I, Toni

If you’ve followed my ramblings over the years, you know I am something of a Tonya Harding Super Fan. She is Woodhaven’s most proximate celebrity. When we moved here 13 years ago, I started meeting people who knew her or had had various interactions with her. I started hearing stories and gossip and tales. I was ridiculously intrigued.

My closest personal encounter with Tonya (so far…I still have hope) was spotting her in a local grocery store a few years ago. She was next to the orange juice. I was so star-struck, all I could do was stare and then run to the baby food aisle to breathlessly call a friend in Massachusetts whom I knew would share my glee.

I have several friends who have met Tonya. One friend, Gigi, sees Tonya quite often because of the nature of her work. Gigi is kind enough to occasionally throw fun facts my way about the infamous skater’s current life. I lap them up like catnip.

Last week, Gigi asked me if I would like to join her and a small group of her coworkers on a movie date to see Tonya’s biopic “I, Tonya.” A small group of people WHO KNOW TONYA! I cleared my schedule and practically did a triple Lutz in anticipation. Today couldn’t come soon enough!

The original plan was to see the film in one of those swanky movie theaters with reclining chairs and adult beverages. But it was quickly determined that all the shows for today were selling out FAST. Clearly, I am not the only nosy neighbor who wants to sip a nice Cabernet while peeking into the life of our local Olympian-turned-tabloid-fodder.

A quick redirect and flying fingers on keyboards nabbed tickets at a less exciting theater (read: no recliners and only Coke products). We all agreed to meet 30 minutes early so we could assure seats together.

When I arrived in the parking lot, I quickly changed into my hockey jersey. I have never worn it out in public before; I could not imagine a better time for it to make its debut on my shoulders.

A friend of mine is an avid hockey player and one of his local teams was called The Hardings. When David discovered my fascination with Tonya, he very kindly offered to part with one of his jerseys. I display it proudly on a hook in our laundry room. I see it every time I come into the house from the garage and at least three loads every week. A few benevolent visitors have kindly inquired about it, allowing me to enthusiastically tell the story of how I came to possess a rather random but totally amazing Tonya Harding souvenir.

Back to the movie theater.

After amusing the ticket-taker with my jersey, we filed into the theater expecting to have to scope out 7 seats in a group. Instead, there were not even 7 seats filled. Obviously, my county has discerned that Tonya is best enjoyed with a cocktail. The movie I mean. Or maybe not?

People slowly trickled in but the theater was only about one-third full by the time the copious coming attractions gratefully ended. Most folks looked to be in their 50s and older; clearly, we were the ones that were there and not distracted by homework or Power Rangers when it all went down in 1994.

As we watched preview after preview after bloody preview, I started to get a little concerned about what type of flick “I, Tonya” was going to be. You know how previews are usually in the same genre as the coming attraction? Well, every preview preceding “I, Tonya” involved blood, violence, lying, drama, intensity. And now that I type that, never mind. The previews nailed it.

My official review of “I, Tonya”: 6.0 from the Woodhaven judge

Even if I didn’t sort of stalk Tonya as a hobby, I would have loved this movie. It is compelling, entertaining, disturbing, familiar, and new. I already know I need to see it again. And the soundtrack ROCKS! I shall be ordering the CD soon... because that's how we rolled in the '90s.

When I first heard about it, I assumed the film was going to be campy and gossipy and something of a parody. Basically the movie version of the stage production “Tonya and Nancy: The Rock Opera” that Rob and I saw in Portland about 10 years ago. (Did I mention Super Fan?)

I was quite surprised when I learned instead that there is Oscar buzz about the movie, particularly the two central actresses playing Tonya and her parakeet-wearing-mother. People are actually taking the movie – and Tonya – seriously. To which Tonya might add “…for once in my freakin’ life!”

The acting was indeed impressive. The likenesses of everyone involved except Tonya was uncanny. Having watched every recent Tonya interview possible (Super Fan!), Margot Robbie certainly has Tonya’s mannerisms down but her accent is a little weird. (Given that Margot is Australian and trying to do Redneck American, I shouldn’t fault her too much.) And honestly, Tonya is prettier than Margot’s version of her. But otherwise, the hair, the nails, the wardrobe…it was like watching all that news footage from the mid-90s all over again.

There were some authentic laugh-out-loud moments in the movie. Laughter that lingered and made me miss the next few lines. Sometimes the humor was intended; sometimes it was from the absurdity of the situations and people in Tonya’s life.

Despite reading countless books and articles and such over the years (Super Fan!), I did learn a few tidbits. Such as the fun fact that the real plan – which Tonya was in on – was just to send threatening notes to Nancy. And that the buffoony bodyguard was actually the source of the death threat Tonya received a couple weeks prior to the infamous knee whack. The inept bodyguard faked the death threat because he was somehow “thinking four steps ahead.” Yeah, don’t try to figure it…or him…out.

As I watched the familiar story unfold, I was struck by how straight-out-of-a-Hollywood-movie the whole situation was. I truly think if someone had pitched Tonya’s story as fiction, it would have been panned for being ridiculously unbelievable. I also found myself…and overheard a few others in the theater…rooting for Tonya.

Her story as she tells is it heartbreaking. Her childhood, her mother, her husband were all painful to watch. Tonya became a singularly sympathetic character as her truth was told. By the end of it, I just wanted to give her a hug.

At one point, in documentary-interview style, Tonya explains how her treatment by the media after “The Incident” was like being abused all over again. And, talking directly to the camera, she asserts that all of us who are intrigued by the calamity of her life are her abusers as well.

I gotta admit, I wasn’t so proud of my hockey jersey at that moment.

As we left the theater, I asked Gigi and her coworker who knows Tonya best if the movie changed their opinions at all. For the most part, the answer was no.

Gigi said she knew Tonya had had a rough childhood but didn’t realize it was as troubled as the movie depicted. We wondered together why other adults in Tonya’s life didn’t bring in CPS or other authorities to protect her.

Gigi’s coworker simply said, “All I can say is Tonya has always been very nice to me.”

I bet that would make Tonya happy. Very freakin’ happy.

If my obsession wasn't obvious before...

Ok, so about two hours ago Rob and I stopped in at our local big box store to pick up some socks and some soap. It’s one of those places where you can get both socks and soap…and organic yogurt and pine nuts and Clorox and tomato soup and such. One-stop shopping.

We made our way from the soap to the socks via the dairy cases at the back of the store. As we passed by the orange juice section...right there in front of me, in a worn black coat and pony tail and pregnant was…TONYA HARDING!!! Her cart was mostly empty and she was wandering by slowly, looking a little aimless or just happy to be out of the house. I stared at her and stared again and then stared at her stomach and ponytail to confirm I was really seeing what I was seeing (a local friend in the know clued me in just a week ago that Tonya is expecting a boy in March. Still trying to decide on the perfect baby gift.). As she passed me, I noticed Rob was already at the butter. I yanked at his shirt to stop him and whispered (hopefully), “THAT’S TONYA HARDING!!!!”

“Where??”

“THERE!! BY THE MILK!”

And so he started staring, too. And then doubted me because he couldn’t see her face. So he started to walk towards her to try to get a better look. Which of course freaked me out because, well, I don’t want to be OBVIOUSLY STALKING her. I prefer to do it quietly, sneakily, stalkerly-like.

I stood there with a huge gaping grin as Rob came back to me, agreeing that it was indeed her. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice my sorry attempts at being fascinated by some sort of pomegranate juice while sneaking glances to the left. Deciding we needed to leave the scene in order to maintain some sense of decorum, we headed off towards the socks. As we walked past the Seafood department, I fished out my cell phone. Rob panicked, convinced I was about to take a picture.

“No, don’t worry. I’m calling Sharon.”

So there I stood, hiding amongst some torn jeans in the Young Mens department, leaving a message for my similarly Tonya-obsessed friend telling her I was calling from a local store and (in a loud whisper so nearby shoppers wouldn’t overhear) I JUST SAW TONYA HARDING!

We found the socks. I took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on crew vs no-show vs ankle length. I found my 6-pack and then Rob demonstrated once again that he is the most fabulous of all fabulous husbands when he looked at me and said, “Shall we go see if we can find her again?”

Good Lord, I love that man!

So we wandered purposefully all around that huge store…past all the food aisles, into housewares, past the books and stationery, past the towels and kitchen gadgets, past the Place Where It Happened, through the baby department, past all the womens clothes, past Starbucks and the jewelry and the electronics, past every cashier. I was grateful none of the employees asked me if they could help me find something. In my state, I’m sure I would have said, “YES! What aisle is Tonya Harding on??”

Ten minutes of searching and…nothing. Did she know I was stalking her? Did she sneak into the bathroom? Was she shopping for paint or a garden hose? Had she left while we were selecting socks? OH, the agony!!

Two hours later and I am still basking in the glow and excitement of my brush with infamy in front of the Tropicana orange juice. Best. Errand. Ever!!!

Getting closer to my obsession one dollar at a time

I went into my local Dollar Tree today to pick up some don’t-care-if-I-lose-them utensils for tomorrow’s pot luck. As I approached the cashier, I overheard this conversation:

Customer: I heard Tonya Harding used to work here.

Me in my head: OMG – Really? I could totally see that and yet, how did I not know this??

Cashier: I’ve heard that, too, but she’s never worked here since I’ve been here. She comes in all the time, though.

Me in my head: OMG, OMG!! I’m getting closer! Now I know where she shops!!

Customer: Yeah, I’ve run into her a few times. Nice gal.

Me in my head: A few times? Yikes! I’ve been here for six years and I only saw her once through a restaurant’s window. So far behind!! And naturally she’s nice. She’s quite polite and unassuming from all rumored reports. Unless she’s in a bar. Those are different stories.

Cashier: Yeah, she was just here the other day. She’s nice and all but I still don’t like that whole Kerrigan thing.

Me in my head: Just the other day?!? Thisclose to a brush with greatness! Must. Now. Shop. Dollar Tree. Regularly.

Customer: You mean the whack-a-doo?

Me in my head: A description so complete, so simple, and so elegant, my head is spinning.

Cashier: Yup. Oh, well. Hey, Christine is out there waiting for you.

Me in my head: Christine? Who’s Christine?? Does she know Tonya? Is Tonya out there?

I bobbed and weaved my head to get a closer look out the Dollar Tree’s entrance only to discover Christine was another DT employee returning from her parking lot shopping cart round up. Sigh. Before long, Christine will know me, too.

The flames of my obsession have been stoked

It’s been a good long while since The Local Rag has featured something blog-worthy. But, oh, it was worth the wait!

Front page, below the fold, in the space typically designated for this week’s wildlife sighting, was a headline and photo that made me salivate like Pavlov’s dog.

“Tonya Harding continues active life” as demonstrated by her pictured sitting on the bumper of a 1931 Model A Ford. The caption explains that she plans to drive the antique in an attempt to set a new speed record at some race in Utah. Truly, The Local Rag does not get any better than this!

For the uninitiated, Tonya Harding is our county’s biggest celebrity and I have something of a fascination with her. We’ll just leave it at that.

The article is fabulous. Simply fabulous. It is written with all the critical analysis, in-depth reporting, and easy transitions of a feature for a junior high newspaper. Allow me to regale you with some juicy excerpts:

Tonya Harding...will attempt to set a new speed record...while making appearances throughout the country, raising money for needy children, hunting with bow and arrow, fishing and playing pool with friends, all while appearing on a weekly television show.

Our Tonya is indeed one busy gal. The archery part especially fascinates me. As does how she can do all that stuff simultaneously.

She also ice skates for fun, chops wood for exercise and markets a book about her life.

Busy, busy, busy. And yes, I own and have read the book. It's in our guest room should you decide to come visit.

Richardson [the Model A’s owner] now considers Harding to be his non-adopted step-daughter.

I wonder if Hallmark has a card for that overly hyphenated relationship?

Fascinatingly, the reporter (who is startlingly nameless – no byline!), skips right past the whole “bang on the knee” incident with Nancy Kerrigan for which we all really know Tonya best. No mention whatsoever of that or any of the other more colorful aspects of her history. I can only surmise that our dear Tonya set some conditions before she agreed to be interviewed. Really, not a bad plan when speaking with The Local Rag. It is not known for its rigorous fact-checking.

In 2008, Harding became the first woman in 60 years to set and then break a speed record in her racing class. Richardson’s daughter later bested the record by two-tenths of a second.

Ahh, hyphenated-sibling rivalry.

Working on cars is nothing new to Harding. She helped her father repair cars earlier in her life. “She’s always worked on cars,” said Richardson of Harding.

The value-add of that quote gives me goose-bumps.

Harding now appears on the “Smoking Gun Presents” show…featuring the “world’s dumbest criminals.” In the show, Harding provides commentary on “dumb criminal activities” [like whacking an Olympic hopeful on the knee with a lead pipe??] and performs in skits as “Professor Harding.”

I am now investigating what cable package I have to buy in order to get the Tru TV network.

For pleasure, Harding plays pool. “I do pretty good,” said Harding. “You have to understand angles.”

Hard to argue with the obvious.

Harding also enjoys riding horses. In recent archery hunts, Harding has bagged two does and a buck, plus one raccoon. Steelhead and kokanee are her targets while fishing.

I had to read this three times before I realized the horses have nothing to do with the archery hunts. Nevertheless, I envy Harding’s outdoorsiness.

By far my most favorite paragraph:

Harding is not married and has no children. She has a wide circle of friends, she said, and enjoys spending time with them. She chops and burns wood to heat her home, and is interested in the environment. She recycles cans, and cleans and reuses milk jugs. She owns two pairs of ice skates.

It’s the little details that really make me feel like I know her.

Not quite Rent – thank goodness

One of the many cool things about living somewhat close to Portland is that we can occasionally get gussied up – with socks and everything – and go into The Big City for a sophisticated night of elegant dining and culture. Catching wind of a new theater production, we recently took in among the best of what Portland has to offer. I give you:

Tonya & Nancy: The Rock Opera

Now I’m not usually one for musicals. In fact, I hate them. On stage, on film, on TV. I just can’t take characters seriously when they suddenly break into song and everyone around them uncannily knows all the steps to a spontaneous dance routine. But Tonya & Nancy had two things going for it which gave me hope. First, it was an opera; therefore, I expected the plot to be sung, not interrupted by song. Second, I assumed it was not meant to be taken seriously. Both turned out to be deliciously true.

My bottom-line review: Simply fabulous! I loved it! A must see!!

The music was boppy, the acting was better than expected, the singing was only occasionally glass-shatteringly shrill, and the “skating” across the stage in Reeboks was surprisingly elegant. I’d say “Tonya” had the best singing voice but “Jeff Gilloly” best captured his namesake, especially in his orange prison jumpsuit. The same actress played both Tonya’s mom as well as Nancy’s mom. It was truly remarkable how she seamlessly transformed from a doting legally blind mother of an ice princess to a hairbrush wielding “Whip her butt or I’ll whip you” mama of a hard-knocks kid from Clackamas, sometimes with just a 180 degree turn.

The music was lead by a conductor who looked like a cross between Robert Smith of The Cure and Sideshow Bob from the Simpsons. His blue floppy spiky hair was simply mesmerizing. “Bob” conducted 30 songs during the opera, among them: Low Rent Trailer Park, Why Me?, The Laces Broke, and my favorite: When You Wake Up Sleeping in Your Car in Estacada.

As the story unfolded I was completely unprepared to feel sorry for Tonya. And yet, I did. Since she is a local girl, I guess I should have expected her to be portrayed as a sympathetic character. Poor thing had so much going against her. No love, no support, weak laces. I actually almost felt bad by the end that I went sightseeing in search of her house last year after I nabbed her address from a publicly released 911 call (see May 25, 2007 post). Almost.

I was also unprepared for the woman sitting next to me to whip out her opera glasses. I did a double-take and confirmed she was indeed trying to get a closer look at the Greek chorus of media and paparazzi. This was rather perplexing since we were in Row 7 of a 10 row theater. I concluded my seat mate must have High Definition at home and was accustomed to seeing pores.

As we left the theater, I overheard perhaps the best review of the opera. Said one 45ish hipster to his friends: “Oh my word! Wouldn’t that translate well to a cheesy mockumentary?”

Personally, I don’t think any translation is necessary.

Highlight of the local tour

When I was a kid living in Butte, Montana, we had a very famous celebrity living just about a mile away. Every time we left our apartment to go anywhere, we had to do this silly series of S-curves to go around Evel Knievel’s ostentatious rock-covered ranch-style house. There was a matching rock wall guarding his property. Since there’s a touch of snow and ice in Montana, the wall was pretty regularly under some sort of repair from an unassuming car swerving into it. I also remember Mom and Dad kvetching about how Evel spent a ton of money one Christmas lighting up an enormous set of trees in his yard with a lighted motorcylin’ Santa Claus in the middle, popping a wheelie. This was in the early ‘70s, during that energy crisis where there were even and odd days you were allowed to buy gasoline. And there was Evel, festively illuminating most of Butte.

When we moved to California, the only celebrity whose house I could locate was Grace Slick’s, that lady from Starship. She and those other people I didn’t recognize in the music video had a hit when I was in high school in the mid '80s so I learned who Grace was. Turns out she had had quite a career before “We Built This City.” This explained her impressive mansion tucked behind some gates along a wooded road on a nearby hill.

Later, when Rob and I were living near San Francisco, our closest identified Celebrity Crib belonged to MC Hammer. It was very easy to spot, it being round and sitting alone on a hill. He didn’t live in it very long though. Something about literally tons of imported Italian marble, parasite homeys, and a nasty little bankruptcy.

So now, here we are in southwestern Washington. As of last weekend, we have found the abode of our one and only Big Celebrity. Yes, while my college roommate was visiting, we went on a quest to find Tonya Harding’s place. It took a bit of hinter-lands driving but since we had a map and an address (culled from Tonya’s most recently released call to 911), we were able to locate it pretty easily.

It was a modest little house – that’s right, disappointingly NOT a trailer as previously reported. It didn’t look very inviting, though, what with the five “NO TRESPASSING” signs posted on fences, trees, and her garage. The only sign of life was a trash can on its side by the edge of the road. No potted plants, no garden gnomes, no wind chimes, no welcome mat. Just drawn curtains and a fair amount of pine needles. If I can get her phone number from her next 911 call, I’ll be sure to give her a jingle before I head out there next time. Seems more neighborly that way. Or at least slightly less stalkerly.

Apparently she spells it with an "o"

Did I mention that Tonya Harding is our biggest local celebrity?

I had my very first Tonya sighting just a few days ago. Same blond ponytail, same rough-girl-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-trailer-park presence. No lead pipe in sight. Apparently she's moved on.

This morning, our local paper had the most awesome rumor printed in the bottom of the front page of Section C:

"Sports columnist Kerry Eggers wrote that [Tonya Harding] is working with a producer who is talking to networks about the possibility of a TV reality show."

OMG!!!!!!!

Tonya explained to Eggers, "Not a show where I'm doing crazy things, eating worms, doing stunts or stuff like that. Just about my life."

Unlike her celebrity smackdown with Paula Jones (or whichever Clinton babe-ette that was), I would actually pay to watch this show. I can just imagine the things Tonya might do in her life, here in my rural little community. We could watch her:

- celebrate the seasonal arrival of the Huckleberry Shakes at Burgerville

- buy a few tons of mixed alfalfa at the local feed and farm store

- attend a stained glass class down at Value Village

- do a little community service as a crossing guard for the high school kids as they go over to Burgerville to grab a smoke between classes

- get nailed for an expired burn permit when she tries to burn all the blackberry bushes engulfing her trailer

- enjoy "The Best Burger In Town" at the Chinese restaurant

- work as the night clerk at the new (and only) motel opening up this summer

OH, it would be so much fun!!!

Of course, the downside is that all the attention could really change the quaintness of my little town. It could put us on the map, which would really be a shame since we so enjoy the fact that no mapping systems -- or contractors -- can find us. On second thought, let's hope Tonya gets a nice big sign-on bonus and moves over to Aloha, Oregon before the show starts.

"Aloha from Tonya!" -- Set your Tivo now!