First impressions are only important if they are the only impression. If you meet someone once and then never have the pleasure of making their acquaintance again . . . well then, yeah that is important by default. If a relationship flourishes into an acquaintance or friendship first impressions are trivial. We misrepresent so many social ques when we first meet someone. Do you have a friend who is loud and sarcastic? You probably thought he was a huge dick the first time you met him. Do you have a friend with a dry, witty, subtle sense of humor? I would bet dollars to donuts that when you first met her you thought she was an idiot.
So, what's the point of this? The point is, that conversations are complicated. When first meeting another human it is impossible to pick up on all the nuances of their character. If a person is always candid, never sarcastic, and never subtle . . . well then your first impression is probably going to be pretty accurate, but who wants to spend time with such a person. Not me, and hopefully not you.
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| Brick Tamland This, ladies and gentlemen, is Brick Tamland. He's a man who loves lamp, he killed a guy with a trident, he has an IQ of 48, and he very rarely knows what we're yelling about. This is the exact type of person that you can get a solid first read on. There are no layers to Brick, what you see is what you get and what he sees is what he says. Sure, it may sounds like a gas to have Brick as your friend, but it would be a nightmare. Without a doubt he would be the creepiest guy in your group. He would constantly be invading your personal space, he would laugh at inappropriate times, and YOU would be an accessory to murder. After all, Brick killed a guy. |
So, keeping that in mind that first impressions don't matter, allow me to present the story of meeting my Louisiana cousins . . .
We last left me struggling to stay awake at a Pirate Bar in Baton Rouge. I was chatting it up with Lauren and Jordan, but sadly my night was coming to an end. After some hugs, individual not communal, I said goodnight to Jordan and Lauren. I was tired, and fortunately my cousin Dana had a room for me.
I pulled up to the house around 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, yo homes smell ya later. Wait, that's not accurate, it was 12 or 1230pm and I had been my own means of conveyance. I crept around to the backdoor, like the shady character that I am, and knocked on the door. A groggy cousin Madalynn, whom I had clearly woken up, answered the door and was kind enough to let me inside. Brittin (Madalynn's friend whom I had also woken up), Madalynn, and I made quick "who the hell are you" talk, quick being the key word because we all decided that consciousness was too taxing. We were all tired, you see.
Madalynn escorted me to the guest bedroom that had been prepared for me. The room was ornately decorated. Louisiana has it's own unique sense of style, and I kind of dig it. It's a sort of Charleston meets Paris. It's distinctively southern, but also distinctively Parisian. Dana's house was ostentatiously decorated with miniatures, trinkets, and general adornment on, over, and around every surface. This unique Louisiana style is the only, and I repeat only style where an inordinate amount of deelies actually looks pretty good.
Back to me, I was tired. So I threw my bag on the ground, making sure not to smash anything, then stripped to my skivvies and hopped into bed. I glanced a woman riding a parasol miniature hanging from table lamp's draw string, grabbed it, and smashed the hell out of it. Screw that woman and her tiny umbrella. Actually, I had nothing against the woman, but I did smash the shit out of her. I thought she was attached to the pull string, but I was either very wrong, very strong, or very both. I gathered the pieces into a morbid little grave on the end table and went to sleep.
The next morning I awoke to my transgression staring me right in the face and felt awful. I gathered the evidence and my integrity and marched straight into the kitchen. Brittin and Madalynn were already awake and were chilling in the kitchen. I looked Madalynn right in the eye, steadfast and unwavering, and said "I broke this." Then I looked down at my shoes like 4 year old. I'm going to get real for a second, real, real. That was the guiltiest I have felt since . . . well since I can remember. I have done worse things, oh man, I have done much worse things, but breaking that little parasol enthusiast made me feel so God damn guilty. The only explanation I can think of is this: I'm a weirdo. Yep, that's got to be it.
Anyways, Madalynn screamed at me and Brittin cried.
Well, not so much. I think Madalynn actually may have laughed at me (the nerve!). She then chided me a little more by telling me that when SHE was a guest at another's house she would do their dishes. The feminist in me was outraged, but I was picking up what she was putting down.
After some good-natured shots at my expense (at least I think they were good-natured . . . ) I went to find Dana to confess my transgression. Her reaction was much the same as Madalynn's. Pretty anti-climactic as far as story-telling goes, so moving on . . .
I loaded myself back into my car and began the trek to have breakfast with my sister, my mom, Jim, Carol, and Jim's brother. It was delicious, uneventful, and there were errands to run. My sister had also decided to stay with Dana and Madalynn, so the chore for the morning was to get her settled, so back to Dana's. It was time for my sister to meet more of our Louisiana cousins
My sister's meeting with Dana and Madalynn was less destructive than mine. She didn't break even a single thing, and here I thought I had started a tradition. Even before noon, Dana's house was lively. Dana and Madalynn are both open, blunt, warm and vivacious. I would even go so far to say they are as sociable as my sister and myself. We are not exactly a taciturn tandem ourselves, but we are tempered by Northern sense of propriety. They are not: honest and loud all the way, baby. Both my sister and I also had the pleasure to meet Will, Dana's boyfriend. Will was just as hospitable and kind as Dana and Madalynn, but played the straight man in the morning's show, cool and collected.
My friends from North of the Wall who have never ventured down to Dorne may be a bit skeptical as to the extent of southern hospitality. Allow me to present the following anecdote:
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| Public Service Announcement: I have included the preceding map to illustrate the previous allusion. As you can clearly see based on the political map of Westeros, "North of the Wall" is far to the North, and "Dorne" is far to the South. Now although it may seem that I included this visual representation to help to elucidate the point for the those who haven't read or watched Game of Thrones, but that is merely an ancillary effect. The point is this, if you didn't understand the reference, what the hell are you doing with your life? There are certain pop culture requirements to be a fully functioning member of society. Game of Thrones has reached the pantheon of mandatory viewing/reading material that is currently occupied by: Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings to name a few. So, if you haven't experienced Game of Thrones yet do so and fast. You are letting everyone in your life down, they are just too polite to tell you. |
The Anecdote: While we were drinking coffee, talking loudly, and laughing frequently I received a phone call from a friend familiar to both you and me. Dave the Aussie had made the trip from Austin to Baton Rouge and was chilling at the bus stop. Exciting yes, but it didn't really jive with the plans we had for the day. The Louisana cousins, of whom we have only met a fraction in the tale, had decided to throw a big ol' family hootenanny. I still planned on picking Dave up from the bus stop, but I had no idea what to do with my wandering Australian friend.
I told the group the story of Dave, about our adventures roaming the streets of Austin, and how he was currently waiting for pickup at the greyhound station in Baton Rouge. Will and Dana both gave me very distinctive looks. Dana looked at me like I was an idiot, and Will with more concern than I thought the situation deserved. Dana said, as if it were the simplest of solutions, to bring Dave to the reunion. Madalynn concurred, and I was hesitant. Back up north, the thought never would've crossed my mind. I would have dropped Dave off somewhere while I mingled with my family and met up with the foreign invader later. I definitely thought that they were just being polite so I declined, but they would not hear of it. So, my sister and I took off to grab Dave to bring him to our family reunion.
But remember, there were two distinctive looks, why did Will look so concerned? Before we left for the greyhound station Will told us that we had better hurry. It turns out Will was was not exaggerating the peril involved. The greyhound station was in the worst part of any city I have ever seen. Broken down cars, boarded up houses, and liquor stores riddled the landscape. We executed a snatch and grab, no joke. I would've been more comfortable skyhooking Dave out of that God forsaken place, but alas I didn't have a spy plane and Dave had forgotten his helium balloon aparatus. So instead, I pulled up my car, Dave ran in and we got the fuck out of dodge. Dave said, in an Australian accent, that after he got off the phone with me he went outside to wait. An incredulous security asked him what he was doing, and in no uncertain terms told him to wait inside or be willing to forfeit any guarantees of personal safety. Crazy. Ass. Shit.
Once we had traveled a fair distance outside of that terrible place, my battle focus turned off and we relaxed into an amiable conversation. I introduced my sister to Dave and the two got on like peas and carrots. Next I inquired if he would care to accompany us to a family reunion. I'm pretty sure he thought we were kidding. I replayed the scene from Dana and Madalynn's and how insistent my relatives were that he join us at our family get-together. Dave thought it was ridiculous, hilarious and definitely something he should experience. At the very least, it would make for a quirky story when he returned home.
Loaded and ready, we had our collected sight set on the reunion, but that is a tale in itself. Spoiler alert: at the reunion we would meet more fun and exceptionally friendly folk. The family experience down in Baton Rouge was unlike anything I'd experienced before. When you're family, you're in. When you're friends of family, you're in. The awkward period that usually accompanies a burgeoning relationships is waved. You are instantly granted access to: getting made fun of, getting asked to help with chores, passing messages (ie: tell so and so that we are going to be late), and an environment of unbridled acceptance, warmth, and love.
The South is weird, man.
