I loathed everything about Emmett Woodshanks (not his real name — his real name was far less Dickensian. He also didn’t look like Alan Rickman. I probably would have liked him a lot more if he had). I loathed his nearly-bald head, with its wreath of orange hair. I loathed his close-cropped beard and mustache. I loathed his wire-rimmed circular glasses. I loathed the way he licked his upper lip…
The year is 1986. Every weekend my friends and I tell our parents we’re going to the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. This buys us a pass for a few curfew bonus hours, until at least 2:30 in the morning. Sometimes we actually go. Our little group of prepsters and jocks don our garters, party hats and freakwear, sneaking rice and water guns into the theater downtown….
As I sat down to write this I realized I feel conflicted about this week’s topic, Naughty and/or Nice. Actually, I think it’s nice I’m mostly conflicted about. When I was growing up, little girls were supposed to be nice and I was. My mother’s little helper. Always polite. Always smiling. Eager to please. I danced on cue for the relatives. Hardly ever complained. I was The Nice One. Until…
Like most people, movies have made me laugh and cry, transported me to other worlds and sometimes changed the way I look at things. Some movies have inspired me to greatness, to be a better person, but since I was a child, certain movies (of the music and dance variety) have instead inspired me to make a spectacle of myself. It started with GREASE. Before Olivia shimmied along in her…
Alternate title: Why Jude the Obscure Infuriates Me 1982. Eighth grade. Fifth period. Speech class…Mark. I only had three crushes in eighth grade: Scott, Jerry, and Tom Selleck. Mark wasn’t a crush. It was love. And he wasn’t getting the hint. I upheld my end of the eighth-grade romance bargain. I’d done everything I was supposed to do. I’d told my friends, my friends told his friends,
It’s 1985. My grandmother buys me a white Camaro with red interior. The car is hot. It has a red front vanity plate with my name in curly white script. I smoke Carlton cigarettes and each pack comes with a plastic rose attached to a loop of elastic. These hang from my review mirror. I’m going way too fast through suburban streets, rocking out to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and…
