While taking a break from rearranging my sock drawer and staring at the wall, I somehow stumbled across some vintage book covers and magazine ads. They seem to be from a pre-Jurassic world yet could not be more timely. I guess it’s true, “The more things change…”
It’s funny/tragic to see how straightforward and commonsensical things were “back then” and to see how much we have forgotten and can still learn from those who came before.
So grab a cup o’ Joe and stroll with me through this treasure trove of timeless advice for women.
The advice of yesteryear wasn’t just about being handy with your fists and shootin’ iron; though having a “classy chassis” and putting a tight grouping of six shots in an intruder’s torso is nothing to sneeze at. No, that advice was all about having a sound mind in a sound body.
Priceless wisdom then and even more so now and it holds double for men!
Read. Read. Read.
Read everything that’s not nailed down.
Read kitsch. Read classics.
Get off your phone.
Turn off your TV.
Men do make passes at girls who wear glasses!
Ladies, we need your feminine aspect, your wit, your wiles, your womanliness at its most natural and nurturing.
In the coming time of tribulation, we will need all of that plus we need you to be legally locked and loaded for bear!
The Rosicrucians are those mail-order mystics who promise to teach you the “Wisdom of the Ancients” in weekly installments. (Sirhan Sirhan, Robert Kennedy’s assassin, was a Rosicrucian and look what all that ancient wisdom did for him!) I first meet The Rosicrucians in comic books. Their ads about seeing into the future are next to ads for x-ray glasses for seeing through women’s clothes. The Rosicrucians claim to go all the way back to Ancient Egypt but actually only go all the way back to San Jose.
A few years after my exposure to photographs of kinky sex, I become addicted to visual depictions of violence. Every Thursday night I get my twenty-five cents allowance and hot-foot it to Rocco’s Candy Store to buy the latest comic books. I have no interest in sissy stuff like Archie or Richie Rich. I crave Tales from the Crypt and Vault of Horror. Actually, what I really crave are the skin mags on the top shelves. I crane my neck to see them until Rocco suggests that I leave his establishment, “Get da fuck outa here kid before I tell ya muddah.” I then hunker down on a stoop under a streetlight and read. So strong is my desire to escape the din and dysfunction in my home that I sit on the stoop even on winter nights.
Ah, alone in my study at last. All I need are my pipe and slippers.