dustdevil in disguise

eye-catching or thought-provoking stuff, according to an alive person who is a chick on the Internet.




English Struwwelpeter by Dr Heinrich Hoffmann

c1900 - beautiful fresh coloured illustration 

i have a copy of this. I dont think mines quite as old. I found a proper German version in Cologne a few years back, but it cost so much!! :’(

its quite a collectable title now, originally in German they translated it into English back in 1848..

Why I don’t like Summer

I know what you’re thinking - this is positively un-American, the not-liking of Summer! How can I throw shade on the season that gives us outdoor barbecues, pool parties and beach trips? Well, sit right down with a cold drink and I will tell you, and please - throw some actual shade on ME because I am burning up over here.

I don’t like Summer because it’s hot and I’m poor.

I can’t afford a week at a beach rental in the Outer Banks, like most all Virginians’ bumper stickers and car tags brag about. It’s been seen to that that shit is expensive, must be planned for and deposited on a year in advance. My husband doesn’t even like the beach. So we never go, and I have a sore spot about it. Fuck the beach and therefore fuuuuck Summer, season of beach bragging. Family photos all over Facebook, everybody in matching khakis and white shirts. GOD.

I don’t like flip flops. They hurt my toes, they make that flopping sound…just, ugh. Summer sucks because it is hard to wear boots in this season.

Summer is NOT nice in the South. I believe that the idea of Summer being a time of magical happiness was initiated by the inhabitants of northern climes. Maine. Wisconsin. Northern Europe, originally, I guess. Places where Summer means a respite from the biting ice of Winter. A time when you need not Brace Yourself.  Because down here, in what is basically a giant swamp, about a quarter of the country, it just sucks. High humidity, days in the 90s at the lowest….If I go outside at all I’m a walking sweat factory prone to chafing, rashes, and/or mosquito bites.

Summer to me is bugs and sunburn and body-shaming and a reminder that I’m a workingclass slog whose only respite is pacing nervously in front of an airconditioning vent hoping to hell it doesn’t break. Summer, time of zero cardigans and drought, you are my least favorite season. Summer, please go back from whence you came (perhaps the fires of Hell).