(I promised something lighter today, so here you go.)
Back in my formitive pre-teen years, I knew exactly who I wanted to be when I grew up — a mix between Julia Sugarbaker and Murphy Brown. A sassy, brassy, usually classy broad that ALWAYS spoke her mind with the most fiercely eloquent, witty rants possible.
(Clearly TV played a large part in my formitive years.)
This was particularly true of Julia Sugarbaker, played the fabulous Dixie Carter on Designing Women. That character always had a unique way of insulting people without them even realizing it.
A cable channel has recently started replaying episodes of Designing Women, and I have fallen in love with all the characters, particularly Julia, all over again. So here are a couple of her greatest hits:
JULIA: Excuse me, aren’t you Marjorie Leigh Winnick, the current Miss Georgia World?
MARJORIE: Why, yes I am.
JULIA: I’m Julia Sugarbaker, Suzanne Sugarbaker’s sister. I couldn’t help over hearing part of your conversation.
MARJORIE: Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here.
JULIA: Yes, and I gather from your comments there are a couple of other things you don’t know, Marjorie. For example, you probably didn’t know that Suzanne was the only contestant in Georgia pageant history to sweep every category except congeniality, and that is not something the women in my family aspire to anyway. Or that when she walked down the runway in her swimsuit, five contestants quit on the spot. Or that when she emerged from the isolation booth to answer the question, “What would you do to prevent war?” she spoke so eloquently of patriotism, battlefields and diamond tiaras, grown men wept. And you probably didn’t know, Marjorie, that Suzanne was not just any Miss Georgia, she was the Miss Georgia. She didn’t twirl just a baton, that baton was on fire. And when she threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton has ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks! And when it finally did come down, Marjorie, my sister caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face! And that, Marjorie — just so you will know — and your children will someday know — is the night the lights went out in Georgia!
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A middle-aged swinger approaches the ladies in a sushi bar:
MAN: Allow me to introduce myself — Ray Don Simpson.
JULIA: There’s no need for introductions, Ray Don, we know who you are.
RAY DON: (smiling) You do?
JULIA: Of course. You’re the guy who is always wherever women gather or try to be alone. You want to eat with us when we’re dining in hotels, you want to know if the book we’re reading is any good, or if you can keep up company on the plane. And I want to thank you, Ray Don, on behalf of all the women in the world, for your unfailing attention and concern. But read my lips and remember, as hard as it is to believe, sometimes we like talking just to each other, and sometimes we like just being alone.
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A Blast From the Past
Julia house is placed on a Tour of Homes and she is enforced to open her home to inconsiderate tourists.
TOURIST: Y’know, the other houses were much nicer than this one. This is boring.
KAREN, THE TOUR GUIDE: Well, this isn’t one of our better ones. In fact, the only reason it’s on the tour is because this was the home of Lucifer T. Stonewall Sugarbaker. He was a very famous horse thief and Yankee spy. Who’s seen Gone With the Wind? Do you remember Belle Watley’s house? Well this was the original that it was based on.
TOURIST: This used to be a whore house?
JULIA: Alright!! That’s it. This is not a whore house, this is my house. And I’ve had all I’m gonna take of you. You don’t care about history, you just want to sell it. You don’t even sell it honestly. You just want to sell the myth………the myth of the Old South. You all know that myth, don’t ya? Happy darkies singing in the field while Miss Scarlet primps around throwing hissy fits. Well that’s an insult. It isn’t the South. It’s an insult to all the people who lived and died here not so very long ago. We Southerners have had to endure many things. But one thing we Southerners don’t have to endure is a bunch of bored housewives turning historical homes into theme parks, not to mention ill-mannered tourists with their Big Gulps, Mysties, Slurpees, and Frosties, their dirty feet overflowing rubber thongs, and babies who sneeze fudgecicle juice! Out!! Out of my house!! As God is my witness……….I will burn it down myself before I let you in again!!
(The tourists applaud……..)
TOURIST: Wow! Just like the movie!
TOURIST: This is the best house on the tour!
KAREN: (nervously trying to hurry them out) Well………we aim to please. And wasn’t that a wonderful piece of theater.
MARY JO: Well…………….
JULIA: Well………
MARY JO: Julia, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I don’t think you’re gonna be invited to be on the tour of homes next year.
JULIA: Frankly my dear……………I don’t give a damn.
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To this day, I still try and channer my inner Julia when I’m ready to rant and rave about something. Of course, I don’t have my own scriptwriters, but a girl can dream can’t she?
