Boogie Fever
Nothing compels movement more than the inability to actually move.
I have been mentally revisiting the halcyon days of my youth when going to dances and strutting what little stuff I possessed was a good time.
My musical confessional must include the various groups that appeared on American Bandstand, Soul Train and the Casey Casem Top 40.
Save for the few people who had actually learned to dance in a studio, most of us learned our suave moves from watching the dancers on television and thinking that we were exact matches of what we had seen them perform.
Don't confuse us with the facts, facts aren't important when you have sweet boogie down disco moves.
I don't dance now. I'm in fear of throwing something out and that something never coming back. I've always wanted to take dance lessons, but I don't think I want to dance with any of my sisters that much (no offense gals!) and Rick has informed me that the Second Coming is a more likely prospect than getting dance lessons.
I'd go by myself, except with my height, they'd pair me up with some old lady with a better mustache than I have because there aren't enough guys in the class. I know this for a fact because when I took a dance class in college, I danced with a lot of nice girls because we outnumbered the guys 10 to 1.
Play That Funky Music
Of course, the discovery that there was just some music that even now is a sort of a time transporter was awesome! I can listen to some music and remember the sights, sounds and cologne worn by a guy I finally got to dance with to some of the finest music on the planet.
Oh, to be able to go back and pick up the body I had then, but keep the brains I have now!!
That still isn't possible, is it. Dang it? I would have thought technology could have done a better job on that account. After all, this is the generation of microwaves and online banking!
Guess it's time to take my boogie fever on out to the car for my appointment.
'She's got the boogie fever (boogie fever baby) she likes to boogie down (get on down, get on down)'
Go get your own disco shoes and handkerchief dress, 'kay?
July 21, 2011
July 18, 2011
Nothin' Beats a Great Pair of Legs
I read with amused interest all the fooferaw about the Princess Kate wearing *GASP* sheer pantyhose on her whirlwind tour of the British Empire and The Colonies.
Big whoop.
Down here in the good ol' American South, it is considered downright tacky to be improperly attired when in a public setting. There are some occasions that simply demand hosiery. Formal settings and special circumstances mean that a chic, well put together woman hie herself down to the lingerie department and get some accessories for her legs.
To be clear on this concept, your average barbecue in the back yard with weird Uncle Nate and his lovely fifth wife Glorianna who has the mustache isn't a hosiery moment. Frankly, going to a barbecue is a jeans and t-shirt event for most people and in some cases, depending upon temperature, it may well be time to whip out the shorts and sunscreen.
Formality in public, however, is a different ani-mule entirely. Due to her carefully selected ensembles and attractive footwear, The Princess has sparked somewhat of a run on hosiery in the Empire (pun not intended).
Now, we see if this sense of public propriety will last.
I gotta tell you that I am not a fan of the chalky legs that I see around me a lot. It's like most women have never heard of lotion. Nothing is more unattractive than seeing the roughened, chapped legs and cracked, peeling heels of a gal who apparently doesn't know that pumice stone and a moderate soak with a fine spritz of scented oil can glam up her gams and tootsies.
I remember back a few decades ago, there used to be an entire industry built around an egg filled with a variety of hosiery products in various rainbow hues and textures. Now, the average woman is lucky to find a couple of pair in her size in her choice of "suntan" or "beige". No one is beige. And if they are, they need to seek professional help immediately! And frankly speaking, the "suntan" they are peddling looks like the crayon factory went wild on someone's legs because it just ain't natural.
Bravely, we push forward hoping to find the hosiery that will make us look "stunning" or at the very least passable in public.
I think in the passing years of hosiery madness, I have worn about every color they used to sell except for the unfortunate yellowy color that makes my legs look more Big Bird than hot momma.
And speaking of which, who in the devil thought naming panty hose Big Momma for a "big gal" was a good idea? I mean the gals on the package looked like calendar girls for the Krispy Kreme centerfold. Who wants to be reminded that even if the hose are the right size, you still look like a hippo wearing them?? Really??
Then there were the ads of the bygone days. A little brat, uh, I mean boy, is at the zoo with his harried and long-suffering mother. Said brat looks at the tired woman who has hiked the entire Zimbabwe trail with Junior about 70 times in 104 degree heat. Her curls have fallen out. Her makeup has long since run down into her collar and the ungrateful troll looks up at her and says: "Your panty hose are wrinkly just like the elephant's!" Rich comedy from a room full of MALE advertisers, I'm sure. I would have knocked that kid into the middle of next week for saying that to me after trying to be fashionably chic in a Serengeti Oven.
Of course, the whole point of doing any of this parade of hosiery sensation is to mask the true nature of our legs and feet. We want them to have some support, some color, some style. And we want the hosiery to make us more 'elegant' than 'elephant'. Sometimes, by the end of the day, we settle for any word starting with the letter "e"... try 'exhausted'.
Men don't generally have to struggle over how their hosiery fits unless they are the lead in the Joffrey Ballet Company. Even then, the women in the audience are not looking to see that his seams are straight or what color matches his tunic. They are much more concerned with just how he can manage move that way and not scream when he does the splits through the air.
Because I feel the need for full disclosure, I do hold the World Record for panty hose destruction. From package to legs to ladders in seconds, that's a lot of money wasted in a short amount of time. During the winter, I try to get dark colored tights to do the job with heavier skirts to keep warm. I am not a fan of freezing.
Sadly, some tights don't last out of the gates any longer than thinner hosiery. I am left to wonder what cursed evil is either on my fingers or on my legs? Do I have some odd hidden hair that is actually can opener sharp that whips into action to shred my hosiery?
Or do I possess a feral cat-like dew claw that is able to hide until just the right nanosecond in order to destroy whatever I am applying to my legs that isn't an athletic sock or an Argyle?
I know women with great legs. I even envy them. They have something I lack. They have legs that can turn heads for the right reasons. Maybe that is what the fooferaw is all about. People are beginning to rebel against the slapdash and looking for the polished. I sure hope so.
Or maybe they are sick of the glare and horror of chalky, flaky skin on the legs and cracked heels stuffed into fancy shoes without proper adornment.
Either way, I come back to that age worn but still true statement, "Nothing beats a great pair of legs!". Princess Kate is showing us all that adage may seem trite, but the fuss over the hosiery is proving it to be spot on, as the Britishers would say.
Time to go find your egg of hosiery. Just try not to dwell on what kind of bird laid the egg.
Big whoop.
Down here in the good ol' American South, it is considered downright tacky to be improperly attired when in a public setting. There are some occasions that simply demand hosiery. Formal settings and special circumstances mean that a chic, well put together woman hie herself down to the lingerie department and get some accessories for her legs.
To be clear on this concept, your average barbecue in the back yard with weird Uncle Nate and his lovely fifth wife Glorianna who has the mustache isn't a hosiery moment. Frankly, going to a barbecue is a jeans and t-shirt event for most people and in some cases, depending upon temperature, it may well be time to whip out the shorts and sunscreen.
Formality in public, however, is a different ani-mule entirely. Due to her carefully selected ensembles and attractive footwear, The Princess has sparked somewhat of a run on hosiery in the Empire (pun not intended).
Now, we see if this sense of public propriety will last.
I gotta tell you that I am not a fan of the chalky legs that I see around me a lot. It's like most women have never heard of lotion. Nothing is more unattractive than seeing the roughened, chapped legs and cracked, peeling heels of a gal who apparently doesn't know that pumice stone and a moderate soak with a fine spritz of scented oil can glam up her gams and tootsies.
I remember back a few decades ago, there used to be an entire industry built around an egg filled with a variety of hosiery products in various rainbow hues and textures. Now, the average woman is lucky to find a couple of pair in her size in her choice of "suntan" or "beige". No one is beige. And if they are, they need to seek professional help immediately! And frankly speaking, the "suntan" they are peddling looks like the crayon factory went wild on someone's legs because it just ain't natural.
Bravely, we push forward hoping to find the hosiery that will make us look "stunning" or at the very least passable in public.
I think in the passing years of hosiery madness, I have worn about every color they used to sell except for the unfortunate yellowy color that makes my legs look more Big Bird than hot momma.
And speaking of which, who in the devil thought naming panty hose Big Momma for a "big gal" was a good idea? I mean the gals on the package looked like calendar girls for the Krispy Kreme centerfold. Who wants to be reminded that even if the hose are the right size, you still look like a hippo wearing them?? Really??
Then there were the ads of the bygone days. A little brat, uh, I mean boy, is at the zoo with his harried and long-suffering mother. Said brat looks at the tired woman who has hiked the entire Zimbabwe trail with Junior about 70 times in 104 degree heat. Her curls have fallen out. Her makeup has long since run down into her collar and the ungrateful troll looks up at her and says: "Your panty hose are wrinkly just like the elephant's!" Rich comedy from a room full of MALE advertisers, I'm sure. I would have knocked that kid into the middle of next week for saying that to me after trying to be fashionably chic in a Serengeti Oven.
Of course, the whole point of doing any of this parade of hosiery sensation is to mask the true nature of our legs and feet. We want them to have some support, some color, some style. And we want the hosiery to make us more 'elegant' than 'elephant'. Sometimes, by the end of the day, we settle for any word starting with the letter "e"... try 'exhausted'.
Men don't generally have to struggle over how their hosiery fits unless they are the lead in the Joffrey Ballet Company. Even then, the women in the audience are not looking to see that his seams are straight or what color matches his tunic. They are much more concerned with just how he can manage move that way and not scream when he does the splits through the air.
Because I feel the need for full disclosure, I do hold the World Record for panty hose destruction. From package to legs to ladders in seconds, that's a lot of money wasted in a short amount of time. During the winter, I try to get dark colored tights to do the job with heavier skirts to keep warm. I am not a fan of freezing.
Sadly, some tights don't last out of the gates any longer than thinner hosiery. I am left to wonder what cursed evil is either on my fingers or on my legs? Do I have some odd hidden hair that is actually can opener sharp that whips into action to shred my hosiery?
Or do I possess a feral cat-like dew claw that is able to hide until just the right nanosecond in order to destroy whatever I am applying to my legs that isn't an athletic sock or an Argyle?
I know women with great legs. I even envy them. They have something I lack. They have legs that can turn heads for the right reasons. Maybe that is what the fooferaw is all about. People are beginning to rebel against the slapdash and looking for the polished. I sure hope so.
Or maybe they are sick of the glare and horror of chalky, flaky skin on the legs and cracked heels stuffed into fancy shoes without proper adornment.
Either way, I come back to that age worn but still true statement, "Nothing beats a great pair of legs!". Princess Kate is showing us all that adage may seem trite, but the fuss over the hosiery is proving it to be spot on, as the Britishers would say.
Time to go find your egg of hosiery. Just try not to dwell on what kind of bird laid the egg.
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