Comments

I hate the comments section of the Internet. It's not just because I've had such woefully bad luck with the comments section of my own blog (as many of you have reported). No, the reason I hate the comments section is because I see the Internet as the accumulation of the entire wealth of mankind's accumulated knowledge. The comments section is the accumulation of our ignorance.

For instance, I've been following the recovery, restoration and investigation of the CSS Hunley since its discovery was announced several years ago. After reading an article about the next phase of the preservation that is just beginning, I (for untold reasons) read the comments section. There were a few decent comments and then I saw it.

The name has been changed to protect the ignorant. 

"Our roads are crumbling, our poor die because they lack health care, our governors idea of well paying jobs for the citizens of our state is a Wal Mart job yet somehow the state can find millions upon millions to preserve a relic of a war that is best forgotten" - Carlton Markus

This is not just the most inane assembly of letters in the history of the English language. I'll not discuss the grammar or even the obvious libero-socialist undertones in the complaint. Let's look at what was just said, in the order of my choosing.

Last things first! Any time there are 650,000 servicemen killed and the civilian deaths reportedly bring the total as high as 2 million, that war should NEVER be forgotten. I know he probably meant that slavery should be left behind us and the poor simpleton was taught that slavery was THE cause of the war and that is not the rabbit hole I'm crawling into tonight. Whew! Slavery is best left in our past. And we must teach our children and grandchildren that it was real and that it was wrong and that we must never go back to those times. But we must never forget. Ever.

Jobs. Nikki Haley is the most visually positive governor in these united States. But besides that, she is a good governor. I wish she was ours. Or at least that ours had her...umm...guts. You don't have to be a South Carolinian to know that historic tourism is a major source of income for the state and many non-Wal-Mart jobs are supported by the tourism industry. I'd venture to say that the historic tourism industry supports more jobs than taking money from working people to pay someone else's medical bills ever would. The Hunley is being analyzed and preserved by a team of scientists and historians that make more money than Wal-Mart workers and pay taxes in South Carolina - the same taxes that pay for roads.

The Hunley operations are also largely supported by a private organization that raises money through donations that are willingly given by people who believe it should be preserved and want to see this effort carried out - unlike the current "health care" law.

As far as the Hunley being some stray relic: This ship was the first submarine to ever sink an enemy ship. Long before German U-Boats hunted the northern waters, before Trident missiles were designed to deliver the apocalypse from the bottom of the sea, and before Marco Ramius, a team of Southern men piled in a doomed contraption and sailed off to fight for what they believed in. If that isn't worthy of being remembered, I'm not sure what is. Then consider that thousands of people came from all over the planet to attend the burial of the crew and you start to see the economic impact of this "relic". 

Then forget the historic significance. The scientific, conservation and preservation efforts alone make the project worthwhile. The possibilities for what might be learned from the research alone are endless.

Our history is important. It tells us who we are and where we came from. Its our identity. And when people care about it they not only become better citizens, they create jobs and stimulate the economy. They make things like health care and roads possible. Historic tourism is an economic force that we often let political correctness dampen. Let's unleash this economic force in our communities and our states. Don't let ignorance stall it.

The Steps

It's a milestone. So while I'm kicking off the "Thirty-Something Farewell Tour" (and unlike Barbara Streisand and Cher, this one is for real) I've come to a few realizations. 

I'm not ever going to quit eating biscuits. Or cornbread. Or fried chicken. Or country fried steak and gravy. Or pecan pie. Or fried fish and cheese grits.

You get the picture.

So, in order to continue scanning the globe (or at least the Southeastern US) in search of good times, and even better food, I'm choosing to get off my southeastern quadrant. I've participated in two 5k races, added more fresh fruit and vegetables to the diet and I'm exercising regularly.

At least as regularly as someone this irregular can do anything. 

So here's an official ABG workout to burn off good food accumulations and enable you to fit through the kitchen door without rubbing worn spaces on the doorframe.

There's a small parking area on Branham Ave, just across the South Broad bridge. I get out of the car, lock the door and cross the street. I'm already arguing with myself about what is about to happen. If there really were gypsies living under the bridge, they'd be frightened by such violent (and apparently unaccompanied) conversation. I walk on to the steps and look up.

"The backside of the hill ain't nearly that steep". "Yeah, and it's not nearly as wide as your backside. Now, get yours up those steps!"

So, up I go.

And up....

They aren't really made for running. Which makes them great for running. Add the fact that one bad mistake makes for a rapid descent and you are well motivated.

I stop at the top to catch my breath. 

The morning sun lights the way.

But I'm not getting any slimmer standing at the Confederate Monument so I start trotting toward the backside of the hill. The Judge (frequent ABG "contributor", Augustus R. Wright) snickers at me as I jog past. Being a Berry alum-in-law, Alfred Shorter and I aren't exactly on speaking terms but Charles Norton cheers me on. 

Around a curve, down some steps past Von Gammon (Dang Good Dawg) and there's the fountain.

And I retrace my steps back to the car. It's a short workout, but strenuous enough at my fitness level. There's also many terraces and steps to customize this to any fitness level. The scenery is beautiful year round and The Judge really won't laugh at you when you jog by. 

Here's hoping that the best way to stay out of the cemetery is to run through the cemetery.

Offended

#CancelColbert

It's trending. That shouldn't give it much credibility. But it does.

I don't want to rehash what was said. I don't want to investigate who said it or how it happened or why. I. Do. Not. Care.

What I want to discuss is this knee-jerk reaction that has become so ingrained in American culture that we can't seem to elude  or escape it.

"I'm offended".

I'm so weary, tired, frustrated and disgusted by that phrase. I hear it all day every day.

It's old. Not like Wormsloe. I mean like that one slice of cranberry sauce you still have stuck to a coffee saucer in the back of your fridge. You know, the one left over from last Thanksgiving? It's old like that.

If you suffer emotional distress over a joke, a sports mascot, a breast feeding mother or a tweet by a TV celebrity, grow up.

Seriously. There are millions of people living under tyranny of communism and fundamentalism, starving and/or being trafficked into modern slavery and you're griping that someone might have maybe possibly almost insinuated an alleged culturally insensitive thought? Grow up. Be an adult. Have the maturity to laugh at yourself. 

Trust me, if you aren't willing to laugh at yourself, there's a good chance no one will.

So let's try this simple scientific experiment: tomorrow, don't get offended. If you hear something insensitive, rise above it. If you see something revolting, look away. If someone lowers themselves to the level of a slur, don't dig beneath them. Be the adult. Maybe, just maybe,we'll make someone's day. We might make a new friend. We might understand someone different than ourselves. 

We are blessed to live in a diverse world. We aren't celebrating diversity when were all standing around with our arms crossed and looking at each other like we smell a post-Waffle House fart.

Smile. Laugh. Live. It's good for you.