Thursday, January 6, 2011

Pancake Protocol


People weren’t lying when they said that southerners were gracious. For the most part I’ve found people from this area to be polite, formal and kind in ways that you don’t find as often in the north. Not that I actually believe the people here are kinder than the people of the north. But I certainly believe that they’ve had manners bred into them from day one.

Where were our lessons? When did we learn which fork to use with which hand and when? When did the boys learn to open the door for their mothers, sisters, girlfriends and just random ladies on the street? I guess those lessons got lost during impromptu dinners at Fricker’s and surprise breakfasts at CafĂ© Marie where we stuffed our faces with chicken wings and giant pancakes, where manners and etiquette were not only unexpected, they were taboo. Proper etiquette for eating giant pancakes when you are four years old varied from rolling it up and eating it with your hands, slicing it up to create dunking sticks, taking a big bite out of the middle, or any other of the fun ways you could think up to consume such and monstrous item. Come to think of it, I would most likely fall back on that same etiquette if faced with a giant pancake today that was proportional to the pancakes of my childhood – but it seems that as I’ve gotten bigger, the pancakes have stayed the same size. There is just no room for etiquette in a face paced pancake eating world.

But should that be the case? It isn’t in the south. And living here now I find myself sometimes wishing I’d been instructed on the proper way to set a table or eat a fancy meal (or pancake). At the same time though, I don’t think 4 year-old Emily would have seen the point of learning such things. Not when the pancake could be eaten with such thoughtful ingenuity, and I certainly would not have agreed to be kept inside to learn about silly girl things. Not when there were fences to climb and lakes to swim in and other such adventures to be had. Come to think of it really, I doubt that 23 year old me would much like taking the time to master such skills either.

But here I am, at the heart of southern hospitality. Let’s just hope some of it rubs off on me while I am running across town from one job to another. If not, I guess I’ll just have to stick to wings and pancake restaurants for the rest of my life. Sounds good to me.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Zeroing in on 2011


There is a moment while I am driving home where I fly past some trees that always make me think I’m getting pulled over. Not because the trees are shaped as cop cars, but because the sun is always perfectly positioned behind them to make it look as if a cops lights are going off so close behind me that he couldn’t possibly be pulling over anyone but me.

The sun seems different here. Closer in a way, or just brighter I suppose. It’s really the clouds that make the difference. The sky is always so blue and the clouds somehow manage to catch the light of the sun and the water to create a wonderful shade of orange and blue that makes me feel as if I’m in a movie scene.

New Year’s Eve was a disaster this year. Although a good way to start a year of working toward zeros. Sticking to my newly discovered workaholic tendencies I decided to work an event at the aquarium. I figured, hey two birds with one stone. I’ll get to drink for free and see the aquarium then get out in time to meet up with some people downtown to bring in the new year. WRONG.

Drinking was possible but futile because I was climbing stairs all night long carrying giant sandwiches to feed to the increasingly intoxicated masses. And this was a site to be seen in itself because this party was one of the more expensive in town and black tie at that but everyone in attendance seemed to be under 22 years old. Honestly a lot of them seemed to be under 21. They were all wearing ball gowns and tuxedos and puking all over the aquarium. At one point the project manager ran past me and said “Oh God, there is puke everywhere out there.” In another eventful turn several of the guests decided to remove some of the animals (turtles) from their displays and race them on the (very sticky) floor of the party.

Security was called. As were the turtle experts. I imagine it went something like this when they called it in.

“Code Green. Code Green. We have turtles out of ponds.” “I repeat. We have displaced turtles on the loose.” “Evacuate the area for incoming turtle experts.” “Code Green. Code Green. Turtle experts are on their way.”

Not that removing a turtle for a little racing is not something I would put past myself in a state of New Year’s Eve inebriation. Let’s not forget the T.I. incident of 2009. Or the Red Headed Ravaging of 2006. It’s New Year’s, things get a little crazy. Which is why it rubbed salt in my already irritated cut of being trapped working on such a day. But I brought it on myself. Why? Because this is 2011. The year of zero’s.

By this time next year I hope to be the proud owner of:
1.Two credit cards with a balance of ZERO.
2.One 2008 Ford Focus on which the remaining balance is ZERO.
3.A student loan payment on which I owe ZERO.
4.Another student loan payment on which there are less ZEROs.
5.ZERO car accidents or traffic tickets.
6.And ZERO regret about the fact that I didn’t save up enough money to go to Europe this summer

So here we go, a year of zero’s. But next New Year’s Eve, watch out turtles. Because here I come.