Talent

Are you a cute young thing who's been easily winning ribbons in county beauty pageants, but just can't take your game to the next level? Always getting beaten, at the very end of a grueling day, by some natural blonde who began harp lessons at the age of 2? An ability to hold that high tremolo all that's keeping you from really big things?

If so, Bill Wolfe wants to help. Specializing in custom arrangements and voice training for serious beauty pageant contestants, Wolfe's worked with eight - count 'em, eight - Miss Americas. He's got a website that's both elegant and hard-hitting, and he's ready to help you with the difficult process of choosing your song.

Now, I've never done too well in such competitions, for a variety of reasons (for one thing, the bikini top just never sits right; for another, the interview questions don't ever seem to focus on the 1987-8 NHL campaign). And, even if I was a competitor with a chance, I'm not sure I'd need Wolfe's assistance: without a moment's hesitation, I'd go with a certain big-haired ballad (indeed, I already have, at bars in Alexandria and New Haven).

Still, I'm intrigued by the fifth paragraph, on his website, of the section entitled "If you are a vocalist looking for the right song." Wolfe acknowledges that the process of choosing a song is sometimes easy, and sometimes hard - but is always followed by real work. And he gives us a sense of what that work involves: "We will take the song apart vocally, working every aspect of pitch, phrasing, style, musicality, and any re-writes that would enhance the presentation."

What's the appeal of that sentence? It's partly, from my perspective, the promise of doing hard work together. He's like a sensitive, artsy Vince Lombardi; I'd follow him, just like the gals from Oklahoma, anywhere. It's also the idea, I suppose, of enhancing my presentation. On any given day, as I wander into the classroom, I've got a few orange Rice Beef Pilaf stains on my pants, and a web of cat hairs on my jacket. I could use a re-write.

But most of all, it's the idea of taking something apart, to make it better. We do this all the time, without thinking; we open our cell phone's face, and blow out the dust, or we - of late, at least - deconstruct a valved milk bottle, in order to wash the parts separately, before reassembling. The process has been on my mind, though, because it's one of Cleo's current hobbies. If there's a purse nearby, or a kitchen cabinet, you can more or less rest assured that it'll be emptied in a matter of minutes, its contents scattered.

Does it make the kitchen neater? Not in the short term, as Cleo crawls off to undo some other neatly arranged item. Does it enhance our presentation? Not if you're one of the adults who's skidded, unawares, over one of the randomly distributed items. And it probably doesn't augment her chances at being Miss America, either.

And yet, as Bill Wolfe understands, it's real work. It's the work of learning; it's the work of living.