LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Out: Fay's Rehoboth Journal: Too Close to Call |
by Fay Jacobs |
It must have been tough. One minute you're declared the winner and then, horrors, in a stunning reversal, you're not. I can just imagine how the contenders felt, both sides having snatched possible defeat from the jaws of victory. Everyone's in an uproar over it, legal challenges have been filed and there's no telling how it will all come out. It's enough to give you gas. Actually, it's all about gas. Naturally, you suspect I'm jabbering about the Presidential Election here, but despite television's proliferation of gaseous commentators and the national game of Waiting for Godot, I'm actually talking about Punkin' Chunkin'. If you're not familiar with the event, it's Sussex County's answer to...hm...I can't think of a festival quite as declasse as this one. Suffice it to say that the Chunkin' contest, where teams compete to see how far they can shoot a pumpkin, makes the crowds at County Fairs seem sophisticated. But the fact that just two days before Nov. 7, the folks at Chunkin' gave us a peek at the way we'd be undeciding our presidential race seems a little spooky. It's been reported that one pumpkin artillery team was hailed the winner, but then after the decision was reversed, another team of pumpkin punchers was crowned victorious. Apparently a New Jersey team shot their gourd with helium gas, instead of standard issue air. And a dispute rages on. Of course, I'm sure that the factions in l'affair de gas are being just as courteous to the Pumpkin judges as the American electorate is being to Florida's ballot counters. Heck, when the chunkers make a death threat they actually have the cannon fodder to back it up. Whew, what a time it's been since election day. On Nov. 8, hundreds of sleepy and baffled voters congregated at the Rehoboth Convention Center for the opening night festivities for the 3rd Annual Rehoboth Independent Film Festival. The festival slogan Become Submergedwas coined to entice participants to submerge themselves in film, but this crowd, eager to leave Indecision 2000 behind, started by submerging itself in Stolichnaya. Between the open bar and overflowing buffet from Rehoboth's restaurant superstars, it was some night. Actually, it was some festival. For four days, hundreds, perhaps thousands of locals and visitors submerged themselves in the movies. I achieved a personal best by seeing a dozen films. Next year, along with t-shirts and hats, the merchandise table should include inflatable ring pillows. I know three women who took in 19 films each, making them winners of (in their own words) the coveted Preparation H Award. By staying in the Mall most of the weekend, I avoided much of the media nattering about the presidential race. Instead I submerged myself in films like the funny documentary The Eyes of Tammy Faye, which gave me a new perspective on her fall from televangelist grace, and the stunning and haunting film East-West, featuring Catherine Deneauve. "As a lesbian, you're morally obligated to see all her movies, aren't you?" asked my son-the-actor. Well, yes. But in addition to Ms. Deneauve, who, by the way, still looks like a million bucks, the film's tale of a family shattered by Soviet oppression was a great reminder of the preciousness of our freedomno matter who's inaugurated on Jan. 20. By the festival's closing night, the talk of ballot counting and recounting concerned only the winners from the film festival. But alas, Monday morning dawned and our national arithmetic test raged on. Now there's a new word in our lexicon. Chad. It's that little paper fleck that gets punched out of a paper ballot. And here's a somber-faced Peter Jennings, explaining that the judges are debating the eligibility of swinging chads (partially attached), pregnant chads (sounds like an oxymoron, but it's a ballot with a bulging chad) and other funky chads. And you thought Chad was just one of our better known local bartenders. Frankly, I think the judges ducking helium propelled pumpkins had it easier. So what's a columnist with a deadline to do? Since I can't prognosticate the winner now (although I have a sinking feeling) for you to read on Wednesday, Nov. 22, (the publication date of this last edition of Letters for the year) I'll simply change the subject. First, I want to thank all the folks who read my volunteer name tag at the film festival and introduced themselves to me as Letters readers. It's great when I get a chance to thank you for reading this column. And I was also glad to get a chance to urge everyone to get involved in the planning and excitement surrounding the CAMP Rehoboth Community Center Project. It's a great big open process, with room for all, and we want as many people involved as possible. It's a vision for a terrific future here. See you at the meetings! Secondly, I can't believe how many people had the same reaction to my Scrapple Festival column as my southern Connecticut friend. In an e-mail titled "Things I Never Thought I'd Have to Tell You" she offered the following comments and advice: "I Cannot BELIEVE you actually ATE Scrapple. Bonnie has finally exacted revenge for the gefilte fish you got her to try. And DON'T eat chitlins'. They are also sometimes spelled "chitterlings." They are SCRAPPLE. Mush is polenta. It is good. As are hush puppies which are sort of fried mush shaped into balls, thrown at dogs to keep them from yapping in the kitchen ("Hush, puppy.") Grits as you probably already know are lumpy mush. They are good with enough butter but then so are escargot. A "mess of greens" generally has bits of pork oddities in it. Be wary. Black-eyed peas are odious but should be at least tasted on New Year's day. Red-eye gravy is watered down grease. Traditional Brunswick stew is made with squirrel. It has okra in it. If okra is not very tiny when picked or if it is cooked too long it is slimy. And only oysters are oysters. Anything with a cutesy modifier before it is SUSPECT. Goobers are peanuts. You probably know this already, but then I would have thought you knew about Scrapple, too." There. We are warned. And finally, on a very personal note, I want to thank all the folks who offered good wishes for Bonnie's recovery this summer and continue to ask how she's doing. She's bouncing back nicely, thank you, and the family is getting back to normalwhatever that is. If Bonnie found one saving grace in the aftermath of the medical crisis, it was finally getting that riding lawnmower. So from our house to yours, may you enjoy your Thanksgiving, savor the holidays and have a happy, healthy new year. See you for the odyssey of 2001. I'm sure we'll have a new president by then. A national award winning columnist, Fay Jacobs is a regular contributor to Letters from CAMP Rehoboth. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 10, No. 15, Nov. 22, 2000. |