My students were not sure how to react to an online interview where I proclaimed myself a proud feminist. Without reading anything but the title of the article, one student inquired "how I fit flannel boxers under my lovely dress?" As the class held their breathe, I retorted that the student should "be careful, your Bakersfield is showing." Such was born a phrase that encompasses the inevitable awkward moments of our central valley culture. After yesterdays mixed and uncomfortable replies to my vacation destination I cannot help but feel like my Bakersfield is showing.
Wrestlemania is without argument an unrivaled entertainment spectacle but this is not at the root why I, like millions of others, am a dedicated fan. The WWE artfully performs a bi-weekly parody of American culture. It borrow characters like Snooki and Pee-Wee Herman from "real life" as it spins a web of villains/heroes and stereotypes and realities. Some dismiss wrestling as muscled men in underwear and surgically enhanced women promoting violence. Anyone who has attended a live event would never make this claim, they would attest to the artistry of six and seven feet tall men orchestrating aerial feats that rival circ de soleil . All without injury, only to get up and do it all again the next day in another city. I have only been to three previous live shows, but each I held my breathe, screamed in excitement and was swept away with the fervor of the crowd. Even though I have been an estranged fan, the transition back to high school television habits has been a delight.
Those of us born and raised in Kern county acquire our own unique ways, tastes and beliefs. Arriving safe in Atlanta we emerged up the escalator to be greeted by a banner welcoming us to Wrestlemania at that moment I realized the WWE will always have a place in my heart and you cannot beat the Bakersfield out of me with a stick.
No comments:
Post a Comment