Last weekend, some karma-guardian angel-higher power-thingie was trying to tell us not to ride in New Bern. We drove down on Saturday afternoon and the weather report predicted beautiful clear skies for Sunday, although kind of cold. Sunday morning, it was clear and pretty. As we prepared to ride, though, clouds rolled in. Weather report changed to "partly cloudy." A little further along, it drizzles. Weather report still says Partly Cloudy. We get on the bikes and start to ride-- RAIN and HAIL and SLEET. WELL, I can take a hint! Apparently there was some crazy driver on the road, or a rabid dog on a farm somewhere had a taste for BIKER that day or something. Anyway, we turned back and gave up on biking that day. It rained long enough for us to pack up and eat some lunch. Then it cleared and we had beautiful sunny skies all the way home. Still, not one to tempt the fates, we opted for swimming instead.

OK, I have to say this because I am at work and it is making me crazy. I love North Carolina, it's a beautiful place and I love my colleagues. But some of the people from here have The Most Annoying Accents On The Planet. To imitate it: fill your mouth with marbles and cottonballs and then try to eeeenunnnceeeatte around them real hard. Then do that really loudly.

"Oh, the marble/cottonball accent, isn't that Mississippi?" you ask-- No, because Mississippians will just mumble around the impediments. It's not painful to hear, just hard to understand sometimes. NC'ers TRAAAAH TEEEEEWW TAAAWWWWWWK UHRAAAOOOOUUUWWWNNND THUUUUUH MAAHHRBUUUUUHLS. It hurts my jaw just hearing them.

I sympathize with people who are frustrated because non-southerners think people with southern accents are stupid. It's an unfair and untrue stereotype. But you know, for the most part, a gentle southern drawl is acceptable-- even charming. But if you can't get words out without multiplying their syllables by three, It Is Time For Some Intervention. Trust me. I've been there. Have you HEARD New Orleans accents? Not even southern-- more like Brooklyn ghetto. Buy a cassette recorder. You can do it.

That wasn't nice, and now it's off my chest and I won't say it anymore.