Remember Thurston Howell, III from Gilligan’s Island? That’s who I feel like living here in Bradenton Florida. That’s pronounced Bra-dun-tun by the locals. I’ve been called a snob, but I’m not really. Actually, I come from a humble upbringing, but they still think I’m snobby. For example, I visited some local friends a week back and the contrast was apparent.
My car drives up a dirt driveway that ends at a wooden house. Around the house are rusty trucks and cars abandoned long ago. Sitting on the front porch in rocking chairs are my friends, hound dogs lie at their feet and he has a shotgun next to him leaning against a roof support. My friend looks up at us approaching and spits chewing tobacco juice out into the weeds. He is whittling away at some wood with a knife and next to him is his wife is clenching a corncob pipe between her teeth and is sewing on a sole to a shoe. We exit the car and walk up.
“Well looky who came to visit us, if it isn’t the city slickers.”
“Just thought we’d stop by and say hi.” my girl says.
“So what have you so-phis-ti-cated folks been up to?”
“Well last week we went to Sarasota and saw Avenue Q it was a comedic play, an adult spoof on Sesame street, very funny, and tomorrow we are going to see Sade.”
“Ya say you’re gonna go shop at the Safeway?”
“No, no, Sade the jazz vocalist… you know, Smooth Operator?” They shake their heads no.
“Don’t know that one” he stated. Then she looked up from her shoe. “Didn’t Dolly sing a song about a phone operator?”
“Well we’ve been havin’ some hilariousness ourselves, started out in our Jacuzzi where we had us quite a few a-dult beverages, then, after dark we went into the pasture and pushed over sleeping cows. Huh, now that’s fun!... going coon huntin’ tomorrow if ya want ta come?
Bling bling blang bling blang bling blang bling. ( Imagine Banjo Music)
Then there was the night at the bowling alley, one of Bradenton’s cultural hot spots. I was sitting at the bar with my bowling team member when across the bar two drunken guys started yelling even louder and began punching each other.
“Great, drunken Hillbillies” I remarked.
“Be quiet! Don’t embarrass me. Those are my friends!”
“So your brawling drunken friends aren’t an embarrassment, but I am?”
“That’s Dickie and Mickie. They’re good guys.”
“Well I doubt they heard me as they are now sprawled over the pool table choking each other.”
“Sometimes you are very em-barr-e-sin’, getting’ all snooty like a fightin’ at the bar isn’t natural. Them boys are just resolvin’ their differences. For gawsh sakes, I bet you gonna tell me you never choked nobody at a bar before, aren’t ya?”
Bling bling bling blang bling blang bling blang bling.
Then there is the city who tries to bring refinement and culture to the unwashed masses. And how do they achieve this? They have an event named ‘Get Down, Down Town’. Downtown Bradenton consists of one brick paved street which is lined with old quaint buildings and large oak trees. Restaurants and bars are dispersed the length and it is actually quite nice.
One night a month discriminating vendors line the street for this event and display their fancy wares. Need a coolie for your beer can? They have it. A bandana for your sweaty brow? No problem. Temporary tattoos, earrings that flash with red lights, tobacco, and of course a table where you can meet the actual Bradenton roller derby team, all of Bradenton’s high brows are here in one spot.
But it gets even better. In addition, they have hired someone’s cousin to play horrendously loud head banger music badly just so you cannot possibly have a conversation! So, a bunch of folks are standing around drinking beer in a crowd on the street wearing fake tattoos and bandanas and screaming at each other. What could be more fun than that, huh?
I went once.
There have been classy establishments that have opened up in the past, but alas no classy patrons to frequent said business and they end up closing. There was one particular place that featured an outdoor café patio right on the water. Very nice. It was upscale and had a dress code. Collared shirts, no sandals, you know severe restrictions like that!
Well you would have thought they required the hillbillies to wear tuxes as they had to eventually forget the dress code because no one would patronize them.
Soon after, this upscale cafe was filled with people wearing Nascar T-shirts and sandals who brought their fishing poles so they could fish while sitting at tables with fresh flowers and fresh crisp white linens. Because it was waterfront and had a considerable overhead, the prices were higher than Scooters all –u-can eat, but not overly so. However, I guess that didn’t sit well with the locals as they just brought their own beer and sat at the tables waiting for that big catch. The place eventually closed and the locals just went somewhere else to fish and drink their beer. They didn’t need those fancy linens on a table they just threw a sheet over the hood of their car.
“Well c’mon along Lovey. It’s almost time for our cribbage tournament at the club. Lets wash up first as I may have brushed up against one of the local heathens. Oh dear; I hope they haven’t exposed me to typhoid or some other unpleasantry.”
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