Southern Hospitality

As we started our trip in the South, I was curious as to whether or not we would encounter this phenomenon known as "southern hospitality." Though southwest Florida is just about as south as you can get in the states, I always felt that the more north you go in Florida and eventually out of Florida into the other states in the South, the more "southern" the people get. I guess what I mean by this is that the people fulfill the stereotypes of the South and seem to have a regional identity that I don't think Florida, at least southern Florida, identifies with. What I have found, after having left the South and treked through other parts of the country, is that there is something called southern hospitality, a sort of kindness and openess that permeates throughout the South.

Now that we are in northern New York, close to Canada, I feel that it is appropriate to discuss southern hospitality, as now I can compare the South to the other regions of the U.S. Our first destination outside of southwest Florida was Ocala, FL to visit my grandmother. Ocala is in nothern Florida and seemed to fit the southern stereotypes far better than where I live. There, cows and American flags abound and it also didn't hurt that we visited a mobile home park. However, it wasn't until we got out of Florida that we started to see what southern hospitality is all about. In Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Louisiana, and Texas, Alex and I met the kindest and most open people. We rarely got denied an interview in these states. People were friendly and seemed approachable. They agreed to be interviewed with a smile on their face and a willingness to share. We didn't know that this was probably what people called southern hospitality until we reached the west and saw that not all people are like this.

We didn't really pursue any people to interview in New Mexico or Arizona as we were in more secluded areas and trying to see some touristy things. We got a couple interviews in Las Vegas, but we also got turned down as many times as we got interviews. Finally, we got to California. I thought that I would feel at home on the west coast. I was born in Los Angeles, CA and had visited San Diego, CA once and I just thought that this was the place for me. I wanted to move to the west coast because, foolishly, I always felt like I belonged there as it was more exciting than where I live and would be filled with like-minded people. In California we interviewed some people on Venice Beach, one of whom was very angry and spiteful because of a bad experience she had protesting the new immigration legislation in Arizona--what many consider to be legal racial profiling. In San Francisco, we met a pushy homeless man that completely negated all of the kind homeless people we had met in the South. Then we passed through what seemed to be an environmentally-conscious Oregon into Seattle, WA. Before we got to Seattle we received our welcome to Washington from an extremely rude waitress at a restaurant called "Shari's." Some of the people that we met in Seattle agreed to do the interview, but didn't seem to be very happy about it. Just talking to some people that we did not interview I found that the people tended to hold themselves above the rest of America in that they knew something the rest of us didn't. They drove hybrids and recycled and seemed to be the only ones who didn't buy into advertising (though they obviously did if so many of them were driving a Prius and wearing Northface, though that's a whole other blog post).

This is not to say that we did not have fun on the west coast. We met some really genuine people, though they were few and far between. There are a lot of neat things to see in California and Eugene, OR was extremely vegetarian friendly, which was nice after having to scrounge for meatless things to eat in the South. Seattle seemed to be a fun place to live, filled with things to do, not to mention we had a more than fabulous host. I was just really turned off by the people we met in this area. They seemed to be cold and above it all. Jehn, our host in Seattle, explained that a lot of the restaurants and shops in that area are not corporate chains, but rather independently owned, so there is no standard of service they are held up to. She also said that people in that area were slow to trust, and therefore not as open.

I understand that we only saw a few cities in this region, and that we only met a handful of people who cannot possibly represent the whole of the west coast, however my first impression of this area was not so great. The South, however, seemed to welcome Alex and I with open arms and give us all it had to offer. A trend that we found from the interviewees in the West is that they did not identify with a greater American identity, but rather a regional identity. As I reflect more and more on the idea of southern hospitality, I think that many of us have a sort of regional identity, that we might not be able to articulate without having experienced other regions in the U.S.

(Sarah)

Work and Others

One notion I had of Americans going into this project is that they are mostly self-interested. I have met people that worked for non-profit organizations and I've met people who enjoy doing volunteer work, however I just felt that the majority of Americans are out for themselves with little regard for anyone else. This might stem from where I live, a place where people move to retire and mainly focus on themselves after a life of putting time in a career and most likely raising a family. So far, the people I have met on this trip have not only changed my original notions of self-centered Americans, but have also caused me to rethink what I plan to do for “work” in the future.

On Bourbon St. in New Orleans, Alex and I met a yogi from Berkley, CA who was there doing volunteer work for an organization that helps feed people. He reminded us that we are not our possessions and volunteer work also gives the volunteer some satisfaction. We also met a group of young men in Austin, TX who work for the organization Children International, which helps children living in poverty through sponsorships. One of these guys was taking time off from Masters work at Princeton and wanted to work in his off time. He said he didn't want to get a job at a restaurant but wanted to do something that would help other people, so he chose to move to Austin and give some of his time to the organization. We also met two men in Austin who work at a Radio Shack, and are starting a foundation to provide money for transportation for cancer patients who can't afford to travel for treatment. One of these men was a cancer survivor and wanted to start this organization because he had to make many sacrifices just to pay for the treatment he needed to survive. This was just a regular guy who worked at a mall in Austin who wanted to make sure that people didn't have to go through what he had to in order to survive at an already trying time in their life.

Meeting all of these people, among a few others that I am probably forgetting to mention, sort of restored my faith in the American people. I know that you shouldn't make generalizations about a whole country based on a few, especially a country with the diversity of the United States, however just these few people represent a greater group that care about something other than themselves. They make up a group of people who are not merely complainers, but “do-ers.” People who could do anything they wanted with their time, but choose to use it in ways that make a difference in the lives of others. These people reminded me that you can still live a satisfying life and help people at the same time. Your work can extend beyond yourself in numerous ways and it doesn't mean that you have to make harsh sacrifices.

Alex and I also met some artists that caused me to rethink the idea of work. When I think of people who make art for a living, I generally think that the majority of them are barely scraping by and living an unhappy life for the sake of their art. After speaking to a few artists in California, I realized this is not the case. Your quality of life does not have to suffer, you just have a different idea of living. Living more simply and caring less about material possessions so that you can do what you love to do is living a far happier existence than working at a job you hate in order to pay for things you hope will bring some sort of satisfaction to your life.

Meeting and speaking with these people has made me rethink my plans for the future. I assumed that the next obvious step after undergrad is to go to graduate school to earn my PhD because I want to teach at the university level, however now I am realizing there are so many other options. I want whatever I choose to do for work to extend beyond just myself or my small peer group. I realize that in teaching your work does extend beyond yourself. I have experienced the work of amazing professors that can provide inspiration just in their unyielding enthusiasm for the subject alone. However, I feel that this is not the only way for me to reach others through my work.

The artist inside of me wants to create, create, create! I want to explore film as a medium for opening eyes, minds and hearts. I want my work to blossom outside of academic journals. I want it to be in the minds and on the tongues of everyone who can watch and/or listen to my work, not just academics who's PhD's allow them access. I want a chance to affect anyone who will listen. I feel like if I do not at least try, then I have wasted a valuable opportunity.

“Work” is sort of an ugly word with not-so-pleasant connotations. I think that I've always tended to look at work as something that you do apart from the things you do that you enjoy and that matter to you. I now see that work can be something that brings you satisfaction while also extending much farther than yourself as it affects and inspires so many others. What I thought were my airtight plans for the future have been put into question as I realize I have so many routes to explore. Where that would have bothered me before because I am one who loves to plan and feels lost without an agenda, I think one thing this trip has taught me is that though plans are nice to have, sometimes things just need to happen. What's that saying? Life is what happens when you're busy making plans. Yeah, I like that.

(Sarah)

"Antarctica shouldn't be a continent"

Joseph the Street Artist

Context, context, context

Of all the questions that we ask people, I’m beginning to find the last one the most interesting. We ask our questions about America—what to you think being an American is all about? of all the Americans you’ve met, is there one thing they all have in common? and, what do you think the American dream is?—but to conclude the interview, we ask everyone to tell us a little something about themselves. This part is my favorite. Our first questions are interesting in a different way. Asking someone to talk about an abstract idea—American identity, for example—draws people out of their skin in ways I simply find fascinating.

Asking questions concerning common ideas seems to do more than provide a space for personality exhibitions—though these are inevitable—it provides an opportunity for a person to talk about ideas that have impressed them, become impressed in them, about concepts that involve more than one person, more than just themselves. “American” is a term applied to more than one person.

But several people have answered: “Being an American is about being out for yourself;” a yogi we met on Bourbon Street believed the American dream was “ultimately just an excuse to live how you want to live at the expense of others.” We met a couple in Austin who thought that even though Americans are supposed to be free, they are still restricted in many ways. But the woman added that as a woman, she did appreciate the freedoms she was allowed in this country, comparing it to other countries in which women were forbidden many things women enjoy in this country—driving for example.

Stitching all of these positions together to form a complex definition of American identity would be a murky affair—and it is not what we purport to do. We are seeking, rather, to put together an exhibition, a show, a display of America in a variety of poses—through several lenses, ours, theirs, yours. Definitions are for people who believe in them. What has been put into the camera may become something very different when it projects onto the screen, when the images are woven together and seen in each other’s contexts.

It is important not to forget about context. When we approach these random people, and ask them questions that they are not necessarily prepared to answer, we receive answers that usually flow pretty quickly; they seem to come off of the tops of people’s heads. It is a lovely thing, to see the ways people describe the country they live in, or are visiting—the country they are in—whether or not they even identify with labels like American in the first place…

(Alex)

Preconceptions about ‘gringos’

I left my preconceptions about 'gringos' at my door in Bolivia. There, many people say: "Gringos? Oh yes, they are fat and always busy, rushing around and buying things all the time..." Familiar to you?

Having lived in the US for over five years now, I may now safely dismantle that stereotype—or at least recognize that stereotypes about a culture never really define the whole. ‘Wholes’ resist definition. What can you say about life as a whole, or Americans as a whole, or whatever, as a whole?

I like what Whitman says in “To a Historian”:

“You who celebrate bygones,

Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life

that has exhibited itself,

Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,

rulers and priests,

I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself

in his own rights,

Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself,

(the great pride of man in himself,)

Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be,

I project the history of the future.”

Democracy seems to thrive on this fancy of Whitman’s. In a democracy, the people are supposed to be able to decide what the future has in store. We democrats are supposed to be able to decide what the good is, rather than simply obeying and defending traditional values. We democrats are supposed to be able to mold our own futures—and not only our own, but the future of our children. But to what extent do we draw from things past in order to find out how to create the future? We might be born blank slates, but very quickly, we begin to learn—about history. About where our mothers and fathers have been, so that we may decide where to go from there.

Some of the folks we interview respond to our questions by defending traditions—“What does it mean to be an American?” we ask, and they say, “It means having pride in your country, respecting your president no matter what…”

Then we get the creative responses—take Ashley the Bourbon Street Queen: “I am an American because I am who I want to be.” S/he is transgender, transsexual, and gay. S/he has decided to create for herself an identity of her own making. Being an American, for her, is not about respecting your country’s ideals (whatever they may be), but about creating a personality for herself that is uniquely her own.

So what can one say about a collective American identity? Can one say anything at all? Are we going to take these interviews and claim “Americans are like this… or this…" based on the sample of the population we chance to encounter? Are we finding connections between these people—these citizens, these members of a country? Or are we simply getting to know a bit about distinct personalities? About people in themselves in their own rights?

(Alex)

It seems like... we just had to post this

The road (from the driver's perspective)

How do you measure a road trip? Not in miles traveled, but in experiences had. So how then do you measure the traveling itself? Too much of the trip is spent on the road in the car to be ignored. For this trip, I have assumed the role of driver. I do not have the luxury of contemplating hay bales or snapping a picture of every single water tower I see (though I do throroughly enjoy listening to Alex describe the scenery and love the excitement she experiences at discovering yet another water tower). My eyes are on the road and my fellow travelers to ensure that Alex and I arrive at our next destination. This is my best attempt to describe traveling America from behind the wheel...

 

In Lafayette, LA, Alex and I found that most people drove around in their cars and there was not really anyone walking on the streets to interview. At first I thought this was absurd. Walk much, Lousiana? Then I realized that it is the same where I live. People drive everywhere because the city is not really conducive to traveling by foot. This, and a random conversation we had with a yogi on Bourbon St., made me realize that our posessions very often seem to become an extension of ourselves. Though I am certainly not an automobile, and I wouldn't identify with one if you asked me, as I drive over the various streets of America, my little green SUV becomes an extension of myself. I connect with the roads, the veins of America's body. My fingers become its tires, tracing and caressing the road's every curve. I sway with every strong gust of wind that carries me on to the next destination. Its exciting to be traveling at such speed on, what I am convinced is the only thing that connects and unites the American people, the country's roads.

 

So then, how do you measure the car trip when you're driving? Sometimes minutes feel like hours and hours like mere moments so I can't say that I count the time it takes. I don't measure it in the miles that my poor little Kia is conquering on its Westward trek because to me measuring miles is meaningless. I have nothing to compare the immensity of a mile to and miles go by so quickly in the car. I would have to say that I measure the trip in bugs on my windshield. Each tiny squashed insect carcass is a welcoming splash from the next city. Some are little splotches from small cities who want to leave a mark on my life, but don't know how. These bugs squeak, “Thanks for passing by,” as they collide with the glass that has become my second lense. The biggest one so far was an oversized welcome from Texas, the state where everything is bigger! “Check out the quail farm,” it urges me before crashing against the windshield, “you can buy them live or frozen!” Each smudge is another battle scar on our green chariot that pushes further and further into new territory.

 

It would be interesting to see how many little insect bodies have found their way onto my windshield by the end of this trip, but at each gas station, I have to clean them off and make room for the next state's bugs to crash into me.

 

(Sarah)