"Racy" postcards

These three photos are from what passed as "racy" postcards from the decade of the 1900s. I thought they were pretty cool. I post them especially for Jann, who will appreciate them. :)

I'm just saying, ya know?

The Mark Clark Thread

Let me preface this story by saying that I work for an international conglomerate of companies with branches in different lines of business all around the world.

A couple of weeks ago, a fellow who works for the same company as me, but in a different part of the world, received an email that was some sort of response to a business proposal. Unfortunately, although it was intended for "Mark Clark," the Mark Clark that received it was not the intended recipient, but another person with the same first and last name. Mr. Clark looked up all the folks in the corporation named Mark Clark and forwarded the message to all of us, in the hope that the correct Mark Clark would receive it. Turns out there are 7 Mark Clarks that work for my company. I, of course, am one of them. We have a Mark Clark in Germany, in Sweden, in Great Britain and in 3 states of the US.

Since then, we have all been participating in a very entertaining thread all about the adventure of being saddled with a name that rhymes, whether or not we think our parents were influenced by General Mark Clark being in the news or were merely sadistic or on drugs or something.

When I was young, I felt that my name was unique. I never knew another Mark Clark growing up. Now, of course, I realize that it's not that uncommon a name. There are 5 listings for Mark Clark in the Fort Worth phone book. 4 of them are for Mark A. Clark. But, still, I've never before had any interaction with someone with the same name as me. It gives me a curious feeling. I know, intellectually at least, that I have nothing necessarily in common with any of these people that share my name, but I find myself hoping we can keep the thread going.

Everything is Tickety-Boo

It was about 1974 when I happened to see a Danny Kaye movie called Merry Andrew (1958) on TV. It was set in England and had this madcap little song called "Everything is Tickety-Boo" in it. I sorta fell in love with the song and it was kind of a personal theme song for me for many years thereafter. I could never find a recording of the song and didn't get a chance to see the movie again for over 30 years, but it must have made a big impression on me, because when I did hear it again on TCM, I found that I had remembered the words almost perfectly after hearing it once over 30 years ago.

Here it is, in all it's technicolor splendor:

Wings Like Icarus

The boy Icarus (you remember the tale)
Whose father made wings to escape from a jail,
Wings of wax and feathers and string,
Over the dark prison walls they took wing,
Over the sea and into the cloud.
Icarus waxed exceedingly proud,
And, forgetting the nature of the wings he wore,
Flew higher and farther, yearning for more,
Till finally, no longer able to bear,
The heat of the sun in that rarified air,
The wings collapsed and left him adrift,
In an ocean of air, with no means of lift.
Thus was the tale of Icarus ended,
His red blood with the blue water blended.

I, like Icarus, ascend to the skies,
On wings of my good father's device,
And like him, I soar, through no worth of my own,
Through skies of spirit, beating hard for home.
I, like Icarus, enjoying my wings,
Feeling the rapture that loftiness brings,
Am often tempted to think that I,
Powerful, virile, in charge of the sky,
Can conquer, alone, the clouds and the sea,
But I, like Icarus, must mindfully be,
Aware of the nature of the wings I wear,
The force that supports my life in the air,
I mustn't forget who has given me all,
Or I too, like Icarus, surely will fall.

-- Mark A. Clark

On the Art of the Essayist

On the Art of the Essayist
(and the lamented lack thereof)

Often have I thought that I,
Erudite as I've always been,
Should take up pen and satisfy,
That old and recurring yen.

To essay upon this or that,
subject upon which I'd say,
scads of bold and earthy chat,
And snippets of witty repartee.

To comment on the days events,
To point to the folly of those in charge,
To challenge with clever arguments,
Has always struck me as living large.

Surely if only I took up pen,
Soon I should be well acclaimed,
As among the wisest of mortal men,
With this hubris I am inflamed.

And so tempted, I yield at last,
I gather up my facts and thence
Deliver up a withering blast
Upon the enemies of good sense.

And furious the work progress,
Through reams of paper my wit flows,
All the social ills redress,
My deadly aim is on the nose.

On and on I wield my prose,
Until at last my task is done,
I, with one final parry, close,
"My," I think, "wasn't that fun?"

Then I re-read my epic slam,
To revise, perchance to cull,
Going through the sheets, I am
Dismayed to find it trite and dull.

No, not a phrase has found its mark,
Nor any deadly wordsmith's slap,
Nothing with a lyric spark,
No, by God, it's all just crap!

So finally the traitorous page betrays,
That past all the witty wordy play,
Beyond the pleasure of turns of phrase,
I've really nothing at all to say.

-- Mark A. Clark

Two sweeties in my back garden

My wonderful wife snuggles with Chiquita in our back yard.