After spending slightly over a year at the University, I am always somewhat amused when others characterize it as "Southern." See, I'm not from around here, and when I say, "I'm not from around here," I don't just mean I'm not from Northern Virginia. Contrary to the statistics those sly folks at the admissions office will give you, 92.4 percent of the University population calls Fairfax County home.
Fairfax County is tricky. While it is technically in Virginia, Fairfax might as well be a suburb of Boston or New York City. Recently, a friend from Fairfax (given the number of Fairfax kids that go here, everyone has about 200 friends from that locale) told me she doesn't tell people she lives in Virginia.
"When I tell people I live in Virginia, they ask me if I live on a FARM or something," she said. "Gross."
Gross, indeed. So much for ol' Tom Jefferson's ideal of the gentile Virginia planter.
The remaining student population that doesn't hail from Fairfax County still isn't much of a cross-section. If you aren't from NoVa, you come from one of four places: Virginia Beach, New York, New Jersey or Connecticut. This compilation of students results in the University being about as Southern as clam chowder. Maybe the people from these places are the ones perpetuating the rumor that the University is a Southern school.
My friend from New Jersey thinks the University is Southern because when people make eye contact with her here, they sometimes say hi. I tried to explain this foreign concept.
"If I see someone walking past me and we meet eyes, I'm going to say hi just to be polite," I told her. She shook her head in confusion.
"But Erin, if I'm walking past someone and they meet my eye, I'm thinking, 'What the hell is she looking at?'" In saying this, my friend confirmed my decision to follow my mom's mandate that if I ever go to New York or Jersey (which I never have), I should arm myself with enough pepper spray to wipe out the country of Luxemburg.
I consider myself a connoisseur of the South because I am an official G.R.I.T. (Girl Raised in the South) -- from Florida. Before you laugh off the idea of Florida being Southern, try your best not to think of Boca Raton, old people (our state license plate should just be knuckles gripping a steering wheel), Disney World, South Beach or hanging chads. Think North Florida. Think Panhandle.
I am a proud resident of Okaloosa County. Okaloosa is an ancient Native American term that can be loosely translated as "big truck with mud flaps." Within this hallowed ground lies my home, the budding metropolis of Niceville. And please, before you say something ridiculously trite like, "Well, are the people there NICE?" and congratulate yourself on being so clever, I will go ahead and answer. No. The people there are NOT always nice. In fact, when the town square puts up its life-sized nativity scene and lights up the large "City of Niceville" sign with Christmas lights, people come and bust the lights with baseball bats so the sign reads "City of Evil." Not exactly "nice" behavior, am I right?
But there are aspects of Niceville life that are, in fact, nice. We hold two of the most unique and storied events in all the Southeast. My personal favorite is the Mullet Festival. This world renowned (someday) festival honors not the hairstyle popularized by John Stamos on "Full House," but a certain type of fish known locally as "Niceville's candy." Granted, one can argue that as many of the "business in the front, party in the back" hairstyles are present as the revered fish filets. The festival lasts three days, and it is a great place to see respected community members ... passed out on the ground on top of a case of beer. There is a Mullet Queen crowned every year as decided by a contest, which includes beauty, poise and squirrel shooting categories. It is three days of absolute redneck bliss.
Whereas the Mullet Festival is our big down-on-the-farm party, our other magnificent Niceville event, the Billy Bowlegs Festival, is what I like to think of as our high-class society event -- our big Southern ball if you will. Every year, the well-to-do from Niceville and surrounding areas dress up like pirates, get drunk and "invade the city" to declare a week of "fun"(a.k.a. more respected community members shot-gunning beers and puking like first years).
It is classier than it sounds. Being in Bowlegs is a mark of distinction in my town, and I have often begged my parents to join the fun and become swabbies and wenches or whatever the entry-level Bowlegs Crewe positions are. My parents have always politely declined. My dad is a North Dakota native with a Lutheran background who always reminds me of the Lutheran creed. "Sweetheart, the mission of Lutherans is to seek out those having fun ... and put a stop to it immediately."Thanks, Dad. There goes my chance to BE someone in this town.
So there you have it. While the University puts up the front of being Southern, until I see some fried fish and some pirates, I'm not buying it. I know, I know. We call our founder Mr. Jefferson. You can't get more Southern than the storied concept of Southern hospitality, right? Well, let's just say in Niceville, we'd call him Tombo, hand him a six-pack and take him squirrel shooting.
Erin Gaetz can be reached at gaetz@cavalierdaily.com
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