Slots, Sleeping Pills and Blueberry Muffins

Tuesday night I stayed in Baton Rouge...a non-smoking room at a Hampton Inn. I was lucky to get one at all.

Y'all remember Issac? The category one hurricane that come through Louisiana and Mississippi a few months ago? People are still down there "cleaning up"...cashing government checks to do it no doubt.

So, I'm still havin' to take what I can get in the area. Smoking becomes a real chore...Down the elevator...out the door...back in the door (which is locked for your protection)...up the elevator. What a hassle...all that walking.

It has an adverse effect on the blogging too. I can't do this crap without easy access to cigarettes That's right, I'm sacrificing minutes of my life for y'all...which, according to gov. propaganda, would go on forever if I walked more and didn't smoke.

I just don't stay in those rooms. I go where a human can still be. I go to the Casino. There I can sit and smoke indoors. The only walking I have to do is to the bathroom or from the Kenny Rogers Gambler to the Kitty Glitter slot machines. It might cost me twenty bucks...but, on the other hand, I could win big and walk out of there with enough money to make it sprinkle.

There are table games...Black Jack or Py Gow Flying Nija 4 card poker,etc. Those require way too much thinking and effort (you have to pick up the cards and look at them...toss them back..do basic Math). I'm not there to work, or think...I'm there to sit on my butt and smoke...with a glazed over look...hypnotized by the clink or the thunk of each slot falling into place, by the regular calls from a pleasant voice.."Cocktails? Drink? Cocktails?" Only to be awakened by the dazzling lights and fireballs of a jackpot. A jackpot I had no control over...a cosmic gift.

Eventually, even degenerate penny gamblers like myself have to go home.*  Back to the room where I can't smoke and nobody brings me coffee...where I can only flip the channels without hope of a two dollar jackpot. It sucks. There's really nothing for it but to go to sleep.

That can be a problem. In the quiet, my mind becomes as restless as my body is lazy. The dumbest things will set my mind racing...tomorrow, should I work in Baton Rouge long enough to have dinner at Zippy's Tacos. That's gonna put me in Leesville pretty late...but man, those are some good tacos.

Stupid ***.

That's when I reach for the sleepy time. Of course, it's not a magic pill. I'm usually jacked up on coffee and the adrenaline that comes from being on the verge of losing 50 cents for hours on end. After chewing up the pill there's probably 30 minutes before things go wobbly...then dark. During that half hour, for whatever reason, the stuff drives my sweet tooth crazy.

This presented a problem Tuesday night. I didn't have anything in the room.  The only vending machines in the place were for Cokecolas.  Sometimes they put cookies out at the front desk...worth a shot. It was not worth putting my shoes on though. I know y'all are used to only seeing pictures of me perfectly quaffed but my hair does get a little kinky after dark and on weekends...like a pompadoor that's been exploded with a cheery bomb.

So off I go...fright wig, barefooted...to find something sweet. Poor kid at the front desk looked a little scared when...as I, wavering slightly, demanded to know where the cookies were.

"You got anything sweet back 'ere brother?"

"Uhhh no sir...ummm...no. I'm sorry sir."

That's when I noticed the box of breakfast items for the next mornings to-go bags.

"Hey...what about them muffins man?"

I'm sure he thought I was high as a kite..upstairs hittin' the bong in my non-smoking room and it was with noticeable relief in his face (anything to get rid of me) that he handed me a blueberry muffin.

One muffin'?  He obviously didn't understand. I was gettin' ready to ask for another when the phone rang. So, while he reached for the that, I lunged across the counter and snatched up more muffins then scurried off back to my room.

The next morning, I woke to find crumbs and wrappers scattered around the desk. At least I hadn't eatin' them in bed.

It's hard out there on the road.




*I suppose if I drank while I was gambling I might be more inclined to stay there all night but, I haven't stooped that low yet. I do drinks all their coffees though.

Green Peanuts and Brown Bananas

Among those that know me...I am known for self control and restraint. Master of my appetites, I am a paragon of sobriety...typical Southroner.

Having said that, there are two things I am powerless to resist...and I gorged myself on them this weekend.

One is boiled peanuts...



I will eat cold boiled peanuts until they run out or I pass out.

*

Then there's banana pudding...



and the less we say about that the better...people from my church read this blog.

Besides...what more could be said after this.



We've talked this bunch before...the trashier little sister of the B-52's who was given a bottle half full of corn liquor and a copy of Cracker Culture for a pillow but, otherwise neglected and left to her own devices.



A reader set me off on this jag by mentioning something that had nothing to do with Southern Culture on the Skids on her own blog. You know who you are...Kibber.



Perfectly Southron weekend.

*While looking for a picture of a peanut stand I came across an article in a new york paper encouraging people to eat boiled peanuts. The author called it strange...then said it was strange again to boil peanuts..."unlike the traditional roasting." It would be like me saying it IS strange but people in Japan use soy beans to make a sauce. Not that it may sound strange to us where peanuts have little to no impact on our culture...it IS strange. Morons.

ishouldhavegotsometogo

It's funny how the internet works. A woman in Brighton, England..the author of an outstanding blog*...made my supper plans for me on Monday night.**

That afternoon, I was on my way down to the Coast...



I stopped in Magee to have a cup of coffee and kill some time on the blogger. When I got into my account I saw that she had a new post...another installment on her recent trip to California. During this particular leg she had finally gotten to eat something she had only heard about...pulled pork.

Normally when I'm down there I get a pizza from Newk's or a cheeseburger from Five Guys and take it back to the room...watch Law and Order reruns...like clockwork. Not that night. Once the notion of pulled pork had been put into my head the only way I was gonna get it out was to eat some.

Lucky for me I'd be in D'iberville about 10 miles from Vancleave and this place



The Shed.



A ramshackle collection of buildings right off of Exit 57 on I-10 at the gate of a campgrounds...where they smoke hog and the wallpaper's green.



The decor has almost reached the point of parody...almost. It's not a gag but, it's not really a country grocery either. Somebody's playin' a g'itar there most nights but, it's not the next Asie Payton. The place has been on T.V and they have a handful of locations now.

If the food wasn't good it would be a joke but, the food is good...



The pork's got just enough of texture for you to put your teeth on it right before it melts into smokey butter. And that flippin potato salad is lights OUT...like Corkey's without the bacon.

I've had better I reckon...Ubons comes to mind and Full Moon in Hoover, Alabama is my favorite (sadly the Tuscaloosa location was erased during last months Godzilla attack) but it definitely rates.



It's like I'm afraid somebody's gonna try and take it.

Thanks ISBW...the meal was delicious.***

*The Blog is ishouldbeworking...and you should be reading it. I don't know how to do links but it's in my reading list. It's fantastic.

**I should also point out that Adam in Lancaster has..if you add it all up...has cost me about a weeks worth of work hours with his internet obstanence.

***I realize it's a little wacky to unpack things like this...I have analytical issues. Just be glad you aren't in my mind, along for the ride as I'm reading these nonsensical had written signs at restaurants all day....more on this later.

No Smoking at the Old Absinthe House

New Orleans.

I had a call in Chalmette yesterday and after it was over I went down into the The Quarter.



Just as stanky as ever. Bourbon St. runs through the middle of the quarter like an open sewer line. It produces this violently acrid cloud of stale beer, urine and vomit that grudgingly dissipates the closer you get to the river.



Of course, state law prohibits you smoking in The Old Absinthe House so you needn't worry about your health down there. Get blind drunk and pass out on the steps of one of those dank strip clubs ridiculously billed as a Cabaret...your plans of living forever will not be affected.



That's Bourbon St. though and despite it there are some lovely places in The Quarter.



You can even get books down there.



Crescent City Books.

Of all the bookstores around...Square Books, Lemuria, Choctaw (Allan's favorite...they use a peculiar shelving system there that really puts his mind at ease and allows him to linger so he can find the title he's huntin) are all great and all have their specialties. Crescent City caters to mine. That's the British History shelves (complete with the mandatory separate section for Winston Churchill). Africa, India and the rest are well represented too. I've got a book in my bag from there now...The Rise and Fall of the Asante Empire. On my shelves at home, among others, are a copy of The Pro-Boers, a review copy of The Seed is Mine, and a collection of Boer primary documents translated into English (you try to find it). I love that place.

I'll tell you what else I love.... muffalettas!



There's no better place to get 'em than Central Grocery.



You just can't beat the place...that's all.



I had a half...washed it down with a frigid root beer.

Then it was time to go.



I've got a few calls in Picayune, Mississippi...which means one thing.



Paul's Pastry.

I'm a little worn out with the road and can't wait to get home to the boy and Martha...but, I reckon there are worse places to be away from home.