GR translation: sugar faces

[Rich Clavey]

At one time people thought acne was caused by excessive consumption of sugar (among other things). Acne could be said to punch holes in one's skin.
Rich



--- On Sun, 3/3/13, Markekohut <markekohut at yahoo.com> wrote:

> From: Markekohut <markekohut at yahoo.com>
> Subject: Re: GR translation: sugar faces
> To: "Bekah" <bekah0176 at sbcglobal.net>
> Cc: "Mike Jing" <gravitys.rainbow.cn at gmail.com>, "Pynchon Mailing List" <pynchon-l at waste.org>
> Date: Sunday, March 3, 2013, 9:32 AM
> Bekah's gone deep enough....
> 
> Sugar faces are faces made of sugar some egg whites, maybe
> nothing else in cakes and cupcakes, prob avly
> cookies...etc.....
> 
> Yes, thin, frail, fragile....like old punch cards....
> 
> Sent from my iPad
> 
> On Mar 3, 2013, at 10:22 AM, Bekah <bekah0176 at sbcglobal.net>
> wrote:
> 
> > I doubt "sugar faces"  is something tangible
> -  it brings to my mind cookies of some sort - 
> white cookies with faces on them - but very fragile.  
> > http://www.bakingandmistaking.com/2011/04/coconut-lace-cookies.html 
> -  but I've never seen a white one -  maybe OBA's
> mom had a recipe.  
> > 
> > I suspect the "files of cards pierced frail as sugar
> faces"  are old computer punch cards so full of holes
> they look like lace cookies (white of course).  These
> cards were in use both during WWII and in the early
> '70s,  when GR was written.   
> > 
> > Surely TPR could have found a more appropriate
> metaphor, but … . 
> > 
> > Bekah
> > 
> > 
> > On Mar 2, 2013, at 10:03 PM, Mike Jing <gravitys.rainbow.cn at gmail.com>
> wrote:
> > 
> >> P254.21   Here Slothrop stages a
> brilliant Commando raid, along with faithful companion
> Blodgett Waxwing, on Shell Mex House itself—right into the
> heart of the Rocket’s own branch office in London. Mowing
> down platoons of heavy security with his little Sten,
> kicking aside nubile and screaming WRAC secretaries (how
> else is there to react, even in play?), savagely looting
> files, throwing Molotov cocktails, the Zoot-suit Zanies at
> last crashing into the final sanctum with their trousers up
> around their armpits, smelling of singed hair, spilled
> blood, to find not Mr. Duncan Sandys cowering before their
> righteousness, nor open window, gypsy flight, scattered
> fortune cards, nor even a test of wills with the great
> Consortium itself—but only a rather dull room, business
> machines arrayed around the walls calmly blinking, files of
> cards pierced frail as sugar faces, frail as the last German
> walls standing without support after the bombs have been and
> now twisting high above, threatening to fold down out of the
> sky from the force of the wind that has blown the smoke
> away. . . .
> >> 
> >> What are "sugar faces"?
> > 
>