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BY MIGUEL A. ORTIZ, DMD

The Simple Protocol for

Dental Photography in the
Age of Social Media

Courtesy of Mr.S
‫ﮐﯿﺮ ﺗﻮ دﻧﺘﻮﯾﯿﺖ و داوودﯾﺎن ﺑﯿﻨﺎﻣﻮس‬

� QUINTESSENCE PUBLISHING
 LIT: The Simple Protocol for Dental Photography in the Age of Social Media

Ortiz-FM.indd 1 3/29/19 2:19 PM

Ortiz-FM.indd 2 3/29/19 2:19 PM
 LIT
The Simple Protocol for Dental Photography
in the Age of Social Media

MIGUEL A. ORTIZ, dmd

Prosthodontist, Private Practice
Boston, Massachusetts

Founder of www.DentLit.com

Berlin, Barcelona, Chicago, Istanbul, London, Mexico City, Milan,

Moscow, Paris, Prague, São Paulo, Seoul, Tokyo, Warsaw

Ortiz-FM.indd 3 3/29/19 2:19 PM

 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Ortiz, Miguel A. (Miguel Angel), 1982 July 3- author.

Title: Lit : the simple protocol for dental photography in the age of social media / Miguel A. Ortiz.
Description: Batavia, IL : Quintessence Publishing Co, Inc., [2019] |
Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019010145 | ISBN 9780867158021 (hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Dental photography. | Photography--Economic aspects. |
Dentistry--Practice. | MESH: Photography, Dental--methods | Marketing | Social Media
Classification: LCC TR708 .O78 2019 | NLM TR 708 | DDC 779/.9617--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019010145

97%
© 2019 Quintessence Publishing Co, Inc

Quintessence Publishing Co, Inc

411 N Raddant Road
Batavia, IL 60510
www.quintpub.com

5 4 3 2 1

All rights reserved. This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or
otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher.

Editor: Bryn Grisham

Designer: Sue Zubek

Printed in China

Ortiz-FM.indd 4 3/29/19 2:19 PM

 I love you, Colleen.

Ortiz-FM.indd 5 3/29/19 2:19 PM

 Contents

2
1
Fundamentals
of Photography
61
1 Dental
Photography
Equipment

3
4
Intraoral
Photography

105
79
Portrait Photography

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 Artistic Dental

6 Dental

5
Photography Photography and
Communication
139 with the Dental
Laboratory

167

185

7 Marketing and

8
Social Media
Dental Laboratory
Photography 213

Ortiz-FM.indd 7 3/29/19 2:19 PM

 Foreword
With the publication of this book, Dr Miguel A. Ortiz outlining the essentials of photography as well as
has made a significant contribution to the growing the equipment that dentists need. He then devotes
discourse on artistic dental photography. This significant text to the most underestimated aspect
outstanding book is a fusion of museum-quality of dental photography—lighting. The interaction
photography, down-to-earth instruction taken from between light sources, diffusers, working distances,
his experience in private practice, and savvy tips and angulations—and their effect on exposure,
for social media marketing. Through his creative shadows, depth of field, texture, and chromaticity—
photographic lens Dr Ortiz tells a story of patient receives considerable emphasis, along with shade
prosthodontic care that goes beyond the traditional evaluation and intraoral and portrait photography.
mechanics of photographic documentation. The final chapter of Dr Ortiz’s book is an essential
He simplifies complex concepts so that private primer on how to get the best results from social
practitioners can understand how to effectively media to link your practice with your target patient
incorporate photographic documentation into population and how to use Instagram’s dynamic
modern dental care. The ideas that are presented platform to interact with other professionals.
Lee M. Jameson, DDS, MS here will enable you to artistically communicate your
Interim Head transformational patient stories. This magnificent book takes you on a journey
Department of Restorative Dentistry
of visual beauty that will enhance professional
College of Dentistry
University of Illinois Chicago Dr Ortiz’s personal writing style makes readers communication, documentation, and marketing for
feel as if he is talking directly to them. The content any practitioner who sets high standards and wants
Professor and Dean Emeritus
echoes his popular dental photography courses by to optimize their dental practice.
Northwestern University Dental School
Evanston, Illinois

Past President of the American

Prosthodontic Society and the
American College of Prosthodontics

viii

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 Preface
LIT is a book in search of the perfect smile. You might think that as a the fundamentals, the lighting, and a few little tricks. It was always right there.
dental photographer I’m obsessed with every smile. But you’d be wrong. The You’ve had the tools all along. You just didn’t know how to use them properly.
smile that led to this work is the one I’ll never get to photograph—your smile.
Let me tell you, when it comes to dental photography, I’m an atheist. There
It took me over a year to create and deliver the best 1-day hands-on dental are no gods. It’s just practice and understanding. This is usually when the
photography course in the world. But it took a decade of trial and error to acquire questioning starts.
the knowledge and experience to make it even possible (lots of money too, as
my photography budget can attest). My mission was to save my colleagues all “But Miguel, that’s it? I place the light here and position myself there
that time and money and then gift wrap it into a sleek 1-day package. and I’m done?”

Let me set the stage for you: any city in the world, 35 dental professionals, “I don’t need a fancy camera? Or 10 lenses, or a bulky lighting setup?”
models, a makeup artist, lights, an interactive presentation, and me. We are all
there, learning the fundamentals of photography, camera settings, accessories, “What do you mean I don’t need the ring flash anymore?”
intraoral protocols, lighting principles, laboratory photography, etc. Then the
time comes when everyone splits into small groups with a model who is ready “Are you telling me I can take this picture in my tiny office?”
to smile for them. The students (you) try to remember and apply everything I
just taught. They try to get that great shot, the one you’ve seen so many times Yes! Yes! Yes! That is exactly what I am saying. It’s simple. It really is.
on social media from people you believed to be especially talented—the Gods
of Dental Photography. That. Perfect. Shot. LIT was born because I got addicted to my colleagues’ smiles. I have simplified
and demystified the art of dental photography. I start with the fundamentals.
And there it is: The Smile. Not the one in the photos, not the one on the I do not attempt to teach you only how to take pictures of pretty lips and glossy
models, but the smile on my students’ faces. My colleagues. Your smile. teeth. I teach you how to be a photographer, to take ALL pictures. Any picture.
You get it—the shot—and look around to tell others. “Look! I got it!” Then it
spreads, moving through the room like a wave. Everyone gets it. Along with the Imagine you are learning to drive a car for the first time and your instructor
smile comes the realization that this isn’t so hard after all, if you only know only teaches you how to drive around your own block. Well I wouldn’t want to

ix

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 be there when you get to the highway for the first time. Or experience that first tricks and techniques to take those amazing artistic shots yourself, because
rain. I will teach you to drive under any conditions. Where, when, and how far guess what? It’s not that hard to do. It really isn’t.
you go is up to you.
As a dental technician myself, I have also dedicated a full chapter to my fellow
First, the fundamentals of photography are displayed here using simple technicians who want to showcase their work too. This book is for you as well.
visual scenarios and analogies. Then, we will move into portrait photography. I give you all you need in order to photograph your craft, your art, and your
Why portrait? Because it is the best way to practice the fundamentals you’ve passion in the laboratory.
just learned. Portrait is about understanding your camera, the light, and the
space around you. It’s the perfect start when you learn to shoot in manual Lastly, I close with something that has never been discussed at this level:
mode. Believe me, you don’t want to practice that while someone is holding how to use and understand the online marketplace and social media for
retractors in their mouth. Once you’ve mastered portrait photography—and your private practice. No, I am not talking about that silly weekly post that
trust me it’s pretty straightforward—then we’ll talk about the equipment you some company places for you on your clinic’s Facebook page—the one
need: cameras, lenses, lighting, accessories, etc. that reminds your patients of the importance of flossing daily. Neither am
I talking about how to get your page to rank higher on Google. Everyone is
At this point you’re now equipped with the knowledge to walk into dental playing that game, and there’s very little winning involved. I’m talking about a
photography heaven. “What’s that?” you might ask. A full intraoral protocol deeper understanding of how online marketing and social media really works:
that can be done in a small office, in 10 minutes, without you or your patient Google, Facebook, Instagram, AB testing, landing pages, building audiences,
having to move. No moving the chair, no moving the light, no moving yourself. retargeting, the Pixel, etc—strategies that most of you have never even heard
Yes, you read that right. LIT brings you “The Simple Protocol.” of are filling up the schedule in clinics near you.

Historically, dental photography books have stopped right here. But I didn’t. I give you LIT. The first simplified but complete dental photography book.
It’s the 21st century after all, and who doesn’t want to perfect the artsy dental It will change the way you take photos, and you will use these skills forever.
photography that you now see all over social media—Facebook, Instagram, I know you’ll love it, and that makes me smile too.
and whatever fancy new app comes along next. In this book, you’ll learn all the

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Ortiz-CH01.indd 1
1
Fundamentals of
Photography

3/29/19 1:08 PM
 EXPOSURE

The Big 5 APERTURE

The Big 5 refers to the five main concepts that are most important
in dental photography. These 5 concepts will empower you to have SHUTTER SPEED
complete control over your photographic results. Learn the Big 5 and
you will be the boss of Manual Mode. Drop Auto Mode forever. You paint
your own picture, not the camera. DEPTH OF FIELD

WHITE BALANCE
n ONE

Ortiz-CH01.indd 2 3/29/19 1:08 PM

 1/5: Exposure
3

Ortiz-CH01.indd 3 3/29/19 1:08 PM

 EXPOSURE
The total amount of light that will reach the digital sensor inside your camera.
n ONE

Ortiz-CH01.indd 4 3/29/19 1:08 PM

Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Captain Billy's
Whiz Bang, Vol. 3, No. 31, March, 1922
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, Vol. 3, No. 31, March, 1922

Author: Various

Editor: W. H. Fawcett

Release date: July 4, 2020 [eBook #62558]

Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file
was
produced from images generously made available by
The
Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN BILLY'S

WHIZ BANG, VOL. 3, NO. 31, MARCH, 1922 ***
Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, Vol.
III. No. 31, March, 1922
 They’re Going Fast!
Whiz Bang’s greatest book—The Winter Annual Pedigreed
Follies of 1921-22—hot off the press. Orders are now being
mailed. There will be no delay as long as the supply lasts. If your
news stand’s quota is sold out—

PIN A DOLLAR BILL

Or your check, money order or stamps
To the coupon on the back page.
And receive our 256-page bound volume of jokes, jests, jingles,
stories, pot pourri, mail bag and Smokehouse poetry. The best
collection ever put in print.

REMEMBER, FOLK
Last year our Annual (which was only one fourth as large as
the 1921-22 book) was sold out on the Pacific Coast within three
or four days, and not a copy could be bought anywhere in the
United States within ten days.
So hurry up! First Come will be First Served!
Pin your dollar bill to the coupon and mail to the Whiz Bang
Farm, Robbinsdale, Minn.
Don’t write for early back copies of our regular issue.
We haven’t any left.
 Captain Billy’s
Whiz Bang

America’s Magazine of
Wit, Humor and
Filosophy

MARCH, 1922 Vol. III. No. 31

Published Monthly
W. H. Fawcett,
at Robbinsdale, Minnesota
 Entered as second-class matter May 1, 1920, at the
postoffice at Robbinsdale, Minnesota, under the Act of
March 3. 1879.

Price 25 cents $2.50 per year

ONE DOLLAR FOR THE WINTER ANNUAL

Contents of this magazine are copyrighted.

Republication of any part permitted when properly
credited to Capt. Billy’s Whiz Bang.

“We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is loyalty to the
American people.”—Theodore Roosevelt.
Copyright 1922
By W. H. Fawcett

Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang employs no solicitors. Subscriptions may

be received only at authorized news stands or by direct mail to
Robbinsdale. We join in no clubbing offers, nor do we give
premiums. Two-fifty a year in advance.

Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated to the

fighting forces of the United States
 Drippings From the Fawcett

hree weeks of Havana’s cliquot, bacardi, cervesa, horse races,

T
jai alai, casino, and the rattly-bang-bang, of garbage cans,
piercing shrieks of peddlers, not to mention rip-snorting
roaring and exhausted automobiles, have had their
exhilarating effects on the usual hum drum existence that has
been my part of living on a quiet Minnesota farm. The contrast is
pleasant although somewhat tiresome. There’s been too much
excitement for the little old editor of this family journal of travel.
Sometime in the dim and distant past I was told that the most
difficult feature in writing was to transcribe the first paragraph. My
hardest job here is to stay away from the Scotch and soda long
enough to even think what the first paragraph will look like.
However, with the able assistance of my good old pals, the Haig
brothers, I am at last seated by a rickety old dining room table in an
apartment overlooking the Malecon, Morro Castle and the Gulf of
Mexico.
Confucius once said: “It is not the wine that makes a man drunk—
it is the man himself.” This filosophy applies to Cuba today. I have
seen more “saloons” in Havana and fewer intoxicated persons than
in any city in the United States, both before and since the adoption
of the prohibition amendment.
The easy manner in which we Americans can get borie-eyed drunk
on a few shots of moonshine reminds of the Wag Jag ditty about
 DeGulick McBlue, psychological stew,
Could always get tight on one small shot or two—
Far from proving his worldliness, toughness and such.
It all went to show that he couldn’t stand much.

In Havana it is forbidden by law to kiss your wife on the gang-

plank, in a taxi or other public place. The usual fine for violation is
$25.
Spooning custom here is quite different, too. In Cuba every
residential window is protected by iron bars similar to our jails. It is
through these barriers that lovers must cuddle and coo—at least
until he becomes so nervous and tired from continual standing that
he pops the question. I know it would be rather tough on some of
our Minnesota farmhands if the farmers should adopt a custom
similar to Cuba.

* * *

he first thing I learned in Havana was that the Cubans do not

T
like the Whiz Bang’s traveling correspondent, Rev. “Golightly”
Morrill. Mr. Morrill’s name is anathema to the average native,
due undoubtedly to the fact that our reverend friend rarely
deals out his views of life with kid gloves. He sees the world
from the standpoint of the betterment of humanity and in seeking to
attain his end, strikes out in two-fisted manner.
In republishing a recent Morrill article from this magazine, a
Havana publication takes this rap at our correspondent:

The Rev. “Golightly” Morrill is still tramping around the world

seeking muck in which to wallow. After his experience in the West
Indies and Central America it was not to be supposed that he
would find anything very bad to write about, but it seems that he
has discovered familiar iniquities on the beaches of California.

* * *
 e chanced into a gringo barroom towards the close of one

W
evening, lured by broken melodies of the brass rail gang.
Through the bedlam we could catch swinging tunes of:

I’ll never get drunk any more, I’ll never get drunk any more,
I’ll never enter a barroom door, I’ll never get drunk any more.
I wish I had taken my mother’s advice, and married a nice little wife,
And settled down in the old home town, to lead an honest life.
My father gave me a fortune, I placed it all in my trunk,
But I lost it all a-gambling, one night while I was drunk.
I’ll never get drunk any more.

And this one:

Wifie says you’re crazy, you’re drunk, you’re blind and can’t see,
That’s nothing but a cabbage head the grocer gave to me.
Now ten thousand miles I’ve traveled, with ten thousand more to go,
But whiskers on a cabbage head I never saw before.

* * *

ver since the death of our good neighbor, Cyrus Hopkins, his

E
lonely widow has made a conscientious study of spiritualism.
The other morning Mrs. Hopkins visited a Minneapolis
medium in the hopes she might communicate with her late
husband. The connection soon was made and the following
conversation took place:
“Is this you, Cyrus?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Happier than when you were with me?”
 “Yes, dear.”
“Ain’t heaven just grand?”
“I don’t know, dear. I’m in hell.”

* * *

ow, Kind and Forbearing Readers of this great encyclopedia

H
of Psychic Research, better known as The Whiz Bang, pause
a moment while Ye Ed relates how Sir Harry Lauder
indirectly caused me much embarrassment.
While lunching at the Friars’ Club on my last visit to New
York City, I was cordially invited to a big reception at the Hotel
Commodore in honor of Sir Harry Lauder, famous Scottish comedian.
The momentous night arrived and I donned by “Sunday-go-to-
meeting” clothes for the great event. Please try to imagine my
chagrin and sheepishness when friends who had called to escort me,
very courteously and, I might add, diplomatically informed me that
“it was to be a full dress affair.” How in heck could a horny-handed
tiller of the soil be expected to possess a dress suit? After thanking
my kind auditors in as gracious a manner as possible, I suggested
that probably Sir Harry might consider overalls more appropriate for
me. Anyway I did not attend the reception. Next day my Friar friends
told me about it and I was happily regaled with Scottish humor. The
chairman, they said, graciously introduced Lauder as his “closest
friend.” Will these jokes on Sir Harry’s thrift never cease?

* * *

uring recent pilgrimages that carried me east, west, north

D
and south, I ran across many amusing, although sometimes
embarrassing situations. Chief among them was the
constantly manifested surprise of newly-found friends that
there was actually such a personage, in flesh and blood, as
Captain Bilious Billy.
 Here is a fair list of the questions usually dished out by new
acquaintances:
“Why, I supposed the Whiz Bang was only ‘kidding’ and that
‘Captain Billy’ was merely a book name.”
“And do you really drink that horrid moonshine?”
“Did you have a hired man named Gus?”
“Is Pedro your honest-to-goodness pedigreed bull?”
“Is there actually a town named Robbinsdale?”
“Did a honeymooning couple really leave their automobile seat
with you when they went to the village constable to report the theft
of their car?”
It was necessary to plead guilty to nearly all the allegations
heaped on me. Of course, poor Pedro is no more, he having “kicked
the bucket” last July, and Gus, too, has sorta back-slid. Gus always
was an in-and-outer anyway.

* * *

Gus, my old time hired man, has busted into poetry again. The old
boy must be getting a whiff of the pine forests about Breezy Point
Lodge. Well, here you go, Gus,—we’ll publish this one:
 I am only a poor old wanderer;
I have no place to call my home;
No one to pity me, no one to cheer me,
As friendless and sadly I roam.

It is tramp, tramp along though I’m weary;

To rest through the long, long day;
Through the rain and the snow I must tramp to and fro,
For it’s the poor tramp’s way.

How I long for a place by the fireside,

When the night it is cold, chill and damp;
Vacant places I see, but there’s no room for me,
For I’m only a poor old tramp.

* * *

The Ornery Pups

A traveler in the Tennessee mountains sought refuge one evening
at a wayside cabin.
He had traveled all one chill, April day and was cold, hungry and
footsore. With true mountain hospitality the old mountaineer invited
him to supper, and insisted that he spend the night.
The host made him comfortable before a huge open fireplace, and
set a jug of mountain dew beside his chair. Also introduced him to
his eighteen-year-old daughter, who was the only other occupant of
the cabin, unless we may include four lank hounds stretched before
the fireplace.
The old man hastened out to look after his chores and the girl
busied herself in the kitchen.
The cabin was typical of the region, having two rooms, one
containing a bed and two chairs, and the other serving as kitchen
and dining room.
 The traveler, left to himself, took three or four heavy shots of the
moonshine and soon forgot his weariness and the chill of the April
day. He divested himself of his shoes, settled himself with a sigh of
content, and steamed his sopping feet in the glow of the fire.
Shortly one of the hounds raised his head, languidly, and sniffed
suspiciously.
He scrambled to his feet, howled mournfully and dived beneath
the bed, the others following him as if they had gone crazy. A
piteous whining and snarling issued from under the bed for several
minutes, and the traveler became alarmed. The dogs must be mad.
He arose and opened the door, and the dogs shot from under the
bed, and through the open door. Each departed, howling as if St.
Nick was after him.
It was puzzling to say the least.
The comely daughter entered the room shortly, and the traveler
addressed her as follows:
“What is the matter with those dogs?” he inquired.
“I dunno,” she replied, “Lessem one uv ’em brung somepin dead
indoors. Dad allus kicks hell out’en the whole passell uv them when
they do thet.”

* * *

The Young Gringo

Havana’s tropical sunshine, coupled with a few jolts of “Ron Bacardi Superior,”
hath driven ye old cap’n to lyrical lines of lisping lingo. So I sit me down on my
cane bottom chair with pencil stub in hand to transcribe that famous Cholo rhyme,
“The Young Gringo.” The poem has to do with the proper actions of Americans in
Cuba, and other tropical countries.
The first you must learn is to listen, not speak,
For the one thing we hate is a youngster with cheek,
Shut up from the first; be attentive and meek
When you’re next to a hardened old gringo.

And now, from the start, don’t mistakenly think,

That to be a good sport you must gamble and drink,
And play the darn fool: to rise up—not sink—
Is the motto of every right gringo.

But, if you do gamble and never can win,

Don’t damn at the dice-box, and kick up a din,
But keep your tongue silent, and switch on a grin,
And pay up your debts like a gringo.

Don’t think that love’s river continually flows;

But just take a tip from a fellow who knows,
And pay for the water for washing your clothes—
It’s cheaper all round for the gringo.

Yet, when you have read this, you don’t think I’m right,
And, in spite of the caution, your love-thoughts take flight,
Then take my advice, son; wed something that’s white!
It’s best in the end for a gringo.

If you happen to take a fair damsel to dine,

Don’t squander your money to put up a shine,
But order her beer (though she may ask for wine),
Or you’ll sure be a fool of a gringo.

Now, if you must drink, my advice to begin

Is to stick to a whisky and soda ... or gin;
And never forget that the bottle must win,
For it’s never been beat by a gringo.

So don’t go on thinking your inside’s a sieve;

And now there’s a piece of advice I would give:
If you ain’t good, be careful!... and then you may live
To get your grey hairs as a gringo.

Be slow to offend, and reluctant to blame;

Be quick to forgive; and treat all men the same—
You must hold a Straight Flush in life’s little game
To be worthy the name of a gringo
 To be worthy the name of a gringo.

* * *

’Sa Nice Day, Haintit?

A stuttering man walked up to a boy who had a parrot in a cage
and said, “Ca—ca—can tha—tha—that parrot talk?”
“Well,” replied the boy, “if he couldn’t talk better than you I’d kill
him.”

* * *

This Sounds Like Bull

A visitor who was stopping at a hotel was much disturbed by the
snoring of one of his friends sleeping in an adjoining room. Suddenly
the snore ceased and death-like stillness oppressed the listener.
Thinking that something had happened to his friend, he went into
his room, and found him sitting up in bed. The friend said, “I was
sleeping with my mouth open, and I think I have swallowed a
mouse.”
The hotel doctor was sent for, who adopted the novel expedient of
calling in the services of the hotel cat, and placed a piece of toasted
cheese some little distance from the patient’s mouth, thinking that
the mouse, smelling the cheese, would come out to eat it and would
fall a prey to the cat. While the remedy was working, the doctor
went downstairs to get a drink, and the patient fell asleep and
resumed his snoring.
When the doctor returned the cat was missing.

* * *

Pat’s Hole
 Pat was hard at work digging a post-hole, when the boss strolled
by. “Well, Pat,” said he, noting the progress of the work, “do you
think you will be able to get all that dirt back into the hole again?”
Pat looked doubtfully at the pile of dirt, and after some thought,
said: “No, sor. Sure, I don’t think I’ve dug the hole deep enough.”
 Mirrors of Life and Love

BY PRINCESS BIBESCO
Daughter of Margot Asquith
LOVE—“Isn’t that what love means, to fill ordinary, commonplace
conventional things with magic and significance, not to need the
moon and white scent-heavy flowers at night? * * * You talk
about love. What a strange, restricted growth it is with you. You
don’t know what the real thing means, you who think passion is
bad taste because you are not tempted, you to whom the
physical side is a degrading extra.” * * * When he was with her
now he stammered. He didn’t know that a stammer is the divine
eloquence of love.
PASSION—Passion is no respecter of persons. She hardly seems to
select her victims. How many a would-be Juliet waits in vain for
those consuming fires her heart is longing for, while they blaze
in the reluctant hearts of Mr. Adrian Roses, who only ask to be
left in peace, far from the ridiculous and, thank God, equally far
from the sublime. Are men in love like this:
“She was the first person he had ever loved. He had trembled
when he touched her. His spasms of passion had been like
spasms of pain, his face contorted and his voice rough, and
then there had followed intervals of wretched shyness. When he
had thought of possessing her he had become a saint waiting
for a divine manifestation.”
MARRIAGE—“We just are hopelessly unsuited to each other. Do you
seriously think that you want a wife like me?” * * * “Marriage
will modify you.” * * * “Marriage might modify me if I married
the right man. Marriage to you would bring out everything you
 hate.” * * * “Helena, do you realize that I love you?” “You don’t
know what love means.” * * * “Of course I don’t. If I did I
might want to marry you.”
PROTEST AGAINST REALISM—“What is it one yearns for? It is to be
able to do a thing for the first time again. And that is
impossible. When I love, what do I want? I want never to have
kissed, never to have given myself before. It is in vain, I say
—‘Never before was I awake—I was a dummy in the hands of
fate—now I am alive.’ I was shut up perhaps, but my outer
petals were touched. Oh, my God, make me again the child I
was—but He cannot answer.”
DISILLUSIONMENT—What are we to tell our children? How are they
to know that the first accidental encounter with life may take
from them a treasure they will only learn about in forty storm-
tossed years? Those first gifts—those shy blossomings lovely in
their unconsciousness—are surely but the squandering of
something half alive, the foolish murder of a bud. Oh, youth is a
wicked, cruel thing, eating miracles with its breakfast and not
knowing they are not porridge.
WHAT A WOMAN WANTS—“I don’t want anything except to be
wanted. I long for you to make ceaseless, impossible demands
on me.”
THE GOAL OF HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT—“All my life I have been
teased for asking not, ‘Is she beautiful?’ ‘Is she clever?’ but
always ‘Is she happy?’ I think it is in many ways the most
interesting thing about a person. * * * Happiness is a light, an
atmosphere, an illumination. It sets a personality. I always feel
it is a creation that is difficult for some and easy for others, but
essentially an achievement, never an accident.”

* * *

Our Exchange
 Henpecked and haggard husband asked the butcher: “What kind
of meat have you this morning?”
“Some steak as tender as a woman’s heart,” said the butcher.
“I’ll take sausage,” said the customer.

* * *

Unrequited Love
By Walter Scott Haskell.
In the place first, I want it understood that I am a California cousin to a
doughboy’s cootie.
When first I clapped my binnacle lights on the robust form of Susanna, I knew
that she was my meat, vulgarly speaking. I loved her very avoirdupois, and that
was going some, as she was no light article. I took her gauge one evening as we
sat in the parlor and I snuggled up to her in a most friendly fashion. My advances
were met with cold resentment. She did not say a word, but she jammed my head
against her corset in a manner that bespoke her an amazon of no mean physical
power. I thought my spinal column was broken; but when she let go, I breathed a
sigh of relief and was contented to just look at her and nurse my sprained parts. I
decided to use diplomacy, and waited until she had taken herself to the arbor
hammock in the garden to indulge in an afternoon siesta. I watched around, and
when I saw her eyelids droop and close, her breast heave in regular breathing as
one asleep, I made my way to her side and bent over her fair face. How my mouth
watered for a bite of her, but I almost feared that she would wake and lam me in
the jaw. Temptation was too strong, however, and in an evil moment I turned my
attention to her roll-down stocking that showed a goodly proportion of her nether
parts. With a kind of subdued clicking of my jaws, I put my lips to her bare knee
and experienced the joy of a stolen kiss. It may have been a disgraceful act,
anyway the tickle of my touch awoke her, and she kicked unmercifully, like a cow
that will not be milked. I ducked and escaped death, with a mouthful of her blood,
the best that I had ever had, for she was my meat, and I am a California flea.

* * *

A summer night and a maid and a man has frequently caused an

early fall!
 * * *

Kablegram Love
She was a pretty and ambitious girl and had studied the
matrimonial problem to a nicety.
“Yes, I suppose I shall wed eventually,” she said, “but the only
kind of masculine nuisance that will suit me must be tall and dark,
with classical features. He must be brave, yet gentle. Withal he must
be strong—a lion among men, but a knight among ladies.”
That even a bow-legged, lath-framed youth, wearing checked
trousers and smoking a cigarette that smelt worse than a burning
boot, rattled on the back door and the girl knocked four tumblers
and a cut glass fruit dish off the sideboard in her haste to get to
him.

* * *

The New Nursery

Dickering, dickering, Doc,

With patients lined up a block,
With fits and conniptions
They wait for prescriptions:
“Liquor me, liquor me, Doc.”
—A. J. S.

* * *

Long, Long Ago

We like the story from Ralph Neville’s “Mayfair and Montmartre,” of
the little chorus lady who, when her rich admirer had bought her
some charming underclothing, said to him in the shop as they were
being packed: “Now have a good look at them, for you’ll never see
them again.”
This, of course, occurred in the long, long ago Victorian days.

* * *

Zup, Kid?
While in Jacksonville I chanced into a Greek restaurant and of the
waiter inquired what they had for dinner.

Small Stack Medyum

Rust Baff
Hom on Eggs
Chicken Frazee
Appolis Pie
Pach Pie
Strubberry Pie
Grap Frut
Zup, Kid?

* * *

A normal woman would joyously go through life with a pirate or

yeggman who would drug her with the opiate of flattery, in
preference to hooking onto a nincompoop tango lizard who refreshes
her with eternal, infernal, divinal criticism.

* * *

Consolation Kiddoo
 “If I die,” said the sick man gloomily, “what will become of you
and the children?”
“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” replied the little woman. “I’ll soon find
somebody to take care of us.”

* * *

No Offense Here, Paddy

An Irishman while on his way to call upon his best girl suddenly
caught sight of a beautiful parrot in a nearby tree.
He decided it would be just the present for her. Slowly he drew
near the bird and upon reaching one of the highest branches, was
just about to grab his prey when the parrot, who had been eyeing
him sharply, suddenly squawked, “Well, what do you want?”
Pat withdrew his hand and humbly made answer, “Excuse me. Er
—I thought you was a bird.”

* * *

Let’s sing it again:

“And when they asked her why the ’el she wore it,
Oh, she wore it for her lover who was far, far away.”
Now for the chorus:
“Far away, far away, oh, she wore it, etc.”

* * *

Hot Stuff
They arrived home late from the party. Wife took off her hat and
slammed it on the floor. Then she confronted her hubby.
 “I’ll never take you to another party as long as I live!” she said.
“Why?” he calmly wanted to know.
“You asked Mrs. Jones how her husband has been standing the
heat.”
“Well?”
“Well, her husband has been dead two months.”

* * *

Our Puzzle Department

Father and son were licking up moonshine.
“Father,” asked the son, “how am I to know when I’m drunk?”
The old man pointed across the street. “When those two men over
there look like four,” he responded.
“But father,” interrupted the son, “I see only one man there.”

* * *

Let This One Sink In

Lion Tamer—“Step into the cage with the lion, Rastus, and let the
photographer focus you.”
Rastus—“He’d better focus me before ah goes in there, boss, for
he ain’t gwine hab no time to focus me when ah comes out.”

* * *

Actors are the bunk. I heard one in Minneapolis knocking St. Paul
and I applauded him, and I saw the same actor in St. Paul knocking
Minneapolis and I gave him the razzberry.
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