Small Town Values
Preface: This post works best if you play Lynyrd Skynrd’s “Simple Kind of Man” while you’re reading it.
There’s been a lot of talk during the silly-season of this election about “small town values,” but no one really ever stops to define what the hell those values are (probably because the folks who are extolling those values only ever stop in “small towns” to take a piss or give a stump speech). They simply use the term in nebulous, general terms in such a way that confuses me. Fortunately for you, my good reader, I think I might be able to help out.
First, let me list my credentials for discussing “small town values.” I was born and raised in Gholson, Texas, population 922 (as of the 2000 census). Gholson encompasses an area 11.7 square miles northwest of Waco, and ten percent of that area is occupied by my family’s farm. 11% percent of the population is well below the poverty line, but in reality, I’m guessing that figure is probably much higher because a lot of the really poor people don’t file tax returns and would most likely shoot the census man. I lived there until I was 26, so I think I’m pretty qualified to discuss “small town values.”
So what’s it like in a town like Gholson?
Well, I learned to drive while I was still in grammar school. I could double-clutch and speed-shift a standard transmission before city kids even dreamed of enrolling in driver’s ed. Every once in a while you’ll see someone riding a horse on the road…more often you’ll see some jackass kid on a four-wheeler running sixty miles an hour on a one lane road. It’s also a pretty common sight to see a tractor creeping along a road with a convoy of cars waiting to pass.
There is no police department. If you have a problem, you basically have two options: a) Call the Sheriff and wait an hour for a deputy to show up; b) Take care of the problem your damn self. The same pretty much goes for ambulances, although EMS will usually show up in under an hour. We do have an extremely competent volunteer fire department, but a word of warning: Don’t let your house catch on fire after eight PM on Friday or Saturday night. Oh, the guys will show up and put out the fire, but I won’t guarantee that all of them will be sober. In fact, you’ll probably have a few guys who sit around after the fire is out to finish their party that you so rudely interrupted with your emergency.
The scarcity of the police is one of the reasons that people in Gholson will always be pro-gun, and truthfully, I can’t say I blame them. Another reason for the pro-gun stance are the animals–skunks, armadillos, bobcats, feral dogs, snakes, grackles–there is no animal control to take care of these things. If any of these animals becomes a pest your best recourse is a 12-gauge shotgun (Before anyone sends me hatemail about shooting any of these animals, try imagining a skunk that has burrowed under the porch of your house. A day or two of that, and I double-guarantee you’ll be standing outside in your underwear at midnight, blindly blasting under the porch just praying for a direct hit).
The other reason guns are popular? A skewed view of violence in our society. Most of these folks get their news from the local affiliate newscast at ten, and as study after study has shown, those type of people are far more likely to overestimate the level of violence in our society. And despite the size of the place, there is actually less of a feeling of community in Gholson than there is in the city. Sounds counter-intuitive, doesn’t it? Here’s why: Neighbors in Gholson are usually separated by a good deal of land, and as such, people in small towns are not used to dealing with other people in close proximity. Consequently, they don’t have the same skill-set of negotiation and compromise that city-folk must have as a survival technique. “What do you mean the Carpenter’s boy drove his pickup on our land? I see him do it again and I’m shooting the tires right off his truck!”
Currently, Gholson has a very good school. The superintendent, Pat McFerrin, deserves major credit for turning Gholson ISD around. Sadly, the same cannot be said for the school during my tenure. Also, Ghoslon only goes up to grade eight. After that, a student either goes to West ISD or Aquilla ISD. While Gholson ISD is an exemplary elementary school, Aquilla ISD is almost like its evil doppelganger. The quality of education at Aquilla is awful.
According to the 2000 census, only 74% of the population of Gholson has a high school diploma, and sadly, only 8.8 percent of the population has a bachelor’s or higher. 74% sounds, well horrible, but at least most people have a high school diploma, right? Well, maybe. Of course, some of them could have gotten that diploma from Aquilla, which might actually be slightly worse than not having one at all.
Now, as any decently intelligent person will concede, formal education does not directly correlate into intelligence, and here’s why I think “small town value” voters are antagonistic towards education. The people there aren’t dumb, and the one thing they certainly don’t like is pity. The second thing they most certainly do not like is condescension. If you sat a “small town values” voter down and showed them why they are voting against their economic interests, I think most of them would get it. But they don’t like politicians or pundits acting like they’re dumb or pretending to take care of them, and I have a feeling that many of them vote against their interests out of pure spite.
Second, and this one is purely speculative on my part, I think they also resent people who genuinely are more intelligent than they are. Since they’ve never really been intellectually challenged and pushed by an obvious intellectual superior, an experience which normally only occurs in an academic setting at the collegiate level, they mistakenly think that all intellectual superiors are making fun of them.
Racism. I can’t even describe how bad it is. This one depresses me so much that I’m not even going to expound upon it; suffice to say that in Aquilla, there is still a proud chapter of the KKK.
This one may surprise a lot of people, but one of the “small town values” that few people rarely ever mention is the value placed on drugs. Jesus, there are a lot of drugs in Gholson. And I’m not really even counting pot. Meth. Coke. Crack. Lots of huffers. I can’t stress this one enough: There are a shit-ton of drugs in small towns.
And people in small towns drink a helluva lot. In fact, for high school kids, drinking and driving isn’t that big of a deal (sorry mom). It’s not that big of a deal for the older folks either. Pretty much everyone I know will drive around the “backroads” and drink. And why not? On many of the roads you’ll never pass a car, and if you get into a wreck the only potential casualty will be a barbed wire fence or an oak tree. Both of which will do more damage to the drunk driver than the other way around. Matter of fact, I’d say that most “small town values” voters drink and drive far more often than any other demographic. During the weekend in Gholson, Texas, drinking and driving is considered a viable form of entertainment.
Small town religion–I’m going to tread lightly here because I have such a raw, unadulterated hatred for bible-thumping hypocrites that every other word in this section will simply be “rotten motherfuckers” if I’m not careful. Religion in small towns equals the King James version of the bible. I’d also say they practice “Christianity” less than they practice “Paulianity.” They also have no sense of historicity of the Bible, and they simply don’t understand how Christianity has been influenced by other religions and vice versa. Also, the folks the drunkest on Saturday night will most likely be the ones screaming about the sins of drinking and fornicating on Sunday morning. That’s all I’ll say about that.
But speaking of fornicating, there’s a lot of incestuous screwing going on in small towns, and the “small town values” folks start screwing at a young age. Look, aside from drinking and screwing there just isn’t a lot to do. Well, okay, fist fighting. So there’s three things to do.
The one thing I learned about living in Ghoslon is that “small town values” people are just like people anywhere: a few winners, a whole lot of losers. So when you hear a politician say something about “small town values,” I hope that instead of a fucking Norman Rockwell painting you think of a meth-head high school dropout, who has on more than one occasion punched someone in the face while in a gas station simply because he was bored. Because statistically, you’re more likely to encounter the latter instead of the former when searching for “small town values.”
Political Rhetoric- Examining Palin
Last night, the GOP presented its new star, Sarah Palin, to the world at the RNC. She delivered her speech with zeal and confidence, and I’m quite sure the McCain folks feel pretty damn good about her performance. I’m also pretty sure that after watching Palin, the “always-vote-Jesus” crowd might actually do something unthinkable come this November–vote McCain.
Hypercooking–Gravy Edition
I’m sorry that I had to break this episode into two parts and then upload it on two different websites. Since YouTube insists on capping videos at ten minutes, I’ll probably be uploarding exclusively to Metacafe from now on.
Keep an eye out for Ellie, my little Key Grip, at the end of clip two. She just waltzed right through my shot. So unprofessional.
Hypercooking with Mark–Gravy Edition – The best free videos are right here
A Hypernote And A New Segment
So it’s been awhile since I’ve posted. There are two reasons for this: 1) I had to update WordPress, my blogging software, and the installation went horribly awry. After the “super-easy” WordPress automatic updater seriously borked my blog, I had to manually go into my database and change certain things, which wouldn’t have been so bad if this were 1998 and I was still studying computer programming. 2) I was being lazy.
Also, I felt my whole “blog-persona” shtick was getting a little stale. It also got a little disconcerting after I met people who had formerly only known me via my blog, and they said that I wasn’t quite as angry in real life as they had imagined me.
But before I get to the upcoming high-concept addition to the blog, I’d like to explain the “hyper” in the name of the blog and my internet username. When I started this blog I was in grad school, and I wanted a place to share information with my fellow students. I added the “hyper” to “literature” because I was using the prefix in its original usage of “above and beyond” or “excessive.” I could have just as easily said “Beyond-literature,” but that just didn’t have the same ring.
I eventually started using the prefix with everything I did online, and now it’s become somewhat ubiquitous to my net-presence. But, and this is what I want to clear up, the “Hyper” in “Hypermark” doesn’t suggest that I am anxious or overexcited. It simply means that the “Hypermark” of the interenets is something above and beyond the flesh and blood me.
Hope that clears things up. Now, onto the announcement.
I’ve decided to add a recurring video segment to the blog. When I was brainstorming on what to add to the blog, I tried to come up with a way to combine my blogging duties, my love of cooking, and my overinflated sense of worth. I eventually decided to create a video segment that I non-ironically titled “Hypercooking with Mark.”
Calm down. It’s not as idiotic as it sounds.
Well, maybe it is, but the video was fun to shoot and cut. The first episode is how to buy and store fish. Let me know what you think:
Working On It
I’m in the middle of upgrading my installation of WordPress. It’s gone okay, but there are several things that are still pretty much borked. I’ve disabled the categories on the right sidebar because for some reason during the upgrade, the categories in my database got screwed. I’m working on it.

Our Troubles Are All The Same
I’m exhausted, so I’ll write a full wrap-up of my Boston trip tomorrow night. Till then, here are a few photos:
Here I am at the Sam Adams brewery sampling some of their wonderful beer.
I saw some of the native wildlife today.
Cheers. It looks cool, but they have a huge gift shop. They also have a child’s menu. Frankly, I don’t want to take a break from all my worries in a joint where the waitresses carry crayons for the kiddos. Maybe it’s just me.
links for 2008-07-11
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This almost makes me like GWB. Almost.
Can Someone Please Pronounce It “Bahstan” For Me? Please?!
I’m not a very good airplane passenger. I tend to get…well, nervous is a nice way to put it.
Twitchier than a crackhead is another.
But I’m proud to write that I made it to Boston with little to no flop-sweat on my brow.
My conference doesn’t really begin until tomorrow, so today I just spent the afternoon wandering around downtown Boston. Actually, I spent most of my time in Boston Public Garden and Boston Common. I drank a three dollar cup of lemonade (more watered down than the margaritas at Fiesta), gawked at an old Asian man with a kite who obviously had never flown a kite in his entire life (I waited around hoping he would kamikaze the kite into the head of a jogger but after a few near-misses I moved on), and round about my second lap of the Frog Pond I came to a realization: traveling alone sucks.
I miss my Lele. It’s no fun making fun of people if no one is here to laugh at my wittiness.
Anyways, I took a pretty cool picture of some local art. Check it out:
Whenever I travel, I always make it a point to peruse the artistic stylings of the locals.
I have to admit, this hotel is far too swanky for my tastes. I started to go wandering at dusk, but when I got to the steps of the hotel I looked up and noticed the weather was threatening rain. As I stood there wondering whether or not to chance it, the concierge appeared from nowhere and insisted I take his umbrella. I politely declined, and then I told him I had a pullover in my room and I’d rather go back and get it. So I acted like I was going back upstairs, but instead I snuck out the back and decided to check out the Irish Pub.
Now, I don’t know about you, but when I hear the term “Irish Pub,” some very specific images spring up in my mind. I expect to see some drunk, pasty dudes ready to fist-fight at the drop of a hat. I expect the beer to be warm and the bar food to be greasy as hell. I expect to hear House of Pain’s “Top O’ The Mornin’ To Ya” on the jukebox. What I don’t expect to see is dudes with popped collars, some lame-ass instrumental shit on the PA, nine dollar draft beer, flat-screen TVs adorning every wall, and fucking “Blackened Angus Burger” on the menu (half pound of black angus beef blackened with grilled onions & melted cashel blue cheese).
I’m pretty sure that real Bostonians and real Boston culture exists somewhere in this city, but I’m not sure it exists in this location. To put my experience thus far in perspective, I feel like a tourist in San Antonio who has only visited Taco Cabana restaurants and watched “Sabado Gigante” on the hotel TV.
I got so depressed that I resorted to ordering room service. When the waitress brought my food in she asked if I would like her to pour my coke out of the bottle and into my glass. I thought the woman was joking.
More to come…
Leaving On A Je…Wait, I’ve Used That Title Before Haven’t I?
I’m currently at the San Antonio airport on my way to Boston for a conference. I’ve got a layover in DFW, which apparently doesn’t have free wifi for some idiotic reason, and then I arrive this afternoon in the city of the Cream Pie (isn’t that what Boston is famous for? I’m fuzzy on my American History). I’ll be blogging the trip, so stay tuned.