Posted on 02/14/2002 9:01:00 AM PST by sheltonmac
Thirty years ago I visited my first cousin in Virginia. While hanging out with his friend, the discussion turned to popular movies of the day. When I offered my two-cents on the authenticity and social relevance of the movie Billy Jack, one of the boys asked, in all seriousness; "Do you guys have movie theaters down there?" To which I replied, "Yep. We wear shoes too."
Just three years ago, my wife and I were attending a food and wine seminar in Aspen, Colorado. We were seated with two couples from Las Vegas. One of the Glitter Gulch gals was amused and downright rude when I described our restaurant as a fine-dining restaurant. "Mississippi doesn't have fine-dining restaurants!" she demanded and nudged her companion. I fought back the strong desire to mention that she lived in the land that invented the 99-cent breakfast buffet.
I wanted badly to defend my state and my restaurant with a 15-minute soliloquy and public relations rant that would surely change her mind. It was at that precise moment that I was hit with a blinding jolt of enlightenment, and in a moment of complete and absolute clarity it dawned on me -- my South is the best-kept secret in the country. Why would I try to win this woman over? She might move down here.
I am always amused by Hollywood's interpretation of the South. We are still, on occasion, depicted as a collective group of sweaty, stupid, backwards-minded and racist rednecks. The South of movies and TV, the Hollywood South, is not my South.
This is my South:
- My South is full of honest, hard-working people.
- My South is colorblind. In my South, we don't put a premium on pigment. No one cares whether you are black, white, red, or green with orange polka dots.
- My South is the birthplace of blues and jazz, and rock n' roll. It has banjo pickers and fiddle players, but it also has B.B. King, Muddy Waters, the Allman Brothers, Emmylou Harris, and Elvis.
- My South is hot.
- My South smells of newly mowed grass.
- My South was the South of The Partridge Family, Hawaii 5-0, and kick the can.
- My South was creek swimming, cane-pole fishing, and bird hunting.
- In my South, football is king, and the Southeastern Conference is the kingdom.
- My South is home to the most beautiful women on the planet.
- In my South, soul food and country cooking are the same thing.
- My South is full of fig preserves, cornbread, butter beans, fried chicken, grits and catfish.
- In my South we eat foie gras, caviar, and truffles.
- In my South, our transistor radios introduced us to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones at the same time they were introduced to the rest of the country.
- In my South, grandmothers cook a big lunch every Sunday.
- In my South, family matters, deeply.
- My South is boiled shrimp, blackberry cobbler, peach ice cream, banana pudding, and oatmeal cream pies.
- In my South people put peanuts in bottles of Coca Cola and hot sauce on almost everything.
- In my South the tea is iced and almost as sweet as the women.
- My South has air-conditioning.
- My South is camellias, azaleas, wisteria, and hydrangeas.
- In my South, the only person that has to sit on the back of the bus is the last person that got on the bus.
- In my South, people still say "yes, ma'am," "no ma'am," "please," and "thank you."
- In my South, we all wear shoes....most of the time.
My South is the best-kept secret in the country. Please continue to keep the secret....it keeps the idiots away.
Well, we lived in there, in the rural areas on North Carolina, for five wonderful years, and it was like heaven...
It was so different from Chicago, and it took some getting used to, but oh my, what a glorious part of the country to live in...
I remember, my mom came down and spent the whole month of April with us...and she just could not get over the explosion of azaleas, wisteria, dogwoods, crepe myrtles, and all the other beautiful flowers, that painted the whole area like a wonderful picture...
The food, the people, the weather, the language with its wonderful southern accent, and the whole atmosphere of being in the south, is something I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life..
We were eventually transfered to Ft. Lewis, Washington, and so we are now in the Pacific Northwest, and have made it our permanent home...it too is a wonderful and beautiful place...
But living in the south, was one of the highlights of my life, and something to be cherished forever...people who speak ill of the south, obviously have never taken the time to go live there for a while, and soak it up...
/john
Oh really....so we used to suck real bad but now we've improved so much and isn't that great!!!
Your kind of compliments that denigrate and applaud condescendingly at the same time are the kind we've learned to ignore thankfully.
Thanks for educating we impoverished barbaric hell-hole dwellers on our "improvements".
It's fallacious of you to assume we don't know when we're being defamed even if it's hidden in the guise of a back handed compliment.
Can't bring up the South on FR without some do-gooder self righteous paternalistic cretin removing his or her head out of their arse to say something demeaning so they can feel better about themselves in their all knowing glow of self virtue.
In my South, we put a lot of ice in our sweet tea, and think that no meal is so bad that a good biscuit can't make up for it.
In my South, old people can say pretty much what they want, and no one will stop them.
In my South, strangers in oncoming cars wave "Hey" to each other.
In my South, we don't spend much on weddings (no dancing or drinking), but we'll go bankrupt over a funeral.
In my South, we put our eccentrics right on the front porch where everybody can see them.
By publishing this list, you realize we are going to have to kill you.
BTW, bump for REAL southern heritage, the kind that doesn't entail rebellion against the United States of America--unless you want to count CULTURAL rebellion, then I'm on the bandwagon!
Except for that NASCAR thing. I still prefer the Symphony...
After having their 11th child, an Alabama couple decided that was enough, as they could not afford a larger bed. So, the husband went to his veterinarian and told him that he and his cousin didn't want to have any more children.
The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem but that it was expensive. A less costly alternative, said the doctor, was to go home, get a cherry bomb (fireworks are legal in Alabama), light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10.
The Alabamian said to the doctor, "I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me."
"Trust me," said the doctor.
So, the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count:
"1"
"2"
"3"
"4"
"5"
At which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs, and resumed counting on his other hand.
Letitring; I heard a rumour this might interest you.
Regards,
TS
Does your youngest get to sit at the "big table"? I was at least twelve before I got to sit at the big table and drink out of a real glass instead of a jelly jar at Grandma's.
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