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A Turkish Delight of musings on languages, deflations of metaphysics, vauntings of arcana, and great visual humor.
From Our Abecedarian Blog . . .

Today — March 29, 2020

Yearbook Weirdness (permalink)
Speaking in a graveyard to an empty bench ... sounds chillingly familiar.  From Otterbein's 1923 yearbook.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
Looks spooky but is wonderful news: "I am the Man from Beyond.  I pass on my journey through the world and I secretly promise, by the power that has brought me back to this plane, to shower happiness and good fortune upon all who house me.  —The Man from Beyond."  From The Film Daily, 1922.
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This May Surprise You (permalink)
History often neglects to mention that Lady Godiva suffered from crippling shyness.  (We would know: we're related to Lady Godiva — the barest branch of the family tree — on our maternal side.  You might be, too: see Heirs to the Queen of Hearts: Tracing Magical Genealogy.)  From The Film Daily, 1922.
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I Found a Penny Today, So Here's a Thought (permalink)
"UFO man wants his trousers."  From UFO Newsclipping Service, 1995.
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Sundials (permalink)
From Ye Sundial Booke by T. Geoffrey Henslow, 1914.


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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
"Please walk this way."  From The Wizzywab by George W. Caldwell, 1919.
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Yearbook Weirdness (permalink)
From Colorado College's 1905 yearbook.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
From Fliegende Blätter, 1928.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
From Le Rire, 1905.
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Yearbook Weirdness (permalink)
Our restoration of an illustration from the Kansas State yearbook of 1953.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
"Red Cloak," by Pamela Colman Smith (1908).
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Yearbook Weirdness (permalink)
A rarely admitted outrage of higher education: you've seen those college pennants, but did you know that coeds go unclothed just so dormitory walls can be decorated?  From Greensboro's 1926 yearbook.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
From Lustige Blätter, 1914.
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Yearbook Weirdness (permalink)
Reblog if you walk through the valley of giant books.
From Mary Washington's 1947 yearbook.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
An inkblot creature from Le Pêle-Mêle, 1896.
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Yearbook Weirdness (permalink)
From Rockford's 1928 yearbook.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
From Le Journal Amusant, 1876.
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Images Moving Through Time (permalink)
"Ghost party."  From Susquehanna's 1914 yearbook.  See Of Feeding & Caring For Sheet Ghosts.
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Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
From Kladderadatsch, 1933.
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Is Today The Day? (permalink)
29
March 2020

“Today is the day for steadfastness and constancy.”

—Mabel Hyde Paine, The Divine Art of Living, 2006

From the outrageous to the inspirational to the hilarious, here’s a daily reminder to break out of the old grind and do something unexpected, for the fun, the challenge, or the heck of it.

If today simply isn’t your day, click here to have a different day.


Music Box Moment (permalink)
Do you deserve a nostalgic breather?  Through the delicate workings of the music box, even the most dramatic compositions seem to play only for you.  You’ll hear even a very familiar piece in a whole new way.  Courtesy of home recording pioneer Ken Clinger, here’s today’s music box selection.  It will sound surprisingly good even through built-in computer speakers, and it will cut through the ambient noise of the office without being distracting.

Featured in Today’s Music Box:
Twinkle Variations (Clinger)
performed by Ken Clinger
If you could use another Music Box Moment, choose a piece:


There’s a Signpost Up Ahead (permalink)
One's life path is marked by crossroads and signposts.  If you are confronted with making a choice today, perhaps the signpost displayed here will help to characterize your situation and guide you to make a decision.  If you need more guidance, refresh this page for another symbol.  If both signs are the same, perhaps any choice will lead to the same outcome.

The signs are inspired by a system of symbols entitled "Spiritual Diagnosis," developed by Dr. Robert McNary of Montana.  Dr. McNary actually creates nine-faceted mandala charts for people and interprets the symbols with uncanny accuracy.  Dr. McNary's web site is RockyMountainAstrologer.com.
> view a larger version of your signpost . . .
Yesterday — March 28, 2020

The Right Word (permalink)
It's a weird feeling when you discover an old list you made and yet have no memory of what any of it means.  Literary scalawag Jonathan Caws-Elwitt found this great description in Evenfield, by Rachel Ferguson:
Sometimes I come across an old overlooked worry-list. The items on one ran:
1 Row with A.
2 No letter from C.
3 Tooth.
4 Look for green overall again.
5 No ideas for magazine story.
6 What D said last week (Wed: 7th).
7 People I ought to be dining.
And I am harassed this time by occasional total failure to remember who the ‘C’ of the missing letter was or what the deuce ‘D’ had ‘said’, which only shows that if you sit tight long enough nothing matters at all, while I know that this particular brand of philosophy is no good and never will be to people like myself. One must live. And worrying is probably a part of the business and a sign that one is still in the swim! It is rather the same thing with old letters that you re-read. Like a rude, whispering couple who exclude you from the conversation, they indulge in allusions you can’t trace, hint at emotions you can’t recall, and make infuriating plans of the outcome of which your mind is a complete blank. ‘Who is this stranger hissing in a corner?’ one despairingly thinks, and it is oneself, as little as five years ago. And as for the letters dating further back, you get well-nigh to the stage of begging the correspondence to let you in on the conversation, to give you at that moment a little of the love expressed for you in the letter of which you are dimly jealous! You almost whimper, ‘It’s Barbara asking my best friend, in those days’, and it’s no good at all. The Barbara of the note excludes the Barbara who holds it in her hand (though you feel she would be miserably remorseful, eagerly, tenderly explanatory, if you did meet again). Meanwhile, you are left hiding a secret from yourself, and a most extraordinary and forlorn sensation it is.
The Lady Dowager Oddfellow has long been perplexed by her own list on the cardboard back of a pad (pictured).  Though it's unmistakably her handwriting, she has absolutely no idea what any of it means.  The words are:
Jupiter
Mars
she
I'm not in my body
milkshake
abstract
yes/no
Hawaii
any vague sexual reference
Mastercard/Visa
chap
anti-intellectualism
poisonous food
doctor's bills
IGNORANCE is too harsh
G.O.D.
mush in people's mouths
any playfulness
Indian accent jokes
tennis ball
no clothes
Chinese restaurant
greediness
silence
carried list in wallet
screaming into pillow
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Copyright © 2020 Craig Conley