AN: This topic was suggested by Sam to aid with my writers’ block…if you don’t like it, blame her.  Or Myra, my laptop.  The buck doesn’t even slow down here.

Friends, citizens…America.  I come to you with a problem that we must solve NOW.  If we do not guard this aspect of our culture, we can never get it back.  We are on the cusp of losing something vital to the survival of culture, of life, of poofy hats and lutes.

That’s right.  I’m talking about the decline of the traveling minstrel.  The wandering bard.  Le troubadour.  When was the last time you saw a man walking down the street, strumming his lute and singing a chanson de geste? 

I imagine it was a while ago.

We all have fond memories of Allan-a-Dale, the folk-singing troubadour chicken from Disney’s Robin Hood.  Now, Allan-a-Dale’s human brethren are on the brink of extinction.  The death of the minstrel indicates a larger death of culture within our commercialized and overfed American society.  These days, street musicians don’t even go anywhere; they just stand there and wait for the money to come to them.  Way to support the poor dietary habits of the American middle class there, guys.  I mean, a chanson de geste simply isn’t the same if it’s not accompanied by a jaunty gait.  Where are people’s standards nowadays? 

And for that matter, who is writing minstrel songs based on current events nowadays?  And before you ask, Bilyl Joel did not write “We Didn’t Start the Fire” to be played on a lute while he strolled through the Village with Brinkley, so that one doesn’t count.  Take this for an example: Obama gets elected in 2008 – MAJOR event, not merely on a national scale – and where, I ask, were the strolling players singing “The Ode of the Caucus” and “Oo-de-lally, Golly What an Election”?  Oh, right, NOWHERE, that’s where.  Simply because we no longer live in hovels and eat roasted pig on a spit, it does not mean that we can’t appreciate a good chanson de geste. 

Do not let this cultural standard remain what is has become today – a sideshow attraction at Renaissance faires, stuck somewhere between the people dressed like Elves and the roast turkey leg booth.  Demand the return of the strolling troubadour.  Wouldn’t it be great to have a minstrel to wander around singing songs of triumph during exam week?  Or to entertain you with dirty songs while you’re in line at the DMV? 

On a side note, the return of troubadours would bring us one step closer to my ultimate, diabolical scheme, which is to turn the country into America! The Musical.  Think of it as a bonus.

We can do this, America!  Remember the Day the Music Died?  Well, we can create the Day the Music Resurrected Itself in Zombie Form for our children and their children!

-b.

Oooh, zombie minstrels…hey, if certain unnamed authors can make a killing out of annoying undead teenagers, then surely this idea will make me richer than Oprah.

Every time I see Steve Tyler, he looks more and more like an extra in The Last of the Mohicans. Tell me, Steve, when did you become the Indian in the Cupboard?

You know what bothers me?  When people insult Dixie-America.  Now, usually these complaints about our great nation come from Yankees, or worse, carpetbaggers, but I’m finding more and more born-and-bred Southerners who simply don’t get what being Southern is all about.  Now, I understand that I don’t appear to be the most “Southern” of folk upon first glance.  Heck, I’m hardly even the ideal patriot.  However, I assure you that I bleed red, white and blue just like everyone else, albeit slightly different shades, and that somewhere, underneath layers of sarcasm, scorn and caffeine, beats the heart of a true Southern belle. (In fact, the caffeine plays a large role in keeping said Southern-belle heart beating.)  So, in honor of sweet tea, mac n’ cheese made from scratch, and James Taylor, I’m going to tell y’all what exactly is so great about the South, and hopefully correct some assumptions about our side of the Mason-Dixon.

The South is a magical land, rich with contradictions and flavored with its own particular culture.  The first mistake that non-Southerners make is often assuming that everyone in the south is a) Republican and/or b) Baptist.  While I have no problem with those Southerners who fit either of those two criteria, the outsider may be surprised to learn that there are almost as many people who fit neither.  I think that the thing that said outsider must remember is that manners trump all.  A truly Southern gentleperson will discuss neither politics nor religion in polite discourse, provided others are genteel enough to follow suit.  Does every Southerner follow this rule?  Of course not, just like every Northerner doesn’t keep his temper during rush hour.  I don’t judge you all by your loud Bostonians, so don’t judge us by our rednecks.

Point the second: Southerner =/= redneck.  Here’s a small lesson, courtesy of Southern Linguistics 101.  Southerner = someone from south of the Mason-Dixon line.  Hillbilly = someone from the mountains who may not be as perlite or sophisticated.  Hick = a hillbilly at a lower elevation.  Redneck = the obnoxious person who makes all Southerners look bad.

All right.  Now that I have dealt with the unpleasantries, here are some of the wonderful things about the South.  To begin: the wondrous contradictions.

Where else would you find a Chinese place next to a BBQ joint?  And, for the record, barbecue is a noun which refers to pulled pork (some people like beef; I don’t judge them to their faces.) with a delicious sauce.  The verb is “cookout.”    You also have art, learning, and sophistication living side-by-side with 4-wheelin,’ huntin,’ and rasslin.’  Don’t believe me?  Visit the western part of NC.  In the South, a fancy dinner can include fine wine, lamb, and…homemade mac ‘n’ cheese.  Pecan pie, too.

In the South, people can shake their heads at the folly of their Confederate ancestors while still taking pride in their heritage.  A business meeting can take place on a porch over tall glasses of sweet tea.  Even the most bohemian of artists drink the stuff around here.  College students, filled with fervor and the need to make changes in the world, still find comfort in the familiar foods, traditions, and, of course, Johnny Cash.  Speaking of music, the South is responsible for Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis, Johnny and June, country, jazz, blues, zydeco, bluegrass, folk and rock n’ roll.  Take that. 

See?  Contrary to popular beliefs, the South is more than a repository for obnoxiousy provincial public figures.  God bless Dixie.

-b.

Well, I have a few hours off here at camp, so I’m writing a little letter to the folks back home:

Dear Peasants,

I’m on my last week here at Christmount as a member of the Summer Staff.  I can’t believe my two summers here are almost done and over with, especially this past summer, which has flown by.  Overall, I’d say this past summer might have been the greatest summer of my life.  That’s not to say it’s all been puppies and daisies: I’ve been more exhausted and emotionally bankrupt than any other time I can think of.  But I DID IT.  I made it through this past year, which was hardly a walk in the park, and  I made it through this summer.  I’ve actually learned a lot about myself, which is good, and even more about other people, which is better.  I’ve learned that sometimes people you love do really stupid things.  You love them anyway.  Unless they kick puppies or eat brains, activities which are less along the lines of ’stupid,’ and more along the lines of ‘creepy.’  I have also learned that I am totally capable of doing anything, and that I am, in fact, too good for all the nonsense people can put others through.  I’ve been meaner this summer,  but that’s an unfortunate (?) consequence of getting old.  I’ve begun to believe in the no-win scenario, and have also begun to learn to live with said scenario. 

Hmm…well that’s less humorous and clever than I had hoped.  Whatever.  I’m annoyed right now.  More stuff later. 

Maybe.

-b

Well, life has been hectic lately, so to all you loyal readers (the few, the proud), a message: I’m at camp, with limited net access.  So hang in there, mom. Hopefully there will be more to come.

-b.

Buggy and the Big World

Being a detailed account of my first foray abroad.

March 5-13, 2009.

Well, here it is.  I’m going abroad to see the world.  And I’m not bringing my beloved Lappy (who is currently being loved on by Olivia), so this notebook will be my proverbial Lappy.  That’s right.  The Blug has gone Old School.

Well, loyal readers (all four of you – hi, Mom!), I have finally gotten off my butt and back on the internet for something other than Facebook stalking and looking up mid-90s afternoon cartoons on Youtube.  I really have no explanation for my absence other than “The Muses hath abandoned me, forlorn am I,” but hopefully this will change.  I’m home now, recovering from the most strenuous semester of my academic career.  The last three months have seen the best and worst experiences of my life, and I am looking forward to a summer of routine at camp.  Of course, by camp routine, I mean “everything that can go wrong will go wrong.”  At least it’s a constant.

Over the next couple of days, I promise to type up my travel memoirs from the semester.  I kept a journal of my recent trip abroad (how very Grand Tour of me), full of sage observations (HAH!).  They could be a laugh.  Who knows?

-B.

…have been greatly overquoted. I know, cliche. Anyway, since I haven’t updated in an absolute age, let me reassure my readers (all four of you) that I am alive, well, and too busy.  I promise I will begin to type up my travel journal, which should prove amusing.  I’m currently in sunny St. Petersburg, Florida, attending the Southern Regional Honors Conference and observing geek behavior at large.  It’s weird to see males in a scholarly setting (for those who don’t know, I attend Columbia College, an all-female liberal arts college), but it’s an Honors Conference, so the dear things even know how to think, bless their hearts.  It’s cute.  Anyway, I’m off to socialize and attempt to build a Facebook photo album out of it, but I will update soon with something amusing for you all.

I’m out-

B.