Category Archives: The Chicken Fried South

Random thoughts on living south of the Mason Dixon Line.

Bambi VS Shamu

Today our budding 4th grader returned home from what according to all accounts was a banner start to the year. (Naturally the bar is set high considering that on her first day of 2nd grade she puked in the trash can and came straight home – but that’s another post entirely.) 

Excitedly pulling a brown paper sack from her book bag, she proceeded to tell me how they had to fill the bag with something from each of the 8 categories designated by the teacher on the assignment sheet. We went over the categories together discussing what she thought might be a reflective respresentation of each until we reached the one titled “A place you’d like to visit.” Smugly I thought of her international heritage, her trip to Australia, her love of thumbing through the pages of our vacation albums which include pictures of France, England, Israel, South Africa and other exotic locations I was sure had piqued her curiosity many times over. “So how will you narrow, THAT one down?” I asked. She paused for a moment, then said, “I thought I would put ‘The Bass Pro Shop’ because I really want to go there.” There was no mistaking the incredulous look on my face – I could feel my pupils dilating as I listened to her answer, all the while formulating eloquent and supportive comebacks to this answer, but in the end the words “are you kidding me?” were all I could get out. Pondering my response, but undeterred, she shrugged obligingly, “Well, or, we could just put Seaworld?” 

Nothing left to say, in accordance with prophecy, because…

A while back I read a great little article on how to make people wonder… one of the suggestions was to finish every sentence with the words ‘in accordance with prophecy’.  It stuck with me, and while I haven’t had to employ it frequently (as I find people are constantly in a state of confused wonder), I have found another ‘-ism’ that works well at the end of just about every sentence.. (in accordance with prophecy).

It also comes in handy for replacing the old phrase used when there was nothing left to say (especially in the south) of “I’m just saying is all…”.  Yes, now there appears to be a new front runner (in accordance with prophecy.   I’m just saying is all..).

“Because that’s how we roll”.

Thanks to the not-so-southern-belle for bringing it to light for our entire family to enjoy, because that’s how we roll.

The Dry County

So my sister reminded me of an incident that occurred a while back. My wife and I were driving in the deep south on a Sunday morning at 10 am or so. It was quite a while back, because we stopped at an ‘inconvenience’ store somewhere in Washington County Alabama (if memory serves) for gas and a couple of – wait for it – Clearly Canadians. Yes, this happened in the late 90’s.

My wife approached the clerk and asked if they had any Clearly Canadians available for purchase. The look and response were priceless. “No maam, this is a dry county”.

Sunday morning, 10 am. Trying to get liquored up. Yep, that sounds like us – just ask our friends.

Thoughts from the Deep Fried South

As a disclaimer, I was born in Ohio, but have lived in the South for the past 30 plus years.

I have often put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, head to wall to express my feelings on the subject, but none of it has really escaped – until now.

When registering for our upcoming wedding many moons ago, my then bride to be was told (in a failed effort to convince her that she desperately needed to purchase a cast iron skillet to cook me ‘cone-bread’) that you can take the boy out of the country, but you cannot take the country out of the boy.  The helpful employee then informed my betrothed that we without a doubt needed the skillet because “girl, you’re marryin a kun-tree boy”.

Hilarious to me as I have often felt that since I was born north of the Mason Dixon Line, people still look at me and wonder if I am a spy for the Union army.

In a recent chat with a buddy from the UK, when asked what it was like to live in America – particularly the South – I started my unofficial guide’ to southern living (geared towards a foreigner mind you) – it went something like this:

1.)  You must have a favorite Nascar driver.  When it doubt, shout number 3 (Dale Earnhardt Sr., God rest his soul, may he rest in peace, died on the track, his son is number 8 (put two 3’s together back to back and you get a bonafied 8).  It doesn’t matter if the driver you pick sucks – you will defend your driver’s honor to the death.
2.)  Pick an alabama SEC conference team.  Alabama and Auburn are your two choices.  You must love one and hate the other.  unless the other is playing some other non alabama team, then it is acceptable for you to like the team, but on the iron bowl day – you will defend your team to the death.

(Coincidentally – In the New King Jim Version of the ‘Southern’ Ten Commandments, these are 1 and 2)

3.)  The right to bear arms is a GOD GIVEN right, not some man given right written down on a piece of paper.  If you have an issue with that, then talk to the barrel pal.

4.)  The civil war did not end.  it just became a cold war.  A very long, very hot, cold war. And make no mistake the south will rise ‘again’.

5.)  The starbuckification of western (and thereby ‘southern’ ) society is one of the greatest achievements in modern business –  second only to walmartification.  There’s one on every bloody corner.   Three things you see when you drive down a proper Southern road, even a dirt one: walmart, starbucks, and the first baptist church(es).    Yes,  there are many first baptist churches.  Even a few second baptist churches – I am waiting for the day when i see the first baptist church on the side of a walmart with a starbucks all in one building.  Imagine: God, Country, and Coffee.  It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Don’t forget, the south coined the phrase ‘praise the lord, and pass the ammunition’

More to come I am sure.  This was where my notes ended.

P.S.  Latest greatest bumper sticker:  “Paddle faster. I hear banjos.”