Read This: Lilit Marcus

We spend a lot of time on the internet. And occasionally, we run across something about this city or the state it's in that we like enough to share. So if you've got reflections on anything from why you're a Houstonian-not-a-Texan to why it is nobody ever says "Don't Mess With Rhode Island" with a straight face, send them our way. We'll use them in our new occasional series, Read This.

Lilit Marcus is a down-South girl currently residing in New York City. A published poet, you may also have read her work in Heeb Magazine and more recently in Newsweek or on beliefnet. She's currently engaged in blogging her life in the big city over at lilitinstereo.com. A recent encounter at a party inspired this entry.....

You Say You're Not From Texas (Man As If I Couldn't Tell)

An alternate title I considered for this blog was “Southern in the City.” I didn’t use it for several reasons, namely its uncomfortable closeness to a certain show starring Sarah Jessica Parker as a self-centered diva who kept making me want to throw things at the screen, despite the fact that the storylines are often eerily similar to my life.

The other main reason was that I have trouble with the meaning of the word Southern as it applies to me. I spent the first eleven years of my life in southern California, although I had a Southern mom, meaning I was the only kid in Orange County who had grits every morning for breakfast. And having a Southern mom- not to mention a Southern grandmother- means that you call people “sir” and “ma’am” and always send thank-you notes. The summer before I started seventh grade we moved to Raleigh. I think of myself as a North Carolinian because my formative events took place there- learning to drive, getting my first kiss, being in the school play, etc.

It’s only by New York standards that I am a Southerner. Here, just owning a pair of cowgirl boots and liking the taste of bourbon is enough. The truth is, I couldn’t care less about UNC (or Duke, or State, or Wake) basketball. I hate sweet tea, collard greens, biscuits and gravy, or barbecue. My affection for things south of the Mason-Dixon line is more a debt to the way the air feels after it finally rains on a hot day in August and how total strangers say hi to you on the street.

At a party recently I got introduced to a guy from Houston. Our mutual friend said, “Oh, I had to introduce you, you’re both Southern.” Houston Guy and I both made faces and said in perfect unison, “Texas is not the South.”