Brick’s Blog

     When Will Ferrell made his movie, Talladega Nights, my first thought was why would you antagonize part of your fan base by making a parody of what so many of your fans hold dear. Well, I was wrong. Ferrell succeeded, but mainly by making a greater parody of what all true Southern men despise and that is the French.  The character of Jean Girard and his Evian sponsored car (ever noticed Evian is Naive spelled backwards) provide the perfect element to keep Ferrell from completely lampooning his Southern fans.

     So is life imitating art this Sunday at the Daytona 500? (I can’t believe I refer to anything by Ferrell as art.) For this good ol’ boy, this could well be my last season with any interest in NASCAR. It was bad enough when Mark Martin started driving the Viagra car. A product no true Southern man would ever admit needing. Sad when the Winston Cup became the Nextel Cup. For a true Southern man, your cigarette brand told as much about you as anything. Who cares what cell service you have. And starting Sunday, there will be a Toyota in the field at Daytona. 

     Hell’s bells, America, especially Southern America, still doesn’t even know how to pronounce this brand – is it To’yo’ta or Toy’ota? A automobile that was first imported as the gas sipping alternative to Detroit’s gas guzzling muscle cars are now on the same track? And because NASCAR has always started its season with its "Super Bowl", the Daytona 500, the venue is Daytona? Somehow having a future driver being known as "The Samurai" ain’t quite the same as "The Intimidator." RIP, Dale.

     With this weekend being the Chevy Rock & Roll 400, I can’t help not recirculating this old post.

 So you’re thinkin’ about movin’ down South, huh? Here’s a word of advice. We’re serious about that NASCAR. While y’all think it’s just a bunch of guys makin’ left turns all afternoon, we see it as the epic struggle of brave and chivalrous knights in the joust of life. Don’t you ever never say nothin’ bad about NASCAR.

     Or maybe just send me to the glue factory; obviously, I have outlived my usefulness. What has happened to Beach Music? For most of my life, you got near any southern beach and the AM and FM dials were filled with Beach Music stations. Headed south on I-95, you only had to get to the Carolina Pottery before numerous competing Beach Music stations could be found. Here I am in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, the place where South Carolina’s state dance, the Shag was invented and I can only find 1 all Beach Music station. I’ve found at least 2 all Spanish stations, but just the sole all Beach Station.

    Now, as my sarcastic teen children have told me "Like, yeah, maybe there’s a reason for that" leaving no doubt that Beach Music is old and busted just like me. But it was a happy genre while it lasted and best represented by it’s national anthem, "Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy" by The Tams. 

     Did you know South Carolina has a state dance? In 1984, their General Assembly passed an act designating the shag the official dance and music of South Carolina. Want to learn how to Shag? Then show up at Fat Harold’s Beach Club on Tuesday nights for your free hour and half lesson.

    Fat Harold’s is on Main Street in Ocean Drive, South Carolina. One of Myrtle Beach’s water towers provides a backdrop for Fat Harold’s. The tower is adorned with a dancing couple and the notation "Myrtle Beach, South Carolina – Home of the Shag." While Myrtle Beach and the Grand Strand might be the home of the shag, Fat Harold’s is it’s Hall of Fame.

     Fat Harold’s is just a block from the OD (Ocean Drive) Pavilion. Pavilions were the old town squares of the various villages that dot the Grand Strand and comprise greater Myrtle Beach. In the evenings, the young folks would gather at the pavilions, where a juke box could be found. Music, teens, a dance; the evolution was just natural.  For everything you ever wanted to know and not know about the shag and beach music, just show up at Fat Harold’s any Tuesday nights at 7 p.m. 

     Com’ on, admit it.  Although you may think South of the Border is the tackiest spot on Earth, you’re glad it exists. Nothing gets you through the Valley of Humility easier than Pedro with his constant pitches to make you stop at South of the Border. (Valley of Humility – why that’s North Carolina, since it is trapped between 2 mountains of conceit – Virginia and South Carolina.)

     South of the Border is capitalism at its best. You want it, need it, don’t want it, don’t need it; Pedro can provide it. Long before Tommy Hilfiger had you wearing his clothes emblazoned with his name, Pedro had you buying junk hawking South of the Border. I betcha there’s a case study at some business school on South of the Border’s marketing.

     These days I stop on the way home to buy fireworks. In college years, the stop was on the way South, usually to secure a bumper sticker or mail a postcard as proof of some illicit beach trip or Florida escapade during the school year. After college, the stop either going or coming was still to secure a bumper sticker or postcard to be mailed to an accomplice on earlier trip. While I still stop for a bumper sticker or postcard, I sure don’t let my children know or see me do so. Their college days are fast approaching. 

     If you didn’t recognize the reference, it’s South Carolina’s tourism slogan. Saturday, the family and I left for a quick mini vacation before school starts. While I am a Virginian first and always, my heart’s second spot will always be South Carolina. It’s my exotic dangerous sinful Virginia.

     Let’s start with the exotic part. While the palmetto might be the state tree, I love the live oak especially when it’s dripping with spanish moss. While you might find a few live oaks in southern coastal North Carolina, it’s not until semi-tropical South Carolina that the live oak thrives. Can you imagine what the early explorers must have thought encountering these willowy limbed monsters with their Halloween adornments?

     Danger. South Carolina’s history is one filled with firebrands. Never forget South Carolina wanted to secede from the Union as early as 1832. Fort Sumter launched the Civil War. Nowadays, I can’t tell you how many times I have hit an approach shot a little long only to crest a green and find a sunning alligator near my ball. Play it where it lies has a whole new meaning in South Carolina.

     And sinful. Let’s just say I wish I could recover half of the braincells I have lost in South Carolina over the years. In my teens, it was after school week at Ocean Drive. In college, the gated private police communities of Hilton Head were just being developed. After college, Kiawah replaced Hilton Head. Even staid Charleston with its fine restaurants SOB (South of Broad) is an invitation to gluttony.

     If I don’t misbehave too bad, I hope to file a few dispatches. Wish me luck!   

     Remember this guy. Yep, that’s Billy Carter. You know, Jimmy’s little brother. As Billy once said, "I’m a real Southern boy. I got a red neck, white socks and Blue Ribbon beer."  Down South, we love fellas like Billy, because they are the genuine item – soft spoken, amusing, guileless, true blue and just a pleasure to be around. Sure, if they’re family, they’ll embarrass you from time to time, but it’s never malicious and only because it was Billy just being Billy. And when the going gets tough, it’s a Billy who will be there by your side.

     So next time you meet one of these American originals, you can either smirk all you want or just plop yourself down and be prepared to be amused, enlightened, and thoroughly entertained. After all, would you have rather had a beer with Billy or Jimmy? 

     Ah, Southern Cuisine, there’s just nothing like it. If it does not clog our arteries, rot our teeth, or increase our waistline, then it’s just not worth eating.  Where else would someone take a nice green vegetable like okra and decide it is best served breaded and deep fried. When we sit down to eat, we expecting our food to contain the six major food groups of the Southern diet - you know,  sugar, salt, butter, eggs, cream and bacon grease. 

     Just look at cornbread; it is perfect Southern food. Not only does it contain the six major food groups, but we are just likely to slather it with even more butter before we eat it.