Posties Be Warned: Stay out of RoVa

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Sorry, you snobs at the Washington Post, but this camo-wearing, gun-toting, deer-hunting, blackberry-growing, Cracker Barrel-loving (really good fried pork chops), reader is proud to be from RoVa!

You know you've done it—thrown your morning newspaper across the room in disgust. Well, I might have done it for the last time today. At least the Washington Post Style section. In fact, I'd bet a lot of us folk from Ol' Virginny did today after reading what has to be the most insulting, snobbish, and arrogant slap at those of us largely outside the Post's circulation area ever typed. And they wonder on 15th Street why the Post's circulation is sinking.

Here's what I'm talking about: On the Style front is a short column comparing liberal Northern Virginia, or NoVa, with presumably conservative Rest of Virginia, or RoVa. It could have been funny, in the same way Jeff Foxworthy is with his "You might be a redneck" jokes. But, no, the Ivy Leaguers slammed us like a Lexus SUV flattening a little fawn. You know the drill: NoVa is smart, urban, and cool. RoVa–which includes Charlottesville, Richmond, Norfolk, Lynchburg, and other pockets of liberal Democrats like the Posties–is home to a bunch of tobacco-juice-drooling hayseeds.

Here are a few examples of Post wit: "In NoVa, people spend their dough at Starbucks, shooting the breeze. In RoVa, people spend time in the breeze, shooting does and bucks." Ha-ha. Or: "In RoVa, people pick blackberries. In NoVa, people click BlackBerrys." Not laughing yet? How 'bout: "In NoVa, they listen to NPR. In RoVa, they listen to the NRA." (Um, the NRA is headquartered in NoVa, folks.) And this insult: "In NoVa, a lab is the family dog. In RoVa, a lab is the family meth business."

Now you can imagine why I'm at least a bit confused. I live 65 miles from Washington, just a few miles from the West Virginia border and Shenandoah River. That puts me on the NoVa-RoVa line. I work in Georgetown but hunt deer and geese (in my backyard, no less), own an old pickup and 1950 Farmall Cub (that's a tractor, Posties), grow and eat blackberries (the fruit), raise bees, have a lab (dog), eat at Cracker Barrel, and worse: My wife and I actually go to Friday night football games to watch our daughter play in the marching band. How RoVa is that? But I also like Calvert-Woodley liquors, Metro, and Butterfield 9.

So what's the answer? Anger or satisfaction that I might could be a NoVa-er? Should I declare my NoVa allegiance by wearing one of those pretty $39.35 WaPo (that's short for Washington Post, fellow RoVa-ers) microfiber wind-shirts or spray my Post with 12-gauge birdshot? I know, I know. Lighten up and move on, read the latest story on how Sen. George Allen's a fake cowboy or how opponent Jim Webb is a thoughtful redneck. Really.

Guess I'll just turn to the Sports section, which at least still treats us NASCAR fans with a bit of respect.