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45. Fishing, Worms and All

27 Jun

"Live Bait" by Pierce Place

Sure, you can buy fish in the South, but what’s the fun in that? Wouldn’t you rather sit in the heat (and humidity. Can’t forget the humidity.) skewering live worms and waiting for a nibble that might never come? Now before y’all go all PETA on me talking about the inhumanity of using worms, crickets, and minnows for bait…saying “if only you knew how it felt to be stabbed with a hook.” I will say this: “I DO know!” If anyone who’s ever fished has not been accidentally hooked by their companion’s (or worse: their OWN) fishing line at least once, I will eat a scummy, fresh-water catfish. As long as you serve it with hushpuppies.

I should add that lots of folks fish with tackle these days, though I don’t suppose that placates PETA seeing as the goal is still to kill and eat fish (or sometimes merely to wound them and toss them back).

"Eric's Tackle Box" by jordansmall

Y’all might be surprised to know that I did a fair amount of fishing as a child. I even won a prize at a local “Fish Rodeo” once. No, this did not involve roping or riding fish. Don’t ask me why they called it that or what I won the prize for. A. I don’t know and B. I don’t remember. I do, however, remember the prize. It was a plate of gummy worm lures, alas, not the edible kind. Now that I think of it, this is the only competition in which I have won a prize. Perhaps I missed my calling. Wait, on second thought, I’ve won a bunch of awards for advertising. Which is almost as impressive as winning a prize for fishing. Almost.

I might get retroactively disqualified for admitting this, but I never baited my own hook. I can’t remember ever actually touching a fish. Where I excelled was sitting patiently and reeling them in. I am a champion delegator.

What I liked best about fishing was that first moment seeing the buoy sink. The excitement! The elation! The hope! I must say, I was always a bit disappointed upon reeling it in to discover I’d caught…a fish. I think after years of watching cartoons, I was hoping to snag a tire or old shoe. Some kind of sunken treasure like that.

My most unsuccessful fishing trip was the time some friends and I crafted homemade poles and went fishing in the drainage ditch in their front yard. Would you believe I did not catch a thing?

What are your favorite fishing memories?

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40. Gossip–Whispering Dixie

18 Jun

"gossip cats!" by fofurasfelinas

Forget Entertainment Tonight or People magazine. Southerners only want to hear gossip about people they KNOW. Or in a pinch, about one of their friends’ relatives. You will not often hear Southern women speculating on how many more children Brangelina will collect. Not when the next-door neighbor is collecting a passel of her own…all by different daddies. But y’all didn’t hear that from me.

The best kind of gossip is of the ongoing saga variety. Preferably involving people who are bat-shit crazy. I mean, who cares about the new TV your uncle bought at Walmart? Unless you mention that your aunt poured a fifth of 151 over the old one and set it ablaze. Along with his power saw and his favorite rodeo belt buckle. Why? Was he cheating? Lying? Stealing? No, Springer was a rerun, and she didn’t have anything better to do.

While Southern folks love exchanging the latest juicier-than-watermelon tidbits, there’s only so much that can happen in a day. Which is why we’ve perfected the art of gossiping about what happened…10, 20, 30 years ago. Faulkner said it best: “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

Y’all might think I mean reminiscing. Nope, that’s just talking about what happened. We Southerners like to talk about what might have happened, what ought to have happened, or what might could happen now that what happened happened. If y’all understood that last sentence, you get an honorary degree in Southern Vernacular Sentence Structure.

The thing you have to keep in mind about Southerner’s gossip is: A. We tend to exaggerate. B. We often misremember. Not always on purpose. And C. If what you said ever gets back to us, we WILL hold a grudge. Oh, we may not let you know, but you will find out one day. Oh, yes, you will.

And, of course, there’s always that “telephone” game factor. The story doesn’t even have to go through four or five people before it gets permanently disfigured. After my last trip home, I’ve decided that any information I get from my dad henceforth will have to be corroborated.

Case in point:
Me: “I’ve started taking kick-boxing classes.”
My dad to my sister: “Kim’s toughening up. She’s doing kick-boxing competitions.”
My sister: “Um…I don’t think so…”

One last note: Do not miss a family gathering because what they say TO you is hardly ever as bad as what they say ABOUT you.

What’s the most popular topic of gossip in your particular circle?

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33. Sweet Potato Queens Rock the Tiara, Y’all

29 Mar

boss queen jill conner browne

Back in the day, little girls in the South grew up wearing too-short ruffly dresses, just itching to be named “Miss America.” But now that we’re older and ever-so-much wiser, our goals are loftier (and thankfully, our skirts cover our assets. Mostly). We aspire to be Sweet Potato Queens. In fact, so many of us Dixie chicks (and a fair share of Yankees besides) want to be Sweet Potato Queens, the SPQs have a name for us: wannabees. Although, I must admit to going through a wannabee stage earlier in life when I wore ribbons in my messy hair along with lace gloves and copious black jelly bracelets. I would have had a “Boy Toy” belt buckle could one have been located in the tri-state area. Alas. (Amazon now sells them for 15 bucks, in case any of y’all want to look like a tramp…er…virgin.)

Now in case y’all are wondering why so many womenfolks wannabee SPQs, one word: beCAUSE! Let’s start with the outfits, shall we? They are fanDAMNtabulous, from the tips of the tiaras atop curly red wigs to the tassels on their cute majorette boots. Oh, and did I mention the acres of green sequins in between? Also, the outfits are generously padded in the boob and butt areas to conveniently camouflage figure flaws, while appealing to men of every race, creed, and sexual orientation (hello? Sequins!).

I should backtrack to say that the SPQs sprang forth (not unlike Athena from Zeus’ head) from the inaugural run of the now-famous Mal’s St. Paddy’s Day Parade. And while they’ve been adored by natives of Jackson, MS (myself included) for, like, ever, Boss Queen Jill Conner Browne introduced the rest of the world to the majesty of the SPQs with her bestselling book “The Sweet Potato Queens’ Book of Love.” She’s published a whole heap more since and they’re funny as all get out (is that a Southern phrase?), but I recommend starting off with the first seeing as how they build on each other like Lincoln Logs. Sort of.

Anyhoo, I could rattle on for days about why I loves me some SPQs, but y’all ought to hear it from the Boss Queen herself. So get the book where you can learn about “The Promise” guaranteed to get menfolks to do your bidding, why nobody wears panties to a party, and what to eat when tragedy strikes (I HIGHly recommend pig candy and danger pudding). And while you’re at it, check out the SPQs store where you’ll find heaps of queenly stuff ( like your very own tiara, “be particular” t-shirt, and even “Fat Mama’s Knock You Naked Margarita Mix”).

Maybe the best thing about the SPQs (and it’s tough to choose, believe you me) is that they encourage and inspire EVERYbody to be a queen. No, not everybody can be a SPQ and wear the fabulous outfit, but you can be queen of whatever you like and not just for a day, neither.

Since I’m firmly ensconced in the Pacific Northwest, I think I’ll be the Lavender Queen. Or maybe the Tulip or Dahlia Queen. Or, hell, why not all three?

What would you like to be queen of?

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32. Walmart: Save Money. Live Better?

29 Mar

Photo by "el neato"
Flickr Creative Commons

You know you’re Southern if the directions to two or more of your kinfolks’ houses include the phrase “turn right at the Walmart.” Extra points if you’ve ever used the word “kinfolks.”

For Southerners, Walmart (or “Wally World” as it’s known to fans of National Lampoon’s vacation) isn’t just a place to score “everyday low prices” on toilet paper, big screen tvs, or whatnot. Oh no. It’s where folks go to socialize. You never know who might turn up at the local Walmart on a Sunday evening. And if you’re not there to take part in the gossip, well, one guess who the gossiping’s going to be about.

The odd thing about the Walmart social scene (aside from the fact that it takes place in Walmart) is that even though folks know they will run into their friends/enemies/rivals/relations, there’s no pressure to dress up. At all. Curlers in hair? Why not? Mud-encrusted boots? Come on in! Pizza and beer-stained wife beater? Who cares? If you’ve ever been to Walmart, you know I speak the truth. And if you haven’t witnessed these crimes of fashion firsthand, consider this exhibit A through Z: People of Walmart.

Walmart has tried hard to cultivate this whole “Walmart Family” image, but, folks, the store is not actually your house. You might want to change out of your pajamas before running in to get the kids’ OJ and Jimmy Dean Pancakes and Sausage on a Stick.

Photo by Adam Kuban
Flickr Creative Commons

I think Walmart must pipe some kind of crack-like substance into their air filtration system and Southern folks simply cannot “Just Say No.” How else can you explain their need to visit Every Single Day? And not just once a day. I reckon twice a day is about average. Which I admit is pure speculation based on how frequently my dad goes. Hey, I never claimed to be scientific.

I imagine Walmart has become the hub of many a Southern town because…well, hell, because Walmart practically IS a Southern town. You’ve got your optician, your hardware store, your pharmacy, your photo center…groceries, clothes, furniture, housewares, firearms, fishing supplies…restaurants…video rentals…“jewelry.” If the Waltons could figure out how to incorporate a church into the mix, folks would NEVER have to leave. And as a bonus, customers might step it up in the wardrobe department. Nobody wears curlers in the house of the Lord.

How often do you frequent your local Walmart? What’s the most unusual thing you’ve ever encountered there?

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29. Vacation Bible School (Crafts and Cookies for Christ)

3 Mar

Yes, I realize this sounds like a doxymoron. And yes, I just made that word up. But really there ought to be a word for a double oxymoron, which Vacation Bible School most certainly is: vacation + school, vacation + bible.

Anyhoo, I don’t know if Vacation Bible School (VBS) is strictly a Southern thing, but since I’ve never heard any yankee types pledging allegiance to the Christian flag, I’ll proceed with my assumption.

If you like Kool-Aid, chances are you’ll like Vacation Bible School. And I don’t mean Jim Jones Kool-Aid, I mean “the guy in the giant pitcher costume crashes the party” Kool-Aid. The consumption of Kool-Aid is one of the more popular VBS activities. Right up there with making yarn and popsicle stick “God’s Eyes.” Or learning the hand motions to “Deep and Wide.” (Which, taken out of context, sounds more like adult entertainment.)

I’m pretty sure there was some sort of bible teaching going on, but if so I can’t recall. I will say that I know the names of Jesus’ disciples because I learned them in a song:

“There were twelve disciples
Jesus called to help him
Simon Peter, Andrew,
James, his brother, John,
Phillip, Thomas, Matthew
James the son of Alphaeus,
Somebody, Thaddeus, Judas…(hold the note)
And Bartholomew.”

Apart from the singing and crafting, the only thing I distinctly remember is eating a lot of those butter cookies with the holes in the middle. You may not be familiar with them, as I don’t believe I’ve encountered them outside VBS. The thing to do was poke your finger through the hole and eat around the edge of the cookie. Um, maybe you had to be there…

After a 25-year hiatus from VBS, my sister went back last year. This time as a teacher. MWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA! She called me up all bent out of shape because the class she was teaching turned chaotic right off the bat. Nobody was listening to her and they flat out refused to obey. Not the kids, mind you. The parents. No Kool-Aid and cookies for them.

Any fond (or not so fond) memories of VBS? Please share!

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26. Hee Haw (Hoots, Hollers & Hooters, Oh My!)

15 Feb

If you grew up in the South in the 70s, chances are you have fond memories of watching Hee Haw. Sure, it’s as corny as a can of Green Giant niblets but that’s part of its charm. Besides, where else are you going to see busty, scantily clad women touted as family entertainment? Certainly not Hooters.

Seeing as how Hee Haw debuted long before plastic surgery and Wonder bras, I’m still a little baffled as to how they managed to create such spectacular cleavage. I must admit that as a girl one of my goals (besides becoming a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader) was to grow myself some Hee Haw boobs. Fortunately, the Daisy Dukes and low-cut halter look was out of fashion before I reached adolescence.

If I were to watch Hee Haw today, I’d probably get all self righteous about how Southern people ought not be portrayed as simple-minded buffoons (or should i say donkeys?), but back in the day, I thought all those Dixiefied sketches were a hoot. Maybe even two hoots (i.e. slightly funnier than a hoot and a half).

While music lovers appreciated the “Pickin and Grinnin” combo of Buck Owens and Roy Clark, I was always partial to songs with meaningful lyrics. For example:

Where oh where are you tonight?
Why did you leave me here all alone?
I searched the world over and thought I found true love.
You met another and pfft you were gone.

Sorry, I can’t provide the tune, but just imagine this sung in the twangiest twang since Foghorn Leghorn.

Or how about:

Gloom, despair and agony on me.
Deep, dark depression. Excessive misery.
If it weren’t for bad luck. I’d have no luck at all.
Gloom, despair and agony on me.

Is it any wonder I became a fan of The Smiths?

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22. Family Reunions (Keeping Up with the Kinfolks)

29 Jan

Since I don’t have family on the West coast, I can’t really determine whether Southerners have more family reunions than other folks. But I’ve yet to see an official family reunion tee shirt in Seattle, so I’m going out on a limb here.

There are only two requirements for a Southern family reunion: 1. family and 2. food. Preferably less of the former and more of the latter. Some families also require alcohol, but you’ve got to be careful: Too little and folks may want to kill each other. Too much and people actually might. See shotguns.

For kids, family reunions can be a lot of fun once you get past all those old folks pinching your cheeks and telling you they haven’t seen you since you were “thiiiiis high.” You get to hang out with cousins who teach you new and better cuss words and adult supervision tends to be at an all-time low: “You kids still breathing? Carry on then…”

For adults, however, family reunions are often approached with a mix of anticipation and dread (the proportion of each often depends on how well one has stayed within her Weight Watchers points). And pity the poor soul who’s volunteered to host the reunion: the whole house has to be scoured/decluttered. Because your family doesn’t stop at peeking in your medicine cabinet; they snoop in closets and under the bed, as well. Note: hide the prescription meds and pricy jewelry.

If you make it through the day without name calling, hurt feelings, or fist fights…If no one storms off in the middle of festivities vowing to never come back… are you sure you’re family? No, seriously. Are you sure?

You may be asking yourself, “If family reunions are that bad, why do people go?” Simple: If you don’t go, they’ll talk about you. None too kindly either. And inevitably, some concerned family member will tell you what all was said. And then there will be hurt feelings/angry proclamations without the benefit of banana pudding and chicken casserole. And that’s just sad.

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9. Snuff–Dip, Spit, Repeat

7 Jan

No, not the films. I’m talking tobacco. Snuff (also known as dip or Skoal) is a smokeless tobacco that folks lodge between their lower lip and gums. Its only redeeming factor as far as I can tell is that you can’t die from second-hand snuff. Though you might want to when you see the inside of a guy’s spit cup. Oh yeah, did I mention that snuff causes one to build up excess saliva that has to be frequently expelled? Folks either spit on the ground (hopefully only when outdoors) or into some sort of receptacle. I’ve seen everything from beer cups to coffee cans used for this purpose. Sadly, I’ve never encountered an actual spittoon. I reckon those are for fancy people.

If you grow up in the South, you most likely will at some point date someone who dips. I am loathe to admit that I, myself, did. Though oddly enough, this was long after I’d left the South. In fact, I was in Seattle where I thought I was surely safe from snuff.

Turns out the guy I dated (who was not a smoker) bummed some nicotine gum off a friend one time. He greatly enjoyed the nicotine buzz but was dismayed to discover how pricey the gum was. So he started dipping instead. By the time I met him, he was a hardcore dipper who had built up such a tolerance he was able to swallow the tobacco spit, which is why I didn’t realize he dipped until our third date. Sadly, by that point I was hooked on him. The low point was when he asked me to carry his Skoal in my purse. I became an enabler.

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8. State Fairs–Carnies and All, Y’all!

7 Jan

At the first state fair I attended outside the South, imagine my distress upon ordering a corn dog and being served something that could have come from the grocery store. Listen up fair food vendors, when I order a corn dog, I want y’all to HAND DIP that weenie. And then brush on the mustard for me. Don’t provide a giant jar of off-brand French’s and expect me to coat the thing myself.

Um, where was I? Oh yes, state fairs.

When I was a kid, we could never enjoy the good fair stuff (rides, games, food) without first trekking through the livestock exhibit. Now maybe this would be exciting for a kid from Manhattan or Los Angeles, but by the tender age of five or six, I’d already seen my fair share of cow patties. Still, we had to tromp past all manner of familiar farm animals and their assorted aromas. Whee! I’m still not sure why this was a requirement, unless it was to teach me the lesson that is still ingrained 30 something years later: “You are responsible for where you put your feet.”

I’ve been to all kinds of fairs and festivals in California and Seattle, but I am still partial to the Mississippi State Fair. Perhaps I’m peering through the rosy-hued lenses of nostalgia, but I really do think Southern state fairs are better. Why? In a word: food.

At any fair, you’ll find the same rickety rides operated by dentally challenged carnies. You’ll find the same rip-off games where you’re lucky to win a goldfish that won’t live to see next Tuesday. Livestock is livestock wherever you may be. But the food? Hoo boy, where do I begin?

First, there are the free biscuits. Let me repeat: Free! Biscuits! With cane syrup that’s made on the spot while you watch (that is, if you enjoy watching mules walk in circles for hours, but you’ve gotta do something to pass the time in the long-ass free biscuit line). You’ll find the usual collection of fried stuff on sticks, but in the South it just tastes better. We’ve perfected the art of deep frying. And, yes, it really is an art. There are the aforementioned hand-dipped corn dogs (affectionately known as “Pronto Pups” which sounds a lot better than the “Krusty Pups” you find in Puyallup, WA). If you’re lucky, you’ll happen upon some “skating rink” style pizza. Of course, you’ll encounter all kinds of barbequed delicacies. And you’ll even find Mississippi-style Chinese food. Yum!

What you most likely won’t see are: Gigantic turkey legs, fried Twinkies, or anything made of tofu. Admittedly, I’ve not been to the fair in a while, but I’ve only run across the aforementioned offerings outside the South.

And the highlight of the event? No, not the gorilla woman or two-headed cobra baby. You can’t really find a good freak show these days. The highlight is the State Fair Taffy. Beware. It is highly addictive, and you will never find any other taffy that compares. Lord knows I have tried.

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6. Hugs, The Handshake of the South

17 Nov

Try a European-style cheek kiss on a Southerner, and you’re liable to get yourself slapped. Much like the word “aloha,” hugs have dual meanings. Hug hello. Hug goodbye. And if you do something nice for a Southerner, they will jump up and “hug your neck.” Don’t worry, they don’t actually hug your neck (which could be confused with, uh, strangling). It’s just an expression.

Now in a business setting, the handshake is standard. Please don’t go hugging clients or potential employers. But if you’re meeting a relative or even a friend-of-a-friend, you may quickly find yourself in a spontaneous embrace. This does not mean they like-like you. Heck, they might not even like you at all. But they will hug you all the same.

If you’re of the frostier, non touchy-feely persuasion, don’t call attention to yourself by trying to avoid the hug. Just close your eyes and think of England. It will be over soon. Of course, you’ll want to slip away from the gathering unnoticed to avoid further friendly fondling. Then again, you might learn to like it.

Are you a hugger? How long do you have to know somebody before a hug seems appropriate?

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