June 10th, 2007
Paris Hilton, after attending Sunday’s MTV Movie Awards,
was then off to the Century Regional Detention Facility
in Lynwood. She is expected to serve about 23 days for
violating her probation stemming from an alcohol-related
driving charge. “I hope that I’m an example to other
young people,” she told reporters.
DAY 1: Arrived late Sunday night. So tired. Asked if I
could check into my room immediately. Quite possibly the
rudest concierge I have ever met. I told him he was
fired. Not the effect I’d hoped for. And no, I did not
register under the name “Little Miss Whore.” What kind of
hotel forces you to strip and delouse (maybe Marriott?).
Although instead of a robe I got a fabulous orange
jumpsuit with a cute number on it. Nothing to do at
night. I’m told (as there was, like, no information in my
room) that there is no bar or lounge area. I wish I’d
brought flats.
Day 2: My room is insane! TINY! How is it even possible
that I got a room without any view? A tiny stainless
steel toilet. There is an incredibly thin mattress. If I
didn’t know I was in prison I’d think I was in an Ian
Schrager hotel.
Day 3: So that’s what a bitch slap is. Wow. Just … wow.
MUST remember not to make that sarcastic face again
anytime soon.
Day 5: Gandhi went to prison. So did Martin Luther King
Jr. So did Robert Downey Jr. and Martha Stewart Jr. and I
think Nelson Mandela Jr. Mandela was imprisoned for,
like, 50 years or something for being black and also for
driving an uninsured vehicle, if I’m reading Wikipedia
correctly. Nicky often mentions me and Gandhi and how
incredibly thin we both are and how she wonders if he
used bronzer.
Day 5, shortly before lights out: Must remember not to
complain about lights out. Hope mother can contact a good
dentist, as the whistling from where the tooth is missing
is embarrassing as well as annoying.
Several of us were talking after the movie tonight (”The
Shawshank Redemption”) and one gal posed a question to
the group: Would you crawl to freedom through a sewer
pipe, like Tim Robbins’ character did? I would have
answered “no” but was unfortunately bound and gagged
(practical jokes are big in prison).
Day 7: Mail today. One piece. A small note from Nicky
that was actually a Xerox of a text message that her
assistant put a stamp on and mailed. She wrote, “Ya know
that band from a long time ago, 10,000 Maniacs? There
were only, like, five people in that band.”
Day 9: What is time? How do we measure it? What does it
mean? I find these questions on my mind more and more,
especially since someone stole my Audemars Piguet watch.
Shame.
Day 10: There is no TV, no iPod, no cellphone. Just — I
hope I’m spelling this right — “boks” or maybe “bowks.”
Whatever. I took a few from the cart and have been
looking at the covers. Then, last night, I looked inside
and there are, like, a million words, page after page.
Are these new?
Day 11: Jayne Mansfield spoke five languages. She was a
concert-level pianist. Marilyn Monroe was a Formula One
race car driver. Twiggy built her own home, raised guinea
fowl and invented penicillin. Eleanor Roosevelt patented
commercial air travel. And yet all of us played a role,
the blond bimbo, the ditzy, fun-loving “party girl.”
Roosevelt especially. But what’s to say I couldn’t be the
first person to walk on the moon or be the first woman to
go to college?
Day 14: Yeats writes that the falcon cannot hear the
falconer. What the hell? Is the falcon listening to a,
like, falcon iPod or something? Also, what if the falcon
was deaf? Did the falconer ever think of that? Also why
“gyre?” Why not just say “swirling vortex?”
Day 18: This “Jesus Christ” was an amazing guy. It’s so
sad he died so young.
Day 19: While walking in the yard today, I was put in the
mind of Rilke’s “Requiem for a Friend.” “For somewhere an
ancient enmity exists between our life and the great
works we do.” This, I feel, is my plight. My life is in a
constant struggle with my works: my “works” being staying
out late and buying stuff. Also the word “enmity” is a
hard one and looks misspelled to me.
Day ??: I have stopped counting the days. I live in the
now.
What is freedom? It’s not free, that’s for sure. It’s
“free” with “dom.” And that seems right to me. I feared
prison once. I see it now as a great gift. Once, I
wondered if I would have to wait in a chow line. Is there
a way around the chow line, I wondered? A kind of “chow
bouncer,” a chow doorman I might smile at as I breeze
past on my way to steamed broccoli and fried bologna? How
funny to think back. Because there is a chow bouncer. And
her name is Brick. And she hates me.
Joy is like steam from the kettle that the Mexican
servants used to make me tea in the kitchen, wherever
that was located in my former home.
Lately I’m identifying with the Jews and all the horrible
things that happened to them during Vietnam.
Brick said to me today, “Ya know, I stayed in a Marriott
once. And truth be told, I’d rather stay in prison.”
We both laughed. And then she beat me up.
Paris Hilton, after attending Sunday’s MTV Movie Awards,
was then off to the Century Regional Detention Facility
in Lynwood. She is expected to serve about 23 days for
violating her probation stemming from an alcohol-related
driving charge. “I hope that I’m an example to other
young people,” she told reporters.
DAY 1: Arrived late Sunday night. So tired. Asked if I
could check into my room immediately. Quite possibly the
rudest concierge I have ever met. I told him he was
fired. Not the effect I’d hoped for. And no, I did not
register under the name “Little Miss Whore.” What kind of
hotel forces you to strip and delouse (maybe Marriott?).
Although instead of a robe I got a fabulous orange
jumpsuit with a cute number on it. Nothing to do at
night. I’m told (as there was, like, no information in my
room) that there is no bar or lounge area. I wish I’d
brought flats.
Day 2: My room is insane! TINY! How is it even possible
that I got a room without any view? A tiny stainless
steel toilet. There is an incredibly thin mattress. If I
didn’t know I was in prison I’d think I was in an Ian
Schrager hotel.
Day 3: So that’s what a bitch slap is. Wow. Just … wow.
MUST remember not to make that sarcastic face again
anytime soon.
Day 5: Gandhi went to prison. So did Martin Luther King
Jr. So did Robert Downey Jr. and Martha Stewart Jr. and I
think Nelson Mandela Jr. Mandela was imprisoned for,
like, 50 years or something for being black and also for
driving an uninsured vehicle, if I’m reading Wikipedia
correctly. Nicky often mentions me and Gandhi and how
incredibly thin we both are and how she wonders if he
used bronzer.
Day 5, shortly before lights out: Must remember not to
complain about lights out. Hope mother can contact a good
dentist, as the whistling from where the tooth is missing
is embarrassing as well as annoying.
Several of us were talking after the movie tonight (”The
Shawshank Redemption”) and one gal posed a question to
the group: Would you crawl to freedom through a sewer
pipe, like Tim Robbins’ character did? I would have
answered “no” but was unfortunately bound and gagged
(practical jokes are big in prison).
Day 7: Mail today. One piece. A small note from Nicky
that was actually a Xerox of a text message that her
assistant put a stamp on and mailed. She wrote, “Ya know
that band from a long time ago, 10,000 Maniacs? There
were only, like, five people in that band.”
Day 9: What is time? How do we measure it? What does it
mean? I find these questions on my mind more and more,
especially since someone stole my Audemars Piguet watch.
Shame.
Day 10: There is no TV, no iPod, no cellphone. Just — I
hope I’m spelling this right — “boks” or maybe “bowks.”
Whatever. I took a few from the cart and have been
looking at the covers. Then, last night, I looked inside
and there are, like, a million words, page after page.
Are these new?
Day 11: Jayne Mansfield spoke five languages. She was a
concert-level pianist. Marilyn Monroe was a Formula One
race car driver. Twiggy built her own home, raised guinea
fowl and invented penicillin. Eleanor Roosevelt patented
commercial air travel. And yet all of us played a role,
the blond bimbo, the ditzy, fun-loving “party girl.”
Roosevelt especially. But what’s to say I couldn’t be the
first person to walk on the moon or be the first woman to
go to college?
Day 14: Yeats writes that the falcon cannot hear the
falconer. What the hell? Is the falcon listening to a,
like, falcon iPod or something? Also, what if the falcon
was deaf? Did the falconer ever think of that? Also why
“gyre?” Why not just say “swirling vortex?”
Day 18: This “Jesus Christ” was an amazing guy. It’s so
sad he died so young.
Day 19: While walking in the yard today, I was put in the
mind of Rilke’s “Requiem for a Friend.” “For somewhere an
ancient enmity exists between our life and the great
works we do.” This, I feel, is my plight. My life is in a
constant struggle with my works: my “works” being staying
out late and buying stuff. Also the word “enmity” is a
hard one and looks misspelled to me.
Day ??: I have stopped counting the days. I live in the
now.
What is freedom? It’s not free, that’s for sure. It’s
“free” with “dom.” And that seems right to me. I feared
prison once. I see it now as a great gift. Once, I
wondered if I would have to wait in a chow line. Is there
a way around the chow line, I wondered? A kind of “chow
bouncer,” a chow doorman I might smile at as I breeze
past on my way to steamed broccoli and fried bologna? How
funny to think back. Because there is a chow bouncer. And
her name is Brick. And she hates me.
Joy is like steam from the kettle that the Mexican
servants used to make me tea in the kitchen, wherever
that was located in my former home.
Lately I’m identifying with the Jews and all the horrible
things that happened to them during Vietnam.
Brick said to me today, “Ya know, I stayed in a Marriott
once. And truth be told, I’d rather stay in prison.”
We both laughed. And then she beat me up.
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