I watched Female Trouble last night. Too funny. Too vulgar. Too…real? Anyway. I was a fan of Divine long before I ever heard of John Waters. Sure, Hairspray was cool, but I watched it only for Divine. She was beautiful, brave, and brilliant. An old VCR tape in my collection features her music videos, complete with interviews. Her soft, breathy voice barely concealed the intelligent person behind it. How sad she left us so soon.
Because of Divine, I watched John Waters movies. Initially, I considered them too lowbrow for my rarefied tastes. Would someone please pop some Herzog into the DVD before I barf?! But seriously, how can you laugh your ass off at Southpark and not love John Waters? Getting older can be cool.
I’ve revisited Water’s films with delight, embracing my inner white trash. Last night I chuckled and guffawed my way through Female Trouble. And I had such a nightmare! I hope you’ve seen the movie, so you’ll understand where I’m coming from.
My hair was fantastically coiffed by my stylist Rodeyo, who bears an uncanny (but slimmer) resemblance to Divine. The voice match, BTW, is dead on. Continuing with my dream. I waited an hour “checking out” from a prestigious salon in a line half farmer’s market and half posh department store. The proprietress (Mrs. Dasher) overcharged me ten dollars, to which I protested. She called forth a sinister, but Monty Pythonesque Spanish Inquisition crew to harass me for the money.
My punishment was not the comfy chair, but banishment from the stylish salon. In my dream, I could conjure no greater punishment than being forbidden to visit Rodeyo for a periodic haircut and highlight (yes, he’s that good!). Horrified by my shallowness, I woke up. This is probably unrelated, but today at the local grocery store, I tracked down a sales associate to insist on a reduced price for brand name milk ($2.99) since the store brand on sale ($1.79) had run out.