A Day In The Life: Dream Prom-A-Rama ---> NOGOODFORME.COM

Monday , November 16, 2009

A Day In The Life: Dream Prom-A-Rama

KAT BASICALLY REIMAGINES "JULES ET JIM" AS AN AMERICAN PROM NARRATIVE, MIXED IN WITH A BIT OF "BUFFALO 66" AND FREEDOM ROCK

This is a hypothetical day in the life, and not really a real "day in the life" since neither of us have been to a prom in a very long time, if ever. However, this is a hypothetical "Prom Week" for nogoodforme, mostly because we are always game for a theme, particularly if it allows us to dwell in a state of perpetual yet theoretical adolescence. Naturally, we all got to wondering, "If someone put a gun to our heads and made us go to prom now, what would be our ideal prom?" This begs the question of what prom is about. I mean: fancy dress, hot dude, dinner and dancing? Sounds kind of like an old-fashioned date, right? But what makes prom the object of such pop cultural fascination is the whole "rite of passage" element -- it marks both the culmination and celebration of one's place within one's social hierarchy just as about you're ready to leave it. A prom therefore has both an intimate, even romantic dimension -- but also a performative social element. And the two, of course, amplify one another to the point of neurosis. Combined with the timing of prom, this seems to exacerbate the "do or die!" tendencies of so many prom narratives.

Happily, a hypothetical nogoodforme prom avoids all this nonsense. At our theoretical high school's prom, the best bands and DJs play, everyone rolls up in a Vespa instead of a cheesy limo and everyone's making out in some dark corner somewhere instead of getting dorky pictures taken. You would be entirely free to concentrate and enjoy such matters as your dress and your date instead of worrying about some evil mean girl saying something petty about your attire. You would also be entirely free to enjoy the dorkiness of prom tradition while fluidly being able to subvert it at the same time. Doesn't that sound nice? Come to our virtual nogoodforme prom! You can meet me and my hypothetical dream prom date, a witty, mischievous gentleman who looks like a combination of Andrew Bird and the Walkmen's Hamilton Leithauser. Actually, if we're talking dream, I would be slightly scandalous and come with two dates: Andrew Bird AND Hamilton Leithauser! Why not? A girl only has one nogoodforme prom! Let's pretend I've existed within a Jules et Jim love triangle type of scenario through most of high school, and the question of the night: who will be the swain who wins my heart?

It's the start of a beautiful late spring evening, and they both come pick me up in Hamilton-Jim's snazzy little English sports car, an olive-green roadster that is both sleekly modern and adorably retro. The sweetly awkward yet incredibly witty Andrew-Jules is in a dapper vintage Savile Row kind of suit; because he's kinda brash and full of brio, I'll let Hamilton-Jim wear something by Harmon. Of course, I'm wearing a nonchalantly elegant yet swishy dress by my new favorite Parisian label, Heimstone, which, when paired with a pair of very "sex is death" pair of Balmain heels, leaves both dudes' jaws hanging. I pretend I don't notice and we jump into our chariot and head to some guerrilla restaurant on a lovely rooftop or perhaps in the romantically overgrown backyard of some old Victorian manse -- because in my ideal world, guerrilla restaurants are everywhere, not just in Brooklyn and other urban areas. Over a lovely candlelight repast of moules frites and lavender lemonade, we talk about the very first time we all met one another (study group for freshman year English class) and how much we've all changed, and maybe a bit about our plans for the summer. The subtext underlying the conversation, of course, is: Are you spending the summer with me?

Not a word is said on the matter, however, as we jet to the actual dance itself. It's already halfway over, but no matter. Somehow the DJ is miraculously good (this is a dream, after all) and plays the perfect combination of 60s psych, Motown, northern soul, booty bass and reggaeton. Andrew-Jules doesn't dance but Hamilton-Jim does, which causes the first real moments of friction in our little triangle. (Hamilton-Jim is a great dancer, by the way.) To appease Andrew-Jules, I ask him to a lovely slow dance to "Wild Horses," during which he confesses how much he will miss me in the fall when he's off to some small New England liberal arts college to study Near Eastern languages. I say nothing, because over Andrew-Jules' shoulder I can see Hamilton-Jim kind of brooding on the sidelines, watching us darkly. Glossing over the moment, I suggest we bail and do something really fun instead of letting this whole dance business get us down.

Which is how we find ourselves at the all-night bowling alley for our after-prom activity. (Because in my dream world, there is always an all-night bowling alley nearby.) We order wings and potato skins, and I demonstrate my bowling prowess, not to mention my intimate knowledge of the 1987 compilation Freedom Rock. This manages to focus their simmering rivalry away from one another towards a set of meaningless objects -- that is, until Andrew-Jules and Hamilton-Jim begin to argue over bowling's similarities to pétanque. They nearly come to blows, and in order to avoid being kicked out by the management of Heaven, i.e., the all-night bowling alley, I haul both gents out of there, where we head to a deserted beach and share a bottle of champagne while listening to a boom box playing Neil Young. We have many philosophical discussions and fall asleep to the sound of waves crashing. (I secretly hope Andrew-Jules and Hamilton-Jim make out with each other, but alas, you can't have everything, even in a dream.) We wake up, a bit disheveled, and decide to join the rest of our senior class at the local Six Flags amusement park. No one says anything on the ride there. Of course, Leonard Cohen plays on the car stereo.

We wander the amusement park together, wary and tired but giddy from the noise and spectacle. Hamilton-Jim wins a stuffed animal. Andrew-Jules gets his picture taken as a gunslinger at one of those photobooths. I insist on riding every roller-coaster. It's the last roller-coaster ride, in fact, as I sit between these two young, intelligent, lovely gentlemen, that they begin yelling at moi about being so ambivalent and indecisive. "You're impossible!" "This is ruining our friendship" and "I am going mad!" are all flung at me as we go up the climb towards the roller-coaster drop. "WHO WILL IT BE?" they both demand as we reach the top. I say nothing as the roller coaster propels itself down the steep incline. Instead, I scream and scream as the roller coaster whirls through a stomach-churning set of corkscrews and loop-di-loops.

At the end of the day, I take up with a really hot Mexican skater dude I meet at the cotton candy machine and avoid the question altogether. Andrew-Jules and Hamilton-Jim call it a weekend and go see "I Love You, Man" with one another. This repairs their friendship. The end. (Kat)

Soundtrack by FREEDOM ROCK:

LIKE IF "GOSSIP GIRL" DID A PROM EPISODE STARRING DEMI MOORE FROM ST. ELMO'S FIRE, AND LIFE WAS ALWAYS 1987

In sooth, '80s nostalgia doesn't turn me on in the slightest. Whenever anybody squeals "I love '80s music!" or "I love '80s movies!" my eyes wanna roll right out of my skull - partly because it's so illogical to try to turn an entire decade into some neat little pop genre, but mostly because it's all just so overdone and boring and totally misdirected. Like, why does every "Retro Lunch Hour" on every pop-music station in America play "Take On Me" by A-Ha at least once a week? No one misses "Take On Me," 'cause we've all accidentally heard it at least 8 zillion times since it was released 24 years ago. In fact, if I never hear "Take On Me" again, it'll be 84 years too soon. Bah!

All that said, I'm pretty sure an imaginary prom would be the perfect opp to get '80s nostalgia done right, once and for all. The elements:

DRESS. Dream-prom style idol = Demi Moore as Jules in St. Elmo's Fire, especially in the party scene when she's twirling around in that shiny skirt that's just the right amount of poofy. Jules is superglam but sorta tacky, and she's real fond wearing half-up/half-down hair and way too much jewelry (two things of which I too am real fond). But if the St. Elmo's Fire costume designer wasn't available, for some reason, I'd probably ask Jenny Humphrey to dress and style me for prom. Sometimes I hate her clothes, but the guerrilla fashion show (see vid below) was maybe Gossip Girl at its most exhilarating, and I almost halfway adore that dress psycho model girl Agnes is wearing in the above photo. Well done, Little J! Except I can't get with those shoes. Would wearing black Chucks be way too Avril?

DATE. Andrew McCarthy was the love of my life from about 1984 to 1989, so: Andrew McCarthy. Preferably the version of Andrew McCarthy that was once hotly photographed wearing a faded-to-hell t-shirt with the album art for The River by Bruce Springsteen. SWOON.

VENUE. Somewhere in L.A., 'cause I like L.A. Maybe one of those fancy Hollywood clubs they're always going to in the movie version of Less Than Zero, only without Robert Downey Jr. freebasing in the corner. (By the way, this is the weirdest trailer you will ever see in your life. It's like some drug-awareness video you'd watch in health class in seventh grade. Mind-bottling!)

MUSIC. Since it's 1987 and we're in L.A., the only acceptable entertainment would be a live performance by the original lineup of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. But if they were too busy I'd settle for some DJ who'd play lotsa Adam and the Ants, especially "Kings of the Wild Frontier."

MODE OF TRANSPORT. Since it's 1987 and we're in L.A. and Andrew McCarthy's my date, I'd like to roll up in his little red Corvette from Less Than Zero. Afterward we'd drive up to his mommy's beach house in Malibu and raid the liquor cabinet and then jump into the pool with all our prom attire still on 'cause we're so carefree. Oh to be young in L.A., in 1987, with the not-yet-born Jenny Humphrey as your personal stylist. High school rules sometimes. Especially when you're a way funner prom date than that wet blanket Molly Ringwald. (Liz)

DEAD LAURA JANE AND THE TALE OF THE HAUNTED PROM NIGHT

As I mentioned in yesterday's Cheapie-Deapie Prom Guide, I skipped out on my senior prom (which is called "formal" in Canadian, or Ontarian at least. I can't speak for Alberta or Nova Scotia or Nunavut or whatevs) This is because, at seventeen, prom seemed way too tame for my annoying, uber-rebellious little self. I was thinking that I might use this post to compose a Dream Prom for seventeen-year-old Laura Jane, but then it hit me: for my teenage self, there was no such thing as a Dream Prom. My teenage self's Dream Prom would be: Getting Really Wasted With A Member of The Strokes (probably Nikolai Fraiture; maybe Nick Valensi), which is not a prom at all. It's just a shitty, depressing night.

At twenty-three (practically a senior citizen; 161 in dog years), the idea of attending a promlike event sounds stressful and inconvenient. 23-year-old Laura's Dream Prom would be: Drinking Wine and Doing a Crossword Puzzle, which, again, is not a prom at all. It's just a chill, relaxing evening.

Then I realized: I might not be Prom Material, but I'm definitely Haunted Prom Material. The only prom you'll ever catch me at is a Ghost Prom. My date would be dead, the other attendees would be ghosts, it would take place at a haunted mansion, and basically just be a grandiose, spooky, misadventurous affair from start to finish. I skipped my prom because it sounded boring; when my pals bugged me about my being AWOL, I'm sure I said something along the lines of "I'd rather die than go to formal." But really, what I should have said was, "I'd rather die and go to formal."

Step One for having the Haunted Prom of your dreams (or nightmares) is dying. If you can't handle dying, you can't handle a Haunted Prom. Personally, I want a Haunted Prom so bad that I've decided it's kind of worth it. In this life, you win some and you lose some. In death, you win 'em all, especially if you go to a Prom. I'm a fan of gruesome, dramatic deaths (dying of "natural causes" is for wussies)- in my case, driving a baby-pink T-bird off a cliff (and hopefully getting decapitated in the process!) sounds ideal, if not idyllic. As soon as I die, the Haunted Clock strikes twelve: it is now HAUNTED PROM O'CLOCK.

My Dead Prom would take place at Savannah, Georgia's Kehoe House, a sweeping, Southern Gothic and allegedly haunted inn erected in 1892. Well, when the Haunted Prom is going down in its ballroom, it will no longer be allegedly haunted. It will be haunted-haunted. Dead Laura will roll up in what is now my haunted baby-pink T-bird, where I will be greeted by my Dead Prom Date, The Ghost of Cary Grant. He will open the door of my Ghostmobile like the perfect Dead Gentleman he is. Together, we will enter the Kehoe House, and greet all the other ghosts attending my Dream Haunted Prom: John Lennon, John Updike, Katharine Hepburn (she could be Dead John Updike's date! They'd be a hot Dead Couple), not-Audrey Hepburn (she'd make me feel uncute), Brian Jones, other dead people, Isaac Newton, Hannah Hoch, Beethoven, etc. We will drink Bloody Marys (getting Dead-Drunk rules!) and eat Red Velvet Cake, because it's the South, and red is the color of blood. We will spend our evening dead-dancing to The Beach Boys, Cab Calloway, George Gershwin, & Beethoven (in honor of Beethoven's presence). We will dance forever. We will never sleep, since we are dead, and you don't have to. Like life, death is what you make of it. You can have it be your Eternal Slumber, or you can do it up Eternal Prom steez. Y'all know what I choose. PS:

(Dead Laura is Deathly Chic- (from left) vintage Art Deco arrow hat; ripped-up minidress, Maison Martin Margiela; blood-red rose handbag, Valentino; black knee-high boots, Mogil) (LJ)

Tags: Adam and the Ants, amusement parks, Andrew Bird, Andrew McCarthy, Cary Grant, dancing, Dead Laura Jane, death, ghosts, Gossip Girl, Hamilton Leithauser, Harmon, haunted houses, Haunted Proms, Heimstone, John Lennon, Jules et Jim, Leonard Cohen, Maison Martin Margiela, morbid chic, morbidity, my own death, petanque, philosophical discussions, prom, prom dresses, Red Hot Chili Peppers, rites of passage, Savannah, Savile Row, St. Elmo's Fire, T-birds, Taylor Momsen, The River by Bruce Springsteen is a really great album, the Walkmen

Posted by Kat in A Day in the Life | Permalink | Leave a comment | Comments (5)

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5 Comments!!

The prom is a serious muse for Laura Jane. She's been esp. brilliant the past two days.

By Derek on March 31, 2009 4:01 PM

Wow! Thank you, Derek. I've actually felt kind of intimidated by Prom Week, since I never went to one, so I guess it is true that good design (/blogging) is bred by constraint (/prom-related content)

By Laura on March 31, 2009 5:51 PM

This is possibly the second best NGFM post ever. I just wanted to let you know.

By Sylvia on April 1, 2009 11:37 AM

sylvia: whoa, what's the first? nogoodforme-ing minds wanna know. also: muchas gracias!

By Liz on April 1, 2009 1:58 PM

Tinted Windows, because, I mean... OMG. WTF?

By Sylvia on April 2, 2009 4:03 PM

Say something so insightful and witty, it will blow us away. (No pressure.)

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