Thursday, April 1, 2010

Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah

If I did not have a meeting with the deans on campus this afternoon, and if I did not have a lot of grading to do, I might seriously consider packing a weekend bag (for me and my beloved) and heading to the Dinah. I've never been to The Dinah Shore Weekend, that sun-soaked bacchanal in Palm Springs that some refer to as The Dinah Score Weekend. Oh, my. Nonetheless, I'd like to go. You see, I also never attended the Michigan Womyn's Festival, because, when I was the appropriate age to go, I was listening to The Smiths and thinking I was too cool for that. Or, I might have been broke. In any case, I regret not going, especially since now it's too late. It's too late because I just simply do not want to sleep in a tent and be around that much armpit hair — even though I celebrate the crunchy lesbians. I truly, truly do.

The Dinah, however, appears to be an entirely different aesthetic. The ladies at The Dinah are all groomed, toned, and tanned for the poolside. In addition, I had a crush on Dinah Shore when I was little. She was dating a much younger Burt Reynolds in those days (Cougar! And, ironically, not a lesbian!) and therefore had had a resurgence in the press in the 1970s. Today, Dinah Shore is still relevant in my life because—upon seeing a sporty lesbian in a tennis shirt (collar up) driving a clean, white, chick car—I might make a seemingly derisive reference regarding her Dinah Shore stylings. But make no mistake. It's not disdain. It is pure admiration. Pure admiration perhaps mixed with a bit of envy. Because now you know just how much I'd like to dip my toe in the swimming pool at The Dinah...

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