Zubaz, we hardly knew ye...

There have been many pants fads over the years. First came the stylish pantaloon (not to be confused with doubloons, for all ye pirates), then no significant advances in pant technology took place for quite a while...then some guy by the name of Levi Strauss and his buddies Jordache and Bugle Boy invented denim jeans, or "dungarees" if you are a pretentious ass. Many years again passed and along came corduroys, sweatpants, parachute pants and khakis—the world was now heavily pantsed and no one was left wanting for more pants varieties (except Mickey Rooney).

Fast forward to the early 1990s—Pants were still abundant and even Mickey Rooney had solved his pants crisis (he simply wore none), but two dreamers in a Los Angeles gymnasium were about to turn the pants world on its collective ear. Following such luminaries as Jonas Salk, Marie Curie and Albert Einstein; these two men developed a new kind of pant—one stretchy enough to cover even the most juiced-up quads and durable enough to survive both acid and stone-washings. The new pants were called: Zubaz.

I don't think that I am overstating when I say that Zubaz were the most important development of the 20th century. The creators of Zubaz took an idea that was first postulated by MC Hammer—that pants could be both garish and ridiculously poofy and blousy...and they gave it life. What was this flubber-like material that Zubaz were made out of? No one will ever know (some say "rayon"). All we do know is that Zubaz were meticulously covered in animal prints, fastened with a drawstring and were impenetrable by stains. Zubaz, simply put, were awesometasticradicaltubular.

Why do the brightest stars burn out so brightly? Why must everything beautiful be so fleeting? Sadly, this ode to Zubaz is no more than a eulogy. Zubaz pants were taken from us by the government in the year 1996 (much like they take egg nog away each January). Oh sure, you can still find relics scattered here and there...on bodybuilders...cut up and used as car chamois...on Mickey Rooney...but Zubaz are largely extinct in North America. Some day, when the world is better ready to accept something beautiful without destroying it...I believe that Zubaz will return. They might be adorned with NFL logos...they might strike a deal with the World Wrestling Federation...they might. For now, all we can do is wait, ever vigilant, for their return...and be forever mindful of the glorious few years when Zubaz (pronouned Zoo-baz) ruled the world and we ALL dared...to be different.

Need an Ideal Summer Sandal?...How About the Jelly Shoe?

I can't imagine what my childhood would have been like if I had never had the opportunity to adorn my feet with the very classy, glittery, comes-in-so-many-assorted-colors, and not to mention very cheap plastic jelly shoe. Oh my how the memories are wisping about in my mind like a cool breeze. Those sweet trips to the local Kings store where you could by anything from a Cyndi Lauper concert tee-shirt to the hard to find nowadays chicostick. It was a golden palace. We are talking surplus people, that is where you'll find the bargains and not to mention the must have jelly shoe bin.

Lets get real. For some reason I had to have them and for what; to stand there for an hour trying to untangle the ridiculous elastic strap holding the pair together from the rest of the pack. This fustration all due to the fact that there is only one purple pair left and it is all the way down to the bottom. Okay, I purchase them for a steal. There is no other sandal on the market this reasonably priced for such high fashion. I get home slip them on and I have automatically raised an inch. For a seven year old this is like wearing stilettos. All is well in the world, right? A few days go by and things seem to be pretty normal and then an odd stench begins to permeate from what is that?—my warn out dogs. I run them under cool water and move on. Strolling down the street in front of the neighbor boys strutting my stuff, and a rock gets caught in my shoe and I can't seem to get it out without taking off my whole shoe. The boys are watching, I take off my shoe, to my dismay it looks like I haven't worn shoes for weeks with all the dust and dirt that has collected on the sole of my foot. Now it is time to play all the exciting summer time games, kick the can, tea party all sorts. I hide and sneak and begin to jog, I'm on the home stretch and begin to sprint. Just when I am about to acheive victory...Snap! The plastic breaks and now my pinky toe is hanging out. I dig in and stick it out and then the whole damn shoe splits.

Walking home in defeat and utter ruin I limp home in these Godforsaken monstrosities and bury my head in my mother's chest in tears explaining the horrible chain of events. She comforts me and I cry myself to sleep. The next morning I awake and vow never to buy those tacky things again. Mom announces that she is headed to town and she might stop by Kings. Ahhhh yes, the whole saga begins all over again.

By Lacey Roberts