Dancing with the Stars is a total Farce

Okay, I watched a bit of it last night and was appalled! A couple stepped out to perform an Argentine Tango. First, I don't think the music was appropriate and, second, they didn't do anything close to an Argentine Tango. Instead, they did some kind of acrobatic display. It was sheer crap! I suppose watching such a performance might be pleasant but DON'T CALL IT ANY KIND OF TANGO! Then, the judges gave them high marks and never mentioned their dance was nothing like an Argentine Tango!

What a farce!

I was told, maybe that was their interpretation of Argentine Tango. Bull! That's like speaking French and claiming that's one's interpretation of Italian. It's like hiking up a mountain and saying that's your interpretation of snow-boarding downhill. Argentine Tango is a specific art-form. You just can't do gymnastics and say it's Tango.

If that couple were to try that crap in the streets of Buenos Aires...while they might attract some attention...if they claimed to be doing a Tango, they'd be laughed all the way back to Hollywood. Do it right...or stay home.

So much for watching TV!

Denville

Denville’s Spring Parade!

Denville’s annual events have changed a lot over the years. I wonder if there’s anyone left who remembers the old, topless chicken races. Now, that was a great spectacle!

Each year, on parade day, Mr. Bush (who wasn’t so old way back then) would bring a truckload of chickens to town. We got all our eggs from Mr. Bush. He would sit in a darkened room of the barn and examine each egg with a “black light” to be sure it wasn’t fertile. He wasn’t always correct and, at times, we had tiny chicks in the pan. A few houses from Mr. Bush, on Norris Road, lived the Starks, then the Doremus family, then the Canaras. I lived on the hill across the road. It now backs up to the Tourne. Next, on my side of the street were the Schroeders, Reillys, Sullivans and a few other families whose names escape me at the moment. Everyone close to my age in the area was a girl. Much farther down the road, toward the golf course, lived Randy Norris. I always wondered if he came from some original "Norris" family. Later, he seems to have changed his name from "Randy" to "Lang'. The Swensons had a house, barn and horses across the valley and the Suks had their own land which they farmed. Apparently, the Bushes sold off all the farmland and it's now a series of streets with McMansions. I suppose the Suks farm is gone now, too. I guess they still have a "Farmers Market" on Norris Road but I can't imagine what farms might supply the market...since they're all gone from Denville.

Anyway, Mr. Bush brought lots of chickens to town each year for the festivities. He had a vintage old truck, maybe from the late forties. I suppose it was a marketing effort for him to make sure he was the main, local supplier of chickens and eggs in the area. There were other Bushes who farmed the Rockaway Valley. We used to go down the hill and pick (steal, I guess) peppers and tomatoes from the fields. We'd sit out there and just eat all day long!

Years later, we raided the fields, filled up the car trunk with cabbages, went to town and pelted the police station with them. On leaving, we all "mooned" the police as they came running out of their hive.

Sometimes, there would be a massive stack of cow and horse manure up against the Swensons' barn. We climbed up into the hayloft and jumped out into the pile of poop mixed with straw. Kewl! Oh...and sometimes there would be a gigantic load of pig manure dumped across the street from my house. (St Francis used to raise pigs.) So...I heads down the hill from the house, directly to the pile of grayish, goopy, incredibly stinky heap. I gets up a full head of steam and runs straight for the pile...dive in, head first..."sploosh!" I goes back and do it again...and again...all day! My word! The stink! (I was not allowed in the house for a long time afterwards.)

So…as the time for the topless race approached, Mr. Bush lopped off the heads of all the chickens! The sides of the streets were lined with make-shift fencing. Each chicken had a number stenciled on its side and people placed wagers on each "semi" bird. Then…they all were set free! Headless! They ran, aimlessly, into each other and into the fences on each side. Each time they hit a barrier, they would spin and change direction. It was hilarious! The idea (of course) was for one of the chickens to get to the end of the street first.

People screamed! “This way! Come on!” (The chickens couldn’t hear or see, since they had no heads.)

Mr. Bush was a shrewd dude. He always added a few turkeys to make the race more interesting. However, the turkeys always ended up, tangled in the mesh-fencing.

So…at the end of the topless (headless) race, the winning bird always was awarded to the mayor (Master of Ceremonies of the Parade.) They made a very special meal for him and (even though he wanted the bigger turkey to win), he was always pleased with his meal and always declared the day to be a "Fowl" success!

Also, at the end of the race, there was a HUGE vat of boiling water (almost as big as an oil drum ). In the vat were fresh carrots, onions, garlic, tomatoes, potatoes and such. All the children at hand participated in a “pluck-fest” and the headless chickens all ended up in the vat…a wonderful ending to a wonderful day!

I never did learn what happened to all the chicken heads. Maybe they just ended up in the stew…I don’t know.

In any case, they don’t have those races in Denville anymore. Instead, they just have boring Cub Scouts, Brownies, Little League baseball players and such…just marching through town. Big Deal!

I miss the “Chicken Events”! Those were the days when we all came together, united, and with a common hope for a bright future...alas! What's become of us?

The Bush and Suk farms are gone. There are TV and music stars living where I once picked (stole) vegetables. There's a forest park (The Tourne) occupying the hills where we hiked and my brother trapped various animals to sell the pelts. Is this progress? I think not. Of course, if one were to harken back to much older days...what would a person from that era think of what became of the area called Denville, long before my time? Time is, indeed, a relentless foe.