Hairspray Quotes

She stopped at the desk and held up a can for his view. "This looks like an ordinary hairspray can, right?" "Of course." he said though he had no idea what hairspray was.

Hairspray and blusher, eyelash curlers, eye-shadow palettes the size of tea-trays. Even before they left school it was as if they were already rehearsing for some witless kind of womanhood.

Motormouth: So this is love? Well, love is a gift and a lot of people forget that. So you two better brace yourselves for a whole lot of ugly coming your way on a never ending train of stupid. Penny: So you met my mom?

Hairspray is the only really devious movie I ever made. The musical based on it is now being performed in practically every high school in America—and nobody seems to notice it’s a show with two men singing a love song to each other that also encourages white teen girls to date black guys. Pink Flamingos was preaching to the converted. But Hairspray is a Trojan horse: it snuck into Middle America and never got caught. You can do the same thing.

But Miss Celia the way she stares at me with those big eyes like I’m the best thing since hairspray in a can, I almost rather she’d order me around like she supposed to.

I didn’t chug the hairspray because I’m an alcoholic. I drank it to style my throat hairs.

The pinup girl, Betty Grable, sprayed her bare butt and breasts with hairspray until they were wet. That way the top and bottom of her swimsuit stayed glued where she wanted. Hairspray inside your high heels works the same way.

everything from Hairspray to the Academy Awards. They were also my co-conspirators on my 2006 Broadway show, Fame

Why did popular songs always focus on romantic love? Why this preoccupation with first meetings, sad partings, honeyed kisses, heartbreak, when life was also full of children's births and trips to the shore and longtime jokes with friends? Once Maggie had seen on TV where archaeologists had just unearthed a fragment of music from who knows how many centuries B.C., and it was a boys lament for a girl who didn't love him back. Then besides the songs there were the magazine stories and the novels and the movies, even the hair-spray ads and the pantyhose ads. It struck Maggie as disproportionate. Misleading, in fact.

You’re sure you want to do this,” Galen says, eyeing me like I’ve grown a tiara of snakes on my head. “Absolutely.” I unstrap the four-hundred-dollar silver heels and spike them into the sand. When he starts unraveling his tie, I throw out my hand. “No! Leave it. Leave everything on.” Galen frowns. “Rachel would kill us both. In our sleep. She would torture us first.” “This is our prom night. Rachel would want us to enjoy ourselves.” I pull the thousand-or-so bobby pins from my hair and toss them in the sand. Really, both of us are right. She would want us to be happy. But she would also want us to stay in our designer clothes. Leaning over, I shake my head like a wet dog, dispelling the magic of hairspray. Tossing my hair back, I look at Galen. His crooked smile almost melts me where I stand. I’m just glad to see a smile on his face at all. The last six months have been rough. “Your mother will want pictures,” he tells me. “And what will she do with pictures? There aren’t exactly picture frames in the Royal Caverns.” Mom’s decision to mate with Grom and live as his queen didn’t surprise me. After all, I am eighteen years old, an adult, and can take care of myself. Besides, she’s just a swim away. “She keeps picture frames at her house though. She could still enjoy them while she and Grom come to shore to-“ “Okay, ew. Don’t say it. That’s where I draw the line.” Galen laughs and takes off his shoes. I forget all about Mom and Grom. Galen, barefoot in the sand, wearing an Armani tux. What more could a girl ask for? “Don’t look at me like that, angelfish,” he says, his voice husky. “Disappointing your grandfather is the last thing I want to do.” My stomach cartwheels. Swallowing doesn’t help. “I can’t admire you, even from afar?” I can’t quite squeeze enough innocence in there to make it believable, to make it sound like I wasn’t thinking the same thing he was. Clearing his throat, he nods. “Let’s get on with this.” He closes the distance between us, making foot-size potholes with his stride. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me to the water. At the edge of the wet sand, just out of reach of the most ambitious wave, we stop. “You’re sure?” he says again. “More than sure,” I tell him, giddiness swimming through my veins like a sneaking eel. Images of the conference center downtown spring up in my mind. Red and white balloons, streamers, a loud, cheesy DJ yelling over the starting chorus of the next song. Kids grinding against one another on the dance floor to lure the chaperones’ attention away from a punch bowl just waiting to be spiked. Dresses spilling over with skin, matching corsages, awkward gaits due to six-inch heels. The prom Chloe and I dreamed of. But the memories I wanted to make at that prom died with Chloe. There could never be any joy in that prom without her. I couldn’t walk through those doors and not feel that something was missing. A big something. No, this is where I belong now. No balloons, no loud music, no loaded punch bowl. Just the quiet and the beach and Galen. This is my new prom. And for some reason, I think Chloe would approve.

Do you think that I have a problem?" Ignatius bellowed. "The only problem that those people have anyway is that they don't like new cars and hairsprays. That why they are put away. They make the other members of the society fearful. Every asylum in this nation is filled with poor souls who simply cannot stand lanolin, cellophane, plastic, television, and subdivisions." "Ignatius, that ain't true. You remember old Mr. Becnel used to live down the block? They locked him up because he was running down the street naked." "Of course he was running down the street naked. His skin could not bear any more of that Dacron and nylon clothing that was clogging his pores. I've always considered Mr Becnel one of the martyrs of our age. The poor man was badly victimized. Now run along to the front door and see if my taxi has arrived." p.306

Besides, I came from the eighties, a neon, hair-sprayed decade from which very little music made it out alive.

If life is a waltz then we need to enjoy each turn, savor each step, and not miss out on a single beat.

August feels like the entire belly of New York’s weirdest and queerest has emptied out on the dance floor, smelling like syrup and weed and hairspray.

Safe sex, safe clothing, safe hairspray, safe ozone layer,…too late! Everything that’s been achieved in the history of mankind has been achieved by not being safe.” – Lemmy Kilmister, Mötorhead

I liked your stats and moons,” Val said softly. “but maybe it’s for the best. Think of it as a complete Merlin makeover.” “You mean like in those teen movies from that hideous decade with the hairspray?

Are Dex, Biana, Stina, and Wylie getting makeovers too?” Sophie asked, hoping Dex would show up with his hair dyed black and styled all shaggy—because Emo Dex would be hilarious—and that Stina would end up with giant hair-sprayed bangs.

ballerina lay toppled over on her vanity table. A can of hairspray lay on its side on top of her bed, and clothes were strewn all over the carpet. The room smelled moldy. Wondering if there was a wet towel in Kelsey’s closet, Rachel walked across the room and opened the door. “What are you doing in here?

This guy's testimony is awesome. I hate my testimony. I wish I was addicted to heroin. But no. I had to grow up in a somewhat functional family situation. It's just not fair. Why can't I be a crack addict who robbed Fort Knox using nothing but a can of hairspray and a plastic ice cream scoop? Thanks a lot, God.

I remember the ecstasy of first going to a nightclub wearing eyeliner. Drenched in hairspray and glitter, dancing to Lou Reed records. I felt as if I was living on the outside, in a realm that most people could never enter. For so long I had felt completely alone, but makeup made my isolation feel special. The world came to life – the streets were no longer grey and cold, they sparkled with sordid possibility. But the most resonant pleasures in our lives are always individually defined. When you expect the world to appreciate them they simply expose their own bland uniformity. I learnt that the more unusual you are, the more personalised pleasures the world reveals to you.

In the first couple of weeks there were big piles of trash outside every house. All the stuff you couldn’t find another use for and couldn’t compost. Yogurt cups, torn trash bags, dirty diapers, hair-spray cans, paper towels. Sometimes you’d see a pile that was as high as your waist. Nathan said it was a purge, a cleanse. But you could just as well say that who we were went out with the empties. We will never get our selves back.

Babe had lots of looks but gradually she got stuck in the sixties, with hairspray and long dresses and fingernails and eyeliner. She became a more intense version of women who demonstrate whiteware products on television, taller with longer, darker hair and tighter wool suits and pointier shoes. I didn’t have any money to buy clothes then. It was the first time I’d admitted it to anyone. Babe felt sorry for me and took me out shoplifting.

She slid open the box, extracted a match, and struck it with a flourish. The flame flared up in the gloom of the unlit room, a tiny golden beacon. For a moment, Oma Kristel held it aloft, then the unthinkable happened. The match slipped out of her fingers and fell straight onto her pink mohair bosom. With a whooomph! like the sounds of a gas furnace firing up, the hairspray with which Oma Kristel had doused herself ignited, obliterating her in a column of flames.

I am overwhelmed. I am the most discomfited of dancers. Simultaneously chillingly I am certain that the wedding guests sense it to be a sad occasion yet all are in desperate conspiracy to produce a joyful atmosphere. They dance madly. As though ... as though if they were to stop and cast a thoughtful eye on the bride and groom the illusion would be dispelled. The party dresses and hairspray and starched collars and lipsticked lips would melt away and all present would be left standing in the rags of Huda's despair.

The Buried Bishop’s a gridlocked scrum, an all-you-can-eat of youth: ‘Stephen Hawking and the Dalai Lama, right; they posit a unified truth’; short denim skirts, Gap and Next shirts, Kurt Cobain cardigans, black Levi’s; ‘Did you see that oversexed pig by the loos, undressing me with his eyes?’; that song by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl booms in my diaphragm and knees; ‘Like, my only charity shop bargains were headlice, scabies, and fleas’; a fug of hairspray, sweat and Lynx, Chanel No. 5, and smoke; well-tended teeth with zero fillings, revealed by the so-so joke — ‘Have you heard the news about Schrodinger’s Cat? It died today; wait — it didn’t, did, didn’t, did…’; high-volume discourse on who’s the best Bond … Sartre, Bart Simpson, Barthes’s myths; ‘Make mine a double’; George Michael’s stubble; ‘Like, music expired with the Smiths’; and futures all starry; fetal think-tankers, judges, and bankers…power and money, like Pooh Bear and honey, stick fast — I don’t knock it, it’s me; and speaking of loins, ‘Has anyone told you you look like Demi Moore from Ghost?’; roses are red and violets are blue, I’ve a surplus of butter and Ness is warm toast.

When I was hired, they asked me to cut my hair so I could look more like everyone else in the ensemble. I refused; long hair was kind of my thing. Instead, I gelled it and hair-sprayed it down so tightly, hurricane-force winds wouldn’t have been able to budge it. Thankfully, they didn’t complain or fire me. They had bigger things to worry about--like how to make a magical car fly over the stage.

Why did popular songs always focus on romantic love? Why this preoccupation with first meetings, sad partings, honeyed kisses, heartbreak, when life was also full of children’s births and trips to the shore and longtime jokes with friends? Once Maggie had seen on TV where archaeologists had just unearthed a fragment of music from who knows how many centuries B.C., and it was a boy’s lament for a girl who didn’t love him back. Then besides the songs there were the magazine stories and the novels and the movies, even the hair-spray ads and the panty-hose ads. It struck Maggie as disproportionate. Misleading, in fact.

Suddenly, the wind got colder for a moment. Colder and fiercer. I had to hold my hair down, the blonde locks thick with mousse and hairspray, as they were being whipped around my face. Something caught my eye. Out in the dark yard, behind the huge maple tree, I saw movement—a dark figure shifting as if to hide behind the tree. A Peeping Tom? Creepy. And you always think in the city you’ll see the weirdos, and there I was in a small town, blatantly staring at a man watching me. Maybe it was Josh. But wouldn’t he just say hi and be my Romeo to his Juliet? Holding my hair to my face, I tried to focus my eyes. But with so little light behind the shape, it was hard to see clearly, and I lost it completely when it stopped moving. I squinted in disbelief at two red slits glowing mid-trunk on the tree. I would’ve thought they were cat’s eyes catching the light, but they seemed much too large and far too high up the trunk of the tree. Not to mention, they were red. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought they belonged to the dark figure hiding behind the tree trunk, but that had clearly been a man spying on me. What man had red eyes? I blinked several times, assuming it was a hallucination. When the red eyes didn’t leave and the figure didn’t move from the tree, my stomach sank and my heart raced, but I didn’t move. I was frozen in fear, no—terror. After

His silhouette was blurry through the angry, sheeting rain, but she could see his hands were two fists. Was he angry? Livia walked toward him, leaving her heels behind after two steps. She let the umbrella tumble off her shoulder shortly after that. The cold rain made her gasp. It poured over all of Kyle’s handiwork. Livia kept moving until she stood before him. She closed her eyes against the burning of Kyle’s hairspray as it ran down her face. Livia reached out to touch his arms. She felt her way down to his fists and gently unfurled them with her fingers. She leaned forward on her tiptoes until her cheek touched his jaw. She sighed as his ice-cold face met her still-warm one. Livia’s hands followed his arms back up to his chest. She frowned at the bandage on his forearm. When she found his chest, she used it as an anchor as she walked carefully around him. She settled her face on his broad back and hugged him. She felt and heard him breathe. “Livia.” But he did not move. She rubbed her face on the back of his wet black T-shirt to wipe her eyes. When she could see clearly again, she peeked over his shoulder and saw the red heels waiting patiently. The rain had filled them like little ponds. The umbrella lay on its side, catching water like a bucket. Livia leaned up to his ear and said, “Face me,” in a husky voice she’d never used before. Blake turned achingly slowly until the platform light finally revealed his face. Despite the rain everywhere, Livia knew she’d been dying of thirst, and the sight of him was water.

The asphyxiating smell of hairspray and perfume coming from the hallway had made her stomach turn. She sat defiantly on the floor, in the corner of her room. The smell of hairspray always evoked anxiety for her. She fittingly associated the strong, toxic smell with having to attend something she didn’t want to be part of.

Every time our plane lands, Isabelle rushes forward with hairspray, and Barbara spritzes my face with a vaporizer full of mineral water. “The air on planes is so dry!” she laments. Then she spritzes everyone else in the vicinity, including, at times, the Secret Service.

You have to understand, I didn’t let him keep me from proper hygiene, but I took special pleasure in getting ready now, knowing he wouldn’t be around to pout or moan about my hairspray. Anyhow, one always dresses with more care for a woman.

Mike [looking at the Beastron 3-D Printer]: Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Kamala: I don't know, are you thinking about how cool it would be to 3D-print gallons of this protein and fill a bunch of empty hairspray bottles with it? Mike: That's exactly what I'm thinking. Kamala: Look out evildoers. Mike: Time to science.

Miss Owens, why do we dissect fetal pigs?” Up close his comb over seemed to defy gravity. How much hairspray did he use? He cleared his throat, I quickly replied, “Because of the similarities to humans.” “Yes. Now, before we cut we study the specimen. What can you tell me about this pig, Miss Owens?” What could I tell him about the pig? Seriously? He was little, pink and soon to be removed of all his organs. It was a dismal fate, so I created a better one. “He was the smallest in his litter. His brothers and sisters climbed over him to

I stood in the doorway and watched Dennis unbuttoning the blouse, pulling long shirttails out of her skirt and wetting her hair with his hands, letting hairspray clump together in long strands. Ruined like that, in front of me. It was hard to watch because it was so clean, so perfect. The glow from the television screen crawls over their faces and it's hard to convince yourself they are breathing, living things.

Whoa! Where’d your black eye go?” she asked as I set my tray down and sat beside her. “Tiffany covered it up for me.” “I’ll say. I hate to think how much she damaged the ozone with all the hairspray she must have used on your hair.” “Thanks, Bird. You look nice this evening, too,” I said. The waitress dropped off a basket of hot rolls. I grabbed one and started slathering butter on it. “Sorry. It’s just a shock to see you looking so…” “Pretty.” “You’ve always been pretty.” “Oh, please. Can we move on to another subject?” I glanced over to see Jason eating and talking with Brandon. “Yeah, I think we better. I’ve heard of head injuries changing people’s personalities--” “Bird, you don’t live with a beauty queen, okay? I know when it comes to appearances, I’ll always fall short. And if you want to know the truth, I’m a little self-conscious about the whole makeover.” “Sorry,” she said. “Subject change?” “Right.” She looked around as though searching for a subject. I hated being so irritable, but I just didn’t feel like me tonight.

What to Take to Your Ceremony  Dress  Shoes  Slip  Hosiery  Veil  Gloves  Jewelry  Brush  Hairspray  Lipstick  Chalk (in case you get something on your dress)  Mirror  Tissues  Safety pins  Lots of prayers

It was simply an outrage to have to go for an entire day without being able to buy cheese crackers or hairspray. You’d think we were in Eastern Europe! For a funeral, shouldn’t half a day’s closure be more than sufficient?

A pall in the hall of cigarette smoke, lager, sweat, hairspray, Old Spice, Evening in Paris, Brut – all the good ones.

It was the 80s, so all my earliest memories of Jesus smell like hairspray.

You can't stop an avalanche As it races down the hill You can try to stop the seasons, girl But you know you never will

The air was swampy heat, a marshy bath. The smell was barbecue smoke, truck exhaust, cow manure, and dust. It was scorched earth and cheap beer. Stars, sausage, ham sandwiches, lemonade, padded bras, sweaty pantyhose, hairspray, gum, condoms like slippery fish on her fingers. She was back in Texas, and felt as if she had never left.

The thing I love about Edna, compared to Cello’s Prom Date or Little Shop’s Mrs. Luce, is that she is such a wonderful, well-rounded (pun not intended) character. I felt that Mrs. Luce and the Prom Date were one note characters, whether they were played by a man or a woman - but were definitely played for laughs by throwing me in a wig and dress, that playing Edna was a breath of fresh hairspray…I mean air. She was actually developed into a human being; she loves her husband and her daughter, she has her fears about how the world would view her and her daughter for being overweight, disappointment that her hopes and dreams didn’t come true (explaining why she is strict with Tracy), and the pride she feels when Tracy becomes successful.

I could see [my mother] through the walls of the doctor's office--she'd be clutching a Tupperware of sliced fruit as a surprise and consolation for the loss of my birth-control virginity as she sat in the waiting room on a broken vinyl chair, magazine covers showing glamorous white movie stars with hair-sprayed ponytails stacked next to her, American soap operas depicting fake amnesia on the television screen above--for them, amnesia was a plot point, and for me, amnesia was a method of tolerance, a method for getting through every headache, through every medical procedure, through each doctor's office visit.

Lincoln felt a surge of something like strength. He set down Harold and Maude, surreptitiously, and picked up something else, Hairspray.

HE DIDN’T RENT Hairspray or Harold and Maude. A few minutes after Sam left, after standing dumbly for a while in the Hs, Lincoln decided he didn’t feel like going home anymore. He didn’t feel like sitting still or being quiet. He left the Blockbuster empty-handed and stopped just outside to toss Sam’s business card into the trash.

Some Tips to Preserve Flowers Fresh Longer Receiving new and lovely blossoms is among the most wonderful emotions in the world. It creates you feel loved, and unique, critical. Nothing really beats fresh flowers to mention particular feelings of love and devotion. This is actually the reason why you can tell how a celebration that is unique is from the quantity and type of flowers current, sold or whether available one to the other. Without a doubt the rose sector actually flowers online stores can not slow-down anytime soon and are booming. Weddings, Valentines Day, birthday, school, anniversaries, brand all without and the most significant instances a doubt flowers are part of it. The plants could have been picked up professionally or ordered through plants online, regardless of the means, new blossoms can present in a celebration. The challenge with receiving plants, however, is how to maintain their freshness longer. Really, merely placing them on vases filled up with water wouldn’t do the trick, here are a few established ways you'll be able to keep plants clean and sustained for times:  the easiest way to keep plants is by keeping them inside the refrigerator. Here is the reason why most flower shops have huge appliances where they keep their stock. If you have added place in the fridge (and endurance) you're able to just put the flowers before bed-time and put it within the fridge. In the morning you could arrange them again and do the same within the days.  If you are partial to drinking pop, specially the obvious ones like Sprite and 7 Up, you need to use this like a chemical to preserve the flowers fresh. Just serve a couple of fraction of mug of pop to mix within the water in the vase. Sugar is just a natural chemical and soda has high-sugar content, as you know.  To keep the petals and sepals fresh-looking attempt to apply somewhat of hairspray on the couple of plants or aroma. Stay from a length (about one feet) then provide the blossoms a fast spritz, notably to the leaves and petals.  the trick to maintaining cut flowers new is always to minimize the expansion of bacteria while in the same period give you the plants with all the diet it needs. Since it has properties for this function vodka may be used. Just blend of vodka and sugar for the water that you're going to use within the vase but make sure to modify the water daily using the vodka and sugar solution.  Aspirin is also recognized to preserve flowers fresh. Only break a pill of aspirin before you place the plants, and blend it with the water. Remember which you need to add aspirin everytime the water changes.  Another effective approach to avoid the growth of bacteria is to add about a quarter teaspoon of bleach inside the water within the vase. Mix in a few teaspoon of sugar for the blossoms and also diet will definitely last considerably longer. The number are only several of the more doable ways that you can do to make sure that it is possible to enjoy those arrangement of flowers you obtained from the person you worry about for a very long time. They could nearly last but atleast the message it offered will soon be valued inside your heart for the a long time.

Do you know where he went earlier that day?” Tawny shook her head. The stale stench of hairspray and regret wafted toward him.

oils into your home to benefit your health and the health of those you love. As we’ve mentioned throughout this book, we have a free course that we teach about the essential oils and how to start using them.   Along with this course we also would like to gift you with our free 50 Essential Oil DIY Recipes ebook. This book will teach you how to make some awesome do it yourself recipes. Some of the recipes included are: -         Natural deodorant -         Ginger lime sugar scrub -         Essential healing salve -         Natural herbal hairspray -         Yoga mat spray -

Bear spray. B-E-A-R spray.” I stopped abruptly. “You seriously thought I was buying hairspray?” I started laughing. “We’re hiking. Why would I need hairspray?

No giant hair-sprayed bangs—sadly—but her new look might’ve been even better. Something about her peach cheeks and glossy lips and tamed curls had turned Stina into someone who actually looked… friendly.

Better not fuck in here. The bill for valeting this car is starting to approach the cost of Donald Trump’s hairspray.

I liked your stars and moons,” Val said softly. “but maybe it’s for the best. Think of it as a complete Merlin makeover.” “You mean like in those teen movies from that hideous decade with the hairspray?

Daily, Mom applied hairspray to her stylish hairdo. I remember the smell and the sound of the chemicals invading her ears, nose, and throat, and mine too since I loved to hang out with her. This era marked the start of the consumer use of chlorofluorocarbon (CFC), an organic compound produced as a volatile derivative of methane and ethane that affects the ozone layer of our Earth. These applications of toxins kept Mom’s hair in place until her next appointment. The CFCs from the new aerosol sprays undoubtedly contributed to my sweet mama’s subsequent poor health. But she didn’t stop using hairspray until she went bald from chemotherapy. The United States banned Chlorofluorocarbons in 1978.

Christa hardly recognized her student. Black spandex jeans gave way to boots that rattled with lengths of chain. Leather jacket. Studded belts. A T-shirt that had been deliberately slashed into a borderline state between legality and indecency. Bandannas fluttered from ankles, elbows, wrists. Melinda had added perhaps a good six inches to her height with a teasing comb and liberal application of hairspray. Her blue eyes sparkled at Christa from within dark walls of eyeliner and shadow.

It was music from the movie Hairspray.

dousing my wild mane with hairspray and more bobby pins, I sit back to take in my handiwork. “It looks pretty good,” I murmur to myself as I turn my head side to side, impressed with my own skill. It had been risky to forgo my usual ponytail and try out the deep side part weaved into an intricate French braid, but I feel… sophisticated. And even pretty. “Well, a girl should feel pretty for her own engagement party,” I declare out loud while I pull a few strands of hair out of the delicate braid to frame my face.

Vera knows her cue. The police officers part so she can race up the steps to where Daphne's open arms are waiting. She hugs Daphne tight, breathes in that dishsoap and hairspray smell that means rules and disapproval and safety. Her mother's hands rest lightly on her shoulders. After a few seconds, Vera allows her mother to push her away. She looks up and sees warm satisfaction in the pressed-thin line of Daphne's mouth. Vera has accomplished the necessary task of showing strangers that she is loved, that she is cared for, that everything at home is just fine. Her mother's approval settles over her like a jacket that's just a little too thin for the weather.

REWIND OR DIE Midnight Exhibit Vol. 1 Infested - Carol Gore Benny Rose: The Cannibal King - Hailey Piper - Jan. 23 Cirque Berserk - Jessica Guess - Feb. 20 Hairspray and Switchblades - V. Castro - Feb. 20 Sole Survivor - Zachary Ashford - Mar. 26 Food Fright - Nico Bell - Mar. 26 Hell’s Bells - Lisa Quigley - May 28 The Kelping - Jan Stinchcomb - May 28 Trampled Crown - Kirby Kellogg - Jun. 25 Dead and Breakfast - Gary Buller - Jun. 25 Blood Lake Monster - Renee Miller - Jul. 23 The Catcatcher - Kevin Lewis - Jul. 23 All You Need is Love and a Strong Electric Current - Mackenzie Kiera - Aug. 27 Tales From the Meat Wagon - Eddie Generous - Aug. 27 Hooker - M. Lopes da Silva - Oct. 29 Offstage Offerings - Priya Sridhar - Oct. 29 Dead Eyes - EV Knight - Nov. 26 Dancing on the Edge of a Blade - Todd Rigney - Dec. 12 Midnight Exhibit Vol. 2 - Dec. 12

Arden sighed and looked at the window. “I don’t know many people who care for it,” he said. “What about potato guns?” Joseph asked. “You ever make one when you were a kid, fill it with hairspray and shoot at the neighbor’s dog?” “Nope,” Buster said, “sorry.” He could feel the article slipping away from him, imagined going on the Internet and fabricating the entire thing. “And the war?” asked David. “I’m not a fan,” Buster replied. He looked down at his shoes, black leather sneakers with complicated stitching, his toes already slightly numb inside of them. He thought about reaching over Joseph, pushing open the door, and jumping out.

She had used enough hairspray to trap a small child on her head if one wandered too close.

Valerie reached up and pulled off her earrings. “These are no longer a symbol of us!” she said, and threw the earrings into the grass behind her. Another girl joined her and started raising her own symbols in the air. She picked up a pair of pantyhose and threw them away. Another girl threw her purse about 30 feet. They’d obviously been told beforehand to bring all the symbols of girlhood because everyone seemed to have something to throw away—jewelry, acrylic nails, perfume, and makeup. Patty raised up a can of hairspray and shot it out into the air, waving it to show the stream. Just then, Mark, head of Clean Up Kidsboro, flew out of a nearby bush. He had obviously been watching them to make sure they finished the bathroom. But now, I had a feeling he thought the feminists had gone too far. “Hey! Stop that!” he yelled. Most of the girls ignored him, including Patty, who continued spraying. “Those are harmful chemicals!” he protested. She continued to ignore him. “Stop spraying!” he yelled, jumping up and snatching the can from her hand. Some of the girls finally noticed that there was a boy present, and their frenzy came to an abrupt halt. “What are you people doing?” Mark shouted. “You’re killing us! My organization is relying on you. You’re supposed to be digging a latrine, not spraying deadly chemicals in the air!” “We’re just about to dig,” Patty said. “Well, get started, then! You’ve only got 24 hours, or we lose our funding!” “How about it, girls?” Valerie shouted, trying to regain the momentum

It ain't my idea to leave before dawn. My ole lady decided to visit Nana, that's why the house stinks of hairspray. You know why she's leaving early: so nobody sees her scurry through town on foot. All she wants is for them to see her arrived, all hunky-dory. Not scurrying. It's a learning I made since the car went. 'Well I just can't believe there isn't a pair of Tumbledowns around town, I mean, I'll have to try down by Nana's.' She gives off breathy noises, and flicks her fingertips through my hair. Then she takes a step back and frowns. It means goodbye. 'Promise me you won't miss your therapy.' An electric purple sky spills stars behind the pumpjack, calling home the last moths for the night. It reminds me of the morning when ole Mrs Lechuga was out here, all devastated. I try not to think about it. Instead I look ahead to today. Going to Keeter's is a smart idea; if anybody sees me out there, they'll say, 'We saw Vernon out by Keeter's,' and nobody will know if they mean the auto shop, or the piece of land. See? Vernon Gray-matter Little. In return, I've asked Fate to help me solve the cash thing. It's become clear that cash is the only way to deal with problems in life. I even scraped up a few things to pawn in town, if it comes to that. I know it'll come to that, so I have them with me in my pack – my clarinet, my skateboard, and fourteen music discs. They're in the pack with my lunchbox, which contains my sandwich, the two joints, and a piece of paper with some internet addresses on it. As for the joints and the piece of paper, I heard the voice of Jesus last night. He advised me to get wasted, fast. If at first you don't succeed, he said, get wasted off your fucken ass. My plan is to sit out at Keeter's and get some new ideas, ideas borne out of the bravery of wastedness. I ride down empty roads of frosted silver, trees overhead swish cool hints of warm panties in bedclothes. Liberty Drive is naked, save for droppings of hay, and Bar-B-Chew Barn wrappers. In this light you can't see the stains on the sidewalk by the school. As the gym building passes by, all hulky and black, I look the other way, and think of other things. Music's a crazy thing, when you think about it. Interesting how I decided which discs not to pawn. I could've kept some party music, but that would've just tried to boost me up, all this thin kind of 'Tss-tss-tss,' music. You get all boosted up, convinced you're going to win in life, then the song's over and you discover you fucken lost. That's why you end up playing those songs over and over, in case you didn't know. Cream pie, boy. I could've kept back some heavy metal too, but that's likely to drive me to fucken suicide. What I need is some Eminem, some angry poetry, but you can't buy that stuff in Martirio. Like it was an animal sex doll or something, you can't buy angry poetry. When you say gangsta around here, they still think of Bonnie & fucken Clyde. Nah, guess what: I ended up keeping my ole Country albums. Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Paycheck – even my daddy's ole Hank Williams compilation. I kept them because those boys have seen some shit – hell, all they sing about is the shit they've seen; you just know they woke up plenty of times on a wooden floor somewhere, with ninety flavors of trouble riding on their ass. The slide-guitar understands your trouble. Then all you need is the beer.

With all due respect, Ms. Embers,” Mr. Bradshaw started, and I couldn’t help but notice how he emphasized the word due, “I’m quite disappointed. One of the very first things I taught you was not to overdo it. Try the obvious before using the complex techniques one might expect a spy to use. When lying or making excuses, make it simple. Ms. Embers: do not make up an elaborate tale involving a porcupine, hairspray, and/or a treasure chest. Say, ‘I tripped and cut it on a nail on the sidewalk.’ Don’t make yourself suspicious.

Betty looked over all the permed, hairsprayed, indignant heads.

At school, my science teacher talked about the ozone layer even as aerosol hairspray kept clouding the bathroom stalls. I tried to tell Mom about climate change, but she acted like I was gullible. If I was mad about losing our land, I was even angrier about what they'd done to it. While I still didn't know about the massacres, I knew enough to feel robbed. Manhatten was purchased with beads. Valuable furs had been traded for whiskey. White people used empty promises as tender, and in exchange, we Indians got blood quantum, our lineages tracked like thoroughbreds or dogs, destined to be turned into glue.

The woman I see out and about in town is not the woman i see in here. Outside The Printed Letter, Claire is contained, silent, worried she'll say the wrong thing, wear the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. Everything about her is fashioned not to be noticed. Her makeup just right, not too much to be beautiful and striking, only enough to create a blank palette. Her hair is the same: brown bob with flyaways normally tamed by a little hairspray. If you don't notice something or someone, you can't reject it, or her.