Juno Goes Green

Last night my spiky-haired head was filled with visions of militant muppets from Muncie rapping, tee shirts for Samoans that might be a full square yard in size, and that chick from Joan of Arcadia wearing fabulous suede boots with her jeans tucked into them.

It was a really fun night, and it wasn't a manifestation of my amazing imagination, it actually happened. I was out in Santa Monica at a great little show called "Green" that is all about people performing whatever they want onstage and rejoicing in free speech. You know how those things have very distinct pros and cons--sometimes you hear some great stuff that changes the way you see life, and other times you're forced to sit through poorly written prose about that time, 15 years ago, when the poet fell off the merry-go-round in preschool. Last night was no exception.

When it ended I wanted more. I made the rounds, meeting people, shaking hands, making small talk. That's when I ended up next to Juno from Beetlejuice. Remember her? She was Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin's case worker? Yeah.

It wasn't actually her, but the resemblance certainly was there. Tiny old woman with big eyes, made everyone generally uncomfortable with the raised volume of her random declarations, wearing an "Impeach Cheney First!" tye-dyed shawl. One of those. But she wasn't mean, just old. You know how that works?

As I was escaping to my car, I had nearly stepped off the curb when I heard that voice that sounded like an economy car rolling over a soft shoulder on the highway address me. "How do you become a film editor?" she asked.

I told her that I went to school as a film major at UT Austin (which prompted her to show me her shawl). She asked me if I was good at cooking, to which I responded, "I try real hard, but I'm not much for presentation."

"When is your birthday?" I should have known this question was next. Of course an older lady who wears tye-dye and reads poetry at an open mic is into astrology. Of course.

I told her I was an Aquarius and that my birthday is January 24th. She said that her best friend had a birthday on January 23rd (like you, RobMag!) and that we were "extraordinary people." I thanked her and was about to step off the curb again when she continued.

"She is a lawyer. She used to be an artist, but then she began dating this man who was a lawyer. He told her that she should be one, too, so he put her through law school. She worked and worked, and it became more and more apparent to her that he was never going to marry her. She took the Bar. Passed it on the first try for 5 states. Five!"

I stepped back from the situation for a moment and saw this strange little woman standing before me, eyes wide, palm raised high above her head with her fingers outstretched to indicate "Five!" states. I thought the story was over, but she was just beginning. There was sex waiting for me at home and I was getting antsy, but I didn't want her to strangle me with her shawl. I kept listening.

"After she passed the bar, she packed her bags and moved out of his apartment. Left him, just like that. And now she's a lawyer here in California, and very successful."

I was leaning in, trying to figure out what my response to this story was supposed to be, and just as I was about to say, "Hooray, Aquarius! You go, girl!" she took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

"And then he died."

And Santa Monica's Juno turned on her heel and walked away. Just like that. That was the end to the story.

I stepped into the street. As my foot hit the pavement, I heard her scream "Son of a bitch!" at the sky, and I imagined that she was shaking her fist at him in heaven. I just laughed and laughed while the balance returned to the force and she tried to persuade one of the kids from the open mic to give her a ride.

see you next week. g