Every once in a while I have these little moments of epiphany where I suddenly look around and realize that I'm not in the Rockies anymore. Usually it's something subtle, like when I smell lilacs (which are rare down here) and I get desperately homesick, or when I see a Cadillac drive by with a "Git-r-done" bumper sticker, and I get confused. But recently, the culture of public space has been making my status as resident alien to the South to me much more clearly than anything else.
For instance, take the street-side vendor. Seeing people hock things on the side of the road isn't all that unusual; you see fruit stands and whatnot occasionally out west. But I'm still not used to seeing a guy in overalls and a lump of Copenhagen in his lip set up shop on the highway selling "Boled P-Nuts" [sic] or "Shrump" [also sic] off the tailgate of his truck. The strangest thing, up until last week, were the traveling garage sales that sprout up, like mushrooms, in vacant lots and grassy fields next to the road. I can understand selling your stuff in a yard sale... but why pack it all in your van and roll it all out on the pavement next to the Kroger on my street?
But what I saw two weeks ago in my neighborhood absolutely took the cake. What I ran into was this:
That's right: a bush-league semi-professional wrestling troupe set up a portable ring a block from my house and held a full-out wrestling entertainment extravaganza. There were five different matches, complete with a tag team event featuring three male wrestlers and one female personality who styled herself as "Miss Las Vegas." And I, I'm a little surprised to admit, enjoyed it in a weird sort of way, and for a weird reason. So without further ado, here are some of the highlights: