If the stereotypical East Nashvillian approached you in Kroger, you might be intimidated by the pale, unshowered, ritualistically-pierced gangbanger with his skinny jeans sagging beneath the weight of his marijuana, art supplies, and 9mm.
Especially if you’re from Brentwood and are already committed to looking at your reflection in the fogged up door in the frozen food aisle. Because, in front of the Bagel Bites and Pizza Rolls, there stands a pair of oversized sunglasses perched a few inches above a shimmery shirt with enormous armholes that hangs a full four inches below the waistband of a pair of tights tucked neatly into a pair of, you guessed it, Ugg boots.
O tal vez eres de Antioquía. Usted no tiene miedo de usar sus pantalones cubiertos de pintura y botas con punta de acero. Su bigote está bien establecido por encima de los labios que hablan español. A medida que tirar de su camioneta de la playa de estacionamiento...
You have to quickly steer your truck up onto the sidewalk to avoid the soccer mom in the giant SUV who is completely lost because she typed the wrong address into the GPS she uses to get around Green Hills. The typing in of the incorrect coordinates is understandable, given the fact that she typed it in while driving in bumper to bumper traffic, fixing her makeup, texting her friend in the giant SUV behind her, and waving her hands around at the driver in front of her as if he is the one who would fail a retest at the DMV. I won’t speak to your mothering skills, but you’re failing at the stay-at-home part, lady.
Excuse me for one second, I was distracted by the thought of working someone from Madison into this. I still struggle to comprehend how a person could walk around in such large shorts. For those of you who have purchased such large shorts, do the plaid boxers and wifebeater come with it? Maybe it’s a big one piece. I’m pretty sure the Michael Vick Falcons jersey that is draped around your neck and one shoulder is sold separately, and I’ve seen the signs for the Air Force Ones ($35 if you call the number stapled to the telephone pole).
Honestly, I stole the first paragraph from a post entitled “East Nashville is Too Stupid for a McDonald’s” that I wrote a couple of weeks back, but the blog server was down (that’s about as techy an explanation I could give). My anger for the guy at McDonald’s expired, but I was kind of proud my description of a stereotypical East Nashville resident. So I thought, “How can I morph this into another post?” Then I thought, “It’s Memorial Day, run with that.”
So this is what you got… Whether you’re a Blood or a Crypt, a goth or a prep, a jock or a hipster, a soccer mom or a kid with two moms, a retiree or a trust fund kid, a high-ranking executive or a college student eating Ramen noodles, there’s men and women who are literally putting their lives on the line to allow you the opportunity to carry on in your current role. And they don’t always make it back.
So, I’m sure it’s been put out there on a lot more important, well-read, higher-trafficked stages, but thank you to those of you who are serving, have served, will serve, or any other conjugation of the verb in the military. Yes, it is your job, but you deserve more than the thanks you get, more than one day’s memorial a year, and more than the $500 discount on a new car that I saw advertised today.
