For You — A Happy Birthday Grab Bag
In the birthday parties of my day, you’d maybe have a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey type of thing to warm up the crowd. You’d maybe hold the party at a skating rink, where they’d maybe announce your name over the loud-speaker at the end of the day (pure joy!), and maybe they’d give you an inedible-yet-able-to-survive-a-nuclear-holocaust Little Debbie sponge cake with a candle in it.
Everything involved was, and appeared to be, an afterthought.
At the best of parties, you’d leave with a “grab bag” of random, unrelated trinkets thrown in a brown paper bag with Grab Bag scribbled on it in black magic marker. Not even a dentist office treasure chest could compete with the unbridled anticipation of digging into a plastic laundry basket filled with brown lumpy bags.
Maybe that’d bag contain some puffy unicorn stickers, probably a five-cent plastic top, possibly a glow-in-the-dark rubber bracelet and, if you were lucky, a Happy Meal toy still left inside the wrapper. On good days, you’d also find a few marshmallow Circus Peanuts that you’d promptly puke up in the back of your station wagon on the ride home.
So in honor of my past attended birthday parties (and in celebration of my 36th birthday this week), I present to you my grab bag of random crap. And don’t you dare send me one of the Martha Stewart line of Kodak thank-you photocards for this. I mean it. I’ll go ape-crazy on you for that.
This is a new weekly/bimonthly/annually/one-time segment I like to call . . .
Each week/month/year/Just today I will premier a photograph from the 70s, 80s or 90s of a person exhibiting their fashion A-Game. I am now accepting submissions for future segments/for just my own amusement. Click on my Contact page and email them to me — web link, jpg file, graphite rendering, whatevah. Please indicate if you wish to attribute the photo in your name, your friend’s name, or the name of a person listed in the obituary pages who is not able to protest your submission. [See also Voter Fraud.]
This one came to me by accident while trolling Facebook. Jason, a friend and loyal/sometimes blog reader of mine is, in current date, a Fashion Do! He “Wears It Better” than just about any guy I know. How unsurprising that his suave taste was apparent at an early age.
I give this ensemble a B+. It’s just an all-around winner. Perfect for a jog around the arcade to see if they finally received the new Donkey Kong 2, suitable for an aerobics workout set to Olivia Newton John, or comfortable for just lounging around the house playing Space Invaders on your TV-set-shaped-like-a-chest-of-drawers. I unfortunately had to detract points since the tube socks are not Regulation Knee-High Length.
This ensemble is hands-down an A. No question. Let’s applaud Jason for finding an appropriate way to work in white pants after Labor Day. I first suspected they might actually be ultra-stonewashed jeans. I hope I was wrong about that.
My favorite thing about this ensemble is that my husband just last week layered a V-neck sweater over a shirt and tie. At the time, nothing about it felt Ricky Schroder/Carlton Banks/James Spader of Pretty in Pink/Sonny Crockett to me. Until I saw this photo.
It’s like I was blind and now I see. And am I seeing peach stripes? Oh please, let it be so.
Also in your take-home grab bag, you’ll find random recycled crap. Wait, it’s not crap. No, really! This is good stuff. Better than an unused Hamburglar pencil eraser. And it’s not all that random either — it carries a theme. Yes, a theme! Take that, Tinker Bell Birthday Party.
For you, just in time for the holidays, I have stuck in your bag:
1.) A hilarious interpretation of the classic Rudolph Christmas special, by blogger Speaker7, titled Santa Claus is Kind of a Dick,
2.) My past post on gifts-that-keep-on-keeping-on. Includes this bonus — what to do with the kitten sweatshirt given to you by your eccentric great-aunt (burning it may only work in special cases),
3.) My past post on my 1983 Sears Wish Book wishes. This one’s for the little people in your life who can’t even begin to grasp the level of toy extravagance (ahem, Barbie Yacht) we might’ve once enjoyed on Christmas morning if only our parents were as indulgent as theirs. And . . .
4.) A brief essay on why Generation X is sick of your bullsh*t. Which is not quite in line with the others’ holiday theme, but happens to be somewhat in line with my blog theme, and might be the funniest thing I’ve read in half a century. And that makes me want to thank sweet baby Jesus for the gift of laughter. Merry Christmas and happy birthday! Amen.
And that, my friends, is what you call a theme party. Thanks for stopping by! I hope you enjoyed your grab bag of trinkets. Now please leave your presents for me by the door as you depart. I hope you remembered I like Shrinky-dinks.