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 A retired friend sent me this. It offers a mixed bag but has enough merit to share: The Land of Sandra Dee Long ago and far away, In a land that time forgot, Before the days of Dylan Or the dawn of Camelot. There lived a race of innocents, And they were you and me, Long ago and far away In the Land of Sandra Dee. Oh, there was truth and goodness In that land where we were born, Where navels were for oranges, And Peyton Place was porn. For Ike was in the White House, And Hoss was on TV, And God was in his heaven In the Land of Sandra Dee. We learned to gut a muffler, We washed our hair at dawn, We spread our crinolines to dry In circles on the lawn. And they could hear us coming All the way to Tennessee, All starched and sprayed and rumbling in the Land of Sandra Dee. We longed for love and romance, And waited for the prince, And Eddie Fisher married Liz, And no one's seen him since. We danced to "Little Darlin,'" And Sang to "Stagger Lee" And cried for Buddy Holly In the Land of Sandra Lee. Only girls wore earrings then, And three was one too many, And only boys wore flat-top cuts, Except for Jean McKinney. And only in our wildest dreams Did we expect to see A boy named George with Lipstick In the Land of Sandra Dee. We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice, And when they made a movie, They never made it twice. We didn't have a Star Trek Five, Or Psycho Two and Three, Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty In the Land of Sandra Dee. Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, And Chester had a limp, And Reagan was a Democrat Whose co-star was a chimp. We had a Mr Wizard, But not a Mr T, And Oprah couldn't talk yet In the Land of Sandra Dee. We had our share of heroes, We never thought they'd go, At least not Bobby Darin, Or Marilyn Monroe. For youth was still eternal, And life was yet to be, And Elvis was forever, In the Land of Sandra Dee. We'd never seen the rock band That was Grateful to be Dead, And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson, And Zeppelins weren't Led. And Beatles lived in gardens then, And Monkees in a tree, Madonna was a virgin In the Land of Sandra Dee. We'd never heard of Microwaves, Or telephones in cars, And babies might be bottle-fed, But they weren't grown in jars. And pumping iron got wrinkles out, And "gay" meant fancy-free, And dorms were never coed In the Land of Sandra Dee. We hadn't seen enough of jets To talk about the lag, And microchips were what was left at The bottom of the bag. And hardware was a box of nails, And bytes came from a flea, And rocket ships were fiction In the Land of Sandra Dee. Buicks came with portholes, And side show came with freaks, And bathing suits came big enough To cover both your cheeks. And Coke came just in bottles, And skirts came to the knee, And Castro came to power In the Land of Sandra Dee. We had no Crest with Fluoride, We had no Hill Street Blues, We all wore superstructure bras Designed by Howard Hughes. We had no patterned pantyhose Or Lipton herbal tea Or prime-time ads for condoms In the Land of Sandra Dee. There were no golden arches, No Perriers to chill, And fish were not called Wanda, And cats were not called Bill . And middle-aged was thirty-five And old was forty-three, And ancient were our parents In the Land of Sandra Dee. But all things have a season, Or so we've heard them say, And now instead of May belline We swear by Retin-A. And they send us invitations To join AARP, We've come a long way, baby, From the Land of Sandra Dee. So now we face a brave new world In slightly larger jeans, And wonder why they're using Smaller print in magazines. And we tell our children's children of the way it used to be, Long ago and far away In the Land of Sandra Dee. | ||||
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