Foppishly Fried

Friday night was girls night for about 45 minutes (enough time for dinner) then off to catch one of the features in the Asheville Film Festival (special thanks to Caroline for the free ticket). The movie, called "The Clinton 12" details the desegregation of the first high school in the south after Brown v. Board of Education. The director took questions afterward, and the most compelling portion of the story was actually left out of the movie in the later suicides of two of the more prominent white characters. Been chewing on that whole story for a few days.

Saturday drove out to Durham to spend some time with Mr. (soon to be ordained) Dave Hunsicker, whom I haven't seen in over two years and who is even more delightful than memory served, and that's a compliment. He told me we'd be attending an "uber-pretentious party" (his words, not mine) so shortly after I arrived we went tottering through the shops of Chapel Hill to find pretentious accessories. He wanted a monocle (couldn't be found) but I succeeded in some ostentatious gold and pearl clip-on earrings, a very long string of fake pearls, and some elbow-length white gloves to go with my black polka dot wrap dress. Add ridiculous makeup and actual effort on the hair and I was the picture of snobbery. Dave had a bright paisley bowtie, BB blazer and oxford and pulled it off rather foppishly. Party was very fun, but those Divinity students are way too intellectual for me; I was waiting for some sort of boob joke just so I could know what was going on. I mean, I went to Syracuse, that's what we laughed at. After the party, Dave and I went back to his apartment, changed into our PJs and watched "Sportscenter". All in all it was close to perfect. Durham/Chap Hill: first impression was good!

Sunday was the Moldrup's going away dinner/cryfest, which was also an excuse to apparently fry anything within reach and serve it for dinner to 90-some people. Don't get me wrong; I don't think it's a coincidence that "fried" and "friend" are only one letter apart, but I've just never seen or tried a fried pickle, or imagined such a thing. Or even thought about having it on the same plate with fried okra, fried chicken, fried corndogs and some green bean casserole.

In one week I smelled real moonshine (out of a mason jar no less) for the first time and had my very first fried pickle. Oh Western NC, you fascinate me.