I LIKE I getting old. A few years ago, I would have been at all the big shows for the season. But seasons have now changed, and it seems as if I could barely make it to a tent, if only for one night. So, instead of attending the MQI Pic-O-De-Crop Finals, I opted to purchase coverage from CBC, pop a little corn and drink a coke or two, while relaxing under the covers.
At one point during the coverage, I thought I was watching American Idol or something so. The television hosts were like mutant versions of Simon Cowell, veering towards pseudo insults, at times. Both made their predictions, but worst of all, began acerbically criticising the judges towards the end. My friend Vere phoned, “Is a good thing them two ain’t the judges, girl . . . or I would get ulcers here tonight.” All I have to reiterate is that the judges are tasked with judging; and have been selected to do a job. Congratulations to my boy, Colin Spencer, Donella and of course, Classic.
A classic pessimist friend of mine always says, “After laughter, is tears.” I am one to believe her, since I had to attend not one, but two funeral services, the day after Grand Kadooment.
You perhaps may have had the same experience as me, whether it’s at a service or a sermon. Picture this: the priest is speaking in the soothing tone that is taught only at priest-school; everyone is paying rapt attention and suddenly, you hear a slight sound.
It sounds like a twisting of sorts; someone unsuccessfully trying to silently open a sweetie-paper. The disturbance lasts about a minute.
“Crinkle-twist, crinkle, twist.”
What is it about being in a church and sucking on a sweet? Is it that bad-feels come on in church, during a sermon, and nowhere else? And if you feel you will get bad-feels, isn’t it a good idea to open the sweet or mint at home and perhaps place it into a napkin?
But I may just be nit-picking, right?
However, I am sure that you would agree with me on this one: you’re in church, the message is about Moses and love and heaven and all things serene; and then a cellphone rings. The priest has just completed the sermon with a reading from the book of John, “Peace I leave with you.”
You’re in quiet contemplation and then the raucous ringtone goes off, blasting Beenie Man, along with a few bad words.
You walk out of the service and instead of the message or any resonance of blessed assurance, the reverb, “Sim simma!” keeps rotating in your head.
“Who am I?” is the question Moses Beenie Man Davis belts out.
lndeed, who am I to condemn? Who am I to judge? That’s the question some of us should ask when it comes to Crop Over competitions . . . and leave it to the selected, qualified group of experts.
By all means, we can predict, but judging is a different ball game altogether.
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and, most important, a karaoke lover.