Wow!

My blogging has been LAME, y'all! (I'm channeling my inner Britney Spears). As you probably can tell, I'm working on writing about 14 3-million page papers. Ok, ok, by my random use of numbers, you can tell that's exaggeration. Whatever. I reserve my right to exaggerate.

For the moment I'll reserve my right to silence. I'll just say that it's that point in the semester when I get sick of my ideological classmates and want to rip out all my hair. After a week of "The culture of the South is f'ed up" and "White people have no culture," I'm ready to go celebrate my lack of culture and my f'ed up culture (wait, do I not have any or is it f'ed up? I'm confused. Please, liberal know-it-alls, explain!) with my family and eat deep fried turkey an' mashed patatas an' graaavy an' some greens fried in butta. Yum. And use some improper English. Like, "she don know how to cook the turkey!" and "this ole dress? I just drug it outta the back o'my closet."

Just remember, the "culture" that waves the Confederate flag is also the one that produced Faulkner, Flannery O'Connor, blues, jazz, and fried chicken. It's not one monolithic thing. I wish we could separate them and have only the beautiful things, but sometimes it seems pain and beauty are all mixed up in one. And that one would be the South.