The Addams Family

Google is giving a nod to the Addams Family.

The Internet search leader is celebrating what would have been the 100th birthday of Addams Family creator Charles Addams with a Doodle featuring the creepy, kooky, mysteriously spooky family.

Its home page features Morticia, Gomez, Cousin Itt, Pugsley, Wednesday, Lurch, and Uncle Fester meshed with Google's logo in a black and white cartoon. Click on it and you'll get a page with search results for the cartoonist, including a link to the Tee and Charles Adams Foundation, which provided the Doodle to Google.

-- Christina DesMarais, PCWorld

Like a lot of people, I suppose, I found the concept of the show enticing, but a little of it went a long way. Notwithstanding recent revivals of the show in our nostalgic pop culture, the show was not that big a hit, yet we cherish it as part of our past and our cultural legacy.

( Much of the rest of the article )

The Addams Family

Google is giving a nod to the Addams Family.

The Internet search leader is celebrating what would have been the 100th birthday of Addams Family creator Charles Addams with a Doodle featuring the creepy, kooky, mysteriously spooky family.

Its home page features Morticia, Gomez, Cousin Itt, Pugsley, Wednesday, Lurch, and Uncle Fester meshed with Google's logo in a black and white cartoon. Click on it and you'll get a page with search results for the cartoonist, including a link to the Tee and Charles Adams Foundation, which provided the Doodle to Google.

-- Christina DesMarais, PCWorld

Like a lot of people, I suppose, I found the concept of the show enticing, but a little of it went a long way. Notwithstanding recent revivals of the show in our nostalgic pop culture, the show was not that big a hit, yet we cherish it as part of our past and our cultural legacy.

( Much of the rest of the article )

Sylvia's Teeth

Sylvia has some serious dental work done before she heads off to college, ensuring that her swing into her new social life will not be impeded by that annoyance.

_ _ _

This morning I had my two left wisdom teeth out. At 9 A.M. I walked into the dentist's office. Quickly, with a heavy sense of impending doom, I sat in the chair after a rapid, furtive glance around the room for any obvious instruments of torture such as a pneumatic drill or a gas mask. No such thing. The doctor pinned the bib around my neck; I was just about prepared for him to stick an apple in my mouth and strew sprigs of parsley on my head. But no. All he did was ask, "Gas or novacaine?" (Gas or novacaine. Heh, heh! Would like to see what we have on stock, madam? Death by fire or water, by the bullet or the noose. Anything to please the customer.) "Gas," I said firmly. The nurse sneaked up behind me, put a rubber oval over my nose, the tubes of it cutting pleasantly into my cheek. "Breathe easily." The gas sifted in, strange and sickeningly sweet. I tried not to fight it. The dentist put something in my mouth, and the gas began to come in in big gulps. I had been staring at the light. It quivered, shook, broke into little pieces. The whole constellation of little iridescent fragments started to swing in a rhythmic arc, slow at first, then faster, faster. I didn't have to try hard to breathe now; something was pumping at my lungs, giving forth an odd, breathy wheeze as I exhaled. I felt my mouth cracking up into a smile. So that's how it was ... so simple, and no one had told me. I had to write it, to describe how it was, before I went under. I fancied my right hand was the tip of the arc, curved up, but just as my hand got into position, the arc would swing the other way, gaining momentum. How clever of them, I thought. They kept the feeling all secret; they wouldn't even let you write it down. And then I was on a pirate ship, the captain's face peering at me from behind the wheel, as he swung it, steering. There were columns of black, and green leaves, and he was saying loudly, "All right, close down easily, easily." Then the sunlight burst into the room through the venetian blinds; I breathed hard, filling my lungs with air. I could see my feet, my arms; there I was. I tried hard to get back in my body again ... it was such a long way to my feet. I lifted my hands, to my head; they shook. It was all over ... till next Saturday.

-- Sylvia Plath Journals, 1950

_ _ _

I never did have to get any wisdom teeth removed. At this late point, I hope the threat is unlikely to rise up now. I escaped that little youthful malady, but I think I would have preferred to suffer that than acne.

Sylvia's Teeth

Sylvia has some serious dental work done before she heads off to college, ensuring that her swing into her new social life will not be impeded by that annoyance.

_ _ _

This morning I had my two left wisdom teeth out. At 9 A.M. I walked into the dentist's office. Quickly, with a heavy sense of impending doom, I sat in the chair after a rapid, furtive glance around the room for any obvious instruments of torture such as a pneumatic drill or a gas mask. No such thing. The doctor pinned the bib around my neck; I was just about prepared for him to stick an apple in my mouth and strew sprigs of parsley on my head. But no. All he did was ask, "Gas or novacaine?" (Gas or novacaine. Heh, heh! Would like to see what we have on stock, madam? Death by fire or water, by the bullet or the noose. Anything to please the customer.) "Gas," I said firmly. The nurse sneaked up behind me, put a rubber oval over my nose, the tubes of it cutting pleasantly into my cheek. "Breathe easily." The gas sifted in, strange and sickeningly sweet. I tried not to fight it. The dentist put something in my mouth, and the gas began to come in in big gulps. I had been staring at the light. It quivered, shook, broke into little pieces. The whole constellation of little iridescent fragments started to swing in a rhythmic arc, slow at first, then faster, faster. I didn't have to try hard to breathe now; something was pumping at my lungs, giving forth an odd, breathy wheeze as I exhaled. I felt my mouth cracking up into a smile. So that's how it was ... so simple, and no one had told me. I had to write it, to describe how it was, before I went under. I fancied my right hand was the tip of the arc, curved up, but just as my hand got into position, the arc would swing the other way, gaining momentum. How clever of them, I thought. They kept the feeling all secret; they wouldn't even let you write it down. And then I was on a pirate ship, the captain's face peering at me from behind the wheel, as he swung it, steering. There were columns of black, and green leaves, and he was saying loudly, "All right, close down easily, easily." Then the sunlight burst into the room through the venetian blinds; I breathed hard, filling my lungs with air. I could see my feet, my arms; there I was. I tried hard to get back in my body again ... it was such a long way to my feet. I lifted my hands, to my head; they shook. It was all over ... till next Saturday.

-- Sylvia Plath Journals, 1950

_ _ _

I never did have to get any wisdom teeth removed. At this late point, I hope the threat is unlikely to rise up now. I escaped that little youthful malady, but I think I would have preferred to suffer that than acne.

Mr. Saturday Night

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Mr. Saturday Night

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