Weirdness and Clarity At The Capitol

Scene from the backbench at the rain dance

Bowed heads during the many prayer breaks easily denoted the heathens (and most of the media) from the true believers at Governor Perdue's pray for rain "hoot n holler" down at the Capitol today.

It was a diverse crowd of around 200 who came to hear the praying of preachers and the pontificating of politicians. Many beseechers raised their hands throughout the service towards a mockingly cloudless sky.

Like the proverbial moths, the media warrior camera jockeys working the edges of the crowd were invariably drawn to the weird. For those without a front row seat, this meant either the two pretty girls with a pink umbrella or one particular Frankenfreak-tall fanatic.

Practically bubbling, the umbrella girls would only confirm they were both state workers who brought the useless parasol to show their faith. However, most of their time was spent with their backs to the prayers, yearningly looking towards the row of local camera trucks - faith in brief fame being a surer bet than Jesus loving pink.

Down the way, possibly to the chagrin of the pretties in pink, cameras flocked to the broad back of one true-believer. He towered over the crowd, holding his hands towards his eternal home. Anyone who growed up in a small southern church would instantly recognize the creature - corrective shoes, short-sleeved dress shirt, a whiff of stale sweat and a look of vague zombie-like fanaticism which would scare all but the most degenerate gutter-drunk straight into the detox.

Most photogs quietly snuck up behind their prey, snapped away and quickly vamoosed fearing the giant might suddenly turn to lay the heat of holy rapture on their forehead. But one brave photojournalist insistently tapped him on the shoulder and eventually breaking the reverie received a whispered exchange from the devotee. The incessant whir of the news choppers and the verse spewing of the amplified preachers masked their conversation, burying it in the endless annals of mystical mutterings. Or a soon-to-be-seen AP caption in your nearest dead tree media.

Governor Perdue concluded the service with a brief prayer directed towards the heavens. Slowly, overhead a peregrine falcon circled, a church bell rang in the distance and probably somewhere a dog howled.

But sadly for all the fanatics, thumpers and quiet zombies shivering in ecstasy below, only the clear blue eye of the great Sky Daddy stared back. Not even a mist of weepiness in sight.