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!

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.

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...

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.

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."

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!

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?