Reactionary Radical Bill Kauffmann sings the praises of localism. He recounts one visit to Columbus, Mississippi:
We entered the eatery and were seated behind four ladies with lovely, mellifluous Southern accents. They spent the next half hour recounting the plot of the previous night's episode of Friends, that smuttily witless show by which archaeologists of the twenty-third century will condemn our civilization.
I wanted to confront them, to plead with them:
"Look, here you are, daughters of a poor, reviled state, which is nevertheless one of the culturally richest states in the union. Your home gave us the Delta Blues, Eudora Welty, William Faulkner, Shelby Foote,
And yet you consume the commercial products of cocaine-addled greedheads in Manhattan and Hollywood, people who hate your guts, who despise you as ignorant crackers and stupid rednecks. Get off your knees, Mississippi! There are new Robert Johnsons and Eudora Weltys in your midst. Support them. Look inward, look homeward! With a little water, the flowers in your own backyard will bloom a thousand times more brilliantly than anything on your high definition TV set."