Sorry I’ve been out of touch this week. I’ve had family visiting from Tennessee.
Ah, Tennessee. Home of my youth. Birthplace of “the blues”. Oppressors of “the blacks”. Smarter than “the Kentuckians”. Famous for its beautiful horses that are taught to walk marching-style by having razor-wire attached to their fetlocks*.
Some Tennessee facts:
Population: 6,038,803
State Motto: “I didn’t know we was kin when we was doin’ it, Your Honor.”
State car: 1975 Plymouth Duster with a trash bag duct-taped over one broken window
State Flag:
I grew up in the shadow of The Grand Ole Opry (website: www.ThemAintViolinsThemsFiddles.com) and of Graceland (www.WorstSideburnsEver.com). In fact, people often ask me “Why do you have no sideburns at all, dude? That’s weird.”, to which I normally reply “Shut up and get The Hopper loaded.”
Obviously, these two edifices of musical artistry formed the basis for my life-long hatred of country music, despite all the characters with colorful names, such as ”Boxcar” Willie and “Conway” Twitty. The closest I ever got to enjoying country music was when I thought Shania Twain was sexy in a slutty sort of way for a year or two.
Other than that, my childhood was quite normal. My Dad wore a wife-beater, and my Mom wore on his nerves. We had our satellite dish mounted on top of our outhouse. People listed “whittlin’” as a prior occupation on unemployment forms. I personally knew a guy who had his eye put out while practicing casting for a fishing tournament by tying a dart to the end of his line and casting it at a dartboard on his carport, and a guy who, during Boy Scout archery practice, stood aiming at the target with perfect form and suddenly managed to shoot himself in the back of his leg with the arrow. If either of you guys are reading this, congratulations on the Adult Literacy courses!
Now that I live in Florida, I swear to myself that I have no accent, Tennesseean or otherwise, when I speak. Until, that is, I get a phone call from back home. Then, much to my shock and horror, my usual refined “Hello, how wonderful to hear from you. I trust that everyone there is well?” turns into “Hey, Skeeter! Man, I ain’t heard from you since Ned was a pup. Y’all makin’ it awright up ‘ere? D’jew ever git that car started?”
But I always enjoy it when family comes to visit. I really miss those guys.
Gotta run. It’s family music night, and I’m playing lead jug. *whooooom*
*I don’t know if horses actually have “fetlocks”, I am just trying to sound knowledgeable. They could have “boondocks” for all I know.
Entries (RSS)