TheSunNews.com: Celia Rivenbark

From the Belle Tower | I need someone to mentor. Or just a swiveling chair

Fri, 25 May 2012 07:49 EDT

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about mentoring. Normally, the whole “giving back” thing just makes me tired, but maybe it’s time to pass on some wisdom to the next generation.

Mentors are everywhere, at least in TV’s song and dance world. The trouble with being a mentor for someone in my line of “work” is that I wouldn’t get one of those super cool whirl-around chairs like Cee Lo and crew have on “The Voice.” The chair is totally the best reason to be a mentor, if you ask me.

And now there’s “Duets,” which also pairs a famous mentor with an ambitious young thing because “two voices are better than one!” (unless you’re schizophrenic, in which case, that’s so not true.)

From the Belle Tower | There’s mulch to learn about gardening

Sun, 20 May 2012 14:23 EDT

For 22 years, Duh and I have lived in the same house. The house is about 90 years old and so is the grass and stuff around it.

You could ask why we would feel the need to interfere with 90 years of successful landscaping inertia. Except for occasional pruning and weekly grass-cutting we did nothing. But like that virus in the movie “Contagion” where everyone got gray skin and puked themselves to death, everyone gets bit by the landscape bug sooner or later. Yeah, it’s just like that.

Oh, how we used to chuckle at suburban friends. “The Sod People” we called them. Hahaha. We would go to parties and hear them prattling on about aerating their sod with golf shoes and whatnot. We couldn’t relate so we would excuse ourselves to get more guacamole wondering how anybody could care that much about St. Augustine vs. Bahai. Both sounded religious to us.

Celia Rivenbark | Love, no matter how you slice it

Thu, 10 May 2012 12:56 EDT

As our 23rd wedding anniversary approached, my beloved “Duh-hubby” thoughtfully asked what gift I’d like to receive for such a special occasion. No, I’m kidding. Actually, I informed him a couple of weeks ago that our anniversary was approaching and “You need to be thinking about what you’re going to get me.”

“Right back at you,” he said, looking up from the “Sports Illustrated” where he was trimming his toenails into the centerfold. And now I can never look at Mariano Rivera in quite the same way again. Anywho, Duh said he wanted a basketball and I resisted the urge to ask if he would also like some cowboy boots and a G.I. Joe. A basketball. OK. Duh is kind, patient, caring and all the rest of that 1st Corinthians stuff that they say at weddings but he actually lives it so, yes, he totally gets a basketball.

When we finally got back to the important business of what I wanted for an anniversary present, my answer was quick and certain.

From the Belle Tower | Public restrooms not for the faint of heart

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 19:56 EDT

It’s not easy being a girl.

The more I hang out in public restrooms the more obvious it becomes that only a man could’ve designed those toilet seat covers that are found mounted to the back wall of ladies’ room stalls.

It should be noted that I’m talking the regular seat protectors, not those nutty plastic things that roll around like a steering wheel electronically. I get the intention but they never work. Ever.

From the Belle Tower | Celebrity parents have a few screws loose

Fri, 20 Apr 2012 07:55 EDT

For years I’ve suspected that celebrities play by different rules than the rest of us but at no time has this been more apparent than when I recently watched a video of Alicia Silverstone feeding her son, Bear Blu, by chewing up her own food and spitting it into his mouth.

Bubbling about the joys of “premastication,” Silverstone reported that Bear (what? You were expecting Michael or Jack? How very fly-over state of you) is so fond of this process that he “crawls across the room to attack my mouth if I’m eating.”

Precious Lord, take me now.

From the Belle Tower | Candidates from Seuss’ point of view

Mon, 12 Mar 2012 08:11 EDT

With all the hub-bub over “The Lorax” this week, I’ve been wondering…

What might Dr. Seuss make of the posturing politicians all platitudes and plumfoolery? With their PACs and hair WAX, and their FACTS which are not?

Oh, the SCREECHING, BESEECHING makes one want to howl, especially when coming from Limbaugh, most foul.

Song lyrics have only gotten dumber

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

I've always been convinced that no one would ever write lyrics weirder than Led Zeppelin's "If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now," which we all sang along to in the '70s because "Stairway to Heaven" was so awesome it didn't matter that the words made no sense.

The same was true of The Steve Miller Band's wretchedly wonderful songs, most famously this line from "Take the Money and Run": "Billy Mack's a detective down in Texas. You know he knows just what the facts is." Texas? Facts is? Sure. That rhymes.

America, a soft-rock band I loved in high school, wrote absolutely awful lyrics but nobody cared. The worst included a bizarre reference to "Alligator lizards in the air" from a song called "Ventura Highway" and the sadly memorable "There were plants and trees and rocks and things" from "A Horse With No Name." Things? THINGS????

Building up for flat screen TV plunge

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

Duh-Hubby and I have been arguing about when to take the flat-screen, high-def TV plunge. I say that we should wait for our bloated-looking old-fashioned TV to die of natural causes because this is what Al Gore would want us to do. Hubby says that we should seize the day because all of our friends already have the new screens.

"And if all our friends drove off a cliff, would you do that, too?"

"You're talking to me like I'm a child," he said. "Hey! Let's get ice cream!"

'Follow, dear' is easier said than done

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

Maybe it's because I got hooked on watching "Dancing With the Stars." Maybe it's because we've been married for nearly 20 years and the closest thing to a formal dance hubby and I can do is the hokey pokey. And even that's dicey because I often forget to put my whole self in.

Whatever the reason, here we were, one Sunday afternoon a week, taking Beginning Ballroom Dance in a mirror-lined room alongside a dozen other jittery couples wearing "Hello" nametags. In my mind, I would be Lisa Rinna to hubby's Harry Hamlin. We'd be good at this. After all, didn't we have several decades' experience standing around with our eyes closed, swinging our heads from side to side during "Free Bird"? We had rhythm. Sort of.

But now that we are in week four of six, I'm embarrassed that I ever poked fun at Jerry Springer's spazzy start on "Stars." He was a god of dancing, a regular Mario Baryshnikov compared to me.

Baby-daddies coming out of the woodwork

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

Hons, my family's financial future is set if I can just convince my husband to step up and tell the world, or at least "People" magazine, that HE is the real father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby.

At the rate men are signing up to claim daddyhood (and, perhaps not coincidentally, a chance to share the infant's potential multimillion dollar inheritance), I figure my hubby will come in just behind Urkel and slightly ahead of Donald Trump, who will announce, any day now, that "This baby has been fathered by the most handsome and charismatic producer and star of the most exciting reality show that has ever been shown in the history of television.

"And that includes your high-definition, your plasma and your just plain television."

Easy to tell astronaut not a Southerner

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

While everybody else was slack-jawed over lovesick astronaut Lisa Nowak's "she's-come-undone" behavior, I just thought to myself: "Isn't that just like a Yankee to think nothing of getting in the car and driving 14 hours straight to Florida?"

Southerners just don't do this.

My whole life, I have realized that one of the key differences between folks from the North and South is that a Southerner would never get in the car and drive more than six or eight hours to get anywhere. We're simply not programmed that way.

TV's pithy nostalgia runs amok

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

I recently ordered something from one of those "as seen on TV" places. I won't tell you the name because I don't want to be sued or have a shadowy figure in a hot pink velour sweat suit hold me down and staple my skull with a million tiny little decorative rhinestones and beads "guaranteed to add excitement to any outfit!"

Call it nostalgia, call it an unfortunate mix of prescription cough syrup and Red Bull, call it whatever you want, but I recently had an irrational desire to uh, dazzle up, "an array of sweaters, hats, dresses, slacks, even school book covers!" with these little multicolored beads and brads and jewels.

This would be fun for the whole family! I knew it would because the nice lady on TV said so. And how could you not trust a woman with her name stud-set in artificial gemstones across her bosom? I imagined what I could put across my own bosom. Perhaps "Yeah, they're real," on my 34 A's. I love irony in fake topaz, don't y'all?

Autos now built to foil drunken drivers

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

S o you think you're not too drive to drunk?

Let's just see what your Japanese car has to say about that, Bubba.

Toyota is almost ready to roll out a car that can detect if you've had too much to drink by analyzing the boozy palm-sweat on your steering wheel.

You can't make a deal with greed

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

I 've been watching "Deal or No Deal" for the past couple of weeks and I've decided that America's going straight to h-e-double hockey sticks.

And soon.

Greeting us at the door, and wearing an oily grin, will be Howie Mandel, whom I liked much better with hair on "St. Elsewhere" a gazillion years ago.

There's no test for Southern vocabulary

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

My daughter just brought home a rather long-winded explanation of what is expected of fourth-graders on the upcoming big, fancy state writing test. I've read it, like, eight times and I still don't understand it, which means that either (A) I have the brains of sweater fuzz or (B) This thing really makes no sense.

On account of me being a perfessional writer-type person, I was eager to learn about the writing test but got stopped by the heading "Classroom Assessment Analytic Rubric."

I have no idea what a rubric is. Maybe it has something to do with a Rubric's cube, but then, what would an obscure toy from the '80s have to do with writing?

Some salons giving more bang for buck

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:39 EDT

Perhaps the funniest thing about the trend of Hooters-style barbershops sweeping the country is that at least one of the chains, Bikini Cuts, offers a children's cut for children 10 and younger.

Somehow, I'm having trouble picturing the beleaguered mom of three, Starbucks stains on her sweatpants, claiming a few moments of me-time while her kids get haircuts and squealing with delight when she realizes there are current issues of "Guns & Ammo" AND "Maxim" on the table in front of her.

And what message does this send the tow-headed 8-year-old boy? Is he going to objectify women as in: "Yo, blondie, go fetch my 'Highlights'; I wasn't done reading TheTimbertoes yet"?