Your Southern Can Is Mine!

I am here, and then I will be gone again.

Yesterday, meant flights across America. I spent the first flight, from Oakland to LA, next to an adorable couple and their adorable baby. The use of the word "adorable" to describe a baby in-flight clearly means that I am a single woman in my thirties who has crossed the line. Oh, Liz Lemon, I feel you.

On the second flight, from LA to Atlanta, I spent a number of hours sitting next to two older teen girls. The conversation went something like this:

Teen 1: Have you seen Ferris Beuler's Day Off?
Teen 2: No.
Teen 1: It's old, but it's good! Have you seen Sixteen Candles?
Teen 2: No, but I have seen Sixteen and Pregnant.
Teen 1: It's just sad.
Teen 2: But the babies are so adorable.

Oh, Jeez. Actually, it was a delight. Both girls, from the South, spent a significant portion of the flight talking about being Southern and establishing their identity against others' American cultural identities. They had just come from a group trip of some kind where they met other kids from all across the country. It was cool to see how excited they were with their observations and discoveries. In the end, they came to the conclusion that the South was the best and South Dakotans had hilarious accents. 

The final short flight from Atlanta to Augusta was over a series of paper factories. The tiny puddle jumper, smelled like a warm tunnel of farts and cigarette smoke, kind of like every bar I ever went to in my twenties.

Okay, so we are now off to visit one of the guest writers who does reviews for our comics site and then off to Charleston.

Toodles.