Peachy keen, jellybean.

You know you're feeling better when you dance around your apartment singing along to "Summer Nights"* from Grease, which they are replaying on VH1 for the nine millionth time, probably this time because Kenickie is now on Celebrity Fat Club season 3. (How sad is that, a piece of my childhood has officially been ripped to shreds.) At least there's still the line, "Men are rats, listen to me, they're fleas on rats, worse than that, they're amoebas on fleas on rats. I mean, they're too low for even the dogs to bite." Gotta love that.

It's a little more upbeat than Murderball, which I got from Netflix tonight and really want to see, but which is just not as enthralling as the Pink Ladies, the young Jeff Conaway, and the infamous car chase, tonight.

Watch it - hey, I'm Doris Day.

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* When I was in 6th grade my friends and I tried out for the elementary school talent show, re-enacting "Summer Nights" from Grease. We were rejected because of the lines "did she put up a fight?", "she got friendly down in the sand" and "well she was good, you know what I
mean." How come there are no lines in that song where the GUY is a slut?

And then, during the show, after being approved by the "censors," one of the contestants did THE MOST RAUNCHY dance I have ever seen - even to this day - to some stupid song and we were all pissed because he got to feel himself up onstage OVER AND OVER AGAIN and we didn't get to do our well-thought-out routine.

We made our comeback in gym class when we did a group project - an exercise routine to a reworked version of "Shout" by Tears for Fears: "Stress, stress, sweat it all out. Stress is what we can do without. Come on, come exercise with us. Come on." To this day I cannot take that song seriously.