The trigger, the last straw (part 2)

MLK day was Monday. Park Hill Elementary School is this really beautiful school in North Little Rock. It sits on JFK avenue and in front of the school is a retaining wall. Over the weekend (last) they went out there to paint a mural honoring Doctor King. It was a nice mural (notice the ominous 'was' in that sentence) which had a painted portrait of Dr. King on it along with one of his sayings ("we have learned to fly through the air like birds, sin the seas like fish, but have not learned to walk like brothers on the Earth"). I pass along this wall, now mural every morning on my way to work. I like the mural, I found it fitting, I found it powerful, I enjoyed it. Hoever in the back of my mind I thought.

"That is not lasting until Thursday". What is today? Thursday. Has the mural been defaced? Yep.

Some sumbitch lacking all their required chromosomes took a spray can and completely covered the portrait of Dr. King. Then since Mr. Vincent Van Gogh didn't think it was enough, drew a, well he painted a... a... well... a schlong (no bonus points if you can guess where it was pointed to).

Three days, the mural didn't last three days down here. I guess, actually, that is probably a record for this forsaken part of the country. Three days!

So here begins the blog. A compiling of the 100 (or more) reasons the South should be re-invaded. Ok, maybe that's too strong. Maybe the south should merely secede again from the Union. That way I can claim political asylum in America.

I feel the ramble monster coming, so we'll just stop here.

The trigger, the last straw

So, how long have I lived down here. Well all my life. "All your life", you might say, "Then doesn't that make you a southerner?" Well, no, while the south has been my environment, it surely has not been my upbringing. Both my parents are from Buffalo, New York. Me and my sister are the first generation from either side of my family to live below Pennsylvania. We were raised by two northern parents, in a very northern way. The music around my house was not country, the accent was not slack-jawed, the food was not deep fried, and hunting deer was not taught as a semi-religion.

Ever since I was old enough to know better, I always felt as if I was a stranger in a strange land. I might as well have been walking on Mars instead of my hometown. No one around me was Catholic like I am. No one around me talked like I did. At the Boy's Club they chewed tobacco (sick). I wanted a bowl of oatmeal and got "grits". I could get all the BBQ I wanted but couldn't get a brat (bratwurst) to save my life, not to mention, kielbasa, pirogi, or a good beef-on-weck. The only thing I knew that when I would vacation in Buffalo to see family, ESPECIALLY when I got older, things just suddenly made, sense!

I have harbored reservations for the south, especially the state I live in, Arkansas. But I find that over the last few years these reservations have morphed into deep seeded resentment for being exiled down here. Are there good things about where I live, oh, sure, a few, but the things that are not so good. HOO! yeah, a touch overshadowing.

That is why I started this blog, even if no one ever notices it, or reads it, it will be my outlet, my railings, my manifesto against all things so, so, so, so very wrong about this area of the country. And for those of you who think I just need a change of attitude, I say I will change my attitude the second I change my latitude! And it all started this morning, this morning is when I knew I had to put these thoughts down on electronic paper or they will succeed in eating away at my brain until it imploded on itself. I call it "The trigger, and the last straw"

(continued)

The first blog

The Horror,

The absolute frickin' horror.

One day I awoke to find that I was indeed...

IN THE SOUTH!

In case I don't make it out alive, may this blog be a warning to all those who would come after me. More in a moment.

/SOS