THAT '70'S FASHION SHOW

When it comes to my Favorite Fashion Decade, nothing tops the 1970s!

Now, when I was in high school, the mid-1960s, we had a strict, dressy, dress code. Like all the other girls, I wanted to be cool in the latest styles …shaggy sweaters, madras blouses, and my most coveted, a tartan wrap-around skirt with a huge gold safety pin that kept it from blowing open, thus preventing terminal embarrassment. My desire to be with the fashion in-crowd waned, however, as I went off to college and couldn’t begin to compete with the sorority girls and their high-dollar wardrobes. Why, when I enrolled at Pitt State, girls could not even wear slacks on campus until after 5 PM. Can you believe that? Archaic!

After my freshman year, this ridiculous rule was ditched, much to my delight. I started shopping at the Salvation Army for corduroy shirts, tie-dyed my t-shirts, had a staple of bell bottom pants, and wore leather sandals. Mama Bore made me some hot pants and shoulder bags, too. By the time I graduated in 1971, I only owned two dresses and, for some reason, I still have them. One is a pink and purple paisley mini dress I couldn’t stuff my butt into now if my life depended on it, and the other is a green/blue print granny gown with hot pink flowers, another one of Mama Bore’s creations, which I still wear occasionally at home. I could gain three hundred pounds and it would still fit me, more or less.

Drum roll please! I now present: My 70’s Fashion Show:

Here I am wearing a khaki sleeveless sweatshirt over a white turtleneck and blue jean bell bottoms. Next to my left thumb, you'll notice some cute little flowers on the jeans. "Is that a Men Working traffic sign in your college apartment," you ask? Could be.

Before she became a respected physician, Dr. Maureen and I monitored the men's restroom at the college Student Union building when we weren't working for the yearbook staff. I'm wearing a chic Spiro Agnew "What Time is It?" sweatshirt (you young readers won't have a clue) underneath a long, navy blue macrame sweater vest. The pants were red, white, and blue bell bottoms. Too bad you can't see more of 'em. I think I look rather friendly in this picture, but Dr. Maureen took crap off no one!

This oversized football team sweatshirt was obviously ripped off, as I only hung out with basketball players and a few track dudes. The hand belongs to one of my neighbors, whose face I cropped out since its now most likely being featured on "America's Most Wanted." Did I always wear my hair like this? Well, pretty much.

Here's a dandy outfit I wore while covering the police beat for the college newspaper. It's a black turtleneck shirt over black and gray bell bottoms, and in my lap is a shoulder bag made by Mama Bore. Quite professional looking, don't you think? This could be the reason it took me so long to find a real job!

As the 1970s moved along, I traded my hippie clothes in for the jock look: baseball t-shirts, shorts that were shorter than short, tube sox, and tennis shoes. If you look closely, my right knee is wrapped up...the result of a nasty skateboarding accident. I was such a stud! And, yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you...the hair stayed the same! ---So much for our little trip down Memory Lane. This concludes "That '70's Fashion Show." Ah, what groovy, sporty threads! There will never be another clothing decade quite like that one. Fortunately.

PICK ME!

I regret to announce that Literary Diva and I are both rabid viewers of a tacky little TV show called “The Bachelorette.” Now, between the two of us, we probably have a jillion college credit hours, so we should have better sense, but, no, we’ve been rushing to the tube each Monday night for the past two months or so to find out which one of the 25 prospects this swinging single gal is gonna pick for her one and only.

The whole concept is totally bonkers, which may explain why Diva and I are such fans. Well, tonight, at last, is the grand finale. Will it be straight-laced Jason, who is an account executive, whatever that is, in Washington, and the divorced father of a three-year-old boy, or long-haired Jesse, a professional snowboarder bad boy based in Breckenridge, Colorado? Oh, the suspense is about to make me wet my pants! (or could it just be the 100 ounces of water I’m drinking each day to ward off any more vicious kidney stones?)

Diva and I both prefer Jesse. He’s the fun-loving, laid back dude who has no clue what he’s doing in life once he hangs up his snowboard. Our kinda guy. At the same time, we are both hoping that The Bachelorette, a dark-eyed super diva named Deanna (as in Dee-AH-nuh), will pick Jason. We don’t want poor Jesse to be stuck with her for the rest of his life. He deserves better…someone who doesn’t whine for attention or moan about the fact that Colorado gets a lot more snow in the winter than her native Texas. Duh! If she does pick Jesse, we hope that he has the nerve to say, “Nah, I don‘t think so” and then ski back to the mountains alone.

Are there better ways to find marriage material than via network TV? I met my future husband, now my ex, at a gas station. After 17 years, that match-up sputtered on empty. Of my five closest pals in college, only one has remained with the first man she married…and it’s a relationship that was arranged by their parents, Korean, when they were little kids. Thirty-six years after the wedding, they’re still together. Go figure.

It’s all a total crapshoot. Church, work, school, the Internet, blind date, TV show, street corner, whatever. There are plenty of places to hook up and find someone to marry. It’s just a heckuva lot harder to keep that relationship in one piece over the long haul. Once “The Bachelorette” chooses her honey pie tonight, I hope they will live happily ever after, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the next time the world sees them on TV, they’ll be on “Divorce Court.”

THE DAY AFTER

Yesterday morning when Big Bore and I were slurping coffee on the front porch, we were commenting that the neighborhood didn’t seem quite as “4th of July bang-up noisy” as it was last year. We were trying to figure out why that might be. Is the economy so lousy that fewer people can afford to purchase a truckload of fireworks? Most of the hotshot boys in the neighborhood are now driving their own vehicles, so I figure they have decided buying gas to cruise around town is more important to their social lives than setting off Black Cats.

After dark, we drove out to a hill west of town to watch the fireworks, far enough away so my goofy ear wouldn’t flip out. I tried taking pictures of the rockets red glare, which were about two miles away, but all I got were six shots of fuzz balls, and then the batteries went dead on the camera. I call this blog picture “Exploding Bird,” as the red portion appears to have a beak at the top. See it? No? Use your imagination and it will fly out and peck at you. The green part=tail feathers!

By the end of the night, I decided we’d spoken too soon about the neighborhood being tame on noise this year. From dusk until a little after midnight, we were in a war zone. The good news is: there’s just one more day of fireworks and then we’ll get back to some peace and quiet. Tomorrow I’ll get to do my own version of The Declaration of Independence. I’ll breathe a sigh of relief, crash out on the hammock, remove the earplugs, and do my best imitation of Mel Gibson portraying William Wallace in the movie, Braveheart. Remember that one? FREEDOM!!!!

I DECLARE

I wonder what Thomas Jefferson and his gang of Declaration of Independence signers would think about our nation today…200+ years after they sought freedom from Great Britain. Here are 10 questions I imagine they would have if they were to bop back to Washington, D.C. Feel free to add your own:

1. Do people still remember who we are and what we did?

2. Why does the US Constitution have so many amendments?

3. Which freedom on the Bill of Rights do you most value and why?

4. Why are there 50 stars on the American flag?

5. Who was Abraham Lincoln and why is there a big statue of him on display?

6. What is the significance of Arlington National Cemetery?

7. How many wars have there been in the United States since the Revolutionary War?

8. What’s this Vietnam War Memorial all about?

9. That Jefferson Memorial sure is cool! Who designed and built it?

10. Besides sharing first names and being presidents, what do George Washington and George Bush have in common?

Have a great Independence Day and don't forget to wave your flag!

A BLOOMIN' GREAT DAY!

(Zinnia from the Flaming Bore garden)

The Flaming Bore is officially one year older!! Now, when I was a kid I considered age 30 to be Geezer-Hood. With passing birthdays, however, the geezer milestone has been elevated--first to 40, then 50, and now….75. That gives me a bit more wiggle room to remain immature.


I have a wonderful day planned. First, water the flowers, take care of the cats, have breakfast, read the newspaper…hmmm, it’s beginning to sound like every day. But then I will take some of my birthday money from Mama Bore, walk downtown to the local gift shop, and buy myself a candle and a bracelet…something stretchy with beads just like I usually make when I’m feeling crafty. I already have a treasure chest full of bracelets, but one can never have enough.


Big Bore wished me a Happy Birthday and gave me a big smooch before he took off to work at 5:30 AM. When he gets home this afternoon, I will give him a gentle reminder that a trip to the garden shop is in order. After all, we wouldn’t want him to forget that all gals, no matter how old they are, love flowers, even if their yard is already full of them. I will then bust open a Little Debbie cake, scoop up some ice cream, make a wish, and call it a day. I can’t wait to get it started!

THIS SHOW'S A BUST!

Channel surfing again last night, I tuned in to the last thirty minutes of NBC’s “America’s Got Talent,” which should be re-titled: “America’s Got Freak-a-zoids.” Now, granted, there were some good dancers and singers, but there were also what I considered to be circus sideshow acts. At 7-feet, 3-inches, “Giant George” wrapped plastic tubing around a girl, jammed it up one of his nostrils, pulled it down out of his mouth, then sucked up milk, after which he ripped off his shirt to reveal fireworks taped to his chest, then blew ‘em up. And what was even more bizarre was that the judges gave this act a thumbs up and passage on to the next stage of competition! A sword swallower showed up later…I had to turn my head to keep from getting a gut ache watching him…but he, too, was given the green light. Alas, a gal named “Busty” who crushed a six-pack of beer cans with her size quadruple Z breasts received the heave-ho.

This got me to wondering what talent I could show off if this stellar TV show came to my town seeking auditions. Hmmm. I took piano lessons for a year when I was in grade school. After getting the scales down pat, however, everything pretty much went downhill. The left hand just couldn’t process how to work in conjunction with the right hand. When I was in high school, I could sing a little and play the flute a little but nothing special and only within the context of a band or chorus, so I could hit a sour note or just take a break altogether and fake it and no one would be the wiser. No solos or my cover would be blown. Dancing? Definitely a no. Not even close.

What is so odd here is that around the house I sing and dance all the time. Big Bore and I enjoy changing lyrics and butchering songs off key on a daily basis. And just the other night, I was showing him how I can tap dance wearing flip flops on my feet. I wish I could write that his response was one of impressive applause, but he just shook his head and rolled his eyes…and not in a good way. His reaction made me try to do better a second time around, but he assured me that an encore presentation was not in order.

Well, since this American has no true talent, I’ve decided the only way I’m ever going to get on television is....to come up with my own freak show act. I’m still cogitating over just what this might be. Any suggestions from my readers will be taken into serious consideration, as long as they don’t involve fireworks, swords, and beer cans or require a name change to “Busty.”

COASTING THROUGH SUMMER

(WARNING: The following blog contains information about child care activities that are totally unsuitable and stupid. Do not, I repeat, do NOT attempt to recreate these in your own home!)

Last week the Wichita Eagle had a little blurb about how parents can engage their children in educational activities during the summer months…things like reading books together and working on artsy craftsy projects. That threw me back to the time when I was a teenager having to oversee my two much younger siblings during June, July, and August. My idea of a summer job was to work on my tan, but family duty called so I stepped up to the plate…sort of. Usually, I’d just send the little brats outside to play with their friends; I felt I’d done my job if I knew where they were, within a square mile or two.

Rainy days were another story, though. Then, I’d be forced to put up with the sibs, which meant coming up with some not-so-educational activities to keep them busy. Here are three of the family favorites:

1. The Clothes Pin Pain Game
Supplies Needed: wooden clothes pins
How to Play: Challenge contestants to place clothes pins on various body parts (not those underneath clothing, of course) to see who can withstand the pain the longest. Hint: The absolute worst spot is that little piece of skin between your nostrils. Yikes!

2. The Pretty Ugly Match Game
Supplies Needed: your big sister’s college yearbook
How to Play: Open yearbook to class panels sections and, with each row of pictures, select the best looking and homeliest boy and girl, trying to match your opponents. The person with the most matches is a pretty ugly winner.

3. Recipe for Disaster
Supplies Needed: anything from the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator; one bowl and one spoon
How to Play: Try to mix up the most hideous looking, least tasty food concoction among your opponents. One of my dandiest dishes was to add enough water to flour to make it pasty, pour in Worcestershire sauce and blue food coloring, then garnish with slices of aged, rubbery
vegetables. Yummy! We had to put a stop to taste testing, though, when my brother became hellbent on adding Clorox and insecticide to his recipes.

The Eagle asked its loyal readers to send in their own ideas for wholesome family summer fun, but, alas, I don’t think I’ll be making any recommendations.