Thursday, November 03, 2005

No Password Now Needed

Forget TimesSelect and its fresh-brewed, maddening need for passwords. At last I can bring you my friend, website designer and neighbor's, Jen Gordon's (Sas) hilarious blog, 9WhiteSt. Her account of a dubious Tanya Tucker show had me falling out of the chair laughing, as did pictures of her daughter, Georgia. (Now that's a fine a name as a girl could hope for.)

Her deep devotion to Dolly Parton, all-things-southern and techy, and her vibrant sense 'o humor make Sas (as she's known unprofessionally) just about the perfect neighbor, albeit one over on White Street. I know she's had a bit of a rough patch this week, sending Georgia off to school for the first time. No need to fret, hon. I know that's moreorless the same as asking the sun not to rise for a new mom, but Georgia seems more than capable of holding her own, with the under-twos or above.

Sas brought up the rather uncomfortable expression "camletoes" in her blog, which I could have sworn was an exclusively southern term. Then I saw The Weatherman this week, a thoroughly (won't say "deeply" right now) poignant movie set almost entirely in Chicago in which coping with the horror of "camletoes" becomes an entire subplot. Check that mirror ladies before heading out the door.

1 comment:

doro said...

I think I must need reading glasses. Not having heard the term "camel toes" before, I didn't get the visuals at first, but Google, shudder, confirmed that my imagination was correct. Yuck! Could we equilibrate somewhere between here and a burqa, please? Or just go neckid altogether without the spandex.

The upside is I am honored to have the vicarious acquaintance of someone who'd go to a Tanya Tucker concert. I am not alone.

FYI, Bernard M., a true last gentleman--the kind who mows his lawn wearing a shirt and tie and calls 5-year-old girls "ma'am," knows every word of Delta Dawn and we have sung it--belted it out loudly together-- almost everytime we've seen each other in the past 20 years, except at his wife Betty's funeral. Having heard it as a hit on the radio, I am showing my age to know all the words.

I do hate it that some of my favorite yankees are convinced that it's a sign of tawdry ignorance to love country music. Hemmed in by strictures of class,they're missing out on so much. Bless their hearts, and their pointy little heads too.