MISS J AND THE GREAT AQUA-NET THEFT

I. Introduction to Miss J

Here’s a girl who thrives on vanity
(Her own, of course, as usually is the case).
Say that she’s in love with what she sees
Each morning in the mirror. Say her days
Are kept by cases of cosmetics and
Her evenings drowned by bottles of perfume.
Give her mud-colored eyes and hair as coarse as sand.
Give her freckled skin. And would you swoon
At her? I most certainly would not.
But there she sits like Snow White’s stepmother,
Consorting with her own reflection, caught
Against the frame, disclaiming any other
Beauty but her own. She does not see
That years from now her breasts will droop and sag
Like worn out pillows or limp celery,
That her cheek will sprout the mole of an old hag,
That enough hair will claim her upper lip
To make a toothbrush... Still, a heroine
She is, at least in her perception. Skip
The formal introduction; she needs none.
Say only that her image is pristine.
Her name begins with “J,” rhymes with marine.

II. The Tragedy Beheld

Another day is dawning for this queen.
The glorious sun paints halos ’round her hair
Like seraphim in some angelic scene,
And sea mists waft like hair spray through the air.
“Oh Bennetton, oh Bennetton!” she cries,
Deciding on her outfit for the day,
Applying gobs of liner ’round her eyes
And putting on an eau d’ocean spray.
She pins a New Kids button on her shirt
And chooses a color of lipstick to apply
(She wants something that will, with her clothes, work).
She powders up her cheek and heaves a sigh.
But then she moves to sculpt and shape her hair.
Alas! Behold! Her Aqua-Net’s not there!

III. The Plot Thickens

O dearest Aqua-Net she loved so much!
O fatal, tragic incident occurred!
To live her life without her hairpsray’s such
A travesty, she can’t say but a word!
O Lord! O cruelest, cruelest fate you’ve dealt!
What disfavor has she won in divine eyes?
Did she perhaps wear the wrong brand of belt?
What fashion law is there she’d not applied?
O injustice! O misgivings! O
Lord you’ve handed out a fatal stroke!
But wait! What’s that upon the sink? She goes
To look. Eureka! It’s some kind of note.
“Your aerosol pollutes the atmosphere.
It’s eaten half the ozone lay’r away.
And lest the world be plagued by constant fear
Of cancer, we have stolen your hairspray.”
“Egads!” declares Miss J and shakes her fist.
“It’s not the Lord; it’s environmentalists!”

IV. Enter the Hero

By now Miss J is wallowing in tears.
She’s eating frozen bonbons by the tray.
She’s downing cans of Coke like it was beer
And throwing all the recyclable cans away.
Outside the cars are whisking down the street
Like chariots of demons straight from Hell.
She’s given up all hope, so she retreats
Into a separate world, creates a shell
To hide herself away. Now she’s rocked shut.
Who will save this child? Who will give her
Life? And who will give her reason not
To fade away? Who’ll stand and deliver?
Behold! There comes a knocking at the door!
A choir of angels’ voices floods the air!
She sees his blessed face and her heart soars.
Never has she seen a man so fair.
His golden hair, his small goatee, it makes
Her every muscle ache and quiver.
What God-like tan! What broad shoulders! She shakes.
His countenance has made her body shiver.
Her perspiration gleams like beads of dew.
He shakes his head. “Miss J, what can I do?”

V. The Quest

Of course this was the question she’d awaited
And now she was prepared to give reply.
She thought of acting sweet, but how she hated
To pretend; she didn’t feel like playing coy.
“Get my Goddamned Aqua-Net!” she whined,
“And furthermore, I want it by tonight.
I don’t care who you have to hurt to find
It. Bring it to me. Bring it to me right
Away!” And thus our hero did depart,
As gallant as Sir Lancelot he strode,
The hope of Heaven burning in his heart.
He climbed into his yellow Saab and rode
Into the vacuous abyss of night,
Chanting like a mantra, “All or Nothing,”
And praying to Rob and Fab will all his might,
Hoping that these gods would be forgiving.
For days he traveled. Nothing did he see.
He climbed the highest mountain of the Alps.
He bought a yacht and sailed across the sea,
But all he found were wide blue skies and kelp.
The waves rose up, as stern as ministers.
Their tops crashed down and filled the sea with white
As violent and loud and sinister
And out of date as disco dancer’s suits.
Then the sky became an incubator,
The sun a giant boiling mass of yolk.
Dead fish rose to the surface, swollen as blisters.
The air became as rank as a dirty joke.
The water was as thick as tapioca
And the oars stuck in their shafts like they were glued.
Luckily, he’d brought a case of Coca
Cola, and soon all of his strength renewed
Like Samson’s did when his hair was intact,
Like Popeye when he ate a can of spinach.
And now, revitalized, he would sail back
And forth across the sea (if need be), match
Any terror that should challenge him,
Wage battle ’gainst whatever foe he’d meet,
Look death directly in the eye, and howe’er grim
His fate might seem, our hero’d not retreat!
A pillar of strength our hero surely was,
And certainly was worthy of his cause.

VI. The Tide Turns

Soon our hero stumbled ’cross the lair
Of terrorists who’d taken the Aqua-Net.
“What? Ho! Hark! Who is it that goes there?”
The gateman called out defiantly, and yet
With a certain air about him, too,
Of fear. Our hero sensed it like a shark
Senses blood and from his shirt withdrew
A tape entitled “New Kids on the Block:
Hangin’ Tough” and let it play. Assault!
The guard could not withstand this ambush. He
Melted like a snail who’s bathed in salt,
Leaving only a big glob of taffy.
Behold the power of bubblegum music!
It’s just a matter of knowing how to use it!

VII. In the Den of the Environmentalist

Cautiously he then proceeds and Lo!
What’s this inside the gate the keeper kept?
A garden full of herbs and plants that grow
Without the aid of pesticides, and yet
They thrive. The air is pure. The water’s clean.
This garden is a plethora of life,
Virtually a veritable garden of Eden,
And ev’rywhere a pulsing, throbbing light.
Our hero doesn’t understand this place.
No styrofoam? No aerosols? No plastics?
A look of expectation claims his face--
He feels as though his heart’s doing gymnastics--
For there amidst the center of the square
Encased within a box made out of glass
Was the can of stuff Miss J used in her hair.
Our hero’d found the Aqua-Net at last!
Stealthily he claimed the sacred spray
Can, tucked it in his shirt, and sped away.

VIII. The Denouement

The couple, needless to say, eventually married.
They bought a house enclosed by a white picket fence.
He worked in her Daddy’s office; she carried
His children and eventually outgrew her pants,
Her bathing suits, and dresses. She spent
His dough on liposuction surgery
To please his eye. She missed the days he went
Overboard on praise, his mouth a liturgy
Of compliments, and He longed for the time
When they could breathe the air without gas masks,
When they’d go to the beach and smell the brine
Instead of human waste; and when, bare-assed,
They’d chase each other ’round the yard without
Worrying about developing cancer.
And yet they think these problems came from out
Of nowhere, that they never had the answer.
And so, one night, an empty vacuum crept
In and swallowed the earth up as they slept.

Spring 1990
Background art created by Brandi Gabrielle Hubiak