Southern Gothic

                        

Teenage bounty hunters is my latest discovery on Netflix. It is an adventure/comedy that coalesces around the major subtexts of Southern literature. It combines oversexed teenagers, that old time religion, guns, race, lawlessness and Southern cuisine in a brunswick stew of an experience. After watching a few episodes, the viewer can claim a deep seated knowledge of the culture of the American South. 

Like Faulkner, Carson McCullers and Tennessee Williams, this show demonstrates the dark heart of the American South by gazing at a typical Atlanta family and its twin teens and their bible thumping classmates. For fun and monetary gain they bounty hunt and experience carnal pleasures leading to the existential guilt that comes from departing from  the path of righteousness. 

Biden's grandkids

 

One of the cutesier moments of the virtual convention was the segment with Biden's granddaughters. Apparently the kids talk with grandpa every day and Mr. B always takes their calls even when giving a speech. 

I guess I didn't come from a close family but for me, conversations between my parents and their grandsons were rare and cursory affairs. A grunt or two at Thanksgiving dinner or a yes or no answer to a nosy question at Christmas was the extent of the communication between generations. I can't imagine how an unsolicited phone call to the kids would be received. Perhaps an annoyed response and a quick call to the parents that grandpa should get a life. 

Being cynical, I can imagine the kids calling Grandpa when they need a favor. $40,000 for a new car or $20,000 so the kids can stay with their friends in Monaco. Perhaps a friend who wants a government internship merits a call to the former Vice President. I guess I am skeptical of phone calls between rich grandparents and their needy grandkids. 

The postal crisis of 2020

 

In the fall of 1973 we were in the midst of the great gas crisis. There were lines to buy gasoline. Gasoline stations closed because they ran out of gas. The old man prognosticated "Don't worry, the price of gas will go up to fifty cents a gallon and then everybody will have enough gas."

Today we are all panicked. We are afraid that the post offices will close. We are afraid there will be no way to mail in our ballots in November. My prediction is that they will raise up the price of buying a stamp by a nickel and all the problems with the post office will go away. We can learn alot from our old mans.  

Mississippi state flag

The election has begun. It means a lot to all of us. That is, the selection of the next Mississippi flag. I rather like the mosquito. Anyone who has ever spent time in the South can emphacize with the propensity of this region with the beloved insect. 

What no change?

Not having kids in school and being retired, I have missed out on some of the exigencies of the pandemic. Sure I can't go to the movies and have to drink in bars that have circus tents, but today I discovered a new wrinkle. Apparently many supermarkets, including my regular place, are no longer giving out change. They will take exact change, but will credit your store card for the change they would have given you. The next time you shop there it will remember you and credit your change to the next purchase. 

Oh this is new. I'll have to remember to bring change with me, unless I'm going to my regular grocery store. They have toilet paper now, but won't give out change. 

Weird names

Today I am sitting home with lots of groceries and a bottle of wine. I even have some things I can eat if there is a power failure. I have three flashlights and have put batteries in my radio. 

Now I can relax, enjoy the lightning and wind, and bitch about the name Isaias. What the heck is that? None of the weather reporters can pronounce it. It is not even a popular name en el mundo hispanola. 

People think they are clever giving weird names to their children. When I was a librarian we had a clerk with a weird name. The truth is I never asked her to do anything because I was afraid I would screw up her name. Teachers don't like to call on kids with weird names because they don't want a student correcting her in front of the class. Bosses won't give them projects because they can't pronounce their names and don't want to be embarrassed. 

Parents don't think about these things when they give their children weird names. I think the World Meteorological Organization should stop trying to be clever. 

British detective shows

Idle hands being the devil's workshop, I have gotten into the habit of watching a lot of British television shows on the telly. I watch Vera, Grantchester, Midsomer Murders, Father Brown, Paradise, and that Australian show about the doctor who butts into police business (Doctor Blake). Following the lead of Miss Marple, in these shows the enlightened amateur, typically a priest, a minister, or a doctor knows more than the civil servant who is paid to solve crimes. 

There is usually an old woman who butts in, occasionally a wife or a girlfriend, and recently an attractive reporter has been appearing in  these shows. I don't know how she dresses so well with a reporter's salary. 

I've become such a regular that I can tell you in advance who committed the deed. It is a pleasant fellow or lady who is introduced early on. Midway through the show we are told about a sketchy character. He is casually mentioned by a witness and then the show moves onto a cheesy laundromat with an over the hill matron. "Jack Barnes, he's in the back" we hear in a cockney accent, in a voice worsened by years of smoking and whiskey. The camera passes to poor Jack, who puts down his iron and runs out the back door. 

The youngish assistant detective runs hither and thither through lower Thrispwich and Jack Barnes is captured. The next scene he is in the witness room at headquarters. He pleads his innocence, tells about another unrelated criminal activity, and in the next scene is released. 

Finally near the end of the show the actual culprit is discovered and we find him standing in the middle of a bridge about to throw himself into the Thames. He is talked down by the detective, or perhaps the doctor or priest, with the promise that he'll only get a year or two for manslaughter. 

How I'd love to see a show where the witness runs and is not captured. In the last scene, the principals talk about how its a shame they were not able to solve the case. Or if they would let the man throw himself into the river and in the last scene we would find out he was as innocent as the new fallen snow.