With the holidays upon us and the joyful concomitant duty of finding the perfect gift and then, not finding the means to pay for the perfect gift, settling for something less than perfect (never mind the wrapping - I leave that to professionals), there has been little time and less mind-power to spare keeping up the counter-assault on the character of the good people of Ovoid.
The reveling gaiety and twinkling magic of the Ovoid Town Square and Pioneer Park, festooned in garland, wreaths and holly, populated with the whimsical, traditional characters of Christmas-time, one is induced to be more forgiving of transgressions. The rude woman dragging three squalling brats who cut ahead of us in line at the Piggly-Wiggly with far more than the maximum items for the express line is to be allowed her impropriety. The boorish, piggish little scrub of trailer-trash from over Olney way who roared his smoke-belching wreck into the last close parking space outside the Dry Goods after we had patiently waited for Mrs Tutwilliger to weigh anchor and un-berth her boat-like SUV might be forgiven his ill manners. The fact that we were given the wrong dinner order two evenings in a row at a local eatery because the waitress was too occupied with texting on her cellphone than to actually do her job properly might be pardoned her unprofessionalism.
'Tis the Season, after all.
The blackguardly character assassination of an entire community, a veritable genocide of communal pride and reputation, however, should not granted any such seasonal beneficence. We speak of the blighted writings within 'Ovoid, Illinois' and of the disgraceful perpetrator of slander and calumny, the author thereof.
It has been brought to my attention that the vile volume has acquired a second, superfluous subtitle; 'a Saga of Sorts'. Had I been consulted, I would have suggested 'a sordid saga out of sorts'.
With the holidays upon us, one holiday wish we would like to make is that 'Ovoid, Illinois' sink without a trace and, in so doing, save the sterling identity of our community. A second wish and hope is that many would share this wish with us.
Happy Holidays!
Ruminations, meditations, opinions and plain old cud chewing
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Cheryl-jean on Pot!? NOT!
As the book, 'Ovoid, Illinois' opens, a delirium image is recounted by Cheryl-jean Billingham, the pseudonym for a well-known Ovoidian around whom this cynical, facetious tale is woven with such crude boorishness. The image is of a radiant autumnal Midwestern sunset as seen through the eyes of one who is drug-addled from the consumption of a marijuana cigarette or 'splint' as it is known in the argot of the criminal drug underworld.
This should immediately put off any upstanding and law-abiding reader to desist in reading further. No personal familiarity with the young woman to whom this allusion is purportedly being alluded is necessary for one with any common sense or decency to know that a young teenage girl during this period of time in small town on the south-east central plains of Illinois most certainly would not have been doing up pot. One familiar with the young woman to whom this allusion is purportedly being alluded would know in their heart of hearts that such a diligent and filially pious young girl would never have been so corrupted by a family member to succumb to the noxious, pernicious temptation of smoking the Devil's Weed. That the character partakes of a controlled substance with such nonchalance doubles-down on the despicable character assassination that continues throughout the entire length of the book.
At least, so I've been told by very reputable sources on whom I have relied for insights. I have thus far not been able to read through to the end of this ignoble attempt at fiction. As with a ripe, piquant cheese, one must hold one's nose to sample it. Unlike the diary-based delectable, there is no rich flavor which awaits. This book is, in a word, tasteless.
It's tastelessness includes the subsequent vile scene around the family dining table where Cheryl-jean disrespects her caring parents by reducing both the mother and father to fatuous stereo-typification and deceiving them about her intoxicated state. As editor of the Ovoid Elyssium Herald, I have known the two individuals who form the basis of these cardboard characterizations. They are true and upright citizens of Ovoid, righteous church-going people who serve the community in a variety of ways. Neither of them deserve such foul misrepresentation. To wit: to characterize the man upon whom 'Bud' Billingham is based as a petty finagler when the 'True Life' person was a tireless civic servant who had held the post of Mayor, County Commissioner and a host of other positions of merit and honor is beneath contempt.
In a phrase, that is precisely what this book and its author are: beneath contempt.
This should immediately put off any upstanding and law-abiding reader to desist in reading further. No personal familiarity with the young woman to whom this allusion is purportedly being alluded is necessary for one with any common sense or decency to know that a young teenage girl during this period of time in small town on the south-east central plains of Illinois most certainly would not have been doing up pot. One familiar with the young woman to whom this allusion is purportedly being alluded would know in their heart of hearts that such a diligent and filially pious young girl would never have been so corrupted by a family member to succumb to the noxious, pernicious temptation of smoking the Devil's Weed. That the character partakes of a controlled substance with such nonchalance doubles-down on the despicable character assassination that continues throughout the entire length of the book.
At least, so I've been told by very reputable sources on whom I have relied for insights. I have thus far not been able to read through to the end of this ignoble attempt at fiction. As with a ripe, piquant cheese, one must hold one's nose to sample it. Unlike the diary-based delectable, there is no rich flavor which awaits. This book is, in a word, tasteless.
It's tastelessness includes the subsequent vile scene around the family dining table where Cheryl-jean disrespects her caring parents by reducing both the mother and father to fatuous stereo-typification and deceiving them about her intoxicated state. As editor of the Ovoid Elyssium Herald, I have known the two individuals who form the basis of these cardboard characterizations. They are true and upright citizens of Ovoid, righteous church-going people who serve the community in a variety of ways. Neither of them deserve such foul misrepresentation. To wit: to characterize the man upon whom 'Bud' Billingham is based as a petty finagler when the 'True Life' person was a tireless civic servant who had held the post of Mayor, County Commissioner and a host of other positions of merit and honor is beneath contempt.
In a phrase, that is precisely what this book and its author are: beneath contempt.
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