The Power of Love (and the Legwarmers)

September 27, 2010
by stephanie

It’s no coincidence that since starting the ForTasteSake blog, Kellie and my social calendars have blossomed.  Whether it be attending the Boys of Summer fundraiser for the Philly Gay Calendar or indulging in a Schmitter and a cold, over-priced beer at CBP (Citizen’s Bank Park for the non-Philadelphians out there), we have welcomed any development that will ensure a lack of hermithood in our overworked and often under-partied lives.   What has been surprising, though, is the amount of time we have both spent in recent months at the Troc.   I had never been before starting this blog (my musical tastes always seemed a little too “mainstream” for the Troc); however, when we were informed of the ultimate 80′s tribute band – The Legwarmers – Kellie and I jumped at the chance to check out what all the fuss was about. 

Without doubt, the first time Kellie and I saw The Legwarmers perform, it may have been one of the best nights of my life.  There is nothing like dancing and singing along to the songs of your youth with complete reckless abandon (as demonstrated below): 

You've got to fight for your right to party

While I woke up the following morning in a damp t-shirt (from the sweaty mess that was me the previous evening) and feeling like I’d run a marathon (try jumping up and down dancing for 4 hours),  I immediately checked for their next appearance in the Philadelphia area, which happened to be this past Saturday. 

Kellie and I learned our lesson from our first experience with the Legwarmers and we made sure to come decked out in our finest 80′s regalia (I thank Walmart for providing me with my entire outfit — who knew studded, black leggings would still be popular?). 

Studded Leggings. Respect.

Sweet Jacket

The walk to the Troc was a bit awkward, I must admit – though the stares and whispers by passersby were surely a result of unbridled jealousy – but, once we were amongst the other faithful Legwarmers’ followers, we felt at home.   Mesh tops, jelly bracelets, metallic gold track suits, Members Only jackets, high-top Reeboks, and walkmans – it was as though we stepped into a scene from Breakin’ 2:  Electric Boogaloo (way better than the original Breakin’, by the way). Once the Legwarmers took the stage, it was full-on 80′s domination:  Whitesnake, the Beastie Boys, Madonna, Asia, Devo, the Cure, MJ, Huey Lewis and the News.  It was the soundtrack of the first decade of my life and took me back to the days of watching Dancin’ On Air (Dancin\’ on Air (1984): Classic!) and Girls Just Want to Have Fun (Sarah Jessica Parker pre-SATC).

S-A-F-E-T-Y, Safety Dance

While the Legwarmers are just one of the many eccelectic, amazing, and affordable Troc offerings (see my previous post about Skeletor and Luchadores), they might just be the only one that could convince me that wearing black lycra and hot pink heels is perfectly acceptable.  What’s happening, Hot Stuff? 

when i bleed red, white and blue

August 2, 2010
by kellie

I don’t profess to be a patriotic person.  Sure, I’m happy to be a resident of the US of A, but I also believe there are other countries I’d be just as happy in (with the added bonus of potentially developing a charming accent, rather than the guttural twang that came about during my formative years in the Pine Barrens of South Jersey).  And, while I’m thankful for the opportunities that I’ve had in this country, I don’t get teary-eyed when I see the stars and stripes waving softly on the breeze of democracy.  (You know we live in a Republic, right?)

However, there is something that makes me feel like a red-blooded, apple pie loving, terrorist hating member of this Union: baseball.  There is no time when I feel greater pride in my country than when I’m sitting in the cheap seats at a Phillies game, sucking down the most American meal known to man – cold beer and lukewarm hot dogs – in the blazing summer sun.  Can there be a greater sense of unity than high fiving a row of complete strangers in the excitement of a walk off homerun or a stronger feeling of brotherhood created when starting the wave and seeing it ripple out over 45,000 people?

There’s a feeling of comraderie that seems to wash over me as I’m sweating alongside fellow red-shirted fans that makes my heart swell with pride at being both a Philadelphian and an American.  Perhaps I’ve been brainwashed by years of hearing baseball referred to as our “national pastime,” to the point that I can no longer separate the game from the country. Or, perhaps I’m just a simple gal who loves bad food and worse beer, and the loud hum of joy, frustration and, occasionally, sorrow from an audience wearing their collective hearts on their t-shirt sleeves.

proud to be an american.