Life, 1925-05-07 · page 27 of 44
Life — May 7, 1925 — page 27: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains satirical content mocking urban life and social pretensions circa early 20th century. **"To Phyllis" poem**: Arthur L. Lippmann satirizes the romanticization of rural life. The speaker ironically invites "Phyllis" to escape the city for "pure" countryside air, but then reveals the rural landscape is equally polluted—overrun with hot dog stands, frankfurter odors, motor exhaust, and commercial signage. The joke exposes the hypocrisy of those claiming rural superiority while that landscape becomes increasingly industrialized and commercialized. **"Not Quite Fair" cartoon**: Shows someone asking a caller about his new "baby sister." The caller responds he was expecting a radio, satirizing consumer culture and the trivial priorities of American life—a child's birth matters less than acquiring the latest technology. **"Miss Pep's Diary"**: A society woman's account of Atlantic City leisure, gently mocking pretentious dining customs and upper-class affectations.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
To Phyllis (Who Finds City Air Cloying) LY with me, Phyllis, away from this levity, Out where the trout are the fisherman's lure, There where the farmers ascribe their longevity To germ-ridden ozone, “refreshingly pure"— There where effluvia from far Peruvia Ooze from the tires and smother the rose, Where Hot Texas Wienery signs spoil the scenery And frankfurter fragrance caresses your nose. Come to the countryside, Phyllis, and dwell with me, Where daisies by zephyrs are playfully tossed; komp through the meadows, my darling, and smell with me Pretzels, bologna and motor exhaust. Come to the fountain-side there at the mountain-side, Haunt at one time of the partridge and deer, And sniff the respectable, highly delectable Odor of Swiss cheese, sweet pickles and bee Arthur L. Lippmann, Not Quite Fair R: Well, Bobby, how do you like your new baby “WHAT'S DE MATTER WIP OLD SPUD?—HE AIN’T SELLIN’ NO MO’ OIL STOCK “SHUCKS, NIGGAH! HE DO: ost ‘Is Mar!” Mi pihi THY y Ch Senior: WHAT ARE YOU Col Nes Lops Diary Awakened by a strange, muffled booming to that terrifying Where-Am-I? state of conscious- ness, and then I did realize that I had come down to Atlantic City the previous night to visit Mary Searles, so up to look out at the ocean, which was doing exactly as Tennyson bade it, a gorgeous sight, too, nor can I comprehend how any one goes down to the sea in ships who can stay safe on shore and regard its majesty. All the morning gone marching briskly along the boardwalk, convinced that I should do ten or fifteen miles every day of my life were I always so secure from cross-strect traffic and urchins on roller skates, and then to the Ritz for luncheon. What will Madame have? asked the head- waiter. I suppose I must have Consommé Bellevue, some fish and a salad, I responded, but what I should really like is a hot dog. So he did bring me two fine ones, replete with mustard, as though he were serving a spécialité de la maison. Such a man belongs in an embassy, not a restau rant. At Japanese ping-pong throughout the afternoon, winning a questionable lacquer box for an outlay of four or five dollars, and thence to the station to mect Samuel Are you not glad we are to step in a charming apartment instead of an hotel? I asked him. I should say so, he answered, because there will be no necessity of constantly Passing out twenty-five-cent pieces to uniformed strangers. April 301 M Roused long before the household by the sun 1 streaming into my room, and consumed by so st Violent a hunger that I did steal out to the larder to stay myself until breakfast, but found nought (Continued on page 39) comicbooks.com