For one of America’s oldest settlements, Pensacola sure seems to take its sweet time to grow up. Perhaps it’s the laid-back lifestyle here along the powder white beaches. Maybe it’s the drowsy drone of insects in the sultry, humid air that inhibits quick action. Whatever the reason, we’re just in no big rush to equip ourselves with the technological advancements and everyday conveniences of “modern society.”
Peculiar people. Pensacola, like any old where I suppose, has its share. From the storied trash-sculpture yard of westsider Reagan Wimpy to the eccentric gent who strolls down Twelfth Avenue under the dubious moniker of “The Crack Cowboy” due to his eponymous Stetson hat, bow-legged gait and erratic behavior. There’s even that skinny beer-swilling weirdo that’s constantly bothering people with his Cliff Clavin-esque collection of useless trivia.
Ezekiel 25:17. “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.” Sam Jackson’s Jules Winfield character delivers that line to Frank Whaley’s Brett in Pulp Fiction just before doing away with the doomed double-crosser of their boss, Marcellus Wallace. Great movie, great scene, great line delivery. One problem… that is not Ezekiel 25:17.
Ah, good ol’ PBR. Perhaps the most iconic of American beer. Referenced in movies and songs, brought to “I’m cooler than you” levels of hipster snobbery and possessive of that oh-so-important bang for your buck quality… yes, even this seeker of all quality ales has to admit: there’s nothing quite like a Pabst.