Southern Culture On The Honest-To-God Skids

We all still mourn the loss of the War.

The War Between the States. The War of Northern Aggression. You Yankees up north call it the Civil War. An independent culture has been dying ever since.

Y'all just don't get it, do you?

And no, we didn't need slaves to survive. Those were for the rich. We all weren't sunning ourselves on the plantation house porch.

Nothing makes me madder than the look on the face of a black friend when a bunch of white people (and it generally is a bunch) once again demonstrates their own inability to recognize that humanness is more than skin-deep. Theirs or the person's they're after.

All ye rednecks, it can't last much longer. This white-sheet act is not funny. Thank you.

And nothing made me prouder than to see three women, Shannon Faulkner, Nancy Mace, and Petra Lovetinska, face down the establishment at a certain military school that should have realized long ago that sometimes it's not chivalry, but sheer stupidity. Especially when Mace can apparently outrun the whole bunch of you. Whoooeeee! Snap that rifle to arms! I knew when they were reporting that the girl made her own attorneys feel like they should straighten up and salute that the Citadel was in trouble. That was sweet. Just sweet. Sa-lute, boys. And get used to it.

Now. That's settled. Let's talk about the good stuff.

Anyhow. The War. The decline of Southern chivalry. Alas. What shall we do?

Watch basketball. That's ACC basketball.

Translation. Atlantic Coast Conference. Okay. Duke. NC State. Wake Forest. Maryland. Clemson. Georgia Tech. Florida State. Virginia.

You didn't automatically think of Carolina? North Carolina. Sigh. One more time. UNC. The University of North Carolina. At Chapel Hill.

We still have some educating to do. Sigh. Damn Yankees....

Clues. Light blue uniforms. High score totals. You get the idea.

Goodbye Dean Smith. Hello Bill Guthridge.

You cannot graduate in the state of North Carolina without being able to repeat the last lines of these bumper-sticker verses:

You can't get to heaven in a red canoe
'Cause God's favorite color is__________.

(And no, smartass. That's not Clemson orange.)

If God's not a Tarheel fan,

(And don't start. Get your own site!
No discussion of county names here....)

And the capper (of my own invention):
Yo! Dukie! What was the score again?

Answers may be found below.

We'll get 'em educated someday.

And then there's the food. Barbecue. Pecan pie. Anything. Good simple food. The basics. Southerners were poor. We learned how to cook well. Fried chicken. Biscuits. I believe I've said it all. If they advertise being able to cook great Southern food, they probably can't. The locals will know.

So much for the damn Bojangles commercials.

Mostly it's done in homes, by people who care. From scratch. I didn't say scratch the door on the microwave section in the store freezer. I won't own one. And word gets out. Recipes are handed down from generation to generation. It really happens that way. Still. In these days.

I promise. I've seen it. And I would die for more of those ham biscuits.

Education. Sigh. I went to one of the worst high schools ever to consider itself to have a college-prep program. I had friends who didn't. It can be done.

Y'all just think that we're stupid. We encourage you. Gives us an advantage.

I went up North to college because I needed that particular kind of education. You can get good down here.

Very good. As I said, we like that country reputation. Don't be fooled.

And yes, we really prize charm and manners down here. You Yankees are different. More direct. More blunt. We just say the same thing in a different way. It's a tradition.

Like country . Like bluegrass. Like swamp rock. Like the blues. Like Elvis.

No comments. We really mean this. We value our heritage. He is part of it.

So hush.

Ever hear of kudzu?

Never mind.

Oh Lord. What else?

Oh. I take no responsibility for Jesse Helms.

Or the religious hatred masquerading as Christianity. Keep your tracts. And scram. Vamoose. Bye bye.

Only thing I need to be "saved" from is y'all.

Thank you.

While I'm thinking about it, I have only one Southern cookbook. Junior Leaguers have tried to rip it out of my hands. So as my sister-in-law.

You're so daggone yuppie, you can afford your own copy.

Just page down to Famous Recipes from Mrs. Wilkes' Boarding House.

Decent biscuits. And some other stuff.

Anyhow. Yes. Guys are really like that. Sweet, charming, and mostly knowing how to treat their mothers. And the ones that don't can be even more fun.

Women (and they're women very young down here) know how to carry themselves, to make do, and to make it happen. You pull your weight down here. Somehow you Yankees got the idea life was easy. Or was supposed to be. Or something. Sorry. No. Wakeup call. Life gives you what life gives you, and you deal with it. Then the next generation takes over.

Everything is important to us because everything is important. You start with the basics and work from there. If you don't get much further, that's okay, because you've still got the basics.

I have long believed there should still be a passport border at the Mason-Dixon line. We live in two separate cultures. We really do. Y'all treat us like we speak a foreign language. You don't notice we treat you the same way.

We'll keep Atlanta. You can have New York.

Admit it. It was our ham biscuits you wanted, wasn't it? And you still can't make them.

And I once honestly saw a Duke boy outthink a Harvard boy. And I could understand what he was saying just fine.

(Answers for the culturally challenged: Carolina blue, the sky Carolina blue, and 97-73. Don't worry, Dukies. You ain't the only ones. :-) )

Hi, y'all!