For Whom the Belle Tolls 2/17/22 For Whom the Belle Tolls 2/17/22

The Olympics, But Make It Southern

I’m going to express an unpopular opinion: I don’t like watching the Olympics. Whew, I said it. There were times when I enjoyed watching figure skating, but it has been since the days of yore when Hardings were clubbing Kerrigan’s knees or ice princesses like Oksana Baiul (who is probably on a bedazzled walker by now) ruled the rink. I want to be patriotic and enjoy these historic games that have existed for centuries…and then I turn on my television and witness events like snowboarding, something called skeleton racing, and curling. It feels, in a word: odd.

I have tried in years past to stifle these feelings and remain silent, but these games, and the sheer longevity of all the sledding and Nordic skiing and luge-related activity is really starting to wear on me. I can’t wait for this week to be over and for the Olympics to finally end. Never mind that Days of Our Lives has been on hiatus—Days is not a great show to begin with, I freely admit, and so I am willing and able to find substitute lunchtime entertainment if and when the need arises, but these Olympic snow games are also messing with my Dateline episodes, and frankly, you just don’t come between a girl and her Dateline. You take away Keith Morrison and replace it with ice hockey and expect me to be satisfied? I know these are the winter Olympics, but man, that is cold.

Wouldn’t the Olympics be more interesting if we could channel the Redneck Games and include events which are more fun to watch? What’s that? You are not familiar with the Redneck Games? Well, since my regularly scheduled programming has been preempted by ski jumping (snore), let me take a minute to fill you in. You see, dear friend, the Redneck Games originated back in 1996 (another Olympic year) down in East Dublin, Georgia. The organizers thought a small crowd might gather for the first event and instead, about 5,000 people showed up. Over the years, attendance swelled to crowds of around 95,000 at this one-day sporting extravaganza. Unbelievably, these games are no longer held (since 2013), but they were an annual summer event and, from what I can ascertain, a true sight to behold.

The games were kicked off by a torch-bearing local gent who went by the nickname L-Bow (proving once again that truth really is better than fiction), who led the parade of “athletes” by carrying a propane torch made from cans of Budweiser beer. Once it’s time for these auspicious games to begin, how could one not be enthralled by events such as cigarette flipping, bobbing for pig’s feet, toilet seat throwing, hubcap hurling, mud pit belly flopping, and dumpster diving? Why, there was even a big hair contest! And, lest I fail to due my reporting duty, the Redneck Games also featured an annual armpit serenade contest, where contestants play their best tunes. I read that in 1998, one contestant serenaded the crowd with the entire theme song from the television show Green Acres. If that doesn’t say gold medal worthy performance, I can’t imagine what does. Except this is the Redneck Games, and so each event winner received a plaque with a real crushed, empty beer can. Ah, moments of glory. THAT I would tune in to watch.

Ladies and gentlemen, your torch-bearer and master of ceremonies, L. Bow.

This is my Olympic bargain I am willing to strike: if I can’t have Keith Morrison, give me L. Bow. If you must take away my soap opera, please replace it not with bobsledding, but with mud pit belly flops. I suppose it’s the result of growing up in a place where the annual snowfall averages a whopping one inch and where our homemade version of snow boots meant putting Ziploc baggies on over your socks to keep them dry while playing in the winter weather. If you’re going to get me interested in the Olympics, I’ll need you to do what makes almost everything better: make it Southern. For the sake of entertainment and desperately needed good fun, I think it’s time we bring back some form of the Redneck Games. And if those big hair contest competitors need any tips, you know where to find me.

For Whom the Belle Tolls 2/8/22 For Whom the Belle Tolls 2/8/22

We’re All Doomed (And That’s Okay)

I don’t know about you, but 2022 seems to have gotten off to a rocky, less-than-stellar start for a lot of folks, including myself. Which is disappointing, considering we went into this new year with a shrug and the attitude that pretty much anything would be better than the year past, which was only slighter better than the previous year, which was abysmal. All any of us is looking for at this point is a little relief…which seems to be increasingly hard to come by.

Never fear, because we are, in fact, all doomed. No, really. I have comforted myself with the old adage, “Don’t take life too seriously. You will never get out alive.” And believe it or not, it’s helping. Now, whenever things seem horrible, terrible or particularly catastrophic, I can just shake it off with the nonchalance of a dying woman. Don’t think of it as grim; let it give you a new lease on this head shaking, frustrating, rat maze, puzzle we are all in called life. When you think of it that way, what’s the worst that could happen?

Never known to be someone to settle for less when more is available, I thought if one cliché is helpful, a whole pocketful of platitudes could be a real game changer! When life hands you lemons, hit back with a bumper sticker worthy mantra. I see your misery, and I raise you a cheery motto. Will it work? I don’t know, but it’s free, and I’ve run out of other ideas at this point, so I thought I would offer up a few of my favorite little slogans should you need them to defend yourself from the general state of the world right now:

90 percent of what you worry about will never happen. My mother used to tell me this often when I was growing up. I’ve always been a worrier, even though I know it accomplishes nothing. I’m not sure how the math was figured on this saying, and as a teenager I was quite fond of firing back and asking “what about the other ten percent?” Now, as an adult, I know with some certainty that the other ten will definitely happen, but what will really come for you with a vengeance are the things you never even thought to worry about. Gulp. Don’t you feel better now. Let’s move on to the next.

There is one word that describes people that don’t like me: Irrelevant. As a consummate people-pleaser, I need to keep this one with me at all times. I saw a funny (and timely) meme last week that said, “If you don’t like me, you should be tested for COVID. It causes lack of taste.” I suppose, all though it will always baffle and bother, there will without fail be people who just don’t like me. My goal is to let those people fall out of my orbit and become, as the catchy little slogan says, irrelevant. Not liking moi is certainly a personal problem for the individual and not something I need to take on. After all, I’m not even going to get out of this alive—my time is a precious commodity!

Some days you’re a bug, some days you’re a windshield. I have also seen this worded, “Some days you’re the statue, some days you’re the pigeon,” but since I have a longstanding fear of birds, I much prefer the bug/windshield version. Please take whichever you are partial to and enjoy. What I’m driving at is there are some days when everything goes your way and some days when it all just metaphorically craps all over you, now doesn’t it? 2022 seems to be doling out an awful lot of the latter, but I have high hopes that the scales will balance at some point. I’d like to remember what it’s like to be the windshield, the statue, the top dog. I think I know exactly too well what it feels like to be the bug at this point.

When all else fails, make a batch of pimento cheese. Okay, I made that one up, but even if it doesn’t exactly reek of wisdom, it will net you pimento cheese. And that has to make you feel better, right? It’s the elixir of comfort, and you can enjoy it with some Saltines in your kitchen or take it to a party and kick up your heels and show life who’s really boss, if you are so inclined. Everyone has their own favorite recipe (and Palmetto Cheese straight from the grocery store is pretty dang delicious as well), but I’m particularly fond of this one, from our friends who rarely fail us at Southern Living magazine. Kind of makes you want to say “life is grate,” now doesn’t it? Oh, that’s just me?

I’m sure I could go on and on with plenty more t-shirt worthy wisdom, but life is too short for fake friends, fat free cheese, or long-winded blog posts (someone please tell that to all these recipe bloggers who continue to share their methodology and/or life story before finally cutting to the chase and giving us the dang recipe, already). I know you get the idea, and the idea, really, is this: don’t let any of it get you down. My granddaddy was fond of reminding me that when you get through one thing, there will always be another, and another, and another. Such is life. And those things don’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all anyway, because we are all, most certainly, guaranteed, without question doomed. In the best possible way!