A Trip to the Big City
The fourth stop of my Southeastern tour was Ethelsville, AL, home of my father and stepmother. They live on a 40-acre farm, just outside of my hometown of Columbus, MS, and share the land with a beagle named Daisy, three great pyrenees dogs (Hansel, Heidi, and Hanson), a mule named Jenny, my stepsister, and some random cat that makes occasional appearances.
The farmhouse comes with all the comforts of modern living, including window unit air conditioners and running water. Reliable wireless communication has not yet made it to this farming community, and cable television and hi-speed internet are luxury items that are available only to those whose expendable income is gained from careers in medicine, law, or underground moonshine. In fact, just yesterday, I assisted my father in configuring his home computer to use dial-up internet service. Indeed, in this small community, it may be years before the most modern of advances sees the light of day.
You won’t find any restaurants, movie theaters, or even gas stations in Ethelsville, so any entertainment besides cow-tipping the neighbor’s prized Herefords must be found in a neighboring township. This is why on Saturday night I ventured into the “big city” with my dad and stepmom.
While Columbus is the closest town and only about twenty minutes away, my parents have decided that after living in its vicinity for the past thirty years, their tastes are far more cultured than its offerings can satisfy. Therefore, anytime they feel the need to pamper themselves or their out-of-town guests, they venture one hour east to Tuscaloosa, AL, home of the University of Alabama Crimson Tide and the nearest “Hot Right Now” Krispy Kreme doughnuts.
To make the trip, we piled Clampett-style into Daddy’s Dodge dually pickup truck, with Dad at the wheel, Beverly seated in the middle in front of the gear shift, and me on the passenger’s side, pulling out my mobile phone every five minutes hoping to God that I could pick up a tower signal in order make contact with anyone who considers “maters” to be two persons looking for love rather than two or more red vegetables plucked from the vine.
In order to get to Tuscaloosa, we had to pass through the Alabama towns of Reform and Gordo. As I was growing up, we used to make fun of the kids who lived in Reform and went to school there, laughing at them for having “Reform School” on their high school diplomas. Of course, those Reform school kids always had the last laugh on us, since they bypassed the formalities of secondary education in lieu of obtaining their DQ “Employee of the Month” certificates which their mamas proudly displayed on the family refrigerator. They may not have been able to properly spell the words that they plastered on the marquee outside the store advertising the latest Biggie Combo special or declaring, “Lordy, Lordy, Donna Jo is Fortey,” but they could mix up one mean Oreo Blizzard and had the hips to prove it, as they apparently took it upon themselves to taste-test their own concoctions.
Whenever I venture into a Saturday night with my father and stepmother, typically I can predict the chain of events, depending on the town where they will occur. If we do decide to spend the evening in Columbus, I know that more than likely we will eat sandwiches and chips at Profitt’s Porch and then spend the rest of the evening strolling around Lowe’s hardware super store, not because any home improvement items are needed, but because we are “just browsin’.”
In Tuscaloosa, the evening follows a similar pattern, although – since it is the “big city” – there are many more entertainment options from which to choose. After we enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Cypress Inn restaurant overlooking the Warrior River, we moseyed on over to the Shoe Station so that I could shop for a new pair of Crocs. To my horror, I had discovered earlier in the day that my father already owned a pair of Crocs. My parents always seem to take delight whenever I do, say, or purchase something that resembles themselves and therefore indicates that yes, indeed, I am their son. Such similarities scare me into thinking that I am becoming my parents, but by the time I’ve discovered them, it’s too late.
When I did not find the Crocs that I wanted at the Shoe Station, we then proceeded across the parking lot to engage in what apparently has become a staple of Richard and Beverly’s Saturday evenings in Tuscaloosa: drinking coffee at Books-A-Million (BAM).
I faintly recall going through the Books-A-Million routine with my parents previously, but doing it all over again made for a new experience for me. I suppose that the Joe Muggs coffee counter in BAM is the only place in Tuscaloosa that my parents know of that serves coffee, for this is the compelling reason that we visit this corporate cornucopia of all things literary. Dad and I ordered coffee and lemon bars, and Beverly got a mixed drink of sweet tea and peach syrup. As I am currently reading a Faulkner classic, I brought it inside with me so that I could continue it as I sipped on dark roast. However, after we had gotten our beverages and found a seat in the café area, Beverly got up from the table, went to the magazine section, and came back with three magazines each for my father and herself. Apparently, the Saturday-night-in-Tuscaloosa-Books-A-Million routine does not involve browsing for or purchasing books at all, but it does involve borrowing magazines to peruse until the coffee and tea are gone. Dad read a Smithsonian magazine and I slogged through Faulkner while Beverly oohed and aahhhed over 537 of the newest and hottest of Hollywood hairstyles. When she stated that she wanted to cut her hair short and spiky, dye it red, and ride around on a Harley after my father was dead and gone, it occurred to me that I had never before considered my stepmother to have lesbian tendencies. I guess once you reach the twilight years, you’re willing to try just about anything.
After we finished our round of brewed mocha and borrowed magazines, we then headed up the hill in the distance so that I could experience the new Woods & Water superstore. Woods & Water basically is a small chain of stores whose target market is local citizens who chew Skoal and order sofa cushions and throw pillows made of Mossy Oak patterns. Again, we went into Woods & Water just to browse, but I did find the pair of Crocs I wanted, as well as some Carhartt pants. I’ve always wanted a pair of Carhartts but never have owned any, so I figured now was the time to increase my butch factor by purchasing some. I cannot wait until I go back to DC and wear them out to the local fru-fru gay bar. I can just see the nelly queens turning their noses up at them, saying that I look like a redneck, while the truly appreciative gays will look at me and say, “Oh, my, he’s SO butch!” I’ll have to figure out the entire ensemble, though; I do have a fabulous pink polo shirt that I think will go great with them.
As we left Woods & Water, we stopped in its parking lot to take in the panoramic view of Tuscaloosa, with its city lights aglow in the early evening. This view was the climax of our night, for we then piled back into the dually truck and headed back to Ethelsville, as our wild Saturday night was now complete.
The farmhouse comes with all the comforts of modern living, including window unit air conditioners and running water. Reliable wireless communication has not yet made it to this farming community, and cable television and hi-speed internet are luxury items that are available only to those whose expendable income is gained from careers in medicine, law, or underground moonshine. In fact, just yesterday, I assisted my father in configuring his home computer to use dial-up internet service. Indeed, in this small community, it may be years before the most modern of advances sees the light of day.
You won’t find any restaurants, movie theaters, or even gas stations in Ethelsville, so any entertainment besides cow-tipping the neighbor’s prized Herefords must be found in a neighboring township. This is why on Saturday night I ventured into the “big city” with my dad and stepmom.
While Columbus is the closest town and only about twenty minutes away, my parents have decided that after living in its vicinity for the past thirty years, their tastes are far more cultured than its offerings can satisfy. Therefore, anytime they feel the need to pamper themselves or their out-of-town guests, they venture one hour east to Tuscaloosa, AL, home of the University of Alabama Crimson Tide and the nearest “Hot Right Now” Krispy Kreme doughnuts.
To make the trip, we piled Clampett-style into Daddy’s Dodge dually pickup truck, with Dad at the wheel, Beverly seated in the middle in front of the gear shift, and me on the passenger’s side, pulling out my mobile phone every five minutes hoping to God that I could pick up a tower signal in order make contact with anyone who considers “maters” to be two persons looking for love rather than two or more red vegetables plucked from the vine.
In order to get to Tuscaloosa, we had to pass through the Alabama towns of Reform and Gordo. As I was growing up, we used to make fun of the kids who lived in Reform and went to school there, laughing at them for having “Reform School” on their high school diplomas. Of course, those Reform school kids always had the last laugh on us, since they bypassed the formalities of secondary education in lieu of obtaining their DQ “Employee of the Month” certificates which their mamas proudly displayed on the family refrigerator. They may not have been able to properly spell the words that they plastered on the marquee outside the store advertising the latest Biggie Combo special or declaring, “Lordy, Lordy, Donna Jo is Fortey,” but they could mix up one mean Oreo Blizzard and had the hips to prove it, as they apparently took it upon themselves to taste-test their own concoctions.
Whenever I venture into a Saturday night with my father and stepmother, typically I can predict the chain of events, depending on the town where they will occur. If we do decide to spend the evening in Columbus, I know that more than likely we will eat sandwiches and chips at Profitt’s Porch and then spend the rest of the evening strolling around Lowe’s hardware super store, not because any home improvement items are needed, but because we are “just browsin’.”
In Tuscaloosa, the evening follows a similar pattern, although – since it is the “big city” – there are many more entertainment options from which to choose. After we enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Cypress Inn restaurant overlooking the Warrior River, we moseyed on over to the Shoe Station so that I could shop for a new pair of Crocs. To my horror, I had discovered earlier in the day that my father already owned a pair of Crocs. My parents always seem to take delight whenever I do, say, or purchase something that resembles themselves and therefore indicates that yes, indeed, I am their son. Such similarities scare me into thinking that I am becoming my parents, but by the time I’ve discovered them, it’s too late.
When I did not find the Crocs that I wanted at the Shoe Station, we then proceeded across the parking lot to engage in what apparently has become a staple of Richard and Beverly’s Saturday evenings in Tuscaloosa: drinking coffee at Books-A-Million (BAM).
I faintly recall going through the Books-A-Million routine with my parents previously, but doing it all over again made for a new experience for me. I suppose that the Joe Muggs coffee counter in BAM is the only place in Tuscaloosa that my parents know of that serves coffee, for this is the compelling reason that we visit this corporate cornucopia of all things literary. Dad and I ordered coffee and lemon bars, and Beverly got a mixed drink of sweet tea and peach syrup. As I am currently reading a Faulkner classic, I brought it inside with me so that I could continue it as I sipped on dark roast. However, after we had gotten our beverages and found a seat in the café area, Beverly got up from the table, went to the magazine section, and came back with three magazines each for my father and herself. Apparently, the Saturday-night-in-Tuscaloosa-Books-A-Million routine does not involve browsing for or purchasing books at all, but it does involve borrowing magazines to peruse until the coffee and tea are gone. Dad read a Smithsonian magazine and I slogged through Faulkner while Beverly oohed and aahhhed over 537 of the newest and hottest of Hollywood hairstyles. When she stated that she wanted to cut her hair short and spiky, dye it red, and ride around on a Harley after my father was dead and gone, it occurred to me that I had never before considered my stepmother to have lesbian tendencies. I guess once you reach the twilight years, you’re willing to try just about anything.
After we finished our round of brewed mocha and borrowed magazines, we then headed up the hill in the distance so that I could experience the new Woods & Water superstore. Woods & Water basically is a small chain of stores whose target market is local citizens who chew Skoal and order sofa cushions and throw pillows made of Mossy Oak patterns. Again, we went into Woods & Water just to browse, but I did find the pair of Crocs I wanted, as well as some Carhartt pants. I’ve always wanted a pair of Carhartts but never have owned any, so I figured now was the time to increase my butch factor by purchasing some. I cannot wait until I go back to DC and wear them out to the local fru-fru gay bar. I can just see the nelly queens turning their noses up at them, saying that I look like a redneck, while the truly appreciative gays will look at me and say, “Oh, my, he’s SO butch!” I’ll have to figure out the entire ensemble, though; I do have a fabulous pink polo shirt that I think will go great with them.
As we left Woods & Water, we stopped in its parking lot to take in the panoramic view of Tuscaloosa, with its city lights aglow in the early evening. This view was the climax of our night, for we then piled back into the dually truck and headed back to Ethelsville, as our wild Saturday night was now complete.
posted by Ritchie Miller at 9:05 PM
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