JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 537
There is a constant and imaginary warfare going on among certain categories in this blog: mainly, its "bad ideas" vs. "outsider logic" vs. "impossible books". The result is that I just give up and fold them all into each other so I don't have to think about them at all. I also haven't made many entries in these areas because, well, there's just so many of them to deal with--but I can tell you that they would make a fantastic Mystery Books gallery show, especially if the viewers were made to supply their interpretation of what the written material was all about from their problematic, time-sucking covers and titles. And I can tell you that reading the content sometimes doesn't help to understand the title or the cover art, the logic of investigation passing through it all like a stony Bushism (where you know that something was said, with words, but that's about all).
Take for example Scorn Not That Which You Do Not Understand: the title begs you to do so as you read it, though it took me a few turns to actually understand what it was saying. The problem with the tiny pamphlet is that once you've read a few pages, you know a little less about the book before you knew it existed, which is a hard thing to do. (The writing goes downhill after the title.)
The Making of Things made me not want to know what was being made, and so I have not to this day opened it, though I judge from outside appearances that it was published around 1940 and is at least three pages long. The title is just so on-beyond simple that knowing what it actually refers to is bound to disappoint.
Station Hair, Hair and its Care, is a written radio broadcast from Station H-A-I-R (brought to you by George Elia of the Hair Culture Service of Milwaukee Wisconsin, and evidently with offices in the Lake Wobegon region near Overthere, Minnesota), taches us all how to have healthy, radiant and attractive hair good enough for radio. In the looks-made-for-radio genre, my own hair (or whatever it is) is definitely in the hair-made-for-radio department, so long as I get enough bootblack to color my scalp.
(This leads me to a semi-connected memory: does anyone remember a street person in Manhattan, midtown, who was a drummer, with gigantic painted-on jet black eyebrows and painted-on black hair? This wouild've been around 1970. He was heavy, short, and would walk around with drumsticks and play on whatever was available, announcing, if I recall correctly, the famous drummer that he was immitating. He had to have been a famous street performer....Ring a bell with anyone. Jeff?)