Driving Home a Point
Yesterday, the self-proclaimed “Educator in Chief” provided the press corps with a real-time, “show, don’t tell” lesson about his character. You know, kinda like the Great Teacher, who famously used parables to make a point, but with an action hero and an oversized Tonka Toy tossed in for good measure.
Here, a Newsweek reporter tells the story:
“Touring a Caterpillar factory in Peoria, Ill., the Commander in Chief got behind the wheel of a giant tractor and played chicken with a few wayward reporters. “I would suggest moving back,” Bush said as he climbed into the cab of a massive D-10 tractor. “I’m about to crank this sucker up.”
As the engine roared to life, White House staffers tried to steer the press corps to safety, but when the tractor lurched forward, they too were forced to scramble for safety.”Get out of the way!” a news photographer yelled. “I think he might run us over!” said another. White House aides tried to herd the reporters the right way without getting run over themselves. Even the Secret Service got involved, as one agent began yelling at reporters to get clear of the tractor.
Watching the chaos below, Bush looked out the tractor’s window and laughed, steering the massive machine into the spot where most of the press corps had been positioned. The episode lasted about a minute, and Bush was still laughing when he pulled to a stop. He gave reporters a thumbs-up. “If you’ve never driven a D-10, it’s the coolest experience,” Bush said afterward.”
Cold Weather = New Shoes!
It’s a cloudy, 56-degree morning in Orange County. “Winter Storm Watch,” says the meteorologist, “film at 11!”
No worries; I’m ready to brave the elements, now that I’ve added these to my winter wardrobe:
Prank Contest Entry
If you believe the axiom “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools,” you’ll understand when I confess that the endless hours I spent in church pews and on the road to Revival with my evangelical father were breeding grounds for many a devilish prank. In honor of Robyn Schneider’s* BETTER THAN YESTERDAY Prank Contest, I’ll tell you one of my favorites.
We drove into Lake Charles, Louisiana on a sweltering summer day – several days beyond our last baths and hundreds of miles past our last meal. Around sundown, my father steered the car into the parking lot of a small, steepled church with a dilapidated sign advertising the Revival services planned for that evening. He went inside to partake of the church fellowship and Southern hospitality, leaving my mother and us six children – restless, grimy, hot and hungry – outside to fend for ourselves.
We took turns poking our heads inside the propped-open windows at the back of the church, hoping someone would notice us and wave us inside. Meanwhile, the pastor and my father took turns at the pulpit, whipping up the congregation with call-and-response admonitions to come to Jesus and denounce the Devil. The organist punctuated the high points of their sermon with her keyboard as the congregants raised their faces and hands to heaven, their voices to God.
Famished and cranky from having spent many long hours cooped up in tight quarters, we struggled mightily to behave. Those of us who were too short to peer over the windowsills swatted mosquitoes and punched each other for the slightest provocation. As sundown turned into twilight, we finally found a diversion: a swarm of frogs, croaking and hopping across the parking lot! With a wicked grin on her face, my mother scooped up a handful, dropping them through the window onto the church floor and motioning us to follow her example.
Soon, several hundred frogs were making a joyful noise unto the Lord, hopping down the aisles and up the skirts of kneeling women. Worshippers, who’d been singing and dancing in the spirit only minutes before, now found themselves shouting and writhing in the aisles for an altogether different reason.
Think you can compete with my story? If so, you should enter the contest yourself! The rules are simple: write a description of the best prank you ever pulled, or the best prank you ever wanted to pull,** post it in your blog along with the rules to this contest and email the link to robynschneider at yahoo dot com with the subject line “prank contest.” The contest is open NOW to US residents only and ends on February 5th at Noon EST. And yes, there are PRIZES!
*Full disclosure: Robyn’s my friend, but I’m confident that each contest entry will be judged on its own merits. Which, of course, means I’ll win.
**For the record: I don’t think you should be eligible unless you actually executed the idea, proving yourself clever and courageous in real life, not just in your own mind. Heh.
In Your Pants/Beneath the Sheets
Rabbit at Rest (in your pants)
Getting the Girl (in your pants)
Stumbling on Happiness (in your pants)
An Abundance of Katherines (in your pants)
Now try this with titles from your own bookshelves (The Devil Wears Prada…Better Than Yesterday…The Meaning of Wife…).
Actually, I think we preachers’ kids own territorial rights, if not copyright, to the idea behind this trend. Forced to sit in the front row of marathon church services while my father preached and (repeatedly) passed the offering plate, my siblings and I would try to keep each other awake. Often, we’d do so with a high-stakes but hilarious game of “Beneath the Sheets.”
The rules were simple: we’d open up our hymnals to a random page, point at a song title, and silently mouth the suffix, “beneath the sheets,” while trying not to laugh. Predictably, we’d dissolve into silent giggles. The consequences of out-loud laughter were fairly high: Interrupt the hellfire-and-damnation diatribe at the pulpit, and the wrath of the entire congregation would rain down mightily upon your small head.
How long would you last? Give it a try:
Silent Night (beneath the sheets)
Amazing Grace (beneath the sheets)
Rock of Ages (beneath the sheets)
Come, Lord Jesus…well, you get the idea!
Anyone else remember playing this game?
Keyboards or Cursive?
Hey, it’s National Handwriting Day!
The Writing Implement Manufacturers Association justifies this one-day respite from electronic communication thusly: “There’s something poetic about grasping a writing instrument and feeling it hit the paper as your thoughts flow through your fingers and pour into words.”
A more cynical person might see this as a clever ploy to keep that industry in black ink. But
![[info]](https://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
suggests there’s something sensual and artistically honest about writing with a pen, which is why she’s waging a longer-term War on QWERTY.
Seems as if there’s a trend about this in the ether. My latest SisterDivas column covers it in the context of one of my New Year’s resolutions: “Rediscovering the Lost Art of Letter Writing.”
What about you? How fluid are your thoughts when you use ink? Do you prefer writing in cursive or at your keyboard?
Super Freaks and Weak Segues
I’m just about the last person on the planet to see Little Miss Sunshine, and I’m probably one of only a handful of viewers (sorry, Docstymie) who wasn’t particularly impressed. However, as the fourth of (at least) seven children born to an itinerant preacher, I certainly identified with the family of traveling minstrels crammed in that Volkswagen bus! The parallels aren’t perfect, of course; real life never plays out as neatly as it does in Hollywood. Best part of the movie: the woefully untalented but moxie-driven dance Olive does, to the beat of Rick James’ Super Freak.
Speaking of which (flimsy segue the 1st), TV producer McG was in Pasadena last Friday, stirring up interest for his upcoming reality show, Pussycat Dolls Present: the Search for the Next Doll. In describing the series as “aspirational and fun for a woman to be involved in,” he sparked a heated debate.One TV critic snapped,
“Why should young girls aspire to dress up like skanks?” Others quickly followed suit, barraging McG with similar jabs, including this pointed question: “When the Pussycat Dolls sing Don’t cha – ‘Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don’t you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?’ – what exactly are they saying?”Worst part of the interview? McG’s song-and-dance substitute for an honest answer: “‘Don’t you wish your girlfriend could be free and comfortable in her own skin and do her own thing like me?’ That’s what we’re saying.”
If you’re rolling your eyes, you’re in good company: a skeptical media actually booed.
“Freak is a dance,” the producer insisted. “It’s just a word…Even Rick James knew that.” Whatever! In the context of the Pussycat Dolls’ stage performances, the intended meaning of those song lyrics is fairly obvious anyway, don’t cha think?While the connection to the rest of this post isn’t obvious (this is the last feeble segue, I promise you), I thought I’d mention that my newest column, Rediscovering the Lost Art of Letter Writing, is now available on the SisterDivas Magazine website. If you find time to read it, I’d love to hear what you think!
[In case you’re wondering, this was a writing exercise in which I tried to weave together three seemingly unrelated topics…mental gymnastics for a Monday morning. Didn’t quite stick that landing, did I?]
Can I get a witness?
Several of my writer friends are on pins and needles, waiting for word from editors, agents, critique partners…you name it.
A close friend tricked me into reading GLASS CASTLES, austensibly as a diversion from my own waiting “Here, read this instead of obsessing about submissions for THAT’S HAUTE,” she said, thrusting the memoir into my hands. “Seriously,” she added, “you need to write your own story next.”
The more pages I read, the more I’m thinking maybe, just maybe, I will write about my own childhood adventures as the daughter of a tent revivalist. There are good reasons to write such a book, and there are also drawbacks to taking on this challenge. I am not sure I want to put them into words right now, but I’m mulling things over and putting out a few feelers about the topic.
offered to send me materials from an adult ed class on memoirs she teaches, but if you also have suggestions or feedback, I’d love to hear from you, too. I’m looking for outstanding memoirs as models, and I’d also appreciate your thoughts on the topic and recommended resources for writing in that genre.
Image credit:
created an artistic rendition of THAT’S HAUTE that includes this and other images from my childhood.
Fashion’s slippery slope
Meryl Streep won best actress honors for her brilliant, boss-from-hell homage to Anna Wintour in “The Devil Wears Prada.” Again, as always, it’s all about the shoes.
Nevertheless, it’d be a cold day in h*ll before I’d pull on a pair of Yaktraks over my Manolos! A girl has to hold tight that fine line between form and function, no? I didn’t even know they existed until my Birkenstock-wearing son, who lives near Seattle, casually mentioned he might buy a pair (*inward wince*).
Come to think of it, what sort of fashionable footwear’s best suited for this inclement weather? Here in Orange County, the citrus may be freezing, but indoors and in the evenings, my Ugg-swaddled tootsies are not. By mid-afternoon, our temps are hitting mid-60’s, warm enough to brave the elements in a pair of Roxy flip-flops.
I’m sending warm thoughts to those of you who are affected by the freezing weather. If you must be out and about, please be careful. Maybe today’s not such a good day to be prancing around in those Pradas….