Are you old enough to remember "Don't touch that dial," "Carbon copy," "You sound like a broken record" and "Hung out to dry?" Back in the old days, we had a lot of moxie. We'd put on our best bib and tucker, then straighten up and fly right. Hubba-hubba! We'd cut a rug in some juke joint, and then go necking and petting and smooching and spooning and billing and cooing and pitching woo in hot rods and jalopies in some passion pit or lovers lane.
Heavens to Betsy! Gee whillikers! Jumping Jehoshaphat! Holy moley! We were in like Flynn and living the life of Riley, and even a regular guy couldn't accuse us of being a knucklehead, a nincompoop or a pill. Not for all the tea in China !
Back then, things were swell, but when's the last time anything was? It’s gone the way of beehives, pageboys and the D.A.; of spats, knickers, fedoras, poodle skirts, saddle shoes and pedal pushers. Kilroy was here, but he isn't anymore or I'll be a monkey's uncle!
And isn’t this a fine kettle of fish? What happened to all the hula hoops, skate keys, candy cigarettes, and the organ grinders monkey? Where have all those phrases gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all those phrases gone?
Long time ago: Pshaw. The milkman did it.
Now, what’s bigger than a bread box, or Banned in Boston. The very idea! Well, it's your nickel, but don't forget to pull the chain.
Back at The Turn of The Century, and for some decades after, kids were knee high to a grasshopper, even behind the Iron curtain, and the Bamboo Curtain too. Which made us very anxious about the Domino theory, Fail safe, and Civil Defense.
Oh, fiddlesticks! Don’t you look like the wreck of the Hesperus? You must have cooties, and going like sixty, so I'll see you in the funny papers, but meanwhile don't take any wooden nickels. Heavens to Murgatroyd! And awa-a-ay we go!
By my stars and garters, there was more of this stuff than Carter had little liver pills. It’s disturbing, the winking out of the words of our long-past youth that lived in our memory’s deepest core. But just as one never steps into the same river twice, one cannot step into the same language twice, either. By the time you’ve dipped a toe in, turns of phrase are swept downstream into the past, and it’s a new, different river flowing out all at sea.
We of a certain age enjoy the mixed blessing of living across changeful times. For a child, each new word is a shiny toy that has no age. We at the far end of the chronological arc know the advantage of remembering words that once strutted their hour upon the earthly stage and now are heard no more.
Except among us! It's one of the greatest advantages of aging. We can have archaic and eat it, too.
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