Tag Archives: Applebee’s

Burlesque

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Burlesque: (n) a variety show, typically including striptease.

There are certain words that evoke an immediate reaction–usually either shock or giggles.

It’s amazing to me that we actually become mature adults, but still insist on acting surprised or chuckling nervously about subjects that we think are “inappropriate.”

They are not unpleasant issues.

For instance, orgasm.

I would guess that if orgasms were put up for a vote in this country–pardon the expression, up or down–that people would cross party lines and even the Bible Belt would unbuckle.

Another word is masturbation.

I grew up in an era when it was considered to be evil, spent my adult years when it was perceived acceptable but taboo, and now you occasionally run across someone who actually speaks the word out loud in a conversation at Applebee’s.

It’s also true with the word burlesque.

Even though the shows involved comedians, jugglers, dancers and sometimes even animal acts, burlesque will always be remembered as a platform for strip-tease.

It’s amazing that even though each and every one of us do at least one or two strip-teases each day, we feel that it is gauche in front of footlights.

Well, I’m not connoting that I, myself, would attend a burlesque show to see such a strip-down performance, I just think it is humorous that we are so picky about what we deem unconscionable.

We let our children watch kids being poisoned by gas in Syria, but would be absolutely horrified if they ever saw a titty.

I don’t know what the right thing is. I certainly have grave misgivings about pornography.

But since the removal of clothing leads to one of three experiences–showering, sleeping or sexual intercourse–and I don’t find any one of those to be unpleasant, I will reserve my judgment on criticizing those who have the fortunate DNA of being attractive enough to stand and disrobe in front of the public.

 

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Age

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Age: (n) 1. the length of time that a person has lived 2. a period of history 3. (v) to grow older, especially visibly

When I was twelve, I really wanted to be thirteen. God, I ached all over! It was probably just the onset of puberty, but I didn’t know.

I really looked forward to eighteen, too. Twenty-one was cool, but since eighteen was the new voting age and I wasn’t that interested in drinking–not a big deal.

I felt a little giddy when I was twenty-five because I got to be in that group of “over twenty-five.”

Thirty put a chill down my spine, but then I realized I had nine more years for the decade. By forty I had so many kids that I barely remember the birthday.

Fifty was spooky. It’s when I really began to notice that age IS an issue. I don’t know–maybe my skin turned grayer, or I limped more, or wrinkles formed in my forehead? I’m not sure. But suddenly, everybody under the age of thirty started to treat me like a senior citizen.

It was quite frightening when the envelope arrived from AARP, inviting me to be a member. I recall how horrified I was the first time some teenage girl at Applebee’s asked me if I wanted to apply my senior citizen’s discount. A little piece of my soul wanted to roll over, crumple and die.

But I have especially noticed it this year, as I travel around the country. Younger folks think it’s powerful to treat me like I’m over the hill and couldn’t possibly have anything to share with anyone who isn’t eating their meals through a straw.

Actually, I think we have four different “ages:”

  1. An emotional age, which should be more mature, but most folks freeze at about thirteen.
  2. A spiritual age–a delicate blending of a child’s heart and the wisdom of Solomon.
  3. A mental age, only determined by how willing we are to continue to learn instead of pouring cement into our cranial cavity.
  4. And a physical age, which is strongly determined by genetics, lifestyle and willingness to exercise and consume fruits and vegetables.

If you average all four of those ages, you arrive at your actual number. You should try it.

By the way, I tallied mine. I came up with 43 years, 8 months.

That’s about right.