I'm down in the land of cotton and crawdads, pecans (puh-CONNs) and pralines (PRAH-leens), lantana and live oaks, Katrina cottages and casinos, Waffle House (oh, Waffle house!) and Wal-Mart. Speaking of that last ... I have never seen more personalized license plates in an entire month than I saw at one time in one parking row at the local Wal-Mart. Very strange. (And no, I don't shop there myself; but my mother does, despite my best efforts!)
The local drawl is actually not the one I lapse into when I'm feeling lazy, so I now have no idea where that came from. The curbside recycling takes almost the bare minimum of recyclable content, while every take-out from Waffle House comes on a styro plate under a plastic cover and Sonic puts its drinks in styro cups. The Providence and Charlotte (NC) airports had newspaper recycling bins; the far larger New Orleans airport has apparently never heard of such a thing. Smoking is allowed almost everywhere. I've seen approximately three Priuses, and cars end up sitting idling everywhere, and it's driving me crazy. Within the mile north and the mile south if Interstate 10 along Highway 49, there are two Waffle Houses in each direction (because business is that heavy, I'm told). Every day is in the mid- to upper-70s this week and next; there are swarms of butterflies.