|I'm healthy as a broken down horse|
I have been on the new pills for over a week and so far there have been no urges to make a bowl of ass soup, but my glucose levels indicate maple syrup is flowing in place of blood. The
I am part way through F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tales of the Jazz Age. I am enjoying it. I have always liked his writing. I have often opined I would travel back to the turn of the 20th Century were I in possession of a time machine. Perhaps the 1920's would be a better choice. If you are a historian of fashion and culture, could there be a bigger shift in clothing, morals, and societal character than comparing the earliest years of the century to the 1920's? Compare Meet Me in St. Louis to The Great Gatsby. Only about 15 or 20 years separates the two stories.
As an added bonus, there was not as much horse shit lining the streets of 1920's America. I find it interesting that as soon as muck-filled streets started to disappear, dresses quit dragging the ground.
If I was smart, this would have been three posts, instead of one I wrote Saturday and published Sunday. Yep, not only is the content boring, it is not even fresh!