We're they called Burnt peanuts? or am I thinkin of something else
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The Good Old Times
- Thread starter Jimi
- Start date
We're they called Burnt peanuts? or am I thinkin of something else
No, I think you're right. It was Burnt something, anyway. I'll have to go look it up and see if it's what I'm thinking of. ..... THAT'S IT! And they apparently still make them, except now they're $14.99 for a 12 oz. package. Wow.
Heck, I wore one! I hated those, but living in a rainy city, I wore them a lot.
Except it takes two to play. And the ball, at least ours, was much smaller, like a volleyball. These AI generated memes crack me up. I used to love playing tetherball. My friend and I would go out there (we ran, so we could get first dibs) at lunch recess, and just bat that ball back and forth the whole time. I guess it was no wonder I was so skinny, LOL! No lunch, just outside playing!
I was looking around for cheaper burnt peanuts (LOL!) and I came across Nuts.com and they have an "Old Time Candy" page. Some of it isn't that old, but there were a lot of candies I haven't thought of in years! Root beer barrels, and horehound drops, and Neccos! It's a fun wander:
https://shop.nuts.com/collections/old-time-candy
https://shop.nuts.com/collections/old-time-candy
We called it the Flip.
Saw them at a country fair in Hutchinson KS, they were older when we saw them. Mum took us, me, and my two brothers, i was pretty young so really don't remember much. I do remember my oldest brother sneaking, somehow, a beer or two. I still wonder how he did this
maybe, I guess, he looked older than what I thought...IDK 
Yup, miss them too. Grandad use to say "Look a cow" pointing at a horse, he always made us laugh doing this.
I sure miss those days
gopher_byrd
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They need to keep them there so kids can learn to read them.
I see you been there too Goph
gopher_byrd
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Actually I'm a convert who went to public school. However, I have a lot of friends with a lot of stories from back in the day.
I still have some of these, and a few of my Grandma's.
very true, and very sad
OMG! I DO remember those!
I ate them straight off the bush all while I was growing up. I ate them straight off the bush even after I was grown up. I'd go pick a bunch and put them over vanilla ice cream, OH, YUM. I'd still be eating them straight off the bush now if blackberries lived in South Dakota. You had to blow hard on them before you popped them in your mouth, though, in case there was a little spider on it, and there often was. Ick!
Little funny story. I had a horse that loved blackberries, too, and there was a huge bank of them along one side of her pasture. She'd get in there and pick all the ripe ones off with her teeth, and every night after work, I'd have to go pick thorns out of her soft, velvet nose. Silly horse.
Fred Gwynne died on July 2, 1993, in Taneytown, Maryland, at 66, after pancreatic cancer took away the man who had once made millions laugh from inside one of television’s most uncomfortable bodies.
Before he ever became Herman Munster, Fred was already six foot five. He did not need much help to look tall. But for "The Munsters" (1964), Universal made him bigger, wider, heavier, stranger, and almost unreal. They put him in 5 inch asphalt spreader boots, built up his body with thick foam padding, gave him huge shoulders, fitted him with a rubber headpiece, and turned his long frame into something that looked like a walking cartoon monster.
On screen, Herman looked soft, silly, and harmless. Behind the camera, Fred was carrying a body that was no longer fully his.
The costume added weight. The boots changed how he moved. The padding trapped heat. The rubber around his head made every minute under the lights feel longer. His face was painted bright violet because black and white cameras translated that strange color into a sickly gray. To viewers at home, it looked perfect. To Fred, it was another layer between his skin and the air.
“The audience saw a lovable monster, but Fred Gwynne had to stand inside heat, glue, padding, paint, and pressure before Herman could smile.”
That was the quiet truth of the role. Herman Munster was funny because Fred made him gentle, not because the costume made him funny. A lesser actor could have turned him into a stiff Halloween gag. Fred gave him a soul. He lowered his voice into that booming, childlike sound. He made every confused look feel innocent. He made Herman seem like a huge man who could break a door by accident, then feel terrible about it.
But getting that sweetness on film had a cost.
Studio lights were brutal. The makeup and rubber held in warmth. The foam padding made his body cook from the inside. Crew members had to cool him between takes. Fans were kept nearby. Breaks mattered because the suit did not forgive him. Sweat could loosen the headpiece, and if that happened, the whole process could slow down. Reattaching and fixing it could take close to an hour.
That meant Fred was not just acting. He was enduring.
“Every laugh Herman Munster got came after Fred Gwynne had already paid for it with sweat, patience, stillness, and physical discomfort.”
Guest performers and people around the set remembered that he could often manage only a few takes before needing rest. Two or three takes might be all his body wanted to give. That was not weakness. That was the reality of standing under hot lights while wrapped in layers of artificial body and monster skin.
Still, when the camera rolled, the pain disappeared from the frame.
Herman did not look exhausted. He looked delighted. He looked like a giant child trying to understand the world. He loved his wife. He adored his family. He wanted to belong. He could be clumsy, loud, confused, and ridiculous, but never cruel. Fred found the humanity inside a character who could have easily been only makeup and height.
That is why Herman worked.
The boots made him taller, but Fred made him tender. The foam made him wider, but Fred made him warm. The violet makeup made him look strange, but Fred made him familiar. Beneath all that monster design, he played a father who wanted to do right, a husband who wanted to be loved, and a big innocent man who never understood why the world found him unusual.
“The monster suit created Herman’s shape, but Fred Gwynne created the heart that made people remember him for decades.”
Near the end of his life, Fred had other work behind him, including "Car 54, Where Are You?" (1961) and later "My Cousin Vinny" (1992). Yet Herman Munster remained the image many people carried. Not because it was easy. Because he made something difficult look effortless.
Fred Gwynne turned discomfort into kindness .
Before he ever became Herman Munster, Fred was already six foot five. He did not need much help to look tall. But for "The Munsters" (1964), Universal made him bigger, wider, heavier, stranger, and almost unreal. They put him in 5 inch asphalt spreader boots, built up his body with thick foam padding, gave him huge shoulders, fitted him with a rubber headpiece, and turned his long frame into something that looked like a walking cartoon monster.
On screen, Herman looked soft, silly, and harmless. Behind the camera, Fred was carrying a body that was no longer fully his.
The costume added weight. The boots changed how he moved. The padding trapped heat. The rubber around his head made every minute under the lights feel longer. His face was painted bright violet because black and white cameras translated that strange color into a sickly gray. To viewers at home, it looked perfect. To Fred, it was another layer between his skin and the air.
“The audience saw a lovable monster, but Fred Gwynne had to stand inside heat, glue, padding, paint, and pressure before Herman could smile.”
That was the quiet truth of the role. Herman Munster was funny because Fred made him gentle, not because the costume made him funny. A lesser actor could have turned him into a stiff Halloween gag. Fred gave him a soul. He lowered his voice into that booming, childlike sound. He made every confused look feel innocent. He made Herman seem like a huge man who could break a door by accident, then feel terrible about it.
But getting that sweetness on film had a cost.
Studio lights were brutal. The makeup and rubber held in warmth. The foam padding made his body cook from the inside. Crew members had to cool him between takes. Fans were kept nearby. Breaks mattered because the suit did not forgive him. Sweat could loosen the headpiece, and if that happened, the whole process could slow down. Reattaching and fixing it could take close to an hour.
That meant Fred was not just acting. He was enduring.
“Every laugh Herman Munster got came after Fred Gwynne had already paid for it with sweat, patience, stillness, and physical discomfort.”
Guest performers and people around the set remembered that he could often manage only a few takes before needing rest. Two or three takes might be all his body wanted to give. That was not weakness. That was the reality of standing under hot lights while wrapped in layers of artificial body and monster skin.
Still, when the camera rolled, the pain disappeared from the frame.
Herman did not look exhausted. He looked delighted. He looked like a giant child trying to understand the world. He loved his wife. He adored his family. He wanted to belong. He could be clumsy, loud, confused, and ridiculous, but never cruel. Fred found the humanity inside a character who could have easily been only makeup and height.
That is why Herman worked.
The boots made him taller, but Fred made him tender. The foam made him wider, but Fred made him warm. The violet makeup made him look strange, but Fred made him familiar. Beneath all that monster design, he played a father who wanted to do right, a husband who wanted to be loved, and a big innocent man who never understood why the world found him unusual.
“The monster suit created Herman’s shape, but Fred Gwynne created the heart that made people remember him for decades.”
Near the end of his life, Fred had other work behind him, including "Car 54, Where Are You?" (1961) and later "My Cousin Vinny" (1992). Yet Herman Munster remained the image many people carried. Not because it was easy. Because he made something difficult look effortless.
Fred Gwynne turned discomfort into kindness .
Little Ricky Doll
The Little Ricky doll was made to resemble Little Ricky Ricardo, the son of Lucy and Ricky Ricardo from the hugely popular television show I Love Lucy. After Little Ricky debuted on the show in 1953, doll
manufacturers quickly produced baby dolls based on the character because the show was one of the biggest hits on television.
Here are some interesting facts:
●Production years: Most original Little Ricky dolls were made in the mid-1950s, roughly 1953–1956, although some later versions were also produced.
Rich still has one of those ones on the left, down in the basement. Of course, he never uses it anymore, but there it sits.
Celebrating His 86th Birthday Today Is The Cartoon Character "Bugs Bunny"
(July 27, 1940)
Bugs Made His Debut Today In The Cartoon Short Entitled "A Wild Hare".
Happy Birthday Bugs!
I just watched that cartoon the other day (on Bugs' birthday) and they said it was from 1945. The MCMXLV at the bottom of the screen at the beginning comes out to 1945, too. I'm a nerd. I always check those dates on everything I watch. I wonder why the discrepancy?
LOL! "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature!"