| Subject: Beauty pagents are not for boobs |
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 Tommy
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Date Posted: 08:16:02 06/11/10 Fri
By MIKE STROBEL, TORONTO SUN
Mike Strobel gets a sly look from Miss Universe 2009 winner Mariana Valente. Sun columnist Strobel is asked to judge a lot of beauty pageants ... for some reason. (JACK BOLAND/Toronto Sun files)
Lately, some of you think my column is getting a little — what’s the word? — hormonal. Hot. Horny.
Even the evil elves who pen our snappy responses to letters have noticed the trend.
“Strobel’s found his sweet spot this week,” they smirked on Thursday’s editorial page. “Somewhere between profanity and Sarah Palin’s apparently fake bosoms.”
The elves have a point. A sample of my other recent columns: Cougar Dating Site Gagged By Google! Send Your Ex A Gift of Pubic Lice! Babes Demand Better Bathrooms! Toronto Needs Red Light District!
My own mother now claims she has never heard of me.
Sex is an easy rut to fall into, so to speak.
One saucy column leads to another and pretty soon you’re sending letters to Penthouse on the side.
This morning I vowed to tone it down.
Opine about G8 security costs again, I figured. (Nope. That’s about getting screwed.)
Okay, how about the Mississauga hazings? (Uh-uh. That was bondage and spankings.)
The Leafs’ new status as the NHL’s biggest losers? (Getting screwed AND sado-masochism.)
See what I mean? Can’t avoid it. I’m in danger of becoming a one-trick pony. (What? A palomino prostitute with a single john?)
Anyway, I mutter to myself, no more babes, boobs or bodaciousness for a while. At least until my love life settles down.
So I begin to type: “The European Union is mulling over options in the debt crisis ...”
Then, whoa, suddenly I remember. It’s prime beauty pageant season!
I’m judging Miss Universe Canada this weekend. Then Miss Hooters on Tuesday.
Sorry. The European economy will have to wait.
Instead, my thoughts on beauty pageants. I like ’em. I think they empower women. They spawn self-confidence, charity and careers.
Diane Sawyer, Halle Berry, Vanna White, Mary Hart and Michelle Pfeiffer were once beauty queens.
We celebrate Stephen Hawking for his God-given brain. Why not celebrate Miss Hooters for her God-given ...
Besides, since when are brains and beauty mutually exclusive?
I’ve judged more than a dozen pageants. I’m no more likely to bump into a bimbo there than I am at a political rally, especially if it’s NDP.
Despite what women in sensible shoes assume.
My life coach, Robin H-C, who is smart and not hard on the eyes, once told me: “We tend to separate beauty and brains and we don’t generally anticipate finding both in the same package.
“It’s not fair.”
For instance, I was a judge at the Miss DownHome pageant, for Maritime misses who had to bait a hook with a live worm — and look good doing it.
No creepy-crawlies at the Miss Universe Canada pageant, which has its finale on Monday night at the Toronto Convention Centre. Here’s a sample from this year’s resumes:
Bachelor of Science, quadrilingual (that means four languages, silly), trilingual, bilingual, international business degree, law, pre-law, power zen yoga instructor, pianist, Special Olympics coach, Engineers Without Borders, business owner, novelist, certified sommelier, shoe designer, pro figure skater, management degree, psychology degree, sky diver, vegetarian, MBA, RN, CEO.
One bio says: “The size of the universe tends to depress many people and make them feel insignificant, however ... there is an important place to fill and she believes that every piece of humankind plays a vital role of fitting itself into the great jigsaw puzzle.”
Who you calling a bimbo? Sounds more like the Dalai Lama.
I have a hunch Miss Hooters will be an earthier shindig. I judged it two years ago. The evening was billed as “tacky, but unrefined.”
Still, as Miss Hooters International told me that night: “Anyone who says a big bosom means you’re a bimbo, well, they’re the ones who are dumb.”
Take that, you in those sensible shoes.
So, I’m afraid I must subject you to another flurry of sexy columns, fairly dripping with estrogen, testosterone and pheromones.
Fear not, though. A change in tone is at hand. I’m off to safari in Kenya next week.
I hear it’s rutting season for the wildebeest.
Mike Strobel’s column runs Wednesday to Friday, and Sunday.
mike.strobel@sunmedia.ca or 416-947-2265.
http://www.torontosun.com/news/columnists/mike_strobel/2010/06/10/14341216.html
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