This and That (6)

What's the opposite of Small Potatoes?

Dall-E 3: Very large pumpkins

1.

My regular talk with Bob Wright, on many topics.

2.

I like jokes that relate to personal identity. I posted one in my first This and That, and I’ll repeat it here. It’s at least 1700 years old—from Mary Beard’s book Laughter in Ancient Rome—and Gregory Murphy sent me a slightly modified version.

I just got a new one from my favorite sister, Elisa Bloom.

Others? Please put them in the comments.

3.

At the beginning of the YouTube video above, Bob told me about another Small Potatoes, run by Rachel Isaacs. He pointed out that Isaacs has two distinct advantages over me: she is a rabbi and she actually grows potatoes.

I hope you don’t leave me for her, but if you enjoy substacks with this name, why not both?

4.

I’ve told the story before (here) of why this substack is called Small Potatoes, but have you ever wondered what the opposite title would be?

Neither did I, but my wife found the answer. It’s Some Pumpkins.

She learned this from an interesting article by Bill Black. He cites Bartlett’s Dictionary of Americanisms, (no relation to the more famous Bartlett), published in 1848.

Black reviews popular theories of the phrase’s origin (dismissing one prominent one as “bullshit”) and gives examples of various usages. His essay ends by noting that the “small potatoes”/“some pumpkins” contrast is discussed in

the 1858 play Our American Cousin, in which an English baronet hosts his distant cousin Asa Trenchard, a stereotypical Vermont rube. About halfway through the play, the baronet’s daughter Florence introduces Asa to another cousin, Mary, an impoverished milkmaid. Asa is impressed by her skill at milking the cows and making butter and cheese; he tells Florence that she (Florence) is “small potatoes …compared to a gal like that.”

FLO: I’m what?

ASA: Small potatoes.

FLO: Will you be kind enough to translate that for me, for I don’t understand American yet.

ASA: Yes, I’ll put it in French for you, “petite pommes des terres.”

FLO: Ah, it’s very clear now; but, cousin, do tell me what you mean by calling me small potatoes.

ASA: Wal, you can sing and paint, and play on the pianner, and in your particular circle you are some pumpkins.

FLO: Some pumpkins, first I am small potatoes, and now I’m some pumpkins.

ASA: But she, she can milk cows, set up the butter, make cheese, and, darn me, if them ain’t what I call raal downright feminine accomplishments.

Black ends by noting that Our American Cousin is remembered as the play Abraham Lincoln was watching when he died—he was shot shortly after this scene. Some pumpkins, indeed.