Research Funnies

Balmy Buffalo, the temp is near fifty degrees, breezes are warm with a touch of the pineapple and drinks with paper umbrellas in them, yes, kiddos, that warm. Conundrums! Of course now the wildlife of the city rejoiceth in such moderate climate, and I have seen several of the feral cats hitting the cat cafe my neighbor provides under her parked car.

This is quite early, I'm skipping the evening post so I just wish to slip in this moniker: you know how people say things have changed and long for the good ol (sniff) days? This late morning I spent crucial research hours, two, if you must know by the clock on the parking meter, in the microfilm room of the Central Mother of All Erie County Libraries. Helpful librarians help set me up in minute detail and I gave it a gung ho, scanning Vital Statistic records as listed in the local rag, November through mid-December of 1952. Oh god, am I seasick.

When offspring sonny boy was little, I tried his car racing video game---I love to drive, it's so freeing---and promptly got motion sickness. What is this!? I used to get oogie when reading while riding, but nothing else except that gut-wrenching spinning ride, The Octopus, ever bothered me. What got the equilibrium to revolt with the video game? I dunno, but never did I reach the checkered flag wave of video win, without feeling like the morning's scrambled eggs were fighting their way back up. Oog.

Now, here I am intent on black and white print and got through six reels of fillum whilst my eyeballs rotated like the windows of a one armed bandit slot machine. This newspaper often moved the VitStat column around, so there was no assumption made as to where it was located per edition. I am the intent one, before deciding on becoming a teacher, hopes were pinned on Research Librarian. Faugh. I would have been puking up things not seen since 1962.

Dizziness aside, what entranced this red hen was the news. Oh sure, pot roast, fifty-nine cents a pound. Opium in measured doses is good for restlessness. Women dressed like Mrs. Cleaver. But brother let me tell you, the mayhem and human demand for instant personal physical justice reigned as much as it does today, I swear on my whiter than whites.

Murder, beatings, assault, molestations, more murder, switch and bait, robberies, children attacking and beating up adults, gangs, muggings, you name it, with gruesome details sprinkled on like jimmies. This is from the respectable paper in town. Mundane keeping up with the Joneses blurbs filled space---Mamie Eisenhower's bangs were the next big fashion---the DeSoto provided comfort and space for your growing family---your bridesmaids fated evenings were guaranteed by the dropped waist and layers of nylon netting of the new off-the-shoulders dress. Fated evenings, I didn't make that up.

As for Mamie Eisenhower's bangs, well, check back with President Eisenhower if he was interested in her bangs. I think not. Google "Kay Summersby", who was a chaffeur for Eisenhower and looked more like Mata Hari Exotica complete with deep red lips and a fruit salad involved in her orchidated tresses. Not First Lady material, Kay. But apparently wearing a maraschino cocktail in your hair is what caught Eisenhower's eye, not the bangs. Oh Mamie, what you pretended not to know.

Just as much crime and corruption were evident in the whirling news of bygone years. So if anyone meows about them good old days, tell them ain't no sucha animal according to your Auntie 2seahorses. Opium indeed. Bangs, hrumph. Five teenagers beat man with baseball bat, no respect fer their elders. H-bomb tested in Pacific, shocking.

I need a cuppa tay. Something to solidify the morning jaunt and make the room stop spinning. Freaking merry go round microfilm. It will certainly all become worth the nausea if any information pops into the screen. There is the other newpaper I have yet to check but not today, I am out of parking meter quarters and need to get away from mechanical things that bugger my linear character.

You all continue to have a good day. Next is the fish tank, a delight to fight the plecostomus who views the incoming vacuum siphon as an invader that he wangs at with his side fins. He's a good boy, and will let me skrinch his nose gently. Fishy fishy, here I come. Peace and fruit salad.