Transplanted hillbilly

In the hierarchy of the evolutionary progress of homo sapiens sapiens, the bottom of the pile are called “hillbillies”, of which I am a proud member.

We're all proud. To illustrate, there were some members of my family who were part of the coalition to ban a certain Hollywood TV show from airing in our neck of the woods back in Missouri. To us, there was nothing more insulting to our intelligence than the depiction of a "cement pond" in the back yard. Such nonsense. It couldn't have been a real pond because it never had a healthy layer of pond scum floating on top. “Californy is the place you oughta be, if you wanna shake and rattle till you fall into the sea, but it ain't for any blue-blooded SEMO hillbilly”.

As I was saying, I married "up". I, a natural born hillbilly, married the most wonderful white trash girl who ever lived. And together we have progressed up the social ladder. After a 20 year stint in the USAF, my bride and I have settled down in the great state of Oklahoma. And we can now say that we are no longer hillbilly by birth, we are no longer white trash by marriage. We have moved up in the ranks and are now officially Red Necks by location.

Now, many people in other parts of the U.S.A don't know what to think about Oklahoma red necks. Some think that everybody here still roams the plains on horseback shooting each other with Winchesters and bows and arrows. Others have only seen Oklahoma from 35,000 feet and call it "desolate". Give me a break - any place looks desolate from 35,000 feet. I’ve been in some areas of St. Louis that look pretty desolate from 10 feet, I hope tell ya.

Some folks have called Oklahoma City a "cow town". But, Oklahoma City is much more than a "cow town" - lots of folks in the city keep horses, too. And chickens. And pigs. And goats. We are what you might call "diversified".

Now, I'll admit, Oklahoma isn't much for scenery. It does have its beauty spots, but they are kind of few and far between. And you do have to drive a bit out of state to get to any really nice scenery - except north to Kansas (everybody knows that).

But, Oklahoma has its own style of scenery that can only be appreciated by those who wish to appreciate it. From my experiences, I've come to realize that anyone can find fault with any place they've been. Ask any member of my family and they'll agree that I can find fault with pretty much everything, so I know what I’m talking about. You have to make the best of where you're at, whether you like it or not. I'm not talking about merely pretending to like a place, I'm saying you have to accept the place for what it is. And in order to do this, you have to be able to lie. Most of us lie about where we live - we know it's a dump or worse, but we're willing to fight anyone else who calls it a dump because we just don’t want to admit that we're too lazy to move.

We all lie about the state we live in. The only exception to this rule is Texans - Texans don't lie about Texas. They actually BELIEVE it's heaven on earth. To Texans, some sort of weird religion has in their minds transformed the dried out prairie dog infested Palo Duro canyon into the Hanging Gardens of Babylon complete with water nymphs and garden elves.

Now, I like living in Oklahoma. I don't want to go into all the reasons why, and I really don’t want to go into the numerous and widely varied reasons why I don’t like it, either. I’ll just say that I’ve lived, worked, and otherwise traveled in every state but six, as well as quite a few foreign countries, and I can honestly say that this is the first place I’ve lived where I’ve become too lazy to move.

Seriously, I do like it here - and I am too lazy to move.

In closing, I would like to submit for your pleasure my version of the state theme song, OKLAHOMA, from Rodgers and Hammerstein's great musical of the same name (you have to fill in the tune, but here are the words):

"Ooooooooo-k-lahoma, where the hot wind withers up the plains.
And the waving wheat succumbs to heat, or is drowned in water from the rains.
Ooooooooo-k-lahoma, where my wife can't cook a decent pie (as if she ever),
Where we sit and stare, and wipe our hair after hawks poop droppings from the sky.
We know we're in debt for the land, and the land we're in debt for is bland,
So when we saaaaaay, "HEY, GET OFFA MY PLACE, HEY",
We're only saying "You're kinda fine Oklahooooma,
Oklahomaaaa. . . could be worse."

(With apologies to Oscar Hammerstein II - And to any state legislator who may somehow get hold of this tripe, I submit the following legal appeal: "Please don't sue me, or raise my taxes again.")