Hot Flashes Blog by Arlene Lassin

Have I ever told my blog readers how much I love and appreciate you? No? Well, it is about time then!

Introducing my first COMMENT contest, where you must enter a comment on my ACTUAL BLOG (NOT FACEBOOK OR TWITTER) to be entered to win a valuable gift card. The gift card is to one of my favorite stores that I have mentioned frequently in my blogs. Read below to find out the rules.

I am a low pressure kind of gal. I know how busy you all are, so I don’t bother you to LEAVE COMMENTS on my blog. In fact, though many, many are reading regularly, my comments average a mere handful – or less.

I know you have a voice, and I respect your right not to use it on my comments. But now you can get rewarded for breaking tradition!

Here is how it works.I am re-running one of my personal very favorite blogs called “Women’s Secret Pact With the Devil.” Make a comment on this particular piece of writing or about my Hot Flashes Blog in general to be entered in the contest. Say whatever you wish! Leave your email address (which is hidden from the comment feed for your protection) and use an anonymous name if you wish. Note that you can always leave a comment WITHOUT an email address but these won’t be counted in the contest because I have to be able to contact the winner.

If I get 25 comments or more up to 49, I will send a $25 gift card. If I get 50 comments up to 99, I will send a $50 gift card to the winner. If I get 100 comments or more, I will send a $100 gift card to the winner. (That’s the limit dollar-wise!)  If this contest is a bust and I do not get at least 25 comments, nothing happens! So encourage your friends by sending them a link and tell them to comment too.  Send to friends of friends of friends! Share on Facebook! Twitter it! Go crazy! Facebook friends – your comment on FB will not count, but do let me know you have entered once you commented on the actual blog site! (Directions on how to comment if you have never done so is below with rules.)

The winner will be selected at random. I will print out the comments, cut them into strips, put them in a hat, and have my husband pull one lucky winner.

The deadline for commenting is 7 days after the blog first runs. After that, no commenter will be eligible for the price.

OTHER IMPORTANT RULE: Only ONE entry per email address to make it fair to all. Most of us do not ever have a 1-100 opportunity to win a prize worth $100.!!!!

Directions to comment on the blog if you have never done so: It is EASY. At the bottom of each of my blogs are some icons to share the blog, including links to Facebook and twitter. Directly below that is a line of text with a hotlink to comments. If it says 0 comments, click on that, if it says 5 comments, still click on that. It will bring up the comment form. (Leave a Reply) After you enter your information, click on POST COMMENT.

Now you might say I am bribing people to read my blog. Not really. I am just bribing for the comments, as I know you are out there reading! If you enjoy my blog  but have never commented, this is the one time I am asking you to! It could be worth your time and effort!

The more the merrier as we have to get to at least 25 comments to make this a go.

Good luck! And here below is one of my very favorite blogs on that wonderful era of menopause – women and men will surely enjoy it and laugh -

Women’s Secret Pact with the Devil

Previously published blog written by Arlene Nisson Lassin

Even though I constantly explain that the title of my blog is a play on words meaning my hot topics to rant, reflect, or reminisce about, if you happened upon my blog by Googling Menopausal Hot Flashes, today and just today, you will have come to the right site.

Don’t leave though. Because I have made an important – perhaps monumental discovery.

I am willing to admit that hormones affect everyone differently. They are powerful chemicals that are naturally produced and affect body and mind. Some have an easier time with things like the monthly cycle while others are in agony or have horrific PMS each month. Some struggle with postpartum depression and other symptoms after birth, and others, like the crazy Duggar lady spit out babies out with nary a hormonal care. (Others may think she has hormones gone out of control however, much like many men in the news recently, such as John Edwards)

So maybe it is just my luck, but I am having a hard time with menopause. That perma-smile you see by my blog photo? I am a natural smiler, however, it has been wiped off my face as of late due to annoying symptoms.

It is just recently while struggling with this, that I figured out something.

That is, in order for women to have the parts and hormones to partake in the greatest privilege of all- giving birth, or even to have the opportunity to do so, women have made a pact with the devil.

Devil: (Smiling and rubbing his red wiry hands together) So you want the ability to grow a human in your body?  That miracle can be arranged, but first let’s make a deal. I will allow you to have all the beautiful babies you want, but once you hit your mid forties, your body belongs to me!

Typical mom in childbearing years: Hey look, I have put up with the monthly “curse” for all these years, how could it be any worse? I agree to your deal!

Typical mom in menopausal age: Remind me again when I signed up for this Hell?

I hope to the almighty that I am not still in the pre-menopausal phase, because despite my vigorous vitamin regimen and good health, I am losing the battle against my hormones or lack thereof. This thing is wearing me down, beating me down, taking my chipper, youthful soul and stomping it to extinction.

When women go to doctors with the long list of hideous symptoms, they (in an agreement with the same devil) either give you hormones that may or may not harm your health later, or they give you anti-depressants. It seems that anti-depressants not only make you happier about the state of utter misery your body is in, but they help with other symptoms such as insomnia.(Have I mentioned that I am writing this at 4:30 am?)

Yes, these symptoms are extremely depressing, but I am not ready for an anti-depressant, and like I was determined to go with natural childbirth, I wanted to go natural through menopause too.

I had no idea how hard that would be and am about to wave the white flag.

Hear me: it is impossible – I said impossible- to ignore these symptoms, to bear them with strength, resolve, and good humor. I must have been hallucinating thinking I could breeze through this. Edith Bunker couldn’t and neither can I. No one can even tell you how long it might last.

In the meantime: Has anyone seen my brain? It seems to be among the missing at various times when I need it most. Description in case you find it: Gray mattered in color, occasionally witty, creative, literary.

And: Some old lady body has hijacked my athletic body and even a summer of swimming isn’t getting it back.

Me: Please take this spare tire back. I don’t need or want it, even if it was on sale

Man at Firestone: Look lady, for the third time, we don’t take returns on belly tires.

Also: Can anyone sell me a new body thermostat? Mine is completely dysfunctional causing me to sweat for the first time in my life, and vary wildly between burning hot and freezing cold.

The other day when fans were on sale at Walgreen’s, the lady checking me out with my multiple fan purchase looked at me kind of funny.

I hear the devil laughing his evil laugh right now.

So the Grammy’s were on the other night. And that means it is time for me to lament on the state of the world via music. If anyone under 30 is reading this, yes I admit that makes me out of touch and a real Altakaker. (Yiddish for old person) Maybe I am an old fogey and I finally grew into who I thought I could never be. (Not that I don’t appreciate current music that is good – see below)

I have to admit though, I watch the Grammy’s every year and this was at least one of the more inclusive ones in recent memory thanks to the oldies they plugged in for performances: The Beach Boys, Tony Bennett, and two of my very faves – Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen.

Speaking of Paul McCartney, my son sent me a twitter feed strand of clueless teens tweeting “Who the Hell is Paul McCartney.”

To that I say “Parents of Tweeters on that site – You have FAILED big time!”

My kids, who were strapped in and captive in my van for years and years through all kinds of carpooling, were FORCED to listen to oldies. This was in between kiddie music of course – I alternated. So my kids grew up knowing and appreciating The Beatles and lots of other great bands and artists from the 60′s and 70′s.

In fact, my children knew I revered the Beatles, as many of my generation do. And they have a similar reverence. My son and his Bar Mitzvah partner chose a Beatles Theme for their Bar Mitzvah party. “A Hard Day’s Night – After a Hard Day of Reading Torah, they deserve a Hard Day’s Night!” Here is the photo we used for the party invitation. The poem inside had loads of Beatles songs and lyrics in the wording.

Yet, here is what today’s kids think of Paul McCartney – WHO???????

It’s a sad commentary when they know who a singer is that wears a giant MICKEY MOUSE head that lights up and calls himself DeadMau5 is, and they don’t know a Beatle!

Speaking of DeadMau5, I couldn’t help but analyze why he, Katy Perry, and Nicky Minaj had to resort to “Performance Art” instead of just singing a song. First of all – this card says it all.

Second, it’s not like you could appreciate their lyrics either. This is what we had, this is what Nicky Minaj offers.

They have to distract us with profane and just plain bad lyrics, weird costumes, weird hair, light pyrotechnics, and other weird stuff.

Then of course there is Adele – a breath of fresh air who sings real lyrics – and just uses the power of her gorgeous voice to draw attention.

Imagine that?

A dear friend passed away this weekend, a special angel of a person who though she fought a battle against cancer for 14 years, was always worrying, caring, and giving to others. My friend, Holly Harwood Skolkin, a talented photographer and mother to two beautiful young adults, Emory and Dayna, had a cancer recurrence recently that she fought as per usual like a warrior, yet this final time the cancer beat her.

I can’t help making a comparison because this weekend Whitney Houston also died, albeit with very different circumstances. Pills and alcohol are already suspected, and though I am not judging her and other addicts, it is not hard to figure that playing with fire can get you burnt. The long road of addiction is almost like a death wish due to the risks involved. I felt the same way when Amy Winehouse and Michael Jackson passed away. Talented, yet tragic figures who seemed to taunt and tease an early death with their addictions and lifestyles. The same goes for Whitney. I do admire the talents of all of the performers we end up revering, but I don’t elevate them to the status that most do. I can’t grieve for their untimely deaths but feel sorry that a talent went to waste. So many gone too soon.

NOTE: I am not judging, and I do realize addiction is also a disease, but there is TREATMENT for this disease.

For Holly, she is gone much too soon, as some other dear friends of mine who lost their battles to disease and cancer. Yet I openly grieve for them. They fought for life, enduring harsh treatments, and a diminished quality of life that goes with those treatments. They make the courageous choice to fight their disease.

Despite 14 years of treatment and some bouts of remission of symptoms, Holly never stopped living and loving life. She fought like a tiger for her life – to live and see her children grow, to share in all of their milestones. She was tenacious, brave, and determined in her war against her disease. No matter how she was battled down during certain periods, she would overcome. Through this last chapter, though she was weakened beyond all measure, she was determined to conquer once again. She knew she had so much to live for.

In between her incapacitations, Holly was a giver. She helped other patients who were sick, through Aishel House, (one of her favorite charities) through support groups, and through being a friend to anyone who experienced cancer or disease. As her quality of life improved following treatments, she ramped up her volunteerism to care for others. She was vibrant, vivacious, and always smiling – in other words – a true champion of spirit.

As I grieve and as her family and our community grieves for the loss of a genuinely good human being who fought so valiantly to live her life, I can’t help making the comparison to those who are self-destructive and recklessly play Russian Roulette with their life.

I have said so many times before – we should take care in what and who we admire and put on a pedestal. Singing or acting talent is to be appreciated, but should we revere those who are self-destructive and value their lives so much when they obviously do not?

Instead we should pour all of that admiration energy into those among us who we should recognize and appreciate – the true heroes.

Who is Lana Del Rey and why is she a phenomenon? Okay that is a bit of an exaggeration. Lana Del Rey a phenomenon? Most of you probably have not heard of her.  I snark about Bachelor, Miss America, so allow me some further snark on the current pop chanteuse that just dropped a hot seller. I can explain her to you – with pleasure!

She wears her hair like Veronica Lake, and changed her name from Elizabeth Grant to Lana Del Rey to be Tres Exotique! She pouts her lips like Julia Roberts, and her does her nails like Lady Gaga. Only wearing A-lined White Virginal Dresses, she sings out of her nose with all of the emotion of your average turnip. In case I haven’t explained her properly, check her out here in this clip.

Of Course David Letterman loved her. He’s a horn toad, remember?

So her moody songs which are almost like spoken word are all the rage. Someone had to replace Amy Winehouse don’t you know? There is some poetry in her songs, but her tone and personality while singing is one of the most annoying things to come along in a long time. In fact, critics have universally savaged her debut album and her style of singing. It is so bad it is comical. And a best seller right now. Hey, Rebecca Black made a hit with that ridiculous Friday, Friday, so it just shows what the listening public wants, right?

She is desperately trying to be smoky, sultry, sexy, but instead is coming off as disinterested and boring. A smoky monotone! Perhaps she even has something to say but whoever is marketing her package is making her such a put on that no one cares.

In fact, I am getting such a kick at the backlash against her that I recently spent an evening watching parodies of her. Hilarious.

She bombed on her live appearance on Saturday Night Live and it was buzzed about as being the worst live act on the SNL stage. Of course it was debated that Ashlee Simpson was, but here is her appearance.

First Kristen Wiig from Saturday Night Live: Note how she plays awkwardly with her hair!

Then this send up of Hunger Games: Does this girl NAIL her or what?

Finally, this one:

As I have written about many times, I am a shopper and so no need to go into that again. But today’s topic is something that has been aggravating me for a very long time.

DREADED WORDS: MAN MADE MATERIALS.

I know most products these days are made in China – which means cheap labor and I suspect from knowing about things made in China, maybe cheap materials. However many designer shoes that we are paying high retail prices for are made of plastic. They are cute but are made of cheap material.

Since when did major designers of shoe wear decide to slap their label on plastic shoes and still have the nerve to list them at prices that should be paid for leather shoes? Wasn’t it a matter of pride to wear a certain designer’s shoe? Is there any pride in wearing “synthetic material” instead of leather, yet still paying $89 and up for the shoe? I am talking about fine manufacturers such as Anne Klein, Tahari and Michael Kors.

Several years ago, I started looking inside at the materials that shoes were made up before purchasing. This is because synthetic (plastic) has gotten so sophisticated, many times it looks and feels like leather. Yet I have steadfastly refused to buy the shoes made of plastic, no matter how much I love them, with the exception being flip flops and ultra casual shoes.

I taught my daughter to look too. I think it is nervy to charge a high dollar amount for a shoe that probably cost $2.00 to make out of plastic in China. So I am on a mission to BOYCOTT these shoes.

A few months ago, I was in DSW – I love a bargain, I love shoes, so DSW is a great place for me. The first five pairs I picked up – DISCOUNTED at around $39 or $49 dollars, were ALL made of plastic. I couldn’t get them back on the shelf quick enough. I noticed sometimes designers are kind of sneaky and put the materials in a place underneath the front of the shoe so you really have to want to know to find it.  How many people don’t do that and think they are buying leather, and paying that price, only to purchase plastic shoes.

Back at DSW, I was curious about the “Designer Section” where shoes run over $100 to $200. While some there were made of leather, plenty of those too were made of all “synthetic” materials.

It is laughable. Except I am not laughing. I find myself purchasing shoes that I don’t particularly need if they are leather and a good deal. Leather shoes are such a rarity any more, I don’t want to pass them up. Due to this, my shoe closet is a bit full.

What do you think? Do you mind wearing designer shoes made of plastic? Or do you long for leather shoes like me?

Oscar Nominations were announced! And we all have an opinion, don’t we?

When I recommend something like a good book or a movie, it comes from my heart. I have to really like something deeply to encourage others to enjoy it too.

So it is with that in mind that I give you my Oscar Predictions. These are based both on my heart, my critical eye, and of course hedging my bets on shoo-ins as most people do.

Best Picture: I am going out on a limb here because there are some great choices as well as some throwaways. Despite being moved by The Help – an early favorite, amused by Midnight in Paris, and loving The Descendants, I must go with The Artist. Here’s why:

It is rare when something is fresh, unique, and charming at the same time. That is the case with The Artist. The vivid portrayals of the leads – who were unknowns to me – moved me beyond words. And the underlying themes of gratitude, loyalty, and friendship are uniquely portrayed. Have I used the word unique enough? If you are a movie lover, you MUST see this film. If the last scene in this movie doesn’t put a song and smile in your heart, then I don’t know what would.

So I am rooting heavily for it to win, though I think it is going to be a close race this year.

I haven’t seen War Horse, mostly because of the maiming by barbed wire scene that I just couldn’t bear to watch, but I must say when you talk about boy meets girl, boy loses girl, and boy gets girl back and substitute the word horse for girl each time, that is something different too. And beautiful I am sure.

I LOVED The Help, and The Descendents, but as much as I feel that way – they were pretty standard fare for the movies of today. The acting was good all around in both – with a particular favorite of mine the comatose mother.

The Artist though is one of a kind.

Best Actor: As much as I wish Jean Dujardin had a real shot at this for his portrayal of a down and out movie star, we all know it is George Clooney’s turn. He cried, he moped, he got angry, and I suppose he is due one. But still, Jean Dujardin was absolutely ILLUMINATING in his performance. His smile is an absolute matinee idol killer and that is why he was so real in this role.

Best Actress: Come ON. This is no contest at all this year. The overdue Madame Streep is a total LOCK.

Best Supporting Actor: Yawn, next. Christopher Plummer is one of those old stand-bys that Hollywood loves to give the prize to after years of work.

Best Supporting Actress: Again, I wish, wish, wish that Berenice Bejo had any kind of a shot as she was a wonder in The Artist, but this is pretty much a shoo-in for the wonderfully deserving and charming Octavia Spencer who was the main reason I enjoyed the Help as much as I did.

Best Director: It would be nice for this award to match the Best Picture this year. – so I am thinking Alexander Payne or Michel Hazanavicius (what a mouthful) are contenders. Still, Martin Scorcese is a beloved icon. I can’t call this one.

Best Song: I am only glad that Madonna wasn’t nominated. Her faux accent and weird arms and hands bother me. Other than that, I haven’t an opinion.

Best Cinematography: Who cares?

And there you have it. Won’t you weigh in with your picks and why? I would love to hear from you.

What’s your favorite Yiddish word and why? You’ll hear mine in a bit.

Lately I have been reading more and more mainstream news items and features with a Yiddish word thrown in. Very common is chutzpah, (nerve) schtik, (sales pitch) yenta, (a gossip) klutz, (clumsy) tchotchke, (nik-nak) zaftig, (plump, and nosh (snack.)

In Austin Powers, Mike Meyers used one of my favorite words – farbissina (sourpuss) in a character with a perpetually down-turned mouth. Isn’t Frau Farbissina exactly how you imagine the word?

Pretty good coverage for a dying language.

I have long been a Maven on the Yiddish language. I grew up among immigrant grandparents who delighted me with phrases and terms thrown out in this special, vivid language. The thing I love most about Yiddish is how it affects my senses when I hear a word. I can actually visualize the meaning by hearing the word.

Close your eyes. Even if you never heard the word schmootz, you would know it means something greasy and gross, right?

I can’t help but see plotz (to burst) or dreck (dirt), or the weight that schlep implies.

Bupkis is another that has me seeing nothingness when I read it or hear it.

Farklempt is an automatic sad face.

Chozzerai is a throwaway -  a bunch of junk.

Schmattah  has me visualizing a worn out garment. Schlock – same thing – cheap, poorly made stuff.

I don’t sweat, I Schvitz.

When I read about good people it brings mensch to mind.

Is it because the words are familiar to me or is it the language itself? Whatever it is, this language delights and amuses me. The words just jump into meaning for me, and being a writer, that is a fun thing.

Anyway, I have soo many favorite Yiddish words, but I have to let you in on my most favorite or I will plotz!:

The reason I love it is the sound – it is such a graphic word and it tickles me every time I hear it. It applies to me often – I like to dress nicely, even if I am going to the grocery store.

My favorite word is: Fahpitzed.

Some say I get all fahpitzed when I go out.  (It means to get dolled up) Hilarious isn’t it?

SEQUINS!

What’s your favorite – one that you like to pull out pretty regularly?

I saw the movie The Reader recently and thought it shocking that the character Kate Winslet played had far more shame for her illiteracy than for her time as a murderous Nazi guard. Nazi – it’s a word that means pure evil and should bring shudders to everyone.

I first learned the word Nazi was when I was very very young. I must have been about five or six, but the memory stays with me and will always haunt me.

My maternal grandfather took me out every Saturday for a special day together. He loved to spoil me and many days he took me to a local amusement park to ride the Carousel and the Tilt-a-Whirl. I was afraid of bigger rides like the Ferris Wheel, but my grandfather was patient, doting, and didn’t care if I just wanted multiple rounds on the Carousel. On these days, as my grandfather squired me around, his big coarse hand holding tight to my tiny one, he had a smile plastered on his face and nothing could change his mood. It was a cherished time for both of us. (Much of the other time he was brooding and so these are the happy times I like to remember of him.)

There was a mini roller coaster for really young children that I felt ready to try one week and so my grandfather and I stood in line. When we got up to the ride attendant who was ready to escort us, I saw a tattoo on his arm. This was in the early 60′s when tattoos were not at all commonplace so it was a complete novelty to me – and appeared as if the man’s arm was painted with a spider-ish sign.

The particular tattoo I saw, and learned more about much later in life, was a Swastika.  That day, as I pointed it out to my grandfather, I was shocked at how instantaneously his entire persona changed. Instead of the smiling, gentle giant I knew just moments before, he filled with explosive rage as his face turned red and contorted with anger.

“He’s a damn Nazi,” my grandfather spat out, as he yanked me roughly away from the ride.

At that age, I had no point of reference for the term Nazi, and thought it was just a word you would use for a bad person. Never having seen him rage before and not wishing to further upset him, my usual inquisitiveness was temporarily shut down, and so I didn’t ask for an explanation.

It turns out that my grandfather did have a very personal point of reference. He was stationed in Germany as a soldier in World War II. He was older, with a family, but was sent from the reserves because he understood the German language – his parents had been German immigrants.

There was no term such as post traumatic stress disorder for returning soldiers in those days, but I feel sure that with all of the torturous memories he kept locked up inside, only to show them in short rage-filled bursts, that is exactly what he was left with. Having helped liberate concentration camps and witnessing the death and destruction at the hands of the Nazis, my parents told me later that my “grandfather’s nerves were never the same again” after he returned from war. That was their explanation, and there was nothing more to be said or asked.

That first contact with the word Nazi stayed with me and I occasionally heard my Grandfather use that word after he watched the news. I never inquired further, wishing not to upset him each time, though now I wish now that I had the courage to do that.

While going through college as a psychology major, I took a comparative religion class made up of students of every religion and many nationalities. For two weeks of the course, another guest lecturer gave us a mini-course on the Holocaust. The most moving and transforming part of the course, aside from reading the book “Night” by Elie Wiesel, was watching a documentary film called “The Night and the Fog.”

That film uses actual footage taken out of Nazi archives to show the worst of the concentration camps and the methodical way the Nazis were working toward their murderous “Final Solution.” Many of the students in our class had to leave the room during parts of it, many cried, and many became ill. (It is such an important film in my opinion, I think that it should be viewed by all high schoolers so they can learn about racial and religious intolerance in the extreme.)

I sat riveted through the film though, and that’s because I was watching on film with my own eyes what my grandfather must had witnessed in person with his eyes as he arrived at death camps. In the film they showed archival footage of emaciated barely surviving skeletons of humans with hollowed eyes near the piles of dead skeletal bodies that were later steamrolled into a hole. My grandfather had unfortunately passed away a few years earlier before I could discuss the film or hear his experience as a first-hand witness, but I finally had all of my unasked questions answered. I learned what a Nazi was and it made my blood run cold, because it wasn’t just a character or a bad guy from a horror film any more, these were real life evil people. This two week mini Holocaust course moved me beyond anything had in my entire life.

Since my paternal grandmother knew a lot about my grandfather’s history, I finally asked the questions and she  filled in the blanks for me. She told me about my grandfather’s war service. She said my Pop-pop was “touched in the head” because he had seen a lot of death in Germany during World War II. She surmised since he came from Germany as a young boy that maybe he had family there still. I was old enough to realize that he may have seen his own relatives among the skeletons of so many innocent victims in the camps.

During the 90′s at the height of Seinfeld’s television show popularity, Jerry Seinfeld coined a flippant term about a mean restaurant owner. The term was Soup Nazi. As happens in pop culture, the term was picked up on, and was used in popular lexicon. Suddenly the term Nazi was tagged on and used for every disagreeable, or mean person. With this, the original meaning of the term had been watered down to its most trivial.

As a writer and a bit of a wordsmith, this bothered me more than I could ever say; my experience with my grandfather and the Holocaust course caused me anger beyond reason that the term Nazi could be so trivialized. (I am my grandfather’s legacy in this sense.) I am sure most Holocaust survivors felt the same way. Words can indeed hurt.

Because I am at heart a psychologist as well as a writer, when I watch films featuring Nazis I try to use psychology to explain their behavior. But no matter how hard I try, I have never been able to come up with a rational explanation of the sort of evil that took over common people who went along with the murderous rampage on innocent citizens.

Though my grandfather wasn’t able to give me a personal history lesson from his eyewitness accounts, he at least taught me one very important thing: that the term Nazi should be reserved for the worst kind of human being- the kind who has no value for human life.

I was a child of the 60′s and a mainstay of growing up in that era was watching way too much cheesy television. From Gomer Pyle to Gilligan’s Island to the Brady Bunch – we spent hours watching a bunch of silly fluff. We didn’t have videos, gaming, computers, facebook, and the like so we had to make due with outdoor play and bad TV.

The jingles introducing these songs were so addictive – catchy and lame at the same time. Many told the story of the show. Somehow instrumental themes that introduced shows like Bonanza and I Love Lucy gave way to catchy ditties with lyrics and because of that, my peer group has most of these tunes burned into our collective memories, whether wanted or not.

I am sure many of us would exchange a memory of where we left an important piece of mail just three days earlier or where we left our reading glasses just minutes ago, with the lyrics to Gilligan’s Island from the 1960′s. But alas, that is not possible.

Recently I was brunching with a group of us and one thing led to another and we started singing some of these silly songs like the theme to Mr. Ed, (A horse is a horse of course of course…) Beverly Hillbillies, (Come and listen to a story about a man named Jed, a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed…)  Green Acres, (The Chores, The Stores!) The Brady Bunch (Her’s a story of a lovely lady…), Gilligan’s Island (Come sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…)etc.

It caused a bunch of giddy giggles and reminiscing as we brought forth memory after memory – because sometimes just remembering something from long, long ago is a reason to celebrate! We didn’t care that we were in a restaurant – we were singing these silly songs aloud!

We got temporarily stuck on Petticoat Junction, and later after I You Tubed it, I couldn’t get it out of my head!

In the later 60′s through the 70′s these songs would prove to be hits on the radio as well, such as Welcome Back Kotter, the Laverne and Shirley theme, and the Partridge Family song.

I have to admit, as we went through the 70′s the songs became less silly and became a better musical product such as the theme from Cheers, Happy Days, and the aforementioned Welcome Back Kotter by Jon Sebastian of the Lovin Spoonful.

Now don’t go blaming me if you go through the rest of your day with some inane TV show song in your head, it could be worse. I could have brought up TV commercial jingles such as that Choo Choo Charlie was an engineer one.

There she is, Miss Orange Palms – Thank you High Def TV and read on to find out why:

The theme this year of our exciting pageant is “this is a NEW Miss America.” Well, for someone who has been watching since I was a toddler, THAT’s still to be decided.

Will someone with starched hair, an operatic voice, and a phoney smile, who looks to the heavens to thank her maker frequently, win? Or will a more modern prototype be victorious this year?

The semi-finalists included an ex-fat person (“I lost over 110 pounds!”) who has received a lot of press, and a girl who grew up with an incarcerated parent. Plus some interesting multi-cultural types.

SIDE NOTE: Kris Jenner, the Kardashian mom, looks like a man in drag, no?

Miss Colorado, who said she was leaving it in God’s hands as she was interviewed while waiting for the last 3 semi-finalists to be called, apparently found that God was busy doing something much more meaningful than interfering in a pageant result. She didn’t make it.

After the semi’s are called, the bathing suits go on, and the losers put on their most plastic smiles and must endure another interview with Brooke and an impromptu song before they shuffle off.

Last year’s Miss America is introduced and it looks like she turned 18 – now legal! in the interim. Wow, over the hill. (What does does she have to look forward to from here on?)

At least they don’t call the bathing suit (actually BIKINI) competition the “Fitness Portion” anymore. Really.

I have high hopes this year. Some are fairly normal looking. Too many though!  On to eliminations!

Wait, this is weird – a popularity contest! Lining up behind a contestant to keep them in! OY!

On to the evening gown competition which separates the elegant from the tacky. Will she choose a prom gown, or an actual grown-up classy affair? We shall see.

Miss Illinois has worked on her body her entire life, her voice-over explains. Ex-fatty Miss South Carolina has worked on her body only  for the last year and a half apparently.

Miss Alabama takes the prize for the tacky gown of the evening, and her voice is like Betty Boop. Lucky she was popular and the girls kept her in.

TALENT! Will we be lucky enough to get another yodeling ventriloquist?

Irish jigger factoid that flashed: Knows how to give a cow a pedicure.

(I think these factoids are my favorite feature of the show.)

Miss Texas (Yee Haw for my state!) can play piano and hula hoop at the same time. Another great factoid.

Caught Miss Wisconsin (adorable by the way even for an opera singer) extending her hands while singing was displaying tanned orange-y palms – an obvious self-tanning faux pas. Thank you High Def TV!

Have to say so far, nothing truly embarrassing. A pretty good crop. Modern too. Maybe.

Oh wait, the old standard. Miss Tennessee is falling back on a show-offy, Memory from Cats. And besides that she is an honorary Duck Master. No, I am not making this up. It’s a factoid across the screen so it must be true.

Another show-off – You Raise me Up by Miss Iowa who is multi-culturally and dimply adorable, by the way.

Another multi-cultural cutie, Miss California is the last. She is afraid of Windmills. Okay – Karen made me put that in.

Miss Louisiana threatens to do a Tebow if she wins, so when she is eliminated, I do a private Tebow that we don’t have to see that.

Miss Alabama and her Betty Boop voice and bad taste and gowns couldn’t be saved by the girls this time. But would she have sung, ” I Want to Be Loved By You – Boo-Boo-Beep-Do?” Unfortunately we will not hear her platform. Could it have been, “Lopsidedness as a Result of Unfortunate Shoulder Embellishments?”  or perhaps “Empowering Women with Baby-squeaky, Itty-Bitty Voices?” or “Recycling the big hair and big dresses of the 80′s?” Alabama is not #1 tonight. No sir.

Nothing too weird yet. Sure wish Miss Texas would have hula-hooped and played piano at the same time. Guess I won’t be cringing till the interviews.

I think I am a big Miss Arizona fan. She answered a tough question about Tim Tebow and faith. She didn’t go all Jesus on us- she keeps her faith private. Private. Imagine that?

Judge Teri Polo of Meet the Parents fame, is looking truly awful. Guess there are no more Meet the Parent Movies to make so she is reduced to pageant judging.

Bye Miss Multi-Cultural Iowa, but I was a fan. ( a single tear is rolling down my cheek)

Our outgoing Miss America, the youngest ever who won at age 17, has “grown and matured” over this past year.

Miss Wisconsin, who had the incarcerated parent, has won Miss America. I am excited because with her hair and looks, she reminds me of my daughter Elissa, a tall blue-eyed brunette beauty. She has mascara rolling down her cheeks endearing her to me permanently. Bert Parks is singing to her via recording.

I have no more snark left, and so I must sign off. Would love your comments!