Wednesday, December 07, 2005
The Truth About Holiday Christmas Pageants
We went out to this big church in Ahwatukee last night to watch Ladybug and her kindergarten classmates perform in their Holiday Show. They used to call 'em Christmas Pageants, but......oh well, that's another Blog for another day.
Ladybug has a bit of ham in her. I have no idea where she inherited that little personality trait, but she seems to enjoy being the center of attention. She's so doggone cute that she usually ends up being exactly that wherever she goes. So last night, she and her fellow munchkins were supposed to don little teenie-weenie Hawaiian shirts for their heart-pounding crowd-pleasing rendition of Mele Kalikimaka. I say supposed to, because a Hawaiian shirt is about the only item of clothing Ladybug doesn't seem to have in her inventory. She wore a little denim skirt with tights and a Buffett tee-shirt. Perfect. After all, The Big Man did record the song on Christmas Island. I expected her to break into "Phins Up" at any moment during the performance. The place being packed to the rafters, my claustrophobia sent me out into the lobby to watch the show through this big window with Jesus acid-etched into it. Lady bug was set to perform just over His right shoulder.
And perform she did. She was great. Like a miniature itty-bitty American Idol. But then the little boy beside her kept stepping in front of her, so she couldn't be clearly seen by the audience. She managed to be cool like Fonzie (can someone other than Joe E or Jello Shot Prince name the source of that sound bite?) for a little while, but finally had to shove the little bugger back to his own turf. I fully expected the domino effect to kick in at that point, with sproglets knocking one another down helter skelter until they reached the end of the line, but alas, no such luck. Now that would have been entertaining.
Here's the subtle truth about Christmas Pageants (That's right, I said it. Christmas. So sue me):
Unless your kid/grandparakeet/niece, or whatever is actually on stage, this is about the most life-endangering boredom a human can endure. Other people's offspring are completely and decidedly un-entertaining. So, no offense folks, but while your talent-free crumb-snatcher was up there doing whatever in the hell it was they were doing with those sticks and bongo drums last night, I was sitting on a bench outside, playing Tetris on my cell phone and keeping track of the Suns game.
Sorry 'bout that.
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Ladybug has a bit of ham in her. I have no idea where she inherited that little personality trait, but she seems to enjoy being the center of attention. She's so doggone cute that she usually ends up being exactly that wherever she goes. So last night, she and her fellow munchkins were supposed to don little teenie-weenie Hawaiian shirts for their heart-pounding crowd-pleasing rendition of Mele Kalikimaka. I say supposed to, because a Hawaiian shirt is about the only item of clothing Ladybug doesn't seem to have in her inventory. She wore a little denim skirt with tights and a Buffett tee-shirt. Perfect. After all, The Big Man did record the song on Christmas Island. I expected her to break into "Phins Up" at any moment during the performance. The place being packed to the rafters, my claustrophobia sent me out into the lobby to watch the show through this big window with Jesus acid-etched into it. Lady bug was set to perform just over His right shoulder.
And perform she did. She was great. Like a miniature itty-bitty American Idol. But then the little boy beside her kept stepping in front of her, so she couldn't be clearly seen by the audience. She managed to be cool like Fonzie (can someone other than Joe E or Jello Shot Prince name the source of that sound bite?) for a little while, but finally had to shove the little bugger back to his own turf. I fully expected the domino effect to kick in at that point, with sproglets knocking one another down helter skelter until they reached the end of the line, but alas, no such luck. Now that would have been entertaining.
Here's the subtle truth about Christmas Pageants (That's right, I said it. Christmas. So sue me):
Unless your kid/grandparakeet/niece, or whatever is actually on stage, this is about the most life-endangering boredom a human can endure. Other people's offspring are completely and decidedly un-entertaining. So, no offense folks, but while your talent-free crumb-snatcher was up there doing whatever in the hell it was they were doing with those sticks and bongo drums last night, I was sitting on a bench outside, playing Tetris on my cell phone and keeping track of the Suns game.
Sorry 'bout that.
