Melvin's blog

Nshima & Curry

Melvin's  Blog

Nshima & Curry

IT'S SO EASY TO BE A CRITIC

I've read only one of his books, but John
Grisham is among my favorite authors.
That's because my 67-year-old mom, who
hardly reads anything but religious books,
recently discovered Grisham and
absolutely loves his novels. Next to Billy
Graham, he is THE MAN.

She appreciates Grisham's simple
language and riveting plot. She has so
much trouble putting his books down, I
worry that she'll forget to take her
medication. If she collapses, the
ambulance staff would have to wrestle
Grisham's book out of her hands. "The
Firm" would have to be extricated from
"The Infirm."

I tried to get my mom to read a critically
acclaimed book by an East Indian author,
but she refused. "Indian writers use too
many big words," she said. She wanted to
keep her nose in a novel, not the dictionary.

Though Grisham's books have entertained
millions, the critics sometimes rip them for
lacking literary quality. Grisham may never
go down as one of the great authors of our
time, but after seeing how much pleasure
he has brought my mom, all I can say to the
critics is this: You try to do better.

And if you can't, stop bashing Grisham.
Because if you don't, you may get a visit
from my angry mom. She'll set you straight.
After she's through with you, the only thing
you'll be criticizing is the size of your
hospital bill.

It's so easy to be a critic. It's much harder
to actually do something, especially since
you have to put up with some annoying
people: critics.

I was reminded of this recently when I
visited a county agricultural fair and
watched the Fair Queen contest. One of the
contestants had a learning disability and
wasn't as graceful or articulate as some of
the others. But her courage was touching
and inspiring. I was disappointed to see a
group of girls snickering every time she
walked on stage. Perhaps they could have
done better, but they apparently didn't have
the guts to try. They were as close to being
Fair Queens as some other contestants at
the fair -- the ones in the goat show. The
goats weren't too articulate, but they were
definitely more graceful.

The next evening, I watched my friend Ami
compete in the karaoke contest. "Karaoke"
is a Japanese word meaning "I'm going to
try to sing, so please stuff a rice cake in
your ears!"

About 30 singers competed in the karaoke
contest. All were amateurs, which means
they don't get paid to sing, though I would
have gladly paid a few of them NOT to sing.

Some seemed really professional as they
belted out their songs, while others should
have just been belted.

One man sounded like a young John
Denver, while another sounded like an old
John Deere tractor.

One woman tried to imitate the Backstreet
Boys, but sounded more like Backstreet
Noise.

But it's so easy to be a critic.

That's why I didn't laugh, I didn't snicker. I
just listened and applauded. I knew that I
couldn't have done better. I wouldn't be
Master P -- I'd be Disaster D.

If I had started singing, the entire audience
would have run away. Even my mother, if
she were there, would have dashed off.

She'd be racing home to begin the next
John Grisham novel.

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