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It's good to be the queen | page 1, 2
The show, like most pageants, is bittersweet. You can't help reflecting on the absurd amount of preparation involved in winning a prize that unfortunately doesn't exist in the real world: "Best Overall Girl." Chaplets firmly stapled to their skulls, the girls perform tap routines to Cher's "Believe" and interpretive sassy-jazz ballets to "Phantom of the Opera" medleys while throwing worried glances through clenched grins at the flimsy stage structure that is ever threatening to crumple beneath the gusting winds. They play to an appreciative audience of other pageant winners and their mothers and exit the stage to canned applause. While most Azalea Queens are soap opera starlets flown in from New York or Hollywood, Queen No. 53, Nina Repeta, is a hometown girl -- and a costar on the locally shot teen drama "Dawson's Creek." Repeta has an affable tomboy charm, and she seems enjoyably out of place here, both flattered and amused by her sudden regal omnipotence. Personable or not, getting an interview with Repeta during the festival is really, really difficult. Repeta and her court are shuttled between the circus, concerts, sporting events and parades, where they share the spotlight with the Hellmann's mayonnaise jar, dung-scooping knaves from Medieval Times restaurant and exactly 1,752 local high school marching bands. Repeta and her court take in a show at the local senior center. The Golden Pom-pom Cheerleading Team rushes the stage to belt out their names and ages: "Irma! 72! I-R-M-A!" "Martina! 67! M-A-R-T-I-N-A!" They proceed to execute Azalea Festival cheers, along with somersaults, splits and an actual pyramid. Strangely, the threat of cracked skulls and snapping limbs actually increases the audience's enjoyment. Although the seniors' program is a sly parody of representations of beauty, it is also humorous and affectionate. Afterward, the nubile, young princesses willingly disperse into the sea of blue hair, gnarled fingers and wheelchairs, while the seniors squeeze arms and hug shoulders, as if contact with newer flesh might make them young again. The queens, sensing this almost carnal need, give generously. Finally, I am inked in for an interview with Queen Nina between 8:15 and 8:30 in the morning, directly after she appears on a local morning television show. When I show up, I am told I have two minutes. Repeta is led over to me. The following is a partial transcript of that encounter: I've got something like 75 seconds ... OK, go for it, go for it. How early did you have to get up today? Today I had to get up at a quarter to six, and it was very painful, but I made it. Man: [butting in] We just really want a picture; could you be in it, too? [Generously] You can go ahead and take pictures, we're just ... [Very generously] Oh, yes, yes! [Pretty much to myself at this point] I'm just gonna keep talkin'. [Posing for the photo, smiling] You just keep talkin'. Forty-five seconds later, she is whisked away, and I am left with post-royalty depression. Repeta has worked hard to get where she is and has, in my estimation, earned a celebration. And there's nothing wrong with beauty being a part of that celebration -- beauty is why people get up at 6 a.m. to see the Azalea Queen's coronation, and beauty is why 6-year-old girls put on purple and gold lamé and dance to Britney Spears songs. But what happens when you're forced to choose among beauties? What happens when you have to pick one beauty over another? Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, you can hardly stand it.
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