Thinc Spot...

Dixie

The details of why aren’t important to how I’ve found myself in the deep South two of these past four weeks … and not that I’ve lead a sheltered life or anything, but trips to this part of the country are somewhat  rare.

 Just like 150 some odd years ago the South to me is like a country in and of itself. The people are deeply caste … there are have’s and the have not so much. In general the “have’s” are educated, dress nice and are tolerantly arrogant. The “have not’s” are ridiculously friendly.

Make sense?

So, as service to my Thinc Spot readers, I’d like to share with you some do’s and don’ts as it pertains to travel in Dixieland. My loose cannon behavior helped to educate me on just where their sensitivities lie and just how tolerant they are of others. Here’s a true, tried and tested top 10 rules to follow when you’re drunk, it’s late and you’re more than 250 miles south of the Mason-Dixon line.

1.       Introducing yourself as Jefferson Davis is surprising offensive to everyone but the bartender who ironically looks exactly like Samuel L. Jackson.  

2.       Deer season starts January 1^st and ends December 31^st.

3.       While in the South you need to be a fan of one of these college football teams: LSU, Georgia, Alabama or Florida. Clemson, South Carolina, Florida State and Arkansas are tolerated … everyone else is felt sorry for.

4.       Tobacco doesn’t cause cancer … de-segregation does … at least that’s what the old white people will tell you.

5.       Camouflage can be considered semi-formal attire in some parts of the South. 

6.       We pretty much forgot about the civil war … hell most of us couldn’t tell you why it was even fought. Not in the South. They remember that shit like it was Tuesday.

7.       The South drinks whiskey like the rest of the country drinks water.

8.       The women of the South are generally attractive and not the least bit interested in sleeping with anyone they haven’t known since 6^th grade. Don’t go there to get laid because it ain’t happening.

9.       The accent is deceptive … these people are actually pretty intelligent. Don’t let the accent fool you.

10.    “Kill Whitey!” as a public bar toast is not funny to anyone … except of course the bartender who ironically looks exactly like Samuel L. Jackson.

The South is a great part of the country that is often times over-looked when it comes to tourist like travel from fellow Americans. Great cities, great beaches and great people … the South will rise again! Yet another bad public bar toast…ask me how I know.

Daddy Needs a Dime Bag …

So lately it’s been a little ‘stress- full’ … or more maybe it’s better to say it more literally… my life is full of stress. That thing I do everyday both at home and at the office have become complicated and I find myself frowning more than smiling. Unacceptable I say.

Last Friday was a sick mom, deranged-boss stress fest when my cell phone went dead like a black guy in a horror movie. On the drive home some deep thinker with a confederate flag on his truck cut me off and then flipped me off for a record 2.4 miles.  I thought about the three day waiting period, clock towers in Texas and who would play me in the movie I was about to inspire. I was seriously teetering when my inner Jack Johnson called to me and said … “relax bro … the weekend is here…it’s all good.”

Two hours later I’m in my chill plaids and cotton T sitting by the fire outside with great company, an over-sized glass of wine and big smile on my face.  Either way … my worries had melted away and my life was back in order.

Our world today is conducive to stress. Our life situations are so good but our world, our media and the occasional truck driving cracker fool us into thinking things are bad and that we need to flip people off, shoot them or take the meds our doctors and the big pharms push on us to keep us ‘balanced’.  This is so wrong. Whatever your stress … you need to find the real path that gets you back in balance. My advice to you … live life right … enjoy your friends … live in the moment … identify with your inner pot smoking musician and listen to him.

You … and the people who love you deserve this.   

The Greatest (Shit) Show on Grass …

Saturday, February 2^nd … the TPC in Scottsdale hosts round 3 of the aptly named Waste Management Phoenix Open. I made my way out there a bit late in the morning after spending the day cleaning up after Hurricane Daughter … a FEMA worthy storm that had hit my home some two days earlier.

Mentally I was prepared … or at least I thought I was. With Mickelson running away with the tournament, abundant sunshine and a Saturday round it was the perfect recipe for a double douche bagel with extra hoochie sauce. Glorious lot 8 didn’t disappoint … nor did the functionally retarded Pro Em employees relishing their short lived control of the visiting masses. After a short walk through the trampled dessert I was whisk swiftly to the gate by a bus driver that had an uncanny resemblance to Miles Davis.

As I reached the gate my first and very lasting impression was that I was being thrust into a place that was overrun by people who craved the attention that their parents never gave them. Attractive but grossly misguided young adults (mostly) that had something unfortunate to prove. Most were obnoxiously drunk … some uncontrollably … all wore garb that simply screamed “Please for God’s sake… notice me.”

Granted … this was 12:37PM and the shit show was just getting started.

For security purposes I immediately jumped in a beer line and waited for 25 minutes, bought a $15 beer, spilled it on myself and mussed my hair. I also soiled my fingers and gauged both eyes to produce a faux reddening effect that made me seemingly invisible to the raucous masses. If not for my advanced age and keen sense of fashion … I seemed to fit right in.

The ruse was working and I was able to observe the lowest form of human animal (Scottsdalius Douchebageous and Sluteous Glorholiets) in their most natural state. I came away with the following observations.

1.       “I want to ass rape you …” is the worst pick up line…ever. Yet strangely … it seemed to work.

2.       Ricky Fowler looks cool on the golf course.  When you dress like Ricky Fowler and you are not Ricky Fowler… you look like an idiot.

3.       Almost everyone there was completely unaware that a sporting event was taking place nearby … except for the fact that there was a bunch of guys dressed like Ricky Fowler walking around.

4.       A yellow traffic vest with the word Pro Em on it grants you complete and total control of the universe.

5.       Earth girls are easy is not just an old Jim Carey movie. It’s a way of life.

6.       The law enforcement food chain goes as follows: Cub Scout – Scottsdale PD – Boy Scout – Eagle Scout … Police Explorer Scout … real cop.

7.       A zombie apocalypse would be preferable to a Scottsdale apocalypse. Just sayin…

8.       Pastel oxfords and bow ties were in this year … my only thought when seeing people dressed like this on a golf course was that it was a subtle cry for help.

9.       We should stop putting so much effort to deport illegal Mexicans and concentrate our efforts on ridding our state of 18-25 year old white males from New York, New Jersey and Chicago.

10.   Women who wear three inch heels to golf tournaments should be subjected to a continual barrage of sexual harassment … done and done.

Painfully sober and full of angst I made my way back to lot 8. I devised a clever ruse that whenever challenged I simply introduced myself as “Neal the allergist…” Thankfully I managed to avoid both the uber Em’s and the Scottsdale Meter Maids … making my way safely back home for dinner and a good ass raping.