February 07 '04
Volume 401
Pair Of Queens
The Miss Pontotoc Pageant
A few weeks
ago,
Felicia mentioned that Miss Laura had phoned her
about being in the forthcoming Miss Pontotoc pageant. Miss Laura is Laura
Franklin, who along with her husband Donald, coordinate a yearly pageant
that brings together under one roof three separate pageant entities, Miss
Hospitality and Miss Pontotoc for Pontotoc and Pontotoc County and a regional
pageant called Miss Dixie.
"I'm not going to be in Miss Pontotoc," Felicia declared, possibly still
smarting from having finished as first alternate in the pageant last year.
"I've got too much going on."
Later that day, she mentioned to her mom the possibility of being a contestant,
and I heard Sarah say, "You can be in it if you want to, but I'm not going
to it!"
I was once a math teacher, and before that I was a student, so I know about
true or false statements. Based on my experience with tests and with the
oft-insincere rhetoric spewed from the mouths of Sarah and Felicia, I quickly
judged both statements as FALSE. I can imagine a lot of things, but I could
never imagine Felicia in a pageant and her mother not being there to support
her. And, sure enough, it wasn't long until Sarah was singing a different
tune.
"Miss Laura thinks I have a good chance to win this year," Felicia confided.
Skeptically, I thought, "Bet she tells that to all the contestants," but
kept my thoughts to myself.
For my sister and my niece, beauty pageants involve a love hate relationship
as opposed to my relationship with pageants, which is mostly one of hate.
Like me, they hate pageants when the judges don't pick the right winners,
but they love them for the opportunity to criticize someone's talent, evening
dress, swimsuit, body shape, hair, makeup, shoes, walk, smile, or other feature/
object of their derision, while for me to criticize a contestant in a beauty
pageant, the shortcoming has to be overwhelmingly obvious to everyone.
Last year, Sarah was a nervous wreck in the final days before the pageant,
and I couldn't tell much difference in her demeanor this year. I found a
scrap of paper in the kitchen where Sarah had scored Felicia's chances of
winning based upon the various components used by the judges. Scores are
calculated using a formula that allows: Interview 40%, Talent 30%, with Swimsuit,
Evening Gown, and Stage Presence and Poise rounding things out at 10% each.
With so little counting toward beauty, what they say about the pageant must
be true, "It's not a beauty pageant, it's a scholarship program."
Ever the pessimist, Sarah calculated a thousand ways for Felicia to lose
for every one chance she had to win.
I tell her that's her defense mechanism that cushions her emotions, so when
things don't go as she hoped, she can always say, "I knew she didn't have
a chance," and feel good about being right in expecting the worst or a
less-than-the-best scenario.
It was not until the day of the pageant that I saw a glint of hope in Sarah's
eye when Felicia announced that her interview had gone well. If there's one
talent that out shines all others, for Felicia, it's her talent for talking.
In this respect, she has the ability to draw one into her world, and her
world is all about Felicia. It must run in the family since her mom's similarly
affected and her uncle may have a tinge of it, as does her cousin, Rayanne.
Felicia had asked me earlier in the week if I were going to the pageant on
Saturday night.
"I don't know," I teased, knowing I would go strictly on her behalf in spite
of my dislike of beauty pageants, "I may still be recovering from my biopsy."
I was scheduled for a prostate biopsy on Wednesday afternoon, and while I
fully expected to be able to attend the pageant, I wanted an out in case
I needed one. As it happened, I stayed home to nurse a head cold that had
settled in my throat and left me miserable for the weekend. I don't know
the connection between a head cold and a prostate biopsy, but it may have
to do with my rear end being uncovered for an extended period of time.
I later learned that the judges were impressed with Felicia during the interview
process and were delighted by the impersonations that she willingly performed.
She can do Forrest Gump about as well as Tom Hanks and she's not a bad Clairee
from "Steel Magnolias." In her Gump impersonation she likes to use the monologue
where Forrest explains how his mother always said you could tell a lot about
a person by their shoes, and from "Steel Magnolias," she's partial to Clairee's
line, "If you can't say anything nice about somebody, then come over and
sit by me." Incidentally, that's her mom's favorite, too.
My sister may now legitimately be labeled, "The Queen Mother." Sarah was
Miss Pontotoc in 1973. Sarah and Felicia are the first mother and daughter
to hold the title, Miss Pontotoc
I'd like to think I've managed to avoid all the beauty pageants scheduled
this year, but I've already been informed that I am expected to attend and
support Felicia at the next level, Miss Mississippi. On the bright side,
since the pageant is held in Vicksburg, MS and with Jim Hess living in Vicksburg,
I may be able to work in a fishing trip. I'm sure it's true that, "even a
bad day fishing is better than a good day at a beauty pageant."
Janet's
Boob-boo Indecent Exposure
If one was shocked by the antics of Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake during
a performance at half-time for last Sunday's Super Bowl, those who know my
musical tastes may find it equally shocking that I sat through a series of
rap songs and resisted both the urge to throw up and the urge to leave the
room. However, I was not feeling well, due to a head cold and sore throat,
which may account for my reluctance to abandon my sedentary position. I also
didn't want to miss any commercials, because the Super Bowl generally has
a few good, new commercials.
In the final moments of the now famous half-time show Timberlake tore away
the bustier on the right side of Jackson's outfit, leaving her right breast
exposed. Barbara was lying on the couch as I slumped in a soft chair. She
appeared to be sleeping, and I didn't ask her to confirm what I thought I
had seen. Jason asked me about it the next morning, saying the Internet was
buzzing with folks outraged over the incident.
I may have been too sedated to be outraged, but I remember thinking at the
time it was a dumb and meaningless stunt, or I did right before the stage
lighting was shut down and before I had any confirmation of what had actually
happened.
When I checked the news on the Internet Monday morning, Timberlake, appeared
to be accepting the blame by stating it was a "wardrobe malfunction."
I figured a "brain malfunction" would have been a better answer.
Then, on Tuesday morning Janet Jackson acknowledged the decision to show
her breast was made after final rehearsals and without MTV's (half-time sponsor)
knowledge, saying in part, "It was not my intention that it go as far as
it did. I apologize to anyone offended…"
Far be it from me to explain why entertainers want to push the limits of
common decency, but you don't have to hold a degree in sociology to recognize
that the television industry has all but sold it's soul to the devil. One
can hardly find a TV program on a major network without hearing vulgarity
and seeing sexual aggression portrayed in ways unthinkable twenty years ago.
The film industry and TV media would hope to reshape the value system of
mainstream America by promoting vulgarity, sexuality, and the homosexual
agenda. Recently, the FCC approved the use of the "F" word on prime time
TV as long as it was not used to describe sex. When word of this hit the
fan, there were enough objections for the FCC to reverse their decision.
In a free society, it's tough to legislate morality. In the marketplace,
money talks louder than morality. Thus, if mainstream America is to reverse
any of the moral decline of the past few decades, it's time to let our money
do our talking. For starters, I would suggest no one buy any recordings by
Janet Jackson or Justin Timberlake and refuse to allow their children to
attend any concerts of either performer. If Janet's Boob-boo outrages anyone,
contact the FCC or the TV affiliate that broadcast the performance and register
a complaint. The squeaky wheel gets the grease…it's time to squeak.
Prostate
Cancer Treatment Undetermined
It's with an uncharacteristic amount of trepidation on my part that I make
public the results of my recent biopsy of the prostate gland. I don't mind
folks knowing that I've been diagnosed with cancer, but I dread having to
deal with cancer on a personal basis. My doctor informed me that, of the
dozen or so tissue samples, two contained cancerous cells and rated a 3+3
on the Gleason scale. I'm told the rating means my cancer is "middle of the
road," but I expect to learn more, soon.
Barbara and I will be meeting with my urologist on Friday, Feb 6th
to discuss the various methods of treating prostate cancer, discuss our concerns,
and hopefully reach a decision as to what treatment is best for me. However,
once our questions have been addressed, it may require a few days of
contemplation prior to making a decision.
Realizing that I may be incapacitated for as little as a few days to as much
as a few months will be sufficient cause for careful consideration. Stay
tuned for updates.
Bodock Beau
Selected Humor
I saw an interesting slogan on the back of a tow truck this week. It read,
"We Don't Want An Arm Or A Leg - We Just Ask You Give Us Your Tows."
God's Watching
The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school
for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made
a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is watching."
Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a
large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, "Take all
you want. God is watching the apples.
Submitted by Larry Young
Something from the good ol' days
"Hey Dad," one of my kids asked the other day, "What was your favorite fast
food when you were growing up?"
"We didn't have fast food when I was growing up," I informed him. "All the
food was slow."
"C'mon, seriously. Where did you eat?"
"It was a place called 'at home,'" I explained. "Grandma cooked every day
and when Grandpa got home from work, we sat down together at the dining room
table, and if I didn't like what she put on my plate I was allowed to sit
there until I did like it."
Submitted by Ken Gaillard
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