Little Edie And Me

The first time I heard about Little Edie was from my friend Vanessa. Vanessa was from Georgia, and had German immigrant parents. This combination somehow created one of the strangest persons I have known, complete with a slow, southern drawl. Our conversations centered on pornography, Taco Bell, travel, or strange films we had seen.
"Last night I saw this documentary that I think you'll luuuuv." she said.
"Was it good?"
"No, I didn't really like it, but it was about Jackie O's crazy aunt and cousin that live in a dilapidated house infested with racoons that they feed dogfood."

I rented Grey Gardens 2 days later. I was so excited about seeing the film. From Vanessa's description, I convinced myself that it was going to be like seeing a real-life Miss Havisham. I saw the movie, and thought it was boring. I went to sleep, thinking the documentary about Rumspringa a much more interesting story,

When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was
"Did that crazy lady have eyebrows? Why did she use a terry-cloth towel as a scarf & pin it with a diamond brooch? Is her skirt upside down? Why did she & her mother constantly argue & break into song? Why in the fuck would she feed those racoons busting through the walls? Why feed them Wonder bread & Alpo? What was the deal with Big Edie & and Brooks the accompianist?"

This warranted a second viewing. I understood more of the dialogue the second time. They said the strangest things in the most eloquent ways. Little Edie wore couture of her own making. They had a dozen cats and when Little Edie fed them, she shouted "Kitties, luncheon is ready." They lived in the filthiest mansion I had ever seen.

My obsession had started. I spent my free time imagining what had happened to create these women.

I wore a scarf on my head everyday for a year and a half in tribute to Little Edie. I watched the movie every night when going to bed. For Halloween, I decided to be Little Edie. I commited to be as accurate as possible, so I shaved my head completely bald with a Bic Daisy razor. I pinned a skirt upside down and wore brooches. No one at the party knew who I was, but I didn't mind, because it gave me the opportunity to spread the gospel of the Edies.

I wasn't sure why I identified with this bizarre woman (other than the fact that I love eccentrics) until last week. I finally realized that I was white trash Little Edie. I too had lived in a filthy, dilapidated house with a sagging floor. My house was also infested with unwelcome visitors (rats in my case) and I had spent entire weeks screaming at my mother with my fancy vocabulary (but my mom wasn't a singer, just a heroin addict). I dressed in ill fitting, mis-matched outfits that I made look fantastic by sheer force of will and mis-guided confidence in my artistry.

I am Little Edie, and she is me. I can't wait until I meet her in the afterlife. We will spend all day dressing in outlandish costumes and co-ordinating dance routines, reciting poetry and singing in slightly off-key voices. Then I will know that heaven is real.