Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Chick Flick - Guy Movie Rating Guide

In the case of couples who often attend the cinema, it becomes apparent that they should develop some concept of reciprocity unless one is content to have a gender-atypical or androgynous boy friend or girl friend.  Ask yourself, ladies: are you really that into Clay Aiken? Since we have rough sex-typing in movies, this should be worked out in some kind of sharing relationship. Also, one's willingness to mutally accomodate the other person increases the mutual stock of good will.

I occasionally like a chick flick such as American Beauty. Yes. I know that reduces my Gal Pal Quota. I'll even watch some guy movies; even with pleasure. But the charms of Die Hard and that television perennial, The Dirty Dozen, escape me.

Anyway, I propose a scale, with a few examples:

Chick Flicks (CF)  -- high score end

10 -- The Bridges of Madison County, The Devil Wears Prada, Chicago

9 -- American Beauty, The Blue Lagoon, La Vie en Rose, The Other Boelyn Girl

8 -- Sex in the City (some nudity keeps the score down), Dirty Dancing, The Holiday, Julie and Julia

7 -- Sixteen Candles, Bring It On, Bend It Like Beckham, In Her Shoes, Dreamgirls, Midnight in Paris

6 -- She's the Man, The Kingdom of Heaven, Erin Brockovitch, Dance With Me, Failure to Launch, Pride and Prejudice (my favorite!), Bridesmaids

5 -- The Unforgiven, Juno, Wedding Crashers, The Sweetest Thing

4 -- Knocked Up, The Bucket List, Borat

3 -- Dirty Harry, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Borat

2 -- The Boondock Saints (Yes! I watched that turkey!), There Will Be Blood, No Country for Old Men

1 -- Die Hard, The Dirty Dozen, Jackass: The Movie, Rambo

Guy Movies (GM) -- low score end

Or, look at it this way: a movie's GM score = 11 - CF

I propose, that long term, a thoughtful couple should try to keep GM = CF

Monday, August 29, 2011


It happened six years ago.  Almost to the date that Hurricane Irene was moving on the coast.

I got through Irene okay.  We were just outside of Irene's edge.  Best wishes to everyone with this one!

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Ratatouille Niçoise

Here is a nice recipe for Ratatouille made in the mode of Nice that is easy to prepare. It's flavorful and has sufficient garlic to please most palates.

First the ingredients:

2 aubergines (egg plants)
2 zucchinis
2 large onions, preferably red ones
3 Roma tomatoes
2 green peppers
6 basil leaves
6 cloves of garlic
olive oil
capers, as you please

First, heat the olive oil in a large skillet.  Chop the garlic and onion.  Add them and sauté until the onion is transparent.

In the while, slice the zucchini and peel and cube the aubergine.  Flour the pieces of zucchini and aubergine lightly.  Add the zucchini, eggplant and green peppers to the skillet, cover and cook slowly about one hour.  Add the Italian tomatoes and simmer, uncovered, until the mixture thickens.  Season with salt and pepper.  Add the capers during the last fifteen minutes of cooking.

You can serve it hot or cold with a baguette and whatever wine pleases you.  (Do have a glass of wine with it; and the cook gets a bonus glass of wine while preparing the ratatouille.  It's a Niçoise custom.)

You might get 5 to 6 servings out of this if you are not cooking for teenage boys or police.

Salut! Bon appetit!

Friday, August 26, 2011

Good and Bad Religious Types

There's an upside and a downside to having a member of the family who is religious.  In general, if the person is sincere and practices her religiosity privately, that's okay.  My Tante Linda is  like that.  Oh, she'll do Mass three or four days a week, and loves those novenas, and you can count on her to do the Nine Church Visitations on Good Friday.  Oh, and there's her buds that she hangs out with: St. Thérèse, St. Clara, St. Bernadette, and so forth.  Also, she has some small religious statues around her pad that looked kind of cool, if you're a kid and not an art critic.

But sometimes religiosity can be oppressive.  Consider my eldest sister Heather.  Since I'm #5 in a sibship of five, you can logically expect that there would be some trickle down effect in bosiness.  Specifically, my eldest sister would be inclined to be bossy to me and my brother Mike (#4).  However, she had a particularly domineering personality; later on, we nicknamed her The Mother Superior.  Specifically, here are some examples.  When we were preschoolers or of early primary grades, she would do things organize the two of us for mandatory prayers when the mood struck her. 

I remember a painful episode.  I was seven, absorbed in watching She-Ra on television, when she announced that it's time for the afternoon devotions to the Blessed Mother! 

I said, "No, I wanna watch She-Ra!"

"Mom!  Angel is misbehaving."  And my poor Mom would have to drop what she was doing and mediate between her two daughters.  I wondered sometimes whether she was sorry she wasn't as consistent on birth control though she was disinclined to listen to the Pope de jour, whoever he was back then.

Anyway, Mom finally got the picture, and straightened her out: Heather was not the family's moral compass.  But Heather never got the memo: there was a string of disputes: my watching Sweet Valley High, my swimsuit (immodest, said Heather; but Mom bought it because I wanted it), my shorts, my friends, my music (devilish!), and so forth.  She missed my running track.  I slipped that one past her.

In a way, my family developed a unique dynamic: instead of the typical pattern in which the daughter or son rebelled against the conservative parent, ours morphed into the younger two siblings rebelling against the oldest sister, with our mother swerving as a buffer. 

It did have a good side.  I learned that I could trust and confide in Mom. Even when it came to girl things.  Thank God, whoever she is.

Mike also liked She-Ra.  I think I now know why.

I'm also a big fan of the newspaper funnies, especially Zits, Luann, and Baldo.  Will Brad be extricated from the clutches of Ann Eiffel only with this assistance of his sister; and how will Baldo cope with his cute, bespectaled girlfriend?

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Conceptual Art

This form of modern art was defined by Sol LeWitt as follows:

"In conceptual art the idea or concept is the most important aspect of the work. When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair. The idea becomes a machine that makes the art."

Conceptual art raises some compelling philosophical questions about the scope of art, and has provided some provocative and entertaining examples to startle the public:

Yves Klein (1957) released 1001 blue balloons released from Galerie Iris Clert.

Piero Manzoni (1962) created The Base of the World, thereby exhibiting the entire planet as his artwork.

Christo (1962ff) has made a career out of wrapping buildings, islands, and landscapes.

Martin Creed (2001) had a room in which the lights repeatedly went off and on. (Or was it on and off?)

Jacek Tylecki (2008) employed a circular container labeled "Give if you can, take if you have to), in which passersby leave or remove objects as they see fit.

The local art scene had a few avant garde artists who tried their hands at Conceptual Art: Buford Thomas conceived of River Root Contamination, in which he deliberately poured a liter of Barq's Root Beer into the Mississippi, and wrote a narrative of his action. Thelma Fitzgerald made a pyramid of energy drink cans on the lawn of a local museum. Clayton Bulwer filled the lobby of a downtown office building with cow patties, and called his masterwork "Public Cow Shit."

Now Norah Arceneaux had toiled with limited success using the traditional media of expression: oils, watercolor, sculpture, and so forth. As it was time to pay off her student loan for art school, she decided to go a different pathway. It so happened that she experienced the normal problem of less-than-genteel poverty: frayed or worn garments. Specifically, her panties were tired, past the prime of wear and an embarassment that caused anxiety lest she need an appearance at a hospital emergency room.

However, she got an inspiration: combine art and clothing. This came from the well-documented phenomenon of Japan's used panty machines, which struck her as ishy to the max.

She worked it out as follows: The concept she developed was Worn Panties Revealed. She wrote that her art consisted in wearing a different pair of panties each day for the entire day, signing each at day's end, and offering it as a work of art. Her sister provided some initial artistic media (although unknown to her), and she had each one properly framed and exhibited in a local art gallery. Her friend and classmate from art school wrote a favorable narrative of art criticism which specifically stated:

"Ms. Norah Arceneaux has successfully employed a new medium in deconstructing the ordinary tensions inherent in modern life through her deliberate choice in wearing a different pair of panties each day to symbolize a momentary contradiction. Clearly, this is a young artist who has the cheek enough to bear new ground in a continuing dialogue with the viewer. It is strongly encouraged that you view some of Ms. Arceneaux's works at the Galerie Museé."

Soon Worn Panties Revealed generated a lot of buzz in the major art scenes: San Francisco, Seattle, Santa Fé, New York, Savannah, and Cleveland.

Each day she selected an individual theme panty: sometimes bikini briefs, sometimes standard panties, sometimes French cut models, a racy thong now and then (The artistic muse dictated that she bear the lack of comfort attendant to wearing one), and on rare occasions, a pair of granny panties as an ironic statement. Irony is always noticed in the art world, as is tongue-in-cheek humor.  Mood-expressive color and embellishments rounded the range of artistic statements; clearly there was an excellent fit between the artist and her medium! To emphasize the art behind her Panty de Jour, Norah composed a brief note as manifesto, as these examples illustrate:

December 28th's panty was ebony black to represent the discontentof the days being short and the disappointments of the year. 

March 14th's panty was a confection of ebony silk trimmed in white lace:  "This artifact was donned to symbolize the melding of romanticism and optimism for the future, despite the future's essential uncertainty."

March 17th's panty was opaque grannies of lime green colour (sic) to honor the Hibernian spirit.

March 20th's pink panty called for this statement: "I tried to express the tension between innocence and longing in a demure hint of uncertainty that is so characteristic of modern civilization."

April 15th was an occasion to hang an empty frame:  "This is to symbolize today being Income Tax day.  The lack of substantitive covering of the derriere is a representation and protest of the effects of taxation on artistic expression."

May 3rd had her wearing transparent grannies.  She provided a terse statement, "I felt particularly vulnerable at the moment."

July 7th:  A red thong.  "I finally got up enough nerve to wear this; or I will until I've had it with the strap."

While her earlier works went cheaply, as the series' popularity grew, the selling prices continued to climb.

Norah contemplated a single magnum opus as a summary statement: bra wall. However, she was dissuaded from doing so as this work would have been too derivative.


I'm keeping a wary eye on Irene; and will retreat if there's any possible danger.  I may have a shallow learning curve, but one experience like Katrina is enough!  If there's any word to evacuate, I'm so out of here it is not funny!

Monday, August 22, 2011

I Got a FARK Link Published!

As a Farkette (follower/ occasional contributor to FARK), I've been trying to get another link.  Finally I got one; here it is:

[Politics] Tennessee legislator who complained about satirical Obama mints now has his own mints: Joe Armstrong Strong Arm Censored Mints

(published 8/6/2011)

The original link is here:

The gist of the article is that a Tennessee state legislator complained about the mints and the University of Tennessee bookstore pulled them from the shelves.  The mint company, in turn, satirized the legislator. 

I'll dedicate this picture both to the legislator and to the mint company.:

Geaux Tigers!

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Where Godwin's Law and Rule 34 Converge

This is an enigmatic genre of magazine cover for men's magazines that seemed to be popular at one time, possibly the 1960's:  It features underdressed females fighting with, being mistreated by, or being threatened with ravishment by Nazis.  Or, alternatively, a buxom Ayran female wearing lingerie and a Nazi armband whipping an American soldier, often in a dungeon setting.  The Nazi symbols tended to be recurrent, to the exclusion of other classes of villains.

This leads to some questions:

1)  Is this proof that Godwin's Law predated the internet?  [Godwin's Law --  "As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1 (100%)."]

2)  Is this another example of Rule 34 in action?  [Rule 34 states that, if it exists, there must be porn of it.  These illustrations, while not seen today as pornish, were probably borderline at that time.]

However, P. J. O'Rourke suggested an exception:

"No one has ever had a fantasy about being tied to a bed and sexually ravished by someone dressed as a liberal."  [Give War a Chance]

Likewise, I cannot conceive of some warped fantasy of being tied up and whipped by someone dressed as a conservative.  Anyway, what distinctive garb signals liberal or conservative status?    Well, one idea.  Dave Barry wrote about horrible Republican pants; patterned pants that men wear on golf courses.

Also, there seems to a lack of porn involving Italian Fascist, Falangist, Vichy French, Imperial Austro-Hungarian, or even Peronist motifs.  [Do you need to snicker?]  Rule 34 still needs verification.

Why are the Nazis doing this?  Weird.

Sometimes buxom women strike back.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Mother of All Swaps

In a secret agreement between the French and U.S. governments, the two countries decided to swap Corsica and Arkansas. A joint communiqué stated that the meeting started conventionally enough, but took a different twist after the sixth case of Budweiser when the leaders decided to swap Arkansas for Corsica.

A spokesman for the French government declared that "for over two hundred years international diplomacy was supposed to be conducted by 'raison.' But raison goes only so far; and we mutually determined that the best way to solve problems was to become nihilistically intoxicated and swap off each others' problems. This strategy really reflects the realities of politics, anyway." The U.S. spokesperson said that "we all got pretty hammered, but I think it all came out okay. Think of this as the Mother of All Swap Sessions."

Preliminary response to this surprise move was overwhelmingly favorable: The present US government received a 89% approval rating on the action, and favorable comments even came from Republican leaders. An unidentified one said that even he would vote for reelection for the President! "Hey," he said, "we're picking up a neat little island named after a type of Chevrolet in the deal, while dumping Arkansas on them. I only wish they invited me to the party too." In the meantime cabinet members are searching maps to find out where Corsica is located. Preliminary reaction from Little Rock was positive when word circulated that it was permissible for women to go topless on French beaches. When appraised of that fact, a former governor quickly announced plans to return home to Little Rock.  Arkansas natives looked for their beaches on maps.  Only FoxNews sounded a dissenting voice by commenting on how conveniently Mike Huckabee's Presidential ambitions were permanently thwarted.

Nicolas Sarkozy's ratings rose to a phenomenally high 81%; and the cabinet pressed for ratification of the treaty before the Americans become wise as to what they are getting into. Mme. Duchamp of the French delegation said that the FLNC separatist movement is screwed totally, considering the USA's history in dealing with their potential breakaway groups: a possible reference to the American Civil War. She also promised that within the week they would toast this diplomatic success with fine Arkansas wines while watching costumed Arkansas peasants doing their regional folk dances.

Corsican reaction was, on the whole, favorable. One resident of Ajaccio talked of Corsica being represented in La Grande Danse in five years as a highly-seeded team; maybe even in the Final Four! Others talked of the delights of chili dogs and Bud Lite. But the advantage most often cited by the Corsicans was that they would not have to hear that awful accordion music any longer!

Presently, there is no move to Gallicize the place names of communities such as Little Rock or Hot Springs until the Arkansas natives speak impeccable French. This was not viewed as a problem, since the Corsicans never did, either. The matter of the hauteur gap in waiters is serious, though. Community colleges will provide crash courses in elementary rudeness to wait staff for them to upgrade their skills.

Neither government regards the great distances or French Arkansas's status of being surrounded by the USA to be of concern. "Think of the duty-free shops!", an unidentified delegate said.

Monday, August 15, 2011

On a Beach in Florida

Since I was near the Florida coast, and had a few hours' down time, I decided to get a little relaxation and sun.  t was a warm day, there was an inviting breeze, and it was still early enough for my avoiding the dangerous rays of the sun with the judicious use of sun block.  I changed into my swim suit, took a large towel, chose an unoccupied section of the beach (It was before the season and a weekday), spread my beach towel for my moment to chill out, metaphorically, if not in fact (it was in the low 80's), and untied the string in the back as I lay down in order to avoid the tell-tale line of whiteness.

Within a short amount of time, I heard a throat cough, and looked up to see a middle-aged minion of the law.  He was troubled, but I could not tell why.

I demurely clutched my upper garment to avoid inadvertent immodesty, and asked him how could I be of assistance.  I find that, if I try to act helpful, then most southern police officers go into their default "be charming with the ladies mode" and it disarms them from whatever might have been my offense.

He said, "Miss, I wish you wouldn't do that."

I responded, " I'm sorry, I didn't know the beach was posted."  Some are.

He said, "No, it's just that I wish you wouldn't . . . ."  He pointed while looking away.

"Wear sunblock?" He shook his head.

"The bikini?" He nodded. Now I was beginning to worry.  Did Florida suddenly get hypermodest, a detail missed by us heathen Louisianans?  If so, I was, in the words of a former President, in deep doo-doo.
"Noooo . . . . You see, someone from the nearby high-rise condo complained . . . . this is a family beach, and we don't want . . . .  I don't have a problem, Miss . . . . " 

Finally I understood. He was uncomfortable with the task of having to get after me for my having unfastened my string, even though I was lying prone and exposed very little of the side and back that wasn't already open to view!  (My niñas were properly still in the cups.)  This was despite the fact that no one else was around, and I would not have been judged indecent anyway, had one been around, much less someone from a distant high-rise!  I thanked him, and complied with his request.  (I resisted the impulse to give him a reassuring hug or ask him to re-tie me.)  After all, it was disagreeable for him to be called on to fuss at me, and we Louisianians should have good manners when we're in foreign parts!


Afterwards, I thought of the old philosophical question, "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?" Could the same rule apply here? "If someone is on a beach with her bikini top undone, and no one around to see her, is she still indecent?"

Friday, August 12, 2011

Rhinotillexomania and Other Delights

Some words are around that denote rude or unseemly behavior, in the eyes of many.  However, there must be a word for those actions.  In a perverse way, I find their existence nice: it allows for the action to be described while maintaining some psychological distance and dispassionateness.  And to be lady-like when one must confront the gross.  (I'm a student of psychology.)

Rhinotillexomania is one such word.  It refers to "nose-picking."   I purposely did not include an illustrative cartoon to go with this word.

Here's some other ones, coming from abnormal psychology:

1) mucophagy -- snot eating [Elem Ed majors get used to this.]

2) flatus -- a fart
[Are there superannuated flatuses?]

3) vomitus -- the product of a vomit

4) rumination syndrome -- vomiting, following by the reconsumption of the vomitus

5) frottage -- sexually rubbing against another  [Isn't that better than the popular expression "dry humping"?]

6) coprophagia -- feces eating
[Therefore, you know what a coprophagic smirk is.]

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Unexpected Adventures in Babysitting

While there was that old Elisabeth Shue movie, Adventures in Babysitting, the role of the babysitter has not been noted very much.

And yet it's something that many teenaged girls, and a few boys, are called upon to do during that time when they're just barely old enough, until the person called on is not yet assumed to be dating, or will not get any offers.

The babysitting neophyte may have some positive schemas about what's going to take place: reading harmless children's books such as Goodnight Moon  to polite, cute six year olds, followed by their going to bed by 8:30.  This is followed by a snack that the thoughtful parent left the sitter, and then quality time on the cell phone or with the television. 

And, of course, in the remaining time you're supposed to do the homework then without parental oversight.  Oh, yes!  Well, for the conscientious, that's possible if the kids being watched go to bed by 8:30 or 9.

Sometimes you're not so lucky.  Once I was hired at the last minute by a very upset mother who begged me to sit with her two children.  She offered a pronounced bonus; so I agreed, and arrived at seven.

There, a largish boy greeted me with, "Oh darn, Mom: I told you I wanted the one with the big hooters!"  I introduced myself, and asked him his name, and how old he was.  He told me fourteen and that his name was Jason.  [Note to parents:  if he's mature enough to specify babysitters with large breasts, he's too old to have a babysitter.  Look into a Marine drill instructor instead; preferably one wearing a cute Park Ranger hat.] 

I was only sixteen myself!  His sister Megan was ten.  The younger one was the one with the cherry bombs.  Their hopeful Mom told me that her offspring were not to have sweets or colas; only West Coast foodie-approved snacks.  What paragons, I wondered.  Also, she specified a 10 P.M. bedtime for both.  Well, not bad . . . . maybe a mite strict for the older one, but she's the customer!
After the parents left, the older one immediately went to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a stiff glass of single malted scotch.  I quickly caught on after he drank about half of it, and I poured the rest down the drain.  Jason immediately accused me of committing a mortal sin.  Not being ethically aware of how, despite attending Catholic school at that time, I asked him how.

He said, "You idiot!  You poured twelve year old single-malted scotch down the drain!"  I asked him about his homework.  His response was to tell me to cram it.  Cram what, I wondered.  And where?

Boom!  Boom!  Loud cherry bomb sounds from the living room!  And some pyrotechnics that glowed pink in the room!  A ten-year-old girl who's adept in chemistry is no laughing matter!  It turned out she was the evil genius in this one-act play.

Back to the big brother.  By now he had turned on a pornish television channel.  I went to turn it off.  He kicked me in the bottom, and I went sprawling on the floor.  He then sat on me and tried to ride me like a horsie!  While this was going on, his little sister urged him to Bad Touch me!  I was having none of that! 

I contorted before he got too entertained, and head-butted him.  He grabbed my hair and pulled.  I screamed.  My scream went an octave higher when little sister squirted whipped cream down my blouse!  She went off screaming in victory.  I started crying.  The situation had totally deteriorated.

Fortunately, an adult neighbor heard the ruckus (it was loud!) and came over to intervene, finding me in total disarray, with a bloody nose and whipped cream down my cleavage.  With a formidable, intimidating voice, she eventually restored order.  The lady: she possessed gravitas in spades.  She was kind enough to offer the loan of her daughter's blouse so I could be relatively clean for the remainder of the evening. 

She asked me if I could handle things; and I indicated that I could.  (God knows what she subsequently reported to her neighbor the next day; but she wanted to get back to her hospital drama.)  However, she did say that my clients had a hard time keeping babysitters!  Her daughter categorically refused to do so, and she understood why.  I asked her if the older one was "slow" and thus required a babysitter,  and she said, "Only to obey." 

Anyway, after an hour and a half of disorder, tears (some mine), and mess, I made an accommodation with them:  they could watch Fast Times at Ridgemont High on the tube if they slackened off their onslaught.  I did nothing when they opened Cokes in defiance of the maternal edict.

They turned out the lights and both quickly jumped into bed just as the parental car pulled into the driveway at 1 A.M.

Call that an armistice.  It was a realistic appraisal that I was in over my head and could in no way rectify the result of over ten years of bad parenting.

Friday, August 5, 2011

The Price Check on Boudreaux's Butt Paste

I confess to blushing easily; sometimes while doing something that really shouldn't call for that.  I once was asked by a family member to buy some Boudreaux's Butt Paste (this is a real product) at a big box store, and I was able to find what I was looking for after a longish search.  So far, so good.

When I went to the checkout, the checker, a younger guy, called on the loudspeaker for a price check from pharmaceuticals.  The response, also by loudspeaker, was "Okay."  Here's the dialogue that followed, approximately:

MY CHECKER:  "I'd like a price check on Bou-drucks Butt Paste."


MY CHECKER:  "Bou-druck's Butt Paste"

ME:  "That's Bou-dreau, Sir!"

MY CHECKER:  "Whatever . . . ."

DISEMBODIED VOICE:  "You're kidding."

MY CHECKER:  "No, this is real.  I'm looking at it.  This lady needs it for her butt."

Now all eyes from the surrounding checkout lanes were fixated on me; each one wondering what kind of rear end problem I had.

MY CHECKER:  "Maybe she's fixing the butt crack."  [giggles]

Finally the Disembodied Voice calls in the amount, and the checker rings up the amount.  I'm totally red-faced at this time.

When I got back to my apartment I looked at the container of Boudreaux's Butt Paste.  It had a price sticker on it.

My conclusion is that the whole tableau was staged for entertainment purposes.

I'm glad I was not trying to buy a bra!

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

The Language of the Fan, Updated

In Victorian times, before air conditioning was invented, women often carried large, elaboratelty-decorated fans, with lace, colored pictures, and other neat designs. They soon found that it was possible to communicate subtly with young men, by sending covert, yet demure messages, using these fans.

Here are the generally accepted usages of the language of the fan:

2. CARRYING THE OPEN FAN IN THE LEFT HAND: "Come and talk to me."
3. THE FAN PLACED NEAR THE HEART:"You have won my love."
4. A CLOSED FAN TOUCHING THE RIGHT EYE: "When may I be allowed to see you?"
9.. COVERING THE LEFT EAR WITH AN OPEN FAN: "Do not betray our secret."
10. FANNING SLOWLY:"I am married."
11. FANNING QUICKLY:"I am engaged."
13. TOUCHING THE FINGER TO THE TIP OF THE FAN: "I wish to speak with you."
17. DROPPING THE FAN: "We will be friends."
18. OPENING A FAN WIDE: "Wait for me."
19. PLACING THE FAN BEHIND THE HEAD: "Do not forget me"
21. TWIRLING THE FAN IN THE LEFT HAND: "We are being watched."
23. FAN IN LEFT HAND IN FRONT OF FACE: "I am desirous of your acquaintance."
24. FAN HELD OVER LEFT EAR: "I wish to get rid of you."
27. SHUTTING A FULLY OPENED FAN SLOWLY: "I promise to marry you."
31. PRESENTING THE FAN SHUT: "Do you love me?"

These were the old, official Victorian usages. Obviously, with cultural evolution and changes in mores, things change. Thus it was with the language of the fan:

33. COVERING THE HAIR WITH THE FAN: "I am having a bad hair day."
34. HITTING FELLOW ON NOSE: "MY b. s. detector is on."
35. STICKING BLADE OF FAN UP NOSTRIL: "Change your socks."
36. COVERING ENTIRE CHEST WITH OPEN FAN: "Stop staring at my boobs."
38. USING FAN TO POKE HIM IN THE RIBS: "Pay attention to me."
39. FANNING QUICKLY: "Passion"
40. FANNING SLOWLY: "Lack of interest"
41. PASSING FAN ACROSS NECK: "You're in for it, Buster!"
42. RESTING FAN AGAINST CHIN: "I don't trust you."
44. HANDLE ON THE OPEN LIPS: "Kiss me, à la Française."
45. TAPPING CLOSED FAN ON ITS RIBS: "We have to talk."
47. WEARING FAN ON TOP OF HEAD: "I am a little tipsy; you may take advantage of me."
48. TOUCHING HALF-OPENED FAN TO OPEN LIPS: "Kiss me, à la Française."
49. HITTING HIM ACROSS MOUTH WITH FAN: "I'm not that kind of girl!"
50. HITTING HIM OVER HEAD WITH FAN REPEATEDLY: "You are in for a world of hurt, Buster!"