Zoë Stagg

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34 posts tagged vintage

I wrote about this book before this blog was a month old, way back in ‘07 — and now, NOW, my childhood copy has come home. It lives! In all its vintage (sigh) glory. Important things to note:
It cost 69 cents on its 13th printing in 1980.
The dad only appears on the first and last pages.
They have a 1940s, A-Christmas-Story style carpet sweeper, yet a washing machine that looks like mine now.
I was obsessed with the making of the pie scene. The little jar of cherries captured my imagination. It’s still there.
They sing a special song when they pick up the toys they mysteriously had no time to play with since they were busy cleaning house all day.
Yes. It’s a story about cleaning house and putting things away and when they go to bed? THE HOUSE IS CLEAN. Happy ending, the end.

I wrote about this book before this blog was a month old, way back in ‘07 — and now, NOW, my childhood copy has come home. It lives! In all its vintage (sigh) glory. Important things to note:

  • It cost 69 cents on its 13th printing in 1980.
  • The dad only appears on the first and last pages.
  • They have a 1940s, A-Christmas-Story style carpet sweeper, yet a washing machine that looks like mine now.
  • I was obsessed with the making of the pie scene. The little jar of cherries captured my imagination. It’s still there.
  • They sing a special song when they pick up the toys they mysteriously had no time to play with since they were busy cleaning house all day.

Yes. It’s a story about cleaning house and putting things away and when they go to bed? THE HOUSE IS CLEAN. Happy ending, the end.

Seventy four. It took 74 days from the last time I played pop music like it was my job (because it was) until I listened to another a single song.
A musical hiatus. (I think IN music it’s an interlude.)
Finally, the top songs in the iTunes weren’t Songs That I Used to Know, and so, new jams* to run to! (3 miles today, just saying.) Also, end of the year means dance mash-ups. Bring ‘em.
Songs that I don’t know the ramp to the second? Sounds good.
*Swedish House Mafia (please tell me they practice in an IKEA), Ludacris, Bruno Mars, and is it just me, or are Mumford & Sons kind of Indigo Girls-y? I’m sure it’s just me.

Seventy four. It took 74 days from the last time I played pop music like it was my job (because it was) until I listened to another a single song.

A musical hiatus. (I think IN music it’s an interlude.)

Finally, the top songs in the iTunes weren’t Songs That I Used to Know, and so, new jams* to run to! (3 miles today, just saying.) Also, end of the year means dance mash-ups. Bring ‘em.

Songs that I don’t know the ramp to the second? Sounds good.

*Swedish House Mafia (please tell me they practice in an IKEA), Ludacris, Bruno Mars, and is it just me, or are Mumford & Sons kind of Indigo Girls-y? I’m sure it’s just me.

I don’t know what games you’re supposed to play with your Barbies — fashion shows or date nights maybe? Mine only played “going to college.”

All of my Barbie furniture, including the pink locker that came with the Gym Set (pic included because the web is a magical place to surf) was appropriated to furnish Barbie’s dorm room.

I’m not sure what I thought college was, but if it was anything like these pictures, the mythos was not misplaced.

Also, vintage Apple.

Bookmark…

First Twilight, now The Hunger Games — modern YA books and the cloud of phenomena they stir bear absolutely no resemblance to spinning the paperback carousel in the “Teen” section of the library in the Ye Olden Eighties.

I have read both of these books, probably more than once. Back in the day, All That Glitters weren’t no vampire.

The closest I remember to a clamor is trading Sweet Valley High titles or finding out there was another addition to the Kobie series.

Want to trip down YA memory lane? This collection of titles, descriptions, COVERS is remarkably good.

And so of course, where there’s a fuss, there’s me four years later. This is up next — as soon as I finish my Marco Pierre White memoir, and get over wanting to be called an “enfant terrible.”