This blowhard Dutchwoman is participating in an after-dinner sport called Eieren Blazen, or egg-blowing, the antidote for a meal rich in beef and potatoes. Amsterdam egg-blowers spent the evening, sitting on their hands and blowing toward the goal. Think you might fall into gluttonous sin tonight? No problem. We can burn off those calories. Simply fetch an empty eggshell, a billiard table with two goal nets, a dozen pals, and away we go.
I know it sounds farfetched, but could that be Morey Amsterdam actually IN AMSTERDAM, bug-eyed and diminutive in the cardigan?
We’re not used to witnessing actual precipitation in central Texas, but it appears that today’s brief-lived 72 degrees, which is dropping to 31 as I type, has brought with it some rain. They hardly look like raindrops, though. More like dashes and hyphens.
The Climax Molybdenum Company donated the land for a high altitude observatory in Climax, Colorado, where University of Colorado weather observers encountered Arctic-like blizzards.
You are not allowed to do this. You are not John Travolta, and chances are high that you will never caress neither Idina Menzel nor Scarlett Johansson, as he did last Sunday at the Oscars.
Despite the allegiance to Scientology, gay rumors, and alleged hairpiece, he is still John Tra-freaking-volta. These weird antics do not negate his Travolta-ness. Did you ever welcome back Mr. Kotter? Heck to the no. Were you ever in a plastic bubble? I think not. You are not leather-jacketed commitment-phobic Danny Zuko driving Greased Lightning. You were never white-suited disco-dancing emotionally immature Tony Manero. You never could turn that beat around.
So don’t even try getting in on some double Kanye action.
I say let the Travolta hairline recede and swell like the rising tides. Let him proposition his masseuse. Let him pilot planes into Neverland. Let the crazy roll in and roll out.
Brother, you were J.T. before Timberlake stole your title. Steal it back like he brought sexy back! Talk your crazy L. Ron Hubbard talk with that eerie contented smile that Tom Cruise shares. Like nothing gets you down. Press your puffy senior digits into pretty girls’ faces half your age. I don’t care. You be you. But us regular folks cannot follow suit.
Now, readers, do not despair. This you can do.
Arms around your Allman brother buddies, celebrating and thumbs-upping. Go for it.
But charging through a stranger’s comfort zone to decorate him with blinking lights like Helen Keller on a Douglas Fir, no, sir. This is strictly Travolta territory. Do not try this at home.
Oh, come on. You remember Jerry. The kid with the buzz cut in Stand By Me.
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In that pic, he actually looks pretty fit by today’s standards. It was probably just those horizontal stripes that gave him swell factor. Anyhoo, he’s all growed up now, just turned 41 last Tuesday, with full, dark eyebrows that make him look like an angry Thundercat.
He and former model Rebecca Romijn have twin girls with smile-inducing names: Dolly Rebecca Rose and Charlie Tamara Tulip, named after Ms. Parton and Jerry’s nearly-identical brother, respectively. How cute are they?
Although Jerry and Rebecca were married in 2007, she told Conan O’Brien that she was “too lazy to go to the DMV” to change her current legal name of “Romijn-Stamos” on her driver’s license, from her prior marriage to Full House‘s Uncle Jesse. Here they are with part of Judy Garland’s daughter’s boob.
Honestly, Rebecca–it’s been nearly 8 years. That’s one of my pet peeves, people not changing their drivers’ license information asap. I hit the DMV the day I got back from my honeymoon. Gotta sever those strings, honey. Even to a hunky half-Grecian.
Did you spend hours on a school bus each dreadful morning and liberated afternoon with friendly-faced drivers such as these? Or were your drivers a little touched in the head? Did your buddies shoot spitballs at the back of said heads?
Recognize these faces? Surely they wouldn’t cause any trouble.
No rebellious nature in these well-behaved young men.
The 1941 students appear much more welcoming. All aboard!
Oops! Caught them mid-embrace!
Buses allowed downtime to chill with your pals.
Perhaps you were on a sports team and took a chartered bus. I can’t say as I ever did that.
How adorable is this 1941 university Singles Tennis team, three of them in their tennis whites?
And what can I say about the Deck Tennis Singles?
Lady B’s hair has aerodynamic fins like a 1957 Chrysler Plymouth. Perhaps that helped with her swing?
The Table Tennis gals seem ready for a challenge. Pleated skirts and collared shirts allowed for ultimate comfort and flexibility.
Check out the smiles on these two. Rackets are strung and ready to backhand.
But what is going on with the men’s team uniform? I don’t get it. How did swooshy Great Gatsby-white-party culottes help their game? And think of the stains you could never get out! Boys are so messy. Those pleats really do add pounds.
I know it sounds farfetched, but could that be Morey Amsterdam actually IN AMSTERDAM, bug-eyed and diminutive in the cardigan?
I Don't Get It 