100: burnt by the sun

I. “News from the Flip Front: Flip happens”

So I was thinking, now that we’re up to 100 flip fronts, does this mean that I can get a huge syndication deal? That could be kinda fabulous, you know? Five days a week, you’d be treated to a class rerun, delivered fresh to your mailbox. It’d be a great time to relive the classics such as:

* “area” pants!

* the “boys worth having” list

* Old Girl!

Then I’d get to make up some really cheesy ads for the syndication, with me in Aunt Jazzy drag saying my brand new motto, “Flip happens!” while clad in some outfit which would be instantly pegged as being the height of early 90s fashion. Because don’t all syndication commercials look exactly

like that? I know the ones for “Friends” do. Not that I watch “Friends”. Much.

I guess it would be more appropriate if the flip front were a television show, but that could never work. Actually, I think it would make a great show but I’m trying to be modest here. I, of course, would have to play myself if only because I’m affordable. I’d love it if Margaret Cho could be my guardian angel or sassy sidekick, much like that annoying cat puppet on “Sabrina The Teenage Witch” but not annoying. I’d spend most of the time in shadow, tricking the television audience into believing that I have cheekbones.

In high school drama class, we made video tapes of ourselves reciting speeches from whatever play we were reading at the time, and I’ve never recovered from the trauma of watching my chins quiver as I *tearfully* recited Shakespeare for a gang of surly teenage girls.

But anyway.

For those of you who have been with me since the very beginning, I’d like to thank you for reading and responding to what has become my hobby (sad, isn’t it?) in lieu of a real pursuit like trout fishing or basket weaving. Of course, I’m really only talking to those of you who still find this interesting. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if there are some readers left who, upon seeing my name in the “From:” field, immediately delete this message. That’s fine. Just let me know, and I will be glad to remove your address from the list. But please let me know.

The call for questions, to make this into a big old FAQ about the flip front and (to a certain extent) about me, failed miserably. So you can ask me anything you want about Old Girl, area pants, or boys worth having. Sadly, it’s not guaranteed that I’ll answer truthfully. And besides, it’s not as though I’ve ever lied to you about stuff. Sure, I’ve kept things out of the flip front, but I’ve never misrepresented anything. I think. As for the three of you who sent questions — your responses will be sent out later this week.

II. Greetings from Douglas (trip report but really it’s just more shit about me)

So I spent the weekend in Douglas, Michigan, and it was fine. More time with Kevin’s family playing Scrabble, reading, talking, eating, and smoking is always a good thing. The drive to and from Douglas was fine, nothing more traumatic than a sunburn came my way, and we were back in Chicago in plenty of time for “Sex and The City” on Sunday night. Public radio played an important part during the drive, and I found myself engrossed in the August issue of Vogue magazine.

Nothing much happens on these trips to Michigan, except that I get to watch Kevin and Mary (his aunt) needle his mother mercilessly. Kevin says that she used to cry after such teasing, which I have to admit makes me feel bad. Probably because I’m not very good at taking it myself, and I’ve been given all sorts of shit over the years because of my over-sensitivity on this issue. It seems to stand in stark contrast to my own meanness, which is rare but quite awful. I still feel bad about making my best

friend cry for absolutely no reason when we were in the 10th grade. But I feel even worse when people around me start crying and I can’t do it. I don’t know if that means I’ve got the heart of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, or if I should stop writing all this stuff here and start spending my

non-existent disposable income on therapy.

So back to Douglas. There was this annoying woman on the beach who spent six hours looking for buried treasure with a metal detector. She found $1.26 and a lost wedding ring, which was gratefully claimed by the owner’s spouse. Douglas Beach is small, sandwiched between two private beaches

whose owners looked really fit and healthy like most rich folks do. I tried to concentrate on my book but I was being attacked by mosquitoes and my sunglasses were slipping and sand was working its way into my bathing suit.

I got the first sunburn I’ve ever gotten in my life, though the tan on my face looks really good. I felt okay about this until Sunday, when it hurt to get dressed. I’m still wincing today, and I’m beginning to wish I was one of those slightly built girls who can go without bras. Bra straps are a sunburn’s enemy. Those, and Neutrogena spread liberally over one’s body. I’ve decided to air dry myself after showers, as bath towels feel a bit scratchy on my back. I’m not too concerned about the neighbors. Anyone

who looks in my window and is traumatized by the sight of my nekkid body deserves what they get.

Saturday, our day at the beach, went on forever. We got there just before noon, and there were very few people on the beach. We found spots, and it took me some time to get down to the water to cool off. When I did, I goofed off like the poor swimmer that I am. I paddled around in the lake,

floating with the current and letting my feet touch the bottom for reassurance. We went home to start dinner, shower, change into new clothes and went straight back to the beach to watch the sunset. I squinted into the sun, took a deep breath, and started counting the minutes until I

could go home.



“Let it work, gyrate, motivate”


Etta James – Stormy Weather; The White Stripes – Little Room; Bobby Darin – Don’t Get Around Much Anymore; Ruby & The Romantics – Our Day Will Come; Radiohead – Palo Alto







~ by Jasmine on August 8, 2001.

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