I’m starting to panic because it’s almost time for the Orange County Fair (official slogan: Let out the waistband on your pants before you eat the fried Twinkies).
The reason I’m freaking out is that I once again signed up to enter the table-setting competition, and I haven’t done a single thing to get it together.
Some of you may remember that I’ve entered the contest the past two years with settings devoted to (a) hillbillies and (b) zombies, and I’m delighted to announce that I’ve had a spectacular lack of success in winning either time.
For those of you who are scratching your heads and wondering what I’m talking about, here’s a primer:
Each year, the fair runs a contest in which ladies vie with each other to create the best, most beautiful and clever table set for two according to a theme that’s been designated by the fair officials. This competition is so popular that there are two sets of entries.
Some contestants spend months training, preparing their entries, hitting thrift shops, looking for appropriately themed items.
Let me just tell you this: If you’re looking for a miniature Eiffel tower in a thrift shop in Orange County between January and July, you’re not going to find one. Paris is by far the most popular motif, and it will have been snatched up already.
I think they should actually give you extra points for creativity if you don’t use Paris. But, then, I never much liked the French.
You don’t have to be female to enter, but I’ve never seen a guy do it, which is a shame.
I dared my friend Frank Mickadeit – our former Register columnist turned lawyer – to compete against me head-to-head this year in a manly fashion, but he blew me off, claiming he was too busy with a trial or something trivial like that.
I don’t know what possessed me to sign up again this spring after two summers of cut-throat competition among women who clearly will do anything to win.
Just contemplate the fact that they don’t allow any sharp knives on the tables. Let that one sink in for a minute. Like a maximum security prison. Like Alcatraz. No sharp knives.
And then there are the irate letters that the judges get after the fact. Now, I can relate to the irate letters, because I got my judging card after last year’s contest and it was kind of snotty.
I mean, I would think you could look at a table decorated as a “Zombie Feast” and figure out that it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, right? Wrong.
I’m even proud to say I won an unofficial ribbon as the fair employees’ choice.
I made fun of this contest for years until I decided to enter myself and discovered that it’s harder than it looks. First of all, you have to adhere to a theme. My theme this year is “Beach Party.”
Then, there are all these rules, like how many inches the table settings have to be from the edge of the table. Seriously. You’d be amazed. An engineering degree would be a big plus, methinks. There are pages and pages of rules and even a diagram to follow.
I always get dinged for being bad at this part of the competition, but then I’m not so good at following rules in the rest of my life, either.
I need to get a copy of “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy,” which, if you recall, has “DON’T PANIC” on the cover.
Because I need to be ready to move in my display July 14, and I haven’t done a single thing about it.
In my defense, I’ve been very busy haranguing my son to get his English grade up so he could graduate from high school, and watching summer shows on TV.
But now I have to hurry up and think of a “beach party” table setting.
My first thought was that it would be funny to do something about the attempts by Newport Beach and the AQMD to remove the beach fire rings all up and down the coast.
But that might be a tiny bit hard to explain on a tabletop.
So my current thinking involves great white sharks and their own version of a weenie roast.
I probably won’t use real sharks, so if you know where I can get some plastic ones, let me know.
And then come on down to the fair and tell me what you think.
I’m pretty sure you can find something deep fried to eat while you’re there.
Contact the writer: 714-796-7994 or mfisher@ocregister.com
