Tag Archives: entertainment

50. Drive-thru Beer Barns–Libations for Lazy Folks

4 Nov

What? You thought burgers, tacos and donuts had the drive-thru market cornered? Oh no. They can’t compete with kegs, cigarettes and wine coolers. Not in the South anyway.

I can’t say how the drive-thru beer barn got started, but I suspect it was the brainchild of someone whose six-year-old flat out refused to go into the tote-sum for momma’s Marlboro Lights. See, if I was making a list of Stuff Southern People DON’T Like, number four would be “Getting Out of the Car” (or more likely, the truck).

A beer barn isn’t necessarily in an actual barn, but “beer building” just doesn’t sound festive at all. The cool thing about beer barns is that minors are allowed in. Craving a bag of pork rinds and a coke? Need a pack of gum? M & Ms? Just drive on through!

You might think the idea of a drive-thru alcohol purveyor is counterintuitive. Wouldn’t this promote drinking and driving? That’s like saying drive-thru restaurants promote eating and driving. Who wants to eat in the car when there’s a big screen TV and a coffee table waiting at home?

I reckon beer barns might have been outlawed by some zealous Baptists, seeing as the one on Lakeland Drive was closed eons ago. Now, that, my friends is counterintuitive, seeing as Baptists are the ideal demographic for the drive-thru beer barn: no chance of being spotted in public toting a six-pack of Bud.

When I was in high school, Mississippi changed the drinking age to 21, but Louisiana had yet to jump on the bandwagon. Folks would drive across the river at Vicksburg to this place called Daiquiri World where you could get a ginormous Styrofoam cup of daiquiri TO GO. There might have even been a drive thru. And what’s better than a drive through beer barn? A drive-thru LIQUOR joint.

Beats the heck out of the drive-thru espresso stands that multiply faster than rabbits – or Starbucks – around here.

Ever been to a beer barn? Do they still exist?

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46. The Andy Griffith Show–Whistle While You Watch

28 Jun

Before “Splash,” before “Apollo 13,” before “Happy Days,” an adorable, six-year-old Ronny Howard charmed Southerners (and Yankees alike) as Opie Taylor on “The Andy Griffith Show.” He’s maybe the first and last non-Southerner to emulate the accent without causing native’s ears to bleed while screaming “The horror! The horror!” Or maybe that’s just me. Even now, I’m nostalgic for his “Awww Paaawww…” I have never actually heard a Southerner refer to their father as “Paw,” but who cares? Opie can do no wrong. (In case you are wondering, I believe fathers in the South are most frequently called “Daddy” pronounced “Dead-E.”)

For some reason, Southerners got into the habit of calling Andy Griffith “Andy Griffin.” (Hey, maybe that explains why I can never remember whether the infamous D-lister is called Kathy “Griffith” or Kathy “Griffin.”) I, for one, always wondered why the show was called “Andy Griffith” rather than “Andy Taylor.” Yes, I have since figured it out.

Growing up in the boondocks, I was always a little jealous of the town folks in Mayberry. Where was our bullet-less deputy? Our lovable drunk? Our chatty barber? Sure, as a teenager I wanted my MTV like a good Gen-Xer should. But when I was little, I wanted my Aunt Bee. (Although I must say my aunt Tommie was infinitely more fun. Especially when she switched the contents of her all-day giant sipping cup from Coke to wine coolers, due to the “New Coke” debacle.)

The most lasting lesson I learned from Andy Griffin was Barney’s motto: “Nip it! Nip it in the bud!” Of course it took more than a few non-nipped situations to make me realize the wisdom. But these days, I am quick to get out the scissors. There’s a reason one of my favorite things to say is “Goodbye.” (However, I should note that this is also one of my least favorite things to say.)

After a decade and a half living as a Southern ex-pat, you will not likely find me whistling “Dixie.” But I still do a mean rendition of the Andy Griffin theme song. It’s almost as good as this parrot’s.

Who’s your favorite Mayberrian?

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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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41. Stuckey’s: Home of Pee Breaks and Pecan Log Rolls

19 Jun

Stuckey's, Coffee County, Tennessee by naslrogues

Every road trip I ever suffered through as a child included at least one stop at Stuckey’s. Which was often the highlight of the whole ordeal. How to describe Stuckey’s to the uninitiated? Hmm…a gas station, restaurant, souvenir shop, ice cream parlor, and candy store all in one. Kind of a low-rent version of Disneyland, sans rides, dorky hats, and teenagers sweltering in Disney character costumes.

Anybody who’s ever been to Stuckey’s knows I’m building it up way too much, but y’all have to admit that to a road-weary kid, Stuckey’s is pretty awesome. Except for the bathrooms. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clean bathroom in a Stuckey’s. But, hey, look! There’s a figurine made out of a clam shell! A rubber alligator! Peanut brittle!

What I remember most about Stuckey’s is that they used to sell their own brand of melt-in-your-mouth peppermint balls. I remember this because I’ve spent the rest of my life (so far) trying to find a decent substitute. If y’all know of any, please let me know.

My sister and I never left Stuckey’s without new “Yes and Know” books in hand. These were filled with trivia questions or word games, and you revealed the “invisibly printed” answers with a “magic pen.” As I got older (or perhaps my eyesight improved), I realized you could read the “invisibly printed” answers without the use of the “magic pen” AKA yellow highlighter. However, until I Googled them just now, some thirty-odd years later, I didn’t catch anything odd about the tagline “Hours and hours of by-yourself enjoyment.” Hmm.

My mom always had to have a box of sesame sticks (which were WAY exotic back in the day) and the ever-popular Pecan Log. This is not as gross as it sounds, but almost. I don’t remember anything my dad enjoyed about Stuckey’s other than getting the hell out of there and back on the road. Of course, we didn’t often get to-go drinks because a pit stop was to “empty” not “fill up.”

Anytime I happen to be on a road trip in the South, I can never pass up a Stuckey’s. They’re harder to find these days, but if you’re on the road from Jackson, MS to Memphis, there’s one in Vaiden. Last time I checked.

Alas, while they do still sell a bunch of Stuckey’s brand food-like substances, the peppermint balls are long gone. However, I’m happy to report that the bathrooms are just as nasty as ever.

What do y’all remember about Stuckey’s?

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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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35. Four-wheelers or How to Drive without a License

6 Apr

Photo by Denise
Flickr Creative Commons

All-terrain vehicles used to be known as three-wheelers till somebody decided an extra wheel would make them safer. What really might make them safer is if folks didn’t drink a few six-packs before taking them out for a spin. Or let their five year olds loose on them. But, hey, as long as they stick to the woods or the yard, fine by me. It’s not like people get killed or even maimed on them. Not that many, anyway. Not anymore.

Apart from the rifle, four-wheelers may be the best thing that ever happened to hunters. No more pre-dawn, miles-long treks to the deer stand. Just hop on your four-wheeler and go. No more dragging your sad-looking deer carcass home by the antlers. Just secure it to your deer rack and zip back in time for, well, Miller Time.

A little known fact about me: I used to have a three-wheeler. An even littler known fact about me: I wrote an extremely persuasive letter to my dad to secure said three-wheeler. (Which included compelling arguments such as “EVERYbody has one!” and “Do you want me to be the only girl in seventh grade without a three-wheeler??”)

Back in the day, I loved racing around the yard on my bright red three wheeler. Tumbling down the hill wasn’t all that much fun, but it beat sitting around watching ice melt. Maybe the best part was riding with my little sister, hitting a bump and sending her bouncing off the back. Ok, I wouldn’t be laughing if she’d really been hurt. Not too much, anyway.

Sure, ATVs have the tendency to tip over and pour the rider out in the manner of a short, stout teapot. They may not have seat belts. And nobody EVER wears a helmet. But they’re way safer than, say, bull riding or sassing your mother.

Do you have a four wheeler? What do you use it for?

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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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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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