Eric D. Snider

A Visit to Mississippi, Part 1

Snide Remarks #571

"A Visit to Mississippi, Part 1"

by Eric D. Snider

Published in EricDSnider.com on February 11, 2008

Sure, the Sundance Film Festival boasts swanky premieres and tons of celebrities, and the Cannes Film Festival is where the elite of the film world gather to hobnob and make deals. But only at the Oxford Film Festival in Oxford, Mississippi, would the opening-night party be held in a private home where over the kitchen sink hangs a small painting of slaves picking cotton.

They are not entirely at peace with the less savory aspects of their heritage here in Oxford, though that's not to say they're exactly at war with them, either. Things just sort of ... are. The University of Mississippi campus -- that's Ole Miss to you college sports fans -- has a road called Confederate Drive, and a riot ensued when the first black student tried to enroll there in 1962. But then again, the city (population 17,000, with Ole Miss students doubling it) was home to William Faulkner and is also home to this film festival, which celebrates independent movies and forward-thinking artistic expression.

I had never been to Mississippi before, of course, because why would you go to Mississippi? And most of what I knew about the state wasn't positive: high obesity rates, low student test scores, home of John Grisham, awfully close to Alabama. But my friend Scott Weinberg had been asked to be a panelist and juror for the film festival, and then he had a major dental emergency that prevented his attendance, and so when he asked if I'd like to go in his place, I only had one question: Is someone else paying for it?

Turns out someone else was, and so I was on my way. I boarded the plane 18 hours after Weinberg's phone call. It was an impulse trip. An impulse trip to Mississippi.

* * *

At Memphis International Airport early Thursday afternoon I was met by two friends and fellow panelists, Cinematical's Kim Voynar and Rotten Tomatoes' Jen Yamato. Kim had rented a car for the three of us to travel in, and we were all staying at the same hotel in Oxford. I had a joyful reunion with them, little realizing that traveling with two women meant I would spend the bulk of the next three days standing around waiting for them.

We navigated our way to Oxford (70 miles from Memphis) and to the Holiday Inn Express, where the festival people had gift bags waiting for us. These folks went all out! A festival T-shirt, coffee mug, beer cozy (well, I guess it would work for any canned beverage, but you only ever see people using them with beer), a big chocolate chip cookie from a local bakery, bags of locally made potato chips, and copies of a magazine called Y'all ("The Magazine of Southern People"), which sounds like something I would make up but which actually exists. In this magazine was an old article by Lewis Grizzard explaining that while from one point of the view the Civil War was about Southerners trying to keep slavery, from another point of view it was about a group of Americans rising up together when they felt the federal government had gone astray and was treating them unjustly. It was about people having the courage to FIGHT for something, a principle that surely everyone can support.

In other words, they're still really obsessed with the Civil War down here. I mean REALLY obsessed. You know how there's that guy who was an all-star football player in high school and now he's in his 30s and works in an office but he still talks about his football days all the time because it's the only noteworthy thing he's ever done? That's the South and the Civil War.

Kim and Jen needed to go to Wal-Mart for a couple things, and both of them seemed fascinated by the whole idea of going to Wal-Mart, like they don't have them where they live. I opted to stay at the hotel, knowing that shopping for "a couple things" with two women would take at least an hour. Plus, I thought going to Wal-Mart in Mississippi would be like going to a sauna in hell: a concentrated version of the environment I was already in. I didn't have the strength this early in the trip. Wal-Mart would probably be much more tolerable if I'd quit being such a snob, but honestly, it's easier to just not go to Wal-Mart.

The girls did their shopping and returned in time (barely) for us to get to the festival's opening night merriment. The screenings were being held at a movie theater across the street from the entrance to Ole Miss, in what used to be a mall but which is now just a movie theater and a JCPenney's (but which still says "Oxford Mall" at the entrance). Michelle and Melanie, two of the tireless festival organizers, both grad-school-age gals, met us at the theater and introduced us around. We were immediately struck by the friendliness and energy of the festival, smaller in size than its more notable counterparts but no less efficient and well run. And our fears that such a small fest in a small town in a state more known for hog-calling contests than cultural awareness might not be well attended proved groundless: The theater was packed.

The movie was a comedy called "Kabluey," about a directionless 32-year-old man who moves in with his sister-in-law to help take care of his bratty nephews when his brother goes to Iraq. But before it started, we had a surprise guest to kick off the festival: Morgan Freeman.

Morgan Freeman is a Mississippi native and still has a house not too far from Oxford. Michelle told us they'd been trying to get him to come to the festival every year since it started, and while he'd always been willing, his busy film schedule had always prevented him. This time, Freeman's people were still non-committal in December, when the printed program had to go to press, so they scrapped whatever big Freeman-related plans they had. Then Freeman's people called today, 10 hours before opening night, and said, "Morgan is planning to come to the festival, and he wanted to know what you had for him to do." The answer was, um, nothing, because we didn't know he was coming, and what, it would kill you to try to plan something two months in advance?, but that kind of snag is a minor setback for resourceful people like Michelle. She opted to have him just say a few words about Mississippi and independent film and "welcome to the Oxford Film Festival" and stuff like that. It went over like gangbusters, of course, because it was Morgan Freeman, and the crowd was delighted to be in the same theater with him, even if he did just star in "The Bucket List." He said his thing and left, having been in the room for all of five minutes.

After the film were more screenings of other things, but we had other priorities: the Oxford parties. Here's how most film festivals do parties. Sundance has a few officially sponsored galas, but they are invariably lame and never attended by famous people (or if celebs do attend, they go to a special VIP section and don't mingle with commoners). South By Southwest has great parties, and filmmakers do revel with the ordinary folk, but there typically isn't much food or drink, and whatever there is goes pretty fast.

Now here's how Oxford does it: Two parties a night, one starting at 9:30 and another at midnight. Abundant food and drink at both parties. Everyone with a festival pass is invited, meaning filmmakers, panelists, and film-buff Ole Miss students and Oxonians (that's what people from Oxford are called!) all hang out together. And since the fest is still relatively small, they can get away with having parties not in huge rented halls or restaurants, but in people's houses, which are soon packed to the rafters with enthusiastic Southerners.

"Kabluey" writer/director/star Scott Prendergast with Donna Ruth. She is short, but he's also abnormally tall.

The first party was at the home of Donna Ruth, a rich, pixieish old widow who contributes time and money to the festival. She was exactly what you'd expect from an old-school Southern woman in terms of hospitality and graciousness, but with the added twist of, well, supporting an independent film festival. Her home, built in the 1850s, was the most beautiful house I'd ever been inside of without police being summoned. The architecture was elegant, with high ceilings, large (but not overwhelming) rooms, and ornate moldings, and the home had been tastefully, exquisitely decorated. It was the kind of house that ought to have secret passageways and servants' quarters. Every inch of the place smelled like flowers, too. Kim said they were hydrangeas, and then someone else said they were gardenias, and everyone talked like they knew exactly what they were talking about, like they were botanists or something, but the weird thing was that we couldn't tell where the smell was coming from. We couldn't find any actual live flowers anywhere. People were talking about it: "Do you smell that?" "It's tulips!" "We don't see any flowers anywhere!" "Neither do we!" "Where is the smell coming from?!" I drew the only natural conclusion, given the facts at hand, which was that Donna Ruth is a witch.

She is definitely a good witch, though, as vivacious and high-spirited as a woman half her age, the kind of lady you hesitate to call "old" (even if it's technically true) because it doesn't really fit. She's active in every aspect of Oxford life, from Republican politics to the arts. She treated every guest as if she had invited each of us personally, when in fact we were just festival-goers and there were more than a hundred of us and we were stealing her knick-knacks.

Donna Ruth quickly became the sassy old grandmother to the festival, the patron saint of Oxford. She's not the cookie-bakin' kind of grandma, either. She's the drinkin' kind. She always had a glass of something in her hand. Neither of my real grandmas baked cookies, but they didn't drink, either. Then they died. I kind of got gypped in the grandma department. They weren't even witches.

On the wall of Donna Ruth's kitchen hung a large reproduction of what looked like an old magazine advertisement featuring a drawing of a black tuxedoed man holding a piping hot bowl and saying, "Puttin' on the gritz!" Jen wanted my opinion on this (hers was manifest in her tone of voice), so I said, "Well, it's not like there's no such thing as a black waiter, and they do eat grits down here. He's not drawn like a caricature or anything."

Then she pointed to another picture, this time a drawing of some monkeys dressed as waiters. "They're just monkeys!" I said. "If they had been drawn with the facial features of a particular race, then that would be something else."

Then she pointed to another picture. I said, "Well, that's a picture of slaves picking cotton." I couldn't really rationalize that one.

Grantley at the grill.

The food at this party was being prepared by an actual chef, a casual fellow named Grantley whose informal air belied his skill. He was set up on the back patio, aided by a partner, and they cooked everything on a multi-purpose grill that had pan-like surfaces for sauces. There were shrimp, catfish, short ribs, a variety of delicious sauces and sides, and tasty? Hoo-wee! To use a Southern expression I once heard, it'll make your tongue want to slap your head off. It was without question the best food I'd ever eaten at a film festival party. In fact, given my regular diet of frozen dinners and Pop-Tarts, it was some of the best food I'd ever eaten anywhere.

Kim and Jen and I mingled and met other festival-goers. We met a feisty old lady who wasn't Donna Ruth but who was also a festival supporter. She told us her son had moved to Texas some time ago -- I got the impression Mississippians view Texas the way the Western states view California: with disdain and mistrust -- and he had sent her a pair of boots as a gift. They were roper's boots, like those worn by female rodeo participants. Being a good mother, she figured she should wear them a few times, but it was difficult because, in her own words, "I don't like shoes that take two hands to get on. But I discovered that if I wore panty hose, they'd slide on easier, and so that's what I did. I know that's not how those boots were meant to be worn, but it was the only way I could get them on!" She'd be a good surrogate grandma, too, if Donna Ruth is unable to fulfill her duties, like if she gets called away to be an adjunct professor at Hogwarts or something.

It got to be midnight, eventually, and we'd all made several new friends among the filmmakers and festival-goers. The after party was tempting, but the three of us had been traveling since very early that morning, and we were exhausted. So we headed back to our separate rooms at the Holiday Inn Express, thrilled that our first several hours in Mississippi had been a success, and that we had not had to witness any tar-and-featherings or moonshine-distillery explosions.

(Part 2)

Comments & Reaction:

This whole travelogue works better as one unified piece than as a two-parter, but the dang thing was just too long to publish it as one installment. You'll get a better sense of Oxford and how much fun we had there after you read part 2.

This item has 40 comments

Talm says:
February 12, 2008 at 2:13 am
This is great. I can't wait for part 2.
OMAllen says:
February 12, 2008 at 5:11 am
Maybe Mississississississississippi (sp?) isn't so bad?
William Goss says:
February 12, 2008 at 6:09 am
Really, "Y'all" Magazine?
Paul Norman says:
February 12, 2008 at 6:16 am
Living in a small town (Richmond) outside of Houston, TX, I have to say that there seems to be a certain age for melanin-challenged people who have not given up their racist upbringing. Not that they are vicious or hateful, but it was rather jarring when an older repairman at our house referred to his 60+ year old black assistant a "boy." When my wife told a racquetball friend, who is also black, about it he just shook his head and told her about an old white woman who casually referred to a little neighbor girl as "nappy-headed." It sounds like Donna Ruth has similar kind of a blind spot. -Paul Norman
Marci says:
February 12, 2008 at 6:51 am
You were in Mississippi and you didn't even stop by to say hi. How rude!
Jennifer says:
February 12, 2008 at 7:01 am
One of the reasons you go to Mississippi's to get born ... that's what my mom did before moving to Louisiana to grow up. But I'm totally with you on the Wal-Mart thing ... sheesh y'all ... that's punishment. Do you think what you smelled inside the house might have been gardenias on bushes outside the house? They have a tendency to permeate in a delightful way. Cant wait for part two.
Ben C. says:
February 12, 2008 at 7:13 am
Southerners ARE obsessed with the Civil War. My family went to visit my aunt and uncle in Georgia and my little cousins (about 8 and 9 at the time) wanted to go play in the backyard. We though maybe they wanted to play tag, hide and seek, catch, but no, Civil War it was! And they wanted to be the South!!! My brother and I reminded them that the North had won and asked if they really wanted to be the South and it looked like we were the first ones to tell them the South had lost. They had that look on their face like we just told them Santa wasn't real... It was very strange.
Randy Tayler says:
February 12, 2008 at 7:46 am
Man -- the South is like another country. Sometimes I think annexing Mexico would give us a less culturally-divergent region of the U.S.
Jenny says:
February 12, 2008 at 8:10 am
I lived in Vicksburg, MS for six years and if you know anything about the Civil War, when Vicksburg fell on the 4th of July, it turned the tide of the war for the North. They didn't celebrate the 4th of July in Vicksburg for over 100 years. Southerners have a long memory.

The last time I was in Oxford, four or so years ago, there was only a JCPenney and a theater at the Oxford Mall. Everything moves slower in the south. Or doesn't move at all and kudzu grows over it.

But the food! I miss crawfish ettouffe and jambalaya and really good catfish. The regular people don't really eat that stuff, they just serve it to show off. Most people down there eat deep-fried corn-on-the-cob you buy at a gas station. I wish that were a joke, but it does explain the obesity issue down there.

I was excited to read that you were heading there and so glad you had fun. My husband and I consider our time in the Deep South as our "foreign experience" and have many wonderful friends and memories. We're much happier in Colorado, but it was definitely an experience living there. Can't wait to read your next installment!
Paul says:
February 12, 2008 at 8:21 am
Not to break up the southern bashing, but honestly people, it's not like other regions of the US aren't without any blemishes or reasons for embarassment. The South has its quirks, like their obsession with the Civil War. I guess the Northeast should be commended for not commemorating their starvation of the Irish, and the West should be commended for not reinacting blowing up Chinese people?
B says:
February 12, 2008 at 8:44 am
I thought it was "The War of Northern Aggression"
Diane says:
February 12, 2008 at 8:50 am
My husband refers to people like Donna Ruth as Old People Racists. They generally don’t mean any harm and you can’t change them now.

As a proud southerner, I would like to correct something. It’s the War of Northern Aggression. I’m surprised you didn’t hear that while you were in Mississippi.

Great column. I love to hear witches spoken of fondly!
mommyof3boys says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:02 am
I am from the north-actually the "great white north" and I have made my home in the south for the last 9 years. Before coming here I had the usual stereotypical notions of southerners like the idea that a southern accent automatically signals a below average IQ, etc. But, I have to honestly say that I have been warmly welcomed here-even married a southern boy and gave birth to 3 more southern boys. Having travelled extensively in many regions in the US and Canada, I feel that the south is one of the most hospitable areas I have lived or travelled in. Not to mention the wonderful cultural and educational opportunities that exist here. This is truly my home and I am proud to be an adopted southerner!
Carrie says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:20 am
A couple things:

1) Even though I hate humidity with a passion that made me move to a place where it snows every single day, I love the South. It is my home. It is my heart. I just threw up a little bit. If anyone near Salt Lake City ever needs a taste of Southern Hospitality, come to my house!

2)"You know how there's that guy who was an all-star football player in high school and now he's in his 30s and works in an office but he still talks about his football days all the time because it's the only noteworthy thing he's ever done?"

This PERFECTLY describes a guy I work with. When people are picking on him, he always comes back with "I led my team to a STATE CHAMPIONSHIP in high school." And I'm all eyeballs in the back of my head.

I am not a Daughter of the American Revolution, so I can't relate to the people who are obsessed with the Civil War. My friend's father is, and he owns multiple Confederate uniforms. I think one might be real. And the walls of his house are covered in Civil War art.
John Doe says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:22 am
My comment never got posted, so I'm writing it again, so sorry if it somehow turns up twice.

I was raised in the North and went to college at BYU. Overall people were rude or apathetic. Even at BYU, people only went out of their way to be nice if they wanted something. And I never met any intellectual giants either.

Then I moved down South a several years ago. From the minute I got here people go out of their way to smile and say hi, and I have no idea who these people are. Even the teenage workers at the fast food joints are polite. I know it's popular to say people in the South are dumb or prejudice or whatever, but I'd choose living with these people over the Northerners I was raised with. I have yet to meet people dumber or more ignorant than the folks I've met up North.
Jen says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:23 am
And Texans view the South the way that Southerners view Texans. And will ct you should you suggest that they are Southern. (Not Southern, Texan!!) Bizarre, I know, but there you go. And don't even get a Southerner and a Floridian going when they debate whether Florida is Southern. (Not Miami. That is Cuba). Can't we all just get along?
Carrie says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:27 am
Also, everyone should go to a tailgate party in Oxford. They are held in tents that have crystal chandeliers hanging from the um... ceiling. People are dressed like they are going to the Oscars...the Oscars where people wear real fur, that is. Furs and huge diamonds and Vera Wang gowns and tuxes abound, y'all! For real!
Michelle says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:32 am
I want to clear up a few things before I read Part 2:
1. Donna Ruth is not a widow.
2. She is not that old. Less than 70, at least.
3. She collects monkeys.
4. But she also collects art. And having a picture in your kitchen of slaves picking cotton does not (necessarily) make you a racist. Did you mention that her kitchen is purple? (Aubergine, I would say.)
5. Re: smell. That smell might have been her perfume. Everytime she hugs me, I can smell her for the next hour.

PS -- I am flattered that Eric thinks I am "grad school age".

Bring on Part 2!
Carrie says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:38 am
I have never eaten fried corn on the cob, homemade or gas station made, but I do eat and cook jambalaya, étouffé, shrimp creole, gumbo, crawfish, catfish, etc. I ate all but one of those things while I was home a couple weeks ago.
Brett says:
February 12, 2008 at 9:52 am
Ahhhh, the South. I went to Alabama on an LDS mission and Oxford, MS was in our boundaries. I never did get to visit, however. But everyone who served there LOVED it. Like ... never wanted to leave. Must have been the parties.

Why do they call themselves Oxonians? It only has two letters form the original location in the word! At least Oregonians use the whole state in their title. Is is to differentiate themselves from Oxfordians? You know, the people who think Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford, was the one who wrote all the Shakespeare plays. Because I guess I agree that you'd want to make that distinction.
Neil says:
February 12, 2008 at 10:13 am
First, it's the "War of Southern Independence." Second, what is the appropriate remark for someone that doesn't wash their hair? Third, I've lived all over the South and seen all types. Just like I have lived in the mid-Atlantic and see all types. Fourth, I hope this two parter turns out to be more Lord of the Rings and less Matrix Reloaded/Revolutions. Fifth, after reading the column and comments, I'm getting hungry.
PeaTree says:
February 12, 2008 at 11:05 am
"You know how there's that guy who was an all-star football player in high school and now he's in his 30s and works in an office but he still talks about his football days all the time because it's the only noteworthy thing he's ever done? That's the South and the Civil War."
Yes, if that 30-something ex-athlete had also done such un-noteworthy things as given birth to American music and fathered one of the most internationally heralded literary traditions in the American canon.

"He was set up on the back patio, aided by a partner, and they cooked everything on a multi-purpose grill that had pan-like surfaces for sauces."
That's called a "wok" - for all you non-ethnocentric natives of the People's Republic of Portland.
Kourtney says:
February 12, 2008 at 12:11 pm
What a delightful article about a delightful impulse trip, from Grandma Donna Ruth's Scented House Party right down to the free beer cozy. Can't wait for the sequel!
The UnMighty says:
February 12, 2008 at 12:37 pm
Hot DAMN! Yes sir! Hoo-wee! Yee-Haa! Whoop Whoop Whoop!! Soo-Wee! Soo-WEE!

(that there's one half of a real Southern conversation)
Phil Cardenas says:
February 12, 2008 at 1:13 pm
Oxonians? Yeah, seems strange. I used to live near Oxnard, when I moved to Southern California a few years back. I wonder what they go by...Oxnonians? Oxnardians? Wait...NARDIANS. Yeah, like, "We the mighty few, we band of brothers, we Nardians from the underworld of SoCalia...

Okay, maybe not. I'm sorry I wasted everyone's time.
Karen Stout says:
February 12, 2008 at 4:12 pm
Possibly the strong scent of gardenias or hydrangeas, so noticeable in Donna Ruth's house, was due to a Glade Plug-In, or something similar. Or maybe several of 'em.

I know This One Woman who makes silk flower arrangements and uses flower-scented air fresheners to match the flowers in the nearby arrangements. She is a very clever woman, but she is not rich. If she were, she would love to have a cool old house and fun parties like Donna Ruth.

(By the way, is Ruth her last name, or a middle name, like Billy Bob? I think I'd like to know more people who use both their first and middle names.)
scott prendergast says:
February 12, 2008 at 5:40 pm
I'm just glad you didnt write anything about me being COMPLETELY hammered at the awards ceremony. Did it show? I'm afraid of part 2...
Momma Snider says:
February 12, 2008 at 5:48 pm
Morgan Freeman? You were in the same room with Morgan Freeman?

I had the same thought about the scent in Donna Ruth's house as Karen. Whatever it was, I'd sure like to have seen that house.

Your one grandma did make cookies, though, Eric. Remember the time she lost her plastic measuring cup when she was making cookies to send to you, and we found the pieces blended in? Maybe that's why she didn't make cookies more often.
Craig says:
February 13, 2008 at 5:25 am
For the commenters who mused, the adjective and noun Oxonian applies to Oxford University and Oxford, England and their respective members, graduates, inhabitants, etc. "Oxonia" is the medieval Latinization of Oxford (mid-1500s), hence, Oxonian.

Naturally, the residents of Oxford, Mississippi, which was named after Oxford, England, use the same adjective.
Melanie Addington says:
February 13, 2008 at 11:33 am
You forgot to mention that were triple dog dared to ask Donna Ruth if she was a witch and you didn't. Hmph. Selective memory we have.

And thanks for the grad school age compliment. I feel delightfully young now. ;>

I'm excited about part 2!
Lowdogg says:
February 13, 2008 at 12:00 pm
I was born in Miami, lived there till I was ten and then moved north to the south.

It is a blessed place to live.
Jen says:
February 13, 2008 at 1:51 pm
As someone from Tennessee I have to agree with the person advising us not to refer to Texas or Florida as "the South"... Around here, Texas is just considered to be another part of Mexico. As for Florida, well, part of it is Disneyland and the rest is Cuba. Although I have come across many people here who DO eat fried corn on the cob, it's not nearly as many as Alabama. (Yep, that's right, if nothing else, you're not as southern as Alabama.) Which makes me slightly less ashamed to live in a state that's made up of at least 50% hill people.
Carrie says:
February 13, 2008 at 9:24 pm
I've always looked at Florida as the state where old yankees go to die. Miami is a whole other place. Texas should have seceded a long time ago.
Lulu says:
February 14, 2008 at 3:53 am
'It'll make your tongue want to slap your head off'

Holy cow! I need to use this phrase...
adam says:
February 17, 2008 at 3:55 pm
An impulse trip to Mississippi.

hahaha.
Marcos says:
February 21, 2008 at 7:57 pm
Excellent review! My girlfriend in 1979 grew up in Alabama, where she and all the other seventh-graders were taught that Lincoln was a criminal, and that the skirmish was called "The War of Northern Aggression."
James N says:
March 3, 2008 at 4:42 pm
I'm quite surprised at the number of Snide Remarks readers with Missisippian (or at least southern) ties. It's probably still safe to assume that most of them are LDS, you see, and I grew up in MS and thought I had a pretty good handle on the entire LDS population in the region. I guess I'm getting out of touch these days, though, since only on occasion do I go back to visit the old homestead.

Also, I agree with Michelle that having a picture of slaves picking cotton doesn't make someone a racist anymore that it would to have a picture of Chinese railroad workers, or Russians in a concentration camp, or an Israelite from the Bible working off his 2x7 year bridal debt, or... In my experience, people in places with no black people are very touchy about blacks and various issues concerning them and their semi-recent past, whereas in the south there are of course still some genuine racists on both sides, but largely people simply seem to not worry so much about it (though being constantly told on tv that they're supposed to is probably slowly changing this)
Eric D. Snider says:
March 3, 2008 at 5:14 pm
James N: "I'm quite surprised at the number of Snide Remarks readers with Missisippian (or at least southern) ties. It's probably still safe to assume that most of them are LDS"

Actually, no. Reading my e-mail and looking at where this site's hits come from leads me to believe that the vast majority of people visiting the site are not LDS. Some are, of course, either because they first heard of me when I was at BYU or in Provo, or simply by coincidence. But there's no reason to assume most are, and in fact all the evidence I see points to the opposite conclusion.
Brother Reed says:
March 9, 2008 at 10:39 pm
You know how there's that guy who was an all-star football player in high school and now he's in his 30s and works in an office but he still talks about his football days all the time because it's the only noteworthy thing he's ever done? That's the South and the Civil War.

This is so true. I go to school in Virginia, which, geographically is barely the South, but culturally is extremely the South. They just won't let that stuff go. Good article, too. I laughed a lot, especially at the "gyped in the grandma department" line.
Anthony says:
April 9, 2008 at 12:53 pm
What a delightful piece, Eric. Thanks for it. My step daugher and her husband will be moving to Ole Miss for his doctoral studies. I wrote her asking that we be invited for the film festival, and am I very much looking forward to a visit.

I was reminded what native North Carolinians told me Italian cousin and her husband after several years of their living in Wilson. First, they the Natives wer 12 or 13 years old before they realized "Damnyankees" was really 2 words. Second, the only thing was than a "Damnyankee" is a "Damnyankee" who visits and stays. really it was said in fun,

again, nice job

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