Words That Might Get a Louisianan Funny Looks in DC

When I moved to the DC area, I was surprised to find that “y’all” is a perfectly acceptable word. This makes sense being so close to Virginia and being below the Mason-Dixon Line. While “y’all” is not widely used, it is at least widely understood. No one has ever laughed at me for my use of this contraction, but I am still working on weaning it from my vocabulary in favor of “you guys.” On the other hand, I was surprised to find other everyday expressions that did not convey the meaning I had intended. Here are a few words that have caused me some confusion or words that could potentially cause problems when used in DC, or anywhere outside of the Deep South. This could also serve as a guide for anyone visiting Louisiana.

1. Buggy – noun, a cart on wheels that you push around the grocery store while shopping. Example: We had so much to get for the Mardi Gras party that by the time we got up to the check-out our buggy was almost overflowing.

Old habits die hard, and buggy is a word I have not been able to give up. I never realized how ridiculous this word sounds until I moved to Maryland and got some strange looks one day when I used it in class with my students. I am making the effort to use “cart” instead, but so far, no success.

2. Coke – noun, a generic term for any flavor or brand of soft drink. Example: The woman at the McDonald’s drive through asked me, “What kinda coke you want?” I told her, “Dr. Pepper.”

Lately, I have been doing much better about using soda as the catch-all word for soft drink. When I first moved here, I would tell the cashier at Panera that I wanted a coke with my meal. I would get a strange look as if I had given too much information, and then he or she would explain that I could pick whatever kind of soda I wanted at the soda machine.

3. Perot – [pee - row] noun, a small boat used for duck hunting or fishing. Example: I saw Ole Boudreaux out on the bayou this mornin’ in his perot.

I don’t know much about perots, but based on a Google search, I would not recommend using this word outside of Louisiana or Arkansas. It is a little known word that few people have heard of.

4. Wal-Martin’ – verb, to go shopping at Wal-Mart; generally considered to be a leisurely activity. Example: We don’t have big plans for this weekend; just gonna do some yard work and then go Wal-Martin’.

This is also known as “goin’ to Wally World.” A similar expression is “garage sailing” which is also a leisurely activity and starts early Saturday morning. “Garage sailing” is when you cruise from one garage sale to another.

5. Making Groceries – verb, to go grocery shopping. Example: We don’t have anything at the house to eat because my mom forgot to make groceries.

This phrase is isolated to South Louisiana. I have plenty of relatives in New Orleans and Baton Rouge who include this in their Facebook status updates. Although most Louisianans don’t realize it, this is a direct translation from the French faire les courses. It’s a relic from French colonialism. I feel compelled to mention that it is not uncommon to hear a youngster in South Louisiana say, “Mommy, I have to make,” and then be rushed off to the bathroom. This is due to the direct translation of faire pipi. While this second use of the verb “to make” is rarely heard from anyone over the age of ten, it could still attract some strange stares while on a family vacation touring the DC monuments. As for “making groceries,” using this esoteric expression outside of its region of origin may just lead people to believe that you are a farmer.

2010.01.30 / No Comments

My Obama Inspired Ideas

As I am in bed falling asleep at night, I tend to let my mind wander freely. Without constraint, it can wander to some weird places. This is not my dream world but a space between wake and sleep. When my brain hovers in this soporific state, my thoughts are not completely lucid. I keep pen and paper by my bed in case I do have a moment of brilliance; although, I rarely remember to record my mental ramblings. Last week’s wanderings produced a plethora of interesting ideas. Since three of them were inspired by Obama and tonight is the State of the Union, I thought I would share them with the internet. Before you judge me too harshly, just keep in mind that I was half-asleep when I thought of these. If any of these do already exist, please link me.

1. The Obama daughters should start a blog. Of course, they are a bit too young for this now, but by second term at least one of them should be in high school which seems like an appropriate age. It shouldn’t be completely serious. It would put some perspective on the political scene. Just when everyone is up in arms over something the President has done or has not done, we will all read on the blog how he had dinner with his daughters (they had Mac and Cheese; not the kind out of the box) and then helped them with their History homework. We would also get to experience the teen angst such as, “My parents are so frustrating. They won’t even let my go to homecoming with this guy until they do a full background investigation on him and his family!” This would give the girls good writing practice for the Life in the White House memoir they will get to write when they are older. I’m sure this idea is not feasible, but it’s fun to think about. While there is probably no rule against the President’s daughters having a blog, it could get Obama in hot water. For example, the girls might reveal that their dad has an Egg McMuffin addiction, or they might get him in trouble with PETA by mentioning his harsh dog disciplining practices when Bo soils the carpet in the Oval Office. We might even find out how much time it takes Michelle Obama to do her hair and makeup for a State Dinner.

2. Someone should write a web comic from the point of view of Obama’s dog. He would have to be a spinoff of Brian on Family Guy. He would philosophize on all things political: health care, the economy, Iraq, Afghanistan, global warming. He could even be a foreign policy expert. But unlike Brian, the First Family wouldn’t know that their dog is a genius. Whenever anyone is around, especially the press, he must keep up the ruse by rolling in the grass and fetching Frisbees. He could be like Brain from Inspector Gadget making phone calls to Prime Ministers and Congressmen while his master gets all the credit. Any embarrassing situations that the President finds himself in would be secretly resolved by Bo. Brian, Brain, Bo – I see a pattern.

3. Someone should write a web comic based on the premise that McCain and Palin won instead of Obama and Biden. I think McCain and Palin both look great in caricature. The comic would concentrate on their relationship and roguish activities. The author could speculate as to how McCain would handle the issues that have come up in Obama’s administration. Meanwhile, Palin would be attempting to do things like banning Harry Potter from all public schools or teaching abstinence to animals at the National Zoo. The author would get to pick McCain’s cabinet for him, and Senator Obama could even make appearances as an evil villain. The political view could really go either way; it could be written by a Republican or by a Democrat. Although, it would probably be funniest if the author was Independent. There’s plenty to make fun of within both parties.

2010.01.27 / 1 Comment

My Mensa Rejection

The title of last weekend’s post – Hot Sauce, the Common Cold, and Insomnia– reminds me of a Mensa test question. About four years ago, Aquarius decided to take a shot at becoming a member of the elite, high IQ club, Mensa. During his last year of college he did a group project with a girl who is a Mensan, and he concluded that he is just as smart as she is. If she had been accepted, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t be. I, being less confident in my own brain power, refused to subject myself to the test along with him. No one knew about his plan until the night before the test. We were out with our usual group of friends drinking mojitos when Aquarius announced his quest to become a card carrying genius. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe my friends are all pedantic, but suddenly this was the best idea anyone had ever heard, and it was organized into a group outing. I finally agreed to come along. I had nothing to lose except $30 and a Saturday afternoon, but bragging rights to gain. It was decided that anyone who got in had to buy two mojitos for anyone who failed. I had the feeling that I would be getting several mojitos.

The participants: Me, Aquarius, Capricorn (my brother), Capricorn’s girlfriend (now ex-girlfriend), and Chef Scorpio (longtime friend and former roommate of both Aquarius and Capricorn). The place: our local library in Shreveport, Louisiana at 1:00pm on a hot summer Saturday afternoon. The prize: rum and mint deliciousness or a wallet sized card to prove certifiable genius status.

Emboldened by our group spirit, we waltzed into the library heads held high. We were confident that we would soon be accepted into the ranks of this egghead society. The test proctors looked surprised and pleased to see such a large turn-out. At the rectangular conference table in the group study room was already seated a couple a little older than us and an oily skinned, obese man with a greasy comb-over and a tee-shirt one size too small. Shortly after sitting down, we learned that the obese man had had a tracheotomy. He pointed to Aquarius’s black baseball cap with the white Mac logo and, through his voice box, vibrated out, “Someone has been eating your fruit.” For someone who can’t use his trachea to speak, this man was very talkative. Every time he made a joke he would robotically laugh, “Ha – Ha – Ha – Ha.” In the same staccato manner, he informed us that he is dyslexic but that there is no accommodation for this on the Mensa exam. He also gave us all of the information we would need to look him up on a local dating website of which he was a member. I felt bad for his medical condition, but his social awkwardness would have made him creepy even without the disembodied voice.

I don’t remember a lot from the test except the story about a Greek spring festival in honor of Dionysus. The story was read to us at the beginning and then we had to answer questions about it after we had completed the whole Mensa test. There were some math sections which I am sure that I bombed, but my favorite sections were the opposites, analogies, and completions of similar groups. These were mostly in picture form. For example, what is the opposite of a Japanese business woman? Is it a Japanese business man, or an American business man, or a guy in a hard-hat? That seems pretty easy. It can’t be an American business man because it could just as easily be an Italian business man, and something can’t have as many opposites as there are westernized countries. It could be the construction worker, but then why not a teacher, or a cashier, or a prostitute? It must be the Japanese business man even though all the others seem more opposite. Then, analogies. There was a picture of the motor that goes on the back of a boat and next to it a picture of the boat itself. Is a motor to a boat as a human heart is to the human body, or as a paddle is to a canoe, or as an engine is to a car? I chose the engine because it is mechanical. The problem was that they started getting ridiculously hard. There were series of pictures and you either had to decide which one didn’t belong or pick one from another group that fit in with the first series. For example, strawberry, smiley face, cheese grater. Does it really matter what your answer choices are? Can you fit anything else into this group that would make sense? So now, whenever Aquarius, Capricorn, Chef Scorpio, and I hear something that is either completely ridiculous or completely incomprehensible, we start yelling out random pictures from the Mensa test – bow tie, cheese grater, Eiffel Tower, rock, cake.

Once the test was over, we decided to reward ourselves by having Chef Scorpio cook a tasty dinner. Walking down the pasta aisle in the grocery store, we heard what sounded like computerized text to speech erupt from behind us, “I hope you don’t think I’m stalking you.” We turned around to see our fellow test taker rolling toward us in one of those motorized scooters they keep by the shopping carts. I hope he didn’t get in because if he did, I would feel like the biggest loser. A few weeks later our letters arrived in the mail. I knew the results without opening them. Aquarius’s envelope was significantly bulkier than mine. Chef Scorpio and I are the only two out of the five who are not geniuses, but we decided that we are pretty smart for picking genius friends. So what item would complete the series of hot sauce, the common cold, and insomnia? Clearly, the answer is Nyquil.

2010.01.23 / 1 Comment

Double Standard

I absolutely hate double standards. How is it ok for a man to pose nude but not for a woman to pose nude? The new Massachusetts senator, Scott Brown, posed nude (or almost nude) as a Cosmopolitan centerfold while he was in college. Ok, fine, he’s a good looking guy. He won a “Sexiest Man” contest. That’s not my problem. My problem is that no woman who has posed nude would ever get elected to public office. Beauty queens have been forced to resign over nude photos, or at least one that I know of. Let’s be honest, nude is only two pieces of cloth removed from the swimsuit competition. If Michelle Obama, Laura Bush, or Hilary Clinton had posed nude when they were 22, their husbands would not have even been able to get elected. This is not France. There would have been an uproar about “family values” and “decency.”

Do not misunderstand this as a political statement. I don’t care if he has an R or a D after his name, and I’m not upset because the woman didn’t win. I’ve never even been to Massachusetts and only know a little bit about this Senate race. I am just pointing out the double standard because it doesn’t seem like anyone else is. Or, maybe I didn’t get the memo and this kind of thing is ok now regardless of your gender. I hope that’s the case.

Here is a video of Scott Brown embarrassing his daughters. He seems like a pretty average dad.

2010.01.20 / No Comments

2010 So Far: Hot Sauce, the Common Cold, and Insomnia

This year has not gotten off to a great start for me. I spent New Year’s Eve with family in Louisiana and completely sober. There was not a single alcoholic beverage involved that night. Although I love my in-laws, they insisted on including the 12, 6, and 3 year-old grandchildren in our game of Taboo. This meant skipping all of the hard words. The highlight of the night was me forgetting how to say “umbrella” in English and yelling “parapluie” over and over while making some very suggestive hand motions. If you are having trouble imagining this, hold your fists out in front of you stacked vertically and mime opening an umbrella over and over. Then, I spent New Year’s day on what felt like the longest road trip ever. As far as traveling goes, it always seems that it doesn’t take long to get there, but it takes forever to get back home. Upon arriving home, Aquarius was instantly sick – soar throat, cough, congestion – a reoccurrence of the cold he had just after Thanksgiving. Maybe the holidays bring on these symptoms.

As part of my efforts to take care of the invalid, I attempted to cook dinner one night. Generally, Aquarius does all of the cooking. He was lying on the couch in a Nyquil-induced semi-coma. I was going to make omelets, or at least I think so; it’s all kind of fuzzy now. When I reached into the cabinet to get some oil, I inadvertently dislodged a bottle of Louisiana Red. (It’s basically the same thing as Tabasco.) The edge of the granite countertop broke its fall before it could even reach the tile floor. I never saw the bottle falling, and it took me a moment to realize what had happened. Shards of glass and hot sauce covered me, the cabinets, and the floor, but mostly me. I stood still in a stupor of disbelief and fear. I tried to rewind the whole scene in my head and put the pieces back together, not to pretend that it had not happened, but to figure out what I had done. Looking down at myself, I dared not move because of the tiny flecks of glass embedded in my clothes. My jeans were caked with hot sauce to the point that I could have rubbed my hands on my thighs, twirling my fingers around in the slime, and never have felt denim. The sauce began to soak through my jeans and slightly burn my skin. It was at this point that I began letting out muffled screams which awoke Aquarius. From the couch he asked me what had happened, but I was incapable of articulating my disaster.

Once I pulled myself together, I stepped over the spray of glass and the orange colored splatter to make my way to the bathtub. There, I pulled off my fluffy over-the-jeans boots. They had to be rinsed under the faucet. The same had to be done to my jeans while I kept my socks on as protection from the glass that was now floating in the shallow water of my bathtub. All of the clothes went into the washing machine, but the glass had to be cleaned out of the tub. There were orange streaks left on my legs and in the bottom of the tub. By the time this was all cleaned up, Aquarius had taken care of the mess in the kitchen. Inspired by the reddish splatters, his method had been to pretend that he was a CSI. Certifying each tile as glass-free, he worked his way to the scene of the crime. He deduced the exact point of impact by working backward from the sauce’s trajectory. He then cooked dinner for me. This redeems him from anything negative I may have said in the past about his inability to do housework.

Three days later, I caught his cold. This is odd because working in public school for four years allowed me to build up the immune system of a superhero. My powers must have been weakened by my new private school. I had to miss the first day of the new semester, which seems like a bad omen. Then, since I slept for three straight days while sick, I was incapable of sleeping the night before my return to work. I made my way through that first day back like a zombie on caffeine. I’m not really sure what I taught my students. Luckily, that night I was able to do some hard-core sleeping. I have been informed that my cats, Garfield and Nermal, played chase across the bed and across my belly without me flinching. The next day, I felt like I had risen from the dead. I am just going to pretend that the first two weeks of 2010 didn’t happen and that it all started with my resurrection.

2010.01.16 / 1 Comment

Christmas in the Deep South Days 7-9: Apparently I Look Rich

After our exhausting game of in-law ping-pong, we spent the remainder of our Christmas visit to the Deep South attempting to entertain ourselves. This mostly consisted of driving around town in search of something to do until it was time to go to dinner with various friends each evening. We went to the mall to exchange a Christmas gift but didn’t shop because there’s not even a Macy’s. We ate lunch at our favorite restaurants – the only thing we really miss is southern food. One day, after two trips to Starbucks, we decided to stop in a jewelry store which we knew to have some reasonably priced items. I have been wanting a new watch for some time now and would be perfectly content with an $85 Fossil. I imagined, based on past experiences with this establishment, that they would carry some watches just a little more expensive than Fossil alongside the very pricey brands. Before going in, Aquarius said, “Just get a feel for what you like and don’t worry about the prices. We can afford to spend a few hundred on a watch.” I promised not to even look at the tags.

In the very back of the store stood a semi-circle of watch cases. I began slowly making my way around overwhelmed by the vast selection. There was everything from leather-banded bulky faces to dainty gold bracelets that doubled as timepieces. I wondered how anyone could even tell the time on the tiny dress watches that lacked numbers or even hash marks. As I neared the end of the arc, I spied what I was looking for: the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a case full of colorful watches. Unfortunately, a male customer being helped by a salesman blocked my path. As I came to a halt to wait my turn, a woman popped out of nowhere to help me. When asked what we might be shopping for, Aquarius told her we were looking for a watch, and I explained that I would prefer one with a pink or a blue face. Her eyes lit up, I now realize, with dollar signs.

“Have you ever considered an Ebel or a Baume and Mercier?” she immediately asked as if reading from a script. Being completely ignorant of expensive watches, I replied that this was the first place I had looked and had not yet settled on a particular brand. “How do you feel about mother-of-pearl?”

“I’m open to it,” I replied politely but noting that she had glossed over my true color preference and the only thing I had given her as a starting point. I was still furtively glancing at that last case trying to get a peak. Under the assumption that many watches crowded together in one case means they are less expensive, I thought that would be our first stop. She promptly took me in the opposite direction. My hopes rose as we came near the Gucci case – a brand I recognized – but we quickly passed it by. We arrived at a sparsely filled case containing lots of mother-of-pearl, gold, and diamonds but no pink or blue. The saleswoman slipped a diamond encircled, square faced Baume and Mercier onto my wrist. Abiding by my promise, I was clueless of the price and gave a nonchalant, “Oh, it’s nice.” When Aquarius looked at the tag without flinching, she quickly moved on to an Ebel.

My facial expression showed little excitement so she said, “We passed another watch on the way over here that I think you may really like.” I followed her to the very middle of the arc of cases, to the crown jewel of the timepiece section – Rolex. Until that point I had been unsure as to which way this was going, now I was certain. Either our clothing or our lack of a southern drawl indicated something to her which we had not intended. Earlier on in our small-talk she had assumed that we were from out of town and asked if we were visiting for the holidays. She pegged us for rich East Coasters with money to blow on bling. Too bad she hadn’t seen us drive up in our fairly new but very modest Ford. I tried on the Rolex. At least it was pink, but it was also $6,000. To my surprise the Rolex wasn’t amazing. In fact, all of the watches I tried on that day, the cheapest of which I later found out was $3,000, didn’t strike me as being anything particularly special. I’m sure they last forever and are expertly crafted, but if the last watch I tried on hadn’t been inscribed with the Rolex symbol, I wouldn’t have known that I was supposed to be impressed. By this time the customer on the end had finished his shopping, but I never did find out which brand was so colorful crowded together in that last case. After trying on a Rolex it seemed impolite to ask to see a cheaper watch. If the saleswoman had paid any attention to my interest in blue, she may have made some commission that day.

Before we left, she insisted on giving us some literature on the Ebel which I had confessed to liking the most. I was expecting a pamphlet but instead was presented with a one inch thick hardbound book. Confused about whether or not this was a complimentary gift, we stood at the counter flipping through the glossy pages. It contained information about the company, the craft of watch manufacturing, and featured several pages on each watch in their line. The woman insisted that we take the book telling us, “Ebel spares no expense. I have a whole stack back here.” I politely declined explaining that I am too green, would be forced to recycle it later, and preferred to do my watch research on-line.

We barely made it out of the store and into the car before Aquarius let out an enormous laugh accompanied by, “She thought we were rich!” I commended him on his poker face when he recounted the prices to me. I did later look on-line to confirm that she had in fact taken us to the absolutely most expensive watches in the store. I also discovered that I really like the Gucci watches and some of the ones she passed by in her quest for a diamond sale were only $500. Of course I say “only” with a completely new perspective on watch pricing. A quick look at Macys.com also revealed that I can get an Armani or a DKNY for well within my price range. I am used to salespeople steering me toward the least expensive items in a store, and I can hardly blame them since I pick my wardrobe based on comfort and my own personal style rather than on designer brands. I never imagined that I would be mistaken for someone with thousands to spend on something as trivial as a watch. I’ve been relying on my iphone to tell me the time for the past six months. Maybe one day I will be a rich and famous writer and will think differently, but for now I will head to the Fossil counter at Macy’s.

Christmas in the Deep South Series:

The Road Trip

Family Ties & Ping-Pong

Maybe I Am a Snob

2010.01.09 / No Comments

Christmas In the Deep South Continued: Maybe I Am a Snob

During this holiday trip the smallness of my hometown struck me like never before. I had experienced a similar feeling in 2003 when I returned from my year of study abroad in Paris. Of course at that time I was also dealing with the culture shock of returning to the States just when I was beginning to feel at home in Europe. I remember getting very frustrated one evening out to dinner at Applebee’s because my main course was brought out mere minutes after the arrival of our appetizer. I cursed the waitress under my breath but, like a peaceable Pisces, smiled and thanked her. I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a chain that attempts to duplicate the neighborhood bar experience all across America, but I still felt the need to explain to my friends that in France we would not have been asked to order the entrée until we had finished the appetizer. I should have stopped there but couldn’t resist pointing out that in French the appetizer is actually called the entrée because it begins the meal and what we call the entrée is dubbed le plat, the main course. I was dubbed a snob just as I had been warned by previous study abroad students. It was not my intention to come back with my nose in the air, but my enthusiasm for simply discussing cultural differences came across as pretentious. I finally learned to keep my mouth shut and my observations to myself. Doing this allowed me to fit in, and very few people realized that I was a Pisces out of water.

This trip home last week allowed Aquarius to experience for himself the way I felt back in 2003. Everything in our hometown seemed so bland. Shreveport is a decent sized city, but yet there is very little culture. After Paris, I somehow managed to look past the lack of theaters, museums, and fine dining and to settle down for five long years. I only stayed because Aquarius was there, but now we both question our decision to remain in a place that seems like a vacuum – void of cultural intensity. In DC I can go to a ballet whenever I want, visit a hundred museums, and eat any kind of ethnic food under the sun. DC reminds me much of Paris with its low buildings, monuments, parks, and frenzy of cultural activity. Right now I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I always felt very trapped and isolated in the South. Aquarius now realizes that he did as well.

I feel guilty, but going back made me realize that maybe I am a snob. It was hard not to look down on people who think their city has so much to offer because another old cotton field has been cemented over for another strip mall. I do honestly feel bad for being an elitist, and I wish I could relay some story about how I was knocked off my high horse by some good natured, small-town redneck, but no such luck. Instead, this status was only reinforced by everyone assuming that Aquarius and I “aren’t from around here.” I don’t know if it was the knee-high leather boots I wore, our lack of southern accents, or a general aura of East Coast, but everyone from waitresses to salespeople seemed to have us pegged. I never had much of a southern accent. I attribute this to having a very articulate lawyer for a father as well as to my linguistic year in Paris. Aquarius has always had less of an accent than most Southerners due to speech therapy as a child. It seems that we both shed any remnants of a drawl once we moved away. In the eyes of our hometown, we are Northerners. This time around I didn’t censor myself, and I didn’t bother to notice if anyone thought me arrogant. That probably makes me a snob, but now that I am back in DC I just feel like an average Pisces. I am back where I belong.

2010.01.06 / 2 Comments

Christmas in the Deep South Days 3-6: Family Ties & Ping-Pong

My time spent down South was completely soul crushing. I was sapped of all creative forces and completely failed at blogging my holiday experience as planned. Thus, I am going to report to you over the next few days an after-the-fact account. I should add that I was highly disappointed in myself during this “vacation.” I had grandiose plans to blog everyday, work on a short story, and read three books. Instead, I slept in and sat around staring at family members under the pretense of spending time together.

This was our first Christmas back home since our big move, and Aquarius and I decided that we would absolutely not split days. Before we became out-of-towners, we would split every holiday straight down the middle. The morning and lunch would go to one set of parents, and the late afternoon, dinner and evening to the other. This was completely exhausting and sometimes even required driving around town to see extended family members in-between. We were not having any of that this year, and thus began the game of in-law ping-pong. Friday with my parents, Saturday with his. Sunday with my extended family, Monday with his. The result? The longest Christmas holiday ever. I already said that time moves slowly down there; well, it nearly came to a standstill trapping me on Christmas day for what seemed like eternity. I can’t even imagine what couples with divorced parents must go through. In retrospect, maybe the quick and dirty splitting of days was less painful. It allowed Christmas to end sooner and me to go on with my life.

Not only was this holiday prolonged beyond my limits, but I got a bit frustrated with my extended family situation. I came 1,200 miles and still only saw my cousins at the obligatory family gathering which had been arranged back in September to assure that no one would have scheduling conflicts. Amazingly, some people still didn’t show which leads me to believe that they wanted to be there just as badly as I did. This gathering was no different than if I had still been a local family member. Or rather, the frustration lies in the fact that when I was local, this and Thanksgiving would still have been the only time all year long that I saw some of these people. I used to live on the same street as one of my cousins and was never once invited over despite my attempts at friendship. What’s the point in seeing someone only twice a year? The parties involved are reduced to strangers who have nothing in common to discuss. The stretch between Christmas and Thanksgiving is so long that you must either give a complete re-hashing of your life for the past year or resort to banal conversation. My family chooses the latter. The polite discussion barely moved beyond, “How do y’all like it up there?” or, “So, you got some snow. Must’ve been cold.” I don’t understand the notion that families must get together on specific days designated as special by the calendar. If you want to hang out with me, call me up any day of the year and I will be happy to hear from you. I wonder if my family is weird or if lots of people remain strangers to their aunts, uncles, and cousins January through October.

From all this, I have concluded that we are not going back home next Christmas. It didn’t even feel like home anymore. My new policy is that the ball is on their side of the table. I made the long trek to Louisiana, and if anyone truly does want to spend time with me, they can come up here next time. That goes for blood relatives or old drinking buddies from my early 20’s. I would even be happy with someone coming to visit our nation’s capital and me just being a quick lunch between museums. But apart from my parents and in-laws, I doubt anyone will visit. Maybe family is overrated. The best holiday of 2009 was Thanksgiving with my former Louisiana friends who now reside on the East Coast. I think Christmas next year should also be spent with them. We may not get to pick our family, but we do get to pick our friends and mine will make for a great Christmas holiday.

2010.01.04 / 3 Comments

Christmas in the Deep South Days 1 and 2: The Road Trip

We left DC at 7 Wednesday morning with an 18 hour road trip ahead of us. All the way through Virginia our path was lined with three feet of gray crust. I take back what I said about the snow being so beautiful and not wanting to leave it behind. The night before our departure, I cleaned out the fridge and found some vegetables in the bottom drawer that had been forgotten in the aftermath of Turkeyocalypse. There was a colony of white, spore-like mold growing on this unidentifiable vegetation. It looked just like the snow outside – a fungus on the city. I am trying to preserve the memory of the pure white snow in my mind, the way it was on Saturday. I guess I never thought about the road grime that would be scraped up by the ploughs or the slushy, half-frozen mud that would surround the crosswalks. I feel like a naïve girl who thought the world pure and perfect but who is now having her eyes opened to its true blackness. I am disappointed.

So, by the time we got to Alabama, I was somewhat surprised to see green grass, green trees, and the occasional flower. I really shouldn’t be surprised by this. After spending 27 years in the Deep South, I am well acquainted with the weather patterns. It does seem that time moves slower down here. It is still early fall. There are a few dead leaves on the ground but some greenery remains. The temperatures are pleasant. I may have packed too heavily in a very literal sense. Instead of heading south in a car, I feel like I just headed three months back in a time machine.

2009.12.24 / 1 Comment

Let It Snow

I have never seen this much snow at once in my entire life! Today was great. I never stopped being amazed by the snow. Aquarius and I went on an adventure to the movie theater. From our apartment, we walked down to City Place taking pictures along the way. We saw Avatar – amazing movie. Then we headed back pausing at the only open restaurant , Asian Bistro, for some lunch. The hot soup and spring rolls gave me the energy I needed to finish my trudge through the snow. This odyssey took the entire afternoon. Of course the movie was long, but the snow was slow going for me.

My only experience with snow has been the few inches we got last year and a few inches when I lived in Paris. In Louisiana, they sometimes claim that it is going to snow, but it always ends up being sleet, freezing rain, or tiny snow flakes that melt three feet above the ground. I do remember once or twice getting maybe an inch of actual snow. This was enough to take all of the snow from three neighbors’ yards to make one snowman. Normally, it just rains and then temperatures fall below freezing causing hazardous road conditions, lots of freaking out, and school closures. I realize now that what we sometimes labeled as “snow” in Louisiana was actually just sleet. For more of my observations on Louisiana weather, see my post October is Here.

Needless to say, I acted like a little kid today. Aquarius, who briefly lived in Colorado, was laughing at me because I could not stop giggling. I had trouble getting used to the snow hitting me in the face, and it took a little practice to perfect the technique of walking on the powder without slipping. At some points I was nearly knee deep. I decided against making any snow angels because I was worried that I might get lost in a drift. I can imagine myself sinking straight through the white powder and not being able to dig myself out. I’ve always thought of snow as being picturesque and tranquil, and this seemed true despite the grimy-looking, snow-ploughed roads. The city was at its quietest. My only regret about the snow is that on Wednesday I will have to leave it all behind for Louisiana. This is my first real chance at a white Christmas and it won’t happen for me. We haven’t been back in a year and a half, and our parents are becoming impatient for our visit. It will be an interesting journey. I will try to update more than just Wednesday and Saturday with some interesting observations on the South. I will also try to get pictures of some donks.

2009.12.19 / 2 Comments