We would swear this illustration of a fire eater is dated "1967," though the issue of Cosmopolitan in question was published in May 1900.  Apparently, an artist is only as far ahead of his time as his autograph dates him.  (Note that in 1902, Georges Melies will film his classic A Trip to the Moon, which will also be exactly sixty-seven years ahead of its time.)

"In a restaurant, you can tell if bamboo chopsticks have been used many times by dark stains from soy sauce visible at the tips.  This may surprise you."
—Gaku Homma, The Folk Art of Japanese Country Cooking (1991)

 

"The common pebble you find in your fist after having thrust your arm shoulder deep into water, where a jewel seemed to gleam on pale sand, is really the coveted gem though it looks like a pebble as it dries in the sun of everyday." —Vladimir Nabokov, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight

Prof. Oddfellow offers this free collection of vintage frame clip-art, culled from 110-year-old issues of Cosmopolitan Magazine and painstakingly restored to their original glory.  The frames are available for download in high-resolution GIF and vector EPS formats.  See samples of the corners below:

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"We got it the first time, Kurt [Vonnegut], when the books were written by Voltaire."
—William Keckler

"The answer is simple:  pay close attention to the five L’s and decide to correct the ones that are lacking.”

—Richard A. Harris, Simple/Truths (2010)

There is "the finest line between unique and odd" (Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes, 2008).

"This may come as a surprise, but the big secret when it comes to money is to give it away!" —Daniel Robinson, Potion Mixology

Is it true, as Momus suggests, that there are "few tales which would not be improved by the addition of the phrase 'suddenly, a shot rang out'"?  Decide for yourself as we alter the opening lines of . . .

THE AGE OF INNOCENCE by Edith Wharton

On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.  Suddenly, a shot rang out.

At age 75, Katsuhika Hokusai timelined his artistic quest: "At the age of 73, I finally apprehended something of the true quality of birds, animals, insects, fishes, and of the vital nature of grasses and trees.  Therefore at 80, I shall have made some progress, at 90 I shall have penetrated even further into the deeper meaning of things, at 100 I shall have become truly marvelous, and at 110, each dot, each line shall surely possess a life of its own."  Vincent Van Gogh achieved Hokusai's dream at the age of 37.  (Michael R. Zomber, Park Avenue, 2010)

• cannot be defended intellectually
• is to let it roll off your back
• is to wait until next year
• is take on a humble task that needs doing
• is to give up and try from a completely different point of view
• is to shut your mouth and listen
• is to get out early
• is to apologize
• is to play along
• is to give up
• is to stop it altogether
• is delegating
• to bring to a gunfight is a knife
• is to go with the flow
• is to stay out of the way
• is to cut your losses
• is to be scared
• is to follow your heart
• to turn a complete about-face and offer something in total opposition to a trend
• is pack up, jump on your horse and gallop off to greener pastures

I have the dubious honor of Google being convinced I'm a machine. Apparently, I use Google's various search tools with inhuman speed and voracity. My unflagging diligence has flagged me as "suspicious" (Google's word, not mine; I was so labeled in one of their warning messages). Indeed, the obsessiveness/compulsiveness of my research has convinced the Google robots that I'm one of them, so they must challenge my humanity each time I try to use their service. Paradoxically, because I'm apparently one of those newfangled "smart" robots (my word, not Google's), no single humanity test is sufficient, since I might be learning as I go. So I'm barraged with test after test, each more irrational than the last. (The tests are irrational, of course, because anything rational—like a math problem or a logic puzzle—is a piece of cake for suspect machines.) Indeed, Google's tests have become so Kafkaesque that I've developed what's known as "irrational test anxiety," with symptoms including rapid heartbeat, muscle tension, and negative internal dialogue. And no wonder, really (though self-justification is another symptom), given what Google is throwing at me. Forget those simple CAPTCHA tests of identifying distorted letters on the screen. Child's play! Google doesn't even allow me to type my answers—I must use a graphics tablet with cordless pen and enter my answers in calligraphy. Just today, for the privilege of downloading a public domain journal from the year 1898, Google demanded a handwritten 350-word essay in defense of the radical pro-feminist slogan "Men are rapists." (That did nothing to abate my negative internal dialogue; I've never felt so chauvinistic, selfish, coercive, dominating, and sadistic in my life. But, of course, no man with an ounce of humanity would offer a knee-jerk "no" to such a slogan. And that's how Google gets you by the balls.) I never knew a search engine could be so protective of its data or so begrudging of its service. With each acceptance of my humanity, Google essentially says, "You may have won this round, my pretty, but the battle is far from over. Here's a tiny wooden spoon with a sample of our gelato, but you'll never, ever know what flavors we're storing in the vat in the back. Now get out of line and take another number." I'm left with an even greater challenge than certifying my humanness: to conduct my life's work, I must strive to be less inquisitive, less passionate, less productive, and less insightful. Therein lies the irony, for I must dehumanize myself to prove to a search engine that I'm "real." And now I'm off, once more, to Google myself.

---

Gary Barwin responds in his inimitable way:

Yes, you may . . . on one condition:

"You sit on the other side of the booth." —Teresa Southwick, Taming the Montana Millionaire