that would be my great-grand-uncle's) workshop with the forge, the cellar filled with foods put by... that way of life is still deeply embedded in our souls.

Every sunny morning, on the farm, came with rainbows. Every evening went the same way. When the house had been built, Grandpa made certain to install beveled, leaded glass panes in the large bay windows. Those built-in prisms scattered colors across walls, floor, and faces as the sun passed. To a child, this was magical. To an adult, this was simply joy -- a far greater magic.

The quickest glance in any direction out those precious windows, always, gave a view of the braided rug that was the tilled and planted earth, bordered by a line of tall grass and a gravel road. Beneath bare feet, that black ground was the essence of all things good.

As the seasons changed, colors outdoors changed, but the essential rhythm of the farm remained one of honest toil, worry punctuated with laughter and music. Evenings, holidays, Sundays after church and after dinner were spent around the piano, swapping songs and stories. Strangers and even old foes were welcome at the dining table, especially on the holidays. Crowds came and went, love always remained.

They put the interstate highway in while I was still in school. All I cared was that it took me to Grandma and Grandpa's farm that much faster. The folks, by that time, had retired from the fields to allow a neighbor to work the land, and they didn't mind, then, the ease of travel afforded by the four-lane thoroughfare. It got them to their desk jobs in Joliet that much faster and more easily.

When I was getting ready for college, the folks sold the farm to some people who said they wanted to turn the house into a Bed and Breakfast. No problem. The new owners tore down most of the farm structures, though. I wasn't sure why. I suppose there was some liability issue, or, maybe, since they weren't farming there, they decided they didn't need to maintain the old wooden crib, the battered barn, the forge. They also tore down the house, laid in new foundations on the old footprint, and replaced the wood structure with a brick block of a thing -- with no windows on the east or west sides, and plain glass on the southern exposure. They saw no rainbows.

Mom and I could adjust to those sorts of changes. New people want to make their own marks on the land, and so it is with houses. We thought they were fools for omitting daylight from their list of priorities, but it was their loss, after all.

Now, though, the farm and farmstead are long gone. Yes, the brick B-and-B is still there, but it's surrounded by a national retail distribution center's row-upon-row of warehouses and truck lots. The "back forty" acres are no longer braided rows of farmland, but containment ponds for sewage treatment for the ever-expanding (and, in faltering economy, likely soon-to-decay) suburban developments, both industrial and residential.

What was once rich land is now nothing but property. Neither my mother nor I will willingly go by that parcel of real estate again. Some changes are simply too painful to face again.

Summer 2016 go here

Yay!

Congratulations to Brazil.
This part of Downstate Illinois is relieved, and wishes you best of luck.

No Excuse

Why I Am the Way I Am

or, something like that.

Plots and plans...

I'm hoping, now that I don't have to keep chasing down a grumpy old monk each day, I can start raiding my collection of ephemera -- mostly old magazines and postcards -- and posting my favorite image of the day. I don't promise to have something new each day, but I do aim for it, nonetheless.

Upcoming: No Excuse, or Why I'm the Way I Am