Friday, September 10, 2010

The 1970's- Don't Let The Show of the Same Name Fool You

The previous millennium had many good decades to commend it. (The Prude isn’t inclined to do a great deal of research in the morning, so decades indicated are approximate).

The 1920’s – (The Prude used a dash there because of grammatical uncertainty- is 1920’s singular or plural?)  a constitutional wonderland, with amendments flying around the country to give women the vote and not let them do so under the influence of alcohol.

The 1930’s and the Depression- when dresses that had been scandalous the previous decade moped themselves modestly back around the calves, and young people who had been flapping and smooching in public and drinking hard liquor out of bathtubs had to return home to loving and forgiving moms and dads, too broke to live it up, so they had to get all sober and muscular for:

The 1940’s, when America’s men and women worked shoulder to shoulder around the world to fight for freedom, which subsequent freedom was the chief enabler for:

The 1950’s, which may be half a century ago, but not forgotten, as women with names like Lady GAGA (I’m not making that up) imitate Marilyn Monroe and most people born in the current century are familiar with Ricky and Lucy, who were divorced by:

The 1960’s.  This was not a good decade for Prudes. I refuse to give it any publicity here,
other than to blame it for:

The 1970’s.

The Prude will need to spend at least one more post on the 70’s.  This was supposed to be a one-post topic but she was carried away by the winds of yesteryear, and her lead-in to the eighth decade (that is correct- the 1970’s were the 8th decade-count on your fingers if you don’t believe me) suddenly became 6 paragraphs long.

The 1970’s.  It wasn’t all bad. David Cassidy, The Prude’s first boyfriend, steered into her heart in a multi-colored bus, causing her to purchase gallons of Love’s Baby Soft cologne with her 50-cent-an-hour babysitting money, which she wore while eating pizza rolls and sneering at Bobby Sherman in Tiger Beat magazine.

But, as we know, this is not a commendation post.  The Prude remembers plenty about the 70’s and much of it needs to be Put In Its Place. 

So return Monday as The Prude conducts an in-depth analysis of what she is calling The Schizophrenic Era.  And when you return, don’t be surprised if I have, after considerable research, come up with a more appropriate term for it.  I did take college psychology in the 1970’s, after all.


katstrange said...

I am scandalized that you read Tiger Beat magazine. My mother wouldn't let me get anywhere near one. Of course, some of my friends had them and I admit...I looked.

The Prude said...

I guess I was a little scandalous.
I seem to remember buying copies when I visited down in Palos Heights by my grandpa. At home my dad preferred me to read Grace Livingston Hill books.
Please tell me you heard of her.

AND- were you a Bobby Sherman girl, or David Cassidy?

Anonymous said...

I, too, had Tiger Beat. I waited with baited breath for each issue and a new picture of Davy Jones..... -Joanie