hen you look through the ads of old magazines, you're struck by the cheer, the bright bravado, the incessant effervescent brio that fizzes from every page. Even the sad people look happy. We sometimes mistake these images as proof that the past was a happier time, a time of Innocence. (Which was ruined by Lee Harvey Oswald.) That is, of course, nonsense. The ability to decode ads isn't something the Irony Age invented; 50 years ago, people were well aware that orgasmic glee did not result from a new fridge purchase, or that women swished around the house doing chores in pearls.

Nevertheless, there is something charming about these old ads - heavy with text, lovingly drawn, patriotic and All-American, devoted to convenience, and above all, steadfast in their service to Regrettable Food.