Don’t know why they call it the “deep” south. Seems like the shallow end of the gene pool to me. I’m in Atlanta working right now and boy, is this place surreal. It’s like a clone of Dallas, but everyone here sounds like they have brain damage. Or they’re in a pageant. Six of one . . .
I thought Texas accents sounded hick, but this is ridiculous. Although it’s not as ridiculous as Kyra Sedgwick’s cartoon accent in The Closer. I watched an episode of that last night in my hotel room. Can someone please explain to me why this show is a darling of the critics? It was badly acted, badly written and horribly shot. The hair and makeup and wardrobe were all terrible. I’m betting the craft service table is all day old pastries and store brand sodas.
And speaking of sodas, everything is sweet here. No wonder this is where Coke is headquartered. My first meal on Sunday consisted of fried chicken (which had some sugar component in the batter), macaroni and cheese (which had some sugar component in it) and sweet tea. Maybe that’s why everyone has that sugary sweet demeanor.
I have to confess that it’s not as humid as I was expecting. Apparently they’re in the midst of a two-year drought, which has even sucked the moisture from the air.
We’re not talking desert conditions, but at least you don’t feel like someone clamped a wet washcloth over your face when you walk out the front door.
Then there’s the ubiquitous Peachtree street names. Seriously, there is every permutation. Street. Road. West. Circle. The list goes on and WAY on. . . .and this is my other brother Daryl.
But I have to hand it to ‘em for one thing. The toniest part of town is called Buckhead. So named because there used to be a tavern in this area that had a stuffed buck head above the door. On the outside. And it became a geographical reference.
Hey, it beats Peachtree.