Β Whenβs the last time anyone heard Β anything about JOANNE FOREMAN? Old friends remember them as SHARP & Β HUMOROUS but also DRAINED & ABRASIVE, no wonder Β theyβre still known as THE MEDIA MACHINE around town. Today, in 2006, they are 38 and some people say they remind them of worry wrinkles far too deep for oneβs age; an average of six cups of coffee a day; Β a cloud of smoke following your every step; an unquenchable thirst for peace of mind.
tw: death and injury
the artist formerly known as βjoanieβ, simply βjoβ or even βjojoβ, now goes by her government name of joanne foreman. funny, how things change. had someone dared to call her joanne in 1988 rest assured she wouldβve made them pay. but alas.
born and raised in hawkins, without ever having spent more than a few weeks away at christian summer camps and the like, joanie grew up with the firm belief that her parents had to have been the most boring people on earth. not that there isnβt some truth to it, itβs just that now sheβs become equally boring, so what does it matter. she used to resent them for living that picture perfect life, with their little nuclear family in a big house on elm street, living the dream of their generation. the older she gets, the less despicable that idea seems.
joanieβs dreams used to be bigger than that, used to not fit anymore. no space in that big fucking house for her to let her imagination run wild. comparing her childhood home to that measly ratβs nest of an apartment she lives in in new york, well, she rather thinks she shouldnβt have taken it for granted.
growing up with a perfect older sister and a perfect younger brother, joanneβs the middle child so it was to be anticipated that sheβd come out of that house a little fucked up, right? βwho knows what went wrong with that oneβ their neighbours used to wonder when sheβd storm out the house after another explosive argument with her parents. the way she dressed, her hair, the sort of music she listened to defied everything her parents deemed proper and good, everything theyβd worked for, shattering their perfect image. not that jo was doing it actively rebel against their lifestyle - not that she wasnβt enjoying this unintended rebellion, either. it was the late 80s in the middle of buttfuck, indiana - well, what else was there to do except be a disruptor and nuisance to her parents? cause a little trouble?
despite being somewhat of an outcast she, amazingly, sailed through school with flying colours - the only reason her parents didnβt disown her, she suspects - and decides against college, scores a gig at the hawkins post. not that college is completely out of the picture, itβs just that she doesnβt know what to do with herself. like, at all. sheβs been interning at the post since sophomore year - a classic case of her dad knowing someone who was friends with the wife of a guy who could put in a good word - so whatβs the harm in gathering some work experience before she embarks on the long-awaited greyhound busride outta here?
it buys her some time, so wherever she decides to go, she wonβt arrive as lost as sheβs feeling right now. she even gets treated a little less shitty by her employers, so thatβs a win. though sheβs never been treated particularly bad, either. jo likes to think her more adrogynous nature and her βi wonβt take any bullshitβ attitude contributes to that. maybe also the fact that sheβs got pictures of tom holloway kissing his college aged girlfriend. a little blackmail never hurt anyone.
so there she is for a couple months, in charge of brewing coffee, sorting through the rough drafts of stories and news, discarding the many β¦ batshit crazy clues people are calling in. those can go to the weekly watcher. sheβs never bought the bullshit about the town being βcursedβ or whatever, itβs just a small town, there was nothing more to it. people were bored and inventing stories. it was getting ridiculous at this point.
especially in spring break of β86, the Β crazy seemed to reach a whole nother level of β¦ well, crazy. first, the murders. jo had never talked to him much - yeah, sheβd been a loner but, like, not a fucking nerd at least - but eddie munson had never seemed like the type of guy to brutally kill some cheerleader to get revenge on his bullies or whatever. but things werenβt looking good for him. even if you gave him the benefit of the doubt β¦ well, there wasnβt much doubting. seemed pretty clear. munson murdered that cunnigham kid, for whatever reason. however, jo didnβt buy into that βhe was leading a devil worshipping cultβ shit. it was dnd. just a nerdy dice game.
with things becoming more β¦ well, for lack of a better word, interesting around town, jo was considering extending her break before college, maybe investigative journalism could be her thing. and so, to do some investigating - mainly to visit her neighboursβ elderly mother, whom they had asked jo to keep and eye on and Β who, living in forest hills trailer park, was increasingly worried about, well, everything - jo hopped into her more than busted car and drove down to the trailer park. stayed there until nightfall - sheβd meant to leave by noon, had been talked into a second and third helping of cake - and wasnβt even gonna do any further snooping around when, on her way home, in the middle of the road, she came across fred benson. naturally, jo screamed at him to βget the fuck out of the way, moron! β since he was blocking the way. soon, though, her protests died down when fred, unresponsive, began to lift into the fucking air, float there and then - there are shivers and cold sweat when she thinks about this now - proceeded to have his bones cracked by some β¦ invisible force in one of the most gruesome scenes joβs ever witnessed.
to this day, joanne just hopes her former neighbourβs sweet old mother laced that cake with something. hopes that she was simply going crazy, that this wasnβt real. deep in her bones, though, she knows it. feels that she actually saw what she saw.
that night she turned her car around as fast as possible, took a two hour ice cold shower and filled out a couple college applications. by the end of the following month, jo has packed up her shit and moved to new york.
denial is her method of choice of dealing with this, when it finally begins to sink in that all the clues sheβs tossed out through the years mightβve actually had some truth to them. denial is good, sheβs got no time to work through that stuff, anyway. so she just pretends it never happened. whatever the opposite of a crazy conspiracy nutjob is, thatβs her.
the next few years are pretty uneventful, joβs busy with her politcial science degree at hunterβs (sheβs missed the application deadline for everything else), as well as busy with reinventing herself, finding her new york personality. Β also, finding the funds to fund her new york personality and general lifestyle. thereβs a bunch of odd jobs, everything from waitressing to working coatcheck to being an usher on broadway, she dips her toes into every water available. itβs all about the experience, right?
itβs nothing but a stroke of pure, dumb luck that lands her the internship at snl. sheβs never even considered working in tv before, thought sheβd evetually just circle back round to working the front desk at some paper. sheβs out with friends at a comedy club one night, drunk off her tits - sheβd just failed an important exam, had fully embraced the fact that she was a failure and would probably be kicked off campus soon enough - when the owner had announced that it was βopen mic nightβ. glorious, disastrous, everything in between. jo had swayed to the stage, tapped the mic and slurred βis this thing on?β into it, and thatβs all she remembers. the next morning thereβs someoneβs business card in her coat pocket.
the week after that sheβs bringing coffee and sandwiches to the snl writerβs room. itβs funny how life works sometimes. her parents are less than thrilled that sheβs dropped out of college but more than thrilled to hear that sheβs met will ferrell.
when jo says she has little to no memory of the years that follow, itβs no exaggeration. itβs a blur of work, work, work, work and long nights spent in bars and seedy downtown clubs with the cast and crew of americaβs favourite late night entertainment show. itβs when sheβs finally managed to work her way into the writerβs room that jo changes, drastically. that rebellious, snarky young girl is gone, replaced by someone who always looks serious, whoβs got deep dark circles under their eyes, whoβs never taken a day off work and i mean, like, ever. sheβs not so much fun to be around anymore, too professional for most of her fun loving friends. they sometimes joke that the infamous βdebbie downerβ sketch is based off of her. joβs not in on the joke.
the year is 2006 when things come crashing down. she never thought thereβd be such a thing as working too much, after all this is her dream job (right?) or at least pretty good for someone who came to new york with no idea what they wanted to do with their life. she gets sloppier with the tasks sheβs in charge of, her jokes rarely get used anymore, and itβs clear she needs a break - clear to anyone but her.
hereβs a word of advice - if you want to make it to the top, work for it, maybe. donβt sleep with your married editor. which is, incidentally, what jo did. those news broke to everyone shortly before snlβs summer hiatus, and so, on the last day of work, joanne was called into her bossβs office and kindly advised to βtake a break, ms foreman. i really advise you to take a long break, if you get what i mean.β wait until the dust has settled and see if, once youβre in your right mind again, youβre still deserving of your job.
funny, how life works sometimes. youβre on top of the world in one moment, then completely crushed sitting alone in your shitty apartment in the next. summer in new york is shit if youβve got noone to spend it with. and since that affair with her editor ended - their wife had threatened jo with a very, very explicit letter once sheβd found out about the affair - jo was alone, truly. she hadnβt exactly spent the the last few years making meaningful connections in town, married to her work. sure, she had work friends. but now she had no work, thus no friends.
the letter arrived and jo, who had had virtually nothing to do with joyce byers, had initally wanted to stay home, but her parents had insisted she come back home. jo hadnβt told them about her little work fiasco, why bother? she finally felt like she wasnβt a disappointment to them anymore, like she could keep up with her perfect siblings, she wasnβt going to return to those judging stares, those disappointed shakes of the head.
so it was time to get back to hawkins, get back to living a lie.
