Tamarack, West Virgina.

Stopped to get something to eat, but bailed on the idea. This travel plaza has always been a draw for the general traveller in spite of the truck parking. And this being the weekend before Christmas, travellers are out in droves. I wasn't about to stand in line for 20 minutes for a piece of S'Barro's pizza. It ain't that good.

Bought a couple of magazines and have been fucking off for the past hour or so. Thought I would mention how unhappy everyone seemed to be inside. Hell. It's Christmas. What's ya'll's fucking problem?

Also wanted to mention something that pissed me off. I was southbound on I-77 in Ohio, about 20 miles from the West Virginia border, when a northbound truck (a Northerner) asked me on the CB what I'd left behind me (meaning cops). I told him he was good up to I-70, and he told me “you're good back to the hillbilly,” meaning the West Virginia border. Then, apparently realizing that, with my accent, I was probably from south of that border, he added “I mean . . . . to the border.”

West Virginia is “hillbilly”? West Virginia is no more hillbilly than the hills in eastern Ohio or the mountains in western Pennsylvania. I let it slide, but it pissed me off. It still amazes me how Northerners wear their hatreds so brazenly on their sleeves, and yet Southerners are the ones who ritually catch hell in the media.

So, to that trucker, on the off-chance that, by some miracle, you someday read this, I would like to cordially invite you, on behalf of the people of West Virginia, and all the people of the states farther south than that, to go fuck yourself, you prejudiced, self-righteous son-of-a-bitch. And if anyone else reading this takes offense on his behalf, then you can join him. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

That said, I feel much better.

I'm going to go home now. I look forward to being back in North Carolina. I'm tired of the confrontational nature of the Northern states, and I'm tired of their self-righteous hypocrisy. For some reason I keep thinking about those angry young black men we keep bumping into at U.S. Xpress' terminal in Tunnel Hill, Georgia. The faces are always different, but the bullshit is always the same. Seemingly, the fact that they are in Georgia means that they have to be angry and tough. I assume because, for many of them, being in the South seems a dangerous proposition (and given the South's portrayal in the media, it's no small wonder). They always wind up cloistered around the big table in the breakroom, as if for mutual protection. And there's always a few from up North, from Chicago, or New Jersey, who like to tell the poor, ignorant, uneducated Southern blacks how to fight the White Man. I usually just roll my eyes at Mara and keep my mouth shut. But I always want to run over and say;

“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You wouldn't know a fucking racist if he kicked your ass. You want to experience racism? Go to Michigan, Illinois, or Indiana. The only people they don't hate are white Christians with short hair. And if you want to experience segregation, go to New York City. Count how many blacks you find in the white neighborhoods and vice-versa. You don't have to come to Georgia, you self-righteous prick, to find racism. Look in your own backyard. I will assure you that racism up North is far more virulent, because everyone up there is wrapped in the delusional blanket of the belief that they've long since beaten the racism question. So, freed from the stigma of the racist label, they hate even more passionately. You look around you and see all this filth, and you're convinced that it's ten times worse in the South. Well, surprise. We aren't perfect, but we've been having Northerners force-feed us shame and accountability our whole lives. We grow up examining whether we are or are not racist. We grow up ashamed of our accents. And if we challenge you or any issue, you come back at us with ‘Who won the war?’ as if the outcome of the Civil War somehow validates your every insipid, prejudiced opinion. Fuck you. Get your own shit together before you come down to the South and preach to us, you hypocritical pricks.”

I wish, when that Northern truck driver said that I was clear “all the way to the hillbilly,” that I had had the presence of mind to respond, “You're clear all the way through the Asshole.”

But even if I had thought of it I probably wouldn't have said it. Unlike my enlightened Northen neighbor, I'm not of the opinion that my Northern neighbors are inferior to me. Certainly, they are far more rude and cantankerous than us Southerners. But they're just as human. Just as opinionated. Just as hard working, and hard living. And I know that they don't all hate Southerners (though I'm comfortable with the conclusion that their perceptions of us are misguided). They're just as under-educated and under-paid as we are. In a way, I feel sorry for them. How miserable is your existence when you can only feel superior to other people by minimizing them because of where they're from. Or how they talk. Or what they eat? Or by the color of their skin? I suspect their hatred of all things Southern stems from the stereotype of what they've been taught that the South is like. And I'm certain that they loathe that stereotype (however justly) because they can see their own reflections in it.

I hope that some day we can all put aside the sins of our fathers, and move on. I would love to have Northern friends with whom the North/South issues was not an issue, who didn't assume that I looked back on the institution of slavery with fondness, all the while conveniently overlooking the fact that Northern states had slaves, as well (and therefore that perhaps they were every bit as answerable for the crimes of their fathers as I). I would love to have black friends who could get past the color of their own skin, who wouldn't feel to need to preach to me about the evils of the White Man, and rant about the economic disadvantages blacks face, while losing sight of the fact that the white man he's talking to, at 35, doesn't have his own home and drives a 1978 Thunderbird. I wish I could blame the White Man because I wasn't born into a wealthy family and had to work for a living, just like everyone else.

I wish we could all sit down at that table in Tunnel Hill, Georgia (white, black, Northern, Southern, male, female), and talk. Not as ambassadors from the opposing side, but just as people who have found themselves in the same place. Wouldn't that be nice?

Oh, well. I've been ranting for a long time.

Mara just called and essentially called me to the floor for not making better time. So I should move on.

In closing, I suppose I'm let down with the suspicion that the reason people don't seem happy, in spite of the fact that Christmas is upon us, is that there is so much wrong with the world. And all the pre-packaged, pre-manufactured holiday cheer (as manifested by the incredibly bad renditions of Christmas songs being dutifully broadcast over P.A. systems everywhere), none of us are fooled. Maybe it's different for people at home, but us travellers can't escape how everything is still fucked up, in spite of Christmas. And it will remain fucked up in our personal opinions, until we somehow magically transform the world into something that better matches our own self-image.

Noel. Noel.

Ho ho ho.

Gods, Santa. We're all such miserable fucks, aren't we?