Started by bluecyclist64 · · 👁 3 views · 7 replies
Chris Myers As I was reading through this, I couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. It’s the same old argument we see playing out every few years. It reminds me of a conversation I had years ago while grabbing a coffee in Chicago. I was sitting there, watching the commuters rush toward the L-train, thinking about how people always try to simplify complex social shifts into these neat little boxes. We do it constantly—we take massive, sweeping cultural changes and try to pin them down with one-sentence labels. The point being made here is essentially a repetition of that pattern. People love to cling to certain narratives because it makes the world feel more predictable, even if those narratives are fundamentally flawed. It’s much easier to believe in a simplified version of reality than to actually engage with the messy, uncomfortable nuances of how things truly function. I've seen this play out in politics, in economics, and certainly in the way we discuss social trends. We gravitate toward the easiest explanation, even when the evidence suggests something far more complicated is happening right under our noses. It’s a tired cycle, really.
Exactly. It’s just pure trolling. The post gets nuked, yet you don't even walk away with a single point or a warning. Honestly, you're expected to just sit there and be grateful about it.
The "rural myth" and its relationship with culture.
I’m opening this thread to facilitate a reasoned debate where we can systematically dismantle—and if necessary, mock—the persistent mindset of the rural population.
It’s always the same old story, isn't it? We’re out here in the heartland, putting in the actual sweat equity to keep things running, while you folks in the big cities just coast along, living life in the slow lane.
There is a certain type of person you find in the rural parts of the country—people who finish their actual workday and then feel an almost pathological need to clock in another eight hours of manual labor. I’ve spent enough time traveling through the heartland to see this pattern repeatedly, and frankly, it’s exhausting to witness. It stems from a deep-seated stubbornness. Instead of simply hiring a professional contractor to get a job done right the first time, they insist on playing the part of the handyman, the mason, the farmer, and the cook all at once. They take pride in being "jacks-of-all-trades," but in reality, they are just masters of mediocrity. Because they refuse to pay for quality craftsmanship, they end up producing subpar work that eventually fails. This creates a self-perpetuating cycle: they make the same mistakes, fix them poorly, and then find themselves perpetually busy repairing their own incompetence. It’s a closed loop of wasted effort. What I find most cynical about this mindset is the sheer lack of perspective. There is this lingering resentment toward urban centers, yet they conveniently forget the historical reality: cities only exist because the hardworking people from those very rural areas migrated there to build them. I recall my own grandfather moving from a small farming town to a major hub like Chicago; he didn't go there to lounge around. He went there to build the infrastructure that modern society relies on. To suggest that the skilled workers migrating from the countryside to the city are somehow "lazy" is a complete logical fallacy. Those individuals are often the most driven, having left everything behind to contribute to the backbone of the nation. The irony is palpable: the very people driving urban progress are the ones being maligned by the same stubborn, inefficient mindset they worked so hard to escape.
2. Springfield
They don't seem to understand the very concept of a debate. To them, a discussion is nothing more than an opportunity for a shouting match. They compete to see who can be the most aggressive or the loudest, operating under the delusion that volume equals validity. In the end, the pack simply gathers around whoever made the most noise, celebrating the loudest agitator as if they’ve actually won something.
3. Getting married in your early twenties I was recently thinking about the sheer audacity of those who decide to tie the knot before they’ve even truly figured out who they are. It feels like a gamble where the stakes are nothing less than your entire future identity. I remember back when I was twenty-two, living in a cramped studio apartment in Chicago, feeling like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders despite having almost nothing in my bank account. There was this pervasive sense of certainty back then—that naive, unshakable belief that the person sitting across from you at a cheap diner is the final destination. We were all just playing house, pretending we understood the complexities of partnership while still being essentially children ourselves. There is a certain romanticism often attached to it, but looking back through a more seasoned lens, it often feels more like a lack of perspective than an act of courage. You haven't yet weathered enough storms to know how much you might change, or how much your partner will change. You commit to a version of someone that is, by definition, temporary. It’s a heavy thing to carry, making a lifelong vow when you haven't even finished building the foundation of your own life. Most people I see today seem to have realized that waiting until you actually know yourself isn't being cautious; it's being sensible.
In rural America, there’s this persistent, outdated notion regarding family structures. Historically, people in small towns tended to have children earlier. However, the modern trend toward smaller families isn't necessarily driven by a newfound sense of fulfillment or happiness found in parenthood; rather, it often stems from a more transactional reality. In many cases, children are viewed as much as future labor than as individuals, especially when parents are being quite frugal with their resources. This creates what I call the "rural myth"—this idea that because life follows a certain pattern in the heartland, everyone else should conform to it as well. It’s a cycle that keeps people tethered. You see young adults living at home well into their thirties, sometimes even for life. If they do move toward independence, it’s usually only because their parents finally stepped in to pay for a major home renovation or a new roof. The situation becomes particularly stagnant when you consider the inheritance aspect. Because the older generations are still around and holding onto property, the younger generation ends up with no space of their own and nothing to inherit. This lack of mobility breeds a specific kind of resentment; they find themselves judging anyone who chooses to live a different lifestyle or follow a non-traditional path. And then there’s the social pressure surrounding single children. If a couple decides to have only one child, the neighbors and extended family are all too quick to start whispering. They’ll ask those pointed, judgmental questions: "Well, if you didn't want more, why did you have one at all?" It’s a relentless cycle of judgment that seems baked into the culture of the American countryside.
4. The Illusion of Privacy
There is a predictable friction that arises when people from more rural areas interact with those of us living in the city, specifically regarding the boundaries of privacy. It’s an odd social dynamic. If they spend their day working, they operate under the assumption that everyone else should be doing the exact same thing—tilling fields, manual labor, and so on. They tend to corner you with those incessant, probing questions like, "So, what did you actually accomplish today?" It isn't a casual inquiry, either. There is an underlying expectation that you should express some level of sympathy for their grueling schedule, as if having less leisure time is a badge of honor they want you to acknowledge. If you dare to answer that you didn't do much after your eight-hour shift at the office, suddenly you're the target of their judgment. They act as though you owe them a granular, minute-by-minute account of your private life just to prove you aren't being idle. I suppose there is a reason for this intrusive behavior. When your entire daily existence revolves around domestic disputes or keeping up with the neighborhood gossip, anyone living a more private, structured life feels like a threat or a curiosity. It is hard to respect someone else's boundaries when you don't seem to have any of your own.
5. Sunday Mass
It is a mandatory ritual for the rural population. They show up for confession, treating the priest like some kind of shepherd who possesses absolute knowledge of his flock, operating under the delusion that his word is infallible. Even those who are essentially godless still make the trek to the confessional; they do it because they believe they can simply reset the clock, allowing them to continue sinning or behaving outside of social norms without lasting consequence.
6. Farming as a subculture I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about how we categorize social groups, specifically regarding the concept of the "rural myth." There is this persistent idea that farming isn't just an industry or a way to make a living, but rather a distinct subculture with its own set of unwritten rules and social hierarchies. In many parts of America, particularly in the Midwest or the Deep South, you see this clearly. It isn't just about the work itself—which, let's be honest, is grueling and often thankless—but about a specific identity that people cling to. It becomes a mandatory ritual for the rural population to perform a certain version of themselves: stoic, self-reliant, and deeply skeptical of anything coming out of places like New York City or D.C. I remember visiting a small town in Nebraska a few years back. I was there for a business meeting, staying at a modest motel on the edge of town. I sat in a local diner, just watching the interaction between the regulars. There was this palpable sense of "us versus them." They weren't just talking about crop yields or diesel prices; they were reinforcing a shared worldview. It felt less like a community and more like a closed circuit. It’s easy for urbanites to look at this and dismiss it as backwardness, but that’s a reductive way to view it. When you live in a community where everyone knows your grandfather’s reputation, your social standing is tied to your adherence to these traditional values. It creates a very tight-knit, almost insulated environment. Of course, this also leads to a certain level of friction when the outside world tries to intervene—whether through federal policy or shifting cultural norms. For those within the subculture, these aren't just political changes; they feel like personal affronts to their way of life. It’s a complex layer of identity that goes far beyond the tractor and the field.
There is an unwritten rule that you have to look exactly like everyone else; if you don't blend into the collective, you’re immediately labeled as an outsider. It’s a predictable routine: the hair gel, the jewelry, the unbranded clothes and shoes, and that heavy cologne designed to make sure your presence is felt by everyone in the room. Only once you’ve checked all those boxes can the party actually start. I remember visiting some high-end lounges in Chicago a few years back and realizing it was the exact same performance. Once you arrive in a major American city, you’re supposed to feel this sudden surge of power, which you then go out and perform at these trendy bars where people spend the whole night glorifying their own shallow lifestyles. If you aren't hitting those specific spots, you're treated like a stranger—as if you haven't even stepped foot in the country.
7. Lack of Class
This issue is tied to the concept of "exiting," but it requires a specific deep dive to truly explain the underlying rot. You see them at the table—smacking their lips, chewing loudly, banging cutlery against plates, slurping soup, overindulging in drinks during conversation, and slamming fists on the table just to demand attention. The worst part is the conviction behind it; they genuinely believe this is how one behaves, convinced there is nothing unusual about it. If they aren't making enough noise, they feel an unsettling emptiness. It’s a certain type of person who could fly all the way to New York City and fail to notice the Empire State Building, or wander through Washington D.C. without ever acknowledging the monuments, or walk right past the White House without knowing its history. They visit places defined by their heritage yet remain utterly oblivious to the context. This lack of refinement reaches a point where people would rather blow their entire paycheck on overpriced cocktails at a beach resort than sit down for one decent, dignified dinner.
In any case, I am unsure if this thread will gain any traction, but I would appreciate hearing your thoughts. This pervasive lack of culture is just a standard Tuesday in America. Since we have some intellectuals lurking here, perhaps you could connect my observations to a social theorist or a specific quote? (That’s a question for the more academic minds among us.) Is this topic reminiscent of something Ivan Kirschner might write about? It feels like a modern iteration of those "stupid traditions" that refuse to die. We saw it recently near Seattle, where the tradition of swimming led to people nearly drowning, much like how the tradition of drinking while driving leads to inevitable accidents on the highway.
bluecyclist64 said:And you guys are also driving me crazy with those mods from the diaspora; half of them aren't even in the States.