Just a Pinch of South

I’m spending this week in Los Angeles hanging out with friends and taking a little vacation. I confess like it out here more than I am willing to admit (except, uh, here).

I got the chance to meet up with @spivey_e while out here and she was telling me about how there’s something of a North Carolina Mafia in the television industry these days. I’d like to imagine that Andy Griffith is their godfather and that he is running things behind the scenes at age 86.

But that sort of Southern Mafia isn’t limited to LA. Southerners tend to find each other where ever we are. I have a disproportionate number of Southern friends in NYC. We don’t sit around eating grits and talking about The War of Northern Aggression.

But there’s a definite resonance that’s hard to describe. We know we’re a little different, even folks like me who are just about equal parts New Yorker and Southerner after nearly a decade in NYC.  And when I say different, I might mean slightly better. Better for our Southern roots, which give a little perspective on the crazy people that live in places like NYC and Los Angeles.

If you’ve got thoughts on the Southern Mafia, feel free to leave me a comment on Twitter or Facebook.

(I am now going to go eat my body-weight in chips and salsa. One of the particular pleasures of a trip to Southern California.)

(Source: cvilletochucktown, via lifeofhunt)

I often get asked, “When are you moving back to the South?”

I don’t feel like I have a short, compelling answer. It’s complicated. The reasons why I choose to live far from my family and my roots is confusing for some people. Why wouldn’t I just move home? Perhaps some of you have this same experience if you’ve moved from the South.

Sometimes, I confess, it gets a little confusing for me, too. I love New York City. It has become my home. But I have these moments like, “What am I doing here?”

Perhaps you’re wondering what this has to do with the photograph above. This was taken by my friend outside of her West Village (Manhattan, NYC) apartment building yesterday. It is 100% real. First the sign on the left was posted. Then the one on right. (I fuzzed the phone number on purpose)

It was upon seeing the second sign that I declared, “I love New York.” Which is strange. Because I dislike snakes. In particular I have nightmares about Copperheads.

But there’s something in those signs. The back and forth and the tone that calls out to me. These are my people. These crazy, snake-loving, sarcastic, ambitious, know-it-alls are my tribe. This is where I should be. I belong in NYC.

I’m writing this from my childhood bedroom in Atlanta, GA. We had great weather today, and I may meet up with some friends tonight. I had a Krystal hamburger for lunch, visited the vegetable man, drove a pickup, and sat on the front porch. I love all of these things.

But, for now at least, I’ll make my home where the lose apartment snakes roam.

See, Southerners feel the need to compare themselves to others elsewhere. Let’s love what we are enough that we don’t need to make the comparisons.

I’m here to say that New York would never say it’s the “Peach State of the North”

(via circusrose)

I can give Southerners a hard time, so here’s a pic of some New Yorkers that don’t have a clue. I’m pretty sure 2 slices of pizza from a truck doesn’t fit the definition of “potluck.”

Pardon the near curse word.

But this is what deserves pointing out: Southerners love New York.

They visit in packs. In fact, they often move here in packs as well. Little Southern ex-pat communities bonded by SEC football.

(via theportablefaulkner)

This place is so preppy, you might almost think you were in the South.

Good burgers and fries and an old school New York preppy private school scene on the Upper East Side.

(Source: matchbookmag)