composite drawlings

What keeps my skin so young-looking?

2009-10-28T18:23:00.003-05:00

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

2009-10-23T00:45:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-17T17:54:00.004-05:00

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

2009-10-15T12:45:00.004-05:00

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

2009-10-12T20:55:00.002-05:00

subject unknown, film developed 9 August 1921

Postcard for college homecoming

2009-10-09T13:21:00.003-05:00

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

2009-10-08T14:36:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-07T17:33:00.003-05:00

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

2009-10-07T16:24:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-06T20:53:00.001-05:00

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

Biggest threat, primary cause...

2009-10-05T23:32:00.003-05:00

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...

2009-10-05T17:31:00.004-05:00

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

2009-10-04T17:29:00.005-05:00

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

2009-10-03T16:23:00.003-05:00

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

2009-10-02T11:59:00.001-05:00

Yay!

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

No Excuse

2009-10-01T13:38:00.003-05:00

Why I Am the Way I Am

or, something like that.

Plots and plans...

2009-10-01T12:44:00.002-05:00

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

Even the French are offended

2009-09-30T20:19:00.003-05:00

The peasants seem to be in the early stages of an uprising.

The masses, little by little, seem to be rejecting the notion that the famous, fatuous and filthy rich are entitled to special treatment by mere dint of their having garnered their fifteen minutes before the public.

Not only are the peons attending "tea parties", but I've heard from reliable sources that the majority of those who post on Huffington Post are not falling into rows behind their Hollywood Elitist leaders as it comes to child-rapist justice-dodging filmmaker Roman Polanski, either. Members of the French government may have come out in support of him, but they're hearing a whole lot of angry, disgusted feedback from the general French populace. The masses seem to think that drugging and sodomizing a thirteen-year-old and then fleeing the country before justice can be served, then whining from his many palatial retreats about the hardships he has to suffer due to his flight from the law, are not the actions of a responsible adult citizen of this world, and supporting his actions because he's "a brilliant artist" is a bit, well, déclassé.

If they start figuring this out about a man with a camera and a nasty continued tendency to blame the victim, perhaps they'll start figuring this out about the rest of the corruptocrats and their enablers.

I think I might need to take up knitting.

Cranky Large Medium retires

2009-09-28T06:01:00.001-05:00

It hasn't been a full year, yet (missed it by three days!), but the medium is no longer bringing the message. The stony path leading up to the retreat has, somehow, collapsed, with no way for the curious to climb up there.

If your birthday was one of the last few of this month, the medium shouted down, "Sorry pal! Yer S.O.L.!"

The management of this blog apologizes for any inconvenience as a result of this rockfall, and wishes you all happy birthdays for many years to come.

Cranky Large Medium reading, 27 September

2009-09-27T14:28:00.005-05:00

Go away.

Why won't you leave? What is it about me that beguiles you, so that you seem incapable of turning away and heading downhill, even after I make express request that you do? Come on, now, go on. What are you waiting for, your mother's dinner call? Oh, I see, you want a reading before you go. Hmmmph. Is that all I'm good for, to you? What a relief! This means that you'll be going away as soon as I give you your reading, doesn't it? Spiff-a-rooney! Here you are:

You are easily annoyed and annoying, especially by petty things. If you could learn how to be a little cheerful, at least you won't be annoyed. You could even be kind and sympathetic. Not that anybody will really care, except you and whoever lives under the same roof with you (your parents, for example. You really should consider moving out of Momma's basement).

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But, look on the bright side: even if you're annoyed and petty, you're still capable of feeling and being petty. That puts you ahead of these people, all of who, on this date in history, ceased to annoy or be annoyed, ever after: Emperor Go-Nara, Maximilian I, Braxton Bragg, Sylvia Pankhurst, Jimmy Doolittle, Étienne Bézout, Bernard Courtois, Auguste Michel-Lévy, S. R. Ranganathan, William of Wykeham, Pope Urban VII, Saint Vincent de Paul, Pope Innocent XII, Karl Christian Friedrich Krause, Walter Benjamin, Aimee Semple McPherson, Edgar Degas, Kenji Nagai, Engelbert Humperdinck, Cliff Burton, Mahendra Kapoor, Robert Montgomery, Lloyd Nolan, Donald O'Connor, Clara Bow, Dame Gracie Fields, Babe Didrikson Zaharias, Doak Walker, William Edward Boeing, Oona O'Neill,

and Jimmy McCulloch.

Don't call my name in the air, just make your way home on the stone path.
Happy birthday, anyway.

Cranky Large Medium reading, 26 September

2009-09-26T06:49:00.001-05:00

Go away.

What? Are you still here? Is finding the exit gate too challenging for you? Let me point you in the right direction. Yonder lies the way. Why aren't you walking toward it? Go on, put that little foot forward, then the other one, then... hmmmph. Just what is this problem you have? Oh, but you came here for something. Pardon my rolling eyes. This thing you want of me, it wouldn't happen to be a reading, would it? If I give you one, will you go away immediately afterward? O, joy, o rapture! Here you are:

You really ought to take your nose out of your books sometimes. Although being well-read is not necessarily a bad thing, there is a life outside the library, in which you might exercise your ambition, a little energy, some positive direction in your life. You are too stubborn. Expectations of you are generally low; most people know you will do much for love, but you won't do that.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But what do I care? You'll be sticking your nose back into your books again, soon, so you won't be my problem any more. Meanwhile, look on the bright side of things -- at least you can go home to your reading. That puts you in a better place than these people, all of whom, on this date, were added to the book of doomsday: Taichang Emperor, Wakisaka Yasuharu, Daniel Boone, Antoine Parent, Jurij Vega, August Ferdinand Möbius, Hermann Grassmann, Hans Cloos, Lavoslav Ružička, Manne Siegbahn, Juan de Torquemada, George Santayana, John Byron, Lafcadio Hearn, Hugh Lofting, William Billings, Béla Bartók, Billy Vaughn, Betty Carter, Baden Powell, Robert Palmer, Charles Correll, Arthur Hunnicutt, Hugh Franklin, Richard Mulligan, Paul Newman, Anna Magnani, Ellen Roosevelt, Ralph Earnhardt, Levi Strauss, Herbert Tichy,

and Bessie Smith.

Go to St. Louis, you can win him back. Or not. Just go.
Happy birthday, anyway.

Cranky Large Medium reading, 25 September

2009-09-25T06:52:00.001-05:00

Go away.

Why are you still here? Do you not understand the concept of "exit"? Are you really that thick? Or is it just that you are cruel and insensitive, wanting to torment a pitiable hermit who only seeks solitude? Oh, you aren't deliberately heartless, after all. You only came here because you heard I could give you something rare and exceptional. Well, you're not going to get one of my smiles. Not by just standing there, anyway. I reckon the only way you're going to get a smile out of me is by shoving off -- and with our back to me, you're not likely to see it, are you? Not my smile you're looking for? Well, then, what? Oh, pardon my "well, duh" moment. You came to a medium, didn't you? You want a reading, don't you? Sigh. If I give you one, will you make me smile? Swell. Here you are:

You, like a certain medium, are sincere, frank and outspoken, and often perverse. You're pliable, too. Bend, then, to my will. When it comes to your immediate environs, though, you are rigid and fussy, wanting to surround yourself with art and spotlessly kept rooms. You are likely to fall in love at first sight, with a vacuum cleaner. Don't get attached.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But that doesn't matter, in the long run. Eventually you will be gone, and at least one of us will be smiling. If you play your cards right, if you think things through, you might guarantee both of smiles, especially if you put a positive slant to this mountaintop retreat. After all, you were able to come ask me for this favor, which puts you ahead of these people, all of whom, on this date in history, ceased all but ectoplasmic wanderings: Harald III, Morikuni, Emperor Go-Yozei, Hugo Lafayette Black, Nicu Ceauşescu, Johann Heinrich Lambert, Nikolay Nikolayevich Semyonov, Franco Modigliani, Saint Fermin, Pope Clement VII, Lancelot Andrewes, Johannes Secundus, William Bradford, Ring Lardner, Erich Maria Remarque, Marion Zimmer Bradley, George Plimpton, M. Scott Peck, John M. Ford, Johann Strauss the Elder, Frank Fay, Walter Pidgeon, Emlyn Williams, Don Adams (sorry about that, Chief!), Mary Astor, Miller Huggins, George Archer, John Bradstreet, Oliver Loving, Hans Eppinger, John B. Watson, Emily Post, Hans F. K. Günther, Billy Carter, Klaus Barbie, Edward Said, Jeff Cooper,

and John Bonham.

Moby on your way, now.
Happy birthday, anyway.

Cranky Large Medium reading, 24 September

2009-09-24T06:11:00.001-05:00

Go away.

What are you still doing, here? Why aren't you gone, after my clear command that you go? Is your hearing gone? Need I shout? Very well, then, GO AWAY! Oh, it's not your hearing, you say. Well, then, it's simply bad manners, isn't it? So, now that I've shown you the error of your ways, you'll be going, no? No? No. You want something from me, and you won't go without it. Oh, sure. As if I had anything much to spare. Have you seen my accommodations? Cave... blanket... not even a pair of shoes. What can you possibly take from me, other than my dignity? Ah. You "only" want a reading. As if that were some simple operation, no real effort on my part... well, anyway. Let's not go there. If I give you this reading, will you then leave? Do you hear that? It's a sigh of relief. Let me get you on the road. Here you are:

You have an abundance of natural ability, and could accomplish much, if you could only make up your mind. You are impulsive, and your powers of careful reason are such that you would be better off depending upon your intuition, such as that is. You are a social butterfly... you know -- a lightweight who needs constant attention. Go find a keg party, somewhere, so you can replenish your cache of brilliant analyses.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But, hey, that unhappiness won't last long, with your powers of concentration. You can look on the bright side of things, after all. You are better off than these people, who, on this date in history, gave the afterlife their full attention: Pippin the Short, Emperor Reigen, Paracelsus, Johann Matthias Hase, Niels Ryberg Finsen, Lev Schnirelmann, Hans Geiger, Bruno Pontecorvo, Pope Liberius, Pope Innocent II, Vincenzo da Filicaja, Theodore S. Geisel, Manuel Mendes, Patrick Gilmore, Ian Stuart Donaldson (no video link, for philosophical reasons), Peter Bellamy, Carl Laemmle, Warren William, Charles Reisner, Neil Hamilton, Patsy Kelly, Sarah Churchill, Mike Donlin, Mike Webster, Isabeau of Bavaria, Poliziano, Earle Cabell,

and Rosalie Allen .

Yodel along, now.
Happy birthday, anyway.

Question du jour of the day

2009-09-23T22:38:00.002-05:00

So. In a commercial for a security/alarm company, a woman and daughter come in from playing in the yard, and just at that moment a creepy guy breaks down the front door and menaces them. The girl and her mommy run upstairs to answer the ringing phone. My question is twofold: (a) shouldn't they eschew the stairs and run instead for the neighbor's house, or at least somewhere in plain open daylight, where there are likely witnesses, and (b) why would they stop to answer the phone when their lives may be threatened? What if it's one of those computer-dialed, pre-recorded telemarketers? So much for getting help... dial "M" for messed up!

If there's a reason for going upstairs and quivering in a bedroom, waiting for help to come, please, somebody, tell me.

A true patriot, Obama

2009-09-23T14:19:00.002-05:00

I am convinced, after hearing President Obama's speech before the General Assembly of United Nations, after his actions to insult all our free and loyal allies, after his kiss-up to Russia in the midst of its late season of aggression toward its free neighbors, etc., that the POTUS is a patriot, indeed.

Barack Obama, like many of those whose lives are built around leftism and academia (but I repeat myself), truly loves his country. He just can't stand the people who live in it.