After Tuesday’s voting, several folks I know are talking about leaving the country if and when the Great White Snapping Turtle is elected president, and of course Canada is the favored destination: English-language predominant, handsome young progressive prime minister, socialized medicine, nonstop air connections — plus parallel geography of rockbound East, Midwestern prairies and Western mountain ranges. Well, I’m not up for it. For one thing, I’m lazy. And also there is no South up north — no New Orleans, no Delta blues, no high lonesome tenor singing “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” and no strip-mall evangelists proclaiming that Justin Trudeau is the Antichrist and was born in the Bronx — and so Canadian culture is of limited range. A nation of bookkeepers. It is missing the apocalyptic.

Read the full column at the Washington Post’s site →