Possumblog

Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Thursday, February 26, 2004

Y'know, words is funny.

Strange how certain words evoke responses in your brain--Miss Janis reports simply that

I am going west! Haven't been west of Lubbock, Texas, for 27 years.

Now, for whatever reason, that didn't make me think of the going west of stumpy old Horace Greeley, but rather of Ned Jordan's 1923 ad for the Jordan Playboy:

Somewhere west of Laramie there’s a broncho-busting, steer-roping girl who knows what I’m talking about.

She can tell what a sassy pony, that’s a cross between greased lightning and the place where it hits, can do with eleven hundred pounds of steel and action when he’s going high, wide and handsome.

The truth is--the Playboy was built for her.

Built for the lass whose face is brown with the sun when the day is done of revel and romp and race.

She loves the cross of the wild and the tame.

There’s a savor of links about that car--of laughter and lilt and light--a hint of old loves--and saddle and quirt. It’s a brawny thing--yet a graceful thing for the sweep o’ the Avenue.

Step into the Playboy when the hour grows dull with things gone dead and stale.

Then start for the land of real living with the spirit of the lass who rides, lean and rangy, into the red horizon of a Wyoming twilight.

posted by Terry at 11:25:00 AM

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