#1950s memorabilia

[mashaly1986]

1950s Girls Scout Lot Beret Cap and Sash with Patches *

The 1950s Girl Scout Lot featuring a beret cap and sash with patches is a nostalgic and collectible set from the mid-20th century, representing the iconic Girl Scout uniform of the era. The green beret cap is a signature accessory, worn as part of the official Girl Scout attire, and reflects the traditional style of the time. The accompanying sash is adorned with various earned merit patches, each symbolizing achievements, skills, and activities completed by the Girl Scout. These patches provide a glimpse into the past, showcasing the accomplishments and values of scouting in the 1950s. This vintage set is a wonderful piece of Girl Scout history, perfect for collectors or those with an appreciation for scouting memorabilia.

[theglitterdome]

1950s Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis swag

[monkeyssalad-blog]

1958 Hot Rod Girl Movie Still - Chuck Connors by Vinnie DeVille Via Flickr: Vintage promotional movie still photo of Chuck Connors from the film Hot Rod Girl. Great graphics as well. Nice brim, Chuck! This found photograph came from the private collection of an unknown and/or unknowing art collector. It’s always a thrill when it’s from Vinnie DeVille!

[busterkeatonsociety]

#ThrowbackThursday Andy Hollingworth www.andyhollingworth.com is a photographer who has captured comedians for decades.  We’re sharing some of his Keaton collection today & asking if any Florida-based Damfinos might have any items owned by Buster that Andy could come & photograph this summer.  A Keaton-owned pork pie would be just the ticket!

[blueiscoool]

Revenge of the Creature (1955), poster, US

Artist: Reynold Brown. Unframed: 41 x 27 in. (104 x 69 cm).

Revenge of the Creature (a.k.a. Return of the Creature and Return of the Creature from the Black Lagoon) is the first of two Universal-International sequels to Creature from the Black Lagoon. It was the only 3D film released in 1955 and the only 3D sequel to a 3D film released during "the golden age of 3D". Produced by William Alland and directed by Jack Arnold (the director of the first Creature film), the film stars John Agar, Lori Nelson, John Bromfield and Nestor Paiva. The Creature was played by Tom Hennesy on land, and once again, portrayed by Ricou Browning underwater. It marked an early role for Clint Eastwood, who made his film debut in Tarantula! that same year.

[ppcseo]

#eminence #baseballcards #vintage #tradingcards #1950s #baseballcollectibles #cardcollecting #baseballhistory #sportsmemorabilia #baseballnostalgia

[woozymitts]

I finally set up my Laika shrine 🥺

I've been collecting Laika memorabilia for years and I always wanted to make a nice little shrine to display all of it, and now I finally did! I got the poster a while ago and the Laika pin I preordered came a month or so ago (my memory is so bad lmao) but I had to make a shelf and stain it and then find brackets so I didn't set it up until now.

Here's all the stuff I've collected so far:

The poster, designed by @dappermouth.

An antique candy tin that had vanilla tahini halva in it, from the 1960s

An antique pin, unsure of year

A pin designed by @pangur-and-grim. I only wanted to have antique stuff in my shrine (except for the poster) but when I saw Greer open preorders for that pin I knew I would regret it if I didn't get one lmao.

Antique Mongolian stamps, unsure of year (the date on them is the day Laika went into space)

Antique post card, from the 1950s or 60s?

Antique matchbox cover, from the 1950s?

[lenetaylor]

John Lennon's collage "for" Paul

I was very curious about the collage image going around tumblr (e.g., here, here, and here) that was identified as being made "for Paul" and titled "I Only Have Eyes for You", and done by John Lennon "at art school". Here it is; I scanned this from Julian Lennon's book Beatles Memorabilia: The Julian Lennon Collection (by Brian Southall and Julian Lennon, 2010)

You can see that Paul has written at the bottom "J.L. Collage - To Julian - love Paul x".

The book caption reads

A distinct and original collage of faces and bodies dedicated to Julian from Paul. It was created by John and given to Paul.

But the first time this previously unseen collage surfaced was in 2000. It was included in a show held by artist Peter Blake at the Tate Liverpool, called About Collage.

An article in The Independent at the time says

A John Lennon collage never seen in public is to feature in an exhibition that opens 30 years ago to the day the Beatles split... Lennon's collage, done at art school in the 1950s, comprises faces and figures cut from magazines, and features a number of eyes and lips pasted on images of girls. Blake said: "The style tied in with my Sgt Pepper's album cover, which was simply a more organised version, with bigger heads." Natalie Rudd, who helped curate the exhibition, said: "No one really knows much about Lennon's collage. … It has no title and is rather dark, with a lot of black and red and we can only guess at what he was trying to say."

In this 2009 Guardian article, Blake says,

By then I knew that Paul McCartney owned a collage that John Lennon had done, so I borrowed that. Paul also made a sound collage of Liverpool, and he made an artwork too.

Another quote from Eye Magazine in 2000:

He hopes to borrow an unseen art school collage by John Lennon, owned by Paul McCartney.

There was a book produced to accompany the show, called Peter Blake: About Collage (2000). The collage is reproduced in the book:

The credit reads "John Lennon 1940-1980, Untitled, late 1950s, Paper collage, 970 x 675mm, Private Collection". It does not have the handwritten note by Paul at the bottom.

Peter Blake's comments say:

I have followed Paul McCartney's career as an artist, so when About Collage emerged, I suggested that he made a collage, perhaps from sound, which he has pursued. John Lennon made a collage at art school during the late 1950s which is included in the show.

Paul did make a sound collage for the show, and released it as an album called Liverpool Sound Collage; some of it is on YouTube. (There used to be a website for it, long gone now, but you can see bits of it at the Internet Archive). Here's his artwork, titled The World, mentioned by Blake above (the central image is a back and white photo of Jerry Lewis):

So, to summarize:

The collage does NOT have an official title. I don't know where the "I Only Have Eyes for You" title came from

It's not clear that the collage was made for Paul specifically, only that it was given to Paul, date unknown

It's not clear if the collage Paul gave to Julian is the original or a copy

It seems unlikely that it was made at art school, as some of the images are of women in classically mid-1960s clothes and hairstyles. The only source for the date of composition seems to be Paul

It's not stated who gave the collage to Paul - it might have been John, but it could easily have been Julia or Yoko (or even Cyn?)

Paul's artwork was NOT made for John

PS. I looked through the book Paul McCartney: Paintings but the collage isn't mentioned.

PPS. I tried doing some image searches on the clearer photos of women in the collage, but got no results. Perhaps someone else will have better luck.

[reve-de-sang]

for @vamptember -- Sept. 6: library / genderswap / shrine

Present-day AU, loustat. Going by the hints in the “Long Face” lyrics, Lestat is ready for commitment. Louis really, really isn’t. But they meet in the middle with a situationship. “We’re just having fun, yeah?” 

This is the opposite of fun for Lestat.

--

The secret compulsion was scathingly embarrassing, but Lestat was pretty sure he’d left a chunk of self-respect back in the 1950s. 

He heard the hotel room door click closed, and turned over in the tangled bedsheets. The condom wrapper was still under the pillow where he’d pushed it. He smoothed it out as best he could.

Alone again, he reached for his Hermès backpack by the nightstand and pulled out a weathered cigar box wrapped in a vintage--antique--sweater. He unraveled it. The box carried the branding of the cigars Louis used to smoke in the 30’s. Lestat had found it on eBay. It looked exactly like it should, and it made Lestat’s heart squeeze a little whenever he looked at it.

He flipped back the lid and mused on the contents.

An unfiltered cigarette butt swaddled in a small plastic bag (he’d learned these tended to disintegrate easily without care). Fifteen plastic hotel room key cards from hotels spanning the globe. A pilfered earbud. A stolen cufflink. A flyer from that club in Chicago. Various branded condom wrappers (Louis wanted condoms now. He said found it more efficient, and he no longer seemed interested in Lestat eating his spend out of Louis. Each condom wrapper collected here made Lestat’s heart squeeze in the bad way.) Louis’s business card. One of the twenty dollar bills Louis had intended to leave for housekeeping in Atlanta (that Lestat had replaced with one of his own). A button. The wrapper from the hotel room soap Louis had used in Madrid. And his most prized possession, the strip of their photo booth photos Louis had gone along with, blitzed after a particularly intoxicated victim in Vegas. Louis hadn’t wanted any of the pictures when Lestat had offered to split them.

Everything was digital now—they had no letters, notes, tickets, receipts—but he could still find ties to the physical. None of these things smelled like Louis (the earbud and cufflink had disappointed him), and that quality was currently the brass ring.

As a treat—Louis was only meeting up for one night this time, it was going to be rough in the following days—Lestat slowly arranged the memorabilia like a small shrine on the bedside table. He propped the photo strip up against the lamp, and everything glowed under its light.

Lestat froze as he heard the hotel room door open, and Louis re-entered the suite. 

Louis strode through the bedroom door. “Forgot my jacket,” he said, grabbing it from the back of the chair by the desk. He paused on his way back out the bedroom door and noticed the collection on the nightstand. He raised an eyebrow as he fished for his pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. “See you around, Lestat.”

He left.

Lestat’s face burned hot as he swept the collection off the glass tabletop and into the bedside trashcan. 

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

when schell were designing the fabricator's workshop, they had to constantly make an effort to mirror "the various nuances of [her] character".

her shelf is full of stacks upon stacks of either books on poisons, or experiments surrounding her poisons. she has blueprints and memorabilia of all of her favorite inventions dotted around her workspace. despite her put together facade, her safe space is a completely disorganized mess intentionally designed to parallel her "chaotically creative" nature. she gets so attached to her projects that- regardless of their complexity- she will become enraged upon their destruction.

the fabricator is very quick to anger. she gets a grudge and holds it for a very long time. she will go through extreme, often unnecessary lengths to feel vindicated for any slight against her. she is also very quick to encourage the people around her to do the same, implying that it's less than an instinctual practice and more of a lens in which she sees the world/emphasizes with others emotions.

solaris is a character who has canonically become a "zealot" for laser technology, despite the fact that lasers were only invented in the late 1950s, and patented in 1960- the decade in which the entire series takes place. in that short span of time she has gone on to create a laser so technologically advanced that it has surpassed decades and generations of current scientific progress. when you destroy it she screams like you just murdered her firstborn child.

solaris also has difficulties with communication. she is frequently sharp with people she doesn't like (ie. zor), and has no clue when she should or shouldn't hold her tongue- to the point where it most assuredly jeopardizes her own health and safety. when communicating with the agent before their cover is blown- despite generally being friendly and sympathetic towards their situation- her tone will still be rather blunt and monotone, and can easily be misconstrued as cold, curt, or frustrated.

dr prism is a highly intelligent scientist who developed the technology to combat gravity itself and still was not personally satisfied due to the immense amount of pressure she was constantly applying to herself. she devoted herself to creating robotic agents to supplant humans, succeeded, and then grew to care for those robots with such intense fervor that she considered those lives as sudo-human and of more worth than her own.

she also is highly rejection sensitive, lashing out at both herself and people around her, while simultaneously desperately craving for meaningful approval from her peers. at the end of cold shoulder- as painfully as she loathed the phoenix in that moment- she couldn't even bring herself to kill or even harm them because of her subconscious sensitivity towards others' lives.

she has a perfectly acceptable house that she- seemingly- does not live in, because she spends so much time working on her robots that she chooses to live in the factory zor lent her. she can differentiate between the hundreds of her robots and cares for them like family. she stims when she gets excited- even in the middle of a life or death scenario inside of an active volcano.

this is an incredibly unnecessarily long winded way of saying that these three women are autistic as fuck i think. why aren't we making these women more autistic?? hello???

[mybeingthere]

A Vivienne Westwood tulle skirt from the year 1993. The skirt has various layers of netted tulle in a ray of colours and prints. The skirt lowers at the front gradually getting shorter towards the rear leaving the layers fully exposed creating an amazing silhouette and explosion of colour. Only 12 copies of this design were made and sold exclusively to special Westwood clients.

How it started:

"The hippie movement was still the fashion look of late 1960s London, but this did not inspire Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren, they were more interested in rebellion and in particular 1950s clothing, music and memorabilia. Vivienne began by making Teddy Boy clothes for McLaren and in 1971 they opened Let it Rock at 430 Kings Road.

By 1972 the designer’s interests had turned to biker clothing, zips and leather. The shop was re-branded with a skull and crossbones and renamed Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Die. Westwood and McLaren began to design t-shirts with provocative messages leading to their prosecution under the obscenity laws; their reaction was to re-brand the shop once again and produce even more hard core images. By 1974 the shop had been renamed Sex, a shop ‘unlike anything else going on in England at the time’ with the slogan ‘rubberwear for the office’.

In 1976 the Sex Pistol’s God Save the Queen, managed by McLaren, went to number one and was refused air time by the BBC. The shop reopened as Seditionaires transforming the straps and zips of obscure sexual fetishism into fashion and inspiring a D.I.Y. aesthetic. The media called it ‘Punk Rock’.

The collapse of the Sex Pistols and the absorption of Punk into the mainstream left Westwood disenchanted. In 1980 the shop was refitted and renamed Worlds End, the name still in use today." https://blog.viviennewestwood.com/the-story-so-far/

[survivalist-anon]

Log 12: Long Road to the Stars.

It has been roughly 12 hours since they were departed from Lorey and Fjord. Sten and Toke now embark on a mission to retrieve a Raven Guard by the name Wick. Just two hours away from the city of Las Vegas, the Imperial Fist's transport bus had to make a necessary stop at what deceptively looks like an abandoned gas pump, likely built as a result of the expectations of the nuclear age of the 1950's. Parking right next to an old, derelict fiberglass statue of a clown holding a gas pump.

The driver, Moors, lowers the driver side window. Sticks his head out, hanging his turgid arm out like a trucker.

The eyes of the clown begin to glow green, clearly indicating there is a camera behind the big, happy wide eyed time pieces. A little slip opens on the clown's bowtie, revealing a mic.

~Ckkssshhh

"Hehehehey Hello Welcome to Gassy Gus's Gas Pump! HOooow may I be of service?"

A scraggly, cigarette scarred voice eruptes from the mic.

Moors never ceases to be amused by this. "Yeah, give me the usual Gus."

Sten, Toke, Bilhard and Cahrilo watch from the bus's camera system. While this isn't new for Cahrilo and Bilhard, Toke and Sten watch in discomfort at the creepy talking clown.

"It's like someone took a Harlequin's head, stretched it and inflated it. Never would I be so unfortunate to see something so depraved.", Toke whispered as quietly as he could to Sten.

Sten stood there less in horror but more in underwhelmed bewilderment. "Yes...'tis.... unnerving."

Cahrilo and Bilhard look at each other, rolling their eyes at their reactions.

Outside of the bus, an old crusty, funky little man, still dressed in the Woodstock 60's outfit with some odds and ends of spaceage memorabilia, comes out from the gas station woman's restroom door. Looking like a human, maximalist's wall of colorful alien Americana, with big iridescent googles, long dreads with plastic and metal charms intertwined within the tight knots.

The boys where shooketh, Cahrilo and Bilhard however literally were use to this horrendously whimsical spaceman.

"Hehehe, well now long time no see boys! How's them yuppies up north treatin y'all?!", he gives the haul of the bus a hardy slap. He goes up to the clown and takes out an industrial hose, hooking the giant nozzle into the gas tank. He jambles to the driver side. "Well Moors, HA, yah still don't look a day over 50!".

"And you have aged like fine cheese Gus! How are those fools back at Area 51? They haven't questioned why some of their fine equipments' been missing have they?", Moors and Gus go way back since the 50's. Moors, much like any of the other Astartes, had come involuntarily to Earth. Moors had been wharp sent to Ohio in Gus's family corn farm. Since then, Moors has been Gus's guardian Astartes since he was five years old. Occasionally visiting him in his later years since he joined Aldercon's facility.

"Oh those narcs hadn't even opened them danggone garages since Roswell! So what brings you down here in the fine bosom of the Newe land?", he says with a big old, carefree smile on his face.

A good chortle from Moors was a sign that he's happy because his mortal was happy. "Ah, it's Wick again. You've seen him around?", he inquires.

Gus pouts, putting his old noggin to work. "Hmmm, let me ask Keith!", takes out a sock puppet, his puppet silent, whispers into his ear, "hmmm...oh really?! Again? Great moogly that's incredible! Hmmhmm, oh....oh Keith stop it now.", he casually puts his sock puppet. "According to Keith, Wick raced the airbase again yesterday! He almost bit the dust this time. Buuuuut it seems he's in Vegas, only other place. Don't know why he keeps going there for. ", Gus over the years has developed Dementia and age related mental health issues, Moors has tried and tried again to convince to move to Fort Dorn, but sadly Gus seems to be extremely resistant to the whole plan.

"Is that so......well. Looks like I'll heading to Heresy town then. Gus. Why don't you stick with us for awhile. You do understand that you don't have to be here.", although Moors doesn't show it on his face, it breaks both his hearts to see Gus hasn't gotten any better. "We can bring your Unidentified Flying Objects too."

The crunchy desert man knew what the discussion was leading to, his smile turned into a sad frown. "Oh Moors, I can't. The desert stars need me! The great road to Milky Way Galaxy has yet to be defended, the Long Road to the Stars! I have to defend them from the forces of darkness, welcome them those can BE welcomed with open arms, and who's going to give them MIBs the good ol' runaround!? Them boys in black gotta give up one day ya know! I'd love to Moors, but I'm...needed here.", he looks to the blue void of the noon sky. "My time ain't done yet.", he whispers to himself.

A tired sigh flies from Moors. He knows Gus doesn't have much time in this world. The longer he waits for Gus to consent to coming with him, the higher the chances he will have to retrieve Gus from his bunker. "All right Gus, but listen...if you need anything. Remember I'm always here kid.", as Moors was telling him this, Gus had already unlocked the gas hose, closed everything up for next time.

Gus skitters back to the driver side window, "I'll be fine Moors, you go on ahead a win against the house big fella, take care now", again that big smile from cheek to cheek gleamed in the sunshine of the Nevada heat, waving goodbye as the bus goes on.

Moors waving his goodbyes as well.

As the buss drove a long the stretch of highway towards Los Vegas, Bilhard had gone to the driver seat slot and opened it to see if Moors was ok.

"Moors. How are you feeling?", Bilhard asking.

Moors was silent for a short moment, "....he's getting worse.", he whispers to himself, his usually calm demeanor has become somber.

"Hey, Moors, are you going to be ok?", he asked again, dryly yet concerned.

"Oh, yeah, I'm going to be fine.....for those who live such short lives...why must they be so stubborn.", Moors pondered loudly.

"It's because they live such short lives they make these decisions for themselves Moors, remember where you came from.", Bilhard had to remind Moors the occasional truth of Astartes.

For every angle of the Emperor, was once mortal.

Moors had to accept Gus's decision. Wether he wanted to or not. "Yeah...I guess....", he turns on the radio to distract himself from his own thoughts.

As country music blasts on the radio, the bus heads out to Los Vegas, the city sin, sex and as of recently..... something sinister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My dreams were once nothing but dark voids of screaming voices and sounds of bolters going off ....now .....they speak to me through visions of tormentful pleasures of desire and uncertainty.

It would have gone forever, if it hadn't been for the blaring sounds of traffic outside the penthouse suite. The smell of last night's passionate rutting had been dancing with opened bottles of sweeted acholic beverages, perfume and more.

Surrounded by the majority of the female cast and a few brave fools for the casino's seasonal....I hazard to say performance....more like an avant-garde bastardization of some cultural myths from thousands of years ago.

One could consider me a king, surrounded by his well-satisfyed harem......I was merely a willing whore to these lonely souls.

For my heart belonged to one who was not laying upon my bare body in this room. One who is pure as her heart was kind.

These mortals can have my body....for everything else was hers....and hers alone.

I lay there pondering, how have I been so lucky as to not fully corrupt myself and give in to the chaos of deviancy and lust, does Slenessh not see the usefulness for their Chaos in me? Has the emperor blessed me with immunity, turning a blind eye to my activities? Is there nothing in this reality that could be even considered some divinity to hinder or help me, and I have just reverted to the comforting, familiar embrace of animalistic instinct....to endlessly spread my seed and be stirred by true unfiltered sexual high?

....than again....I could be just being....as chaplain Aldercon would so graciously say, 'being over dramatic '.... considering my role in this burlesque garbage.......he could be once again correct.

I turn my head to the hotel door, I could hear the heavy, lumbering footsteps our....our show director.... William Sleen.....

He unlocks the door, already smelling of his filthy cigars and tasteless cheap cologne.

"WAKE UP LADIES! oh I see there's a few gentleman here, hehe, come on folks! Next show starts at 5 o'clock this afternoon! Come on wakey wakey!", a quarter of a mortal man in sense of the word....his vision is just a sick, perverse fantasy of the exploitations of beauty, he was no cultured man either....his show from my understanding doesn't reflect the reality of the stories he had vicariously stole for profit. I could see him glinting at me through those glasses of his.

"Ah there's my Atlas! And my Hercules, and well hehe my big bronze robot.", he could barely even remember the correct name of his own characters.

"Do you mean, Talos? The bronze creation of the god of fire?", I could oml growl, everyone was in blissful peace this morning.

"Yeah yeah whatever! The guy who kidnaps Madea! Hmf, you college going types are so nitpicky, anyways Lady Luck for some damn reasons out to get a taste of your staff too. The hydrologic and pyrotechnics have broken down so looks like you won't sweatin all over the place for act 2. Sheesh.", he practically ravages the curtains open.

The collective groans spoke volumes of the protest of the early morning routine of waking up, eating their fill at the buffet downstairs for the day, and rehearsals until the show begins. It was clear the continued labor of the previous production's work load had exhausted them to the soul.

I gently coerced the actresses wrapped around my arms. "Ladies, good morning.", greeted by kisses to my chest and jaw are at this point a highlight of the morning. In spite of my guilt, I do not object to experiencing such pleasantries....the highest luxury back home on Deliverance.

"oooh good morning Wicky, last night was absolutely crazy.", Angelina cooed. Her twin, Magan, was busy getting up, caressing me. "Good morning handsome."

Adjust myself, clearing my throat, "Good morning every one.", my one command was enough to get the cast mobilized. "See ....a good morning is all you need.", ever since I've come into the scene.... Sleen has been having a bit of trouble even persuading anyone to even fallowing his suggestions.

His sneered grimace said it best on how he felt about me, "well I ain't paying you overtime to be a volunteer director here WICK. Anyways, I'm not in the mood for your Edger Allen Poe bullcrap either, I already have my brother coming in from Hollywood just POACHING my best and brightest.", his brother a movie producer named Carl Sleen, is his older sibling who's been known to make even the least known plebian into celebrities. His talent is to get hidden potential, and elevate them to fame and fortune.

From what I hear, it's a shame he is an exception and not an example.

"Well...hehe, he ain't getting my Selene. She's off limits. Can't have him taken my star performer.", he looks to me, knowing very well that he has also forbid me from interacting with her. The mortal equivalent of a squig hobbles to me, audaciously before I have even gotten out of the bed.

"Listen here big, oversized, cock. You know your role in the act, and it's to stay BENEATH the earth...yah got that? It means both on and OFF stage....", his reeking breath had nearly triggered my deepest fight response.... reminding me of the foul smelling Orks I was accustom to crushing under my boots.

"But of course.......it would be....greedy of me to ask for anything more.", I wasn't going to let this 'nurgling' get in my way.....I needed the money, but I also had to fane my loyalty to him if he were to pay me.

Selene was an immigrant from Mayotte, her family had to leave the country due to political tensions and later planned on escaping to Paris few years ago. Unfortunately, Selene had become caught in an international trafficking ring. Ending up here in this bright neon hell scape.

She was the best acrobatics performer in Los Vegas. She had worked her way through multiple shows, but now she was in Sleen's wardenship.

The crew head down stairs for our morning meal, I contemplate on how was I going to convince the battle brothers back at Fort Dorn not to put me under house arrest.

What has once started as a meaningless drive to challenge even the fastest of aircraft...now has metamorphosised into a mission to help Selene.

"So Wick, I heard yous almost died yesterday. Haha, what happened the Air Force narcs nearly beat at chicken or something?", one of our cast members, 'Tulio', was one of the back stage hands who had helped me get to my position since I had arrived in the outskirts of this city a few years ago.

"Yes. I crashed into one of the mountain sides. I lost control of the air stream and lost focus.", I responded.

"Man, you gotta be more careful, those guys at the air station literally go SPLAT if they crash. Lucky that fancy Ironman suit of yours actually works. Not like the cheap prop stuff.", he takes a quick look at the pantry chef at the dessert table. "Hey homes, I reckon you got 20... maybe 30 seconds. Mr. Wan is working.", the second I saw one of the chefs, I spared no second heading to him.

Covertly slipping him a piece of paper. "For Madame Moon, please.", I grab a plate not to see conspicuous.

He gives me a nod.

For my time here, I have befriended much of the casino staff, all of which willing to assist me with Selene.

"Smooth homes, by the way thanks I like cheesecake for breakfast.", Tulio takes the plate. "So what now, you and I don't got nothing to do for like ....8 hours?", he happy takes a sizable bite.

"hmmm....I'm in the mood for a rematch. Meet me at the truck in an hour.", as I get up from the table to pay the bill, I pass Selene.

She had passed by without a glance. As per Sleen's request....I couldn't tell what she was doing...but I'm certain she will answer the message.

End of log 12

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@starfrost740 @squishyowl

[monkeyssalad-blog]

1954 Adult Psychology Magazine - Lucille Ball by Vinnie DeVille Via Flickr: Seems like everybody loved Lucy! Vintage June 1954 issue of Adult Psychology Magazine with actress Lucille Ball on the cover. Not widely seen, it’s always a thrill when it’s from Vinnie DeVille!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

And, now from the archives of Life Magazine, a funky flashback to the 1950s Flying Saucer Conventions.

These B&W photos document the convention, from the quirky attendees and their campsites, the UFO memorabilia, the bustling scene that once surrounded this now lonesome boulder and best of all, a look inside the secret home that once lay beneath the giant rock.

So, how did a man come to live under a rock in the California desert?

In the 1930s, an eccentric German immigrant called Frank Critzer, dug out a subterranean home under the giant rock. He lived there alone, isolated from society with nothing but a radio antenna on top of the rock to stay connected to the outside world.

In 1942, the police came to investigate rumors that he was a Nazi spy and Frank died from a self-detonated dynamite explosion in his own bunker. They thought that he was a spy because of his radio antenna. But, he was just a radio enthusiast who wanted to be left alone.

After his death, Frank’s only friend, a former aircraft inspector named George Van Tassel, became the giant rock’s new tenant in 1947. 

In addition to being an aviator, he also liked to dabble in the telepathic channeling of alien life.

In a few years, George went from living a simple life with his family in the rooms Frank Critzer had dug out under the Giant Rock, to building his own restaurant on the site, a small airstrip, and an extra-terrestrial research center.

The UFO center would play host to his annual Giant Rock Spacecraft Convention, attracting more than 11,000 people at its peak.

Tassel’s onsite research center, nicknamed “the Integratron“, was believed by many to have some pretty special powers– 

Including ‘anti-gravitational and time traveling capabilities provided by extra-terrestrial life on Venus.’

For nearly 20 years it became the dream pilgrimage of every UFO nut enthusiast in America.

Let’s take a look at the UFO style of the day, beginning with the wonderful hats.

And the flying saucer accessories. 

What the hell is that?

It was also something the whole family could enjoy.

The dome-shaped ‘Integratron Center’ still stands near the giant rock, and after  Tassel’s death in 1978 there were plans to turn it into a disco.

Instead, the new owners turned it into an off-beat tourist attraction offering “sound baths,” claiming it to be “the only all-wood, acoustically perfect sound chamber in the U.S.”

It was built from instructions from Mars. I don’t know, except for the bus, clothes, & lack of hats, the people are pretty much the same.

As for the rock, in the year 2000 it fractured in two when a large piece broke off, revealing its white interior granite. Sadly, it’s covered in graffiti. 

https://mojaveproject.org/dispatches-item/giant-rock-space-people-and-the-integratron/     //  messynessychic.com   //  life magazine

[blueiscoool]

This Island Earth (1955), poster, US

Artist: Reynold Brown. Unframed: 41 x 27 in. (104 x 69 cm).

This Island Earth is a 1955 American science fiction film from Universal-International, produced by William Alland, directed by Joseph M. Newman and Jack Arnold, starring Jeff Morrow, Faith Domergue and Rex Reason. It is based on the eponymous 1952 novel by Raymond F. Jones, which was originally published in the magazine Thrilling Wonder Stories as three related novelettes: "The Alien Machine" in the June 1949 issue, "The Shroud of Secrecy" in December 1949, and "The Greater Conflict" in February 1950. Jones had taken his title from a line in Robert Graves' poem, "Darien" ("It is a poet’s privilege and fate/To fall enamoured of the one Muse/Who variously haunts this island earth".) The film was released in 1955 as a double feature with Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy.

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 21 September 1908, William White, a Black man, was hospitalised and possibly killed by white patrons in Hanover, Pennsylvania, as part of a racist carnival game. White worked as a target in a popular game in the US called "hit the c**n", which was also known as "hit the n-word baby", "African dodger" and other names. It was played all over the country from New York to Florida to Indiana and elsewhere at least from the 1880s to the 1950s, at carnivals and public events like soldiers' reunions and Labor Day festivities. Pictured, for example, is a photograph from a 1942 YMCA brochure for a children's summer camp in Wisconsin. The Philadelphia Record newspaper reported in White's case that rather than use the light balls supplied at the carnival, a group of baseball players used their own heavy balls, and subjected White to a barrage of hits. The paper went on to lightheartedly state: "After a half-dozen pitchers had thrown in rapid succession the negro was pretty well used up, and he was compelled to retire soon afterward with internal injuries which may prove fatal." Learn more about similar racist practices in the US in this book: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/products/understanding-jim-crow-using-racist-memorabilia-to-teach-tolerance-and-promote-social-justice-david-pilgrim https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2087831878068618/?type=3