Mother St. Barabra of the Swizzle Stick
Some of us had a little doll-related fun on Twitter today. Liz Covart (of Benjamin Franklin’s World) went in search of Betsy Ross Barbie, and was amazed to find it; Marla Miller, who first tipped us off to the existence of this Barbie, suggested that we all immediately Google “George Washington Barbie,” which of course we did.
I’ve got a barbie none can beat, friends–my Ursuline Barbie! But enough about my dolls; I’m here to tell you that I’ve been thinking about all of my book-related dolls and historical dolls in general while I’ve been walking around Québec this week, as Québec (like France) seems to have a weird fascination with both larger- and smaller-than-life representations of the human form. That is to say, I’m a huge fan of dolls, and even I’m a little creeped out by it.
Bookend bunnies to the cat: You can’t really see us, and you don’t want to do anything about us anyway.
Cat to the bunnies: My decision!
Rand Paul and James Monroe: you be the judge:
Roy Rogers and Trigger
Friends, you’re going to have to explain something to this cowgirl: I just can’t understand all of the irritation and resentment aimed at Trigger! (What did this poor horse ever do to Peggy Noonan, anyway?) From everything I’ve seen, he was a born showman, a high-stepping son-of-a-gun who never did anything worse than steal the show from his owner, Roy Rogers. Trigger never bit or kicked anyone who didn’t deserve it, now, did he?
But let’s face it: horses are really big animals, and some people are a little trepidatious around them. Some horses are afraid of people, and can startle or jump when they’re spooked. Just because some folks are a little fearful of horses, and just because some horses are easily spooked doesn’t make them bad people or bad horses. It just means that those of us who are comfortable with Trigger should remember that not every person (or horse) feels the same, and keep that in mind when we’re discussing Trigger or bringing him around for company. Continue reading
Check out this nineteenth-century version of Cards Against Humanity, “A Trip to Paris, A Laughable Game,” courtesy of our friends at the American Antiquarian Society. You, too, will thrill to the answer of the question, “a tender-hearted doughnut, or an intoxicated clam?”
I have a date at the Mouse House today. Can I get to this tomorrow? I have some thoughts, of course. (Caveat: I teach at an R1 but it’s not “elite,” and History does not have a Ph.D. program. Do I still count?)
For some reason, all I’ve seen over the past few days are takedowns of New York Times columnist David Brooks. Here’s one excellent, high-minded example over at U.S. Intellectual History by Robin Marie:
David Brooks is a special kind of stupid. How can we describe it? It is a skilled stupidity, really; Brooks, more than any other conservative posing as not-completely-delusional and/or shameless, is extremely talented at transforming thoughtless middle-class biases into what thoughtless middle-class people then take to be wisdom.
. . . . .
I do have something to say, however, about Brooks’ latest masterpiece. In a column entitled “The Nature of Poverty,” where he recycles nearly every lazy assumption and distortion about “the culture of poverty” that the Right has been spouting for half a century – half a century folks, that’s half of 100 years of this stuff! – he ends, after explaining that poverty is not really about money but “relationships,” with this gem: “The world is waiting for a thinker who can describe poverty through the lens of social psychology.”
Apparently, Brooks has never heard of Albert K. Cohen. In 1955, he wrote a book calledDelinquent Boys, which explained deviant behavior in the working class as the product of social failure.