Signs and Wonders.

I'm leavin' Baton Rouge. I've been here for a couple of days doin' what I do...losing money on penny slots, eating pounds of sausage, talkin' tons of trash.



One of things I love about the kinda travelling I do...which usually involves crossing the tracks at some point and moving off the marketing grid...is the signs. There aren't too many things that I find more aesthetically pleasing than signs and labels.





Full bookshelves maybe..



Certainly...live oaks and azaleas...



Signs are hard to beat though...expressive and coded but deliberate...I love 'em.



An old favorite...



It's time to get on now...the sign we're lookin' for this afternoon is Jackson City Limits.

Work.

This is what work will do to you.



Just avoid it at all costs.

The Week That Wasn't

I don't think I've ever gone more than a week without posting but, it's been since last Monday that put anything up.

Of course, it's been plenty busy around here and I trust that everybody's been well entertained.

Let's get caught up.

Mostly I've been dealing with work. The semi-annual non-job related work issues.

I spend Monday morning and all of Friday in an office but, I don't work in an office. I work here...



and here...



and on good days here...



The people I work for do work in offices...and they go through occasional bouts of paranoia about what we, the outbound salesmen, are up to...out there spending all their money, carousing in places like...what Gloster??? Mound Bayou???

Stop hatin' man. There's nothin' keepin y'all in office.

It's especially irritating when you've been sent to a place by one person and then grilled as to why you were there by another. When these moments come, we take it...swap admonishments (this one tips too much, this one over-works the same area, the other spends too much on lodging) and then go back to handling our business.

Which mainly consists of driving between places like Jena and Jonesville, Louisiana...listening to the radio.



Really though, I love my job. I try to do a good job and I think I manage it but, seriously...Martha's hotter than a two dollar pistol and there's The Boy, imBlakei...



I'm not out here in St. Fancisville 'cause I'd rather not be at the house.

Speaking of being at the house...I took a minute this weekend to watch a movie..To Kill a King.

Two things...one, Tim Roth is the boss. Two, while I'm somewhat familiar with this period in British History...it's not in my wheelhouse but, I'll say this, every time I've ever seen any representation of Cromwell I've wanted to choke him...choke 'im right out.

I think it's the Puritan stuff...that's who the Yankees are. The English ones anyway. That's where they come from. Maybe that's it. That and I just find the presumptuousness of revolutions repulsive by nature...executing Kings! Who in the...anyway, that's probably the result of our history in The South. Which has been forced through, and is constantly being threatened with*, radical change for the last 150 years.

Speaking of...I stopped in Rosemont yesterday. The family home of Jeff Davis...a simple elegant homestead. Nothing pretentious or ostentatious. A home.



That's a post for another day...right now I'm just trying to get back to my own home.

I think that gets us back on track.

*There have been some calls for a third Reconstruction...an economic reconstruction. We're attracting industry by cheating. We don't have any unions and that isn't fair. The gov. recently used labor laws to stop Boeing moving a plant from Seattle to South Carolina...and we won't talk about Airbus.

Head Lightin'

"I know right w'ere they was. Back when we was teenagers J., my husband," here she clasped her hands together, lowered her head and opened her eyes to emphasize the clarification, then she cocked her head back up, splayed her fingers back out and continued... "and them used to go head lightin' down there."

Mrs. C runs a country store and diner in the Pine Belt...and tells stories. This particular story had been set off by some very dark news but, we've had enough of that for a minute or two.

Mrs. C's in her early 50's probably and has an exquisite Southern accent...Mississippi accent. It's not deep but it's round and has developed a fine vibrating patina that's priceless. She's not a big woman but she's got a wide frame that gives her an erect appearance. When she speaks, she cocks her head back slightly. Her eyes are half closed above high flatish cheek bones...split by a slight, smooth flowing, Roman nose.

Even in a pink t-shirt and jeans it's hard to deny the regal air of it...but the warmth of her voice and regular bursts of laughter keep the stuffiness cleared out. When she lowers her head...her eyes come on like high beams.

"I tried to tell 'im they'us gone get in trouble down there but, he couldn't resist it. You know they used to be hundreds of deer down there at night."

At this point she must have sensed that there were a few people who hadn't cottoned on to what they were doin (which seems impossible to me considering the crowd but*...I think she was right) and so she explained...

"B. drove while J. would hang out the passenger window and shoot to the left. The Kendall boy would ride in the back, leanin on the roof and cover the right. They just couldn't stay away from it."

"Anyway, one night me and J. was supposed to go on a date. I waited and waited but, he never showed,"...she cleared the air with a wave of her fingers, lowered her head and lit up..."donch you know I got my little panties in a wad over that."

"Weeeell...they shot 'em a deer that evenin'. Got him loaded up and jess before they's about to get on the highway...Game Warden cut on his lights. They made some sorry attempt to explain but he stopped 'em cold and told 'em he knew exactly which one of 'em shot 'im, where they shot 'im, and how they shot 'im."

"Kendall, he come from money, he thought he'd jess write a check and that'd be the end of but, no...they didn't like them boys. They confiscated the truck...it was B's Daddy's truck...the guns and fined them boys Fifuh-Teeeen Hundred dollas a piece...Fifuh-Teen Hundred dolla's."

Well satisfied that she had once again gotten to tell her old man "I told you so"...she sucked on her teeth and gave a little rumble of a laugh. She told me to come on back to the kitchen. I nestled in, I've seen bigger kitchens on fishing boats, next to her daughter and started cookin'. The daughter was haggard but cheerful enough...she's probably a few years older than me.

"Now don't you pay all the attention to her...jess 'cause she's young."

Laugh's probably still bouncing off the yellowed walls in the place.

I love my job.

*There may or may not have been a time when my Daddy may or may not have hunted coons in the woods, at night, with somebody who may or may not have been carrying a flashlight.

All Before Dinner

My day started in a parking lot...talkin' with a lady that had an adopted brother.

"You know we had to move him over to St **** when he was in the 3rd grade. Hmm Huh. He had him a little girlfriend over there at ***** Elementary...was his damn sister. His biological sister.



...We had to snatch him up outta there. I mean...they'us only in the 3rd grade but, we had to put a stop to that."

The fella still doesn't know he's adopted...but, outside of him, it seems to be the worst kept secret in ***** county.

Then I saw this...



Can somebody tell me why...why would you hollow the tobacco out of perfectly good Swisher Sweet Cigar? I mean what are you gonna do with a hollowed out cigar?

What I am not curious about is what's been going on here...



Only one thing that can save a morning like that....a dinner like this.



However good you think they look...however good you think they were...you have no idea. Trust me.

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful...'cept for meeting Mrs. Inez but, that'll have to wait.

Canal Buuuuullll-uhhhhh-vaaaard - A Devious Turn

I'm claiming victory over the po-leese.

It's costing me 110 bucks. It's worth every penny. Obviously they've decided that no man among them, even if they could find one, can catch me.

They've had to resort to unmanned predator drones to follow my every move.

Thursday night, I got a letter from the City of New...processed in ohio by the way...they got yankees doing their dirty work. "Evidently" I was speeding. There's a picture of the truck, on Canal Boulevard, passing a speed limit sign that reads 20....absolutely no indication of the speed at which I was driving when the picture was took.

They tried this crap in Mississippi and it went over about as well as you would expect in these parts. Inanimate objects cannot issue tickets in this state. An actual human being has to catch you doing something.

Punks, should have just sent a white handkerchief in the mail.

Radio Grown Folks - Home at Last.

Kind of a drag today.

I made the rounds by myself. Down time, that would normally be passed gossiping or talking enormous mounds of trash, was spent scalding my tongue at one Mackdonald's after another. By the time I got to Tato-Nuts they were sold out and the roosters were nowhere to be seen or heard at Lulu's...too flippin' cold.

I did have the FM though...and these ladies to keep me company.




Plain spoken existentialism for hard livin people...country music at it's finest.



I love this song and there's a live clip out there with an old fella burning a hole in a steel guitar but this video just kills me...



I didn't actually hear Every Things Gonna Work Out Fine but, we don't need to hear Proud Mary again. Besides, there's no way I'm passing up any excuse to play this clip.

Pick yer mouth up off the floor.

So, I reckon it coulda been worse...but I was happy enough to see the house.

On the Road - Hubig's Pies

It's occurred to me that, given all the time I spend on the road, as a service to my readers, I should start to compile the vast knowledge I've acquired into something like a survival guide. Not only do I have the experience that comes with spending 72 hours a week behind the wheel but, it also fits in with my natural tendency to be always thinking of others...rarely thinking of myself.

A compendium of things like how to navigate when your GPS is on the blink...or how to maintain a properly functioning vehicle...



You can leave your wife and kids behind but, your health travels with you.



We'll keep an up to date list of exactly where to get donuts and cheap cigarettes when travelling in Mississippi and Louisiana.

Our first installment concerns the proper (by negative example) procedure for heating a Hubig's Famous New Orleans Style pie on the dashboard.



Just because I spend my days going in and out of the finest kitchens in the Southeast doesn't mean I get to eat in 'em. Besides, a true hallmark of the Road Warrior is not having the time for proper meals. If you want to eat meals...go work for wages. It takes caffine, sugar and, intestinal fortitude to live this life.

Hubigs Pies...delicious in any state but, like anything involving butter solids, heavenly at room temperature. That's when the magic happens...crumbly becomes flaky...viscous becomes gooey. There's always the microwave, but....



...you run the risk of burning a hole between your mouth and your nasal cavities.

The better option is your dash. Granted there is an abundance of sunshine where I live and even on a chilly day it beats down enough warmth to melt butter on a dashboard. If you "live" in colder climes...you'll be running the heat.

What you don't want to do is what I did last week on the way back from Baton Rouge. Conditions were perfect..not only was the sun brightly shining but, it was a cool day and I had the heat set to a gentle warmth. I watched that Hubig's Apple on the dash all day long. Letting the anticipation build...at times I could smell it. My mouth would water. I would resit. This was going to be my treat for the last leg of the trip...coffee at the McDonald's in McComb and my delicious fried apple pie.

I was set when I pulled back on the I-55 headed towards Brookhaven. In a couple of miles the coffee would cool enough to drink and it would be time to rip that brittle paper open on the form of delicious.

"WT..."

The bottom of my pie was perfectly soft to the touch...but, the top was like a block of dry ice. I had let the sun set on my pie. Evidently 50 degrees hitting your windshield at 80 miles an hour, in the dark, turns the thing into a freezer coil. Disaster...or, it would have been if not for the Mackdonald's coffee. After 10 miles, the temperature of the coffee had dropped down to just above the boiling point. I was able to cool my coffee to a potable temperature and heat my pie right up to the melting point.

Adapt and overcome. That's how you survive on the road.

Canal Buuuuullll-uhhhhh-vaaaard - Right on Canal.

Back to Hattiesburg... http://flimsycups.blogspot.com/2011/11/canal-buuuuullll-uhhhhh-vaaaard.html

I had an appointment on Vicksburg St. in New Orleans...and I've just gotten an abbreviated version of the directions, that I forgot, over the phone from Martha.

"Ok then...right on Canal, right on Harrison, right on Vicksburg. Got it. Thanks Sugar."

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, nothing between Hattiesburg and Canal St. I could drive that blind folded...in the rain. I was feeling pretty smug as I got closer to the exit. The appointment wasn't for another hour and a half. I'd cruise by the address just to make sure (we're still talking about New Orleans after all). Then head down in the Quarter for a binget and some coffee, a smoke. I got this ****.

"What the...?"

The exit was not where it should have been. I had to cross over Canal to get to it. In the Grand Scheme of Things, no great sin against the proper placement of Interstate Exits but, in relation to my directions, it was the start of a series of missteps that wouldn't end for another hour and twenty-nine minutes.

Entering Canal from that direction meant that a right turn would take me into The Quarter...or along the edge of it. Canal, at least in my mind, is it's eastern border. It's probably actually the southern border but, who can keep up? At any rate, Canal is a boundary of The Quarter and runs perpendicular to the River...'course it probably ends at a bend making it an acute or, more likely, an obtuse angle. All the angles in New Orleans are obtuse.

That was a problem for a couple of reasons. One, I was "certain" that I should be heading away from the river. I had mentally mapped out the directions in my mind and this wasn't right but, given my track record in that area, how could I be certain of anything.

Secondly, I was looking for Harrison St. Not a very French sounding name but, then again...all the Quarter streets change names and become more sensibly Anglo once they cross Canal. Chartes St. becomes Camp, Burgundy becomes University, Marais St. becomes Villeres...wait a minute. Anyway, you get the picture. It's possible that Brie or Grenouille St. could, once they cross Canal, become Harrison.

I was still deliberating as I pulled up to Canal...and decided to just go with the directions and turned right toward the river...when this came on the FM....



For the next couple of minutes I didn't care where I was headin'...

_________________________________________________

Pictures for the Mayor...



Central Grocery



Muffaletto

Fuel Level Low

It's raining today...a dripping mist really.

Sky's like a dirty dish rag.

It's cold (40 or 50...yeah Adam I know). That's our winter.

I pulled out of the drive this morning with no gas. I didn't know that 'til the truck started beepin' at me...beep, "time to go stand out in the mucky air," beeep, "clean the passenger floor board out," beeeeep, "roll your eyes and mutter because the pump's so slow, "beeeeeeeep." I hate to stop for gas. I just put it out of my mind until it can't be avoided. It's a reminder of just how high maintenance these machines are. I love what the car means. I go when I want and, in my wown peice of property, I conquer time and space. Plus, I can stop for coffe and a square whenever I feel like it; however, I hate the object itself...or maybe it's being forced to ponder the car's limitations that I hate.

Of course, that attitude leads to poor upkeep...which leads to more mechanical problems...which only fuels my purple, bleeding, hatred of the thing. It's a bulletproof cycle...the only way to avoid what I hate is to do what I hate. So why bother?

If I had the money...I'd pay somebody to sneak onot the drive at night and fill it up with gas while I slept.

I don't have that kinda bread though so...beeeep. I'm husslin' to get to the gas station. Probably the exact opposite of what you should do but, you try fightin' the urge. I knew it was bad too because the light came on yesterday..and I ignored it. Now I'm trying to make up for lost time but, there's a problem.

It's wet...and when it's wet the driver in these parts has one of two reactions. Either they take it as a sign of the Rapture and slow to a crawl..I guess in order to minimize the damage that will occurr once they disappear from the car...or in sheer terror they drive like hell to find dry land.

You're movin along at 80 miles an hour. That means that the car in front of you doing 30 miles an hour...hands at 10 and 2, chin jutted out above the steering wheel...just appears in your windshield. You can either slam on the breaks or pass 'im. That's when a streak screams past on the left...a hole in the mist. This must be what it's like driving from one deminsion to another.

I came out the other end at the Shell Station on Watkins. Suspiciously there were open pumps. I thought I might make it to work on time after all...'til I reached in my back pocket and realized I didn't have my wallet. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHH.

A quick call to the office and then back into the wormhole to risk my life on vapors...

I survived and I made it home to retrieve my wallet...even made it to the gas station where I got the tank about half full before I completely lost patience with the pump. Which means I'll have to fill up again tomorrow on the way to Baton Rouge...:grindsteeth:.

How did I manage all that before 8:30 this morning...how did I keep it all together? With a lot of this...



at full blast.

It's about the only thing that suites this crap weather.

Canal Buuuuullll-uhhhhh-vaaaard.

I left the house at O-Dark Thirty this morning and headed to New Orleans. It's only a three hour drive, I didn't have to be there until noon but, I didn't know exactly where I was going. I did have directions but I know how helpful those can be in Mid City.

I once drove in circles 'til I got dizzy trying to make sense of the relationship between Canal St and Carrolton...and I had a flippin map and a compass. It can be a nightmare down there. Streets change names when they cross boulevards and avenues. Worse still, these roads often determine the directional designation of a street. In other words, whether a street is called north or south has nothing to do with the direction that it travels but whether it is north or south of certain roads. You can be driving on South Crazy St heading west...or maybe even north.

The place is a giant crescent, Crescent City, but the streets aren't laid out like a spider web...that would be too deliberate and regular. The maps look like The Boy's attempts at drawing a cat..and street signs are put up with a nonchalance that only New Orleans could achieve.

So, I had no expectation that the directions would get me exactly where I was going but they'd get me close enough to be guided in by phone. Between an early start and my approximate directions I was in good shape...or so I thought as I smoked a cigarette, drank coffee, outside of a gas station in Hattiesburg. Then the phone buzzed in my pocket.

"Hey Sugar."

"Uhm...I've got a set of directions here. Did you need those?"

"Awwwwww CRAP! Let me get something to write on."

I tried to tell myself it was no big deal. Martha had the directions...just write Em down...no problem but, I knew I was in trouble.

"Just start at Canal," gee great, "I know Canal's in there right?"

I was trying to keep the details to a minimum...genius.

"Yep you get off the Interstate at Canal and turn right...then you make a right turn on Harrison...Oh my.," oh no, "it looks like you'll have to drive about thirty miles to get to Harrison."

WHAT THE...assuming my vague, spinning, mental picture of the area was correct...that'd put me in the middle of Lake Ponchatrain!

"No..no. Wait. Harrison is right there off the exit...right on Canal, right on Harrison and then right Vicksburg."

"Ok then...right on Canal, right on Harrison, right on Vicksburg. Got it. Thanks Sugar."

At that I was still pretty confident I'd get where I was going. I had hours to get there and a general direction of where I needed to be. In New Orleans, sometimes, that's all you can hope for. I stubbed out the smoke, climbed in the truck and me and Elvis headed south on 49...



to be continued

Blessings

I stopped at one of my favorite accounts today. I'd arranged to meet a sales rep there but he was runnin' late so I just went on in to talk with the owner until he got there.

The owner's a big fella...over six foot tall with a frame like an offensive lineman. Even though his belly's as big around as his shoulders are broad...he's light on his feet. Got hands as big as an elephant's foot and when he grabs your's to shake it there's a flicker of apprehension...does this fella know his own strength?

No need to worry. He does and he's in no hurry to use it. In fact, even though there's an air of enthusiasm to every move he makes, he don't get in a hurry about nothin'. Always smilin'...a smile that's big even for his head. Teeth the size of dominoes. His eyes are clear blue and and active.

"Hey mayne...whatchya got fow me today?"

He reached for my hand.

"Getchya some tey mayne...get somma this tey I'm sellin now."

Who turns down a glass of iced tea?

"Wadya got dere cokecola....at's dark mayne. 'At must be unsweet. 'At unsweet's stout. So, wha kinda goodies you got fow me?"

We sat down at a card table in the middle of the store and went through my bag. He set a few items aside, and without turning from me threw a thumb over his shoulder and said..."I'll have ta let my mayne here have a look at 'eese."

I looked behind him to see a little wiry fella comin on toward us....in a deliberate manner. He was already bending at the waist so he wouldn't have to when he got to the table. He quickly scanned the items and, with the manners of a short order cook, he snatched one up..."This 'ere...how much is is 'ere?"

I told him we'd have to wait on the rep for prices. They have some latitude in that area and the last thing I want to do is get in the way of a rep's nickel.

"Well wha 'bou' dis? How much," he stopped hisself, "the rep...I reckon we just talked abou'dat." he shook his head and smiled at me. It was a genuine smile but thin. He's a dark fella...dark hair and eyes that seemed stuck in a forward position. He's a good fella though...even if he did stare at everything.

A chorus of "Heys"..."'ere's the big man."

The rep settled in to take their order from the little fella with the stare. I nursed my tea and laughed at the owner as he greeted the ladies that came through his door. He'd lift the Alabama cap off his sandy curls..."hey there sugah...how you been?" A peroxide in movie star glasses had just pulled the door open and he was reaching for his cap again when we heard his man ask the rep about condensed milk.

The little fella had a crooked smile on his face and the owner chuckled.

"He don need no damned condensed milk. He's got three cases of it back there."

Obviously there was a story here but me and the rep didn't get a chance to ask before the owner, with a smile that didn't seem exactly Christian, says..."you need to take that milk over that church. They's makin holiday candy."

"Ain't gonna happen."

"What...the Lord'll bless you for it. You don won the Lord to bless you."

"Them people got inta me for some money." the expression on his face seemed intense but really it was hard to tell.

The expression on the owners face was pure mischief. This was obviously a well oiled wind up.

"Who's into you for money? The people or the Lord?"

The philosophical nature of the question threw the little fella and he stammered.

Still grinnin' like he'd eaten the last Twinkie, he asked again, "Don't You want the Lord to bless you?"

The little fella's head started bobblin'. He didn't know whether to nod it or shake it. He stared down at the table like that for a second then looked up, hit the table with his fists and said, "I'll just go BUY some candy and hand it out myself."

Hahaha problem solved.

That was my day.

Over/Under

For amusement purposes only.

I'll be on the road again here in a minute or two...back to the Gulf Coast.




Those of you who are regular readers should have some grasp...loose grasp anyway...on my tendencies by now.

How many cups of coffee will I drink on the way down today...more or less than 8?

How many scatological outburst will I have in the car today because I'm thinking about what happened in Jacksonville (the flippin Georgia game) this weekend...more or less than 4?



How much money will I lose to the Kitty Glitter penny slot machine at Boom Town Casino...more or less than 18 bucks?

How much will I be ahead on the slots before I promptly give it all back...more or less than 20 bucks?

How many packs of smokes will I go through in the next three days...more or less than 3?
(Remember I'll be in the casino...and the Gators wet their pants this weekend against Georgia)

How many times will I have to turn the radio on a Led Zepplin or Rush song...more or less than 12 times?

How many times will I turn the radio on a Led Zepplin or Rush song before I start cursing at the radio every time it happens...more or less than once?

How many times will I hear the greatest song evar - Hunka Burnin' Love by Elvis...more or less than twice?

How many times will I hear Thriller by Micheal Jackson on the way down...more or less than 6?

How many cops will I see on the way down...more or less than 12?


How many tickets will I get on the way down...more or less than 1?

How many Tato-Nut Donuts will I eat...more or less than 8?



Lastly, how many people will actually read this post...more or less than 5?

Feel free to share your reasoning with us.

Ramshackle Operation...Obviously

I thought I was hitting the save button and hit the publish button. Here's a glimpse into the rough draft state of my mind I guess.

Feel free to finish the partial sentences anyway you like...and I'll put them in the body of the post.

I'd actually almost decided against putting this thing up. What a goofball!


There are nine styrofoam coffee cups in the floorboard of my truck and one in each of the three cup holders. That's a day's work and a drive from Pascagoula to Jackson.

I need more cup holders. At least twice a day I get in the car with a cup of coffee only to find the holders full of half drank cups. Flying down the interstate at 80 miles an hour, steering and holding a hot cup of coffee in one hand while trying to pour all that old coffee in to one cup with the other...so I can throw the two empties into the floor board...is harder than it sounds.
I spill a lot of coffee.

Since I left on Tuesday I've eaten at least one meal a day out of a gas station...including supper last night. I spend my life going from one gas station to another. Places I'd passed a hundred times on my way to the Coast or New Orleans have become regular

I spent yesterday riding with someone and I kept setting his car alarm off. A lot of the stops we made didn't require services...but we amused ourselves by masquerading as State Service Inspectors, carrying out spot-checks on restroom cleanliness and bathroom-tissue density. When a particularly alarmed and diligent Assistant Manager offered to eat his lunch off the floor of the restroom to prove its cleanliness, we realised we'd gone too far. After that, we drove along in silence, apart from his car alarm which continued to activate every time I moved my right elbow."

I spent yesterday riding with someone and I kept setting his car alarm off. A lot of the stops we made didn't require services...

Can I get you a coffee?

No, that's really kind of you but I read it's - toxicological speaking - bad for you.

Really? I read that turning down the offer of a coffee on the basis of studies that parade their "scientific" credibility in terms of unrepresentative statical samples, while ignoring the fact that the game of snap does not constitute a law-like relationship between cause and effect, kinda makes you the statistical type who ends up serving coffee, rather than ordering it.

I'll just have water.

Water is not a drink, it's a mixer at best.

"If You're Reading This Your Life....

Sux." That's what it says above the urinal at Mac's Gas.

It's kinda unfair really...you're stuck there and by the time you realize what you're reading it's too late to avert your eyes.

"Teach Peace." Ughh. Where's the race stuff?

"Who's That White Boy? This crazy a** boy right here." Not exactly what I was expecting.

"KKK." There it is...scratched into the wall.

There must have been something pretty good under it 'cause whatever it was has been scratched out and "White B****" has been written over it.

Then from someone who's obviously missed the plot..."hey man, not everybody feels that way." The last person on earth who's shocked to find something offensive written on a bathroom wall has mistaken it as a space for genuine discourse.

What is truly disturbing is the six step, illustrated, instructions on how to was your hands for the employees. Who is the employable person that doesn't know how to wash their hands?

My favorite is something about a cat's genitals. Actually it isn't about a cat's genitals...just a declarative statement really...

"Cat's Genitals!"


P.S. If anybody is interested in a good time just leave a comment and I'll get a number for you on the way back.

The Week That Was...Maybe

I'm desperately tryin to get back to Jackson. Took me three hours to get from New Orleans to McComb, Mississippi...birthplace of Bo Diddley and Brittany Spears.

Road WORK!

I'm ready for the last 60 miles...I gotta cokecola, a bag a cold boiled peanuts, and two moon pies for the road. Just try and stop me.

Before I head out for the last leg...here's a quick runndown of the week. A list of events, one from each day, that were more interesting than the dissolution of REM.

Monday...it rained during my drive to Oxford.

Tuesday...I almost died when I inadvertently ate an under cooked piece of gator meat.

Wed...we had some work done on our roof. In the process a horde of misquotes descended on our yard like panties on the stage at a Tom Jones Concert.

Thurs...I heard OOPS I Did It Again on my way to Louisiana.

Fri...I got burned for ten bucks on a book at Crecent City in New Orleans...and then I ate two Moon Pies on the way home.

That's it...as far as I know.

Odd Traveling

I'm on the road a lot. I live in motel rooms half the workin' week and you'd think they were all the same. To an extent they are. Each one has it's own quirks...sockets that don't work unless a light switch is thrown, t.v.s that sit so far back in a cabinet you can't see them from anywhere except the edge of the bed, some have bad abstract paintings...while others have atrociously bad abstract paintings (how do you get that gig...without living in China?), some put out soap in convenient tear-away bags others wrapped in that infuriating wax paper,etc

Still it's mostly the same...generic desk by the tv in a generic cabinet, bed in front of the tv, generic lamps, dirty carpet, beige walls, and a cheap radio alarm clock. That's the landscape.

Other than missing Martha and The Boy, there's no reason by now that I should be as right at home in these places as I am in my own living room.

Sometimes I am...and it seems to have something to do with where I am...like area or town wise. On the Northshore, the Coast, Baton Rouge, Indianola and Tupelo...I take a room over like my names on the mortgage. I put my feet on the desk and settle in for the Law and Order.

Other times, I'm restless as a cat out of doors. The same chair at the same desk that's been perfectly fitted for me in Slidell is, like a pea under the mattress, a 16th of an inch off in Philadelphia and comfort is out of the question. The hamfisted Moralizing of the nypd special victims unit is campy and fun in Ocean Springs...in McComb it's dead boring.

All in what is essentially the same room.

Hard at Work - Part 2. On the Frayed Edges.

This week's Fight for Right..."against Psychos and the uf-O's"...ended in Friar's Point.





North of Clarkesdale, up against the Mississippi River, at the scruffy edges of the state, you'll find Friar's Point.



It was after five Friday evening when I followed my colleague into town on what can barely be described as a lane. On one side over hanging tree limbs threaten to completely obscure the forward view...on the other, the fields grow menacingly close to the Purple, Baby Blue, Black and Maroon clapboard shacks.

The closeness breaks at the first intersection on an abandoned building that takes up almost an entire block. Through the vine choked cyclone fence you can see into shattered windows vegetation steadily at work reclaiming the plot...across the street, in a dirt yard sits an old black man in a rocking chair staring through a lazy eye at his fence. A six foot tall fence made of old vehicle and engine parts.



It shouldn't come as any great surprise that those desperate, threatening and disturbingly seductive sounds have roots in a place like Friar's Point.



The place isn't dead. Just before I took that photo a fresh-faced black teenage couple zoomed by on a four wheeler but, the constant presence of the levy reminds you that the town literally sits on the edge of disaster. The place is a material expression of fatalism...



Of course....



...every natural and unholy disaster from yankees to tornadoes have taken their shots at the town.

On the way out I passed two youngish black males having a lively discussion with a tiny southeast Asian woman sitting on a milk crate.

That's Friars Point...that's The Delta.

Hard at Work

I meant to post Adam's Georgia Bulldog thread last night and I've got a compelling argument why ISBW should take South Carolina but....I was so busy and loaded down with work yesterday, obviously, that I was just too pooped when I got in last night. That's just how it is in The Delta.

Started in the lovely village of Satartia but spent most of the day in Rolling Fork...Home of this fella...



We'll get back to it...once I catch my breath.

Mark it Off The List

Before anything else, I've gotta be a parent here for a second. I had my proudest moment as a Daddy last weekend.



For the first time I was able to completely unload one my chores...on The Boy. Everybody said there would be moments like this...times when as a parent you are overcome with joy and anticipation for the future.

Last weekend was that moment for me.

Boy started his swimmin lessons this week too...



Our biggest problem with him is that he has NO fear of anything except being made to take a break.

"You're going to have to watch him." the instructor said without smiling.

I spent my last day on the road for June today...it's 1:02am. Mark it off the list Clowns.

Six Months Without a speeding Ticket!!! Them cops probably think I'm dead.


(The coolest sign I've ever seen)

Ate it for dinner...wore it all after noon. I'm gonna have to start carrying extra shirts...and britches.

Anyway..we're outta here tomorrow. Headed to Gulf Shores, Alabama.



First trip to the beach since nucklehead showed up.

If you need anything just contact Mary-Cathcart...she'll be lookin' after the place while we're gone.



And so you'll all have something to hate on amongst yourselves...I leave you with another masterpiece.*



I think that's everything. I'll probably be checkin' in from time to time.

Y'all have a good one.

EDIT: I finished this thing last night and have been staring at it all morning. I think this is absolutely my favorite so far (even counting the box). I don't know if it holds up balance wise, etc. (we have an actual Painter that follows the blog now...maybe he can sort that out) but I love this thing. Suggestion of objects and all.