Winner Takes It All

Sorry ABBA, you do not meet my criteria for rock 'n roll so none of you are even contenders for best jumpsuit. No, I can't list my criteria but I know it when I hear it.

Winner Takes it All but you guys just get the booby prize of occasionally making my running playlist.

He Are the Champion, My Friends

One of my devoted readers sent me this image for the Jumpsuit Hall of Fame contest: How could anyone ever, compete with that? Ever?

Codpieces and Controlled Vocabulary

I'm not sure that people realize what a responsibility it is to coordinate this search for the best jumpsuit in rock 'n roll. On top of the stress of making important decisions with long-term consequences, I have to do it all in the hours before or after a tough day of being a librarian. Or during a break.

Rock photographers don't seem to care about awesome jumpsuits and take ambiguous photos: I often can't tell if I'm looking at a unitard or just a skin tight combo. Even the rock stars themselves make it tough for me, gigantic belts are cool but often hide the crucial waistline area.

Worst of all though, is the shoddy job of descriptions and tagging that underlies Google image searching and Youtube. Amateur content providers don't seem to think that adding key terms like "red leather studded jumpsuit codpiece" is even required when posting images from the Diary of a Madman tour. Pure craziness! I can't believe how frustrating it has been to find a good photo of the outfit that inspired that fabulous Ozzy collector's figurine. I think this might be it but the photographer was more interested in set design than costume and, until I find a better view, I can't enter Ozzy into the competition.



And break is over and it's time to get back to work ....

Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Okay, that was by far one of the most unpleasant physical experience of my life. Granted, I've been very lucky in life and the list of physically unpleasant experience is pretty short:

- four impacted wisdom teeth (one lodged in cheekbone) removed by insane dentist who did not send me to an oral surgeon but gave me a dozen shots and 3 1/2 hours of the floaty gas.

- puking with stitches in my mouth the night following 3 1/2 hours of floaty gas

- a crown that was not supposed to hurt since it was not a root canal

- peeing after having fibroid surgery catheters removed

- puking up green bile, getting tunnel vision and blacking out when I had hormone induced hyperactive autonomic nervous system issue during high school

- PHAT Camp with Jen Hendershott

Yes, Hustle Up the Hancock was more miserable than all that and way worse than even my first Soldier Field 10 Mile. The first 20 flights were the worst, I still had the crazy word hustle in my mind instead of the more realistic words hobble and huff. Climbing stairs is way harder than running. When you run and get tired you can slow to a walk, use slightly different muscles and at least still get some yards behind you while you rest and catch your breath. When you are climbing stairs and get wobbly quads and calves, you're kind of out of luck. I'm also pretty certain I know what it feels like to breathe in sandpaper.

I've always been slightly relieved not to have a gaggle of loved ones holding up signs and clunking cow bells on the side of a race course. The rules of polite society keep me from tackling the cocoa drinking, donut scarfing stranger-slugs who yell things out like "Almost there! Keep moving!" If it was my sister, a best friend or (God-forbid)a boyfriend who said that to me there would absolutely be some cow- bell-as-a-weapon violence happening.

Social constraints almost failed me though when I got to a landing and (instead of finding some peace and quiet for a quick pause and swig of water) I found a bunch of teenage cheerleaders with pompoms and boundless energy. Why were they standing on landing while the huffing, red-faced old lady was climbing the stairs?

At about level 40 I heard Fame and started to think about David Bowie. I thought about that heartbreaking 2005 Fashion Rocks performance where he looks like death warmed up with a shiner. It was the first performance after his heart attack a year earlier and I had already been thinking about heart attacks, and my odds of having one, since level 2. I won't post that performance since it is not my favorite version of Life on Mars?

So I'm posting the official David Bowie entries for the Jumpsuit Hall of Fame instead. Sometimes it is difficult to tell if the top portion of the ensemble is actually attached to the bottom, so some entries might need to be disqualified. But come on, look what we have to choose from here! If one, two or even a half-dozen of the outstanding Bowie jumpsuits are deemed a cheat, he has a one-armed one-legged leotard under his belt for Pete's sake! My only criticism is that David Bowie is more committed to fashion as a whole than to the jumpsuit in particular. I don't know if I can crown as King someone who is not committed. Does David Bowie love the jumpsuit more than he loves harem pants? Skinny ties? Over-sized boxy suit jackets?

I don't think so.

On the other hand, I have already let in Mr. Assless Chaps and it's not like Mick Jagger was a one-look man either. Even Freddie Mercury was know to wear pants every now and again.

So David Bowie, you're in.

Just When You Thought it Was Safe

I bring you Mick Jagger in a blue velour jumpsuit. I also found this wonderful post about Jagger's Jumpsuit by a blogger named Child of the Moon. She has collected a great group of photos of Mick in jumpsuit glam glory.

I went into this thinking he would not be moving on to the next round. I love the Rolling Stones but jumpsuits are not the first thing I think of when I think of Mick (that would be big lips if you must know). I'm surprising myself though, something about those narrow hips, that skinny butt and the sweaty, hairless chest just screams Put me in a Jumpsuit!

So Mick, you're moving on in the Jumpsuit Olympics and Jean Luc Goddard's Sympathy for the Devil is moving back onto my Netflix queue. My friend C. was mentioning some scenes from that movie the last time we had dinner and I could not remember them. According to Netflix, the movie was Last returned by you on: 09/19/07. My memory must be shot.

My My My, Whiskey and Rye

I promised a Joan Jett solo jumpsuit post, New Year's Eve is the perfect time because I have great memories of 1984 MTV Rockin' New Year's Eve. It was a slumber party but I can't remember if it was my friend Nancy or my friend Kris who was there. I'm pretty sure my friend Stacey was there. We were too young to go out for NYE, but we wished we were out doing something exciting. Joan Jett was on and at some point we noticed she missed a spot when she shaved her armpits. We all wished we were older, sipping champagne, out for the big party, and with a cute date. We didn't know yet that pizza and girlfriend sleep over was way better than any of those things. The near future would bring me boring NYE at St. Andrews Hall with Goober and the Peas and lots of dashed high hopes. Staying up late with Joan Jett is the one that sticks in my mind.



In terms of the jumpsuit, she's got fringe leather, she's got 80s puffy sleeves. Joan Jett, you rock the the jumpsuit with the big boys.

Thanks, Freddie

Eighteen years ago today Freddie Mercury died. I don't know why that is one of the dates I always remember. November 24? Freddie Mercury died. One of my oddest memories of a November 24 was emailing with a guy in 2003, setting up a home-made lasagne dinner date for the following week. I remember thinking as we chatted back and forth "hey, Freddie Mercury died today" but deciding not to mention it. I didn't know the guy very well and the night we met we talked about Bell Bottom Blues and the album Zuma.

Busting out the Freddie Mercury before a first date seemed risky .... I don't think these days I'd hold back. Love me, love lasagne, love Queen.

My friend J. says I should not even bother with a Battle of the Jumpsuits because Freddie automatically wins. I'm not saying he won't win but I think his competitors deserve a shot. In honor of Freddie's passing then, I will pull together my Jumpsuit Warriors this evening.

Scandal!

While doing very sophisticated research worthy of a Pulitzer for a Battle of the Jumpsuit post, I have uncovered something shocking.

Unless I can confirm that the denim outfit worn on the cover of Hot August Night is indeed a jumpsuit and not a combination of stylish separates, Getty Images may own every single freaking photograph out there of Neil Diamond in a jumpsuit.

How can this happen? Isn't Neil Diamond in a satin, sequin jumpsuit part of our cultural commons? I can find Neil in plenty of flamboyant shirts and rump hugging polyester slacks, but Getty's got the lock down on that red jumpsuit.