For those of you who were really proud of me for turning off my computer for a whole week, and who are now disappointed because I posted before the week was over...I have a confession to make. The reason I was offline for the past six days was not because of some high-minded purpose, or because my eyes needed a break. No, I have to admit, I kind of made that up. The reason I haven't been online is because husband-dear and I went on a cruise.
Yes, a cruise. And by ourselves too. Just the two of us. Let the record state that we haven't done that since we got married. Or so we think. We're not entirely sure, actually. It's been so long since we went on a trip by ourselves that we really can't remember our last trip together. We actually called it our second honeymoon, and a second honeymoon, of course, does not involve internet (although the fact that it was ridiculously expensive to use played a considerable part as well).
For someone who prides herself on being the eternal critic, I have to admit that for the past six days, I walked around in what could be best described as a daze. A very happy, pink, sun-filled, cloud-free, slightly rocky, daze. And I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but everything about the cruise was absolutely perfect. We had a beautiful suite, two wonderful ports of call, awesome excursions, excellent pool time, great dinners, several sunny and glorious sea days, and spent the entire six days walking around the ship, wondering how on earth they managed to keep it looking this good (and in case you wondered, yes, they do actually have people who do nothing but windex all the glass on board, and other people still who do nothing else but polish all the silver signs and numbers throughout the ship).
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that in case you're expecting a sarcastic post about how cruises are overrated, a definite waste of money, and a really terrible way to spend your time, I'm going to have to disappoint you. In fact, I should probably warn you that I was planning on spending the next dew days rehashing the entire cruise for your reading pleasure.
But since I know you're probably convinced I can come up with something, I'll end with the one thing that was less than ideal: sea-legs. You know, sea-legs, also known as the ability to walk on a moving vessel without the movement bothering your gait, or shampoo your hair in a windowless bathtub without falling over when the ship decides to pitch from one side to the other.
Anyway, the problem with sea-legs as far as I'm concerned is that, once you've left the ship, it takes your body a day or so to lose them. On board, the slight rocking and jarring didn't bother me at all. We were rocked to sleep every night, and learned to run along the outdoor track as though we were running on trails. Easy as pie. Even when the captain told us they were expecting some rougher waters due to an unfortunate combination of the current wanting to push the ship one way, and the wind wanting to push it the other, I barely noticed anything. The only times we noticed that the ship was rocking a little more than usual was when open cabinet doors started closing on their own, and when we joined a spinning class, and cycling uphill was a lot harder when the bow came down. But ever since I got off board this morning, my body has just been, well, confused. I have a wave in my step that just doesn't seem to agree with the solidity of the earth, and my body keeps correcting for nonexistent rolling.
I actually think it might be possible that I'm suffering from land-sickness. Do you think ginger ale would help cure that?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Wireless
To say I have been spending a lot of time in front of the computer would be an understatement. I think that I've spent every waking moment in the past two that was not spend in front of a classroom, exercising, or eating dinner, staring at this little screen. I have to admit that spending a lot time in front of the computer is not new for me, but the past two weeks really took the cake.
It's really my own fault. A colleague and I have been working on an article on Facebook, and I took on the responsibility of coding, and then analyzing, all the Facebook profiles and walls we had collected. Before those of you with Facebook accounts freak out, no, I did not analyze any of yours. Naturally (since I'm actually on the university's IRB, yes, this is a "naturally"), we followed proper protocol, asked for volunteers, set up appointment times so they could show up one at a time, and no one would know who had participated, and had them print out their profiles and wall content. We then gave them a black marker and told them to remove all identifying information of themselves and their friends from their printouts, and once that was done, we scanned their, now severely abused, pages. So I haven't been analyzing any of your pages. Although whenever a new update would pop up in my newsfeed, I couldn't help but ask myself what code that would fall under. Let's just say there were lots of LP1s and N1s flying by!
So that's what I've been doing. Staring at electronic profiles, and assigning codes to every single thing these lovely participants and their friends write. Lots of coffee and 1400 items later, it was time to actually write up the results. And then the literature review. And then the discussion. And then the methods section. And it just went on and on and on. But I think our first draft is done. I think. Hallelujah.
The timing could not have been better either. You see, this coming week is Spring Break, and for the first time in my life, I have decided to go wireless. Or better yet, wirefree. I have promised myself I will not touch any one of our computers for an entire week. Or at least five days (I mean, let's not get too crazy here). My eyes need a break from staring at the screen, and body needs to feel what it's like to be away from artificial lighting. So if I'm conspicuously absent from here for the next few days, it's because I'm actually successful at my endeavors. And I'm sitting in our porch swing, watching the blossoms grow, drinking sweet tea, and debating whether to take banana bread or lemon meringue pie to my next girls night.
It's really my own fault. A colleague and I have been working on an article on Facebook, and I took on the responsibility of coding, and then analyzing, all the Facebook profiles and walls we had collected. Before those of you with Facebook accounts freak out, no, I did not analyze any of yours. Naturally (since I'm actually on the university's IRB, yes, this is a "naturally"), we followed proper protocol, asked for volunteers, set up appointment times so they could show up one at a time, and no one would know who had participated, and had them print out their profiles and wall content. We then gave them a black marker and told them to remove all identifying information of themselves and their friends from their printouts, and once that was done, we scanned their, now severely abused, pages. So I haven't been analyzing any of your pages. Although whenever a new update would pop up in my newsfeed, I couldn't help but ask myself what code that would fall under. Let's just say there were lots of LP1s and N1s flying by!
So that's what I've been doing. Staring at electronic profiles, and assigning codes to every single thing these lovely participants and their friends write. Lots of coffee and 1400 items later, it was time to actually write up the results. And then the literature review. And then the discussion. And then the methods section. And it just went on and on and on. But I think our first draft is done. I think. Hallelujah.
The timing could not have been better either. You see, this coming week is Spring Break, and for the first time in my life, I have decided to go wireless. Or better yet, wirefree. I have promised myself I will not touch any one of our computers for an entire week. Or at least five days (I mean, let's not get too crazy here). My eyes need a break from staring at the screen, and body needs to feel what it's like to be away from artificial lighting. So if I'm conspicuously absent from here for the next few days, it's because I'm actually successful at my endeavors. And I'm sitting in our porch swing, watching the blossoms grow, drinking sweet tea, and debating whether to take banana bread or lemon meringue pie to my next girls night.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Something old, something new
I've come to the realization that Americans SouthernersGeorgians people in the specific area I live in, don't like old stuff. Now don't get me wrong, they love old cars and pick up trucks, especially when they can let them sit in their driveway, just in case they need them "for parts", but they don't really seem to care for anything else that's less than, say twenty years old.
Take furniture for instance. In our area, there are no real antiques stores. That's not to say the people who live here don't like antique dressers and cabinets and whatever else they can get their hands on, but you just can't buy it around here. Of course there are stores that like to call themselves something like "sellers of fine antique furniture", but the furniture they sell is far from antique, at least by my, possibly snooty European standards, which hold that something can only be called antique if it's at least seventy, but preferably hundred years old. Anyway. Whenever you drive through our town, and you see a sign that advertises antique furniture, you're going to find one of two things.
Your first option is that you'll drive through a neighborhood filled with old gas stations, shady looking hole in the wall eateries, and boarded up stores, to find a run-down little building, with shutters hanging off their hinges, bulging at the seams with piles and piles of old rusty garden furniture, beat up side tables from the seventies, and any other knick-knacks you might find in your grandmother's garage. It might be quaint, and cute, but it's not antique.
The other option is that you're going to find yourself in a part of town filled with stores selling beds, appliances, floors, and walk into a store that sells furniture that has been "distressed". In other words, brand-spanking-new tables, chairs, cabinets, and dressers to which a frustrated employee took a hammer and banged in a couple of dents and dings to make the pieces "look" old. Again, call me a snob, but that's not antique. That's just banged up.
What's so interesting to me, is that many, many, many people around here will hand over hundreds, if not thousands of dollars for this "distressed" furniture. Maybe it's me, but if you want furniture to look old, you could just buy it new, and use it for a couple of years. It will look old, and it will be a lot cheaper.Or better yet, give it to me, hand me, oh five bucks, and I'll "distress" it for you.
But I digress.
Just last week, husband-dear and I went to a local film festival. We decided, in the spirit of appreciating our community more, we would get in our car, drive a good ways, pay ten bucks each, and watch very confusing, and at times disturbing, movies. We had a blast, and not in the least because the film festival was actually held in the downtown area of a nearby city, which happens to be absolutely gorgeous. Well, it was absolutely gorgeous. Like many other southern cities, this one is an old, antebellum town with a decent-sized downtown made up of buildings stemming from the 1880s through the 1910s. There are wide sidewalks, beautiful and unique architecture in every single building, and a sense that you've just stepped back in time. There are little walkways arched by cherry trees, fountains, and narrow alleys. The detail on the buildings is absolutely awe-inspiring, as is the fact that every one in four buildings is either boarded up, or starting to crumble to pieces, or both. Local merchants told us that they've been trying to revitalize the downtown area for years now, but to no avail. The locals just don't care to come downtown, even though it does have a fair smattering of stores and theaters.
What makes this situation even worse, is that north of the city, the chamber of commerce has erected an outdoor mall called "Riverside crossing". We've been there too, and guess what? It looks just like the downtown area. The stores are set into fake building fronts with tons of details, pretty rooflines, while the incredibly wide sidewalks are interspersed with little bronze statuettes of children playing, old-fashioned streetlights, and a fountain. There is no dirt, no grime, and everything just breathes newness. Riverside crossing, of course, is the place to be right now.
And here's my question: why? Why would people prefer the fake over the real deal? Why would some developer come up with this idea in the first place, "Oh, I love the downtown area! Let's recreate it and draw in shoppers", and then be right too? I can understand why people might prefer an indoor mall over outdoor shopping, as shopping outdoors in the summer is nothing more than cruel and unusual punishment. But both the downtown shops and Riverside Crossing are outside. Yet the Crossing is hopping when it's 100F outside, while the downtown area is deserted.And if it keeps being this deserted, eventually all those old buildings are going to fall apart. Or be torn down. I guess that leaves more room for yet another Walmart. Who knows.
I'm probably just getting old. But I don't get it.
Take furniture for instance. In our area, there are no real antiques stores. That's not to say the people who live here don't like antique dressers and cabinets and whatever else they can get their hands on, but you just can't buy it around here. Of course there are stores that like to call themselves something like "sellers of fine antique furniture", but the furniture they sell is far from antique, at least by my, possibly snooty European standards, which hold that something can only be called antique if it's at least seventy, but preferably hundred years old. Anyway. Whenever you drive through our town, and you see a sign that advertises antique furniture, you're going to find one of two things.
Your first option is that you'll drive through a neighborhood filled with old gas stations, shady looking hole in the wall eateries, and boarded up stores, to find a run-down little building, with shutters hanging off their hinges, bulging at the seams with piles and piles of old rusty garden furniture, beat up side tables from the seventies, and any other knick-knacks you might find in your grandmother's garage. It might be quaint, and cute, but it's not antique.
The other option is that you're going to find yourself in a part of town filled with stores selling beds, appliances, floors, and walk into a store that sells furniture that has been "distressed". In other words, brand-spanking-new tables, chairs, cabinets, and dressers to which a frustrated employee took a hammer and banged in a couple of dents and dings to make the pieces "look" old. Again, call me a snob, but that's not antique. That's just banged up.
What's so interesting to me, is that many, many, many people around here will hand over hundreds, if not thousands of dollars for this "distressed" furniture. Maybe it's me, but if you want furniture to look old, you could just buy it new, and use it for a couple of years. It will look old, and it will be a lot cheaper.Or better yet, give it to me, hand me, oh five bucks, and I'll "distress" it for you.
But I digress.
Just last week, husband-dear and I went to a local film festival. We decided, in the spirit of appreciating our community more, we would get in our car, drive a good ways, pay ten bucks each, and watch very confusing, and at times disturbing, movies. We had a blast, and not in the least because the film festival was actually held in the downtown area of a nearby city, which happens to be absolutely gorgeous. Well, it was absolutely gorgeous. Like many other southern cities, this one is an old, antebellum town with a decent-sized downtown made up of buildings stemming from the 1880s through the 1910s. There are wide sidewalks, beautiful and unique architecture in every single building, and a sense that you've just stepped back in time. There are little walkways arched by cherry trees, fountains, and narrow alleys. The detail on the buildings is absolutely awe-inspiring, as is the fact that every one in four buildings is either boarded up, or starting to crumble to pieces, or both. Local merchants told us that they've been trying to revitalize the downtown area for years now, but to no avail. The locals just don't care to come downtown, even though it does have a fair smattering of stores and theaters.
What makes this situation even worse, is that north of the city, the chamber of commerce has erected an outdoor mall called "Riverside crossing". We've been there too, and guess what? It looks just like the downtown area. The stores are set into fake building fronts with tons of details, pretty rooflines, while the incredibly wide sidewalks are interspersed with little bronze statuettes of children playing, old-fashioned streetlights, and a fountain. There is no dirt, no grime, and everything just breathes newness. Riverside crossing, of course, is the place to be right now.
And here's my question: why? Why would people prefer the fake over the real deal? Why would some developer come up with this idea in the first place, "Oh, I love the downtown area! Let's recreate it and draw in shoppers", and then be right too? I can understand why people might prefer an indoor mall over outdoor shopping, as shopping outdoors in the summer is nothing more than cruel and unusual punishment. But both the downtown shops and Riverside Crossing are outside. Yet the Crossing is hopping when it's 100F outside, while the downtown area is deserted.And if it keeps being this deserted, eventually all those old buildings are going to fall apart. Or be torn down. I guess that leaves more room for yet another Walmart. Who knows.
I'm probably just getting old. But I don't get it.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
The missing blossoms
The southern belles in my neck of the woods here in Georgia have really gotten their cotillion in a twist this time. And it's no joking matter. No ma'am. Because the way things are looking now, the Cherry Blossom Festival, the pearl of the spring, the start of all things fun and sunny, the apple of the eye of the chamber of commerce, that very festival might just be ruined this year. Totally ruined. And why? All because spring decided to come early. You would think that after a winter filled with snow and ice, spring would wait a while. But no, and that's just not right. As we all know, when spring comes early, that means that the trees blossom early too. And this is all fine and good, but what's the point of having all the trees in region in full bloom now, when the festival that's named for this sprintime splendor isn't for another three weeks? It's a total disgrace.
Unless you're in our area right now, I think it's pretty much impossible to grasp the enormity of this disaster. The local news has dedicated polls to this topic ("Do you think the Cherry Blossom festival will be the same without the blossom? Yes: 21%, No: 72%, Don't know: 7%"), the mayors of the various town have spoken their mind on the local media, and every night, the local weatherman keeps telling us that colder weather might be on its way, which might delay the blooming of the trees. And when the first pear trees in our town started to show little tiny signs of blooming, you would have thought the world had come to an end. Because a Cherry Blossom Festival without Cherry Blossom would make it just a Festival, and that doesn't sound right, does it?
To be honest with you, I do feel their pain. I really do. And I too am crossing my fingers that the trees will hold off on their blooming for another 17 days or so. Granted, my reasons for this are slightly different that one might hope.
You see, we went to the Cherry Blossom Festival once, namely the first year we lived here. The reason we never went back is because, besides looking at the gorgeous blooming trees downtown, there's not a whole lot to do at this festival. There's a few stands, maybe some music, a 15K, and, well, lots of trees that look really really pretty.
This year, we've been talking about becoming more involved with our community, as sitting around complaining about everything isn't exactly improving our moods any. Well, my mood. Husband-dear doesn't complain a whole lot. Or at all, actually. But I do. To you guys mainly. But anyway, I digress. In short, we've decided to find reasons to like the town we live in. So in that light, we've been attending the theater, we went to a film festival, and hence, the famous cherry blossom festival was placed back on our planner too. All under the guise of, we live here, let's try to make the most of it. But honestly, without pretty blooms to look at, I'm not sure if I'll make it.
So let's all pray/meditate/ask one's respective deities/shake your head and just tell me to look at the weatherforecast/light a candle for a cold spell. Otherwise I fear for a serious backslide in our our plans to become involved in our community. And we really can't have that.
Unless you're in our area right now, I think it's pretty much impossible to grasp the enormity of this disaster. The local news has dedicated polls to this topic ("Do you think the Cherry Blossom festival will be the same without the blossom? Yes: 21%, No: 72%, Don't know: 7%"), the mayors of the various town have spoken their mind on the local media, and every night, the local weatherman keeps telling us that colder weather might be on its way, which might delay the blooming of the trees. And when the first pear trees in our town started to show little tiny signs of blooming, you would have thought the world had come to an end. Because a Cherry Blossom Festival without Cherry Blossom would make it just a Festival, and that doesn't sound right, does it?
To be honest with you, I do feel their pain. I really do. And I too am crossing my fingers that the trees will hold off on their blooming for another 17 days or so. Granted, my reasons for this are slightly different that one might hope.
You see, we went to the Cherry Blossom Festival once, namely the first year we lived here. The reason we never went back is because, besides looking at the gorgeous blooming trees downtown, there's not a whole lot to do at this festival. There's a few stands, maybe some music, a 15K, and, well, lots of trees that look really really pretty.
This year, we've been talking about becoming more involved with our community, as sitting around complaining about everything isn't exactly improving our moods any. Well, my mood. Husband-dear doesn't complain a whole lot. Or at all, actually. But I do. To you guys mainly. But anyway, I digress. In short, we've decided to find reasons to like the town we live in. So in that light, we've been attending the theater, we went to a film festival, and hence, the famous cherry blossom festival was placed back on our planner too. All under the guise of, we live here, let's try to make the most of it. But honestly, without pretty blooms to look at, I'm not sure if I'll make it.
So let's all pray/meditate/ask one's respective deities/shake your head and just tell me to look at the weatherforecast/light a candle for a cold spell. Otherwise I fear for a serious backslide in our our plans to become involved in our community. And we really can't have that.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Stille studenten
Soms dan denk ik met weemoed terug aan die jaren dat ik in Nederland lesgaf. Jaren waarin ik vooral bezig was om mijn studenten aan het praten te krijgen. Voor de gelukkigen onder u die nog nooit voor een collegezaal hebben gestaan: Nederlandse studenten houden niet van interactie. Wel met elkaar hoor, dat is geen probleem. Nee, met de docent. Het liefst zitten ze dan ook vier of vijf rijen van achteren, te wachten totdat jij klaar bent met praten, zodat zij naar huis kunnen gaan.
Ik zeg met weemoed omdat ik soms enorm terugverlang naar die stille, nukkige studenten. Ze gaven dan wel nul op het rekest als je weer eens probeerde een discussie op gang te brengen, en gingen altijd steevast achterin de collegezaal zitten, maar ze waren altijd op tijd, stelden alleen relevante vragen, en trokken niet alles wat je zei in twijfel.
U begrijp, ik kom net uit een zwaar college.
Een college waarin ik voor het eerste in mijn hele onderwijscarriere iemand heb gevraagd te vetrekken. Nou ja, *kuch* heb verteld dat ze konden vertrekken. Ik schrok er zelf van, eigenlijk. Maar ja, het was wel terecht. Vond ik dan. De student natuurlijk niet. Maar ik vond de brutaliteit van deze student toch wel zo buiten alle acceptabele perken, dat ik geen andere uitweg zag. Alleen als je dan eenmaal de magische woorden hebt gezegd, dan kun je ze ook niet meer terugnemen. Want dat staat helemaal zo lullig. Dus toen kon de student vertrekken.
En nu zit ik hier een beetje beduusd te wezen. Want normaal ben ik helemaal niet van het confronteren. Ik maak grapjes, ben sarcastisch, ironisch, en wijs mensen kort en bondig terecht. Ik ben in ieder geval niet van al dit soort drama. Nou ja, was dus.
Gelukkig vertelde een collega van mij net dat zij de betreffende student ook al een paar keer uit haar college heeft moeten zetten. Poehee. Ik ben in ieder geval niet de enige.
Ik zeg met weemoed omdat ik soms enorm terugverlang naar die stille, nukkige studenten. Ze gaven dan wel nul op het rekest als je weer eens probeerde een discussie op gang te brengen, en gingen altijd steevast achterin de collegezaal zitten, maar ze waren altijd op tijd, stelden alleen relevante vragen, en trokken niet alles wat je zei in twijfel.
U begrijp, ik kom net uit een zwaar college.
Een college waarin ik voor het eerste in mijn hele onderwijscarriere iemand heb gevraagd te vetrekken. Nou ja, *kuch* heb verteld dat ze konden vertrekken. Ik schrok er zelf van, eigenlijk. Maar ja, het was wel terecht. Vond ik dan. De student natuurlijk niet. Maar ik vond de brutaliteit van deze student toch wel zo buiten alle acceptabele perken, dat ik geen andere uitweg zag. Alleen als je dan eenmaal de magische woorden hebt gezegd, dan kun je ze ook niet meer terugnemen. Want dat staat helemaal zo lullig. Dus toen kon de student vertrekken.
En nu zit ik hier een beetje beduusd te wezen. Want normaal ben ik helemaal niet van het confronteren. Ik maak grapjes, ben sarcastisch, ironisch, en wijs mensen kort en bondig terecht. Ik ben in ieder geval niet van al dit soort drama. Nou ja, was dus.
Gelukkig vertelde een collega van mij net dat zij de betreffende student ook al een paar keer uit haar college heeft moeten zetten. Poehee. Ik ben in ieder geval niet de enige.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Fighting the good fight
INT. STUDIO-DAY
Medium black-and-white shot of elementary school-aged GIRL who is obviously overweight. The GIRL looks straight into the camera before speaking
I'm not sure what these well-paid executives were thinking, but if this had been turned for the PSA assignment my students had to complete last semester, they would have failed.
Medium black-and-white shot of elementary school-aged GIRL who is obviously overweight. The GIRL looks straight into the camera before speaking
GIRL
(sad)
I don't like going to school.
All the kids laugh and poke fun at me.
They tell me I'm fat
CUT TO
Black screen with white words spelling out "Stop sugarcoating the truth, Georgia"
(O.S)
Stop sugarcoating the truth, Georgia
CUT TO
Black screen with red words spelling out "Stop-childhood-obesity.org"
CUT.
This is what I imagined the script looks like for the Public Service Announcement that I caught on television last night.
As you know, I'm all about fighting obesity. I make my kids eat healthy foods, I offer my students extra credit for running a 5k, and I just love talking people into doing a triathlon with me (Mary, head's up, you're next). So this past week, I've been elated to hear GPB's special on how Georgia schools have attempted to curb childhood obesity by providing healthier lunches and more comprehensive PE programs. However, to say this PSA did little for me would be an understatement. Let's just say my blood pressure probably shot up a few points as I, very vocally, questioned the producers' sanity.
Although it's definitely possible that I'm slightly prejudiced by past events, but this PSA left me with the clear message that if you're bullied because you're overweight, then obviously the solution is to lose weight. Not to punish the bullies. Or address bullying in your class. No. You're being bullied, and well, you are kinda chunky, so, yeah, you're the one who needs to change. So on top of suffering from low self-esteem, a myriad of insecurities, and probably social anxieties due to the bullying, we're now also going to give you a nice life-long inferiority complex about your weight.
And obviously that's the right thing to do.
People, we need to fight obesity. We do. Everyone knows this. But can please shy away from bullying kids into wanting to lose weight? Can we maybe use a more, I don't know, constructive approach? You know, one where we talk about the dangers of being overweight, the good feeling you get from exercising, and how healthy foods can taste really good? And could we perhaps also produce a PSA on, sheesh, I don't know, how bullying overweight children is really not cool? It seems that in a country where bullied children still commit suicide far too often, there is a dire need for that as well.
Shame.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Speech classes for Politicians
When life gets insane, which is often does, there are several small things in life that keep me happy. Having hot tea made for me while I work late into the evening is one of them. Five minutes of surveying the dogs running around the yard from the always comfortable porch swing is one too. As is going to bed. But one thing that is always guaranteed to make me smile is hearing local political news.
For those of you who just scratched their heads in wonder, please note, I said hearing. Not listening to. I've stopped liking listening to local political news since the last governor decided that it was absolutely no problem, not at all!, to furlough all employees in higher education. No, what makes me smile is hearing the way the politicians talk.
You see, these politicians don't just have a slight southern accent, where "you" becomes "y'all", and every "i" is lengthened and flattened. No, every single Georgia state politician has a full on Coastal Southern accent, complete with British 'r', the use of the word "yonder", and grammatical features such as "Well, I done told him that.". Not only that, but their drawl is so distinct and so slow, it sounds as though someone fed them a combination of molasses and Quaaludes, and then stuck a microphone under their noses. If you think Gone with the Wind is bad, well, think again.
What's interesting is that I very rarely meet people who speak like that in daily life. The coastal (similar to the Virgina Piedmont accent) accent has become fairly rare, with most southerners pronouncing their 'r's, and sounding more like Paula Deen than Scarlett O'Hara. For the longest time I wasn't sure if Georgia just had a lot of representatives from the Savannah area (where the coastal accent originates), or whether one had to take a mandatory "talk like a southerner" speech class when one got elected to the State Assembly.
Then, just today, NPR did a segment on Texas budget issues, and included a soundbite of their Governor, and one of their representatives. And let me tell you, they sounded like they walked straight off the cattle ranch, spurs and all. Now I've also lived in Texas, and people down there don't walk around talking like they're extras in a Western movie either.
So based on all of this, I have a new found theory. When people are elected to the State Assembly, they suddenly feel the urge to not just represent their state, no, they want to become their state. Or Texas. They're no longer the representative of Twiggs and Dooly counties, no, they are Georgia. And apparently, Georgia talks like Scarlett O'Hara. On Benadryl.
For those of you who just scratched their heads in wonder, please note, I said hearing. Not listening to. I've stopped liking listening to local political news since the last governor decided that it was absolutely no problem, not at all!, to furlough all employees in higher education. No, what makes me smile is hearing the way the politicians talk.
You see, these politicians don't just have a slight southern accent, where "you" becomes "y'all", and every "i" is lengthened and flattened. No, every single Georgia state politician has a full on Coastal Southern accent, complete with British 'r', the use of the word "yonder", and grammatical features such as "Well, I done told him that.". Not only that, but their drawl is so distinct and so slow, it sounds as though someone fed them a combination of molasses and Quaaludes, and then stuck a microphone under their noses. If you think Gone with the Wind is bad, well, think again.
What's interesting is that I very rarely meet people who speak like that in daily life. The coastal (similar to the Virgina Piedmont accent) accent has become fairly rare, with most southerners pronouncing their 'r's, and sounding more like Paula Deen than Scarlett O'Hara. For the longest time I wasn't sure if Georgia just had a lot of representatives from the Savannah area (where the coastal accent originates), or whether one had to take a mandatory "talk like a southerner" speech class when one got elected to the State Assembly.
Then, just today, NPR did a segment on Texas budget issues, and included a soundbite of their Governor, and one of their representatives. And let me tell you, they sounded like they walked straight off the cattle ranch, spurs and all. Now I've also lived in Texas, and people down there don't walk around talking like they're extras in a Western movie either.
So based on all of this, I have a new found theory. When people are elected to the State Assembly, they suddenly feel the urge to not just represent their state, no, they want to become their state. Or Texas. They're no longer the representative of Twiggs and Dooly counties, no, they are Georgia. And apparently, Georgia talks like Scarlett O'Hara. On Benadryl.
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