God help me, I laughed out loud at the words "oven cleaner" and couldn't stop laughing. Poor goddamn cat. Hahahaha.
Also, the shag carpet thing makes me think of my grandfather's shag carpet, which is positively crusted with spit and spilled food, especially around the chair where he eats. Don't wanna put anything you find down there in your mouth. My uncle never cleans, you see. And the bathroom, well, let's just say you don't want to rest your head on anything in there. No soap, either. I usually wash my hands with Lysol when I'm done.
I know you guys think that picking up Alameida matters because she has ovaries, but I think the real story here is that you picked up a southerner. You don't much get stories like this from anybody but us.
This post is a thing of surpassing beauty, A. I mean, really: Lucky. As an aside, I went to high school with not one, but two guys named Skeeter. Also an Obie and a girl named (as god is my witness, I am not making this up) Happy Hussey.
This is great! No way can I touch it, but I do have to put in my two cents for down state Illinois in the 70's. For team names they had the Pekin "Chinks" and the Hoopeston "Corn Jerkers." In college I met a girl from Southern Illinois named "Muff." Yup. For real.
'r is right, I love the southern gothic (to borrow Alameida's phrase) turn that unfogged has taken. Who knew we were getting bastard out of carolina when Alameida joined.
Southern Illinois does feel alot like appalachia. BTW, I had some fine barbecue and cobbler down there a few weeks ago. Didn't get to a trailer park during my short visit, though.
"Whenever I'm asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to recognize one. " -Flannery O'Connor
TF: Flannery hit it spot-on. See, down here we don't put our crazy relatives in the attic, we bring 'em down to the sitting room where EVERYONE can see 'em.
Is it just me, or do descriptions of the South seem wierdly consonant with undergraduate depictions of ye olde Russia: a strangely beautiful, barbaric place that, despite its (slightly pathetic?) pretensions, isn't really part of the West, yet, for reasons unknown, seems to throw up monstrously talented individuals (Tolstoy, Dosteyevski, Landau, etc.; Faulkner, Dr. King, Clinton, etc.) at regular intervals.
The writing class thing reminds me of junior high, when teachers would tell me they liked my stories, then ask if I wanted to see a counselor. Then there was the story about the kid considering suicide (an option he rejects), which they said they'd publish in the literary magazine, as long as I took out the parts about suicide.
Statesboro? No shit . . . my mother grew up near Brooklet, down a stretch of dirt road that bears our name off of 67.
I've got mostly bad memories associated with time spent down there -- my dog getting killed by a car, a very long year in a rural Georgia elementary school as a Yankee blockhead, etc. About the only thing I miss is Vandy's BBQ.
Alameida, let's have illegitimate fetal-tobacco-syndrome babies together. I'll discipline them with a nail-studded Mister Ouchie when they sass off and teach them what Jesus said about no dirt-roadin and all. You can get fat if you want.
You've led an interesting life.
Posted by David Weman | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 4:49 AM
God help me, I laughed out loud at the words "oven cleaner" and couldn't stop laughing. Poor goddamn cat. Hahahaha.
Also, the shag carpet thing makes me think of my grandfather's shag carpet, which is positively crusted with spit and spilled food, especially around the chair where he eats. Don't wanna put anything you find down there in your mouth. My uncle never cleans, you see. And the bathroom, well, let's just say you don't want to rest your head on anything in there. No soap, either. I usually wash my hands with Lysol when I'm done.
All of which is to say, wow. Vivid.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 6:33 AM
I know you guys think that picking up Alameida matters because she has ovaries, but I think the real story here is that you picked up a southerner. You don't much get stories like this from anybody but us.
This post is a thing of surpassing beauty, A. I mean, really: Lucky. As an aside, I went to high school with not one, but two guys named Skeeter. Also an Obie and a girl named (as god is my witness, I am not making this up) Happy Hussey.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 7:37 AM
This is great! No way can I touch it, but I do have to put in my two cents for down state Illinois in the 70's. For team names they had the Pekin "Chinks" and the Hoopeston "Corn Jerkers." In college I met a girl from Southern Illinois named "Muff." Yup. For real.
Posted by Tripp | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 8:14 AM
'r is right, I love the southern gothic (to borrow Alameida's phrase) turn that unfogged has taken. Who knew we were getting bastard out of carolina when Alameida joined.
Southern Illinois does feel alot like appalachia. BTW, I had some fine barbecue and cobbler down there a few weeks ago. Didn't get to a trailer park during my short visit, though.
Posted by cw | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 9:05 AM
"Whenever I'm asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to recognize one. " -Flannery O'Connor
Posted by TomFreeland | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 10:08 AM
Where on God's earth did you find this woman?!
Posted by Brad DeLong | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 10:37 AM
Far, far away.
Posted by ogged | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 10:38 AM
TF: Flannery hit it spot-on. See, down here we don't put our crazy relatives in the attic, we bring 'em down to the sitting room where EVERYONE can see 'em.
Posted by Lex | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 10:49 AM
Or we stick them in rocking chairs on the front porch so they can holler at pedestrians. Keeps 'em busy and away from the cleaning products.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 10:58 AM
Is it just me, or do descriptions of the South seem wierdly consonant with undergraduate depictions of ye olde Russia: a strangely beautiful, barbaric place that, despite its (slightly pathetic?) pretensions, isn't really part of the West, yet, for reasons unknown, seems to throw up monstrously talented individuals (Tolstoy, Dosteyevski, Landau, etc.; Faulkner, Dr. King, Clinton, etc.) at regular intervals.
Posted by SomeCallMeTim | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 11:26 AM
ye olde Russia
One really, really big difference: we can't drive in snow.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 11:30 AM
It's not just you. See here , here , and here.
Posted by aj | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 12:19 PM
The writing class thing reminds me of junior high, when teachers would tell me they liked my stories, then ask if I wanted to see a counselor. Then there was the story about the kid considering suicide (an option he rejects), which they said they'd publish in the literary magazine, as long as I took out the parts about suicide.
Posted by ogged | Link to this comment | 02-16-05 2:25 PM
Literary magazine? Wow, Ogged, if only you'd gone to the Iowa Writer's Workshop, you might've gotten somewhere.
Posted by adb | Link to this comment | 02-18-05 12:59 AM
Statesboro? No shit . . . my mother grew up near Brooklet, down a stretch of dirt road that bears our name off of 67.
I've got mostly bad memories associated with time spent down there -- my dog getting killed by a car, a very long year in a rural Georgia elementary school as a Yankee blockhead, etc. About the only thing I miss is Vandy's BBQ.
Posted by Bragan | Link to this comment | 02-18-05 8:40 AM
Alameida, let's have illegitimate fetal-tobacco-syndrome babies together. I'll discipline them with a nail-studded Mister Ouchie when they sass off and teach them what Jesus said about no dirt-roadin and all. You can get fat if you want.
Posted by Starrrr | Link to this comment | 02-18-05 9:32 AM