I’m Southern, so of course I possess numerous, linguistic, “secret signifiers.”
These are my own made-up phrases that enable me to express a thoroughly disagreeable idea without others realizing it.
Apparently, some of my utterances are disagreeable to others because they are politically incorrect.
Theoretically, this individual, codified language ameliorates my often blunt delivery so that only close friends or family members know the true meaning of what I am really saying when I use it.
I have many of these aphorisms but one of my favorites is “down, down, down.”
I must admit I stole it from the 1989 movie, “Miss Firecracker” by the Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Beth Henley. Based on her play, The Miss Firecracker Contest, the movie features Holly Hunter as an unlikely beauty pageant contestant in Yazoo, Mississippi.
Coached by her friend, “Popeye” [Alfre Woodard], Hunter’s character, “Carnelle,” attempts to win the town crown that her attractive, but high-handed cousin, Elain, won years before.
The beauteous Elain, delightfully played by Mary Steenburgen—an actress I would watch in anything—sweeps back into town driving a Mercedes roadster, wearing picture hats and feminine, floral, chiffon outfits, allowing all to gape and blissfully admire her still-radiant beauty.
Later, while talking about the pageant with Carnelle, she says, “it has gone down, down, down since they started letting them in.” The pageant is set in Mississippi, so I presume you don’t need three guesses to figure out who them is?
The phrase stuck with me—for many reasons. It’s not merely because it is so blatantly racist, but because Elain is absolutely, totally unaware that she has said anything at all wrong, a situation with which I can painfully identify. Compounding her racist comment, Elain implies that, if by some incredible stroke of luck, Carnelle even ranks as a finalist in the pageant, it would only happen because standards are so much lower now than when Elain reigned as Miss Firecracker.
Ironically, on a recent automobile trip to Mississippi, I could have been Elain’s long-lost brother as I carried on for several minutes about how much I thoroughly dislike a particular Nashville socialite. Of course, I couldn’t stop with a simple, declarative statement, such as, “She’s not my favorite,” or “I don’t particularly care for her.” No, I felt compelled to rant for at least 5-10 minutes, with all the zeal of a televangelist, complete with red, vein-popping forehead, loud voice and unlike a preacher, a smattering of bombastic cussing thrown in for good measure.
Concluding my tirade, I glanced in the rearview mirror a few moments later, to see a black cloud pass over a friend’s face, who later politely informed me, almost inaudibly, that the object of my scorn is a friend of hers. Whoops. As another friend once hilariously educated me with an exquisitely delivered punch-line at the end of her true story of a local slut, “Nashville ain’t no big town.”
After my Swaggart-like demonstration, my self-recrimination phase lasted for days afterward. I worried that my own manners surely have gone “down, down, down” and resolved to remember to be more careful in the future. I also concluded that if possible, maybe I shouldn’t talk as much, because despite its phenomenal growth and loss of provincialism, Nashville is not totally unlike the 1980s-era Yazoo, Mississippi depicted in my treasured film.
Here, at least in certain zip codes and overlapping circles, many of us have either been married to, divorced from, “slept-with,” are a customer of, or work for someone that is connected closely with someone else we know. In fact, probably many, many “someones!” So, take heed…and use codified language whenever possible. It yields the side benefits of sharpening up your crossword puzzle solving and bridge-bidding skills.
This morning, I received a text message from a younger friend, asking me if I had ever tasted Brie cheese. Dear God, I know the world has been reduced to nonstop Kardashian broadcasts, 140-character tweets and now, an ABC TV series entitled “Work It!” an impossibly tired re-hash of the two-guys-in-drag-to-get-a-job-concept that first saw the light of day in “Bosom Buddies,” the 1970s series that introduced Tom Hanks to American audiences. This is just another example of cheap, crass TV execs slinging out old material rather than paying writers to create a new, original series. I will personally guarantee that “Work It!” [ Sample promo. copy: “Looking for a job in today’s economy can be a real drag.” ] will produce no future Academy Award winning actors. But let’s save this topic for another day, shall we?
At any rate, when my 40-something friend revealed that she had never tasted Brie, my stomach dropped to the floor accompanied by a cartoon-like, sinking feeling. Somehow, it was yet another signal that our world—at least my version of it— truly is changing faster and faster. It seems sad, and a little frightening to me, to see to so many rites, customs, rituals, manners, modes of dress, courtesies and polite observations disappearing because they are somehow no longer considered “important” by many people.
It’s probably not fair to chart the decline of American civilization using falling Brie consumption as an indicator, but in my crazy view, its another sign that one more stone in the neatly-stacked-without-mortar-rock wall that makes up civilized Southern society has crumbled. If there is anyone reading this that has never eaten Brie, would you please buy a small piece and try it today? You can even find it at the God-forsaken Kroger (of the Cincinnati Krogers).
If you are 40 or under, I implore you: please don’t give in to the temptation and laziness to let “good enough” be “good enough.” As a simple illustration, I say, verily, pre-bagged cheese cubes from Costco are not acceptable cocktail party food. Please make the effort to do something better. Buy a piece of Brie. And go do a Google search for the Cole Porter song, “Experiment,” which has been sung by many and offers a lesson that could enrich your life, if you pay attention.
“Experiment” by Cole Porter
Before you leave these portals,
to meet less fortunate mortals,
there’s just one final message I would give to you.
You all have learned reliance,
on the sacred teachings of science.
So I hope through life you never will decline,
in spite of Philistine defiance.
Do what all good scientists do.
Experiment.
Make it your motto day and night.
Experiment.
And it will lead you to the light.
The apple on the top of the tree
is never too high to achieve.
So take an example from Eve,
experiment.
Be curious,
though interfering friends may frown.
Get furious,
at each attempt to hold you down.
If this advice you always employ,
the future can offer you infinite joy
and merriment.
Experiment,
and you’ll see.
Mark My Words 