The Cumberland Post

The Cumberland Post
My Backyard, Six Miles from the Cumberland River

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Are You From Dixie?

It's gettin' harder and harder to tell which region of the country you're from. But there are still some useful methods of identifying those recognizable traits, especially when it comes to Southerners. Let's dispense with the usual suspects first. You know the ones I mean, the ones good ol' Jeff Foxworthy and others sometimes use. Like this one:

You might be from Dixie if your mama or daddy ever told you any of the following:

"That's not fit to eat."
"I'm feeling down in the back."
"He's on his third wife."
"You better get down off your high horse."
"Give me some sugar, baby."
"Pipe down."
"Go cut me a switch."
"You better hush crying or I'm gonna give you something to cry about."
"They're just sorry." [as in low class, trashy]

Or, there's this one:

How To Tell If You're A Democrat, A Republican or A Southerner.

Here is a little test that will help you decide. The answer can be found by
posing the following question:

You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, an Islamic Terrorist with a huge knife comes around the corner, locks eyes with you, screams obscenities, praises Allah, raises the knife, and charges at you. You are carrying a Glock cal 40, and you are an expert
shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?

Democrat's Answer:
Well, that's not enough information to answer the question!
Does the man look poor or oppressed?
Have I ever done anything to him that would inspire him to attack?
Could we run away?
What does my wife think?
What about the kids?
Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand?
What does the law say about this situation?
Does the Glock have appropriate safety built into it?
Why am I carrying a loaded gun anyway, and what kind of message does this send to society and to my children?
Is it possible he'd be happy with just killing me?
Does he definitely want to kill me, or would he be content just to wound me?
If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me?
Should I call 9-1-1?
Why is this street so deserted?
We need to raise taxes, have a paint and weed day and make this a happier, healthier street that would discourage such behavior.
This is all so confusing! I need to debate this with some friends for few
days and try to come to a consensus.

Republican's Answer:

Southerner's Answer:
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! click.....(sounds of reloading).
Daughter: "Nice grouping, Daddy! Were those the Winchester Silver Tips or Hollow Points?
Son: Can I shoot the next one!
Wife: You ain't taking that to the Taxidermist!
Now, I'm sure ya'll have heard those already. But there's a basic way to tell a Southerner from someone else. But it only works in summer.

He'll have telltale signs of underarm sweat on his shirt. I don't care if it's 8 a. m. There'll be sweat there. I don't care if he's a banker or a farmer. His underarms will be wet. It's hot in the South. Even in the morning's. And contrary to popular wisdom, our cars and trucks are air conditioned now, thank you. But you still got to walk across the parking lot and by the time you get to the front door you'll feel those little trickles of sweat under your shirt.

My banjo buddy Big Ed says that most Southerners know another one when they see one. And I know where Ed's coming from. He's coming from many years of study at Clawhammer State under Professor Grandpa Jones.


  1. Dan, I know you didn't steal it. Great minds.

    Actually, last night I got in to a back and forth with a blog buddy from Canada, and he was reminiscing about the old country stars he grew up loving.

    He knows (from our many previous discussions) that I once met Grandpa Jones when I was a kid. So, I dropped him a link to "Are You From Dixie" by Grandpa Jones. It was a much shorter one, and older.

    So, last night I went looking, and came up with two of my favorite pickers of all time.

    Funny, huh?

  2. Andy, that is strange. I've been thinking about that song for a coupla days. I never met grandpa J. but I saw him once in our local Kroger in the produce dept. He was minding his business and I minded mine. So I didn't bother him.

  3. "Go cut me a switch."

    Oooh, do I remember THAT one. No scars, tho, except for the mental ones.

    You and Andy: Great Minds.

  4. Yeah, I met Grandpa Jones when I was a kid at the Municipal Auditorium in Shreveport. There was an old Louisiana Hayride Revival Show that my Uncle know, David Houston was playing on.

    Mom, Dad, & we chirrens got to go backstage, and I met Grandpa when he came off. Roy Clark, too. It was a big thrill for a kid.

    As to the cut me a switch deal. My Momma was partial to quince. Seriously. QUINCE!

  5. For discipline (as a Yankee), I got my dad's belt strap and my mom's rolling pin or large wooden spoon PRN (as needed).
    We actually listened to the primary results via WLAC 1510 AM Nashville hosted by Steve Gill streaming live on the PC with a awsome stereo system, windows open and the sounds of the results coming in blasting the forest of NW Montana.
    Diane Black had her office opposite mine in the AHC division. I was full time & she was a part time instructor and full time nurse...decades ago. Very nice classy lady. Back then, I was a liberal (gasp!).

  6. Those sayings sound a lot like what I grew up with in S Africa and even like my Western neighbors. The only difference seems to be the sweaty armpits.

  7. Did you ever have to go cut another switch because the one you brought back wasn't BIG enough, and you had shorts on to boot!

  8. Glock .40? How about a Springfield XD or a 1911, both in the caliber that God and John Moses Browning intened: .45.