Betty Rizzo, the tough and sarcastic leader of the Pink Ladies.
Facebook quizzes can be more than just a pointless waste of time. No, really. They can. Personally, I’d thought I’d taken all the interesting and applicable FB quizzes available, but yesterday the “Which Grease Character Are You?” popped up in my Live News Feed (btw, HATE that) after a couple of friends had taken the test themselves. Of course, I had to see what this deeply-probing, all-telling quiz had to say about who I am in relation to the stereotypical female cast members of Grease, a film that played a pivotal role in making me the woman I am today (scary, huh?). A couple of casual clicks later, *POOF* there was my result in black and white for all the world to see: Rizzo. And, just like that, it was as if a dam of memories had burst free of the constraints of time (not to mention, the massive brain cell slaughter of my youth), and it all came rushing back to me…the day I was cast as Rizzo (bet you never pegged me as a musical theater type of girl, did you?).
It should come as no surprise to anyone who grew up in the ‘70s that one of the musical productions put on by my class at school was a most likely ill-conceived performance of “Summer Lovin’”. Meant to be an ode to the upcoming Summer break, perhaps a promise of good things to come graduation day, my 3rd Grade teacher, Mrs. Van Bloom, assigned each of her students a part of the song to sing. As she went down the line handing out lyrics and sheet music (as if I needed either…I had the entire film committed to memory), I heard her give the boys ahead of me their roles. Then, the girl next to me was assigned to play Frenchie. So, as Mrs. VB’s gaze finally landed upon me, my heart leapt at the thought that she’d fulfill my lifelong dream (I was only 8 at the time, so give me a break) of portraying Sandy. Alas, that was not the name that passed her lips that fateful, smoggy day on the Montessori playground in Woodland Hills. Mrs. VB looked directly at me and said, “Kim, you will sing the part of Rizzo.” Rizzo? Was I hearing her correctly? Maybe the intense heat of the Valley (like, gag me with a spoon) was making me hallucinate, but surely she didn’t just tell me I was to play Rizzo, the drinking, smoking, “easy” girl who believes she might be pregnant for the majority of the film, right? I mean, that could potentially be the basis for a future filled with YEARS of profound psychoanalytical therapy for such a sweet, unassuming, innocent little girl like me. And when I asked her why, things went from bad to worse.
“Well,” she said, “you have short, brown hair and so does Rizzo,” as if her obviously logical decision would help me understand why I wasn’t cast as the winsome, pretty blonde and not the cheap, dirty whore. My goddamned hair. Damn you, mother, for making me have short hair! Curses to Dorothy Hamill and her wretched wedge cut that I so coveted yet could never obtain due to my full, yet fine hair! Why couldn’t I have been allowed to have long, flowing locks like Marcia Brady? And, now…look what this hair had gotten me. I had been cast as the bitter, mean-spirited slut even though inside, I wanted desperately to be the pretty, new-girl-in-town-who-everybody-can’t-help-but-adore, Sandy. No, I don’t blame you, Mrs. VB…I blame my hair, my mom, and Colleen (my hair stylist at Saks), all of which conspired against me on that one, hot, almost summer’s day in 1979 to be branded as Rizzo forever.
Thank you so very much, Facebook, for bringing up THAT painful memory. Next time why don’t you just give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it?!?
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