Sunday, June 24, 2007

Go Greyhound

I'm leaving for my mom's house in Connecticut tomorrow. I'll be gone for most of the week. I hadn't planned on it, but my mom has been going through a lot in the past few months and it's really getting to her. The family dog died a couple of months ago at the ripe old age of 17. Since my siblings and I all moved away from home years ago, the dog was my mom's constant companion. Then she was diagnosed with breast cancer around the same time that the dog died. Luckily, it was in the early stages, it hadn't spread, and they were able to remove it all. As far as a cancer diagnosis goes, it was the best possible scenario. But just as a precaution, she has to undergo radiation treatments five days a week for seven weeks. This had delayed her plans to sell her house and move to Massachusetts, where all of her children reside. She had wanted to be up here already. But she did put her house on the market last week, and on the first day of the Open House, received an offer. Unfortunately, the house didn't pass inspection because of rising damp in the basement, which had flooded years ago and which was never properly fixed (which she didn't realize until the inspection). So the potential buyers withdrew their offer. When I called to talk to her today, like I do every Sunday, she sounded upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she completely lost it and started crying. She said it's a combination of the sale of the house not going through, plus the radiation treatments and the pills they have her on. She sounded so depressed that it scared me. So I told her I could come home for a week and stay with her. After all, I'm not working right now, so I have all the time in the world. The conversation went like this:

Mom: No, don't come down, you can't afford it.
Nowhere Girl: Yes, I can. I have money.
M: No, you're not working right now.
NG: It's alright, I can take the bus.
M: No, you need to save your money.
NG: I'M COMING DOWN ANYWAY.

My mom always puts her kids first. Here she's scaring the hell out of me because she's so depressed right now, and she's worrying about me not having money. But I know my mom. As much as she protests, she really does want me to come visit. So I told her I was coming, no ifs, ands, or buts. Once I did, she acquiesced. I knew she would. So tomorrow, I will be on a Greyhound bus bound for Connecticut for five and a half hours, possibly more if there's traffic (which there usually is).

I like taking the Greyhound bus. It sounds crazy, but I'm perfectly happy to sit on a bus (those comfy tourist kinds, with the plush seats) with my iPod so that my 9-hour Best of the Eighties playlist serves as a soundtrack to the motion picture that is the passing scenery outside my window. Unless I can't get a window seat. I really have to have a window seat. A female friend of mine once told me that if I ever took a Greyhound bus, to sit up front near the driver and not talk to anybody. She said every time she takes it, it's full of strange men traveling alone. I've never had any problems. Keeping the iPod earbuds plugged in my ears the entire time helps, as it intimidates potential traveling companions from trying to talk to me. But my friend does have a point about strange men on interstate buses. You always hear about convicts, just released from prison, who are given a new suit of clothes and a bus ticket - or do they not do that anymore? And whenever there's a cross-country dragnet for a wanted criminal or escaped convict, nine times out of ten they're apprehended at a Greyhound bus terminal, attempting to flee the state. The other option is the Chinatown Express, those inexpensive buses that travel between New York and Boston for $10 each way. I took the Fung Wah bus once and had no problems whatsoever, but that was before the Asian gangs got involved. The gang wars led to the stabbings of Chinatown Express bus drivers and the sabotage of the buses. Not that the mobsters need to set fire to the Chinatown Express buses, mind you. They seem to catch fire by themselves with alarming regularity, usually while speeding along the Mass Turnpike at 85 miles per hour.

It's sad to think that this trip home will probably be one of the last times I visit that town before my mom moves away forever. I'll miss things that I used to take for granted, like the mall that my sister and I used to trawl practically every weekend for twenty years, starting when we were teenagers. But what I'll miss most about that place was its proximity to New York City. New York is 45 minutes away by train from where my mom lives. I always thought that, no matter where I lived, I'd always maintain my connection to New York City because my mother still lived just outside of it. I could always stay with her and take a commuter train into Manhattan. Until I moved to Massachusetts, I had spent my entire life living in the New York Metropolitan area. Now, if I go back, it will be as if I'm not from New York. I'll have to take Amtrak, and pay for a hotel room. In short, I'll be a tourist in the city that I was born in. That makes me sad.

Right, I'm off to take a Lunesta now so that I can battle my chronic insomnia and get a good night's sleep. I'm not used to getting up before noon since I've been unemployed, and I've got to leave the house early tomorrow.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Yahoo Answers! = SPAM



Don't ever ask, or for that matter, answer, a question on Yahoo Answers! It only leads to lots of spam in your mailbox.

I asked a question once using my Yahoo email account. I figured it would be alright, since you really have to have a Yahoo account to ask a question. I thought it would be fairly secure. I only used this email account to sign into things that are associated with Yahoo and which force you to get a Yahoo account, like Geocities and Flickr. I don't use it for personal correspondence, and I don't use it to sign guestbooks on people's websites (which I never do anyway, but if I did, I wouldn't put down my email address). I was very selective with this email. I used it for mailorder, and certainly, I received email newsletters from vendors that I already made purchases from, which is ok. But one day, a few spam emails popped up on this account, that, theoretically, no one should know about unless it was a vendor or website that I've already been in contact with. Not coincidentally, the date these spam emails started appearing was less than a week after the date of the email from Yahoo Answers, telling me that I've successfully asked a question (plus the follow-up emails informing me of the answers I've received to my question). I guess spammers are trolling Yahoo Answers! for email addresses. Of course, it's not hard to do. They just look at the username and add "@yahoo.com" to the end of it. Now my inbox is filled with spam, and I've had to abandon this particular account.

Word to the wise: If you need to ask Yahoo Answers! a question, set up a new Yahoo account - one which you don't care will soon be overrun with spam.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Pick a Card



I had a tarot reading today at one of Salem's many psychic/new age stores. Ordinarily I'd be highly skeptical of tarot readers and self-proclaimed psychics, but there are certain places around town that have been in operation for years. They have good reputations, are active in community events, and are proponents of requiring licenses for anybody who wants to set up shop as a psychic in Salem. If you live in Salem, you have to get a reading at least once. At the very least, "for entertainment purposes only."

The tarot card reader started off by telling me about work. He said there is a new opportunity that will present itself no later than the end of September, and that it will be a positive thing. That's good news. I was beginning to get worried. Then he asked me if I had recently changed things around in my home. I had moved some furniture between the living room and my bedroom a few months ago. He said that was a good thing, that I changed the flow of my home. Okay. Oh yeah, he also said I would be going to Florida. Since I have absolutely no desire to go to Florida, it will be interesting to see if this comes true.

Then he moved on to relationships. He said he sees a strong-willed man (i.e. jerk?) in my future, coming into my life around the same time as my new job and thus, possibly related to the job. He said we really wouldn't be compatible for the long-term. This is kind of scary, because another psychic who did a tarot card reading for me last October as part of the many Halloween festivities in Salem said the same thing - that a man who is all wrong for me will come into my life, and I shouldn't go out with him. Incidentally, the woman who read my cards in October also warned me to get regular checkups for certain cancers that only women get, and one month later a routine mammogram revealed what turned out to be a benign lump. She also told me that I was a writer. How would she know that?! Maybe I should take this as a sign of things to come?

As skeptical as I can be about these things, I know why I got a tarot card reading today. I was anxious to get some sort of validation that a new job will soon be forthcoming. So this reading was quite possibly a temporary panacea to put my mind at ease about being unemployed. Sure, I wasted $20 that would have been better spent on coffee and toilet paper (the two things I most hate to run out of), but if it gives me a little more hope that everything will work out for the best, it was worth it. At least until I run out of toilet paper again.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Rockport Happiness



Today my sister and I went to Rockport, a small seaside town on Cape Ann, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. We first visited Rockport seven years ago when we lived in Connecticut. Back then it was a four-and-a-half hour drive, a major road trip. We'd stay at a Bed and Breakfast for a few days and take day trips to other towns like Salem and Marblehead. Rockport is the reason why my sister and I moved to the North Shore of Massachusetts. Before we moved to Massachusetts, whenever we felt the urge to visit Rockport again, we'd say we needed some "Rockport Happiness." It was our escape, a mental as well as a physical break, from the everyday stresses of work and life. Now we can be in Rockport in half an hour and come back home at the end of the day.

We did the usual stuff that we love doing in Rockport. We ate at the hot dog place (their onion bricks are awesome), walked on the beach and looked for pottery shards (I found three), and walked up to the pedestrian shopping area, called Bearskin Neck. It's a mix of galleries, souvenir shops, ice cream, candy, and coffee shops; and cute little boutiques. It's always fun to buy a few cheap souvenirs, get something to drink, have some ice cream, and window shop. The top of Bearskin Neck is a cul-de-sac overlooking the ocean. There are a few stone benches, and a large rock wall that you can sit on and look out over the water. I love to sit there on a bench while staring at the sea. Hmm. Staring at the Sea. Wasn't that the name of The Cure's greatest hits album?



We were fortunate that we chose today to go to Rockport because, unbeknownst to us, Rockport was hosting the second annual Fairies, Gnomes and Mermaids Festival ("A Celebration of Enchantment"). We saw quite a few fairies in town today (no jokes, please!) But no gnomes or mermaids, though. We checked out the "festival," and there was no celebration of any kind going on, let alone of enchantment. Just a couple of empty vendor tents and a bunch of hippies sitting cross-legged on the grass eating their lunch. Maybe the festival hadn't started up yet. It was surprising that Rockport was hosting this "festival," as Rockport is not a new-agey place at all. Salem would have made more sense.

In Rockport I suddenly had the urge to buy an ankle bracelet. Keep in mind, I am not the ankle bracelet type at all. Ankle bracelets remind me of "Working Girl"-type secretaries a la Melanie Griffith, with bad perms and tacky gold ankle bracelets worn underneath pantyhose. But I was at the beach, wearing flip-flops and capris, and I wanted to adorn my ankle. What's next, a toe ring? I bought a simple, understated silver ankle bracelet. It's funky, not tacky. And I will definitely reserve it for weekends or trips to seaside resorts only.



We went into one shop and the proprietor inquired as to whether we were tourists or lived nearby, so that we could come back to take advantage of a sale. When she asked me "Are you local?" it reminded me of Edward and Tubbs from the British sketch comedy show The League of Gentlemen. I had mental images of me going missing, the police coming to look for me, and the proprietor exclaiming "We didn't burn her!"



It felt good to be in Rockport today. While I am currently unemployed, and, this week, overdrawn at the bank (oops!), I was able to forget my worries for the day. If I can eat some fried seafood, buy some fudge, and stick my feet in the Atlantic Ocean, then I'm happy. Even though I now live only a half hour away from Rockport, I still feel like I'm on vacation when I go there. I come back feeling rejuventated. Today, I got my Rockport Happiness, and only mildly sunburned.

Friday, June 15, 2007

I ♥ Salem



Today was the first sunny day all week, so I walked downtown to get out of the house. I walked around Salem Common for an hour to get some much-needed exercise. I love Salem Common. Not only is it an important part of the history of the city (Revolutionary War militias practiced shooting on the Common), but it is a vital part of the community of Salem today. Tour buses line the outside of the Common, waiting for those stragglers who inevitably hold everybody else up and prevent the bus from leaving on time. Other than that, not many tourists venture into the Common, because they tend to overlook it in favor of the nearby Salem Witch Museum. But the lack of tourists in the Common is why I like it so much. I stroll around it on weekends, or like today, when I just want to get out of the house and feel like I'm a part of the community. And I do. I see the same people walking their dogs, riding their bikes with their kids, jogging, etc. Passing the same people, and giving or getting that nod of recognition, if not an actual "hello" (and for a native New Yorker, it took me by surprise at first how many strangers say Hello when they pass me), it makes me feel like I'm part of the Salem community. In fact, I ran into someone on the Common today who mistook me for my sister. Validation!



Training Day on the Common, 1808 (Courtesy Peabody Essex Museum)


Today I saw an interesting thing on the Common. In addition to the usual Common-dwellers, I saw a guy in a bear costume. Or rather, the head was from a bear costume, and the body was a gorilla suit. I don't know why this guy was wearing this costume, but he was walking through the Common with a group of friends. When I walked around the Common on one of my rounds, I saw this bearilla swinging on the swingset. I so wanted to take a picture of him with the camera in my cell phone, but it would have looked obvious if I took out the phone in front of him. So I walked around again, and took out my phone with enough time to spare so that when I passed him again, it would look like I was talking on my cell phone. Then I could inconspicuously snap his picture. Unfortunately, when I came around to the swings again, he was gone. I saw him and his friends walking out of the Common. Given that it was 75 degrees today, he must have been very hot in his costume. Upon seeing him I said to myself the thing I always find myself saying as a resident of this city: "Only in Salem."

Other than the rare bearilla sighting, downtown Salem was the usual mix of tourists, residents, professional people, a few wiccans, the emo kids hanging out in groups downtown just to be seen (sometimes until 8 or 9 at night - don't they have homes to go to?), and the goth girls in full "Ruby Gloom" regalia, complete with parasols to protect their gothly pallor. I bought a bubble tea, which I can see becoming a bad habit this summer. As I was drinking it, forcing the tapioca bubbles up through the giant straw, it occurred to me that, the law of physics being what it is, it's possible to force the tapioca bubbles out of the straw too. I immediately had images of bubble tea fights, with tapioca bubbles being shot out of straws like spitballs. I wonder how much damage they could inflict? I'd imagine tapioca bubbles would simply bounce off of someone's forehead, whereas spitballs would stick to it.

Whenever I go downtown, it makes me realize how happy I am living here. Apart from the large tourist industry generated by the city's turbulent past as the home of the infamous witch trials, Salem has a lot to offer: an interesting maritime history, a world-class museum, coffee and tea cafes, an independent bookstore, a local movie theater, lots of interesting boutiques, and great places to eat. While I struggle with what to do with myself in terms of a job, I feel like I've gotten part of the equation right. I love where I live.

Tomorrow my sister and I are going to go to Rockport for the day. It's a seaside town with a beach and lots of interesting little shops. Every time I go there I feel like I'm on vacation. I haven't been there since last summer, so I'm really looking forward to going.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

But I'm a Cheerleader



Yesterday's post about my friends from ESL got me thinking about other friends of mine from the ESL class. In particular, it reminded me of Shari and Pari. They were sisters from Iran. Shari was a year older than I was, and Pari was a few years younger. Pari was in junior high when I was in high school, and she seemed so little and cute! A curly-haired little moptop. Her sister Shari was beautiful. Long black hair and eyelashes to match. Shari and I decided one year to try out for the varsity badminton team. Not being the athletic type, I nonetheless thought myself good enough at badminton to make the team. My family had a dime-store badminton set, and every summer we'd set up the badminton net in our backyard. So I'd played the game before. Besides, I reasoned, how hard could it be to make the badminton team? It wasn't one of the "cool" sports, like track, or field hockey, or tennis, right? Who else would be interested?

On the morning of the tryouts, I got up at 5:00 am. My mom and I drove to Shari's house to pick her up so that we could get to school at 6:00 am for the tryouts. Yes, we would make the badminton team, we thought. Until we got there. To our surprise, all of the other girls at tryouts were cheerleaders. Needless to say, neither Shari nor I made the team. We were like two misfits who should have known better than to attempt a foray into the world of the popular, athletic, prom-queen types. The badminton team turned out to be, in effect, the cheerleading squad during the off-season. In the fall, they were cheerleaders. In the spring, they were the badminton team.

After being rejected from the badminton team, I ended up joining the varsity archery team instead (yes, there was such a thing). It didn't have a cute little uniform like the badminton team did, but I enjoyed it. And I didn't have to try out for it. Unlike the badminton team, the archery team was accepting of everybody. Why can't society as a whole be like that? I was no Geena Davis, but I had fun. There was no sense of cut-throat competition like you find with other sports. Sure, each team wanted to win. But each target had members of both teams on it during the game. And there was no hostility between them. In fact, it was very sociable. And being a member of a varsity team meant that I received a varsity letter. Yes, someday my as-yet-unborn future children will think their mother was a high school jock!

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

My Life is in My Hands



I saw an episode of Seinfeld tonight where George Costanza, who was in between jobs and deciding what to do for a living, said the above pearls of wisdom.

When I was in high school, I made friends with the ESL students, (English as a Second Language). They were students whose families came to America from foreign countries. They had to take the ESL class, in addition to their regular classes, to improve their English. There were a few kids from Japan, Korea, and Hong Kong, and maybe one from Europe. But the largest number of ESL students were those who came to America to escape the turbulence in their home countries. There were several Iranian students whose families had fled Iran because of the revolution a few years previously. When asked where they were from, they would say "France," because that's where they had originally settled after leaving Iran (as many Iranians did after the revolution). They were afraid of being perceived as "the enemy" once they came to America. There were also many students from El Salvador because of that country's civil war of the early 1980s. I used to hang out in the ESL classroom during my studyhall periods, helping the students with their reading, and becoming their friend. I learned as much about their cultures as they learned about mine, plus I got to know them for the people they were, not the way perhaps most people in my school saw them: the kids who couldn't speak the language - you never noticed them, and you didn't even know their names.

One of my friends from ESL was from Hong Kong. Her name was Vivian. Although still in high school, she was already a pro at the ancient art of reading palms. One day in the ESL classroom, she read mine. Her predictions for me, based on the lines in my palm, were as follows:

1. I'll have a lot of trouble with my job.
2. I'll get married.
3. I'll have three kids.
4. I'll be rich.
5. I'll live to be very old.



Twenty-three years later, the only prediction that has come true so far is number one. But boy, was Vivian right on the money with that one! At the time, I took her prediction literally, thinking that, my first job out of college, I'd hate my boss or something, but that I'd get another job and everything would be swell. No such luck. Looking back at my work history, I've had a series of jobs that I either wasn't happy at, didn't do well at, wasn't satisfied with, or was simply frustrated by a lack of progress in. And at the moment I am without a job at all. But that's okay. Like George Costanza, I, too, am in a transition phase. And I hold out hope that, because Vivian was so accurate about my employment situation, her other predictions will come true too. Is there still a chance of me getting married and having kids? That sure would make my mom happy. Will I be rich? That'd be awesome. And will I live a long life? I hope so. That means I still have plenty of time to find my niche in this world.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Procrastination



I'm blogging when I should be writing. I did write tonight, for 2 hours. Then I got distracted and went online. That's what happens when the laptop you use to write in also has Internet access. I got four pages done, but they're really only half-pages in that I write some stuff as it should properly appear and then the rest is in note form, so I suppose it doesn't really count. I guess I should get back to writing. Although now I feel like making something to eat.

I have made up my mind that tomorrow I am going to walk downtown and pound the pavement to see if anyone is hiring. I've applied for too many jobs online that have never gotten back to me. I've decided to try the tea shop that came to town a year ago. It's really cute. They serve all kinds of tea, scones, and cookies. They even do a high tea with finger sandwiches. Now with tourist season in full swing, maybe they need more help. I'm also going to try the local independent bookstore. Last week I stopped in to inquire about job openings, but the manager wasn't in, although the bookseller who helped me gave me the manager's card and said I could email my resume to her. So I did. She emailed me back the next day and said that they currently have no openings but they'll keep my resume on file. Of course they all say that. But when I went to the store on Saturday for the bookreading (see previous post), the manager was in. I heard her talking to the really young girl who was also working there and who was obviously a new hire (given the trouble she was having with a customer's special request). The manager was saying something along the lines of "It would be great to keep you on, but you'd have to work every Friday, Saturday and Sunday," and "Of course it's a wonderful opportunity, you should take it." Could this be my big break? So soon? Is the New Girl already flaking out on her boss and quitting? Hire me instead. I'm like, twenty years older than this girl. I have no wonderful opportunities looming. I'm reliable, have previous retail experience, and am just jaded enough to realize that I no longer have the world at my feet. Give me a job that I enjoy and that I can do well, without deadlines or corporate bosses from hell. That's all I ask.

I used to write in my spare time before I moved from New York to Massachusetts. Even when I first moved to where I live now, I was still writing. Not selling anything, mind you, but that's beside the point. The fact that I was writing gave me something to be optimistic about. Like I was doing something. But when I started my most recent job, all that changed. I worked nine-hour days with an hour commute each way. The commute wasn't the problem. I used to commute 90 minutes each way when I worked in New York and I didn't mind it. But back then I was able to do a little writing in the evening after I ate dinner, and managed to go to bed at 11 pm, often treating myself to some television-watching time and stay up until midnight. At my most recent job, I got home at 7:30 and was in bed by 10 pm. I just couldn't stay up any later than that, I was so exhausted mentally and physically. So of course writing went out the window. That job killed my creativity. For two-and-a-half years, I wrote nothing at all. When I got fired, I threw myself back into writing, as well as reading for pleasure (another interest that I sacrificed) to give me something to do. If I can continue to read and write for pleasure, and have a job that I enjoy that's 10 minutes away by bus from my apartment, life would be perfect.

There, I've wasted another twenty minutes writing this post. I really should get back to writing. Or maybe I'll read instead. Although I am still hungry...

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Of Books and Bubble Teas



Today I went with my sister to a bookreading and signing at the independent bookstore in my town on the North Shore of Massachusetts. The reading showcased the works of two authors: Townhouse by Tish Cohen, and Promise Not to Tell by Jennifer McMahon. Both are first-time novelists. My sister and I, who are both currently trying to write our first novels, went partly for inspiration, and partly to show support for our town's local bookstore. While very different from each other, both books have ties to New England. Townhouse is a quirky novel set in a Boston townhouse, while Promise Not to Tell is a murder mystery set in a small Vermont farming community.

I don't know if it was due to lack of interest or a lack of promotion, but only eight people showed up for the event. All of them were women. This unfortunately gives the false impression that only women are reading books written by women. The two authors had been to a large bookstore in Boston before coming to my town, and I don't know how the turnout was there. I would imagine the crowds would have been larger and mixed simply because of the demographics of Boston compared to my small city.

Ms. Cohen and Ms. McMahon each read a brief excerpt from their books and then opened the floor to questions. For an hour they happily shared stories of their methods, their failures before achieving success with their first books, and humorous anecdotes about the writing process. The small number of people at today's event made for a more intimate, less intimidating session. We were able to ask questions as if in a one-on-one session with the authors. I came away feeling more inspired to keep on plugging away at my own book (48 pages and counting). Their main message was loud and clear: if you're passionate about writing, don't give up.

The hour flew by, interrupted by a brief moment of levity when one of the authors stopped in mid-sentence and exclaimed "Was that a rabbit?" We all turned to look out the window just in time to see a man walk past the store carrying a very large rabbit on a leash over his shoulder, as if he was taking baby out for some fresh air. Very strange. The ladies ended the reading by signing our copies of their books. They were both extremely nice, and I have a feeling we'll be hearing more from them in the future. Ms. Cohen has already sold the movie rights to Townhouse and has a second novel, The Inside Out Boy, set to be published next year.

My sister and I ended the day at one of our favorite coffee places for coconut bubble teas. We managed to beat the long lines and get our teas before the crowds of tourists who are already clogging our cobblestoned sidewalks discovered our hangout.

Friday, June 8, 2007

Is it Just Me?



Or am I completely out of it when it comes to pop culture and the latest online trends these days? Goldyworld's post last week about emos and the lively discussion that ensued via the Comments section made me realize that, in a cyberworld of MySpace, Your Scene, My Yearbook, etc.,:

1) I am old
2) I am tragically unhip (wasn't that a band from the '80s? -- to wit, see point #1)

Until I read Goldy's post, I had never heard of the term emo. Upon reading the discussion, complete with visual images, I was shocked to discover that I once was what is today referred to as a "prehistoric emo" (again, see point #1).

I really must be behind the times. After all, I only started my blog a month ago, a few years after the blogging phenomen captivated the online community. And while we're on the subject of blogs, what is this meme thingy that I keep reading about on other peoples' blogs? Or is it a MeMe? And what is this blog game of tag that people are playing? AND WHY HASN'T ANYBODY TAGGED ME? I might as well join MySpace, post the most depressing picture of myself that I can find (one where I look completely disaffected, and possibly homicidal), and start sending out messages to other members that read "Nowhere Girl wants to be your friend."

Thursday, June 7, 2007

The Liberation of Paris



This just in: Paris Hilton, the hotel heiress and waste of oxygen, has been released from prison after serving only three days of a twenty-three-day sentence for parole violation for driving with a suspended license following her arrest for DUI. She was released due to undisclosed health problems that were psychological in nature -- e.g. she freaked out because she was in jail. Her sentence was originally supposed to be for 45 days, but it was reduced to 23 for good behavior. How can someone get a sentence reduced for good behavior before they've served any time, is what I'd like to know.

Check out Paris's mug shots. Apparently she misunderstood her instructions and thought she was supposed to report for her glamour shots. I wonder if they allow lipstick in jail. Paris's three days in jail consisted of being locked up in her cell for 23 hours of the day. The one hour not spent in her cell was, of course, spent in Hair & Makeup. Which obviously wasn't enough time, as her nose looks a little shiny.

Of course no one expected Paris to get out of jail so soon. Not even Sarah Silverman, who totally dissed Paris at the MTV Movie Awards the night before Paris reported to jail. And Paris was in the audience! (She even had the same sideswept hairstyle seen in her second mug shot). Now that Paris is back on the streets, Sarah Silverman better be looking over her shoulder every time she leaves the house. Now that the crazy byatch is out of jail, it's payback time!

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Creepy is the Word (is the Word, is the Word...)



Coming this summer to a theater near you! It's Hairspray! Again! The remake of the 1988 John Waters camp classic stars, of all people, John Travolta as Baltimore housewife Edna Turnbladt, the role Divine made famous almost twenty years ago. It's the latest movie to capitalize on Hollywood's trend of remaking older movies. I don't understand why film companies do this, instead of sourcing new original screenplays. There isn't a dearth of new material out there, that's for sure. But with all the aspiring screenwriters dying to get their stories forever fixed onto celluloid, why do Hollywood execs take the easy way out and remake a hit movie from the past? Or, in Hairspray's case, the remake of a movie based on a play based on a movie.

I was a senior in college in Baltimore when the movie debuted almost twenty years ago. The new wave dance club that I used to go to every Friday night held dance auditions to cast for the movie. A friend of one of my best friends from school landed a role as an extra in the film. She's one of the "special" kids on Tracey Turnbladt's team in the gym class scene. The movie had its world premiere in Baltimore at a theater on York Road, close to my school. My roommates and I could look out of our dorm room window and see the spotlights in the sky from the theater as we watched local television coverage of the premiere on t.v. A week later I saw the movie at that theater. Divine had made a hand imprint in cement in the theater's sidewalk on premiere night, just like they do at Graumann's Chinese Theater. A few weeks later, he was dead. The original movie will forever remind me of my senior year. Good times, good times.

I'm always skeptical of movie remakes. They're usually never as good as the original (who could forget Debbie Harry as Mrs. Von Tussel, asking Divine's Edna Turnbladt "Is your daughter a mulatto?"). And they fill all the roles with the industry's hottest actors, whether they're really suited to the role or not, because they're already planning on having a blockbuster on their hands. In the case of the original Hairspray, its unique charm is derived from the fact that it was a quirky movie, not quite the independent movies of Waters's early career, but it had the same irreverance and non-conformity, while being made within the confines of the established Hollywood industry. It was made because Waters had a vision (and I'm not talking about the vision of dollar signs in his eyes). Hairspray also used more creative casting, including using unknown actors. Nobody had heard of Riki Lake before the original Hairspray. The movie launched her career - a dubious distinction, perhaps, given her subsequent and appallingly trashy talk show of the 1990s. But I try not to think about that when I watch the original movie.

It will be interesting to see how much the city of Baltimore has changed since the original movie was made. 1962 was "only" twenty-five years in the past when Hairspray was filmed. Remnants of the Sixties could still be seen here and there around Baltimore. None more conspicuous than big hair. Baltimore was famous for it, (hence the title of the film, and the attention it gives to hair and various hair-care techniques, such as hairspraying, teasing, ironing, combing, etc.) The old lady who worked at the liquor store where my roommates and I bought our alcohol still had a beehive. "The higher the hair, the closer to God." The city scenes looked convincingly like 1962 because many of the city streets, with the ubiquitous Baltimore rowhouses, remained unchanged architecturally. I wonder if they still are. The original Hairspray was as much a love letter to Baltimore as it was social commentary, mixed with nostalgia.



Until I see the movie myself, I will reserve judgment as to whether John Travolta, who simply oozed testosterone in "Saturday Night Fever" and "Grease," will make a good Edna Turnbladt. It could either be the most brilliant casting decision since Charleton Heston played Moses, or the biggest casting disaster since George Clooney played Batman. And, with "Grease" and "Hairspray," movies named for styling products, what's next for John Travolta? Maybe "Mousse?" - How about "Gel!" Or "Styling Putty," perhaps.

Judging from the photo, Travolta in drag, in a fat suit, looks kind of creepy. And if there's anything creepier than John Travolta as Edna Turnbladt, it's the doll of John Travolta as Edna Turnbladt. Debuting in July to coincide with the movie release, a toy company is launching a line of singing Hairspray dolls. Which begs the question: will there be "other outfits sold separately?" Perhaps some stylish ensembles from Mr. Pinky's Hefty Hideaway?