You are cordially invited to my 1960s “Les Baxter” party. Yeah I know, I know — just work with me here…
When I was a kid this is what adulthood looked like to me. I’m prompted by Twinkly Sparkles’ post on what it was like to be a kid in the 1960s imagining what being a grown up was like. My mom is light with long hair that she wore in the style of a lot of the white women on TV back then. My dad and mom went to parties of my dad’s artist friends and there would be pictures.
My party is slightly based on that but mostly based on media images and a few of the dirty magazines I “happened” on back then.
So guys put on your smoking jackets. Cigars and pipes welcome! We won’t protest in self-righteous health-awareness. You’ll get none of that “Oh my God that stinks!” at my party. Girls – yeah I said it – GIRLS – this is pre “women’s liberation” era – bring your cigarette holders and pink-filtered cigarettes, but no lighters. The boys at the party will eagerly light your cigarettes on the terrace overlooking the Hudson. Black women, wear your newly liberating afros, but you have to wear head bands, mini–skirts and Nancy Sinatra go-go boots. Wear your grooviest bouffants and pale peach-colored lipsticks – re-apply after eating the fondue.
Martinis abound, the plain ones with no fruit, chocolate, peppermint or marshmallows– blech! Drink up, smoke, swap wives and have an orgy in the blue room – no condoms. Next week you’re all invited to the Cheetah Club on 53rd and Broadway!
This wasn’t the sixties but I’m going to play it at my party:
We actually had this album at home: