"MONEY MAKING FORMULAS"

[From the June 1938 issue of Popular Mechanics.]

I like the idea that the formula for making money is a formula, or formulas, or formulae, 1,059 of them. But homemade fertilizer? Please, leave the "veil of secrecy" down.

From the same issue of Popular Mechanics: Alkalize with Alka-Seltzer, A mystery EXchange name, "Radios, it is."

Manhattan Special

"You'd almost think it was in the Bible, for God’s sake," said Paul Botwin, a veteran of World War II and, later, the New York soda wars, working in the business and watching other local brands come and go. "The times passed them by. Coffee survived."

From a New York Times article on Manhattan Special, an espresso soda that now ships anywhere in the continental United States. Manhattan Special is made in — where else? — Brooklyn.

Related post
Things I learned on my summer vacation (2007)

"I Got Your Ice Cold NuGrape"

It is the real thing, with genuine rings, often imitated but never equalled. It is the beverage of the promised land; beloved of children, the married, and those who are courting; sold by street vendors and storekeepers alike. It is a cure for the blues and mysterious illness, an irresistible treat, an aid to romantic and connubial bliss. Or as Tom Waits would say, "It's a friend; it's a companion; it's the only product you will ever need."¹ Listen:

NuGrape Twins, "I Got Your Ice Cold NuGrape" (1926)

This strange and beautiful song is available on American Primitive, Vol. II: Pre-War Revenants (1897-1939), from Revenant Records. My best shot at the lyrics (with two corrections from the comments -- thanks, readers):

I got a NuGrape mighty fine
The Three rings around the bottle is a-
    genuine
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

I got a NuGrape mighty fine
Got plenty imitation but they none like mine
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

Way down yonder in the promised land
A-run and tell your mama here the NuGrape
    man
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

Little childrens in the backyard playin' in the sand
A-run and tell your mama here the NuGrape man
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

[wordless chorus]

When you feelin' kind of blue
A-do not know what ailin' you
Get a NuGrape from the store
Then you have the blues no more
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

What's that make your lips go flippity-floppa
When you drink a NuGrape
You don't know when to stop
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

If from work you come home late
Rolling pin waits at the gate
Smile and 'prise her with NuGrape
Then you seek direct to shade (?)
Then you'll sneak through in good shape
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

Sister Mary has a beau
Says he crazy loves her so
Buys a NuGrape every day
Know he's bound to win that way
I got your ice-cold NuGrape

[wordless chorus]


[NuGrape cap, from The Bottle Cap Man.]

¹ In "Step Right Up," from the 1976 recording Small Change.

Allergy or cold?

The New York Times has a timely piece on how to figure out what you have:

Symptoms of seasonal allergies and colds overlap, but studies suggest there are ways to tell them apart.

The first is the onset of symptoms. Colds move more slowly, taking a day or longer to set in and gradually worsening — with symptoms like loss of appetite and headache — before subsiding after about a week and disappearing within 10 days. But allergies begin immediately. The sneezing is sudden and overwhelming, and the congestion, typically centered behind the nose, is immediate. Allergy symptoms also disappear quickly — almost as soon as the offending allergen, like pollen, is no longer around.

Then there are hallmark symptoms of each. Allergies virtually always cause itchiness, in the eyes, the nose, the throat, while a cold generally does not. Telltale signs of a cold are a fever, aches and colored mucus.

If confusion persists, consult your family tree: studies show that having a parent with allergies greatly increases your risk, particularly if that parent is your mother.

Yes, even figurative trees cause allergies.

Minimus, minimi

The clue for 44-Across in the April 30 New York Times crossword — "Little fingers or toes" — has brought me two new words. Minimus is the name for the smallest finger or toe. The plural is minimi (MIN-ih-my). Having typed these words, I'm not sure that I will ever use them again.

In 1991, medical student John Phillips borrowed Mother Goose's little piggies to create Latin names for the toes. They seem not to have caught on. For more on the naming of parts, Wikipedia's article on the ring finger is amazing reading.

It makes sense that we have a richer vocabulary for fingers than toes. Fingers exhibit greater variety across the set of ten than toes do (each toe, bigger or smaller, is just another piggy). Fingers are, we might say, closer to us, right under our eyes and noses (and sometimes in them). Fingers are expressive, so it makes sense that we are more expressive about them.

[The April 30 crossword? A subscription to the Times crossword brings an extra month's worth of older puzzles from the archive. Thus some catching up.]

I.e., Sunday

A circumlocutory TV weatherman:

"Things look better as we move into the second half of the weekend.'

Odyssey Lofts

A message from my daughter:

There's a condo building called Odyssey Lofts, and the sign says "If you lived here, you'd be Homer by now."

And the website says "Homer is where the heart is."

All Homer posts (Pinboard)

(Thanks, Rachel!)

Proust Was a Neuroscientist was disappointing

I'm still inspired by the passage on George Eliot from Jonah Lehrer's Proust Was a Neuroscientist that I posted last week. It's one of many passages that show Lehrer to be an engaging and graceful writer. But the enthusiasm with which I began reading his book waned as I kept going. Proust Was a Neuroscientist was a disappointment.

One problem: an exaggerated emphasis on the purported difficulty of modern art, music, and writing. Swann's Way offers "fifty-eight tedious pages" before Proust's narrator tastes the madeleine. Fifty-eight? That depends on the edition. Tedious? When I read the first fifty pages of Swann's Way (Penguin edition) in one sitting, I knew that I had found my way to the greatest reading experience of my life.

The tendency to exaggerate difficulty is most prominent in Lehrer's discussion of Stravinsky and The Rite of Spring. A sampling: "a monstrous migraine of sound," "a gunshot of chromatic bullets," "clots of sound," "sadistic newness," "epileptic rhythm," "schizophrenic babble." Granted, Lehrer is taking into account the anger and incomprehension of some of the work's first listeners. But his characterizations of Stravinsky's work are often cast in terms of a present-day "we" still pained by the music: "Our cells can sense the chaos here; we know that this particular wall of sound is irresolvable. All we can do is wait. This too must end."

Another problem: Lehrer is sometimes remarkably dismissive, most conspicuously in his chapter on Gertrude Stein and Tender Buttons. Stein's poor reader must trek on, "suffering through her sentences," which offer "one jarring misnomer after another" in a "drift toward silliness" and "literary disarray." Though Lehrer notes that Stein's sentences "continue to inspire all sorts of serious interpretations," he doesn't engage what serious readers (Marjorie Perloff, for instance) have made of Tender Buttons. And his breezy observations about Stein's "lack of influence" ("her revolution petered out, and writers went back to old-fashioned storytelling") would come as a surprise to many contemporary poets (John Ashbery, Charles Bernstein, Clark Coolidge, Lyn Hejinian, and Bernadette Mayer, for instance).

Jonah Lehrer is writing with a noble purpose: to encourage dialogue between the humanities and the sciences. I'm not sure that readers of Proust Was a Neuroscientist will be moved to read Proust or Stein or listen to Stravinsky if they haven't done so before. But I am thinking that it might be fun to read Middlemarch again — a thought I never imagined having before reading this book.

All Proust posts (Pinboard)

"WOOLCO"

The Woolworths Virtual Museum says:

At the time [the 1910s] English Needles and Sewing Accessories were recognised to be the finest in the world, so naturally Woolworths bought British not only for the shops in the UK, but also for export to the United States of America and Canada, where the items were sold for five or ten cents.

I found this "WOOLCO" item while helping to clean out an old house this morning. As you can see, just one sharp (a general purpose household needle) remains in the package, whose design is patented (no. 793608/34). It's difficult to decide how old this dowdy-looking package might be. The Woolco chain began in 1962, yet the Woolworth Virtual Museum shows British products, clearly pre-1962, bearing the Woolco name. I would guess that this package is, at the latest, from the 1950s.

Redditch began as a center of needle-making in the Middle Ages, soared to great industrial heights in the 19th century, and is now home to the Forge Mill Needle Museum, whose gift shop sells size 5/10 sharps.

A related post
Woolworths to close

On Proust's birthday

Joyeux anniversaire, M. Proust.

Photograph of Proust at twenty by Paul Nadar, from The World of Proust as Seen by Paul Nadar, ed. Anne-Marie Bernard (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2002).

[Thanks, Timothy, for reminding me.]