in medias res

My Doppelganger and the Governor's Handshake

A few months ago, I was so overwhelmed by a Memphis music and movie store that I balked and bought one of the first things that caught my eye – Superchick (1973). I was repulsed by the bawdy cover until I turned it over to read, “Tara B. True has created the perfect life for herself as a plain, unassuming airline stewardess. But once she lands she really takes off, transforming into Superchick – blonde, beautiful, and ready for action…” It was vain – I know this. But the appeal of hearing my name (which never makes it to personalized pencils, keychains, mini-license plates…) when it wasn’t referring to a big ole house was worth the $5. Plus, I’ve developed an unhealthy appreciation for things that are bad. It has been worth every penny.

Am I recommending this movie? Not really. Were it produced today, the movie would never earn the mild “R” rating it was given in 1973. One website describes the movie as, “Arguably campy and noticeably tame by today's cinematic standards, Superchick's humor, attitude, and ‘what-were-they-smoking?’ inherent quirkiness has proudly earned the film prominent billing in the 99 Cent Video Review movie library.” One of Tara’s love interests is a surgeon who won’t kiss her because “Germs. They’re everywhere. I…sigh…I just can’t kiss you.” (Even though we can see now that her promiscuity made this a wise decision by the surgeon.) This is after he proposed to her by saying, “Tara, you should marry me. I’m rich, you know.” (Other gems are not really appropriate for a general audience and will not be reprinted here. My roommate and I would look at each other and say, “Did they really just say that!?”) As a “stewardess,” Tara sported a baggier version of the airline’s uniform. “With my shape and measurements, I couldn’t wear my uniform form-fitting. I did that once and I was even hit on by the autopilot.” She only travels with a large empty white purse that carries her skimpy white tennis outfit and knee-high red boots, among other outfits. Obviously, many things separate me from Superchick.

However, some similarities warranted more research on our heroine. Tara’s “frumpy-girl” hair is similar to my current style. Then it got a little weird. Joyce Jillson (“Tara B. True”) is my exact height. She was born on – get this – December 26, 1946. (If you continue a sequence of single-digit even numbers, it goes 4-6-8-0-2-4-6… and I was born in 1980 – the next numbers in the sequence! Okay, that’s a stretch.) She is better known as Nancy Reagan’s astrological advisor during her husband’s administration. She claims to have recommended George H. W. Bush to the Reagans. George H. W. Bush is the father of John Ellis “Jeb” Bush – the Governor of Florida. Ole Jeb-o stopped by my desk today on his way through the DOE. The circle is complete.

You’re spooked, right?

Quick commercial break before we go back to the Tara Connection – I actually did meet the Governor today. The word went out on email that Jeb Bush would be coming by our cubicles this afternoon. I didn’t believe it until I saw a photographer with a really big camera walking around our floor. I organized my cubey, concentrated on my posture, and tried to read through the reports in front of me. I didn’t know he is so tall. He was very nice – asked us what we were working on and what we do when we’re not working part-time – and seemed very pleasant. Despite my complaints about certain administrations, I was momentarily star-struck. And here I thought I was excited when the Office Depot order came in and I got more page flags and red pens.

Commercial break over. Back to my doppelganger…

Another source says, “Cashing in on the blossoming 1970s' sexual liberation movement, [Superchick ‘s director) Forsyth chose Jillson to epitomize the ideal post-feminist woman: self-reliant, successful, self-assured, and seductive enough to possess a suitor in every port. ‘Life's made up of people, not just one person,’ Superchick (who's devoid of any ‘superpowers’ other than her own intellect and sexual frankness) tells her multiple love interests in the film's surprisingly philosophical conclusion. ‘I take life the way it is -- people the way they are. I don't want to change it or them. I will live the lives I choose, with or without you.” While I don’t agree that this movie is a model for the feminist woman, I dig her independence and self-awareness. I’ll abandon the rest of that rant off for now and leave you with one last comment about Joyce Jillson. Astrologist. Richard S. Newcombe, president of Creators Syndicate, writes, "She took something that was somewhat stodgy and made it full of life -- just as she was.” Stodgy and full of life – that’s our Tara (B. True).

Thanks for humoring me.

I started my spring cleaning this week in anticipation of Mike’s arrival on Saturday. Spring cleaning means that everything gets pulled out and trashed or organized according to a system I can never keep consistent. But Mike surprised me Friday evening at dinnertime; the house was still mid-cleaning. I was still excited to see him.

Bruiser, however, wasn’t as excited as I had hoped. We know he hates men, but we didn’t realize how much. Now we’re a little more aware of his feelings. Friday night, he barked until he threw up. We worked out a system where if Mike wanted to come into the apartment, I would shoo Bruiser into his comfortable residence or into the kitchen. The barking would only stop if Mims was here or if I gave him a dirty look and a stern “NO!” I felt like an ogre. Instead of warming up to Mike, Bruiser became more brave and actually nipped his heels twice. We were getting desperate; I was afraid we’d get evicted. The solution? Leftover salmon, water guns, and a system of “time out” places from his crate to the kitchen to his crate in the kitchen. After one very miserable day for Bruiser, it worked beautifully. We had been afraid to do anything “mean” to him, but an episode of SuperNanny convinced me that we needed to set some boundaries for our problem child. By the time Mike left this morning, Bruiser was eating out of his hand. Score.

The long weekend with Mike was fun. We ate too much at good restaurants and I was finally introduced to Shingle’s – the best friend chicken I’ve tasted. He goes right about my speed – it’s really nice. And it will be a long and very very sad two months until I see him again. (He’ll be busy at a job with JHU’s Center for Talented Youth in Pennslyvania.) I get used to him being here (in a good way) and it gets harder each time.

On Monday, we drove down to Alligator Point for the day, but the tropical storm was starting to show and the waves were starting to splash onto the road. We ate our convenience store grub and drove back to Tallhassee. The rainy days made for nice naps and movie-watching opportunities. And, many opportunities for me to beat him in Mancala and air hockey. (But he dominated in Scrabble.)

Now, I’m back to work and making my own excitement. I found an apartment but I’m not moving until August. Until then, Mims and I are having fun watching bad movies, studying for law school (her), and reading for a thesis (supposed to be me)…and Bruiser has been sleeping a lot. And stretching. We have a little over a month to work out our differences. Wish me luck. Until then…Your Pseudo-Superchick

posted by tara @ 12:03 AM