Noodling: Or, why I worry about the South


Here’s a fun game of word association. The word is “noodle.”

– Food.
– A lake flotation device.
– The word my one of my elementary school teachers used instead of “brain” — “Use your noodle!” Obnoxious SOB.
– Noodles, like the restaurant.

And that’s all I’ve got.

…but wait! My list is incomplete. How could I forget noodling:

How the hell have I waded through 21 years of life without ever learning about noodling until I went home last weekend and saw it on one of my dad’s favorite xxxTREME fishing shows? Where did my education fail me? And is that seriously a normal activity in the South? For Christ’s sake, don’t we have fishing poles and bait for the express purpose of avoiding death by a flathead catfish? At least that’s why I use fishing poles.


…and that’s all I’ve got to say about noodling. It’s not exactly news, but it has somehow entered into the realm of pop culture. I thought that maybe one or two of my seven readers may be naive to the art of noodling and could benefit from a crash course on bare-handed catfish wrangling.


4 Replies to “Noodling: Or, why I worry about the South”

  1. This is terrifying. I am so scared of fish. These people are out of their god damn minds.

  2. Uhhhhh clearly I am a wilderness woman. I live in Iowa.

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