Blue State Blues as Coastal Parents Battle Invasion of Dollywood Values
"I'm not sure where we went wrong," says Ellen McCormack, nervously fondling the recycled paper cup holding her organic Kona soy latte. "It seems like only yesterday Rain was a carefree little boy at the Montessori school, playing non-competitive musical chairs with the other children and his care facilitators."
"But now..." she pauses, staring out the window of her postmodern Palo Alto home. The words are hesitant, measured, bearing a tale of family heartbreak almost too painful for her to recount. "But now, Rain insists that I call him Bobby Ray."
Even as her voice is choked with emotion, she summons an inner courage -- a mother's courage -- and leads me down the hall to "Bobby Ray's" bedroom, for a firsthand glimpse at the psychic devastation that claimed her son.
She opens the door to a reveal a riot of George Jones CDs, reflective 'mudflap mama' stickers, empty foil packs of Red Man, and U.S. Marine recruiting posters. In the middle of the room: a makeshift table made from a utility cable spool, bearing a the remains of a gutted catfish.
"This used to be all Ikea," she says, rocking on heels between heaved sobs. "It's too late for us. Maybe it's not to late for me to warn others."
Pandora's Moon Pie Box
While poignant, Ellen McCormack's painful battle to save her son is far from isolated. Across coastal America, increasing numbers of families are discovering that their children have been lured into "Cracker" culture -- a new, freewheeling underground youth movement that celebrates the hedonistic thrills of frog-gigging and outlaw modified sprint cars. No one knows their exact number, but sociologists say that the movement is exploding among young people in America's most fashionable zip codes.
"We first detected it a few years ago, with the emergence of the trucker hat phenomenon," says Gerard Levin, professor of abnormal sociology at the University of California. "At first we thought it was some sort of benign, ironic strain. By the time we realized the early wearers really were interested in seed corn hybrids and Peterbilts, it had already escaped containment."
Levin points to 'Patient Zero,' who in 1997 was a 23-year old graduate student in Gender Studies at San Francisco State University.
"During a cross-country trip to New York, he stopped at the Iowa 80 Truck Stop in Walcott, Iowa, and bought a John Deere gimme cap as a gag souvenir," says Levin. "Within a year, he had dropped out of graduate school, abandoned his SoMa apartment, and and was working at a drive-thru liquor store. Today he is a wealthy televangelist in Bossier City, Louisiana."
The contagion of 'Patient Zero' would prove devastating. Soon trucker hats were appearing throughout trendy coastal neighborhoods like Williamsburg and Park Slope and Portrero Hill, often accessorized with chain wallets and 'wife beater' t-shirts. A new alternative youth movement had emerged, rejecting the staid norms of establishment NPR society and embracing the 'tune-in, turn-on, chug-up' ethos of the Pabst Blue Ribbon underground. Before long, it would broadcast its siren call to an even younger generation -- one whose parents were woefully unequipped to recognize it.
Youthquake
"It was one day last spring," says Ellen McCormack. "My life partner Carol and I were in the garage, working on a giant Donald Rumsfeld papier mache head for the Bay Area March Against the War, when Rain walked by. I thought he looked kind of strange, so I stopped him and looked closely into his eyes. Then I realized the truth -- he was wearing a mullet. I was shocked, but he swore to me that it was only ironic."
"After a few months, it was clear Rain had lied to us -- that hideous Kentucky waterfall was completely earnest," she adds, choking back sobs.
Her 18-year old son would soon exhibit other signs of disturbing changes.
"I was driving past a McDonalds one day last summer, and I thought I saw Rain's bike outside. He had told me earlier that he was going to a friend's house to stuff envelopes for the Dennis Kucinich campaign. I pulled a U-turn and headed back," she recalls. "When I confronted him in the parking lot, he started giving me a lame story about how he was only there to protest globalization, but I could smell the french fries on his breath."
McCormack says that Rain's erratic behavior would also come to include excessive politeness and deference.
"Everytime I tried to talk to him it was 'yes Momma,' and 'no Momma,' when he knows damn well my name is Ellen," she says, anger rising in her voice. "It was like I didn't even know him anymore."
McCormack tried an intervention with friends from the Anti-war community, but to no avail. In October, Bobby Ray packed up his Monte Carlo and left for basic training at Camp Pendleton.
"I have no son," she says in a barely audible whisper.
Across the country In toney Westchester County, New York, Jim and Sandy Vandenberg describe a similar tale of family grief.
"We are people of faith who keep the sabbath," says Sandy, a curator in the Dada collection of the Museum of Modern Art. "Even when she was a toddler, we made sure Emily got up early every Sunday morning to read the New York Times Book Review. Sunday morning was our time, until..."
"Until those damned Jesus bastards stole my little girl," interrupts her husband, barely containing his anger. Once a Freshman honors student in Lacanian Deconstruction Theory at NYU, their daughter is now better known as Lurleen McDaniel -- reigning Princess of the Tulsa Livestock Show and Rodeo.
In Bainbridge Island, Washington, single mom Jane Michelson says she began suspecting that her son Brian was in trouble after he started hanging with a new crowd at school.
"These weren't normal kids, neighborhood kids in Che t-shirts who want to drop a couple of hits of X and chill on Radiohead," she says. "They would talk in a sort of strange code language, like 'Roll Tide!' and 'Gig 'em Ags!' and 'Piiiig Sooieeee!'"
Signs of trouble would soon multiply.
"One day I got into my Volvo and hit the stereo preset for Pacifica Radio, and then I heard this obscene 'Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy' song coming from the speakers," she recalls. "The very next week, the maid found a tin of Skoal in his Wranglers. I told him him right then -- it was either me, or his tobacco-spitting friends."
Now known as Randy Dale Cash, her estranged son is a starting linebacker for Sul Ross State University in Alpine, Texas.
Peer Pressure
Jane Michelson is not alone in her story. Throughout coastal America, school adminstrators and parents are reporting an alarming surge in 'Cracker' cliques on campus. Also known as 'Y'alls' or 'Neckies,' officials say the groups thrive by attracting outcasts and misfits from the student body.
"We try hard to engage all of our students in fun, healthy activities like Progressive Eco-Action March and Rage Against Intolerance Week," says Lawrence DiBenedetto of Patrice Lumumba Magnet School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. "Unfortunately, there are going to be those who fall through the cracks, into a life of bass fishing and stockcar racing."
It appears those cracks are widening. In one recent three-week period, fourteen high school students in Portland, Oregon were suspended for distributing pork rinds; a Burlington, Vermont high school was briefly closed for decontamination after janitors found a bible hidden in a restroom; and forty-six undergraduate coeds at Swarthmore were expelled for staging clandestine Mary Kay cosmetics parties.
"We became suspicious after several heavily made-up students arrived at a Katha Pollitt lecture in a pink Cadillacs," says Swarthmore Dean of Students Geraldine Marcus.
Some say the craze threatens even the nation's most exclusive prep schools. At Exeter, Andover and St. Albans, rumors abound of secret societies where initiates are steeped in the black arts of restrictor plate cheating and satellite descramblers. Washington's elite Sidwell Friends School was nearly forced to close after scandalized parents learned that several students were openly touting Sams Club cards.
The Eclectic School Aid Hayseed Trip
To better understand what attracts young affluent students to the subculture, I spent a recent evening interviewing a group of self-described 'Neckies' from exclusive New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois. Like countless other Friday nights, the close-knit group had made the 80 mile ritual journey to rural Belvidere, Illinois, to cruise Steak 'N' Shake and hang out at the Mills Fleet Farm parking lot.
"Y'all, check out these new mudders," says 17-year old 'Dakota,' proudly displaying the gigantic knobbed tires under his radically lifted 4x4 Audi Allroad. "I'm fixin' to get me a winch and Tuffbox fer it next week."
Not to be outdone, friend and fellow Neckie 'Duane' sounds 'Dixie' on the novelty horn of his jacked-up BMW M3. An early graduation gift from his parents, Duane has turned the expensive German coupe into an homage to the Dukes of Hazzard's General Lee, complete with orange Stars-and-Bars paint job and spit cup on the console.
"Grandma gave me some money fer a summer study trip over ta Paris, but I thought the paint job was cooler," laughs Duane. "Hell, she thinks I'm over in the Sorbonne right now, studying Foucault and all that shit."
"I'm a-fixin' to put in a nitrous system on the General Lee, so I'ma call Grandma up and aks her for some book money," he adds.
Like most of their classmates, these North Shore Neckies were once bound for some of the top universities in America -- Yale, Duke, Stanford, Northwestern -- until they succumbed to the allure of the Downhome slacker lifestyle. Now some openly talk of dropping out, learning TIG welding, waiting tables at Waffle House or draining oil at Jiffy Lube; some even hint of enrolling at Iowa State. What drives privileged teens to such seemingly self-destructive behavior?
"I guess you might could say we're rebels," says Rachel 'Tyffanie' Stern, 17, lighting a Merit Menthol 100. Once destined for Vassar, Stern is now living with friends after her parents kicked her out of the house for spending her bat mitzvah money on a bass boat. Last month she became the youngest Jewish female to win an event on the Bassmasters Pro Tour.
Pausing for furtive glances, several of the teens share sniffs from a bottle of Harmon Triple Heat deer scent.
"Wooo-eee, shit howdy, that's gonna bring a mess of them whitetail bucks," says 19-year old Wei-Li 'Lamar' Cheung. A former Westinghouse Science Award winner, Cheung has devoted his chemistry and biology skill to building a fledgling hunting supply business.
A first generation Asian-American, Cheung says he was drawn to the group by their acceptance of minorities. "Hell, I kept tellin' all my family and teachers I wanna play fiddle, not violin," he explains. "The 'Necks accept me the way I am."
African-American Kwame 'Joe Don' Harris agrees. "Just because I'm black, teachers were always pushing me to go to Spellman to study Langston Hughes and Thelonius Monk," says the 17 year old. "These ol' boys here never laugh at my dream to be a crew chief for the Craftsman Truck Series."
If there is one aspiration that unites them all, it is the dream of moving to Branson, Missouri. Long famed for its laid-back attitude toward religion, country music and the military, Branson has become a Mecca for radical young Neckies seeking an escape from the stultifying conformity of their coastal hometowns.
"Shit, y'all, I heard Branson's got like four Wal Marts, and more $5.95 all-day breakfast buffets than Glencoe has Starbucks," enthuses Dakota, adding quickly that "pardon my French."
"Plus it's only a short drive up to Fort Leonard Wood," adds Tyffanie.
Talk arises of Branson's 'Summer of Bubba,' the upcoming hedonistic hillbilly festival of music, hog calling and nightcrawler gathering expected to draw millions of Neckies from as far as Santa Monica and Ithaca -- even Europe.
"Y'all, I heard them Swedish 'Necks are hardcore," says Joe Don. "They digitally remastered all the original Jerry Clower albums."
A live-for-today attitude permeates the group's ethos, with little concern about consequences. I ask Justin 'Jim Rob' Borowski, 18, what motivates young men and women to abandon promising academic careers in Gender Theory and Critical History to take a wild ride in the dark world of roofing and drywall contracting.
"My daddy was sorta mad when I tolt him I was gonna skip Columbia Journalism School for a plumbing apprenticeship," he answer philosophically, popping a plug of Red Man into his lip. "I tolt him that journalism is important, but the world needs plumbers too."
"After the toilet backed up, I think he got my point."






"Kids. What's the matter with kids today."
(Marine Corps recruits go to MCRD Parris Island or MCRD San Diego, then to Pendleton, Lejeune, etc.)
Posted by: conelrad | November 12, 2004 at 02:37 PM
"digitally remastered all the original Jerry Clower albums." Outstanding.
Posted by: conelrad | November 12, 2004 at 02:42 PM
I used to think you were funny and intelligent. Now you are beyond hilarious and brilliant. Yer one funny sumbitch!!
Bravo!!!
Posted by: T Wag | November 12, 2004 at 03:13 PM
A few years ago I saw a black guy wearing a Confederate flag cap. Now THATS diversity...
Posted by: Carlson | November 12, 2004 at 03:28 PM
Hysterical. You have OUTDONE yourself. Thanks!
Posted by: Sheryl | November 12, 2004 at 03:41 PM
It's spreading to the older folks, who should know better. One was recently heard to say, "Kin ah git me a huntin' license?"
Posted by: Ernie G | November 12, 2004 at 04:24 PM
Hmm, I notice that almost all of the "neckies" interviewed wound up in more lucrative careers than they would have been in had they remained acedemic larvae. There's nothing you can do with a gender studies degree, but plumbing is a skiled trade and oune that can't possibly be outsourced to India.
Posted by: CCR | November 12, 2004 at 04:27 PM
Heard about you from LGF. You are one of the great ones!
Posted by: Truth Junkie | November 12, 2004 at 04:37 PM
Sprayed my beer all over my pork rinds laughin' so hard! Great stuff! shure hope it's fact not fiction!
Posted by: Rich F | November 12, 2004 at 04:42 PM
I'll be forwarding this one to unsuspecting friends. It's hilarious.
Posted by: sonofsheldon | November 12, 2004 at 04:47 PM
This is just too funny. However, we DO NOT jack up our beamers, we have more class than that!
hahahaha
Posted by: red_state_of_mind | November 12, 2004 at 05:49 PM
Ok, this one is totally hilarious. LGF's excerpt had me going for a few paragraphs, but the gig was up when I hit the pink cadillacs line. Hehehe...
Lovely job, but of course the funniest part is if we can get some LLL reading it who swallow the whole thing... hook, line, and democratic party card.
Oh, and if any a y'all air headin' toards Branson, yore in mah neck o' the woods. www.harrisonwesternsizzlin.com -- stop by on yore way up an' say howdy ;)
Posted by: Scriptfox | November 12, 2004 at 06:05 PM
IowaHawk -
Ya'll talk to Bobby Jindal about this? Not really a 'neckie, but he did do that nickname bit.....
Posted by: chuckR | November 12, 2004 at 06:13 PM
Got a little carried away - they're "outlaw sprint cars," not "outlaw modified sprint cars." The rest is pretty accurate...
Posted by: Steve Kinser | November 12, 2004 at 07:23 PM
Oh the folly of youth. Everyone knows Blains Farm and Fleet is better then Mills Fleet Farm. A wise old dairy farmer told me once, "If you can't get it at Farm and Fleet ya don't need it!"
Posted by: BrewFan | November 12, 2004 at 08:32 PM
Just goes to show, it's not the color of your neck that matters, its the color of your spine. ;)
Posted by: Eric Anondson | November 12, 2004 at 08:45 PM
Funny! Accurate too!
Posted by: fustercluck | November 12, 2004 at 08:56 PM
The Jerry Clower line is priceless. I had completely forgotten him. I'm 27 and the last time I heard him, or even of him, was when I was 10. My step-mom, a true cracker, listened to him all the time. We heard him non-stop during a trip to North Carolina from Florida and back.
Honest to God, this woman also literally fed us roadkill; only if it was fresh hit, though. My brother and I were deeply ashamed that our father married her; he literally was a member of Mensa.
Posted by: Emily | November 12, 2004 at 09:57 PM
As the Guinness guys say, "Brilliant!".
Posted by: Squatch | November 12, 2004 at 10:43 PM
that's the funniest thing i've read all year!
Posted by: hatless in hattiesburg | November 13, 2004 at 07:19 AM
There is a comparable 'chav' movement in the UK and I have witnessed the devastation the love of gold clown necklaces, sports leisure wear and Burberry wreaks on middle class family life.
The parents blame themselves endlessly, wondering if they should have moved to a small island in the Orkneys to protect their children. It's terribly sad and most parents I know are fearful that their children will become victims of this cruel lifestyle choice.
Posted by: mrs mcmuffin | November 13, 2004 at 07:32 AM
Love it, love it love it !!!!!
Posted by: Hercules | November 13, 2004 at 10:55 AM
Most Xcellent
Posted by: MM | November 13, 2004 at 11:34 AM
Hmm..I was born in Fort Leonard Wood. Must be why, despite a non-competitive liberal upbringing provided by many care facilitators, I still like Hank Williams, Waffle House and the smell of Axle grease.
Blue staters will figure it out eventually. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Posted by: maryatexitzero | November 13, 2004 at 11:47 AM
Love it! Anyone wanting immersion studies in redneckery can come stay with me in Appalachian Kentucky for a spell. Don't worry, I live in site-built construction. When you're ready, I can help you find a trailer for rent.
Posted by: Elizabeth | November 13, 2004 at 11:51 AM
This is some fine commentary, and funny too. I called the 'rib' into the living room and said, "Honey, take a look at this"...well, she laughed so hard she almost dropped a whole handfull of mashed potatos and gravy!
Posted by: Cutter | November 13, 2004 at 01:17 PM
Funny stuff but one small problem.
"Roll Tide!' and 'Gig 'em Ags!' and 'Piiiig Sooieeee!'" Ah no I don't think so. As a proud resident of the State of Alabama (the buckle of the bible belt)...we don't use "Roll Tide" in the same sentence with those other two profanities.
And I mean that in a non-ironic sort of way. *L*
Posted by: Dee | November 13, 2004 at 05:45 PM
This rules. The only thing missing is that there was no mention of the old "you have your X (Malcom X reference), and I'll have mine (stars and bars)" t-shirts.
Posted by: Randy H. | November 13, 2004 at 06:05 PM
Hilarious, from someone living in the midst of the looniest of the Left in San Francisco.
BTW, it's Potrero Hill ;)
Posted by: Bill G | November 13, 2004 at 06:08 PM
Brilliant. But the question remains: What can we do to make this wonderful vision COME TRUE?
Posted by: Lexington Green | November 13, 2004 at 06:15 PM
Well maybe it is living in Aggie country & in the midst of an English dept., but this is really, really funny. Thanks for a lot of laughs.
Posted by: Ginny | November 13, 2004 at 06:18 PM
Absolutely brilliant...and perfectly worded. A masterwork of satire on those who [gasp] already had the self-appointed market on intellekshullality locked up tight as algore's lockbox. Dayumed i-ronic, y'all.
Obviously, Leftism isn't a position. It's a (mirthless, 2-dimensional, dishonest, sanctimonious) mental illness. This shows how as well as anything I've read since the election.
The 1992 election.
Posted by: 6Gun | November 13, 2004 at 06:34 PM
Somebody learn these poor young 'uns somethin'. It's SHEE-it, not shit. Two syllables. Damn posers. Whole damn world's goin' to the dawgs.
Posted by: yellowking | November 13, 2004 at 06:36 PM
As one who was born and raised in the beautiful Missouri Ozarks, and lives only minutes from Branson, I'll join Elizabeth and offer my services as a cracker consultant to any young blue staters wishing to convert. I am literally a five minute drive away from piles of $3.99 Bass Pro trucker hats, as seen gracing the noggin of propane and propane accessories salesman Hank Hill. If you'd like to learn more about the glory of living in the reddest part of a great red state, please get in touch. As the song goes, "Y'all come to see us when you can."
(Iowahawk is now on my favorites list. Brilliant and hilarious.)
Posted by: Sara Jane | November 13, 2004 at 06:39 PM
Very cool. Very funny. But don't take it literally; it isn't that extreme out here, however extreme it may be in blue states.
Posted by: Robert C Worstell | November 13, 2004 at 06:46 PM
20 years ago when kids started wearing blue hair and goth crap on the beaches in California (including boots and long overcoats in 90 degree heat)reg'lar Amuricans like me said: To each his own but WTF?
The explanation then was that when your parents are old dope smoking hippies from the '60's, how else do you rebel? I've been thinking about that alot lately and I think you have summarized the blue state parents' worst nightmare.
BTW I'll remember you to the folks at Big Bend Saddlery in Alpine when I stop by there in a couple weeks.
Posted by: capitano | November 13, 2004 at 06:56 PM
The best part about this is that the left would have no clue why it's as good as it is. Fabulous!
Posted by: mga | November 13, 2004 at 06:57 PM
Y'all, this is way more useful than chickenshit on the pump handle. Y'all coulda bought the Rednecks for Dummies book down to the Dollar General or git it fer free right here.
War Eagle not Roll Tide.
Posted by: Cranky | November 13, 2004 at 07:29 PM
Hey! It's WOOOOO pig soooie, dammit!
Posted by: Joe R. the Unabrewer | November 13, 2004 at 07:30 PM
I live five miles from Palo Alto. I did my graduate work at Stanford. This piece is brilliant! Tears of laughter have been rolling down my cheeks since I got to the phrase "remains of a gutted catfish". I'm forwarding this to all my friends, plus my grad school classmate who's the mayor of Palo Alto.
Posted by: Silicon Valley Jim | November 13, 2004 at 08:36 PM
I enjoyed y'all's little piece on Paly, but ain't much of it so.
I ain't never lived there, but I spent a few nights there, and from where I live I can walk or throw a rock across the border, 'n I done lived hyere longer'n most o' you been a'livin' anywhere.
First, ain't nothin' in Paly postmodern 'cept maybe that whacked out church buildin' on Hamilton, but it was built in th' '50s or '60s. They got all them old Maybecks from WWI, an little ol' stuccos from later, an a few bigshot mansions from Leland Stanford's day, an' a whole passel o' Eichlers from the '50s. Nearest thang they got to postmodern are them big ole fake Tudor palaces that darn near squeeze theyselfs off th' lot lines. An' they still puttin' up a huge fight about 'em.
Second, you can git Red Man an' all kinds o' other bakky at Mac's Smoke Shop up on Emerson, an' it's been there since WWII anyhow.
Here's Mac's: http://homepage.mac.com/dvmafia/iMovieTheater16.html
Third, David Maloney 'as singin' Palo Alto Cowboy since 'afore most a' y'all 'as born.
http://www.reillyandmaloney.com/rm_acollection.html
Fourth, They 'as lissnin t' KFAT in Paly 'afore David Maloney 'as singin', an' KFAT's been gone more 'n 20 years.
http://www.kfat.com/
Fifth, 'an maybe this'll scandalize y'all, Shrub's (an' I use th' term affekshunately) security adviser usta spend a lot o' time livin' in Paly. An' she can even tickle th' ivories with Brahms right good. So they is some high falutin' culchure 'round there.
Well, I'm losin' count an' runnin' out 'a fingers t' count on. I jes' tho't y'all needed some true facts about Paly.
Oh yeah, Paly kids run around all over th' place at night, playin' capture th' flag. So, they's perty slick about night fight'n by th' time they git to high school.
http://www.paloaltoonline.com/weekly/morgue/2003/2003_07_16.flag16.html
An' the good folks in Paly done lost some o' their finest youngsters fightin' overseas too, jus' lak everbody else.
They rilly ain't that much differnt from anywhere else.
Posted by: fub | November 13, 2004 at 08:46 PM
!.*.!
By the by, my eldest son lives in small-twon Missouri. He says the redneck craze is way big.
'Git 'er done!'
But they all listen to gangsta rap, he also tells me. Someday ghetto blacks'll remember that their forefathers brought the original banjo to the States, that Leadbelly ain't slang for multiple gunshots to the stomach, and even Miles Davis said, in his later years, to proclaim his remaining powers:
"I still got my Ferrarri."
Meanwhile, southern white stereotypes will release their hold on their sophisticated middle class college bred Dixiecrats and they'll cease thinking in such reactionary terms against liberal stereotypes, realize that BOTH those roles are ancient fuddy-duddy noise, that they live in a culture when Jerry Clower will likely soon be digitally virtualized into a VERY hilarious LIfe of Jerry Clower movie a la the current Ray Charles movie, or The Buddy Holly Story, and it will soon require a 4-year computer networking deghree to drive a combine rig.
Posted by: The Blue Rajah | November 13, 2004 at 10:08 PM
This captures the essence of red state - redneck culture. After starting out practicing law in large firm in a large northern city, I re-settled in the mountains of East Tennessee 20 years ago and have resumed living the lifestyle described in this article.
I am not a member of any county club, and it would not occur to me to put on funny colored pants and take up golf. However, I am a member of several gun clubs and I dutifully spend my Saturdays at them each weekend. The only sport I follow is stock car racing, and I still listen to the same bluegrass and outlaw country music (Jerry Jeff Walker, David Alan Coe, etc.) that I have been listening to for 30 years.
We don't need the approval of the Hollywood and media elite. Nine of the top 10 NASCAR drivers endorsed President Bush, and we value their opinions more than Whoopie Goldberg's and Michael Moore's.
This is truly a great article. Keep it up.
Posted by: molonlabe28 | November 13, 2004 at 10:23 PM
Absolutely wonderful! I'm sending it on to all my redneck friends, 'cuz my blue-state friends don't got no sense of humor.
Posted by: John | November 13, 2004 at 10:27 PM
Hilarious
Posted by: The Commissar | November 13, 2004 at 10:42 PM
The pork rind paragraph did me in. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.
Posted by: Ray | November 13, 2004 at 11:20 PM
Beautiful, I've lived in Georgia for some 35 years and knew we had a lot of fun, I just hadn't thought that much about it. Gonna get in my 4x4, put the 30/30 in the gun rack, pick up some Skoal, a styrofoam spit cup, a couple of moon pies, some Mountain Dew, and run on down to the Wal Mart and cruise the parking lot!
Posted by: Abu Qa'Qa | November 13, 2004 at 11:54 PM
As a refugee/recoveree from the People's Republic of Cambridge (MA), I can tell you, you have hit the nail on the head with this brillant, hysterical piece. Come to think of it, I might be some sort of a proto-Cracker myself, since I done gone and gived up my high-falutin' software-engineerin' life up there in the PROC to raise babies here in the 'burbs of Phoenix.
What can I say? Real life rocks.
Posted by: Joan | November 14, 2004 at 12:01 AM
The initials of the oldest radio station down here in Atlanta stand for Welcome South, Brother.
Pretentious arrogance may prevail for a time, but sooner or later all these post-modernist fads always give way to easy and gracious living. Why do you think Johnny Cash is so popular now, and Loretta Lynn is back on the charts? And I have seen a Mercedes sedan riding on a 4x4 chassis.
Bout the only other thing I have to say is
HOW BOUT THEM DAWGS!
Posted by: SouthernGent | November 14, 2004 at 08:01 AM
You have a marketable talent. You need to be on television or radio or writing books.
I look at MADTV and SNL which are _not_ funny. Then I read one of your entries and it brightens me day.
Why the hack writers at NBC and not you?
Conservatives like to laugh too.
Posted by: David Kohlhoff | November 14, 2004 at 09:37 AM