Despite an air of self confidence emanating from his nicely groomed comb-over, Hampton tries not to be as confused about his own personality as his hometown Charlotte is about its cultural identity. Is it the trailer park home of NASCAR or the country club haven of the country's second largest banking hub? Does it want to host the NRA's Gun and Knife show or the 2012 Democratic National Convention? This is the same place that wants to be a big city but gets angry about losing its small town charm when crime starts piling up faster than people jumping on the Blake Griffin bandwagon two weeks before the Slam Dunk contest. Now, Charlotte, North Carolina is no Bodymore, Murderland, but a gang from the Queen City did once make History Chanel's riveting series "Gangland" (though Hampton is pretty sure that what the rest of the world views as a white supremacy gang is actually just a bunch of rednecks getting together to make moonshine and cheer for Junior on a Sunday afternoon).
Much to the dismay of his mother, Hampton likes to emphasize the Southern parts of his upbringing. He likes country music, looking at big trucks, and the concept of hunting (it is really hard to get out of bed at four in the morning to go sit in the woods and shoot something that in the end looks pretty disgusting to actually have to consume). Despite Hampton's best efforts to conserve his inner rebel, the suburban oasis has finally tamed the man whose childhood was spent like that of feral creature, on a leash and behind numerous safety mechanisms in his bed. His desires now lean more towards driving a Beamer and enjoying the benefits that come with sitting in the red leather chair of a large investment bank. No matter how far he travels from the glorious home of the Bobcats and Panthers, Hampton will always believe that having been born into a Southern family, his birthright entitles him to look down upon all those he views as fake Southerners (i.e. those three people north of the Mason Dixon Line who claim to like country music). With a tin in his pocket and whales on his bow-tie, Hampton embodies all the contradictions of the Southern Gentleman.
In one of his many questionable decisions (honestly, Hampton is sometimes worse than Al Davis on draft day when it comes to thinking. Darrius Heyward-Bey and JaMarcus Russell? Are you kidding? Even if the Raiders somehow manage to pull a player like Da'Quan Bowers, which is incredibly unlikely with the absence of a first round draft pick thanks to the ingenious trade for an over the hill Richard Seymour, his career would be over as soon as the hat touches his godforsaken head), Hampton chose to major in Mechanical Engineering. Despite being busy with perhaps the most NARP task on the face of the planet, writing computer code, Hampton still finds time to read. While Hunter can quote classic books in casual conversation, Hampton makes it a point to glance up from his 1/4 scale replica model of a Hemi 426 V-8 engine and to respond to Hunter's douchey speech with insightful quotations from such business masterminds as Warren Buffet and Adam Smith. He is quite aware of how impressive this is, but unfortunately, such random knowledge does not add up to a whole lot of common sense. Maybe one day there will be a class for this. Thomas Paine, we're looking at you.
No comments:
Post a Comment