I live my life in a constant state of live, musical theatre. I'm talking a full-on Broadway musical right here between my double oven and my dishwasher. This daily production is complete with constant singing, repetitive and sometimes intricate dance steps, and even an occasional, quick wardrobe change. It might be reason #273 why my neighbors hate me.
Maybe I just drink way too much coffee, but I am constantly either belting out a song with my microphone (okay, a wooden spoon) or tapping out a syncopated rhythm like I'm a member of the percussion line in a competing drum corps. My family is downright lucky that I don't own a pair of tap shoes. I could really bust a move with those babies buckled on.
Several years ago, I actually tried to involve cheerleading jumps into my dance routine. That lasted only a few days until my high-kicking aerobesk went terribly, terribly wrong. So, I was forced to hang up my pom-poms forever and stick with what I knew…bring on the music.
And when American Idol comes on, you might as well get out of my way because my game is ON. I sing all of the contestants' songs immediately after they perform them, usually during the judges' comments. Then, because no one else is around or even remotely cares what I'm doing, I critique myself on my performance. I think I've grown a lot as an "artist" since I started a few months ago.
I'd like to think this erratic behavior is from my many years of band or choir throughout my schooling, but in actuality it's probably just me and my undiagnosed ADHD tendencies. I've been trying for years now to involve my family in my musical escapades, but my accountant husband doesn't seem to want to participate. I'll sing a bar of a song I know he knows, hand over the "microphone" and say, "take it away, honey!" He just stares at me, shakes his head, and slowly walks away, wondering how in the world he entered into Holy Matrimony with a loud, singing lunatic such as me. I'm not discouraged, though; I have full confidence that one of these days he'll come around and join one of my many musical numbers.
My 8-year-old, on the other hand, can carry on an entire conversation with me by only quoting lyrics from a 1988 classic by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. "Mommy," he'll say, "that's why I Hate Myself for Loving You." Can't say I didn't see that one coming, but at least he's on board. At least he isn't quoting Aerosmith or AC/DC back to me. See, it could be much worse.
And I'm pretty sure my 4-year-old is the only child who can sing Survivor's Eye of the Tiger. He may not have the most intelligible speech, but that boy can downright hum the bass guitar line.
I really need to switch to decaf before it's too late.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
My Column
Recently, via facebook, I met up with or "friended" Holly, a friend from high school. She recently started a weekly publication in White County and asked me if I would be interested in writing a column. I thought it would be a fun thing to do, so here is my first column for her publication. I hope to write every other week or so. Hope you enjoy!
http://www.news-etc.com/issue4.pdf
Reality Show Reject
by Heather Wyatt McCreary
I love watching television, and I have as long as I can remember. My three siblings and I would wake up early every Saturday morning and stare intently at the multi-colored, vertical lined T.V. screen until scheduled programming began for the day. As soon as we saw that larger than life American flag soaring and our melodic national anthem playing in the background, we would erupt into ear-piercing squeals of delight and non-stop applause. The day had officially begun.
Our T.V. would remain on until the end of the day when we heard PBS play “Arkansas, You Run Deep in Me,” one of our state songs. I hadn’t thought about that song in years, but I can miraculously still sing all of the lyrics by heart. And now, thanks to that little trip down memory lane, I’ll be singing it for the rest of the day or, to the dismay of my family, even longer than that.
Cartoon day or “Saturday” as my mom always called it, was by far the best day of the week. It was finally time to turn the dial of our console T.V. over to Super Friends and instantaneously transform into one of the “wonder twins” with my older sister Shelly. It was my absolute favorite show, and I could “activate” into the best gosh darn “bucket of water” of anyone I knew.
At that time in the early to mid 80’s, my lifelong ambition was to someday convince Shelly to let me turn into the wonder twin who took the form of the animal, an eagle for example. She never let me…not even once. So, I eventually settled in to the idea of always metamorphosing into some form of water, whether it be an icicle, a puddle of water on the floor, or even the occasional blizzard or typhoon. Life was still good.
Now fast forward to 2009. I still love watching all different types of shows, but my heart really lies in the world of reality television. Strangers from all different walks of life are hand-picked by a production staff and thrown into various situations and observed around the clock. It’s such a novel concept. But for a Generation X’er like me, this popular genre is a bit discriminating.
Let’s face it; I’ve missed the mark for most of these shows. I’m a smidge too old and not quite talented enough for American Idol, a lot too lazy for The Amazing Race, a bit too married and child-toting for The Bachelor, and way too abdominally challenged and pale-skinned for America’s Next Top Model. So, what’s a gal to do? Just sit back and wait for a new reality show opportunity to fall into my lap?
I obviously have no other choice, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. If anyone sees any new reality show casting calls for a thirty-something, Stay-at-Home Mom with a couple of kids and quite a bit of emotional baggage in tow, please let me know. Until then, I’ll be perfecting my off-screen “wonder twin powers” in hopes of one day becoming the greatest superhero impersonator alive. It’ll help fill the void until my real break comes along. Look out world…reality television here I come.
Heather Wyatt McCreary is a freelance writer and a Searcy native now residing in Northwest Arkansas. You can contact her at heatherwyattmccreary@yahoo.com.
http://www.news-etc.com/issue4.pdf
Reality Show Reject
by Heather Wyatt McCreary
I love watching television, and I have as long as I can remember. My three siblings and I would wake up early every Saturday morning and stare intently at the multi-colored, vertical lined T.V. screen until scheduled programming began for the day. As soon as we saw that larger than life American flag soaring and our melodic national anthem playing in the background, we would erupt into ear-piercing squeals of delight and non-stop applause. The day had officially begun.
Our T.V. would remain on until the end of the day when we heard PBS play “Arkansas, You Run Deep in Me,” one of our state songs. I hadn’t thought about that song in years, but I can miraculously still sing all of the lyrics by heart. And now, thanks to that little trip down memory lane, I’ll be singing it for the rest of the day or, to the dismay of my family, even longer than that.
Cartoon day or “Saturday” as my mom always called it, was by far the best day of the week. It was finally time to turn the dial of our console T.V. over to Super Friends and instantaneously transform into one of the “wonder twins” with my older sister Shelly. It was my absolute favorite show, and I could “activate” into the best gosh darn “bucket of water” of anyone I knew.
At that time in the early to mid 80’s, my lifelong ambition was to someday convince Shelly to let me turn into the wonder twin who took the form of the animal, an eagle for example. She never let me…not even once. So, I eventually settled in to the idea of always metamorphosing into some form of water, whether it be an icicle, a puddle of water on the floor, or even the occasional blizzard or typhoon. Life was still good.
Now fast forward to 2009. I still love watching all different types of shows, but my heart really lies in the world of reality television. Strangers from all different walks of life are hand-picked by a production staff and thrown into various situations and observed around the clock. It’s such a novel concept. But for a Generation X’er like me, this popular genre is a bit discriminating.
Let’s face it; I’ve missed the mark for most of these shows. I’m a smidge too old and not quite talented enough for American Idol, a lot too lazy for The Amazing Race, a bit too married and child-toting for The Bachelor, and way too abdominally challenged and pale-skinned for America’s Next Top Model. So, what’s a gal to do? Just sit back and wait for a new reality show opportunity to fall into my lap?
I obviously have no other choice, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. If anyone sees any new reality show casting calls for a thirty-something, Stay-at-Home Mom with a couple of kids and quite a bit of emotional baggage in tow, please let me know. Until then, I’ll be perfecting my off-screen “wonder twin powers” in hopes of one day becoming the greatest superhero impersonator alive. It’ll help fill the void until my real break comes along. Look out world…reality television here I come.
Heather Wyatt McCreary is a freelance writer and a Searcy native now residing in Northwest Arkansas. You can contact her at heatherwyattmccreary@yahoo.com.
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