Every once in a while I'm reminded of just what it means to live in the South.
For example, yesterday I did a fund-raiser with my theater kids. It was at an outdoor festival, and we were guaranteed--by a parent--a profit of at least $200.
So we arrived at 9:00 a.m., ready to set up and make some money. It was overcast and humid. I, frankly, did not want to be there; Saturdays are prime Tivo time, and anyway I am not a fan of the outdoors. But I put on my happy face and got ready to hawk some wares.
Only ... where were all the people? Turns out, the festival organizers had unwittingly scheduled for the same day as another outdoor festival: Goat Days. Yeah, you read that right: we were up against Goat Days. I don't even want to hazard a guess.
So the festival was sparsely attended, but the people that did attend wanted to make themselves heard. Specifically, they wanted to make their GUNS heard, as the largest attraction was, apparently, some sort of outdoor shooting range. So every three seconds a gun would go off.
I was on edge all day, and today that stress has settled itself into my neck, so I can't turn to my right without screeching with pain.
Not only that, but I had the opportunity to people-watch yesterday, and mostly what I saw were six-year-olds carrying rifles. Well, some of them were carrying hunting bows. I found it shocking, in the way other people find photos of Iraqi kids with ammunition belts shocking, but in my corner of the world, it's (supposedly) commonplace.
You know Oprah would flip her wig, though.
9.09.2007
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1 comment:
we have duck races. Yes. Duck races-- and it's a weekend long event too. You pick a duck or bring your own, and then there's a race track made of hay bales with chicken wire over the tops so the ducks can't fly away... you chuck chicken feed at em to encourage them to go faster. squawk! Goat days? and you weren't the least intrigued? mohair?
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