Monday 15th February 2010 - Culture in the Deep South

          I got away to a quite early start.  It's a beautiful sunny day all the way down I-65.  When I remember to look around, the scenery really is quite distinctive, but somehow my mind always wanders off somewhere else: the linemen lopping trees, the truck numberplates, the price of gas at each junction.  I think I'm truly not interested in scenery.

          Anyway, Greenville, the seat of Butler County, where I'm headed now, is about 50 miles south of Montgomery.  It's, I suppose, a biggish small town, with about 7000 inhabitants.  When I get there, there are still a couple of surviving snowmen on front lawns.   But there are no cheap local motels, so I have to tout about and bargain with the chains.  I manage not too badly, mainly by persuading one that I'm working in the courthouse, which is kind-of true.

 

          When I get settled in and go for a look about, I find a renovated art-deco movie theatre from the thirties in the middle of town.  Tonight, for one night only, a touring theatre company is offering "Cabaret".  How could I resist that.  This is not the place for theatre criticism, but it was a talented production with a good small orchestra, in a fine theatre.  Not what one expects in rural southern Alabama.  When I said, later, where I'd been, they all said "Oh, you've been to the Broadway show".  There was a bus and a truck parked out the back of the theatre.  Apparently they've just done Birmingham and Montgomery, and after here, they're off to Mobile.  I wonder how much these touring players and musicians enjoy themselves.

 

          Later that night, I discovered a new beer, Leinenkugel, from Chippewa Falls in Wisconsin.  They claim to have been in business since 1867.  Wisconsin is a long way away, but they also have the splendid Shiner, from Texas.  Unfortunately, this is another county with funny laws: the sale of draft beer is prohibited.

          A young woman came in talking loudly on her cellphone.  The hairs on the back of my neck told me I wasn't going to like her.  She flopped down at the bar, and stretched her feet out on the bar stool next to me.  Fortunately, I hadn't had quite enough beer.  Then she spent the the next twenty minutes huffing and puffing at the phone, and complaining to any and all passing ears that her expletive-deleted husband had refused to come home for the weekend.  I'm afraid I was on his side.  I could tell I was not the only one.