Thirty-five signs that show you’ve destroyed your heritage

enhanced-buzz-3479-1369234571-19Over at Buzzfeed, they worked up a mighty powerful post on “38 Signs you’re from North Carolina.”

It was described as “spot on” and “this is hilarious” by my North Carolina friends.

Well, Buzzfeed, you’re a failure. The ONLY thing you’ve succeeded in is getting attention and hits on your site. But your list sucks.

I opened the article, and read with great hope and tenacity. I figured I would love the way it made me relish in my North Carolina upbringing.

Upon reading, of the 38 signs I’m from North Carolina … I qualified for about 2 or 3 of them.

Insert tail between legs.

Number two is about Cheerwine. I loved Cheerwine growing up. Number two got me.

But I’ve never fought over the best barbecue. I’d argue for my Texas friend’s recipe for beef brisket over NC BBQ any day.

I left NC before Asheville became the beer brewing capital of the state. I didn’t really drink much when I lived there either.

I grew up in a Michiganer’s home, so while we had a firm religious hold, we didn’t say “Y’all.”

Number six is about sweet tea. And while I loved it growing up, that shit is bad for you. It eats your teeth, and makes you love guns and churches with huge stages, drum sets and awful music. Or something.

Number seven is about NASCAR, which is the dumbest, gasoline-wasting, brain-cell depleting “sport” ever. You know how kittens love to watch a toy go around and around in front of their face for long periods? That’s NASCAR. Only cats know when to say “Fuck off” before scratching your hand and taking a nap.

But number eight appeals to my long-guilty pleasure of loving Bojangles. It’s the best fried chicken biscuit … ever. No argument. Shut up.

They are so bad for you, but so good.

Mmmm.

Then there’s a series of things that don’t appeal to me. Collard greens, burgers all the way, the fight over first in flight. Who cares. I never got too upset about Florida license plates. I don’t have a basketball team I love over another. Carolina blue and Duke blue can screw themselves.

Pro sports were not a part of my upbrining.

But the one that hurts the most is the last on the list.

Number 38.

“And even when the state disappoints you, you still ardently defend it.” 

I’m guilty for dragging North Carolina under the bus. It’s responsible for the term “Yeshua Fog,” a place so densely disturbed by unfounded religious tenacity that its citizens often can’t see three feet in front of them.

But what do I know? I live in the Diversity Fog, blinded by all the different views from different ideas. A place that made me turn on my heritage and whine endlessly about it.

 

 

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