I Am Sofa King Leotard Head

And I can watch TV
I can shuffle off to Buffalo
I can do a backbend
I will not call you back

And I can start a book
I can make some mac and cheese
I can sleep twelve hours

You'll never see my eyes

It is reassuring to me that there exist lyrics capable of summing up My Life And Times with such staccato efficiency. Oh, and accuracy: A full 25% of this verse, you'll note, pays homage to the tap-dancing, somersaulting Leotard Era (ca. 1988-1995) that so deeply imprinted itself into my fledgling psyche. (The other 75% seem to refer quite specifically to a more contemporary Age of Sweatpants, but I digress.)

With respect to both volume and extravagance, leotards : me :: shoes : Imelda Marcos. I owned sensible long-sleeved black scoopnecks to be worn with bunned hair for ballet, I owned florescent bedazzled numbers with minimal seat coverage and matching scrunchies. I may have even sported half of a mother-daughter matching set; its counterpart could be found Workin' It at our neighborhood Jazzercise.

The Leotard Era, like the garments themselves, stretched far and wide. No woman was safe. Nor were her hips. Luckily, "hips" as a concept was years away from being on my bony little radar screen and so I recall my Spandex-clad days with much neon-infused merriment.


Jenny Lewis' early backup career; scroll to the 2:00 mark for some hot leotard action.

The lead singer of Rilo Kiley is “child actress” Jenny Lewis. One of her early roles – in fact, if memory serves, I believe it was her “and introducing…” moment – was as freckle-faced Hannah Nefler in the 1989 cult classic Troop Beverly Hills.

I use cult here to refer specifically to my own particular operation of organized brainwash: Brownie Troop #492, Delaware-Raritan chapter. From the years I spent wearing beanies and knee socks with tassels I pretty much remember two things, one being this movie and the other being a paper-plane flying contest that ended in tears (mine). I suspect, however, that our misfit squad was only part of a much larger cohort of little girls whose repeated viewings of the movie have left them with the ongoing urge to recite, trance-like, substantial portions of the script upon hearing myriad trigger words: cookie, Jamboree, Tori Spelling.

I'll spare you the full recap – you've either seen the film at a full two-thirds of your girlhood slumber parties or you haven’t – but suffice to say that the movie is helmed by Shelly Long in the role of Phyllis Nefler (a-ha!), a pending-divorcee-with-a-heart-of-gold who sports the orangest and permiest head of hair this side of C.C. Bloom and who volunteers to lead her daughter's sad-sack Wilderness Girls troop in something of a coup d'fish-out-of-water. Hilarious hijinks ensue, including a "camp-out" at the Beverly Hills Hotel (Villainous rival troop leader Velda Plendor: “Is this what you call roughing it?" Phyllis: "One bathroom for nine people? Yes!") and an ongoing dance sight-gag (everyone in leotards, obvi) that a grown Jenny Lewis winks to, delightfully, in her lyrics:

And I can do the frug
I can do the Robocop
I can do the Freddie

I cannot do the Smurf

The fucking Freddie. It’s like she's singing directly to 8 year old me! If only she'd thrown in a reference to French Kissin in the USA (Phyllis: "The last time I did this I got more than a patch for it!") I could die side-ponytailed and content.


I used to hate J-Lew and her ilk the way I now hate Anne Hathaway: borne entirely of a deep and painful envy. Precocious during the Leotard Era and possessing a flair for the dramatic, I recited commercial jingles into mirrors, tape-recorded myself belting showstoppers like "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" and "Part of Their World", and created an imaginary friend whom I so humbly named "Mrs. Katie". Unsurprisingly, I also burned green whenever confronted with mini-starlets like Jodi Sweetin, Thora Birch, and The Girl Who Played Curly Sue. These people were of my age and surely of equal talent. Why them and not me?

The girls cast in Troop Beverly Hills comprise something of a Greatest Hits compilation of my far-flung Lateighties jealousy, having on their resumes shows including but not limited to: Blossom, Full House, Small Wonder, Life Goes On, Punky Brewster, Step By Step, and both Saved By The Bell and its predecessor Good Morning Miss Bliss. Lewis, for her part, was able to parlay her Jell-o commercials and Wilderness Girl uniform into an awkward (but still unfair!) onscreen liplock with America's Son Fred Savage. (This in the kitschy The Wizard, a film in which she also introduced the tried and true "when in doubt, scream sexual harassment" tactic to a generation of opportunistic young girls.)


Personally, I've only found this trick useful like 40% of the time.

These days, I am paralyzed with fear and dread at the mere hint of leotards - American Apparel stores creating a particularly fraught environment for My Body, My Self - and where I used to covet a stint on the silver screen I now stick to simpler goals: 1) get people to think you are cool and 2) be skinny: these hips no longer lie! And so Jenny Lewis, with her who's-who portfolio of Privileged But Chill LA Music Scene Friends (the kind who just caaaasually collaborate with one another to, oh you know, critical acclaim) and her foxy hotpants (the efficacy of which is, admittedly, under dispute) ... well, she remains one maddening step ahead of me. Always.

And I can hate your girl
I can tell ya that she's real pretty

Anyway. The Frug is an old track (am I using that term correctly? YM< is a music blog, guys!) that comes from the same 1999 album as Teenage Love Song, in which Lewis lambasts with a soothing Patsy Cline twang someone named Davey who callously loved-n-left her back in the day. To my great glee, The Internet seems to have deduced (based partly on such specific lyrical hints as "You were so famous, I couldn't resist" and "You've been in rehab, don't think I don't know" - that narrows it down! - but mainly on stalker-level intel about her historical acquaintances and whereabouts) that the target of her ire was...

...Dave Faustino. Better known as... Bud Bundy.

If these allegations are true, Teenage Love Song might be the most mismatched-in-hindsight "Up Yours!" screed since Alanis overshared about her theater-going acrobatics with Uncle Joey. And to me, this is great news. It humanizes Jenny and makes me relate with her music and connect with the lyrics and all that stuff.

Mostly, though, it just makes me feel better about myself.

Child Stars Who Went On To Have Successful Second Lives: They’re Just Like Us!

Except, I suppose, for the hotpants.

Rilo Kiley - The Frug
The Postal Service - The District Sleeps Alone Tonight
Rilo Kiley - Teenage Love Song