Pageant Question: What do you feel contributes more to character development: success or failure?

"Failure is not an option!"  Sargent Slattery heard the low murmur.  "Who said that?" he growled.  Scanning the newly enlisted men, his eye caught MacDermett, looking at his poorly polished shoes.  "MacDermett."  The recruits didn't dare speak or look, but they subconsciously separated themselves from the targeted Private.  "Repeat what you said, so the rest of us may enjoy your wit and witticism."

MacDermett was constantly tired, hungry and bruised.  He had not volunteered, and if it weren't for the current desperation of the military for warm bodies, he would never have been drafted.  MacDermett was small and, when he entered the training, horribly out of shape.  He was much smarter than the average recruit, which was lead to much of his unhappiness.  MacDermett cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.  "I said, 'Failure is always an option.'  Sir."

Pageant Question: Which TV show best describes your family?

FADE IN:

INT. ADDAMS LIVING ROOM - NOON

C.U. TWO HANDS ARE GRIPPING EACH OTHER FIRMLY.  PAN OUT TO SEE GOMEZ ARM WRESTLING WITH THING, AND LOSING.

GOMEZ

(HAND GOING TO THE TABLE) You win again, Thing!  How did you get so strong?

THING PERFORMS FINGER EXERCISES.

GOMEZ (con't.)

Ah, I see!  Well, I can't compete with that.  Perhaps Grandmama can give you a run for the money.

THING SHIVERS AND CLOSES HIMSELF INTO HIS BOX.

MORTICIA ENTERS FROM THE CONSERVATORY

MORTICIA

Gomez, my love.

GOMEZ

Morticia!

GOMEZ RUSHES OVER TO EMBRACE MORTICIA.  THE SHARE A PASSIONATE KISS.  GRANDMAMA ENTERS, UNNOTICED, HOLDING A GONG.

GRANDMAMA

(HITTING THE GONG) Lunch!  Get it while it's still alive.

GRANDMAMA EXITS.  GOMEZ AND MORTICIA UNCLENCH.

GOMEZ

When did you have your molars pointed?

MOTRICIA

(PLEASED) You noticed.  Lunch is ready, and I mean to tear in.

GOMEZ

Save some for me later.

MORTICIA

Always.

Pageant Question: How do you feel about the increasing popularity of "reality TV”?

It is a crime to shut down or tamper with your video system.  You will be incarcerated and the system will be forcibly reinstalled and/or reset.  As promised, these video systems had brought crime down to near zero.  Of course, there were people who tried to get around it, and crimes of passion, but robberies, rapes, stabbings, shootings, burglaries, roughing up--everything--had practically disappeared before my first installation scars had healed as a baby.  Until people got bored.

So, the reason for the cameras, at first, was crime deterrent.  As I said, it worked, but an alternative use for the constant video of every human (and many animals) on the planet came quickly on its heels: entertainment.  Everyone in the world had their own show.  Advertisers hitched their wagons to the most interesting people and the rest of us figured out how to stream the interesting videos directly through our systems to watch as we lived.

Eventually, "Diabolical X" came on the scene.  Diabolical X was a criminal and the most popular show in the world.

Pageant Question: If you had to spend the rest of your life eating one thing, what would it be?

It's not about being clean.  It's not even about germs, though for some people they make it about germs because it doesn't sound as crazy.  It's not about being a perfectionist, either.  It's compulsion, but not in any logical way.  It's magical thinking without even a hint of purpose.  It's called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD.  I have a friend who brags she has OCD because she likes her desk at work to be "just so."  That's not OCD.

OCD is putting away a glass over and over and over.  Trying to set it back in the cupboard, but having to reset it.  Then turn it a little, but you've turned it too far and now you must turn it back, but that's not right, either.  Don't you remember, I said it wasn't about perfection!  The glass doesn't need to be set in the exact spot because it's level with the other glasses or because now it is smudged or for any other logical reason.  It's because... it's just not right.  It didn't feel right.  It wouldn't be okay to leave it because it's wrong, so I have to do it again.  Try again.  Try again.  It's not right.  Try again.

Yes, I've tried to walk away, but the idea of it being wrong comes back.  My steps slow and I feel myself pulled back to the cupboard and the glass that just isn't quite right.  Compelled to come back.  Obsessed with trying to get it to feel right.

For me, it's the vague idea of "bad luck" that makes me want to make it right.  My house is not super clean.  It's not neat.  It's not anal, which is what you're picturing, and what my friend really is.  I start walking with my right foot, and if it doesn't feel like it did it right, I start again.  And again.  You get the picture.  I looked at a weird spot and now I must blink my eyes and look away and furrow my brow and sniff it away.  What made it a weird spot?  Nothing.  Don't you understand yet?  Nothing!  There is no reason.

There was also no reason for me to start scraping my teeth against the wood window sills in my apartment, rubbing the shavings against the roof of my mouth, until I'd chewed them down as far as my nose would let me, pressed against the glass.  No reason except I had to, or else.  Or else what?!?  Nothing!  Or else nothing.  But I didn't stop.

Pageant Question: Which freedom do you value the most: life, liberty, or the pursuit of happiness? When do you think these rights should be taken away from a person?

People officially started calling the neighborhoods "Camps" when I was eight, but they were already camps long before I was born.  My family has been living in the same Camp for five generations.  Fences went up in my great-grandmother's time, and my grandmother was the one who told me the history.

Grandma Nonna, at eighty, was the oldest person in our Camp.  Life expectancy was in the sixties, so Grandma Nonna was revered for her age and wisdom.  She told me that when the Camps were "neighborhoods", the houses stood shoulder to shoulder, and only family owned each house.  A single family lived inside.  Grandparents lived in their own homes.  Aunts and uncles had others.  The use of so much space for just four people seemed outrageously decadent to me.

When she was small, Grandma Nonna said there were still roads and even some cars in her neighborhood.  Once she told me about roads and where they used to be, I would wander our Camp and look for signs.  I found hidden curbs and even, what she called, a "manhole cover".  That sounded dirty.  I found a rock that she said was probably rubble from a road.  I carry it with me.

Pageant Question: Which is more important, friendship or personal success?

If I were you.

If I were you, I wouldn't be you.

If I were you, my life wouldn't be your life.  If you were me, my life would not be mine.

Differences in our situations make our lives different, but differences in us would change all outcomes.

If I were you, I would save my money and get my passport.

If I were you, I would sign up as a volunteer in a foreign land.

If I were you, I would teach English across the sea.

If I were you, I would live light.

If I were you, I would be free.

That you are different means that you have no money, nor passport.  Your life is heavy.  You are not free.

I am not you, but I wish you could be light and free and happy.

While still being you.

Pageant Question: What makes you a person of character?

The Summit Park Mall surged and flowed like a circulatory system, dislodging blood vessels into the capillaries of The Limited, The Gap, Merry-Go-Round and McCrory's.  Fresh into their teens and fresh into the big leagues of high school, Ann and Louise stalked the mall to see and be seen and not to buy.  Usually, not even to speak to anyone else, but to gawk and play with their new-found desire to be "cool".  A stop in the arcade was mandatory, followed by a pair of cookies from The Cookie Company, window shopping, and delving into the dark recesses of Spencer's Gifts.

Spencer's was one of the darkest stores at the Summit, and it got even darker in the back, lit only with blacklight.  The fuzzy, fluorescent posters glowed, tiger's eyes gleaming and psychedelic skulls leering.  Ann and Louise would spend a lot of time giggling over the "naughty" items also stocked in the back, like fuzzy handcuffs, boxed lingerie, and books offering sex tips.  The risque greeting cards were also fascinating, including the new line of real photographs of fat or ancient men and women.

Trying to figure out why anyone would want the numbers "420" on a bumper sticker, Louise was interrupted by Ann.  "Come on, Lou.  Let's go."

"Okay," she replied, letting Ann drag her out of the store.

Ann pulled her to a bench a few stores down, and smiled, propping her purse in her la.

"What?" asked Louise.  "Why do you look so smug?"

"These," said Ann, drawing a pair of white sunglasses from her bag, the tags still hanging from the ear piece.

"You shoplifted?  Ann?  What are you, nuts?"

Ann tried to shush her friend.  "Yeah, so keep it down!"

Louise closed her mouth and crossed her arms.  "No."

"No?  No, what?"

"No, Ann, you are not shoplifting.  You are putting those back.  Now."

Ann had the decency to look scared.  "But... I could be caught!"

"You will not shoplift."  Louise stood, pulling Ann up by the sleeve.  "Now put it back."

There was no argument.  Louise marched Ann back to Spencer's and watched while she disappeared into the store, dropping the white sunglasses back into the pile.  She returned without incident.  "There.  Happy?"

"Yes," smiled Louise.  "I am.  You aren't a shoplifter, Ann.  And you don't even need those!  You have a good pair of sunglasses on top of your head!"

Pageant Question: When do you feel the most like yourself?

It was the look he gave her that she didn't see.  She wore clothes that he must have chosen because she was uncomfortable in them.  She kept pulling on the skirt and forcing herself to stand up straight.  The purse slid off her shoulder until she finally growled and threw the strap over her head to wear it crosswise.  He stopped her from walking to straighten her shirt and set the purse at a better angle.  She smiled at him, so willing to please and clueless of his disdain that it hurt.  In the mall's food court, a man from the Asian eatery was giving away free samples.  She squeaked with excitement and pointed, her feet wobbling in the heels he had chosen for her.  He gripped her wrist and pulled her back to heel.  She apologized with increasing volume until he hissed at her to be silent.  When she went into her purse for a tissue, he gave her the look.  Disdain.  Disgust.  I wondered what she was like without him.  What had she been?  What would she be without him?

Pageant Question: Compare yourself to your favorite food.

He was in hot water, and he knew it.  Detective Jamison dreaded the meeting he'd have with the chief, seven minutes with him could seem like hours, but he had to get it over with.  Jamison was still stiff from the run in he'd had with the latest suspect, a motorcycle gang member they called Bear, and he needed to try to loosen up.  When he got into the chief's office, though, Jamison realized the man had been hitting the sauce.  It wasn't like Chief to drink, much less during the workday, so something horrible must have happened.  "Chief, you wanted to see me?"  The man's bloodshot eyes and red nose meant more than just the sauce.  "What happened, sir?"

The chief swallowed a couple of times.  "Marianna.  She's...dead."

Detective Jamison couldn't believe the news.  His partner.  Dead.  It couldn't be.  "Where?  How?  How is it possible?  How do you know?"

"Easy now, detective.  It has been confirmed.  But her body hasn't been found."


NOTE: did you get my not-so-subtle hint at one of my favorite foods?  Even the last line has a slightly more subtle hint...

Pageant Question: What have you done to make a difference in someone's life in the past three days?

Jesse had always believed he had a guardian angel.  His grandmother had been the one to introduce the concept.  Jesse's parents hadn't been all that religious, but Grandma Jean sure was.  She hung the crucifix in his room.  She gave him his first rosary.  She taught him how to pray before bed.  And she was the reason he thought his good luck came from a guardian angel.  His grandmother didn't know Jesse talked to Max every night, and sometimes when the days got a little rough.  His grandmother, who died before Jesse graduated high school, also wouldn't know that at age 29, Jesse still believed.  Not even "believed"; Jesse knew.

Pageant Question: Who do you think will be the first woman to become president? Why?

I remember learning in Ancient History that when faced with the first knowledge of what they called "alien" life, Earthlings went to war with each other.  Leaky, I know, but that's what they did!  War used to happen a lot on Earth, and the reasons were both complex and animalistic.  Earthlings didn't like change, and they were intensely self-absorbed.  Individual Earthlings were self-absorbed, and their increasingly larger tribes were self-absorbed.  They had family tribes and community tribes and religious tribes and belief tribes and national tribes not to mention a starload of sub-tribes.  The change that came from the "aliens" shook up all those tribes.  It's ridiculous to think how many they killed while fighting change.  The word "eventually" is a horrible way to skip over those decades of death, but eventually Earthlings created a panel able to handle their new, galactic world.

Pageant Question: How do you feel about women being drafted?

Marianna had to give birth in the trench.  She'd hidden her pregnancy, even from herself I think, right up till the last two months when denial wouldn't work any longer.  It was a muddy, bloody mess even before her water broke.  The enemy chose that night to surge on our position, and we were in the worst battle I'd seen in weeks.  Nobody noticed when Marianna first went down because they were too busy with their own lives.  I had at first assumed she'd been shot, like so many of the others we were pressing into the mud, but when I saw she was scrabbling to get her pants off, I knew; the baby was coming.

Pageant Question: What is your most embarrassing moment?

I am the king of embarrassing moments.  Lord of putting my foot in my mouth.  Emperor of oopsies.  I've learned I need to ride out whatever I've done and let it take me where it will, though it doesn't mean I'm not still haunted.

Last night, for example, I was kept up by going into the wrong class earlier that day; don't worry, it was actually far worse than it sounds.  I was in Norton Hall, passing through on my way to the cafeteria for a bowl of mashed potatoes with gravy, when I glanced through the window of my physics classroom.  My professor was in there.  Students were in there.  Class had started fifteen minutes ago!  I thought I had all the time in the world; I mean, didn't I always go or mashed potatoes on Thursdays?  I had a routine, and what happened to it that I missed the start of class?  In a panic, I threw open the door and slid into a seat on the end as some kid was in my seat.  Hmm.  Some kid I didn't recognize.

"Matt?" said Professor Anderson.  "Are you in this class?  Aren't you in the next class?"  He frowned, and I knew what had happened.  Professor Anderson held two classes back to back, and I had the second.  I didn't know anybody in here.  My class didn't start for another hour.  "Ah, well, I may be mixing up my rosters.  Midterm craziness.  Where were we?"

I didn't move.  I didn't look at anyone, though I knew they were staring at me.  I felt my face burning up and I could barely breathe.  Ride it out, man.  I just had to let what I'd done take me where it would, which was here, taking notes, surrounded by strangers.  And I missed my afternoon mashed potatoes.

Pageant Question: Tell me a story about your family.

There was nothing more that could be done other than screaming the word "TOURIST!" to make the family of four look more like tourists in the big city.  Saving money by parking outside the city, the two adult and the preteen daughter and son had to ride a subway into the heart of New York while carrying their overstuffed, frame backpacks.  Dad trying to keep his cool.  Mom consulting a map.  Daughter ogling everyone in the car.  Son playing it tough even though he clutched his pack whenever the lights flickered.

Upon reaching the surface, the family made an unfortunate turn left seeing as their hotel was to the right.  Like ducklings crossing a freeway, they followed Dad at a brisk pace while Mom made a weak effort to point the other way.  The street began looking worse and worse, and the family felt like children in a fairy tale wandering too deeply into the forbidden woods.  Their packs became even heavier with the stares of native New Yorkers.  TOURIST!  TOURIST!  TOURIST!

The kids knew better than to say anything when their father and mother abruptly turned back and marched them the other way.  By now, the family of four had condensed, parents' hands guiding, eyes darting.  The daughter would always remember seeing a man walking towards them, his coat open enough to see glittering necklaces.  As he neared, she could hear his accented voice repeating in a drone, "Gold chains, gold chains for sale.  Gold chains, gold chains for sale."

Pageant Question: What is the greatest challenge facing young women today?

Melissa watched her friends make out.  They looked like fish gasping on a hook.  Their eyes were wide open and their heads turned in tiny circles, tongues occasionally pushing out their cheeks.  They were in Peter's basement and Jenna had brought her here, supposedly as support to help her resist Peter's advancements.  It didn't work.  Melissa started humming to cover the sound of Jenna and Peter's desperate lip-lock.  When he put his hands up Jenna's shirt, Mel went upstairs to find a drink of water.

Pageant Question: How do you overcome adversity?

"Talia!"  Her mother's tone meant she was not to be ignored and Talia scrambled from the kitchen so fast she knocked over another box of empty bottles and garbage.

"I'll pick it up, Momma," Talia promised even before she was close enough for her mother to hear.  A fist flew out of nowhere and caught Talia on the mouth.

"Don't sass!"  Stars shone in Talia's eyes, but the protest that she hadn't been sassing was locked behind her bleeding lips.  Her mother stood, thin and dark, frayed around the edges, and wound around her addictions.  "Watch your brothers and sister."  Then she was gone.  Talia didn't know it, but it was the last time she'd ever feel her mother's touch or hear her voice.

Pageant Question: What makes you unique?

I didn't learn until after college that my parents worried I might have been brain damaged from a car accident we were in when I was nine.  My brother and I were discussing what we remembered from that night a Chevette had spun out on the snowy road and crashed head-on into our Ford Econoline van.  You'd think the van would have won, but both vehicles were totaled.  This was back in the day when it wasn't mandatory to wear your seat belt, and my brother and I were loose when it happened.

I remember seeing the oncoming headlights, but nothing of the crash.  I was behind the driver's seat, and I hit my head on the metal window divider.  My brother was flung to the center console and hit his knee and nose, but didn't break anything.  I opened my eyes to my brother crying and my mom comforting him; my dad was already out of the car and seeing to the other driver.  I turned to ask what had happened, and when my brother saw me, he screamed.  He thought my face had been smashed in, but it was the front and side of my head that had instead swollen out.  My mom launched herself out of the sliding door to grab snow for my now giant noggin.

Little did I know that my parents would suspect my less than stellar grades in 11th grade chemistry might be attributed to that accident seven years before.  Even worse, though, when my brother and I were reminiscing, I wondered aloud if Mom and Dad had worried I had suffered brain damage.  My parents, who were listening to the conversation, didn't laugh like I had expected.  They exchanged looks.  Looks.  Significant looks.

Pageant Question: What is your favorite charity and how do you help their cause?

The Friends of Night People is a soup kitchen downtown.  The dining room is small, only about ten cafeteria-style tables with long benches attached to each side.  They turn a brisk business every evening for dinner.  The people who come for dinner eat fast and they don't linger.  Clear the seat, wipe the table, and it ready for somebody else.  You can also pick up bags of non-perishable food to go, or "shop" for clothes in the jam-packed donation room.  Whatever you do, you hardly ever get a good dessert.

I promised myself, if I ever got out and really made it the way I wanted to, I would donate the best damn desserts to The Friends of Night People.  Fresh cakes, brownies, cookies and ice cream with all the fixings.  No more quarter slice of a rock hard blueberry muffin, I'm talking real desserts.  It was what I missed most when I found myself down and way out.

Pageant Question: If you can choose to be beautiful, intelligent, or rich, which quality do you choose?

Early morning in the West Side indie coffee shop, most people run in and out with their lattes and crullers, but one woman sat in the front window, nursing her tea and reading.  She was early, but liked to be the first to arrive.  Marla was always the first, and she knew it bugged her sister Melanie, which was the best reason.  Moira never noticed.  Marla had also chosen a Richard Feynman book for the same reason.  She'd already read What Do You Care What Other People Think, but it was one of her favorites.

When the two college guys at the table next to her stirred and began craning their necks toward the service counter, Marla knew Melanie had arrived.  She buried her nose in her book.

"Marla, sweetie, if you sat up, you'd look ten years younger."  Melanie's silken voice and light touch filled Marla with a rage she suppressed from years of practice.

"Mel," she smiled.  "You know all the tricks."  Marla pulled her eyes away from her book and couldn't hide her surprise when she saw her sister's face.  Yes, it was beautiful, as always, but it was tight and had dark shadows.

Any question Marla might have had was stalled by their final sister, Moira.  A limousine pulled away as she swept into the cafe, instantly making the room look dingy and worn.

Pageant Question: Which TV program best describes your life?

K: The number one question we are asked is, "Are you guys like this all the time?"

A: The answer is: yes.

Opening montage and theme music to All The Time, a new reality show on A&E Network, now in its third season.

Today's episode finds K and A already awake and in the kitchen of the house they purchased near the end of the second season and have been renovating.  They are making breakfast.

A: (to the tune of the Spider-man cartoon theme) Chai-na-bagel, chai-na-bagel.  Eating breakfast whenever we're able.  Butter is out, steam the soy.  Don't forget my spoon, boy oh boy.

K: (brandishing a soup spoon like The Tick) Spoooon!

Once the spoon is down, K and A start to dance for no apparent reason, kicking off their slippers and sliding their stockinged feet on the floor and singing the theme to Mission Impossible.

Interview:
Producer: Don't you ever get tired?

K: Sure!  Then we go to bed.  Sometimes that takes a while.

Pageant Question: Substance abuse is huge problem among teens. How do you stay drug free? What solutions do you propose to solve this problem?

Vic's house was the first split-level that she had ever seen, and she thought it looked like one of those cool, rich-person's multilevel apartments you might find in New York City.  It was also walking distance from the high school, which she also thought of as cool because she would have gone home every day for lunch.  Lora, however, lived in what had been a "show home" neighborhood back in the 1970s.  As a very fresh freshman, she was only just beginning to think outside her own world view, and it gave her a tingling feeling in the back of her mind that, perhaps, her family was rich, and everyone in Vic's neighborhood was not.

Lora was not Vic's girlfriend, but rather a friend who happened to be a girl.  Cheryl was Vic's girlfriend, and also one of Lora's best friends.  Vic, Chris, and Frankie were buddies.  Lora, Cheryl, Jenny and Barb were besties.  Freshman year was when they all discovered each other and found that boys and girls could mingle.  So far, it was working, and on the night of the Fall Dance, they met up at Vic's split-level to hang out before walking over.

Each of the friends had a secret none of the others knew.  Lora only knew hers: she had fallen for Vic.  Her fall was solidified that night when, in her mind, Vic saved them all from a gang of druggies.

Pageant Question: You can be a superhero for one day! What is your superhero name and what is your power?

Calvin never thought of himself as a hero.  No, he was just a normal kid who did normal things, like go to school, do homework, do chores, take a bath, go to bed, get up for school and repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  He knew this was preparing him for "the future", but he couldn't see how.  Calvin was very good at doing what he was told, and he knew that superheroes never got told what to do, they just did.  The new kid, however; that new kid was heroic.