March 22 '03
Volume 355
Beauty
Pageants My Perspective
For the typical
male
if there is anything worse than having to attend a wedding, it
must surely be in having to attend a beauty pageant. In the case of a wedding,
one can pretty much predict the outcome, but in a beauty pageant, the one
constant factor among all pageants is the outcome is unpredictable.
In a wedding ceremony, it’s fair to say everyone is happy with the end
result. With respect to beauty pageants, most of us are unhappy with the
results, because it seems the judges seldom pick the prettiest or the most
talented individual. Instead they apply some arcane system that allocates
points based on a private interview, swimsuit and evening gown appearances,
a brief on-stage interview, and an overall rating. Our country is full of
would-be Miss Americas who lost out to the point system.
Personally, I’d sooner sit through a root canal procedure than attend
a beauty review. I’ve been turned off by beauty pageants, since the
early years of my marriage, and I will think up all kinds of excuses not
to attend such an event. I think I’m a pretty good judge of beauty with
regard to the fairer sex, and it really disturbs me when the pick of the
judges doesn’t jive with mine.
I might not have such a problem with beauty pageants, if I didn’t have
a hang-up about being right. I’ve a pretty good track record of being
right in the right/ wrong category on most issues, historical remembrances,
mathematical accuracy, and I fair pretty well with both trivial and non-trivial
data retention. However, I feel I have far less than a fifty-fifty chance
of picking a winner at a beauty pageant, and I’ve had a good night if
my pick gets in the top five. No, let me restate that. I’ve had a good
night if I don’t even watch a beauty pageant.
I realize that women have a better appreciation for beauty pageants than
do men. After all, females comprise the contestants, and females do a better
job of encouraging and supporting their own than do men. I can’t imagine
a beauty contest/ pageant for men, and if they do exist, chances are they
appeal more to those males whose sexual preference falls into the deviate
category than to the rest of us.
Within my family, I discouraged my wife from entering our daughter in pageants
in her pre-teen years. Since my daughter married rather young, I never had
to deal with her wanting to be in a beauty pageant as a young woman. I
don’t crusade against beauty pageants, but I’m not sure they do
much toward developing positive character traits, and while that may not
be a good reason for everyone, it’s good enough for me.
My oldest granddaughter entered and won a "Little Miss" contest several years
ago, and while I remember attending, I’m the only member of my family
that can remember my doing so. Well, who are you going to believe, the rest
of them or me?
In 1973, my sister decided to enter the Miss Pontotoc pageant, and by a stroke
of good luck won the title and went on to represent Pontotoc in the Miss
Mississippi pageant. I don’t know why she entered to start with, but
then she didn’t ask my permission. I’m told that Barbara and I
did not attend the 1973 Miss Pontotoc pageant because Barbara was having
what turned out to be false labor pains the weekend of the pageant, and I
took her to the hospital in Tupelo in hopes of her delivering. However, we
were sent home after several hours and were told to come back when things
got serious.
Jason was born about one month later, and, thanks to his timing, I was excused
from taking my mom, Frances Carter, to the Miss Mississippi pageant in Vicksburg.
I’m not sure I’ve ever thanked Jason for his contribution in allowing
me to skip a couple of pageants. Son, I’m truly grateful.
Sarah kept a scrapbook of her pageant experiences, and one of the more
interesting documents is a letter Mom wrote to her the week Sarah spent in
Vicksburg, MS, and according to Sarah, who has temporarily misplaced the
letter, Mom avoided giving her any encouragement other than to say our neighbors,
Ellouise and Billy McCoy were driving her down for the Saturday night gala.
More recently, Sarah’s daughter, Felicia decided to enter the 2003 Miss
Pontotoc pageant. There has probably not been a time of greater upheaval
in the Brown household since Sarah was working on her National Board
Certification as an English Teacher. Stress levels have been extraordinarily
high.
First, we listened to Sarah discourage Felicia from entering, claiming she
had no talent. Felicia tells that her mom has told her since an early age
that she didn’t have any talent. The reader should take the preceding
with a grain of salt. Exaggeration runs rampant in that part of the family.
Once Felicia had convinced her mother that she was serious about being a
contestant the complexion of the arguments centered more on evening gowns,
swimsuits, and musical selections. I don’t know how much give and take
went on between the two, and I’m truly glad I was not privy to all the
conversations. I heard plenty, both secondhand and firsthand.
I tend to liken Pageant talk to Brylcream back in the fifties, "a little
dab’ll do ‘ya."
By pageant time, I think it fair to say that Sarah was a basket case. Felicia,
on the other hand, showed no signs of nervousness or stress. I figure Sarah
wanted to see Felicia follow in her footsteps and become Miss Pontotoc thirty
years after Sarah wore the crown. I held equal hopes, and I don’t like
pageants. Stress affects individuals differently. Some thrive on the tension,
others break, and some strive to re-channel it. Sarah channeled a lot of
hers into conversation.
I had promised Felicia I would attend the pageant. I even tried to get Jason
to commit to attending, but he came up with a last minute excuse that involved
him playing in a band for a club. I’m not superstitious, but I wore
my favorite white shirt, my blue blazer, my zippered boots that are
Felicia’s favorite, and a party tie I inherited from my first son-in-law.
I did all I knew to do to sway the balance in favor of Felicia, short of
bribing the judges. The last Miss Pontotoc pageant I attended was in 1991,
the year Leah Bell won the crown, so, I figured since I had pulled for Leah
and she won, there was a good chance the same would happen for Felicia.
There was not a large crowd in attendance for the pageant, but a large number
of those present were fans of Felicia. In addition to a large contingent
of supporters from Pontotoc, there were about a dozen of her friends from
work (Chaney’s Drug Store in Oxford, MS) to cheer her. Halfway through
the three-hours long pageant, I felt Felicia had the title sewed up. At
intermission, I spoke to a number of folks who felt the same way.
One might think my overall experience with pageants would have prepared me
for the outcome, but I admit to being surprised. Felicia was named first
alternate, and, while the young woman receiving the crown of Miss Pontotoc
was deserving, she was definitely not the crowd’s favorite. Yet,
that’s often the norm, or at least, that’s been my experience.
I’ve not asked Felicia if she wants to be in the 2004 Miss
Pontotoc pageant. I really believe she’ll win, if she does enter, and
I won’t discourage her from entering. She may not be Pontotoc’s
reigning beauty queen, but in the hearts of the many who supported her,
she’s definitely a queen.
Car Troubles
Mostly Little Things
Last week was a busy week for me. I don't have the mileage figures at hand
to confirm my suspicions, but I must have driven approximately 1,500 miles
in the process of visiting six retail accounts and meeting my boss in Meridian,
MS, to discuss my annual review. I hesitate to mention how all that driving
has once more aggravated a muscle in my lower back. The reason I hesitate
is because my friend Richard Pennington is bad to contract whatever ailment
befalls me after reading it about in this newsletter. Surely, others would
characterize such as being psychosomatically induced, but I'd call it empathy.
Therefore, I won't say much about my back other than to say it's been bothering
me for a week.
Every cloud has a silver lining is an old cliché and may not be the
most appropriate analogy in the following comparison, but whenever I consider
the shape I'm in, I find some comfort in knowing I'm in better shape than
my company car. Last November, my boss phoned me and told me I should expect
to keep my 2000 Taurus another three or four months. I was already several
thousand miles over the limit at which our automobiles are to be replaced,
so I told him that it would require a lot of duct tape to hold it together
much longer.
The fuel system on the Taurus is fuel injected rather than the old fashioned
carburetor, and I have a feeling the fuel injection is controlled by a computer,
because lately, it's been acting weird. It alternates between running by
itself and not wanting to run at all. The entire month of January, I could
hardly keep it cranked long enough to get out of the driveway in the mornings.
Once on the highway it ran fine, but at every stop the idle speed would drop
to less than 600 rpm.
"Get it fixed," one might say.
Well that's easier said than done, now that Supervalu has closed it's "truck
shop" in Indianola after hiring a third party trucking firm to deliver product
to our retailers. Before, I could simply drop off my car at the truck shop
and they would either repair it on the premises or take it to a local shop.
If the repair required me leaving it for a few days, I was given a house
car to drive until mine was ready. Now, the repair situation is more complicated,
plus I have to pay for the repairs and wait a month to six weeks for
reimbursement.
Starting in February, the engine of my Taurus suddenly began to idle at 1100
rpm and on the highway had a tendency to maintain a constant speed without
the cruise control engaged and with no foot on the gas pedal. For instance,
while breaking for slower traffic ahead, let's say I slowed to fifty miles
per hour. After taking my foot off the break the car might hold that speed
for the next few minutes, all on its own. Later, the automobile became even
more contrary so that when I pulled to a stop at a traffic light the motor
would suddenly idle down to around 600 rpm for a few seconds and then without
warning surge back to around 1100 rpm. I came close to rear-ending a couple
of vehicles before I learned to hold my foot on the brake extra tightly.
A few months ago the transmission had to be repaired and now that the 12
months/ 12,000 miles warranty is out, it's back to acting strangely again.
At 152,000 miles and steadily rising, and with no new car on the immediate
horizon, I'm not sure how many more miles "Old Blackie" has in her.
Meanwhile, it's the small problems that worry me the most. The fan motor
for the air conditioning and heating system has developed a squeak, which
means it's probably on its last leg. Three of my four tires have in excess
of ninety thousand miles on them, and while the tread is good on all of them,
they require more frequent balancing and rotating as the miles pile up.
We, who are Christians, are used to the trials of life, and sometimes it
seems God interrupts our busy lives, long enough to slow us down. Last Wednesday
(03/12) was a long day made longer by a slow down sent my way. I had spent
the morning upgrading software and following up on some earlier training
I had previously done at two retail stores. Realizing I had enough daylight
to visit an even more distant retailer, some forty-five minutes away, I drove
to Forest, MS, in order to train someone else. However, after making the
trip, I learned the scheduled computer changeover had not taken place, and
there was nothing for me to do except come back at a later date.
"At least it won't be a wasted trip," I remember telling myself. "I can pick
up the ValuNet computer system that's at the other Supervalu supplied location
in Forest."
One of our multi-store retailers had a store damaged by a tornado a few months
ago. After deciding not to reopen the store, someone had moved our computer
system to the store in Forest, or so I had been told.
Yet, when I asked the store manager about the computer, he stated, "No, it's
not here. They took it to Carthage."
There is no fast way to get back to Pontotoc from Forest, but one of the
routes leads through Carthage, so I drove there to pickup the computer equipment.
After loading it all into my car, I noticed the left front tire was flat.
It did not appear to have any damage to the sidewall and must have gone flat
after I reached the parking lot.
My trunk stays pretty full, but that day it was fuller than normal, plus
my backseat was filled with computer equipment. I managed to transfer enough
stuff from the trunk to the front seat in order to get the lug wrench, jack,
and spare out of the trunk.
I don't wish to sound sexist, but I don't think a woman could have changed
the tire. However, most women would have had at least one man to stop and
ask if he could help her. Nobody, man or woman, asked if I needed help, though
I tried to look old and decrepit, hoping someone might pity me. I had to
lie on my back in order to see where to place the scissor-jack so that it
lifted the car by the frame and not by an under-panel.
As it turned out, the "jack fitting" was the easy part. Removing the lug
nuts was tough, because I could not spin the lug wrench once the nuts were
loosened. So, each nut had to be removed one-half turn at a time. As I recall,
it took about thirty minutes just to get the nuts off, replace the flat with
the spare tire, and refasten the nuts. Add that to the prep time, and one
can see how I spent the better part of an hour changing a flat.
There must be at least one male reader who, upon reading the last paragraph,
has wondered why I didn't use the "spinning tire" technique in removing the
lug nuts with the tire tool provided by the manufacturer. That technique
only works if the tire is "free wheeling" and not connected to a drive train.
The Taurus is a front-wheel drive vehicle, and even with the vehicle in neutral,
the tire doesn't easily spin. Trust me, I tried it.
Happily, I can report there was only a nail in the tire and the service station
attendant was able to repair it without breaking the tire down, and I didn't
have to purchase a new tire because I had not run it flat and ruined the
sidewall.
Leaving early for work and getting home late has become the norm in my life,
and it seems I'm in a rush to get to and from the places I have to be. Sometimes
it takes a flat tire to slow me down. I just hope that doesn't become another
norm.
Bodock Beau
Mummy Heart Attack
Whether it's a schoolyard confrontation, a clash between football rivals,
or a war, victory by the larger combatant cannot be assumed. Here's archeological
proof:
An archaeologist was digging in the Negev Desert in Israel and came upon
a casket containing a mummy. After examining it, he called the curator of
a prestigious natural-history museum.
"I've just discovered a 3,000 year-old mummy of a man who died of heart failure!"
the excited scientist exclaimed.
To which the curator skeptically replied, "Bring him in. We'll check it out."
A week later, the amazed curator called the archaeologist. "You were right
about the mummy's age and cause of death. How in the world did you know?"
"Easy. There was a piece of paper in his hand that read, '10,000 Shekels
on Goliath.'"
Contributed by Larry Young
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