Diva Civil War Reenactors

Well. It appears there's a new threat to our country, our way of life, and the basic tenet of democracy upon which our country was built. What? No, I'm not talking about the gung-ho craziness and racism of the far, far out there MAGA extremists (although, hmm, it certainly does pertain to them as well). Nope, the new threat is...diva Civil War reenactors.

Let me explain. Then YOU make up your mind about the immediate danger of these "deep state" bad actors.

My daughter lives in a small town in Kansas, known for being John Brown's stomping grounds. (Now if you don't know who John Brown was, look him up. I'm not your Mr. Google. But I will say although the results he sought in ending slavery were admirable, he chose a bloody path getting there!) Every year the town throws a Pride festival honoring their history. It's a big to-do, complete with civil war reenactments, and the whole nine yards. This year my daughter volunteered. Not to get shot by a grey coat, mind you, but to push kettle corn or something or whatever.

The guy who puts the festival on had a hush-hush chat with his volunteers. "And whatever you do," he said, "don't insult the reenactors. Try and make them happy. Don't cross them. They're a bunch of divas."

Whaaaaaaat?

First of all, how can anyone whose claim to fame as being a civil war reenactor have earned the right to be a diva? You, sir, are not Cher. You're an adult man who plays dress-up and bang-bang with toy guns and I imagine you speak in a fake Southern dialect that comes across more like Foghorn Leghorn chewing out his nephew chicken. ("I say, I say, son, you bother me.")

The festival manager elaborated further. "These guys do this all over the country. And they always stay in character."

Pretty much what I expected. But I still don't get their snooty, diva-like entitlement. I mean, are they gonna blast a poor festival worker full of buckshot for offering them a modern amenity such as a diet soda? And from what this festival guy said, it seems like they feel like they're stars. At least in their own eyes. And maybe their mothers'. I imagine they practice quite a bit in their mothers' basements.

So the first day of the festival goes off without a hitch. When it ended for the day, the reenactors pooh-poohed hotel accommodations. "No suh! How dare you, suh? Our founding forefathahs never indulged in the luxuries of modern hotels! What's good enough for them is good enough for us, by Ulysses S. Grant's beard!"

So that night they bunked down in John Brown Park. Then a Midwest wind storm whipped across the grounds taking many of their tents with it.  (I kinda think it was the civil war ghosts telling them what they thought of their little play-acting, but I'm gettin' kinda digressy.)

What did the Civil War reenactors do? They hissed, spat, threw a hissy fit and a half. Then they packed up their toys and went home, leaving the festival manager and workers at a loss. Everyone was coming to see the reenactors, then left disappointed when told at the gate there were none. A total bust.

Wow. Even Cher would carry on a show if her tour bus were whipped off by a tornado. "Diva" doesn't even begin to describe their poor behavior. These clowns didn't uphold their end of the bargain. I'm not sure how litigious people were during the Civil War, but I doubt a defense of "Suh, you offend me! Back in the day, people didn't sue one anothah! I do declare!" would hold up in today's courts.

Oh, well. Back to their mothers' basements they go, where they'll be safe from such awful elements as the wind (which I'm pretty sure their founding forefathers dealt with on a daily basis.).

Speaking of delusional adults, Zach isn't a Civil War reenactor, but that might be a step up from what he does for a living. You see, he's a "male entertainment dancer (NEVER a stripper)," in his own mind the world's best gift to the stage. Except for his uncanny knack for constantly falling over dead bodies, always in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it's always up to his long-suffering, usually pregnant detective sister, Zora, to bail him out of trouble. There are three books in the Zach and Zora comical mystery series (so far?), so you may as well start with the first, Bad Day in a Banana Hammock. Get to reading, suh!