Clown - A Short Story by Victor Lana

Due to well-publicized creepy clown sightings, clown decorations for Halloween were banned in the county. Besides the banned decorations, clown costumes could not be bought in Warrenville’s stores as per Sheriff Hawkins’s edict.

Tommy Parker didn’t care much for rules in his fifth grade classroom or at home, and he certainly wasn’t going to let Hawkins stop him from being a scary clown for the Halloween party.

On the night before Halloween Tommy crept up into the attic and found the clown costume his older brother wore years before. The multi-colored jumpsuit and floppy felt shoes were okay, but he loved the sinister mask and the plastic butcher knife accessory; this clown costume would be perfect.

*

The next day in school the teachers were all talking about something in the hallway. Tommy’s best friend Billy Dee (so named because Billy Dee Williams was his parents’ favorite actor) leaned over to him and whispered, “I think something big is going on.”

Tommy nodded. “Like when poor Principal Olson died.”

“Yeah, right,” Billy Dee gushed.

Their teacher Ms. Tate came back into the room forcing a smile. She was the first teacher that Tommy ever liked. His teenage sister said, “She looks like Taylor Swift,” and Tommy fell in love sometime after that first week of school when she came in wearing a polka dot dress and black high heels looking like some kind of teaching superstar.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Tate?” asked pesty Marie Reynolds, the girl that had annoyed Tommy since Kindergarten.

“Oh, nothing is wrong at all,” Ms. Tate said, crossing her arms and biting her lip. Tommy knew something was definitely wrong.

*

After dark Tommy went to meet Billy Dee in the back alley behind Joey Martin’s house where the best Halloween parties were always held. Tommy carried the costume in a bag during the ten minute walk, just in case Hawkins or one of his deputies was around. Sure enough during his journey he saw three police cars with deputies patrolling the streets to watch over the trick-or-treaters as they went house to house with their parents.

Bill Dee was waiting for him dressed like Lando Calrissian from Star Wars. “Hey, you were supposed to be Jason Voorhees,” Tommy said.

“Yeah, but my Mom sewed this for me. She took a picture and they’re going to send it to the real Billy Dee.”

Tommy started putting on his costume. “Well, your mustache looks fake and that wig is weird.”

“Yeah, I guess. Hey, my parents heard on the radio about a killer clown in Barton. Mom says he killed three people.”

“Bet that’s what the teachers were talking about,” Tommy said as he finished transforming into a clown.

“Are you crazy?”

“Dude, Barton is far away. Besides, I’m not letting that stupid sheriff stop me from wearing this.”

Just as Tommy had slipped on the mask they heard an approaching police car siren, screeching tires, and what sounded like three gunshots from the street in front of Joey’s house. As they looked at one another in disbelief, a large man dressed like a creepy clown came rushing toward them carrying a huge butcher knife that was dripping blood.

“Oh, crap,” Billy Dee screamed. They moved back and tried to hide in the corner.

The clown glanced at them as he ran by and saw Tommy. He yelled, “You got balls, kid!”

Tommy took off his mask and threw it on the ground. The boys looked around the side of the building and saw a police car with the driver’s side door open; a deputy lay on the grass clutching his bloody shoulder.

The Martins and their guests ran outside trying to assist the deputy. Mr. Martin was on his cell phone calling for help. Tommy looked at the clown running away from them. “You’ve got your cell?”

Billy Dee nodded. “Sure, why?”

“Let’s go!” Tommy ran in the direction the clown had taken with Billy Dee running after him.

“What the hell are we doing?”

Tommy said, “We’re going to catch that clown.”

They ran through the park and saw blood on a still swaying swing. Billy Dee asked, “That can’t be dripping from the knife?”

Tommy yelled, “He’s bleeding – the deputy must’ve shot him.”

Rushing over the ballfield quickly, they spotted the clown across the road leaning against a building trying to catch his breath. Billy Dee said, “I’m calling 9-1-1!” Tommy saw the clown opening a window. Realizing it was Ms. Tate’s house, he started running toward it. 

“Tommy,” Billy Dee yelled, “are you crazy? Wait for the police!”

Ms. Tate apparently saw the clown climbing in the window with his butcher knife and screamed. Tommy jumped up and wrapped his arms around the clown’s legs; his weight pulled the clown down on top of him.

Tommy lay sprawled on the pavement as the clown got up and stood over him with the knife, noticing the costume jumpsuit that he had seen before. “Like I said, you got balls, kid, but now I’m gonna cut them off.”

As the clown prepared to bring the knife down on Tommy, five successive shots rang out; each one hit the clown in the chest, but the last one knocked him down. Tommy looked up to see Sheriff Hawkins holding his gun.

A sobbing Ms. Tate poked her head out the window. “Tommy Parker! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said as he got up. Billy Dee came running with several deputies following him.

Hawkins looked up at Ms. Tate. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Ms. Tate said. “Yes, thanks to Tommy it would seem.”

“About this costume…” Tommy started to say.

Hawkins put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home to your parents.”

As they started walking away Tommy looked back. The deputies had handcuffed and turned the clown over; his green eyes had a preternatural glow, but it was the crooked smile frozen in death on a grotesquely painted face that Tommy would never forget.

The Absurdity of Christmas Decorations in October

Having ventured to Roosevelt Field Mall in Garden City, New York, yesterday to purchase some Halloween items, I was shocked to see the halls – and individual stores – decked with a good deal more than boughs of holly. The entire facility was festooned with Christmas decorations, and my only relief came from not hearing Christmas music.

There is something inherently wrong with Christmas in October. With what is known as Halloween weekend approaching, black and orange are the colors I should be seeing – not red and green. Not only is it appalling to see retailers subsuming the Halloween season like this, but it also seemingly negates a crucial holiday that falls in between Halloween and Christmas known as Thanksgiving.

Many years ago I worked in retail, and I remember decorating the store for Christmas on Thanksgiving Eve. This way when we opened the doors on the day after Thanksgiving, the Black Friday crowds would be greeted with seasonally appropriate decorations and the requisite music pumped over the sound system that went along with it.

As a child I recall my parents waiting until the first weekend in December to decorate the house for Christmas, usually around December 6, which is the feast of Saint Nicholas. My Mom’s German family called this “Little Christmas,” and we would get small gifts and treats on this evening. I always got excited on that day because I knew Christmas was not that far away.

Now is a completely different situation regarding Christmas; thanks to the retail and marketing people wanting to get a jump on the holiday season, the entire year is askew – we get Valentine’s Day items in the stores in early January, Easter decorations and bunnies following immediately after February 14, Fourth of July materials appear sometime in April, and Halloween paraphernalia gets put out in late August.

While I understand these retail executives have the bottom line in mind, they have no appreciation for the spirit of these holidays. Maybe some people do not mind seeing jack-o-lanterns in August, but I find this practice extremely annoying, especially because my kids start bothering me about getting costumes and decorating the house while I am still wearing shorts and thinking about barbecues, the beach, and the pool.

I know it is a losing battle, but I feel turned off by the complete disregard for respecting the integrity of the seasons. Seeing Christmas trees on October 27 is not only annoying, but it lessens my appreciation of just how beautiful the season truly is when the real time for it actually comes around.

When I reached the store that was my destination, I was confronted with a massive Christmas display including Santa’s throne. How fortunate I felt not to have my kids with me so that I could avoid having to explain why Santa would be anywhere near the mall before they went trick or treating.

It is probably pointless to complain about this problem, but I am not going back to the mall until I turn the calendar to December. I know the Christmas soundtrack is coming, and I do not want to subject myself to hearing “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” or any other song or carol for that matter until I am in the Christmas spirit, and now I wonder if I will ever be.

Bah-humbug to all and to all a good night!

TV Review: The Walking Dead Season Seven Premiere – “The Day Will Come When You Won’t Be” Watching Anymore

*This review contains spoilers and angry rants.

There is no other way to say this – after suffering through the season seven premiere of The Walking Dead (which used to be my favorite TV series) I am thoroughly angry and disheartened. Series creator Robert Kirkman and showrunner Scott Gimple – seen after the debacle on an episode of The Talking Dead that seemed like a Survivor finale in the rain – have clearly let power get to their greedy little heads. Kirkman has said that he would like TWD to go forever, but then he should seriously look at this episode’s title – “The Day Will Come When You Won’t Be” – and add the words “watching anymore” to the end of it because I am certain that I am not the only one and plenty of fans feel ready to dump this series.

I have been there since the first episode, and I have stuck with the TWD because I cared about the characters (obviously infinitely more than Kirkman and Gimple). I mean how many slings and arrows do they think we can continue to endure? They take Dale, Lori, Andrea, Herschel, and even dear sweet Beth, and we are supposed to keep going, right? The deaths are supposed to tell us anyone can bite the zombie dust (perhaps except Rick and Carl), and we are supposed to accept it. Up until last night I had hung in there, but now I’m on the fence and ready to jump off.

First of all it was bad enough to make us wait all summer to find out whom Negan (admittedly played amazingly by Jeffrey Dean Morgan) had dispatched, but then we had to suffer through two commercial breaks – two damn it – until we saw the action take place. This choice (whether made by director Greg Nicotero, Gimple, Kirkman or collectively by them all) shows complete and total disregard for the fans.

Instead of what we have been waiting all summer to see we get a tangent – an annoying an quite unnecessary one – with Negan dragging Rick (always excellent Andrew Lincoln) like a sack of bones into the RV and driving off and playing a game of “fetch the hatchet” with a hundred zombies running around. Now all of this seemed way off character for Rick who, despite having just witnessed the execution, would have – and I mean the real TV Rick and not the one they are trying to create now – would have grabbed that hatchet and thrown it into the back of Negan’s skull. That’s what the real Rick would have done, and then he would have driven the RV back, burst out with the machine gun, and cut down many of Negan’s men and send the rest of them running.

Alas, Kirkman and company are trying to shove this hybrid Rick down our throats now – and tossing the characters we love and the story we have followed to the zombies like entrails. We get scenes of Rick cowering, Rick subdued, Rick begging on his knees and raising that hatchet to cut off Carl’s arm. I am wondering if Gimple and Kirkman considered what a one-eyed and one-handed Carl might look like and decided against it, or if they just figured that the fans would start throwing their remotes at their TV sets at that point.

Getting back to Negan’s pummeling of the character (who turns out to be Michael Cudlitz’s Abraham) – brutal, bloody, and gruesome comes to mind – it is only after those before mentioned two commercial breaks and then we have nothing left to the imagination. I know Nicotero loves to use those make-up artists to create gore, but seeing it is less shocking than thinking about what it must have looked like.

Then, to rub salt in open and festering emotional wounds, Daryl (Norman Reedus) throws a punch at Negan and we all fear the fan favorite is doomed, but inexplicably Negan leaves him be (Gimple knows the death of Daryl would cause a fan revolt) and turns around and kills Glenn (Steven Yeun). Sure, we know it happened in the comics, but this is not the comics.

This is a TV show that has veered away from the comics more often than not, and it has made much narrative sense because you cannot get away with the crap from the comics on TV. For all those diehard readers who wanted the show to follow the comics word for way – it wouldn’t have worked for seven seasons, and after last night I am not certain if anything is going to work anymore.

So Negan kills Abraham and Glenn (Check). He roughs up Rick in a stupid game that proves the series is losing its soul (Check). He acts like God ordering Abraham to kill Issac when he asks Rick to cut off Carl’s arm (Check). He leaves our group broken and two bodies with heads like bloody pulps (Check). And now we are supposed to come back next week, right? We are supposed to swallow this crap and then ask for another helping?

Okay, I admit, I will be back next week, but the ice is getting thin for me, and I’m not sure how long I’ll keep skating on this pond. Yes, I want to see Negan drawn and quartered, but if you read the comics you know that won’t happen anytime soon. That is what I am worried about – the Kirkman goal to have TWD go on forever. Hey, Kirkman, this isn’t Gunsmoke. Get with it that the TV series is not the comic book series, and this Rick has to get back in the saddle and kick Negan’s ass and then kill him.

I have stayed with TWD all this time – even through two episodes of the Governor back story that no one wanted or needed. Please do not give us Negan’s back story. We don’t want to sympathize with him or understand how he came to be this messed up – we want him dead.

Yeah, I am very ticked off and remain so. I don’t like the direction Kirkman and company is taking, but I am remaining hopeful that better awaits, yet not much in the recent seasons gives me much hope of that. They played chicken with Glenn dying last year, and when that blew up in their faces they decided that this time he really would die, but it would be an even more horrible and infinitely more senseless death.

I am hanging on for Maggie (Lauren Cohan), Carol (Melissa McBride), and Morgan (Lennie James) and hoping that they can snap Rick out of it, but I am skeptical. The TV TWD has to respect its viewership as much as Kirkman respects his comic readership, but right now it seems the TV fans are being treated with disdain. That has to change soon – very soon – or many fans are going to find something different to do on Sunday nights.

An Open Letter to the Swedish Academy Regarding The Nobel Prize in Literature

Dear Members of the Swedish Academy:

First of all, I am writing a letter of apology on behalf of my fellow American, Mr. Bob Dylan, upon whom you graciously bestowed the 2016 Nobel Prize in Literature. I know that he has not been in touch with you regarding this magnificent honor, and some members of your esteemed organization are understandably irritated with his lack of, shall we say, enthusiasm at being held in such high esteem by your members.

Since I realize that November 10 is coming quickly, Mr. Dylan seems uninterested, and I am almost certain that you hope to bestow the award on someone who will willingly accept this most prestigious honor, I wish to nominate myself to be the recipient of the 2016 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Some if not all of your membership may think this is unprecedented and perhaps arrogant, but I can assure you that I am in all humility a writer who is deserving of this accolade, and I have received awards before if that figures into your process of consideration. Honestly, if the teachers of the City of New York could bestow a creative writing award upon me in high school, and the National Arts Club saw fit to award me with top prize for poetry when I was attending CUNY, I believe that my inherent worthiness of further consideration for higher honors should be apparent.

People who have read my novel Like a Passing Shadow, which are at least six and counting (and that does not include any immediate family members), have told me that reading that book changed their lives forever. Since I have never seen or heard from any of these people again, I am assuming that they have gone about life altering journeys which they would have not undertaken without my book’s motivating message.

My offer to you is totally sincere and in earnest, and if you would just Google my name you will discover a wealth of published material for your perusal. More importantly, I will swiftly accept the award, make considerable fuss about receiving it, and comply with all your necessary and compelling rules and regulations regarding it. Honestly, I will even do the dishes after the ceremony if that counts for anything.

Hopefully you will take this under advisement and get back to me with a positive response shortly. In the meantime I will prepare my acceptance address which will be shorter than Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s but much longer than Mr. Dylan’s, since obviously he has not written even a sentence at this juncture.

Again, I do apologize for Mr. Dylan, and I am sending this off to you rather hastily because I fear your academy will believe that all Americans are a bunch of ignorant louts who think nothing of the true nobility of the Nobel Prize.

I am going to end this letter by thanking the members of the committee for their consideration of my candidacy, and now you must excuse me while I put the bubbly on ice, continue writing my acceptance speech, and await your phone call.

Sincerely yours in literary appreciation,

Victor Lana

American Bard – Bob Dylan Wins the Nobel Prize for Literature

When I heard that singer-songwriter Bob Dylan had won the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature, I could not help but smile. How many times I had listened to his songs seemed inconsequential; rather, it felt like an affirmation not only for Dylan’s way with words but how they affected generations of not just fans but other artists like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones as well.

Anyone who has listened to Dylan’s songs has known that they are pure poetry – the liquid rush of carefully chosen words exploding through the speakers of a sound system along a sweet stream of music. There are the memorable lyrics to be sure that keep the tunes buzzing in one’s brain, but there is also the unique vocal delivery, a slightly nasal twinge and the distinctly country inflection. Add some harmonica and a liberal amount of guitar, and you have the recipe for what made Dylan a legend in his own time.

I could cite favorite songs here – and no doubt each of us has so many of them – but there is more the collective impact of his work and its effect on people especially during the 1960s. It almost seems a given to call his songs anthems of peace as some will do, and a song like “Blowin’ in the Wind” will be forever seen as such. His songs were that but much more as well – they were a soundtrack for our lives.

There is such universality to his lyrics and the music that goes with them, similar to Shakespeare’s sonnets or Frost’s poems. They can be read in any setting or century and strike a chord – cutting a deep emotional chasm into the listener that reverberates and is unforgettable.

Sara Danius of the Nobel Committee said, “Bob Dylan writes poetry for the ear, but it is perfectly fine to read his works as poetry.” She also noted his “new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” Of course, Danius is correct; if there were a Mount Rushmore of American musical artists, Dylan would be right up there with Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and Michael Jackson.

We fans have always known that Dylan’s words were poetry and didn’t need the music, but having the luscious sound entwined with those unforgettable words made us all like Odysseus, wanting to be tied to a mast and absorbing the magnificence that might drive us to insanity or delight.

Dylan has won numerous awards including an Oscar and a dozen Grammys, but the Nobel Prize elevates him into a pantheon of American writers so honored. Now his name will be said in the same breath as Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and Toni Morrison, and yes, he rightfully takes his place as the American Bard most of his fans always knew him to be.

It is not that Dylan has not received recognition before, but this award solidifies his place in the American cultural landscape. Dylan has always been a precious resource, a font of words and music that keeps on giving and will continue to do so for generations to come.

For those who have not had the pleasure of knowing about him or hearing his songs, I am sure that Dylan would say, “Don’t think twice; it’s all right.” And it is indeed!

Sinister Clown Sightings Prove the Joke Is On Us

Although I laugh and I act like a clown;

Beneath this mask I am wearing a frown.

-The Beatles “I’m a Loser”

It has been a bad time for clowns – you know the kind with the floppy big shoes, the colorful baggy clothing, the makeup on the face, and the requisite bubble nose? With apologies to the great Cole Porter, all the world does not love a clown; in fact, it would seem clowns are on the most wanted list now thanks to what has been dubbed as “sinister clown sightings” all over the country.

My own history with clowns is that I have never liked them; the real truth is that I have been scared silly of the pernicious pranksters most of my life. When I was a little kid (not sure if I was four or five but not much more than that), my parents brought me to the circus. I remember being in the Big Top and watching the elephants march, and there were these annoying clowns running around with big horns making noise, and I wanted to see the elephants – magnificent beasts that were simply ignoring those dastardly jokers.

Later on my father took me to get a hotdog, and as we were standing on a long line I saw a clown in the corner sitting on an overturned crate. He was a rather ubiquitous looking clown at first, but then he took off his big hat, and I saw streaks of sweat running through his makeup. He stared at me with an expression that still chills me, took a big candy bar from his pocket, curled his white gloved index finger, and motioned for me to come over to him.

I shook my head negatively and he kept nodding his head insidiously and moving that finger, and I looked up at my Dad and grabbed his hand. When I glanced back in the direction of the clown, he was gone, but he had left the candy bar on top of the crate where he had been sitting.

Now perhaps my youthful imagination got the best of me – no way; that clown had the most evil expression I have ever seen. Since then all clowns have given me the creeps. Other kids watched Bozo the Clown on TV, but he scared the crap out of me. The legendary Emmett Kelly, the Joker in the Batman TV series, and just about any other garden variety clown made me want to jump out of my skin.

I am certain that there are good clowns out there somewhere; you know, the ones that dress up and go to birthday parties – I just do not want to have anything to do with them. When my kids were little, the last thing I wanted to do was have a clown come to our house for their parties. Now, I don’t want to put my (irrational?) fears into the kids, but truthfully without me even saying anything they haven’t liked clowns either.

My son when glimpsing a supposedly benevolent female clown in an episode of the Disney TV animated series Jo-Jo’s Circus said, “This show is weird,” and (sigh of relief) I never had to sit through that uncomfortable experience again; however, when the kids are hungry and I am occasionally forced into an obligatory trip to McDonald’s, I have to turn away from any images of that smiling rogue Ronald McDonald like a vampire from a cross, or I’m unable to eat even a single French fry.

Because of people like me – and now I am convinced there are more of us than ever – there is even an advocacy movement starting now. Clown Lives Matter is this group of clowns that is out to prove to the general public that clowns are basically good people dressed up in costume and wanting to bring joy to children and adults. While I understand there are good clowns out there in theory, I just can’t embrace it completely enough to put myself into situations where clowns could be present.

All of the reports from across the country about menacing clowns have not helped matters. We have heard from police departments warning citizens “Do not shoot the clowns.” Of course, when you get a story like the one in the NYC subway station where a clown chased someone with a knife, you can imagine a menacing clown like that eventually becoming a target.

My kids have asked if they should be worried or on the lookout for clowns. Trying to calm their fears (while I scan the vicinity for those costumed clods) I said that the police are taking care of it, but I wonder how many rogue clowns are out there waiting in the wings – and the woods, alleyways, and streets to scare the bejeezus out of people.

With Halloween quickly approaching, it should be no surprise that some police departments are warning citizens not to buy clown costumes, which is like telling a kid not to touch the cookie jar. I have no doubt that many people are going to go out to buy all the necessary items in order to make themselves into the ugliest, scariest incarnations of clowns imaginable. To say I am dreading Halloween this year is most definitely an understatement.

In the end you have to wonder about these people who have been dressing up like clowns and lurking in the shadows. Is it to get a vicarious thrill in scaring people? Or maybe they are not playing with a full deck, but it really doesn’t matter. Either way the joke is on us all for giving them so much publicity.

Now excuse me, but I have decided to face my fears and force myself to watch the movie Killer Klowns From Outer Space. Since no one else in the family wants to watch this film with me (they are all pretty much clown phobic now), I am going into the basement alone for my viewing. I am leaving the lights on and may not last ten minutes, but at least I am trying to face my fears, but I’m keeping my Louisville Slugger next to the chair just in case.

Alicia Machado's Story Proves That Beauty Pageants Should Be Gone With the Wind

Alicia Machado, annoyingly referred to as “former beauty queen” by the media, has come into the news again because of the presidential campaign. Her story involves becoming Miss Universe in 1996, unfortunately the same year that one Donald Trump bought the pageant. During her reign Machado gained some weight (according to Trump she went from 116 to 160 pounds), and Trump learned of her appeal to the pageant organization to help her lose the excess pounds. He got involved to the point of attracting publicity about her attempted weight loss, much to Ms. Machado’s embarrassment. His treatment of her during that time created buzz in the media, and now 20 years later it has all come back to the surface.

My purpose has nothing to do with Trump – he is just a blip on the periphery here. I am moved by Machado’s story to shine a light on the cause of women of all sizes and shapes who are no doubt as mad as hell and don’t want to take it anymore. A woman’s appearance should have nothing to do with becoming Miss Universe or getting any other job for that matter.

Imagine a young woman aspiring to be the one of the most famous women in the world, and then go one step further – she is bestowed with the title Miss Universe. The contest centers not on the woman’s intelligence, personality, or skills, though there is an obligatory nod to those things throughout the proceedings. The element that matters most is how the woman looks and, more importantly, the contours of her body. As I heard someone once say over objections about the bathing suit competition, “Well, it’s a beauty contest after all.”

There lies the rub – what is beauty? For most people it is a subjective thing, and sometimes love has everything to do with it. When a friend of mine brought an overweight girl home from college and introduced her to his family and friends as his girlfriend, on the side people were ribbing him and making fun of the girl. One obnoxious guy asked, “How can you go out with a girl who looks like that?”

My friend responded, “You don’t see her with my eyes.” Beauty is indeed in the eyes of the beholder; in fact, it always has been. Unfortunately, society has interfered with nature and has corrupted the concept of beauty. The great poet John Keats once wrote, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” (he was referring to beauty as an enduring spiritual matter) but all these years later the truth about what is truly beautiful seems more and more impossible to discern.

While this beauty contest thing has been going on for a long time, it is something I must admit I used to think was okay – at least until I had a daughter. Before she was born, I would watch Miss America and Miss Universe broadcasts. Not tuning in to see the talent portion of the show or to hear how these women felt about current events, I was pretty much there to enjoy the scenery.

After my daughter was born I started to think differently. One time she was sitting in her highchair playing with toys, and as I went through my mail I realized that I had just received the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated. I looked at the picture of Czech model Petra Nemcova on the cover and then glanced at my little girl and felt something like a knife piercing my heart. What kind of world did I want her to grow up in; certainly not one where she would be judged by her appearance and expected to conform to such an unrealistic ideal of womanhood.

I threw that magazine into the recycling bin that day, and I recognized just how demeaning these contests and magazines can be. Of course, it is not only the men who are pressuring women to be sexy and skinny; women are just as guilty, especially those who are the models on magazines covers, ones who star in movies and television shows, and even those everyday females who walk around competing with one another in glamour games that are like an almost more ruthless version of The Hunger Games. It seems everyone is in part responsible for such irresponsibility.

There are just too many culprits in this nefarious – and it is indeed sinister – plot to construct an ideal to which women must aspire. I recall the British model Twiggy who was famous when I was a kid, and I remember my mother saying, “No real woman looks that way.” Of course, Twiggy was a real young woman but with an almost skeletal figure; she became an iconic fashion symbol and no doubt caused many girls to try to starve themselves in order to look impossibly thin like her.

We can definitely point fingers at the fashion industry, the media, the movies, and TV; we can blame mostly male directors and studio heads who for decades ran Hollywood and the media, promoting the glamour queens that became the ideal for both men and women; however, the beauty pageant organizations are even bigger antagonists in the narrative of young girls and women searching for self-esteem. The situation with Alicia Machado only highlights the disregard pageants have for women as individuals – they are a product and have no choice but to conform.

Do we really need beauty pageants in 2016? They serve as salient reminders that society seems to value women more for their appearance than anything else. It would seem that it is time to dispense with these annual charades that advertise themselves as contests that supposedly empower women but do nothing more than qualify and objectify them.

Why not create a whole different kind of contest where the winner is not crowned with a tiara and asked to prance around wearing a bathing suit and high heels? These contests could be something like Jeopardy! where they could showcase their intellect. They could compete in athletic tournaments and displays of talent including dance, art, or music. All of this could result in a top prize but based solely on accomplishments and skills, having nothing to do with the way the person looks or dresses.

It is time to get rid of the beauty pageant as we know it. The term alone is insulting. I have seen great beauty in the women in my life, and I’ve come to appreciate that it had nothing to do with the way they looked. That beauty emanated from within, manifested by love and compassion, and the happiness and fulfillment I experienced conjured a desire to return those feelings.

Many of us have known what society calls beautiful people who turn out to be quite ugly inside. They succeed in life getting by on looks, but there is a seething monster beneath surface that, when provoked, suddenly bears its fangs and claws, exposing the real person to the world. Turns out that the cliché "Don't judge a book by its cover" is pretty much accurate here.

For the sake of all our daughters (and maybe even more importantly our sons), we should promote a movement that supports and encourages people to be seen for what truly matters – who we are, what we do, and how we treat  others. We should all aspire to make that a reality in this world, and that would be truly beautiful!