#paraphernalia-wagon

[thewisemankey]

You'd think what with having Seuss Landing at Islands of Adventure, Halloween Horror Nights woulda done a house based off THIS by now.

Just food for thought...

Halloween is Grinch Night Director: Gerard Baldwin | Studio: DePatie-Freleng | USA, 1977

[anticanonsposts]

Lunar Embrace Chapter 1

(ok obvi chapter one of the werewolf au)

cw: fem pronouns used, references to female body parts, slight reference to nsfw themes???

word count: 1,017

Glancing out one of the front windows of her cottage, while she packed her medicines and other apothecary paraphernalia, y/n noticed the snow that had fallen the previous night. It was only a couple of inches, but it had added onto the already nearly 4 feet of snow

It’s nearing the end of November and the weather has been unseasonably snowy and cold. Making y/n very thankful for the ample amount of fire wood she always had stocked.

Today just like any other Tuesday, she was gathering her items to be sold at the village market. She had learned how to make many from both her parents, but mostly her mother. Unfortunately she died of an illness, ironic enough, and her father died in a strange hunting accident. She never knew for sure since it happened around when she was 12 and her mother didn’t like to talk about it. All this to say, she is, was, the only child and left her parents’ skills and cottage. She lived a moderately uneventful life, selling her goods at market, buying what she needed, making a few friends in the village, etc. 

Now slipping her boots on she opens and locks the door behind her. As her boots crunch along the heightening snow she starts to notice a few other townspeople making their way to the center of the village. Then all of the sudden she hears a loud neighing, followed by the clomping of horse hooves behind her. 

‘Whoa!’ the driver says in a slightly accented voice. She wasn’t sure where the accent was from, but she knew it wasn’t from her village. She also knew exactly who that voice belonged to. 

His name was König, or at least that is what he wanted the townspeople to call him. He was a very large, burley man, who towered over his horses, that pulled his wagon every week into town. He was a lumberjack who would bring more firewood to market than anyone else could ever dream of. Each week he would bring a nearly overflowing wagon of chopped wood, buy a few necessities, speak to very few, and leave for another week. However every few weeks he would be gone for two. Maybe to remind the town of his necessity, she wasn’t sure.

Once she arrived at the town square she started to set up shop in her normal spot, which coincidentally was very close to where König parked his wagon. As the morning went on and she made sales, she made sure to keep a few ointments and tonics to the side for König. Admittedly he was one of her most consistent customers. Usually depending on the season some people would need different remedies more often than others. But König, every week would need burn ointment, tonic for head and body aches, and an ointment for large cuts and scrapes. She had to admit it was odd, she assumed that someone like him who had been working in his trade for years would be skilled enough to not get hurt. But she was not going to question a good customer. 

He eventually made his way over to her booth with four bundles of firewood, she thought three was a fair price but he insisted on four. Each week when she saw him she was reminded of how handsome she really thought he was. Despite his size he had a softer almost timid looking face. It may even look frightened if it weren’t for his very pigmented grey eyes. They really were blue, but appeared grey upon first glance. From his interactions with other townspeople he seemed to prefer y/n. She never let there be awkward silence for too long, and would often fill the space with quips or jokes that seemed to ease his tenseness. 

“Hello! How are you today, König?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“I’m fine, it was colder this morning.” he responded shortly, not in an unfriendly way, more so just simple. 

“Would you like your usual?” she asked.

“Better put an extra bottle of the scratch salve please” he responds, wandering his eyes away from yours.

He truly was handsome, had a valuable skill set, and seemed moderately respectable. Her parents’ voices sounded in her head that she should be at least thinking about finding a partner. Then her eyes meandered down to his very large, and strong looking, hands, and she briefly wondered what they would look like spread over other, various surfaces. 

“Sorry, i-is four bundles alright still?” he asked her, bringing her back to the present moment. 

“Yes, I’m sorry I just…spaced out” she responds shaking her head and giving him his items while taking the bundles from him.

He gives her one last thank you before excusing himself back to his wagon. She curses herself for not speaking smoother or at least make an attempt to be alluring.  

The rest of the day goes by, very uneventfully. Everyone leaves the square, going back to their homes. König leaves about the same time as she does, giving her a small nod, and was that a smile??, as he leaves and she is heading home. 

Once home she collects her money and traded items, putting them in their respective places. Then she does a few household chores to occupy herself, not being able to get König out of her mind.  She feels a bit tired so she drinks some broth before lying down to go to bed. Once she’s lying down, she ponders, and asks herself why she did not try to have a longer conversation with him today. ‘You idiot, why do you think he gives you extra bundles? Why might he spend longer talking to you than others?’ But she didn’t entertain these thoughts for too long, she did not want to get ahead of herself. But she concluded that she would start taking her hunt for a partner more seriously, and would devise a plan to win more of his favor. For now she let her heavy eyelids flutter shut and fell fast asleep for the night. 

thank you so much for reading!! If there is anything you didn't like please lmk! Also chapter 2 is pending hehe <3

[putting-gummigoo-in-places]

Put him in the Grinch's Paraphernalia Wagon from Halloween is Grinch Night 1977.

Reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjW6x83sYLI

[separocean-anxiety]

I wouldn’t go out on a night like this…

[ start image description: a digital illustration inspired by Halloween is Grinch Night; in the foreground, Max, Euchariah, and the Wuzzy Woozoo stand together in grim anticipation. In the background, the Paraphernalia Wagon looms, with the Grinch’s scowling visage rising out of it in green smoke. /end image description ]

When your favorite Halloween special of all time is never properly released on DVD, you’ve gotta take matters into your own hands 🎃

[ start image description: a hypothetical DVD design for Halloween is Grinch Night that features the above illustration and many stills from the special. The summary on the back cover reads as follows:

WHEN THE SOUR-SWEET WIND RETURNS WITH A HOWL TO WHOVILLE, IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE THE DREADED GRINCH FOLLOWS SUIT. THE WHOS RETREAT INTO THEIR HOMES, FOR FEAR OF THE ENCROACHING HORRORS, THOUGH RATHER THAN STANDING STILL, THE BESPECTACLED EUCHARIAH SUGGESTS HIS FAMILY KEEP A SHARP EYE ON THE GRINCH AND HIS NEFARIOUS COURSE.

VIA THE REAL-TIME REPORTS OF SERGEANT MCPHEARSON, THE WHOS WITNESS DEFOLIATION, DEPRECIATION, AND MORE DEPLORABLE DEEDS.

THEIR DOOM APPEARS IMMINENT, UNTIL EUCHARIAH BREAKS THE SOLE RULE OF GRINCH NIGHT... AND STEPS OUTSIDE INTO THE WIND.

WHAT NEXT UNFOLDS IS A TIMELESS TALE OF COURAGE, PERSEVERANCE, AND EYEBROWS! PUT ON YOUR GLASSES AND FACE THE FACTS: IT'S GRINCH NIGHT!

/end image description ]

[pastaanglerfox]

monster review : The Grinch and his ghouls from Halloween Is Grinch Night

In this version of the Grinch he is depicted as a Boogeyman type character , a spooky monster man who wants to spook and terrorize the town of Whoville because of strong wind. In this The Grinch has strange magical powers including , sentient eyebrows and the abillity to shrink and grow. He carries around a big ass wagon dubbed "The Paraphernalia Wagon" later on when the kid named Euchariah challenges The Grinch, he opens up the Paraphernalia Wagon and we see the phantoms , demons , ghouls and spooks lurking within, all with various levels of disturbing and comedic. The existence of The Paraphernalia Wagon raises more questions about The Grinch and his powers , Various warped pocket diemensions full of horrific spectres, how did he obtain these spooks ? , is he from this diemension ? , is he allies with these beasts ?

all in all I kind of like this version of the Grinch, he seems more of a genuine threat and his affiliation with strange creatures somewhat carries over to other versions of The Grinch , such as The Wubbulous World of Dr. Seuss were he has a clump of creepy arms coming out of his walls.

what can I say other than "It's a wonderful night for eyebrows".

[carnivart-core]

I technically have a self insert blog but I barely use it so fuck it my self insert stuff goes on my art blog now -- my trolls-sona I talked abt on main !!! (Gilly definition: a lumber wagon or any local wagon or truck hired for hauling circus or carnival paraphernalia) Gilly has traces of rock and jazz troll in him, probably , but is a genre all his own . A goth weirdo and admittedly a moron

[sablegear0]

Were you utterly obsessed with the surreal visuals of the Paraphernalia Wagon in the Dr. Seuss It’s Grinch Night animated short, or were you normal as a kid?

[sunkissed-thought]

“Barley Lightfoot, the overgrown elf who never outgrew his love for magic.”

I think we should take the Path of Peril. On a quest, the clear path is never the right one.

Barley Lightfoot is one of the main characters in the animated fantasy film Onward. He is an eccentric, free-spirited elf and the older brother of Ian Lightfoot. Barley is fascinated by the world of magic and quests, and owns an extensive collection of Role-playing game paraphernalia and magical artifacts.

With his shaggy hair, casual clothes, and collection of offbeat interests, Barley cutting embodies the image of the lovable yet underachieving man-child. His prized possession is the beat-up van "Guinevere" that he has decked out to resemble a medieval battle wagon. Barley fancies himself a "semi-professional adventurer and questing master," spending his days devouring fantasy novels and Dungeons & Dragons-esque role-playing games.

However, Barley's childlike indulgences mask a deeper wellspring of courage, loyalty, and brotherly love that emerges when he and Ian unexpectedly embark on a real-life magical quest. Using a rare Phoenix Gem, they seek to briefly resurface their late father for one last precious day together. Barley serves as the eccentric guide who initiates the fledgling Ian into this world of magic, peril, and high-stakes adventure.

Beneath his nerdy exterior, Barley demonstrates remarkable bravery and resilience when facing the film's fantastical obstacles and fearsome foes. His encyclopedic knowledge of fantasy lore comes in handy for deciphering ancient spells and operating enchanted artifacts. More importantly, his unwavering belief in the magic around them inspires Ian to shed his self-doubt and insecurities.

What makes Barley a truly memorable character is how his childlike sense of wonder and imagination turns out to be a powerful source of strength. His immature zest for adventure initially feels at odds with the high-stakes journey, yet it's precisely this rejection of the mundane that allows the brothers to persevere. Barley's enthusiasm rekindles Ian's dormant spark of creativity that proves crucial for mastering magic.

In many ways, the overgrown kid Barley serves a reminder to hold onto that youthful spark of possibility and reject the rigid boundaries of disbelief. Barley may get carried away sometimes, but his ability to see life through a kaleidoscope of myth and legend makes him a quintessential hero for anyone who refuses to let their imagination wither away.

[whatsonmedia]

Coachella 2024: Headliners and Schedule – Your Ultimate Guide

Spanning two weekends from April 12-14 and 19-21, the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival unfolds at the Empire Polo Field in Indio, CA, showcasing identical lineups each weekend. This year’s installment boasts a stellar lineup representing a diverse range of genres including pop, ’90s indie rock, hip-hop, reggaeton, and K-pop.

Who’s headlining the Coachella 2024 lineup?

Headlining this year’s festival are No Doubt, Lana Del Rey, Tyler, the Creator, and Doja Cat. Joining them on the lineup are notable acts such as J Balvin, Peso Pluma, Blur, Ice Spice, Jhené Aiko, Lil Uzi Vert, Justice, Bleachers, and many others.

When will the Coachella set times be released?

The organizers typically do not unveil set times for Coachella until the week of the festival, sometimes even just a day prior. Keep an eye out here in April, as we will promptly update with the set times once they are released.

However, there’s one exception: the 21-plus Heineken House has already disclosed its set times, which you can find further down this page.

Where’s the festival map for this year?

Like the schedule, the festival map tends to be released just before the gates open. Recent editions have seen some significant changes to accommodate the growing crowd capacity, such as relocating the Sahara tent. In 2022 and 2023, the maps resembled pre-2020 editions, with minor changes like the Yuma tent shifting slightly north.

However, this year brings notable alterations. The Sahara tent will relocate once more, from the southwest corner to a field adjacent to the Do LaB stage. In the former Sahara tent area, you’ll now discover Quasar, an open-air stage featuring DJs with extended three-to-four-hour sets.

Coachella 2024 essentials

Must-have items for battling the sun

Sunscreen: Protect yourself with sunscreen of at least SPF 30. Remember to reapply every two hours. Stick to traditional lotion-based sunscreen.

Lip Balm: Keep your lips safe from sun damage with sunscreen-infused lip balm. You’ll need them in good shape for singing along to your favorite acts.

Water Bottles: Bring a plastic, empty refillable water bottle. Metal and insulated bottles are not allowed. Stay hydrated by refilling at water stations located throughout the festival grounds.

Hand Fans: Stay cool and stylish with accordion (foldable) hand fans. Ensure they have no sharp edges and can’t be seen as a weapon. Perfect for fanning yourself and friends, and for capturing cute festival photos.

Items to leave at home

Here’s a concise list of prohibited items for both Coachella and Stagecoach. Please be aware that attempting to bring any of these items through the festival gates is strictly prohibited:

Advanced first aid kits, including hemostatic gauze or powder, tourniquets, compression bandages, decompression needles, or chest seals.

Aerosol cans

Air horns

Audio recording devices

Bicycles, skates, scooters, or skateboards

Blankets

Chains or chain wallets

Chairs (except for certain foldable chairs allowed in designated areas at Stagecoach)

Coolers

Detachable lens cameras

Drones or remote-control aircraft, cars, or toys

Flags

Glass bottles or containers

Glow sticks, light sticks, or LED gloves

Hoverboards or segways

Illegal drugs or drug paraphernalia

Instruments

Kites or sky lanterns

Markers or paint pens

Metal water bottles or containers

Outside food or beverage

Selfie sticks, tripods

Stuffed animals

Toy guns, water guns, or sling shots

Umbrellas

Video cameras

Wagons

Walkie talkies

Weapons

Please ensure you comply with these guidelines to ensure a safe and enjoyable festival experience for all attendees.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"CHINESE LOTTERY KEEPER IS JAILED," Victoria Daily Times. December 15, 1913. Page 15. ---- Wong Sent to Hard Labor for a Month for Persistent Law-Breaking ---- One month in jail was what Wong got this morning as a reminder to himself and other Chinese that it is illegal to run a Chinese lottery, no matter how many white men may be ready to venture their money in the game, in which the yellow men always come out ahead.

Late on Saturday evening Detective Sergeant O'Leary, and Detectives Heather and Macdonald, paid a visit to the premises at 522 Cormorant street, armed with a warrant. As they start- ed to cross the street from the south side to the north a Chinese who was evidently on the watch, went to the door of 522, and said something, after which he walked rapidly up the street. Detective Heather went round to the rear, Detective Macdonald tried a side way, and Sergeant O'Leary waited at the front door when he found that it was locked against him. From that position he was able to see through the glass the commotion that ensued when Heather broke in the rear door, and to Intercept the occupants of the place when they made a break for the front door and opened it.

Inside were found five white men and one Chinese in addition to Wong, who has been in charge of the place for some time, as an agent, he says. It is the old story "the boss he gone China; no back for long time." There was a large sheet of paper on the wall giving the time table of the drawings of the various lotteries which were supposed to take place in Montreal, in China, in England, in Tonkin, in Sunchong and in other places. There was the usual paraphernalia for the carrying on of the game, and besides this in a back room there was a baize-covered table with a convenient pack of cards for those who preferred black jack.

The Chinese frequenter, Gong, was found sitting in a middle room, attempting to read a book in the dark. One of the whites was hidden behind a door, and the others had broken for the front, where they were held in check by Macdonald while the house was searched and the patrol, wagon was sent for. In the small room which Wong admitted was his, was found a button which manipulated the lock of the front door.

When he was put in the box by J. H. Austin, Wong in cross-examination by City Prosecutor Harrison had to own up to being the person who was in charge, but he denied that there had been any gambling of late. Those found there were simply calling on him? He also had to admit that when he worked - which he said was not for a week - his employment was as agent for a firm running a game, and that he had for a long time been engaged in such occupation.

Upon this coming out Mr. Austin at once put in a plea of guilty, and explained that this had not been disclosed to him by his client.

Gong and the five white men found in the house charged with being unlawfully in a gaming place, were fined $15 each. His worship gave the white men a lecture on the folly of trying to beat the Chinese at their own game, and the lack of self-respect shown in frequenting such a place.

[mkcosplayorcovid-19prevention]

Tis the Season... Watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas... The Ultimate Edition

It has The Christmas Special...

A Halloween Special... witch I seen Clips of on tik tok and looks trippy... A lot like Me the Grinch Owns...

"A Paraphernalia Wagon"

And A Grinch vs Cat in the Hat... Special "Personally think the Grinch... had Technology that would Violate the Geneva Convention..."

I Remember Dr. Seuss... books... a Favorite was Walkit in my Pocket... Yesterday Found a Last Super... Reprint in-Ah Nice frame... walking to work... Brought it back Home... after a Double Shift at the Zoo...

We Have a Seasonal Flavor Peppermint Chip...

It Tastes Alot like Mint Chip IceCream...

[brutish-invasion]

The pills are the only thing keeping me from reprising all my two-tone-checkerboard-union-jack-Paraphernalia-Wagon bullshit.

I haven't a clue if they're working as they're supposed to, but I do know it's awfully difficult to drive a vespa up the apples and transform into a Blue fucking Meanie when I'm clammy and nauseated and staying in bed all curled up like a dead millipede.

[clarklovescarole]

July 1937: Clark's Big Hunting Trip

July 8, 1937 – The Philadelphia Inquirer

Chatter in Hollywood (Louella Parsons)

Carole Lombard isn’t going to be lonesome while Clark Gable is away on his hunting trip, because what should her old friend Director Walter Lang do but up and buy a house, and if there is anything in the world Carole loves to do it’s to furnish a house! In fact, she’s made Walter a promise he won’t even buy an ash tray that hasn’t her official sanction. Between scenes out at the Selznick Studio Carole is selecting drapes and carpeting, not to mention pictures and furniture sketches. Maybe Carole’s feminine taste wont’ be exactly the makings of a bachelor’s paradise, but Walter’s going to take it and love it – and besides Fieldsy says it’s okay. 

July 9, 1937 – The Courier Journal

Chatter in Hollywood

How do you think Carole Lombard leaves the studio every evening? In a limousine with liveried chauffeur? No indeed. Clark Gable, who is working at MGM only a block away from the Selznick Studios, calls for her usually in a station wagon with guns, tents, and other camping paraphernalia hanging out of the back. But Carole doesn’t mind. Life to her is a lot of laughs anyway. She and Freddie March spend all their free time on the “Nothing Sacred” set practicing with BB guns, so it’s practically worth your life to visit that set.

(Oakland Tribue/July 9, 1937)

July 10, 1937 – The Missoulan

A Screen Celebrity Visits

Missoula is no different from any other place in the country when a screen celebrity stops here, even briefly. 

It was close to midnight when Clark Gable swung into the Garden City from Pocatello on his way to the Jennings hunting lodge near Glacier Park, which is to be his headquarters for a foray into the wilds after a big game. But the hour did not prevent his receiving attention when he stepped into a café for a “snack” after retiring.

The Missoulan’s story of his arrival caused a demonstration of Missoula’s feminine population in front of his hotel Friday morning. How accustomed the screen star has become to such sudden descents upon his manly person was shown by the smiling nonchalance with which he hastily scribbled his autograph as books and papers were thrust at him from all directions.

Apparently, this attention from the populace goes with the job. It is part of an actor’s technique always to be ready to face the multitude, to keep smiling, never to give offense and to accept whatever the great public demands without show of resentment. 

Gable is a master at this sort of thing, through long experience. As he stepped into the Gable care to be whirled up through the Flathead to Jennings’ place, he was the same smiling, unperturbed personality that he was when he first emerged from the hotel to face the crowd. Ordinary male persons wondered how he kept his poise under such circumstances. Apparently it is all in knowing how and never forgetting that one is an actor.

July 10, 1937 – The Wichita Eagle

CLARK GABLE WILL TACKLE BIG GAME

POCATELLO, IDAHO, July 9 — (AP) Bearded Clark Gable seated himself in an expensive roadster today and rode away for a spell of big game hunting in the Idaho wilds – but not before the autograph chasers got him. 

Stopping in this southern Idaho city overnight en route to Montana on a hunting and fishing expedition, the screen star smiled:

“Hunting big game is a real (not reel) thrill. I hope to add a bear skin to my lion trophies. I enjoy ‘roughing it’ in the mountains. It peps me up, gives me renewed vigor.” 

Clerks said he called Carole Lombard on the telephone before leaving today for Sun Valley lodge, in the fringe of south-central Idaho’s primitive Sawtooth mountains. 

Surrounded by scores of girls, the actor scribbled his name on hotel stationery, blank checks, café menus and dozes of scraps of paper.

Two admirers even slipped into his room last night and carried away two belts and buckles. Clerks recovered them.

July 11, 1937 – Great Falls Tribune

Clark Gable In Park Area To Hunt Bear

GLACIER PARK, July 10 – Clark Gable, top ranking motion picture actor in the hearts of a multitude of female fans, arrived here last night and promptly endeared himself to more women by amiably signing his name for autograph seekers before retreating to the seclusion of the Charles Jennings guest ranch, 14 miles southwest of here, to begin a three-week bear hunting trip.

Jennings went to Great Falls earlier in the week and flew to Pocatello to meet Gable and return in the latter’s auto to Glacier Park.

Locks Up Car

On arrival, Gable went to Glacier Park hotel and made several phone calls, then locked his car in a garage here to prevent its dismantlement by curio seekers. He and Jennings then made the slow trip over mountain roads to the Jennings ranch.

At 10 p.m. Carole Lombard, noted screen actress and reportedly a close companion of Gable, called the actor from Hollywood and it was necessary for a messenger to make a three-hour round trip journey to bring Gable back to the hotel to talk to her. The long delay, it was reported, alarmed the actress and she queried park people excitedly, via the telephone, as to whether an accident had occurred. 

Dons Cowboy Clothes

The feminine idol had changed form street clothes to a cowboy suit and after conversing with Miss Lombard went to the Log Cabin inn, where he had lunch. Mrs. B. Connor, proprietor of the inn, showed him a snapshot taken 10 years ago when Gable and her husband were extras appearing in the “Painted Desert.” The actor autographed the photo after recalling how the two of them had played together in short scenes.

Gable and Jennings will leave Sunday for the hunting trip high in the mountains that will be their headquarters on the three-week hunting trip. 

Jennings met Gable through the former’s brother, Talbott, who is a Hollywood scenarist. This is Gable’s first visit to the Glacier Park area in Montana.

July 13, 1937 – Democrat and Chronicle

Lombard Awaits Gable Call

Snapshots of Hollywood: Carole Lombard staying home every night until she gets that long distance call from Clark Gable, who’s gone a-hunting.

July 16, 1937 – Shamokin News Dispatch

Big day for Brown Derby celebrity gawkers – Barbara Stanwyck and Bob Taylor arrive just a moment before Clark Gable and Carole Lombard whisk up in his station wagon.

July 18, 1937 – Knoxville Journal

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard’s birthday remembrance to L.B. Mayer a huge cake composed entirely of gardenias. 

July 18, 1937 – Evansville Press

Besides the popularity of the people involved, there is a good reason why Hollywood’s NO. 1 romance is between Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck – they don’t mind admitting they’re in love. 

Now there are Clark Gable and Carole Lombard: When either is interviewed (by appointment made through the publicity departments) correspondents are cautioned in advance that love is not to be brought into the conversation. Of course sometimes a reporter will blurt out Silly Query No. 37: “Are you and Mr. Gable planning marriage?” 

Miss Lombard, who can blush at will, will blush and exclaim: “Why, how perfectly absurd! Cl – ah- Mr. Gable and I are merely friends. I don’t know where all this romance talk comes from!”

July 19, 1937 – Fort Worth Star Telegram

Leafing through a 3-year-old fan magazine while I waited in a dentist’s anteroom, I ran across an article in which Clark Gable, with amazing courage, had named the 10 “most beautiful” women in Hollywood. His list included, in the order named: Mrs. Clark Gable (now practically ex), Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Kay Francis, Jean Harlow, Claudette Colbert, Greta Garbo, Grace Moore, Helen Hayes and Lily Pons.

You know, search as I might, I couldn’t find Carole Lombard’s name anywhere in the list. 

July 20, 1937 – Spokesman Review

Feud Still On

Joan Crawford and Carole Lombard are still feuding, but Carole is adding more fuel to the quarrel by constantly referring to the days when both were Charleston hoofing champs – an accomplishment Joan would rather forget…

July 20, 1937 – Akron Beacon Journal

Short Notes

Clark Gable joins Carole Lombard each evening to view the rushes of her new picture… 

July 22, 1937 – Columbus News

Carole Lombard still has a sleek town car, a limousine and a roadster or two, but she isn’t using them much these days. Every afternoon when she finishes work at the studio, up drives a station wagon all filled with fishing paraphernalia and driven by Clark Gable and off go the two most irrepressible merrymakers of Hollywood. She claims she likes the station wagon better than the limousine and she’d rather go fishing than attend a fashionable party. Clark agrees with her.

July 23, 1937 – Star Tribune

Gable, on Hunting Trip, Calls Carole Twice Daily

By Sheilah Graham

Hollywood, July 22 – Clark Gable telephones Carole Lombard every morning and evening from his hunting retreat in Pocatello, Idaho, but they can’t hear a word they say because every operator from there to here listens lowdown…

July 30, 1937 – South Bend Tribune

Hollywood Is Naïve

In spite of all its pretended sophistication, Hollywood is the most naïve town on earth, and I have never seen the fact more convincingly demonstrated than the other day in the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer café. Carole Lombard had come to MGM to pay the boyfriend, Clark Gable, a visit and they entered the café together. Such craning of the necks you have never seen! Everyone in that huge room stopped eating and stared. Until Clark and Carole were seated, you could have heard a pin drop; afterward, for a good five minutes, the place buzzed like a beehive. And the Gable neck was very, very red. 

[ukdamo]

Bb is for book. Cc is for cleaning.

One of mine

Me and cleaning.

We're acquainted, you know; we meet in the street, there's a nod of recognition - but we don't put our shopping bags down and chat for five minutes. Still less, adjourn to Costa for coffee and tiffin. It's not that I'm dirty. Or lazy. Or enjoy mess. The nexus of our tenuous connection isn't to be found there. 'It's complicated', people inevitably say of irregular relationships. So say I about me and cleaning. If I was pushed to name names, I could legitimately point the finger of blame at mum. Not that she was a slattern, you understand.

Our house was ever spick and span. The ancient hoover used to rumble and clatter from room to room, and clunked on each and every step of the stair (there were thirteen to the landing, then a turn, and another one). The cupboard under the sink was full of relevant paraphernalia. We stocked Lanry, Vim, Brillo Pads, Windowlene, Swarfega, Pledge, and a forgotten tin of ancient lavender funiture polish. Dusters were ever old pillowcases, torn up - but there was a purpose-bought floor cloth. And there were always J-Cloths for kitchen messes.

I've mentioned Vim. Now there was a product. It scoured everthing scrupulously clean – and left a film of white residue on every surface it touched. What on earth was that about? I think it was deliberate. You had to use another product and wipe everything over in order to get rid of the residue. In effect, you had to clean up twice. There was the Protestant Work Ethic and the Capitalist Profit Motive writ large, in bold, and underlined. That we were Catholics and Socialists didn't alter the outcome – we still had to clean up twice.

Next to the Brillo Pads (in the old, handle-less, cream and gilt-patterned teacup) were the donkey stones. One yellow, one white. They've been consigned to history now, along with most of the other products and mores of my childhood. God forbid, back then, that your backyard wasn't swilled and your front / back steps not mopped and donkey-stoned. Not to have that chalky white or yellow edge marking on each step was tantamount to admitting you lived in a hovel. Our donkey stones were sourced from the rag-and-bone man (also consigned to history). Periodically, this affable character would jingle along back streets on an old, wooden, flat-bed cart, pulled by a comfortingly-scented horse, and give out a timeless call; “Aag-Bow!”. You could hear him half a street away, which gave your mum time to rummage about and find some booty. You gave him whatever salvageable detritus you had and he'd give you a donkey stone. It was a sort of anti-bacterial barter arangement. Everyone was a winner. He had stuff to recycle, you got rid of clutter, and your mum was not labelled a brothel-keeper.

You might think I'm undermining my assertion that mum is responsible for my ambivalent relationship with cleaning, since I've given a long litany of cleaning products and house-proud moments worthy of an article in Lancashire Life. But no. Not so. She is the prime culprit.

She encouraged me to read. You know – Aa, Bb, Cc: the alphabet, books… She was a reader herself – she'd always have a magazine or book to read in the evening after dad had gone to bed. Her magazines were of the era: the People's Friend (with its watercolours of Scotland); the Reader's Digest; or a slim novel. Later in life, her reading was more devotional and always included the Daily Office for the Secular Franciscan Order. I associate mum with magazines, books, puzzles: word searches, crosswords, arrow-cross. She kept her brain exercised long after she'd allowed her body to take more ease: ever a force to be reckoned with if you watched Countdown together. Switched on to the very last, mum.

So, there was mum with her familiar pile of books and magazines and there was dad, saying goodnight and heading off to bed (being a wagon driver, he had to be up early). Now, as I cast my mind back, I see that he had a hand in my aversion to cleaning, too. Not that he, too, was a reader: I can only recall him reading three books in my lifetime: The Robe, Lloyd C Douglas; Cherrill of the Yard, Fred Churrill: and a book about the Border Regiment's campaign in Burma (that was his war)* Dad made a more subtle contrbution: the morning routine at 89 Napier Street was built around his need to be up and out early. That routine was instrumental in binding me indissolubly to books.

But I started the story with mum and the fact that she signposted me to the written word.

Not a sporty child, not interested in sport (except for Wimbledon fortnight), I was a devotee of Hollywood musicals, and books. The literary devotion started early. I was a member of the local public library as soon as I could hold cards in my own right. I held six in my name; I was voracious. I was one of the (few) kids who learned to read using the ITA system – the idea being that you if you taught children to read using a phonetic method, where words were written as they were pronounced, it would speed up learning. Then, at age seven or so, you'd switch to regular spelling and ditch the ITA alphabet. Some adults schooled in ITA, I have read, have never been confident spellers, as a consequence of not using the standard alphabet at the beginning of their schooling. As you can see, that is not my story. But, I digress.

September, 2020; update. A diligent online search and the cooperation of local library staff resulted in me finding a copy of that same book. If you want to read a first hand account of (part) of dad's India / Burma campaign (the author was wounded and invalided home prior to the Burma offensive), check out “B Company - 9th Battalion, the Border Regiment” by Raymond Cooper.

I'd walk down to the library almost every Saturday morning, scooping up books before heading home to devour them through the coming week. When I was eleven I sat the 11+ exam. I was one of the last kids to do that (it was phased out in the late 60's and early 70's as Comprehensive Schols supplanted the Grammars and Secondary Moderns). Having pased the exam, I was enrolled at St Thedore's RC High School in Burnley, and the shape of my life was definitively cast.

Mum and I would sit up and read late in the evening, after dad had gone to bed. Then, in the morning, I'd read before getting the bus to St Ted's. Dad would wake me at about 6:15am, as he left the house. (Thinking about it now, I have no idea why he didn't wake either of my elder brothers. Well actually, I probably do – they would have been unrousable. They didn't need to be up, and would have resisted any attempt to stir them into premature activity. I was more pliable.) My job then, by default, was to get up, light the coal fire, and wake up the rest of the household at the appropriate times. The bus I used to reach school was BCN Transport's 60. It wended its way from Nelson to Burnley via Halifax Road, Hill Place, Marsden Road, Briercliffe Road, and Eastern Avenue. I used to get on at Hill Place:if I left the house at 8:10am, I could reach the stop in good time. I'd be joined there by Andrew Thornton and Keith Haydock - classmates at St Ted's.

So, now you see me - solidly located in the 70's, on any given weekday morning. Dad's up and gone, the fire's lit, and I am aged eleven and I have nearly two hours to fill before I go for the bus. What is there to do but read? No such thing as Breakfast TV back then. Nowadays, when there is breakfast TV, I still prefer to read. In fact, I get up 90 minutes before I'm due at work so that I can read. By doing so, I invite another snag: I can't put the bloody book down! I'm usually 'last minute' or marginally late, arriving at work. But we're talking books… What can you do? The setting conditions for my literary efflorescence were present throughout my adolescence: mum was promoting literary explorations and dad was affording me ample opportunity to stick my nose where it belonged.

All of this may appear to be but tangentally related to my allergy to cleaning up but the two are, actually, inextricably bound. In my universe, Books and Cleaning are binary stars; suspended in the vacuum of space, locked in an eternal embrace.

The incomparable Quentin Crisp had an unique perspective on cleaning. He said, “There's no need to do any housework at all. After the first four years, the dirt doesn't get any worse”. Now, that's a sterling silver quotation – great to deploy if the Aggie and Kims of this world ring your doorbell, step into your home, and proceed to look snootily down their noses at you, whilst pinching their nostrils firmly closed. So, thank you, Quentin.

But don't think this lets you off the hook, Quentin. I haven't forgotten how you died the night before I was scheduled to see you on stage in Manchester, in November, 1999. You owe me for that lack of consideration. When we meet in the heavenly (diabolical?) Cage aux Folles in the sky, I expect you to obtain a corner table for our exclusive use, with mood lighting. If push comes to shove, we can always drape one of your pink chiffon scarves over the table lamp. I'll stand us drinks but I anticipate, from you, a cavalcade of hilarious and outre anecdotes. Don't disappoint. Though I appreciate Quentin's contribution to the debate, we're not allies. We may both be Friends of Dorothy but I don't subscribe to his philosophy of detergence. I like clean and neat. I like minimalist.

I am my mother's son, after all. She liked elbow grease and order, and knick-knacks were strictly regulated; few in number and of weight and moment. We're similarly constituted, she and I. I readily confess that this outlook on the house beautiful lends itself well to spick-and-span, clean and calming. I sign up to that: I love it when my space is elegantly muted, crisply orangised, dust-free and soft-sheened. But the truth is, my impulse to clean always defers to my impulse to read.

Some people say that when food whispers to them, Eat me, they are helpless to resist. I sympathise. Books, I tell you, are equally invidious.They beckon, invitingly. They murmur, insistently, Read me. I try to be motivated by hoovers and mops. I urge myself to be excited by Mr Sheen. It'd be great if Cilit Bang raised my blood pressure. But it doesn't. I struggle. Even the most jaundiced comentator will acknowledge that Descartes' aphorism states Cogito, ergo sum not Expurgo, ergo sum. Still, I'm no slothful coward. I am not one to admit defeat easily. I've devised a graded cleaning routine to spur me to action.

I'm not one to boast, but the USA has adopted something similar to grade their national preparedness to defend against threats: they call it DEFCON. The Yanks and I share an ordered sequence of alert settings. You can find theirs on the internet. For simplicity's sake, I decribe mine below.

DEFCON 4: There's visible dust on flat surfaces. Response: SCOWL DISAPPROVINGLY OVER THE EDGE OF THE BOOK

DEFCON 3: Visible dust, an assortment of specks / crumbs on the carpet. Response: CONSIDER HOOVERING, at some future date

DEFCON 2: As above, plus fluff balls near skirting boards. Response: QUICK HOOVER and a bit of DAMP DUSTING

DEFCON 1: Imminent arrival of guests (particularly transatlantic ones) or, threat levels as detailed above, plus shower cubicle and bathroom sink clouded by soap scum. Response: BLITZ EVERYTHING

Sometimes, for reasons I don't quite understand, the C-in-C seems to initiate DEFCON 1 without adequate justification. I mean, if book precedes clean in the dictionary, by how much more does it precede deep-clean? Ah well. Fits of absence of mind have been know to happen. Or maybe it's the breath of God blowing through me - a burst of genuine enthousiasm? Of course, it's possible, too, that (in the depest bunker of my brain) there is some unimagined Stellar Intelligence Service that continually monitors the binary stars Book and Cleaning and detects perturbations in their orbit. Once an aberration is discovered, the agency leaps into action to rectify any threat to the creative tension that holds them in equilibrium. A bit like NASA, but with Marigolds and a pinafore. If so, it's effective.

The upshot of DEFCON 1 – however it's triggered - is a mad two hours; every resource is allocated. There's a burst of frenetic activity which I sustain until, sweat dripping off my nose end, I have successfully transformed my homely abode into a showpiece. I must admit, the sense of statisfaction arising therefrom is a natural high. It's lush. I beam, inwardly. And what is it that I do next, when I hit this high? I'll tell you.

I make a pot of tea, get comfy on the sofa, and pick up my current book.

© Damian, June 17th, 2019.

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I posted 10,191 times in 2022

61 posts created (1%)

10,130 posts reblogged (99%)

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I tagged 6,335 of my posts in 2022

Only 38% of my posts had no tags

#red rising - 1,480 posts

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Longest Tag: 136 characters

#that time my mom's (ex) friend came over to visit our new place and her expression changed as soon as she saw that it was a decent condo

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I'm sorry I'm having a moment

47 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#4

See the full post

60 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#3

No shade against Light Bringer as a title but the difference in reaction between that and Red God is funny to me.

68 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#2

Commission art by @pallasillustration / @thegorydamnreaper ❤️

Go check out her art go go go!!

Back in November 2021, I was incredibly fortunate to win a giveaway for a commission by her to celebrate her reaching 2k followers on instagram.

I asked for Lyria in the tuxedo she briefly wears in Iron Gold (inspired in part by @paraphernalia-wagon ’s thoughts on the subject) and the final piece turned out so good!! My girl looks amazing in this fabulous outfit. 😍 The description of this outfit is vague (as Pierce Brown tends to be when it comes to clothing) so I’m very impressed by the artistic embellishments. 🔥 There's even a bonus Sophocles! 🦊💖

I'm so happy with this!! Athena, your art always goes above and beyond all expectations!! 😭💖

Her commissions are currently open, so go check out her recent post about pricing. You should also consider joining her Patreon if you're a fan of ACOTAR or Red Rising (especially if you love Reaperstang because she’s been posting some banger art recently 👀👀👀).

Here’s the linktree for her Redbubble store and Patreon page.

80 notes - Posted February 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

5,004 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

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