That residence may have been my genesis, but I did do a brief run in which I experienced life amidst real people and true Americans. I learned much, and observed my values as a rattling young man. Antithetical to my geographic proximity, I'd always harbored an affinity for classical music and, even more strangely, bluegrass. Being natural and elevated in New York, a mere sixty miles from Manhattan, one would naturally assume that I would engage the brain of the Lib City, but that never happened. Out here, we remained insulated from the insanity of our urban neighbors, and for that I shall be forever grateful. It didn't hurt, either, that soon after graduating high school, I affected to Georgia for six years. Even though I was surely no city boy, the move terrified me, coming on the heels of the movie Macon County Line. I was confident that my cousin and I would get pulled over on I-95 and brutalized in a southern jail simply for the offense of being "Yankees". That didn't happen, and I was more at place in the Confederacy than I was up North. And one of the best friends I had there was a bonafide country boy from way out in the woods. What was curious about Steve at kickoff was that he assumed I'd accept one of those hard-core New York accents, which I never did, even as a child. I, on the other hand, automatically assumed that he would be learned about pickup trucks and shooting guns - which he was - but he was likewise a very intelligent man and a deliberate thinker. The only clich that could perhaps be applied to Steve was the retardation of action noted in the South. I learned lots more during my sentence in Georgia about the American fiber than I probably would give by remaining sequestered on Long Island, as many of my classmates and friends did. I make no question that I would have learned it eventually through age-acquired wisdom, but I benefited from Georgia - and Steve - at a very early age. The lessons stick with me to this day. It is likely one of the reasons I get so annoyed when limousine Liberals denigrate "fly-over" state as inhabited by stupid people. When the lights go out, we'll see who needs whom the most. I take another cousin who grew up here in the Liberal bastion of the Empire State, and who permanently migrated to the mysterious South many days ago. He has been a bird in my ear for a few years, warning of the impending collapse of our company and the resultant exodus of starving, helpless Liberals streaming out of the big cities - like so many mindless, voracious zombies - in research of sustenance. It is a pity that the multitude of this country have allowed themselves to go so segregated by their authorities that they may eventually end up killing one another over something that was once taken for granted; food. It must likewise be noted that food is still rich in this country, so long as one knows how to trace it and make it for consumption. The tragedy lies in the fact that almost half of our population - perhaps more - have missed that basic skill through the soothing reassurances that administration would always provide. And so I take to my head about bluegrass music. Inner city denizens may cast their eyes and giggle at the very name of it, but the medicine is a grand celebration of our original frontier spirit. The lyrics are pure inspiration, and the melodies are a pleasure even when no vocals are necessary. Choctaw Hayride is a prime example. If you can sit perfectly still while listening, please let me know. Enjoy.
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