I'm very amused by how many google hits I get for pages containing childhood memories. Apparently there is quite the horde of people searching diligently for what experts such as I have to say about subjects such as jellie shoes, Rainbow Brite, the power of Grayskull, E-Z bake ovens, and slinky bracelets. I should so scan pictures of my slinky bracelets in. I still have them. SO PRETTY! I particularly remember that I had one that was just this side of cobalt (with just a hint of violet), and one that was red, and one that was white. Sometimes I would mesh two together into one stiffer bracelet, and then freak out because I thought I had gotten them stuck together forever. I had another sort of rainbow-white colored one that I broke, but the ends would nest together, so it fixed easily.

My point being that I would love to throw some bones out to members of generations other than the eighties. I feel very discriminatory not doing so.

I mean, what about the children of the twenties? Where are they to go to read about Clara Bow and Louise Brooks? Calvin Coolidge? Revealing one-piece bathing suits and sheiks in raccoon-fur coats carrying ukeleles? Flappers with short skirts, bobbed hair, flat chests, ropes of pearls, cloche hats, and high heels with bows on them? Doing dances wherein they licked their thumbs and pretended to pick cherries? You know, jazz babies who were the cat's meow and the bee's knees, petting and necking in the rumble seats of sloppy jalopies. Bathtub gin in speakeasies where the password is swordfish and you leave on your knees. Yes, we have no bananas, but pipe those snakey socks.

I don't want to high hat anyone, and that's not applesauce.

I hope lots of crashers ankle it on over from google to here now. I promise I won't give them the bum's rush.

So pipe down, you rummies. Maybe we'll get some classy swells in this joint. I just hope all the company doesn't give me the screaming meemies.