One of the simple pleasures of my marriage is how The Mister makes fun of me for being a snob. He says I’m a Northside snob and a food snob and a sheet/blanket/pillow snob and an art snob as well as a city slicker and a grammar Nazi. You can’t rely on him to tease honestly: he often says my nose is big, specifically, he refers to it as my truffle finder. Obviously this is all relative and he’s not a reliable narrator because his own nose is fit to seat birds. I’m not sayin it’s like Cyrano’s, but it is rather noble, okay?
my nose is feckin adorable
Anyway, most of this teasing is based on our socio-economic differences when we were kids. Here, the other side of the tracks is the other side of the interstate, and I lived on the more fortunate side. This is not my fault and he cuts me no slack for being the poorest person among my well-to-do friends. My parents were never rich enough to believe in the entitlement of children, poor me.
Since I wasn’t spoiled with luxurious goods, and had to work to earn my own spending money, my friendships tended to gravitate toward the other side of the interstate where lifestyles were more like my own with people who did not charge a $1500 ski trousseau to their daddy’s credit card.
The gap between our families was not large.
About 30 blocks. He was 38th-47th St and I was about 75th.
My 75th St life involved my mother (legions of mothers) telling us “Nice girls don’t cross 38th Street after dark.”
I was never a nice girl, and I quickly learned that if I took I-70W I could be downtown without ever technically crossing 38th Street.
I often wonder how my mother felt when The Mister and I moved south of 38th Street for awhile…
That was The Hood. And lemme tell you, it was fiiine. We had Mr & Mrs Brown on one side, and yeah, we did have a screaming racist hermit from Tennessee on the other side, but hey, she was hardly ever out…Then we had Mildred, the youngest old lady ever, right across the street, with her roses and cacti and well, I loved her. The only hood shit that ever happened was when someone stole a pack of cigarettes off our front porch. Not exactly terrifying. Trying to wheel strollers and wagons over sidewalks that hadn’t been tended in 40 years was far more dangerous.
By then I had found The Hood refreshing. By then The Mister and I had already lived in the posh prison of suburban subdivisions upwards of 144th, where everyone was house rich and cash poor, their secret shame well-hidden by the tinted glass of their ubiquitous SUVs.
By then we had lived off 75th Street.
By then I had lived on the outskirts of Broad Ripple where I was known to barhop, dine, and play in the park — even after dark when it was closed. Ooh! My social life took me all over the city. I never knew a guy, but my friends always seemed to know a guy who knew a guy and we took every one of those opportunities.
Yes, I’d babysat for No-Names-Dropped-Here, I’d traveled quite a bit and I’d lived in several different sorta places. I’d eaten a ton of ‘rare and exotic’ food. I’d gotten around and could be said, by Indianapolis standards, to have seen and done my fair share of cultural anthropological studies from the highest and lowest of places in the adventure that is my life. I was anxious then, too, although I didn’t know it. I’d learned to follow my instinct and prided myself in a good gut worth listening to.
In contrast, The Mister emerged from his conservative background, where he plunged deeper still into the military and well below the Mason-Dixon line. He’d been a brief tourist and sometimes an interloper in foreign lands. He didn’t collect matchbooks or shot glasses. Most of his inner visual postcards are scenes I’d like him to keep to himself. He did not develop a good gut. Instead, he was taught a very specific set of skills. *snort* Sorry, but there’s no better way to say it.
So when we travel together, The Epicurean says, “Ooh, let’s stop here!” along with “Try this!” and “Let’s dance!” and “I wonder what’s down that way?” and “I wanna get a picture of that!”
The Stoic inflates his aura like a frilled lizard or maybe more like a dinosaur, and uses his cleverly shifting reptile eyes to scan for potential threats.
i didn’t take this photo myself, it’s from a video game
Once he has determined the environment is safe enough for his mate, he instructs her on how to exit the vehicle and in which direction to walk. Sometimes she must go first, with him protecting from the rear, and other times, he must forge their way. Without him there to guide her, she would probably open the door willy-nilly, roll out, jeté to the roadside peach stand, and throw money at people without a single thought to the life-threatening forces lying in wait — you know, like farmers, kids, brown paper bags.
In an urban environment, The Mister’s radar can fill up the entire interior of a car. I didn’t notice this until we were in Baltimore one day. It was my perception that we were in a charming little neighborhood of row houses, but apparently we were at the crossroads of Terror and Murder and stopping to pee in such a vicinity was strictly verboten.
In our own city, we encounter these differences on a nearly constant basis.
When we were shopping for a home, he was a total school district snob. He’d say the kids couldn’t go to IPS (Indianapolis Public Schools.) I’d roll my eyes and pout about the adorable bungalows I couldn’t have. Then he’d tell me for the umpteenth time how he was jumped by a group of kids when he went to IPS. He’d tell me I didn’t know. Crazy Peppy blonde sophomore attacked seventh grade me in my own suburban front yard, so I’d roll my eyes and say things like “pedestrian lifestyle.”
When we decided to live in the district we graduated from he had strong opinions about that as well. We had to find a house on HIS side of the bridge, and definitely on HIS side of the main street. Well la-di-fucking-da! No one, and I do mean no one, could tell you how HIS sides of these places were better, but whatever. Our house is not on HIS side of the bridge. His snobbery about the other side of the main street did work out for him, though. Except, one day after we’d moved in, we drove through there, and I said, “Geeeeee, these sure are nice houses. Lots of basements and brick over here. Smaller lots, but prolly valued higher than ours…” but I said it all sweetly and not at all bitchily sarcastic or anything, y’all know how I do.
Then there was the whole Central Avenue thing. Epicurean Snobs of the 75th Street sort know that Central Avenue boasts some fine homes and is close to delicious foodie havens. Stoic Lizards hailing from 38th Street recall rundown apartment buildings and illegally employed men on its corners. It’s just a matter of numbers.
So when they’re leaving one of their delicious foodie havens and The Epicurean Snob tells the Stoic Lizard she’d like to take a DoorScursion down Central Avenue, he says things like, “You are not going to walk up and down Central Avenue.”
Of course I did.
I will continue that story later
in the morning
when I get up.
joeyfullystated 
Loved this post – humorous and very entertaining 😁 x
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Thank you so much!
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HaHA! This really made me laugh Joey. I love it that you always seem to manage to get your own way in the end!
By the way, you have cute nose! 🙂
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Thank you, I think so too! 😛
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Excellent first read of the day 😀 Looking forward for the next part.
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Me too!
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😀
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I have never cared about where I live. As long as it has a roof and a bit of space outside, I couldn’t care less, it’s just somewhere to eat and sleep to me.
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Truffle finder! Now that is a keeper. I only know you from your writings but I wouldn’t consider you a snob. Opinionated,experienced and well read, an epicure but never a snob. At times in my life I have been considered a snob by some folks,and my formative years were spent in Brightwood. There is just no way you can judge someone’s perception of you. Take your nose for example. I find it to be noble yet Mister calls it a truffle finder. Go figure.
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It’s best not to equate people to any measure of their economics — there are some really interesting people in all walks of life, from any kind of place.
We went through Brightwood last week — Moo’s art show was over there. I noticed they still have a Safeway! :O And, the smallest, saddest strip mall library you ever did see. I’m sure it wasn’t always like that.
Thanks for not thinkin I’m a knob-nosed snob 🙂
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Very interesting. I drove down 25th street on my way to Community Hospital and I was appalled. I have not been there in a few years and so many buildings are gone. Safeway is new to me. That is where the old Rail Road round house stood. Station and 25th was the beginning of our downtown. Ben Franklin 5 & 10, the Fed Ja Well Cafe and a whole bunch of stuff. This was where we shopped and played. The Uptown was a bus ride away. Where was Moo’s show? I don’t think you want to walk down Station or Gale at night. It wasn’t recommended in ’63 so I don’t wanna think now.
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Moo’s show was at 37th place, an (old?) IPS school on English Ave. There was a juvenile detention center next door. I think it’s the one Vonnegut went to…somethin about it jarred my brain that way.
I don’t remember exactly where the Safeway/library strip mall was, but it clearly read “Brightwood Library” and had the lil library logo. I think we took Mass Ave over, so maybe at whatever street runs between Mass and English? The area where the railroad runs parallel, that did look shoddy. I also thought it would make for some good photos…
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Well English Ave is farther South than the Brighthood. As I said I saw the Big sign advertising the Library. I think you and I need to make an appointment to see my Brightwood. I think it could be very photogenic. Afterwards we have lunch at a Special joint I know at 25th and Oxford.
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The Safeway and library are at the corner of 25th and Sherman.
We should totally do that. You can tell me all about how it used to be. I’ll get with you when the girls’ spring break is over? April 5th, tentatively sound good?
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Sure. 25th Street T bonds into Sherman Drive. This must be done.
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PS. I just noticed your “knob-nose” reference. Now that is funny. Where did you get that?
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I made it up 🙂
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You two sound like a great pair. At least you’re not starving for conversation. My parents moved us into the samd house outside of Pittsburgh. Great neighborhood, great school but we never belonged. I attribute my gut, my street smarts, to living and then working in the town we moved from.
I look forward to part two, the result of your defiance 😉
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I think where you come from really does determine a host of tendencies and no one can really forget their roots, it just stays with you. I love the way you phrased that you never belonged. I think I was 40 before I ever placed enough importance on where I belong.
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I left that neighborhood with a goal to never live where the neighborhood would try to define me.
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Very wise.
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I think that opposites really do attract. And that the best energies result from such unions. Love your story here. Can relate to many aspects of it, having grown up around self-proclaimed suburban snobs. Looking forward to part 2.
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🙂
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This is a great post. It’s revealing and fun at the same time. Now I want fruit stand peaches.
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Thank you!
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Hilarious stuff. Looking forward to the rest 😀
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Thanks 😀
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Nice schnoz there, girlfriend, and hilarious post. But I’m waiting for the doors….
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Thanks 🙂
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In my defense, prior to part two, you must know what we drove through prior to her exertion you would have said the same thing. Especially considering that she would bound out of a car into the crossroads of terror and murder without a moments thought. I’ve seen the lowest form of humanity, so forgive me if I wish to protect my adorable wife and her truffle finder
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xx
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Nothing wrong with the Mister making sure the coast is clear before you perform your antics. Hey at least he lets you be yourself and that is a great quality…right?
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Nothing wrong with me encouraging a little adventure, and hey, at least I let him be himself.
😉
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I’m with you on adventure, used to piss my ex wife something awful when we would be somewhere and something would catch my eye and I’d do a quick detour. Great thing about Miss Madison she encourages it :).
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I think that’s great! I enjoy being privy to your adventures! 🙂
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Couldn’t help smiling even though I wasn’t sure I was meant to !
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You were meant to 🙂
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Im thinkin me and your hubby should start a punk band called the Stoic Lizards where we scream about the horrors of suburban life. 😉
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LMAO!!! That is PERFECT! Best comment ever! I will be your groupie!
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I know that you know that ladies will read this and swoon over your protector. 🙂 My husband always opens doors and lets me go first, and it makes me smile every time because there aren’t many of them left. But, they both better be aware that we’re still going to do what we want once we get through those doors or down those streets. You just move faster because you’re younger. 🙂
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I swoon over my protector too. Indeed. Chivalrous men seem to grow rarer and rarer. 🙂 But by now, he has to know I’m going to do as I please. You’re so right.
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Haha, this is a great post! My husband calls me a snob, too, although he’s not usually clear on why, as I have about as much culture as Country Mouse.
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I’m glad you liked it. Since that day on Central Avenue, I’ve been pointing out ways HE is a snob. It’s quite fun. (You should totally try it. lol)
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Pointing out my husband’s faults? Of course I’ll sign up for that 😀
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Just his own snobbery.
At least that. 😉
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My small town is relatively safe but hubby and I have worked in some of the worst areas of Oakland, Berkeley and SF so we’ve had to learn how to jive in the hood!
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