My title is quite literally how one of my friends referred to the other friends' entire family upon moving to NC.
Imagine a Hatfield & McCoy type feud devoid of anything interesting. This was the Rockholt - Baker feud of old.
The first encounter is fresh in my mind. I was playing Goldeneye - the first FPS that it mattered to be good at - inside when my father told me to quit and to talk to the guy at the top of my driveway. This guy was rollerblading back and forth, clearly in no rush to be anywhere. I'll admit, I was kind of intimidated as a new-comer to the neighborhood. Someone rollerblading around your property line has that effect. Deliberate, I'm sure.
I walked the trek to the "top of the road" as it's referred to down here; known everywhere else as, the street. I met a guy who I thought was a roller-hockey badass/enforcer. After asking me about my origins, he proceeded to give me a few breakdowns on Southern history and culture. He informed me about ins and outs of the civil war I wasn't aware of. George Washington had fought for the South, among other things. He also informed me, unintentionally, that "down here, we don't waste time sayin' whole words" my grammar was lacking. This was my first snap-shot of Southern culture. His name was Cody Baker.
I later discovered a different subtly of the neighborhood. I was hanging out with Cody at a neighbors house, shooting hoops - I later found out this neighbor was an evangelical christian. These two shady characters in hoodies showed up. This weirdo from my bus who had made strange faces at me and his tall, silent friend. I get the feeling they had more interest in me than in Cody but I bit my tongue for the time being. They hung out yet didn't disclose or volunteer their names. It was slightly akward.
Later that night, Cody's mom called him inside - literally. I was left standing around with this closet christian I didn't know, and two other shady street members. It's pertinent to know at this time, both of the shady 'others' of the neighborhood were sizing me up, not exactly knowing what to think of me - as I may be on Cody's "side." There was literally a family divide on the street that I wasn't aware of.
A random dog was following one of them, which I approached and petted.
"What's his name?" I questioned.
"Max." shady #1 answered.
"What's your name?" Shady #2 answered for him: "Jarred" (nearly as worthless as Jonah, but I didn't disclose this information at the time).
"So you wanna come over?" Jarred asked.
I accepted and we walked down the barren street of Babe Stillwell toward his house. Along the way, Shady #2 revealed his name to be Roddy and asked me several questions about Cody and his well-being.
"You know Cody is full of shit right? Everything he says is a load of dog shit" he stated.
"Uh, well I just met him a few days ago.."
"A Baker (Cody's last name) is like a worthless pile of dog-shit lyin' in the road."
This kind of flabbergasted me. I admittedly burst out laughing while looking toward former shady #1, Jarred as his name apparently was. He simply nodded. These people really are dumb inbred fucks - was a thought that passed through my head.
Nonetheless, we kept walking toward Jarred's residence while Roddy kept telling me how worthless the entire Baker clan was. Despite how ignorant I perceived him, along with everyone I had met on the street, I followed them and was entertained.
Upon entering the Douglas residence, I was met by a short, stocky woman in Jarred's mom. Upon entry she greeted me warmly whereupon Roddy asked "Mrs. Douglas, how dumb is a Baker?"
She laughed hysterically and didn't answer.
There's more to this portion of the story - but it isn't a part of this story. It mostly involves Jarred's brother and his friends scaring the shit out of me. Little did they know..
I felt I had been duped. The entire first few days I had been soaking up everything my first friend on the street, Cody Baker, had told me.
I was still skeptic of both sides, as neither had given me convincing evidence that anything they said was credible. This Jarred character told me the Jaguar XJ220 was the fastest car in the world - I insisted it was the McLaren F1.
When Roddy wasn't telling me about how terrible the Bakers were, he was insisting a Chevelle was the fastest car in the world at a quarter mile... and that his dad had more tools than mine.
I'd also like to emphasize that these tellings are mere morsels of my historic storytelling capability. Yes - if you've ever met me, just know that you're never safe. I am the sole master of my vaults' domain. Air traffic controllers, economists, coke throwers, lawyers: none of you are safe - pun intended.
Fast-forwarding several years, I think it's clear who was right among the important points. I was pretty-much right about everything, including Deinonychus being the dinosaur that inspired "Velociraptors" (in reality a chicken sized dinosaur, comparative to archeopteryx - an ancient chicken) in Jurassic Park.
And although his counterpart seemed to be wrong about pretty much everything, Roddy was entirely right about Cody Baker.
Upon being friends with anyone else on the street. He started to make up random rumors about me, which I found even more insulting as I felt I was his sole defender among social circles.
Things came to a head when he told "everyone" he found me "all coked out in Food Lion." A ridiculous statement for several reasons. The obvious being I hadn't done coke yet. And even if I had been theoretically coked up - I like to think I would've shopped at Harris Teeter anyhow. My idol, Patrick Bateman, definitely wouldn't shop at Food Lion.
... And tonight. Tonight, I was traversing what I believe to be my street, in my Tercel - from hell - when I saw a sign in the Bakers' lawn when rounding a corner upon my return trip. "Interesting," I thought to myself. I wondered if Cody was there, and how it'd look if I showed up. Would I be scorned, welcomed or glanced over? Had he told his family about my supposed coke affair? Does Jeff Baker still sport a mustache? After 20 minutes or so of deliberation and a couple of beers I decided there was only one way to find out.
On with my sandals and off I went. A trek across the street to a fish fry. As I walked down the Baker's gravel driveway I felt an ominous sense of confidence. A couple who I will only describe as "fishing people" were walking up the driveway as I trekked down.
"Is Cody there?" I asked.
"Yeah bud, right there."
I thanked the nondescript fisherman and continued. Honestly, my entry beyond that point felt somewhat rape related. Everyone looked at me strangely, I kind of figured I wasn't welcome, yet I entered anyway. Baker rapist?
I strolled right up to Cody. "Hey, how's it goin' "bahs" (his version of "boys," to this day I still don't know if it's a throwback to the slave terminology "boss") - I said.
His look was obvious from the start. He looked like he had seen a ghost. I won't say this had played into my hand - as for once, I had no agenda. Yet I had planned for this contingency on my short walk over anyhow. It was his party and he was totally panicking. Upon realizing my eventual boot I decided to pull a card out of a certain Kasey Kahne's playbook: sandbaggin' it.
He had said nothing at this point, he was sweating, looked extremely nervous and confused.
"Hey man... should I just leave? It's alright." I questioned, with an admittedly faux victim-of-the-moment tone. Knowing of course, that he was the most uncomfortable person there.
"I can just leave, if I'm intruding - no big deal man." I reiterated.
"Nah, just one sec, man." He struggled to say.
In the meanwhile I talked to a few of his friends who I told how long I'd known him and how we used to go fishing - both of which are true.
A minute or so later he stumbled up to me and said "Hey man, you wanna talk over here?" Insinuating there was some lonesome isolated position which didn't exist in actuality. I have to admit at this point I was kind of enjoying this charade.
"Where? 'Top o-the road? Cody, if you want me to leave, it's cool man, just give me a nod."
"Nah man, it ain't like that." He insisted.
"This is just kinda.."
"A family thing?" I finished his sentence with.
"Yeah! I mean, uh, no offense man."
"I wouldn't have expected any less, none taken."
And I left. My tail not between my legs but scorned nonetheless. Proud that I had simply showed my, drunken face, for some reason - although everyone there was far worse - and heavier.
This might been written a bit sooner if a certain character who I'll refer to as "Boom" didn't cahoot with an enemy, steal my title and then distract me with a new fighting game release.
Regardless I ended up walking down my driveway, listening to the Bakers party, not sure if I was the victor or victim of yet another...
Reality Check.
Imagine a Hatfield & McCoy type feud devoid of anything interesting. This was the Rockholt - Baker feud of old.
The first encounter is fresh in my mind. I was playing Goldeneye - the first FPS that it mattered to be good at - inside when my father told me to quit and to talk to the guy at the top of my driveway. This guy was rollerblading back and forth, clearly in no rush to be anywhere. I'll admit, I was kind of intimidated as a new-comer to the neighborhood. Someone rollerblading around your property line has that effect. Deliberate, I'm sure.
I walked the trek to the "top of the road" as it's referred to down here; known everywhere else as, the street. I met a guy who I thought was a roller-hockey badass/enforcer. After asking me about my origins, he proceeded to give me a few breakdowns on Southern history and culture. He informed me about ins and outs of the civil war I wasn't aware of. George Washington had fought for the South, among other things. He also informed me, unintentionally, that "down here, we don't waste time sayin' whole words" my grammar was lacking. This was my first snap-shot of Southern culture. His name was Cody Baker.
I later discovered a different subtly of the neighborhood. I was hanging out with Cody at a neighbors house, shooting hoops - I later found out this neighbor was an evangelical christian. These two shady characters in hoodies showed up. This weirdo from my bus who had made strange faces at me and his tall, silent friend. I get the feeling they had more interest in me than in Cody but I bit my tongue for the time being. They hung out yet didn't disclose or volunteer their names. It was slightly akward.
Later that night, Cody's mom called him inside - literally. I was left standing around with this closet christian I didn't know, and two other shady street members. It's pertinent to know at this time, both of the shady 'others' of the neighborhood were sizing me up, not exactly knowing what to think of me - as I may be on Cody's "side." There was literally a family divide on the street that I wasn't aware of.
A random dog was following one of them, which I approached and petted.
"What's his name?" I questioned.
"Max." shady #1 answered.
"What's your name?" Shady #2 answered for him: "Jarred" (nearly as worthless as Jonah, but I didn't disclose this information at the time).
"So you wanna come over?" Jarred asked.
I accepted and we walked down the barren street of Babe Stillwell toward his house. Along the way, Shady #2 revealed his name to be Roddy and asked me several questions about Cody and his well-being.
"You know Cody is full of shit right? Everything he says is a load of dog shit" he stated.
"Uh, well I just met him a few days ago.."
"A Baker (Cody's last name) is like a worthless pile of dog-shit lyin' in the road."
This kind of flabbergasted me. I admittedly burst out laughing while looking toward former shady #1, Jarred as his name apparently was. He simply nodded. These people really are dumb inbred fucks - was a thought that passed through my head.
Nonetheless, we kept walking toward Jarred's residence while Roddy kept telling me how worthless the entire Baker clan was. Despite how ignorant I perceived him, along with everyone I had met on the street, I followed them and was entertained.
Upon entering the Douglas residence, I was met by a short, stocky woman in Jarred's mom. Upon entry she greeted me warmly whereupon Roddy asked "Mrs. Douglas, how dumb is a Baker?"
She laughed hysterically and didn't answer.
There's more to this portion of the story - but it isn't a part of this story. It mostly involves Jarred's brother and his friends scaring the shit out of me. Little did they know..
I felt I had been duped. The entire first few days I had been soaking up everything my first friend on the street, Cody Baker, had told me.
I was still skeptic of both sides, as neither had given me convincing evidence that anything they said was credible. This Jarred character told me the Jaguar XJ220 was the fastest car in the world - I insisted it was the McLaren F1.
When Roddy wasn't telling me about how terrible the Bakers were, he was insisting a Chevelle was the fastest car in the world at a quarter mile... and that his dad had more tools than mine.
I'd also like to emphasize that these tellings are mere morsels of my historic storytelling capability. Yes - if you've ever met me, just know that you're never safe. I am the sole master of my vaults' domain. Air traffic controllers, economists, coke throwers, lawyers: none of you are safe - pun intended.
Fast-forwarding several years, I think it's clear who was right among the important points. I was pretty-much right about everything, including Deinonychus being the dinosaur that inspired "Velociraptors" (in reality a chicken sized dinosaur, comparative to archeopteryx - an ancient chicken) in Jurassic Park.
And although his counterpart seemed to be wrong about pretty much everything, Roddy was entirely right about Cody Baker.
Upon being friends with anyone else on the street. He started to make up random rumors about me, which I found even more insulting as I felt I was his sole defender among social circles.
Things came to a head when he told "everyone" he found me "all coked out in Food Lion." A ridiculous statement for several reasons. The obvious being I hadn't done coke yet. And even if I had been theoretically coked up - I like to think I would've shopped at Harris Teeter anyhow. My idol, Patrick Bateman, definitely wouldn't shop at Food Lion.
... And tonight. Tonight, I was traversing what I believe to be my street, in my Tercel - from hell - when I saw a sign in the Bakers' lawn when rounding a corner upon my return trip. "Interesting," I thought to myself. I wondered if Cody was there, and how it'd look if I showed up. Would I be scorned, welcomed or glanced over? Had he told his family about my supposed coke affair? Does Jeff Baker still sport a mustache? After 20 minutes or so of deliberation and a couple of beers I decided there was only one way to find out.
On with my sandals and off I went. A trek across the street to a fish fry. As I walked down the Baker's gravel driveway I felt an ominous sense of confidence. A couple who I will only describe as "fishing people" were walking up the driveway as I trekked down.
"Is Cody there?" I asked.
"Yeah bud, right there."
I thanked the nondescript fisherman and continued. Honestly, my entry beyond that point felt somewhat rape related. Everyone looked at me strangely, I kind of figured I wasn't welcome, yet I entered anyway. Baker rapist?
I strolled right up to Cody. "Hey, how's it goin' "bahs" (his version of "boys," to this day I still don't know if it's a throwback to the slave terminology "boss") - I said.
His look was obvious from the start. He looked like he had seen a ghost. I won't say this had played into my hand - as for once, I had no agenda. Yet I had planned for this contingency on my short walk over anyhow. It was his party and he was totally panicking. Upon realizing my eventual boot I decided to pull a card out of a certain Kasey Kahne's playbook: sandbaggin' it.
He had said nothing at this point, he was sweating, looked extremely nervous and confused.
"Hey man... should I just leave? It's alright." I questioned, with an admittedly faux victim-of-the-moment tone. Knowing of course, that he was the most uncomfortable person there.
"I can just leave, if I'm intruding - no big deal man." I reiterated.
"Nah, just one sec, man." He struggled to say.
In the meanwhile I talked to a few of his friends who I told how long I'd known him and how we used to go fishing - both of which are true.
A minute or so later he stumbled up to me and said "Hey man, you wanna talk over here?" Insinuating there was some lonesome isolated position which didn't exist in actuality. I have to admit at this point I was kind of enjoying this charade.
"Where? 'Top o-the road? Cody, if you want me to leave, it's cool man, just give me a nod."
"Nah man, it ain't like that." He insisted.
"This is just kinda.."
"A family thing?" I finished his sentence with.
"Yeah! I mean, uh, no offense man."
"I wouldn't have expected any less, none taken."
And I left. My tail not between my legs but scorned nonetheless. Proud that I had simply showed my, drunken face, for some reason - although everyone there was far worse - and heavier.
This might been written a bit sooner if a certain character who I'll refer to as "Boom" didn't cahoot with an enemy, steal my title and then distract me with a new fighting game release.
Regardless I ended up walking down my driveway, listening to the Bakers party, not sure if I was the victor or victim of yet another...
Reality Check.
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