Rock This Town

You know how sometimes you tell someone that you'll take them somewhere but then secretly hope they'll forget you said you'd do it? You know how an 8 year old boy never forgets you promised them Really Fun Stuff and it would be The End of All Things if you gypped them out of it? To an 8 year old boy: The circus= Awesome Good Times and Maybe The Lion Will Bite Some Guy's Head Off. To a 31 year old mom: The circus= I'd rather learn to speak archaic Latin and get a full body wax ( possibly at the same time) than go there. So of course that means we're going to the circus. Woohoo! Happy family day! Cole Bros. Circus of the Stars, here we come! But who are these so-called Stars of which you speak? If it's Gary Coleman on a tricycle, it's ON.

The circus is generally more fun in theory than it actually is when you're a grownup and you're jaded to the whole "Step right up for the circus act of a lifetime! See 27 Romanian acrobats spinning by their toenails, all while humming The Star Spangled Banner!" routine. Maybe it's just me (seriously, I can't be the only grumpy grumperton?), but aren't circuses kind of boring and not really entertaining? Waiting in line? Not fun. Being crammed in a hot, supersmelly tent and inevitably being seated next to the Gassy Fat Guy Who Smells Like Onions? Not fun, last time I checked. Witnessing a chain of elephants simultaneously taking a dump, right in front of your very eyes? Again, not so much with the fun. Unless you're an 8 year old boy and then it's called Comedy.

But being a parent means doing these things For The Children and shutting up while your kid goes "Totally awesome!" and "No. WAY!". (Apparently my kid talk likes a 1984 Valley Boy, gag me with a spoon, like REALLY.) I like the IDEA of the circus better than the actually GOING to it, though the popcorn ain't too shabby so we all win after all. So here is something I'd rather look at, not that Sweaty Buttcrack Guy Sitting In The Row In Front of Me isn't a charming site to see, but this will have to take second:

"Really Scary Clown That Eats Children" vintage sweater from daisyfairbanks is made of PURE EVIL GENUIS and I wish I had designed it first.

Kick Out The Jams

I'm posting this petition for a few friends of mine~ though I've never been to the Oneida rockabilly weekender personally, it's something worth trying to keep going for a while. Forget about the whales, good music lasts longer.

Let these fools know how much you enjoyed the 50's fest in Oneida (or just let 'em know you care and are not the heartless bastards that I normally love you all for being) and pass this along. Click the link to take you to the petition:

Save the Rockin' 50's Fests Petition

SAVE THE ROCKIN' 50's FESTS PETITION:
In 2002, Oneida Casino hosted the first Rockin’ 50’s Fest, which included over one hundred acts, primarily rockabilly. Fans from all over the world attended the week long festival. Luckily for the fans, the casino decided to have another festival in 2005. Again, fans from all over the world attended. In 2007, it happened again with a third installment. We, the fans, look forward to these festivals and feel that the Oneida Casino has the perfect venue and hosts one of the best festivals in the world. The festivals give fans an outlet to forget all the problems in the world. Many of us plan a year in advance to see these wonderful showcases of talent. Musicians and fans alike feel that the festival is a family reunion. Not only do you get to see your old friends but make new ones as well. The casino has given us the opportunity to see several musical acts at one show. There are not enough rockabilly related festivals here in the States. In order to keep the music alive and give a proper venue to the younger acts, more festivals need to be created and not limited. Festivals like the Rockin’ 50’s Fest help younger acts broaden their fan base. Also, the acts from the 1950’s are getting older, and we lose a couple every year. Soon there won’t be any left to participate in these festivals. It is important to teach our children and introduce new fans to the music before it is too late. We, the fans, are asking you to please reconsider the idea of not having another festival at the Oneida Casino. Rockabilly needs you. The musicians and fans need you. Thank you for your consideration.

eVintage Society's Blog Tag Wednesday!

To honor the 10 year anniversary of Frank Sinatra's passing (today), the USPS issued a Sinatra stamp and Turner Classics has been running Sinatra films all month.

I've been tagged by Empress Jade Vintage!

1) Show your favorite Rat Pack look in your inventory (early 60s suit, fedora, tie, cuff links, loop collar shirt.....)

So many choices- one of my all time favorite eras of clothing- especially for the menfolk. But my favorite shirt of the hour would be this swanky 50's/60's number in 2tone rayon and corduroy.



2) Favorite Sinatra song?

The Way You Look Tonight!!! Cliche or not, I have sentimental reasons. That song still gives me butterflies every time I hear it. Awww....

3) Favorite Rat Pack member? (Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Joey Bishop, Sammy Davis Jr. or Peter Lawford)

I know I'm *supposed* to say Sinatra but popularity-be-damned, Dino always has and always will hold a ridiculous sentimental attachment for me to the guy, above all those other cats. (ha ha, I said "cats" like I'm hep or something.)

4) Best Sinatra "era"? (40s young & skinny, 50s swingin' crooner or 60s Rat Pack suave?)
I love that late 50's to early 60's period best. For music and fashion. Come to think of it, movies too.

5) Favorite Sinatra wife? (Nancy, Ava Gardner, Mia Farrow or Barbra).
Oh hell, the tumultuous Ava era!

6) Been to Vegas, how many times and best Vegas story.

I guess I can talk the talk but can't walk the walk. Whatever THAT means. Never been there. We're planning on it...some day...when I'm awfully low...

Trouble In Tinsel Town

I hate Pennsylvania in the spring. Really, it's quite gross here now. Why am I stabby you ask? You'd be stabby too if you were surrounded by gypsy moth caterpillars. But you're not because apparently The Plague of The Caterpillars is a northeast thing. East siii-eeed represent, dawg. They are EVERYWHERE, hanging from long strands from trees and you can't see them so they dangle on your head and you don't even know it until someone says "Excuse me, but did you know there is a caterpillar larvae in you hair? And also, do you have the time?". There's so many of them around here that you have to steer yourself around their little smooshed carcasses in the parking lot like a scene from Saving Private Ryan. Every 7 years they breed like gangbusters- actually, I made up the 7 years part but I swear there is some kind of urban legend of them hatching every X amount of years... or something...I don't think I'm making that up but I can't be bothered to fact check so let's pretend I know what I'm talking about and this is Very Official Newsbreaking Information.

They're NOT cute, my peeps. They're not mellow hookah-smoking, mushroom-eating, little dudes with British accents who ask you riddles. Just as annoying, though.



They're hairy and they'll cut you and steal your wallet if they had the chance. Ok, so they're harmless to people but overly hairy things are not genetically fit and need to be exiled. So sad Robin Williams, but off you go.

See? SEE?! Not cute! And they don't turn into pretty pink butterflies with bows on their heads but gypsy moths, people. MOTHS. And I'm pretty sure moths aren't so good with the vintage and the eating of said vintage so they must go. If there is a caterpillar trap I would buy many. I can invent one and make a jillion dollars which is precisely what I'll be doing tonight. That or rum and cokes, whichever is easier.



Now this is my idea of what larvae should morph into. Pretty pink butterflies with pink ribbons on a vintage 50's dress. From Calicovintage.



Hookah sold separately.

She Comes In Colors

In case you didn't know, today is Mother's Day. Lucky thing I was here to remind you but you can thank me later, after you're done at the Kwikee Mart scrounging up a lame last minute present to take to your Mom. I'm sure she'll love the King Size Slim Jim and can of Shasta.

I've never had old pictures of my Mom, at least nothing older than 70's. Recently my Dad surprised me with some ridiculously awesome pictures of her from the late 50's and early 60's, which I am over the moon about getting, as her youth was an enigma to me-but I did know she was someone I'd have been friends with. Because she passed away about 13 years ago when I was 18, I never had the chance to get the real lowdown on her life as a teen and 20-something, other than little snippets of stories she told me when I was a kid.

What I do know is that she was the quintessential Bad Girl Type. Hung around with guys in greasy motorcycle gangs and never dug the Everly Brothers in her youth, because "they were a couple of sissies"- she preferred her music and her men to be a little more rough and tumble. It's funny how certain things pass down to your children.







The woman was COOL. Not to mention a total babe. Then somehow once the 70's hit, she met my Dad and I came along, it was all over and the new chapter of her life, "The Hippie Years" began. I ruin everything. Though they were in a car club of sorts in the early 70's called The Van Klan, where my parents and their friends souped up vans in typical 70's fahion. Mushroom windows? Check. Shag carpeting? Check. Airburushed murals of wizards and unicorns? Check. She was still cool in her later years, just a different kind of cool. She was tough as nails and so strict with the rules, with curfews, with manners. I swore I'd never be that kind of parent when I grew up. Sure enough, I turned into my mother, just like she said I would one day, even though she never got to see it. But my strictness in parenting paid off and it shows in my own kid. And I've never been more proud to be just like my Mom.

The Tide Is High

Once upon a time in a not at all magical land called Junior High School, we girls had the option of taking a beginners sewing class as a precursor to Home Ec. Because I was too cool for school, I voted a resounding AS IF! to the class, because only Supernerds would go to that class and I DON'T HANG WITH NERDS. Apparently my inner geek was a late bloomer because now I rue the day I didn't take that class and still have no sewing skillz and those Old School Supernerds from 1990 are having the last laugh. I bet they're still nerds though, just not cool nerds, so I say YOU FOOLS! to them. Don't get me wrong, I can sew a button tight and stitch a hole closed like it's nobody's business but damn if I wasn't a jerk for not ever learning to do anything more, like knitting or crocheting. <-- And that looks incredibly stupid, is it spelled correctly? Spellcheck says "yes!"

So imagine my amazement! shock! hot damn and hallelujah! when I found 2 of the same vintage 50's skirts with the best knitting novelty print ever. You heard me, KNITTING. What are the chances of THAT happening, like 47 million to 1? I bet there were only 2 of these skirts ever made of all time and I have them both! (OK, so I like to make up statistics that are totally irrelevant and unsound, for dramatic effect. Imagine if you would, the sound of thunder and creepy church organs playing In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, to enhance the wonder of it all.)

Should you happen to be a knitter or a sewer, I think you would be highly amused at the goody-two-shoes-iness of the print. If they had kittens and baby jebuses on them, they'd be the Ultimate of Wholesome and would probably hold some kind of power, like curing bunions. But these do not have any powers that I'm aware of, just so you know. If blasphemy is wrong, I don't want to be right.


Need to show the world that you have a ball of yarn and aren't afraid to use it? Have no bunions that require a miracle? Click the pics to take you to the listings, available at Fast Eddie's Retro Rags. Amen, brother.



BEHOLD!




SHAZAM!

Hot For Teacher

Did you know that it's teacher appreciation week? Chances are if you're a teacher or if you have kids in school you do. I know this because I am stuck in the middle of a vortex of teacher hell.

Lemme break it down so you can feel my pain: My mom was a teacher to blind kids, taught them how to read and type braille. Well THAT set a level of awesome which I will never achieve. The Ball and Chain is a high school history teacher with 2 degrees under his belt already and will be graduating with his masters next spring and rumor has it he may continue on for his doctorate. So I'm reminded that I'm a world class slacker and underachiever every day and what the hell is he doing with a loser like me, other than the fact that I rule. My mother in law is a 2nd grade teacher and I'm pretty sure she thinks I am the Devil Incarnate. Which I AM, but I didn't think my in-laws knew that I moonlighted as the Lord of the Underworld at night. Guess the jig is up. She isn't exactly winning any Mother In Law of the Year awards so she better get used to the idea of her grandson taking over my Empire of Evil or else she'll get a first-hand look at what a plague of locusts looks like. Plus she wears Teacher Sweaters--those wonderfully nauseating oversized theme sweaters that only teachers are lame enough to wear, with embroidered happy pumpkins on them for Halloween and ones with bells and light-up reindeer noses for Christmas. Supercool. My brother in law is a teacher to underprivileged kids in the ghetto of Harrisburg and is going to Princeton this fall on a full scholarship to major in...wait for it...Urban Studies. Little nerdy white guy teaching in the hood. Brother better recognize that Real Life is nothing like Higher Learning starring Michelle Pfeiffer. Oh well. A good shanking will do him some good. And finally my sister in law will be graduating this spring to become a kindergarten teacher. Because that's EXACTLY what this college town needs is another 23 year old who isn't Jaded By Life yet to realise that teaching 5 year olds isn't exactly as rewarding and fulfilling and earth shattering as the college classes brainwash you into believing. Come to think of it, she could use a shanking too.

That's not to say that teaching is easy and anyone could do it. Let's face it, the job sucks and is probably one of the most underappreciated and underVALUED white collar jobs out there. Teachers spend more time with kids than some of the kids' own parents do. They sometimes have to go in to work extra early and stay extra late and get nothing extra for it. They have to chaperon dances, coach sports, oversee clubs, manage after school detentions and again, there's no such thing as overtime pay. They deal with combative parents, rigid superintendents and classes full of kids who are anything but respectful. Because most schools have limited budgets, teachers end up paying for supplies out of their own pocket and never get reimbursed for it. Much more than you think. Teachers will bring in special things to the classroom in an effort to get the kids more interested in the subject only to have these things broken or stolen. All this for a meager- and I MEAN *meager*-salary. Joey Brooklyn, my neighbor down the street, works in a factory and gets paid DOUBLE what a teacher makes.

So if you want to let your teacher know that you appreciate them, send them a card, buy them a gift card for dinner, get them a hooker, whatever. Just don't buy them anything with apples on it because it isn't cute and funny and chances are they roll their eyes at you when you're not looking. What isn't cute but damn funny is the gift that one of the Ball and Chain's students gave him--a Zippo lighter with a picture of a mud flap girl on it.



Perhaps not the classiest present, but I suppose a 16 year old can't exactly buy their teacher a bottle of Jack Daniels- which is what they REALLY could use at the end of the day. Or beginning.