We’re up all night to the sun
We’re up all night to get some
We’re up all night for good fun
We’re up all night to get lucky
( from “Get Lucky” 2014 Grammy Record of the Year)
Category: 1980s
It Is Well With My Soul Glo
Fun fact of the day: Jheri curl creator Jheri Redding (born Robert William Redding) was an American hairdresser, chemist, haircare products entrepreneur, and a businessman. And an old white guy. But that didn’t stop folks from sporting the glossy, loosened curls.
If you have never watched Coming To America, do yourself a favor and enjoy Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall as the Hope & Crosby pairing for the 1980s. The movie parodied overuse of Jheri Curl in an advertisement for Soul Glo. My eardrums are still pierced from the shrill jingle (Prince meets Minnie Riperton). You remember Eriq La Salle rocking a Jheri? 
But the woman’s hairdo reminds me of Ola Ray, the luck, luckiest girl in the whole U.S.A. The girl from the Thriller video! The one we all wanted to be–with Michael’s arm around her! Is that blue leopard denim?
And while every senior in this 1985 yearbook wore the same striped tie or strapless gown, not all of them sported Jheri curl. This lady went for volume instead. 
The gentleman has a curious case of Kenan Thompson eyebrows. See for yourself.
Nobody told Victor he couldn’t wear Stevie Wonder glasses for class portraits. 
Still, his enormous shades were probably better choices than these three specs:
If you still need your Soul Glo fix, here ’tis:
Even Corey Hart Wouldn’t Wear These At Night
I don’t need to tell you from which decade this new yearbook hails, do I, peeps? Kiss could shout it, shout it out loud. Oh, how this new yearbook score is laden with delicious 80s-ness! No wiggin’ out over wars to protest or lame women’s rights. Just the sweet self-indulgence of excess. I truly hope that these two hotties (Joel and Tim) are alive and have access to WordPress, because who would not want to revisit his starry-eyed Captain-sans-Tenille, Magnum P.I.-Hawaiian-shirt look? Not I.
Klute Hair Attacks Face
Guard your cheekbones, sister! The header reads “Little Sisters of the Skull.” I don’t see a skull. And obviously one of these ladies is no little sister. The housemother’s pissy smile is reminiscent of Marlene Dietrich, the later years.
The weak are more likely to make the strong weak than the strong are likely to make the weak strong. — Marlene Dietrich
Actually, her face conveys a more Kanye West sentiment: You should be honored by my lateness. If you’re not familiar with the leggy, gender-bending bisexual and promiscuous Dietrich, then chances are high you also have no idea to what Klute hair refers. No worries! It was an old Hanoi Jane Fonda movie, where she displayed this curious hairstyle. Female sideburns that flip up and constantly poke the eyeball–who wouldn’t want that? Personally, I prefer Barbarella.
Evidently, Linda Bailey (in the Susan Dey Partridge Family vest) wanted it, and she appears elated with her decision.
Fortunately for her, the hairstyle easily converted to the Joan Jett look, popular a decade later.
And she don’t give a damn about her bad reputation.
Russets Raise The Roof
Ugly 80s Sweaters That Make Me Hungry
Here, boys. When you think of me, think of fattening comfort food. I just hope that she and Jungle Safari Jill next to her were able to score a 2 for 1 deal on perms that month.
I’m feeling a bit peckish. Venison, anyone?
The following Pegasus dress is pretty fly for a white girl, but how could it possibly compare to a graphic 3/4 sleeve sweater that also teaches us dumb Americans to speak French?
Maybe these sweaters were worn by French students? The models look très peeved.
Speaking of apples, check out that big screen monitor!
How about a guy in a sweater, using his Apple to get important work done?
I believe that big slit was where the floppy disk went…
Now that’s the right way to rock an apple!
My Precious
Never come between a varsity cheerleader and her megaphone, or she may go all Miss Piggy karate-chop on
Hi-ya!
May The Force MD Be With You
A conversation with Sandra led me down the long and winding road to this awesomely bewitching video for “Tender Love.” How had I never seen it?
You don’t have to be familiar with this slow jam by Force MD (one of Pres Obama’s favorite bands) to appreciate all of its levels of 80s gloriousness. Let me break it down in fifteen easy steps. I promise it’s better than “Key Largo.” No, I can’t promise that.
- A lone man sits on a stoop with what appears to be swaddling clothes in his lap. Or it might just be a sweatshirt.
- A group of stylish young men (in various stages of mulleted Soul Glo hair growth) gather at the foot of a brownstone. Any moment now, Theo Huxtable will pop out of the front door, wearing a shirt sewn by sister Denise.
- Suddenly, Rerun from What’s Happening? (who has clearly just left a Jenny Craig meeting) quiets them down–by the power of his index finger, combined with the metallic glow of his F necklace.
- He begins to conduct them as he would an orchestra, and they fall into place, snapping and swaying, with a combination of karate moves and sign language that bring to mind a poor-man’s Temptation.
- Already I’m in Cosby Show cardigan overload. The graphic prints just make it all the worse.
- Oh, no! What’s that? Did they piss a white lady off? No, it’s Rosie Perez, and she stole Nancy Reagan’s blazer. Alert the Secret Service!
- They form a soul train toward the window to serenade her, with a bright yellow blazer bringing up the caboose. Now it’s full-on Motown moves and emoting with great fervor.
- The lead singer goes into his falsetto, which launches black-and-white cardigan man into his signature “rope-pulling Marcel Marceau” move.
- The effect this has on Rosie Perez is not only calming, but seems to be sending her into some Lunesta haze. She inhales while curtains flap in the breeze like a Summer’s Eve commercial.
- Doo-wop moves ensue. Suddenly, she smiles, revitalized, looking nothing like Rosie Perez. Her skin is cafe au lait, and so smooth. She must be a Noxzema model.
- What’s that? J.J. from Good Times walks up the stairs with Penny. Seems so random.
- Then they gather in a campfire circle and sing “la la la la” with more air-snapping and high-fiving, congratulating themselves that the song is halfway over.
- They all make fists and bring them down, a precursor to the Billy Blanks Tao-Bo upper-cut.
- The Noxzema model is unimpressed, and retires to the bedroom, as the blinding yellow from the chunky one’s ensemble has seared her retinas.
- They disband. Yellow blazer departs in search of a bolo tie to complete his look, leaving skinny Rerun behind. Forlorn. Waiting on Rosie. You’ll be waiting forever, son. She’s gone. She’s gone. Just ask Hall and Oates.
Beehivey, Redheaded, and Giddy
Happy 88th Birthday to Charlotte Rae!
You take the good, you take the bad, you take the housekeeper on Diff’rent Strokes and give her her own spin-off, and you’ve got a hit 80s sitcom called The Facts of Life. Charlotte Rae played the housemother of Eastland, Mrs. Garrett. And although Father Time has turned her hair a fetching shade of white…
most of us remember her all beehivey, redheaded and giddy:
You older folks may remember her as Sylvia Schnauzer on the sitcom Car 54, Where Are You?, but she will always be Mrs. Garrett to me.
Like The Nanny‘s Fran Drescher, who was married to a gay man for 21 years, Rae stayed with her husband for an astonishing 25 years until he came out of the closet.
I guess she took the good and took the bad.
Other than the movie about the pig and the spider, as well as an alternative music hit that I used to watch on MTV’s 120 Minutes called “Charlotte Anne,” I have no association with the name. Not all English degree majors have an affection for Charlotte Bronte with two dots above the e.
But the name is winning favor amongst modern day mommies-to-be. Don’t call it a comeback. Okay, call it a comeback. Back in 1999, the name Charlotte was ranked #308 in U.S. Popularity. By 2012, it had zoomed to #19. The most recent information from May 2013 shows the listings as such:
- 1. Sophia
- 2. Emma
- 3. Isabella
- 4. Olivia
- 5. Ava
- 6. Emily
- 7. Abigail
- 8. Mia
- 9. Madison
- 10. Elizabeth
- 11. Chloe
- 12. Ella
- 13. Avery
- 14. Addison
- 15. Aubrey
- 16. Lily
- 17. Natalie
- 18. Sofia
- 19. Charlotte
- 20. Zoey
- 21. Grace
- 22. Hannah
- 23. Amelia
- 24. Harper
- 25. Lillian
I know, old people’s names, right? Well, history repeats itself. Although I wouldn’t get too excited about seeing Maude up there any time soon.
Hold Me Now
I found this at an antique store in a nearby town a few days ago. No information on the back. Looks like late 20s, early 30s by the bobbed hair. My best guess is the man in the middle is the grandfather of Mr. Paul Reubens.
See? Pee Wee Herman likes holding puppies, too.
Sory, I meant to say Mr. Paul Rubenfeld.
You know I always have to bring it back to yearbooks.
Just Like We Did In Key Largo
If visiting Key Largo is on your bucket list, go fetch that Sharpie pen and cross it off, because watching this video is just. Like. Being. There. You will have no need of travel; this video will transport you, not only with Bertie Higgins’ smooth soft rock stylings, but with its scrumtrulescent fashion choices (a white blazer a solid TWO YEARS before Don Johnson would affect the style on Miami Vice), rich, dark locks like a swarthier Kenny Rogers (with a dash of Grizzly Adams), and a gold necklace that so intrigues me.
It takes a certain kind of man to wear a gold parrot necklace, and Bertie is that man.
Look at him, propped against a pole, his lion’s mane blowing in the breeze, his face to the sun like he is a jungle king. He takes a drag and exhales his alpha male breath while his lapel laps against his sun-damaged brown skin. Suddenly, he turns and looks seductively at me. ME! (Swoon). I am weak in the knees. He is whispering to me. Is that a pineapple on his shirt? The way he says “watching” blows my mind. It’s like the lyrics are the breeze, soft and sultry upon my grateful ears. How can that lamp pole against which he is leaning possibly support all that rugged manliness? It must be made of steel.
Just prior to the the minute mark, we witness Higgins in profile, as the sun dances on the rippling sea. Glistening. Then he reaches out to his daughter, a cardigan casually draped about her shoulders like she stepped right out of The Official Preppy Handbook, and she flashes her Aquafresh smile.
What the freak? Suddenly I realize this is not his daughter. This is not my beautiful house! This is his love interest. This big-banged thing, barely past adolescence? She’s the Bacall to his Bogie? Are you kidding me? And then it hits me.
Lauren Bacall was only 19 when she met Humphrey Bogart, 25 disgusting years her senior. Now it all makes sense. They are just like Bogie and Bacall. The truthiness of the song overwhelms me.
Bertie and Courtney Cox’s little sister (let’s call her Ainsley) jaunt up a hill, as he holds steadfastly to his jacket at his shoulder like a mack daddy. Uh-oh. Slow down. There is no chemistry here. How awkwardly they embrace. Like he’s her uncle. And then I see–it wasn’t pineapples on his blouse. It was never pineapples. It’s starfish or poinsettias or some Hawaiian flower that’s not indigenous to my native land, but whatever–I feel deceived. Manipulated. Betrayed.
Soon, they are on a boat together, gazing into each other’s eyes, assessing each other’s caterpillar Brooke Shields’ eyebrows, and giggling. He’s not so bad after all, she thinks. He has a boat. Preppies love boats. He’s wearing another non-pineapple Hawaiian shirt, this time in navy. First it was the innocence of white, but now it’s navy, a harbinger of the thunderstorm brewing not so far away. Can this love last?
At 1:49, suddenly they are traveling down a palm tree-lined boulevard, presumably in a convertible. But where is the driver? Are they on a float in a parade? Are they in Key Largo or Santa Monica? Bertie does his “shrug and cock the head to the side” move to emote his romantical feelings, and she looks away like she doesn’t exactly understand English, like an Italian exchange student, silently cursing herself for not buying Rosetta Stone, or like she just saw an ugly dress in the window of Macy’s and has to turn away before she vomits.
But Bertie soldiers on. He makes more Bogart classic movie references: “Please say you will play it again” (Play it again, Sam), which is lost on her, as she is just out of her Saturday morning cartoon phase. And yet, something attracts her.
At the 2:27 mark, Ainsley moves her teeth to her bottom lip to make the “F” sound. She’s considering forsaking all the feathered-hair frat boys at college and actually getting it on with this dude who is like totally her dad’s age. Gag me. And yet…that gold necklace…is so…reflective of light. And I can nearly smell the Sex Panther wafting off his virile body.
As the song nears the end, he croons, “Here’s lookin’ at you, Kid,” which makes sense because it was only a year ago that she was a kid. But wait. Bogie didn’t even say that line to Bacall in the movie, Key Largo. He said it to Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. Is he cheating on her? Is this his subtle hint?
The video ends with the couple walking along the shoreline at dusk. I sense the sun has also set on their relationship. As much as she likes his boat, she’s begun to spy little grey hairs in his beard, and he’s been complaining of arthritis in his knuckles. After all, he was born in the middle of WWII. She cannot fathom a life of administering Geritol each morning and separating his white blazers from his colors in the laundry.
But the best evidence are the lyrics themselves. “We had it all.” Had. Past tense. And like Bacall, she will move on to other men and star in a new “late late show.” Yes, it’s bittersweet. But was she really enough woman for all that man? I think not.
Girls Don’t Make Passes At Boys Who Crochet Doilies
Years ago, when I was single and determined not to repeat the sins of the past, I made a list of what I wanted in the next (and final) man. I have misplaced said list, but I recall that one was that he did not drive a Miata (apparently there were Miatas in spades at the time, and ain’t nobody got time to rebuild the confidence of a man who’s overcompensating), that he did not smoke (I was tired of doing laundry that smelled like a bar), and that he could change his own oil (preferably in his truck). He also could not be vegan nor vegetarian, and he would have to be quick on the draw if Enya popped up on the radio, because Heaven knows I hate me some Enya. Change that station pronto! Apparently I’m not the only one.
But nowhere on that list did it require that he be a skilled yarnswoman or masterquilter or whatever you call one who sews things (other than Chinese minors in factories). When I did finally begin dating my now-husband, he met about 90% of that list. So I took him. Only after we were married, did I realize that a deer-hunting, guitar-playing, camo-clad Texas boy could also operate the pedal of a sewing machine. And when our son inevitably ripped buttons off his clothes or tore his jeans, my husband could fix it. Like Rosey Freaking Grier.
Okay, he wasn’t hunched over with a needle and thread on a shag carpet next to a gold couch, doing a self-portrait, but you get my point. On the seesaw of gender identity, the seesaw weighed heavily on the masculine. But he could still fix my hem of my Ally McBeal power suit if need be, so I could get back to my fluorescent-lit office job, bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan. Yep, that’s me in my Enjoli.
But don’t go thinking we ladies all want sensitive men. We don’t. You can use tools, but you don’t have to be one. Mostly we just want to talk. Sit next to us and listen while we TALK TALK TALK incessantly about whatever is on our minds. Just nod and “hmmm” periodically and let us use up our daily word count, which is approximately 13,000 more words than yours. Case in point:
I Don't Get It 