Salon Wanderlust | Swimsuits -- and more!

[Salon Wanderlust: Travel with a passion]

T A B L E_T A L K
How do you save money when you travel? Share your tips on being a thrifty tourist in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk

R E C E N T L Y
The cheapest air ticket around
By Dawn MacKeen
Couriers fly halfway around the world at half (or less) the normal price
(09/22/98)
Paris' cafe renaissance
By David Downie
There's a lively new scene in the City of Caffeine
(09/21/98)
The heart of a tourist hustler
By Lisa Dreier
Lonely in India, she befriended the local playboy. Who could know what would happen next?
(09/18/98)
In shackles with the Freedom Bag
By Carol Lloyd
The perfect luggage -- for a pygmy
(09/17/98)
Where am I gonna go today?
By Aaron Paulson
Finding a job overseas through the Internet
(09/16/98)

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Travel Book Partner

SWIMSUITS -- AND MORE! | PAGE 1, 2
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Atlantic City is often referred to as the Las Vegas of the East, but it possesses little of the sheer chutzpah that makes Las Vegas such a marvel. Unlike booming Vegas, Atlantic City does not appear to be a wealthy town, and few of the hundreds of millions of dollars that circulate through the casinos seem to trickle down to the residents. "Cash for Gold" shops are ubiquitous just a block from the boardwalk. In part, the somewhat subdued air of Atlantic City may be due to the fact that it has a history -- that, unlike Las Vegas, it once was something other than a gambling town. Nonetheless, casinos are said to have saved Atlantic City after East Coast tourists began to take advantage of airplanes and backyard pools, electing either to stay home or go far away, beginning in the middle of the century. By the mid-'70s, according to the documentary film "Boardwalk Ballyhoo," a sign on the outskirts of the town signaled the city's perilous decline: "The last one out of Atlantic City," it requested, "please turn off the lights."
If Atlantic City can be said to have had an "innocent" era, it would have been sometime before the casinos. The city got its start as a resort town in the mid-19th century, when a doctor named Jonathan Pitney began to promote the deserted area as the perfect environment for a health cure. The town's commercial development took off later that century as hotel developers and boardwalk hucksters moved in and devised new ways to entertain the masses. By the turn of the century, Atlantic City was the summer spot to be seen and, even more importantly, to see. (It can still be seen at the small but fascinating Atlantic City History Museum, across from the Showboat casino.) The Atlantic City boardwalk, home of the country's first oceanfront amusement piers, was booming with the fantastic and the bizarre: boxing cats, diving horses, an Underwood typewriter 1,728 times its normal size -- even an incubator baby display where the public could view preemies for the bargain price of 25 cents. It became a city of unbridled corporate promotion, from the Mr. Peanut mascot who wandered the boardwalk to the Heinz 57 pier, advertising all 57 varieties of Heinz food. It became the land of Monopoly, its streets inspiring the world's bestselling board game. It became a city of showmen, with the famous Steel Pier hawking "$5 Worth of Refined Entertainment for 50 Cents," including "continuous performance, photoplays, minstrels, human cannonball, diving horses, band concerts"; performers such as Duke Ellington and Jimmy Durante made regular appearances. It became a city of firsts: the first salt-water taffy, the first souvenir postcard. And, of course, in 1921 it became home to the first Miss America pageant.

"It's part of America. I don't care what anybody says. It is. We don't have a queen. We don't have a princess. Our Miss America is that. It's legitimate, it's serious and the more I'm around, the more I've come to realize that."
Boomer Esiason is doing his job well. As part of this year's effort to modernize Miss America in image and actuality, pageant organizers have selected new hosts to replace a long line of Bert Parks successors, including Gary Collins and Regis & Kathie Lee. The new hosts, NFL quarterback turned Monday Night Football host Esiason and TV journalist Meredith Vieira, are conducting a press conference on the Friday morning before the parade, showing off their contemporary sensibility with sarcastic banter and even occasional criticisms of Miss America, especially in the swimwear department. When asked about the meaning of Miss America, though, the broad-necked Esiason grows serious and pulls through handily, much to his own evident pleasure and surprise.
The big news at the press conference, though, is that one of the contestants may have lied about her academic record and now, just 30-some hours before the live television broadcast is scheduled to begin, she may be thrown out of the pageant. (As it turns out, she remains in, though she doesn't make the top 10.) Reporters from local and national papers gossip among themselves, denouncing their editors for suggesting the controversy unworthy of publication, betting on this year's winners. As the conference winds up, with a worried-looking Miss America Organization CEO and President Leonard Horn refusing to offer details about the urgent fraud investigation under way, reporters begin to file out of the room and prepare for several hours of downtime until the evening's parade.
Outside the room, two young women are waiting for the press. They are not contestants but "representatives of the aerosol industry," here to set the record straight concerning Miss America and her various necessary and enviro-safe cosmetic sprays. One flack explains that the Miss America pageant is particularly perilous ground for her industry, seeing as how it tends to spark untoward jokes about hair spray and the world's dwindling supply of ozone. She cites Jay Leno, who, evidently, has been known to joke that pageant contestants should be asked how much of the ozone layer they have personally destroyed. "It's funny," she says, scrunching up her nose to show that she doesn't really believe that, "but it's not accurate." According to the press releases rolled inside promotional aerosol cans, the industry got rid of ozone-depleting CFCs in 1978. Meanwhile, the contestants themselves -- each of whom will have contact with an estimated four sprays, including "firm grip" to ensure that swimsuit remains on butt -- are taking a break from rehearsal. Their afternoons will be filled with camera blocking for tomorrow night's telecast, closed to press and public.
Outside on the boardwalk, excitement and preparations for the evening's parade are under way. Various gradations of chairs, from brown plastic to cushioned red vinyl, rest empty along the boardwalk planks. Supporters from across the country -- with emphasis on the southern half -- are milling around in custom-designed T-shirts sporting the name, state and, often, giant silk-screened face of chosen contestants. The truly enthused also don oversized buttons of one or another smiling, mascaraed hopeful. Sometimes they burst out into spontaneous cheers: "Go Miss Illinois Mandy Meadows!"
By 6 o'clock, the Miss America pilgrims have staked out reserved seats near Convention Hall, preparing themselves for perhaps the most raucous and certainly the most community-oriented aspect of the two-week-long pageant. As the Atlantic City Police Department motorcycle escort crawls forward with sirens blaring, a loud long roar erupts and the parade begins its inexorable annual procession down the boards. The first contestants, appearing in reverse alphabetical order, ride by perched atop the back seats of shiny convertibles. In keeping with this year's "self-expression" theme, they are wearing outfits of their own choosing. Miss Wyoming has donned an Old West good-time girl ensemble, complete with black fishnets and black heels ornamented with hot pink feathers. Behind her, Miss Wisconsin has chosen to go playful in a dainty white wedding-type dress accompanied by a worn-out pair of cow slippers. Miss West Virginia goes for the sporty look, showing off sneakers adorned with a flowering of small baseballs, tennis balls and sundry other athletic items.
The contestants appear two or three at a time, interspersed between more than 80 bands, dance troupes and floats. While the contestants present one view of American femininity -- good-natured, mildly creative, attractive if a little stiff -- the young girls who make up the bulk of parade participants add depth to that somewhat two-dimensional picture. They are trombone players and flag girls, cloggers and cheerleaders. They are too fat or too thin, too tall or too short -- flush-faced, self-serious and usually a little bit awkward. They twirl and hoot in uniforms ranging from heavy maroon polyester capes and pants to the barest of little black body suits. They play "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and shimmy to Top 40 hits.
And, to at least one member of the audience, they are glorious. "You're beautiful, girls," screams a local woman standing by the sidelines; she hollers similar sentiments at each of the 80-plus groups on display. And if nobody else is quite so verbally enthused, the clatter of applause that bursts forth with each new appearance testifies that these girls, too -- the girls of South Jersey and Pennsylvania, Tennessee and New York -- deserve recognition. These are our girls, the applause seems to confirm, worthy of support. And worthy of the school fund-raising efforts that brought them to Atlantic City and the Miss America pageant, where the past continues to collide with the present.
SALON | Sept. 23, 1998
Beverly Gage is a writer who lives in New York.


	T A B L E_T A L K How do you save money when you travel? Share your tips on being a thrifty tourist in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y The cheapest air ticket around By Dawn MacKeen Couriers fly halfway around the world at half (or less) the normal price (09/22/98) Paris' cafe renaissance By David Downie There's a lively new scene in the City of Caffeine (09/21/98) The heart of a tourist hustler By Lisa Dreier Lonely in India, she befriended the local playboy. Who could know what would happen next? (09/18/98) In shackles with the Freedom Bag By Carol Lloyd The perfect luggage -- for a pygmy (09/17/98) Where am I gonna go today? By Aaron Paulson Finding a job overseas through the Internet (09/16/98) Browse the Wanderlust Postmark archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		SWIMSUITS -- AND MORE! \| PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Atlantic City is often referred to as the Las Vegas of the East, but it possesses little of the sheer chutzpah that makes Las Vegas such a marvel. Unlike booming Vegas, Atlantic City does not appear to be a wealthy town, and few of the hundreds of millions of dollars that circulate through the casinos seem to trickle down to the residents. "Cash for Gold" shops are ubiquitous just a block from the boardwalk. In part, the somewhat subdued air of Atlantic City may be due to the fact that it has a history -- that, unlike Las Vegas, it once was something other than a gambling town. Nonetheless, casinos are said to have saved Atlantic City after East Coast tourists began to take advantage of airplanes and backyard pools, electing either to stay home or go far away, beginning in the middle of the century. By the mid-'70s, according to the documentary film "Boardwalk Ballyhoo," a sign on the outskirts of the town signaled the city's perilous decline: "The last one out of Atlantic City," it requested, "please turn off the lights." If Atlantic City can be said to have had an "innocent" era, it would have been sometime before the casinos. The city got its start as a resort town in the mid-19th century, when a doctor named Jonathan Pitney began to promote the deserted area as the perfect environment for a health cure. The town's commercial development took off later that century as hotel developers and boardwalk hucksters moved in and devised new ways to entertain the masses. By the turn of the century, Atlantic City was the summer spot to be seen and, even more importantly, to see. (It can still be seen at the small but fascinating Atlantic City History Museum, across from the Showboat casino.) The Atlantic City boardwalk, home of the country's first oceanfront amusement piers, was booming with the fantastic and the bizarre: boxing cats, diving horses, an Underwood typewriter 1,728 times its normal size -- even an incubator baby display where the public could view preemies for the bargain price of 25 cents. It became a city of unbridled corporate promotion, from the Mr. Peanut mascot who wandered the boardwalk to the Heinz 57 pier, advertising all 57 varieties of Heinz food. It became the land of Monopoly, its streets inspiring the world's bestselling board game. It became a city of showmen, with the famous Steel Pier hawking "$5 Worth of Refined Entertainment for 50 Cents," including "continuous performance, photoplays, minstrels, human cannonball, diving horses, band concerts"; performers such as Duke Ellington and Jimmy Durante made regular appearances. It became a city of firsts: the first salt-water taffy, the first souvenir postcard. And, of course, in 1921 it became home to the first Miss America pageant. "It's part of America. I don't care what anybody says. It is. We don't have a queen. We don't have a princess. Our Miss America is that. It's legitimate, it's serious and the more I'm around, the more I've come to realize that." Boomer Esiason is doing his job well. As part of this year's effort to modernize Miss America in image and actuality, pageant organizers have selected new hosts to replace a long line of Bert Parks successors, including Gary Collins and Regis & Kathie Lee. The new hosts, NFL quarterback turned Monday Night Football host Esiason and TV journalist Meredith Vieira, are conducting a press conference on the Friday morning before the parade, showing off their contemporary sensibility with sarcastic banter and even occasional criticisms of Miss America, especially in the swimwear department. When asked about the meaning of Miss America, though, the broad-necked Esiason grows serious and pulls through handily, much to his own evident pleasure and surprise. The big news at the press conference, though, is that one of the contestants may have lied about her academic record and now, just 30-some hours before the live television broadcast is scheduled to begin, she may be thrown out of the pageant. (As it turns out, she remains in, though she doesn't make the top 10.) Reporters from local and national papers gossip among themselves, denouncing their editors for suggesting the controversy unworthy of publication, betting on this year's winners. As the conference winds up, with a worried-looking Miss America Organization CEO and President Leonard Horn refusing to offer details about the urgent fraud investigation under way, reporters begin to file out of the room and prepare for several hours of downtime until the evening's parade. Outside the room, two young women are waiting for the press. They are not contestants but "representatives of the aerosol industry," here to set the record straight concerning Miss America and her various necessary and enviro-safe cosmetic sprays. One flack explains that the Miss America pageant is particularly perilous ground for her industry, seeing as how it tends to spark untoward jokes about hair spray and the world's dwindling supply of ozone. She cites Jay Leno, who, evidently, has been known to joke that pageant contestants should be asked how much of the ozone layer they have personally destroyed. "It's funny," she says, scrunching up her nose to show that she doesn't really believe that, "but it's not accurate." According to the press releases rolled inside promotional aerosol cans, the industry got rid of ozone-depleting CFCs in 1978. Meanwhile, the contestants themselves -- each of whom will have contact with an estimated four sprays, including "firm grip" to ensure that swimsuit remains on butt -- are taking a break from rehearsal. Their afternoons will be filled with camera blocking for tomorrow night's telecast, closed to press and public. Outside on the boardwalk, excitement and preparations for the evening's parade are under way. Various gradations of chairs, from brown plastic to cushioned red vinyl, rest empty along the boardwalk planks. Supporters from across the country -- with emphasis on the southern half -- are milling around in custom-designed T-shirts sporting the name, state and, often, giant silk-screened face of chosen contestants. The truly enthused also don oversized buttons of one or another smiling, mascaraed hopeful. Sometimes they burst out into spontaneous cheers: "Go Miss Illinois Mandy Meadows!" By 6 o'clock, the Miss America pilgrims have staked out reserved seats near Convention Hall, preparing themselves for perhaps the most raucous and certainly the most community-oriented aspect of the two-week-long pageant. As the Atlantic City Police Department motorcycle escort crawls forward with sirens blaring, a loud long roar erupts and the parade begins its inexorable annual procession down the boards. The first contestants, appearing in reverse alphabetical order, ride by perched atop the back seats of shiny convertibles. In keeping with this year's "self-expression" theme, they are wearing outfits of their own choosing. Miss Wyoming has donned an Old West good-time girl ensemble, complete with black fishnets and black heels ornamented with hot pink feathers. Behind her, Miss Wisconsin has chosen to go playful in a dainty white wedding-type dress accompanied by a worn-out pair of cow slippers. Miss West Virginia goes for the sporty look, showing off sneakers adorned with a flowering of small baseballs, tennis balls and sundry other athletic items. The contestants appear two or three at a time, interspersed between more than 80 bands, dance troupes and floats. While the contestants present one view of American femininity -- good-natured, mildly creative, attractive if a little stiff -- the young girls who make up the bulk of parade participants add depth to that somewhat two-dimensional picture. They are trombone players and flag girls, cloggers and cheerleaders. They are too fat or too thin, too tall or too short -- flush-faced, self-serious and usually a little bit awkward. They twirl and hoot in uniforms ranging from heavy maroon polyester capes and pants to the barest of little black body suits. They play "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and shimmy to Top 40 hits. And, to at least one member of the audience, they are glorious. "You're beautiful, girls," screams a local woman standing by the sidelines; she hollers similar sentiments at each of the 80-plus groups on display. And if nobody else is quite so verbally enthused, the clatter of applause that bursts forth with each new appearance testifies that these girls, too -- the girls of South Jersey and Pennsylvania, Tennessee and New York -- deserve recognition. These are our girls, the applause seems to confirm, worthy of support. And worthy of the school fund-raising efforts that brought them to Atlantic City and the Miss America pageant, where the past continues to collide with the present. SALON \| Sept. 23, 1998 Beverly Gage is a writer who lives in New York.