Wednesday, February 23, 2005
The South Shall Rise Again
I am a Northerner. I think grits taste like Delta Burke’s vomit, NASCAR is more boring to me than that public access channel where dermatologically-challenged teenagers dress up as medieval knights, and I’m not even remotely attracted to my sister. But this weekend I was blessed with an introduction into Southern high society, and I accepted it the only way I knew how: in a $10 suit.
You see, my friend Jodi neglected to mention that we would be attending Jacksonville’s premiere social event (okay, except for Maya Angelou’s annual pie eating contest, but come on!) before I actually arrived in that great City of People Who Shouldn’t Be Going Shirtless (I’m trying out new nicknames here), so I didn’t exactly throw my tuxedo into my carry on bag (although I did bring three belts and a prize from a box of Fruity Pebbles). Instead, we picked up a nifty little number from the local Goodwill store, complete with designer no one had ever heard of – English Manor, anyone? – and left pant leg a good half inch shorter than the right.
It was an evening to remember.
Or not, depending on who you were. Because dear Jodi, bless her heart, became so intoxicated after consuming a liter or two of basically straight vodka from the "drinks" she "mixed" in the bathroom using a "water bottle" and some Diet Sprite, that she spent most of the evening passed out in the backseat of her friend’s car. In other words, she was suffering from "exhaustion" Lindsay Lohan style. Poor thing.
At least she was around long enough to hail the Confederate flag and sing "Dixie" with the rest of us. I thought I gave a very feeling rendition despite not knowing the words or harboring any secret ill will towards minorities. But it turned out they really don’t like it when you point out that the South did, in fact, LOSE the Civil War, and that their ancestors were deeply misguided bigots who would have shot Will Smith and Usher on sight. Which, sure, we should do just for Wild Wild West and well, everything, respectively, but not because of our historical overreliance on inexpensive labor. I mean, look what it did to Kathie Lee Gifford.
There was lots of dancing. Apparently, my dancing somehow came to involve a cartwheel and the applause of others out on the floor. Not bad for a guy in a $10 suit. Oh, and $5 shoes. Yes, now for the rest of my life I’m a person who wore Goodwill shoes.
So that was my debut into high society. Hopefully it will help me to marry well. If not, I’ve always got the Daughters of the American Revolution Donkey Basketball Game to look forward to. I’ve got a dynamite burlap bag/old newspapers ensemble planned.
I am a Northerner. I think grits taste like Delta Burke’s vomit, NASCAR is more boring to me than that public access channel where dermatologically-challenged teenagers dress up as medieval knights, and I’m not even remotely attracted to my sister. But this weekend I was blessed with an introduction into Southern high society, and I accepted it the only way I knew how: in a $10 suit.
You see, my friend Jodi neglected to mention that we would be attending Jacksonville’s premiere social event (okay, except for Maya Angelou’s annual pie eating contest, but come on!) before I actually arrived in that great City of People Who Shouldn’t Be Going Shirtless (I’m trying out new nicknames here), so I didn’t exactly throw my tuxedo into my carry on bag (although I did bring three belts and a prize from a box of Fruity Pebbles). Instead, we picked up a nifty little number from the local Goodwill store, complete with designer no one had ever heard of – English Manor, anyone? – and left pant leg a good half inch shorter than the right.
It was an evening to remember.
Or not, depending on who you were. Because dear Jodi, bless her heart, became so intoxicated after consuming a liter or two of basically straight vodka from the "drinks" she "mixed" in the bathroom using a "water bottle" and some Diet Sprite, that she spent most of the evening passed out in the backseat of her friend’s car. In other words, she was suffering from "exhaustion" Lindsay Lohan style. Poor thing.
At least she was around long enough to hail the Confederate flag and sing "Dixie" with the rest of us. I thought I gave a very feeling rendition despite not knowing the words or harboring any secret ill will towards minorities. But it turned out they really don’t like it when you point out that the South did, in fact, LOSE the Civil War, and that their ancestors were deeply misguided bigots who would have shot Will Smith and Usher on sight. Which, sure, we should do just for Wild Wild West and well, everything, respectively, but not because of our historical overreliance on inexpensive labor. I mean, look what it did to Kathie Lee Gifford.
There was lots of dancing. Apparently, my dancing somehow came to involve a cartwheel and the applause of others out on the floor. Not bad for a guy in a $10 suit. Oh, and $5 shoes. Yes, now for the rest of my life I’m a person who wore Goodwill shoes.
So that was my debut into high society. Hopefully it will help me to marry well. If not, I’ve always got the Daughters of the American Revolution Donkey Basketball Game to look forward to. I’ve got a dynamite burlap bag/old newspapers ensemble planned.
