Prom Night in California
Online news from down South.
In proud American tradition, N has unleashed his Canadian multiculturalism and down-with-the-USA shackles and will engage in a low-life, trailer park movie, American tradition. He’s going to “the Prom”.
Our dyed-in-the-black-t-shirt, heavy mental, play the same song even if it kills you, I hate conformity, N, has or will become a true American. Never mindful of my (fucking) wallet, he even wants a high school ring!
So we bought him a suit. Black, though no relation to death metal. Euro-tailored to skinny – that means narrow trouser legs. Ivory shirt, light mauve tie. He wanted a Thomas Pink shirt – I only shop there once every four years on their July sale. Not happening.
He has a date, K, whose mother came over this evening, ostensibly to say hello (bullshit) but probably to check out the house, the cars, the neighbourhood, whether we supply condoms, yeah, yeah, yeah. She’s probably a nice person – really – just concerned she’ll get a Sarah-Palin’s-daughter-didn’t-abstain out of this. I don’t like being checked out so I hope N gets his money’s worth. (Hear old man laughing at sexual innuendo.)
So, here’s the itinerary. Prom photos at some rich kid’s house at 6:00. Parents see their virgins off, likely for the last time. If you don’t understand, watch the movie. Party bus picks the fuckers up at 7:30 ($60 and no drunk driving, although the bus driver might be distracted by the young ladies). Arrive Beverly Hilton at 8:00 (why they couldn’t use the high school gym I don’t know – $100 each). Midnight, all the ugly girls turn into pumpkins and the hotties lose their shoes (I think that’s the way the story goes – Cinderella just wanted to clean it up a bit).
Okay, so everybody goes home to bed? Not a fuckin’ chance. Or maybe… Off to Malibu, on the fucking’ beach. This is where you want to put your life on rewind and be 18 again. These kids have rented a beach house in Malibu repeat in Malibu on the beach. In Malibu on the f$&€ beach! $2500 for the night. Do you hear me??? In Malibu, on the beach, $2500 freakin’ dollars. By the way, only about $60 a kid, ’cause they’re splitting the cost. Egalitarianism of the rich.
I haven’t even added up the costs. Why bother? Graduation is just around the corner. Not at the high school gym either. Apparently, it’s an all night party. Are there student loans for this so he can pay out over the next 10 years? Like, not me?
Guess who was volunteered as chaperone? Cool dad? Not a jerk? Won’t say anything to prying parents? I’ll try not to be a jerk. But I will comment on the quality of the beer. Occasionally, I’ll dry off my feet (waves?), go inside, make sure nobody’s OD’ing or getting pregnant (I’ll figure this one out with your advice), shout a bit like I’m in charge, and then retire to my beach chair. And wait for the lawsuits.
Guess what? I’m not buying booze for anyone. Boy, N’s gonna be pissed with me.
I don’t think N will ever come back to Canada. I think you will have to come visit him here in SoCal. I hope he gets rich so I can come to visit him. High priest of California.
N has left the building (you know, Elvis has left the building?).
