Tag Archives: southern culture

18. Pick-up Trucks: Tonka Toys for Grownups?

29 Jan

One good thing about living in the South is that you always know at least half a dozen folks with pick-up trucks in case you need to haul something somewhere. Even better, most folks are happy to help. I can’t quite explain the popularity of the pick-up because I figure that about 90% of the time 90% of pick-up drivers aren’t hauling anything anywhere. But then again, you can’t have a proper tailgating party without a tail gate, so maybe that’s reason enough. Besides, it’s hard to outfit a Volkswagon Beetle with a gun rack…

These days, my 5-year-old nephew must be properly strapped in his car seat before we leave the driveway, and I’m all the time reminding my sister that when we were five, we rode around in the back of pick-ups on a fairly regular basis. “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now,” she’ll say like an S.E. Hinton novel.

Driving in the South, you’ll see all sorts of things hauled around in pick-ups: firewood, mattresses, watermelons, four wheelers, dogs, whatever. I once worked for a small town newspaper, and during hunting season, folks would drive up wanting me to take a picture of the dead deer in the back of their truck. They figured it was news. And sadly, the town was small enough that sometimes it was.

The weirdest thing I’ve ever seen hauled in a pick-up was a dead Holstein. I had to ask myself 1: Where are they taking a dead dairy cow? And 2: How’d they get it into the back of that pick-up? I still have no answers…

Do you drive a truck? What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever had the occasion to haul?

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

17. Air Conditioning: Don’t Stay Home in August without It

29 Jan

Folks back home are shocked to hear that I (along with most folks and businesses in Seattle) do not have air conditioning. The horror! The horror!

The thing is, Seattle gets unbearably hot for about two or three days a year, but in many parts of the South, the heat starts up in April and sticks around till October. (One of the reasons I love the state fair so much is that it almost always marks the transition into cooler temperatures. Hence the term “fair weather.”)

I am truly a child of the late 20th century and cannot even fathom how folks in the South could tolerate summers without air conditioning. Wearing hoop skirts and petticoats! Heck, I can’t even fathom how folks today go outside in business suits and/or pantyhose anytime after May. (A good argument for self-employment if I’ve ever heard one.)

Southern folks are not known for moving at a particularly rapid pace, but perhaps you’ve never seen them in the summer. It’s always a mad dash from the comfort of an air-conditioned car to the safety of an air-conditioned house. And by “safety” I mean safety. People die out there in the heat. Or wish they would.

One summer I was at my parents’ house when the air conditioner went on the blink. Within minutes, my mom and I were packed and headed to the family’s cabin on the Pearl River. Normally, I wouldn’t be all that enthused about spending time in the cabin, but that day we couldn’t get there quickly enough.

For the first few hours there, my mom and I lay on the bed underneath the air conditioner reveling in the glory of an icy cool breeze. I only wish I’d known at the time how precious that moment was. I’d be willing to endure any number of summers in the South if my mom were there with me. I’d love to hear her just one more time say, “It’s hotter than HELL!” (pronounced “Hey-You’ll.”)

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

16. Catfish (The “Deep-Fried” is Implied)

29 Jan

Ok, a lot of these posts feature food (or drink), and I reckon you can guess why: We Southerners loves us some food. Hey, Mississippi didn’t get to be the fattest state in the US for nothing!

So while folks here in Seattle are swooning over salmon, my peeps back home are loyal to the good old-fashioned fried catfish. With hushpuppies (which one of my Seattle friends mistakenly called “puff daddies.” Of course, the name stuck).

Though I now regularly buy organic produce and “hippie eggs,” I’m still of the opinion that farm-raised catfish is the way to go. Sure, maybe wild catfish live happier lives, but they are notorious bottom feeders. For me, eating free-range catfish would be akin to munching on a fried vulture. Ick. As an aside, when I lived in LA, I was extolling the virtues of farm-raised catfish to a work friend who said, “Farm-raised? I thought it was a fish!”

There’s a reason I’m writing this blog, people.

Now if you happen to be in the South and are itching to try some catfish, I recommend Jerry’s in Florence, MS. Not necessarily because it’s the best, but because it may be the one and only place you’ll eat catfish in an igloo. Yes, I said igloo.

Jerry's Fish House, Florence, MS

It’s been a long time since I’ve been there, and I can’t really remember whether the catfish or hushpuppies are anything special. But it’s one of few places where I, an avowed fish hater, will actually eat fish.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

15. Shotguns: For Weddings and Whatnot

12 Jan

While the back window Confederate flag isn’t quite so prevalent these days, it seems that plenty of Southern folks’ pickup trucks are still equipped with gun racks. It’s not often you see a Dixie dweller charged with “carrying a concealed weapon.” In fact, you’ll be informed by bumper sticker which pickups are “protected by Smith & Wesson.”

Why all the shotguns? For one thing, one must be prepared at all times to bag a 10-point buck. And you never know when one will appear in the driveway. This is not hyperbole, people. I’ve seen it happen. Ok, I’ve never actually seen it happen, but I did hear it happen right outside my parent’s house.

While many Southern people enjoy shooting wildlife, many just enjoy shooting in general. Not a Christmas goes by without the men in my family outside trying out their new weaponry. Although I think my dad’s become a bit gun shy since shooting a hole in his dresser years ago.

My most unsettling run in with a shotgun took place when my sister and I were driving to our annual Christmas party. We took a wrong turn in the backwoods and were greeted by two gentlemen packing heat. They asked where we were going and we said, “Uh…Scott’s house?” They said, “Scott Williams?” (This was our first time meeting my friend Karen’s then-boyfriend, now-husband, and we had no idea what his last name was.) We said, “Uh…yeah?” Then they told us which way to go, but never did loosen their grip on said shotguns.

Every Christmas night, we go back to Karen & Scott’s place and are VERY careful not to steer off course. Something tells me those guys don’t believe in second chances.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

13. Big Ass Churches (With Comfortable Pews)

12 Jan

My sister lives in Memphis, which features the largest concentration of megachurches in the known world. All the world I’ve known, anyhow. It’s the rodeo-champ style buckle on the Bible Belt.

There’s one that’s got so many bells, whistles, and jumbotrons, my sister’s husband, Shawn, dubbed it “Six Flags Over Jesus.” Of course, after a visit to their church, I figure they ought to be pocketing those stones.

If a church has three or more of the following, you’ll know there’s too much “junk in the trunk:”

1. Parking lot attendants. Bonus points for trams.

2. Nosebleed seats in the sanctuary.

3. Coffee bar.

4. Cupholders.

5. Jumbotron.

6. Basketball court.

7. Ferris wheel.

8. Map.

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

12. Pigs–As Food, Not Pets

7 Jan

Oh, Pig, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my fork can reach…

I love thy ribs…thy chops…thy loin…thy, uh, bacon…

Yes, folks, Southern people love pig, but you’re not likely to find anybody sharing his couch with one of those potbelly pets. It would tend to distract from the pleasure of gnawing on a rack of barbequed baby backs.

Oh, sure, we’ll eat a hamburger, and no Southerner is going to turn down fried chicken, but pig is our preferred white meat.

Pulled pork sandwiches. BLTs. Honey Baked hams. Fried pork chops. Sausage gravy. Roasted tenderloin. Canadian bacon pizza. Yeah, we love Babe, but we’d love him better on a plate next to some mac and cheese.

Cut any part off a pig and there is some brave Southerner out there who will eat it: pickled pig’s feet…hog jowls…chitlins (a.k.a. intestines). Dry out the ears and toss them to the dog, then mash up whatever’s left and call it Spam. Oh, I almost forgot: fry up bits of skin and sell it at 7-11. Yes, people, pork rinds are actually pork…rinds.

Hey, do I smell bacon? Gotta run.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

11. Perms: Not Just for the 80’s Anymore

7 Jan

While we’re on the subject of bad hair days, I might as well tackle the topic of perms. There was a time when perms were popular all across the U.S. (I believe it fell somewhere in between Bo Derek cornrows and the “Rachel” do.) Perms have generally fallen out of favor, as such things do. However, Southern women can be loathe to break a tradition, no matter how bad it may be.

I, myself, have never had a perm. Not that I think I’m above following trends. (I wore banana clips just like everybody else.) I just never needed one seeing as I have naturally curly hair. My curls and I have only been on friendly terms for the last two decades (since I discovered that growing them out saves me from being serenaded with the Monchichi song). In retrospect, I am grateful that a stray wavy hair gene saved me copious trips to the hairdresser.

From what I understand, perms are an exercise in masochism. You sit in the stylist’s chair for hours while your hair is rolled onto about 512 curlers then doused in foul-smelling chemicals. I’ve heard you have to leave in the stinky glop for at least a day or so. (At least that was the explanation I was given upon commenting on a friend’s odiferous head.)

Maybe perms have gotten more sophisticated over the years, but people still go in wanting to look like Debra Messing and come out looking like Richard Simmons.

After a lifetime of managing curly hair, I can’t understand why somebody would CHOOSE to deal with frizz. Oh, sure, curls are spunky and whatnot, but I’ve yet to meet a curly-haired person (real or fake) who didn’t suffer from the finger-in-light-socket look from time to time. Which is why I have a fairly large collection of hats. Though you will not find a baseball cap in the bunch.

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

10. Baseball Caps: The Southern Man’s Toupee

7 Jan

As a general rule, Southerners greatly prefer football to baseball, so what’s with the proliferation of baseball caps? Heck, Southerners wear baseball caps that promote FOOTBALL teams.

Ok, people, contrary to popular belief, there is no hairstyle that can be improved with the addition of a baseball cap. Especially when you consider that you have to take the cap off at some point, and then you’re left with the dreaded hat head. Y’all know what I’m talking about.

Note to women folks: If you wear a baseball cap when you’re having a bad hair day, you will end up with a much worse hair day tomorrow. Ok, maybe not if you’re one of those folks who washes their hair EVERY day, but who has that kind of time?

Southern guys start off wearing baseball caps in high school, but you’ll see them more and more frequently as hairlines begin receding. It’s a vicious circle: you wear a baseball cap, which causes you to lose hair, so you wear caps more frequently, which causes you to lose more hair. In short, I consider the baseball cap to be the Southern man’s toupee. Which works out well seeing as even the spiffiest rug can’t promote your college football team.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

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.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

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.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started