Travels and Frustrations.

This week, like most weeks starts in Jackson.

It will end, Lord willing, right back here in Jackson. Between then and now, I will be in Ocean Springs tonight (just right of the bottom most I-10 sign)...back to Jackson tomorrow evening. Then I'll head up to Greenwood in the Delta (follow 49 north from Jackson)...From there I'll get up on Thursday morning and drive to Memphis (straight up 55). 

Last week I was on the North Shore in Slidell...down in New Orleans...Westbank.

I happen to love this song so,...enjoy but, for our purposes the video is what matters. The opening scenes are the very sorts of places that I work. The curb stores and groceries that are written about here...the neighborhoods.

Of course, if you're interested you'll have to get direct from Youtube...I've never come across a video that was so hard to access. It's certainly in keeping with general frustration I'm having with technology lately.

I haven't necessarily been avoiding the blog but, the Reader issue and the fact that I'm getting 300 visits a  day...150 of which are dubious...is irritating. Part of that, I have deduced, is because Dino Dan has come to the UK...that thread's gone back up to 100 visits a day almost all from the British Isles. The others are from the Ukraine and Laos...Indonesia.

It's killing my buzz man.

Let it go Punk

Where I drink beer, smoke cigarettes, try to catch up on promised posts...and fail.





Creeeeeepy.



Despite it all...it's still a great song. The point, which I'm not sure I ever really got around to was this...the cause orientation of the Clash seemed to fly in the face of what Punk might have been.

What we should have talked about was Mick Jones utter failure as a dancer.



Pretty Vacant is the money...although, I've recently been disappointed to discover that the line which I thought brilliantly read..."I don't believe in illusion/'cause too much ain't for real"...is actually "too much is for real." Boo. Still, I'd rather hear EMI.

Anyway...you can decide whether we're caught up or not.

Radio Grown Folks: Local Radio

Y'all know I spend a lot of time on the road...and if you're a careful reader you know I do a lotta diggin' on the radio. I've got my i-tunes but, nothin' beats a pleasant surprise.



One of the great things about being in Mississippi is that more often than not, the best things to come across the airwaves are the local products.



It's been almost a complete shutout in last few days as I've crisscrossed the fish bowl that this part of the world has become.

Not just songs either...Jerry Clower will often get some air time, in a city with any traffic, around rush hour. An obvious attempt to curb people's nerves...which, when you consider the amount of traffic we're talking about, demonstrates just how low the tolerance for interference of any kind is around here.



They broke mold...lotta broke molds around here.



We end with an appropriate highlight...we are sleeping in Slidell, Louisiana after all.

A Face That Only C Could Love

I was in Glen Allen yesterday..we been there before.

We made a call in a country store and bait shop. There was an older white lady workin' the counter. She got around just fine but she weren't in no hurry. Mostly she sat on a stool, leanin' on the counter..drinkin' [iced] tea. It was a rounded but sprawled appearance...like a snowman made out of bean bags. She was sweet as she could be.

A real contrast with the noise and energy that was coming from the kitchen...where two voices mingled into a pleasant but indecipherable stream of sound occasionally punctuated by jabs of racket or an "O-Kaaaaaay?"

"Connie!" the old lady hollered back into the kitchen. Well, she tried to holler. I don't think she's got a holler in her. "Y'all, Mrs. P**** here with food." Them girls couldn't hear her no more than they could hear me now if I yelled out the window.

Not one to wait around, Mrs. P just got up and went into the kitchen, through the noise, to fetch Mrs. Connie.

"They carryin' on back there ain't they?" I said to beanbag.

"They're sisters. They go on like that all day long" she drew a slow smile, "I love to listen to em."

There was a pleasing cadence to "conversation"....not that you could pick out a word except for the Oks and the "NO...No she din' " that made it clear they were communicating with one another. It was like a secret language.

"I'm Connie...good to meet you." she held her hand out.

I shook it..."I'm Erik and I'm glad to meet you Mrs. Connie."

She could be in early 30's or late 40's, 50's. Hell, I don't know...it's hard to tell with Black women sometimes. They seem to skip through middle age with the same smooth complexion they had in their 20's. It's not til they get really older that the wrinkles start.

Then her sister came out. She did seem younger. Her hair was longer and she was wearing a wool cap that was stretched up as tall as she could get it. They were fun and complained about how the last time I brought chicken wings one of the customers had eaten them all before they could sample 'em. I promised to leave extra this time and they went back to the kitchen...back to their private chatter.

I listened to them and browsed around the store. Somebody had figured out how to stuff wine bottles with Christmas lights...there was a wall full of neon yellow and blue rubber worms...spam...then I came across this...

That's Ms. Connie...and a fish she caught, not far from Glen Allen, in Steele Bayou around Mayersville. Curious. It's a good sized fish but not a record breaker. Then there's the look on her face. Not exactly the expresson of triumph one would expect when you've caught a fish that's made the local paper....or the Jackson paper for that matter. In fact, she looks like she's tryin' to get somebody to take it from her.

Maybe it has something to do with these...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

It's just not safe 'round here y'all...not in the wood, not in the fields and certainly not in the water.

One nightmare for each mangled tooth.

Forealla!

Indianola.

This was my view yesterday as I waited on the fella I was workin' with. We'd already been at one account for an hour. After the third or fourth false departure...I had to make it official. I'm professional sitter...a hall-of-famer but, we weren't sittin'.  We kept gettin' up to leave...only to end up in a different part of the restaurant. A call would come in...an email. It just kept draggin' on. So, I told the rep I'd meet him at the next stop and said my goodbyes to the owner.

The next stop was a curb store...a block over from Church St. Curb stores in places like Indianola aren't just convenience stores. They are designated loitering spots. The dealer stands in front of the store. In this case, a big framed, solid brother, sauntering in front of the ice chests...casually swingin' his arms around his around his belly...hitting a fist against an open palm. Occasionally he'd step off the curb into the parking to meet a walk in customer...or lean into the passenger window of a car. Dirty drive through.

There's always a couple of old fellas holdin' up the wall...drinking from paper bags, lookin' for a dolla to hold. They hungry. A car swerves into the parking so the driver can holler at a friend...maybe one of the people that just seem to appear from nowhere, with no discernible purpose, other than to make a racket before disappearing. Just a lot of browsin'.

I'd sat there for thirty minutes. The dealer eye balled me a couple of times and then moved to the other side of the parking lot. He didn't offer...and nobody had bugged me for a dolla. I was beginning to think something was wrong when this kid came down the alley on a bicycle. He was barely pushin' the peddles fast enough to stay upright. It was comical. He was wearin' shorts, ashy legs, black socks and shower shoes...topped off with a sweatshirt. The hood pulled up over a big flat billed cap...it all came to a point about two feet above his eyes. This kid was teetering like he had a road cone on his head.

Then he saw the cigarette hangin' out of my window, pushed a little harder, straightened up and made a bee line for the truck.

"You gotta another cigarette bra...you got one for me?"

"Sure thing man...here."

"You...you gotta light."

"Brother...you ain't got nothin' but a habit do you?" I handed him a lighter.

He was obviously high...his speech was slow and deliberate but, his body was fightin' the control. there was a subtle jerk to his movements. He stared down the cigarette at the lighter...he was focused but, it took a couple of tries to get the square into the fire.

"A habit...oh yeah...people say I gotta habit..you gotta watch people around here. They try to lace you. They got me one time...put some crack in my cigarette."

"Tryin' to get you hooked huh?"

"Yeah...yeah...you gotta watch these folks. They'll lace you. They all know me 'round...I be hangin' around he-uh all the time.  You...you need some weed or some crack."

"Naw...man. I'm here to work. I'm just waitin' on my partner to show up."

"You cool bra...you cool."..he thrust his fist through the window for a bump. "Not like these people 'round he-uh...they lace you man."

"Have another one man"...I handed him another cigarette and the fist came back through the window.

He straightened up best he could and went wobblin' back down the alley.

I was still gigglin' when my buddy showed up.  We went in and got down to business. The stores run by and Indian fella that always seems a little frazzled and worn out with it...but, the cook, who must do more than just cook around there, is a real sharp brother who really gets engaged with the business of food. Then there was Forealla. I don't know exactly what this dood's role is in the store but, he got all up in our business...when he was inside.

"You gotta Guy-roo? Oh damn...God is good. We wus juss talkin' bout this last night. Forealla. We was talkin' about the Guy-Roo...We need the Guy-Roo...and here you is. Damn...God is good."

This cat buzzed like a bumble bee on somethin'...he was enthused. He was wearin' a flat billed cap too..shoved over a bale of tight dreads. Ear buds hangin around his neck. He kept goin' outside...to smoke. Then he'd jump right back in it...

"The Guy-Roo...we gotta get this foreallla. DAMN!"...and back out he went.

That's when it occurred to me that I'd forgotten something in the truck...before I could get to the door Forealla comes bustin' back in. I kinda shot on out to the sidewalk. There, filling the passenger window of a car, was the caramel coloured face of a maaaaaaaaad black woman.

"Wha' you need to do Motha ***** is Shut the **** Up!" She yells almost right into my face.

I have no idea what transpired between Forealla and this woman but, she was pissed.

Forealla couldn't let that go...so he comes back out and starts hollerin' at her...all the while the cars movin' through the parking lot until it gets parallel to my truck...where I'm laughing so hard I can't remember what I came out for.

Then the car stopped. I didn't here but, evidently Forealla had called this woman a Bitch.

This woman has been shouting the whole time and her voice is starting to strain a little bit but, it's not cracking. She wasn't gettin' hysterical...there was no fear of Forealla. No fear at all when she through the door open and let him know...

"I'mma show you who the Bitch is."

She went back to the trunk of the car. Her friend, who had been cackling through it all, calmly stood by the trunk bobbin' her head...eatin' pork rinds...while the lady flung it open and started diggin' around. The possibility of her comin' out of that trunk with a shotgun...was feasible. Still, me and one those people that just appear in these parking lots, were bent over laughing...what are you gonna do?

It wa'n't a gun...it was stick. A head crackin' stick

She was bent on dentin' that boy's skull. He knew it...and disappeared back into the store.

I love The Delta...the most Southern place on Earth.

Those buildings you see there are on Church St....that's where B.B. King (and whole host of others) first plied his trade.



It's forealla...that's all.


Further Reading

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.

Webs

Good Morning Captain - Slint




Even adamparsons might not be able to resist this one...there's a wiff of laser lights burning through dry ice smoke in it's epic sweep.

Because I live half my life in hotels I've developed routines that can be carried out in any room with a television and a wireless. Some stability of habit...like locking myself out of the room...is important.

Mostly I flip the channels looking for good-bad tv (not only do I love good-bad television..I like bad-bad television. Give me an hour of cars being repossessed or grainy footage of people trying to steal ATM machines...bliss). I smoke and read blogs.

My mind falls into the same meandering pattern it does on Friday afternoons in the office. An actor from an antacid commercial will appear as a victim on Law and Order...I'll wait for the credits and then google 'em. I'm on IMBD now...now Netflix where, of course, I can't find anything I'm looking for.

If there's no Ancient Aliens on t.v...no pop-up-video reruns of Jersey Shore...I'll throw the headphones on and wait for a distraction.

Last night's came when Wire popped up on the itunes...Heartbeat. A song that I hadn't heard for a long time until recently...a brilliant song and one of my favorite covers by Big Black.

Big Black to Steve Albini...Albini to the one of those records from the late eighties/early nineties that seemed to made specifically for me...Tweez by Slint.

Ron...the guitar bit that cuts through it like mechanical snake just floors me.



There's some language there in the beginning. I wonder if Albini is still in the habit of provoking outburst and recording conversations in the studio. For all his well earned credibility, that crap was mostly corny. The "touch my stuff" bit before Vamos on Surfer Rosa works...the "into field hockey players" does not. Here, when he genuinely seems to be begging for a new set of headphones is good. The "oh mans" seem phony to me.

Slint was actually an off shoot of a band that, in the distortion of a rear view mirror, developed legendary status...Squirrel Bait.



They were great...for a Husker Du tribute band.



I am a fan though (especially after what I made selling that first record a few years ago). One could do a lot worse than ripping off Husker Du.

The real reason Squirrel Bait has the cache that it does is because of the bands it spawned...Big Wheel, Slint, For Carnation, Tortoise, etc.

The picture that serves as a video for Good Morning Captain is the cover of the album Spiderland...the photograph was taken by Will Oldham.

The Brute Choir from Viva Last Blues.*



I think his cousin was in a band that pre-dated Squirrel Bait with some the members. At any rate he was from the same crowd in Louisville, Kentucky and members of Slint went on to play on Palace records.

We drove to Baton Rouge one Saturday afternoon and saw him play for about 45 minutes before they turned the lights on him. Closing time was 2:30 am and was strictly enforced that night. They got a cop off the street to make the announcement because everybody in the bar, including Oldham, was furious.

We had sat through 3 hours of local hacks, burnt up all our pocket money on the pool tables...we were all well oiled and now this? It was all worth it when Martha, the one that never colours outside the lines, got busted for snatching the set list. HA!

In a more direct line of sight is Tortoise. Slint split into two major projects...For Carnation and Tortoise.



Spiderland is sometimes referred to as the first Post-Rock record...well, here's Post-Rock at it's self-indulgent heights. At least Jim O'Rourke played the guitar.

I did go see 'em...at the karlstorbahnhof ...where, evidently they are still pushing the Post Rock.

Unfortunately for Tortoise....they had chosen Doo Rag as their opening act.

Tortoise didn't stand a chance and I don't remember anything those eggheads played that night.

The Sea and Cake was side project between members of Tortoise and a fella from Shrimpboat. To me they sounded like an airbrushed, honkier version of Thinking Fellers Union Local 282.

According to one website they only played about 15 shows in the 90's and I was at one of 'em...in an attic, in a building, in some German town I can't remember the name of. In fact, all I remember was buying a t-shirt with Bees on it and blacking out in the car on the way back.

Long before any of that (92 maybe) I saw Big Wheel (the other off shoot from Squirrel Bait) in a student union center at a college. What really stands out from that show is the opening act...a local band that did the greatest version of Sweet Child O Mine...evar! EVar!

It's a testament to the scope of Squirrel Bait that I've seen (what?) four acts that are direct heirs...and, with the exception of Will Oldham who is untouchable, three of those shows were just something to do. I owned their records and didn't go reluctantly but, I wouldn't have driven 300 miles round trip, like we did for Oldham, to see any of the others.

So, that was Wednesday night...because CSI was all reruns and because Kibber posted this Moon Duo clip back in June. I immediately downloaded it and have been beating it against my brain every since.

Having down loaded it...I wanted more fuzzy beats and more...eventually leading back to a couple of songs I had almost forgotten about...Cheree by Suicide and Heartbeat by Wire.

Awesome.

Orange Beach, Alabama

We'll get back to the shine here in a little bit...for now, we are at the beach.



The one place where waking up every morning at 4am has advantages...



and having a buzz at two in the afternoon is perfectlye acceptable...



and where you can shop when it rains.*

I'd embed the Palace Music song Gulf Shores (seperated from Orange beach by a sign along the road) but, the only version they have on youtube is Bonnie Prince Billy's and I really don't care for it.

The sharks have until Wed. morning to take me out...and you know they want to.

*It's also here that you find out adamparsons has no sense of style...Herb Tarlek? For real?

Stay Classy

A Motel, Ocean Springs, Mississippi.



Really?

The place only has three floors. The longest ride you can take on this elevator is less than 30 seconds...I timed it. How hell-bent on destruction do you have to be that you can't go half a minute without scratchin' somethin' up?

At least none of it's intelligible. Given the time constraints, these scrapes already suggest a disturbing amount of pre-planning.*



That I can understand...I want to punch myself in the face for being here too.

This is what happens when you make your travel plans on the fly.

It's a smoker at least.



Of course the pleasure of smoking indoors is offset by the fear of being attacked at night by bed bugs with herpes.



If I didn't have my own bathroom I'd think I was back in Kings Cross.

Keep in mind...this is just a regular old room though. You can swank it up.

With a Sidekick Like This....

who needs a Nemisis?

This is a story about a cokecola....



but, it's more than that. It's a story about trust and the importance of being able to rely on the people in your life.

Them little bottles of cokecola are irresitable to me...just enough to finish off before it goes flat and they get so cold in that glass.



Especially if you've got a cooler full of dry ice.

You have to be careful though. By some mysterious force...cokecola exapnds when it freezes and it will blow that bottle to atoms.

So, I texted my man..."Parsons...do be a good fellow and text me the word Coke when you get this."

I'm a busy man y'all...ooobviously...and I thought it was best, in order to avoid an explosion, if I had a reminder to get the cokecola outta the cooler before it blew. I figured it would take a minute or two for him to get around to responding...

Immediately there's a buzz and the word "Coke, Sir" appears on my screen. Since it was Tuesday...or Monday...or Thursday...I should have known he'd just be loafin' about. Listen now, and this is coming from a Southroner no less...this &%$#@& neeever works. Never. If he had it any better he'd have to be twins.

"Too soon Parsons. I've got a coke on the freeze and I need you to remind me to get it out before it explodes. Give it a minute or two."

Like I said, I'm busy...I'm out there hustlin'...tryin' to put food on the table...shoes on my boys feet. That's why I need somebody who's got my back...who'll keep an eye on my blind spot...a sidekick.


I could rely on Martha but, how many times can you be told..."I don't have time for this foolishness right now. I'm actually working"...before you have to relieve that person of their duties? What does that even mean..."I'm actually working"?

There's The Sister...right, the same Sister that accussed me of being possesed by a demon?

What about Allan? I couldn't even get hold of him the last time I had an entire day to kill in Lucedale.

That leaves Adamparsons...who, it turns out, is as unreliable as he is readily available.

Ten minutes pass...and without a word from Adam...it occures to me that I have a coke in the cooler that ought to be good and cold by now. I couldn't stop the truck fast enough. When I lifted the lid I could see, through the vapors of the dry ice, glimpses of the red lable and my mouth started to tingle with anticipation. Man was it cold...what I thought were little flakes of ice, had formed at the top of the bottle. Perfect.

I rushed back to the drivers seat...I could already feel it buring my throat. I dug my lighter under the cap....pulled...and...



Once I recovered from the blast...I sent this picture to Adamparsons to shame him for falling down on the job but, all I got in response...ten minutes later...was the following text..

"You have no idea how hard I've been laughing."

With a support network like this...it's a wonder I'm still alive.


And just so we don't have to create a new tag...

April. More Parts

There's a lot you should know about Natchez but for now it's enough to know that Fat Mama is there...



Which is exactly where I headed as soon as the car was back on the road...see Spliff, I told you there'd be food.



I don't think I've ever eaten there without burning my fingers...I just can't hold back.

But even better than that...Natchez is the birthplace of Hound Dog Taylor...



We haven't traveled 60 miles between these fellas....and 100 miles back you get to Jackson.

All roads lead back to Jackson...and that's where you'll find the tap root of Taylor's inspiration...or at least you would have back in the 50's.

Elmore James....



will crush you.

A lot of folks from this town could.

From Sweetness...



...to Eudora Welty.



I could listen to them two talk all day...especially after the young lady gets over her nervousness and the accent settles. It's a treat to hear actual Southern accents on tape...these are two precious Mississippi examples.

I mean it's not Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor but...

April in Parts

I seen a little too much of the road in April...even for me. From Memphis to Gulfport...New Orleans almost to Texas around Leesville...Tupelo to Pascagoula just this side of Alabama...



Then there was Bude with this joker while a couple of good'ns dug around under my hood.

I logged so many miles last month that I drove right through my own wallet. In fact it was the unscheduled...last minute as a stand in for my boss...trip to Ft Polk, Louisiana that not only blew up my water pump but my gas allowance as well.

Anyway...you can't get from Bude to Ft. Polk without going through little Ferriday, Louisiana. Home of this force...



...and his cousin.



A kinda force in his own right.

It should come as no surprise that both men grew up in the same house holds and churches...



Shocking that you'll find a group in the same theological neighborhood that has banned all dancing of any kind any where...Shocking.

I'm gettin' distracted here...Before you get to Ferriday, or Louisiana for that matter, you gotta cross the river at Natchez.

Bude

Bude, Mississippi.

Nothing in the sky today except for the sun...nothing to impede the beams. The dingy gray concrete has taken on a yellow glow. The the tin roofs across the street become elusive white streaks on the back of your eyelids when the brain takes evasive action and shuts your eyes. Across me is a white cinder block wall...a giant sheet of flourescent light.

I'm at Shell Station across from King's Discount Pharmacy and B&B Foods...where 98 dead ends at 184. There's no town to speak of. Ten unremarkable structures at an intersection suurounded by oaks. The only thing taller than the trees is an ancient lookin' antenna that can't possibly serve any purpose other than target practice for lightning.

Lots of small commercial trucks groan to a stop and then wind back up headed to Brookhaven or Natchez dependin'...

There's nothin here y'all. Don't think anythings ever happened here...at least until today. Less than a thousand folks. The majority are black. Many places across the US that would be a novelty...in Mississippi it's pretty typical. There's nothin' to tell...no reason to run the place down but, nothing to recommend it either.

I'm only here for one reason...I'm waiting' on a tow truck.

Yankees at Mack-Donalds

Sometimes I get a hankerin' for Mackdonald's Big Breakfast...pancakes, sausage, biscuit. It's good but, I'm always partial to the vacuous smell of clean when I'm putting things in my stomach.

That limits my options 'cause I wouldn't feel comfortable chewin' bubblegum in half of 'em that I walk into...and right back out of. Sadly, I've run up and down these roads so much that I know which ones are clean enough to eat in.

In Ocean Springs that'd be the one on 90...next to the Sonic...in front of the Walmart. It's new...the manager brings potted plants from home...and it has no unexpected, inexplicable odors.

Unfortunately, what it does have is five or six geriatric yankees that meet every morning to drink coffee and berate one another.

No statement goes unchallenged...

"If I was ganna travel...I'd fly into Ackapukuh*...

"NO...not Ackapukuh."

No? If he, with a desire to fly into Acapulco, sat down to make his own travel arrangements...he would not decide to fly into Acapulco? Really?

Their favorite subject is old age benefits...

"Ya ahtamaticaly quaalify fa that..."

"I didn't. They said I hada sign up fa it."

"Sambady lied to ya."

"'m nat ganna ahgu wit ya abat it.**"

Ha.

All I can say is they must love it...just a peculiar form of amusement for 'em I reckon. I've never been in here when they weren't at it.

Maybe I shouldn't be so hung up on stink.

* pronounced Ahhhhhhh-caaah-po-cooo in Mississippi.

**I have spared the reader here by not giving a more accurate description of the sound by making every sentence one word.

Adamparsons Called it a Holiday.

Back in the office today...



Vacation's over.

We started strong on Beale.



The Boy almost caused a scene when we walked into the hotel lobby and he saw that.

"Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...it's Bo Diddley. Bo Diddley Daddy...LOOK! LOOK! Daddy!"

Look at the Boy's face...that kid loves Bo Diddley. A while back, I gave him a box of my old Star Wars figures. The first thing he did was snatch out Lando..Billy Dee Williams.."Bo Diddley...it's Bo Diddley." That's right he's got a Bo Diddley action figure.


Bo Diddley was an action figure.


The lady behind the counter giggled the whole way through check in. I'd been telling him the whole way up that Memphis had g'itars.

There's an odd mistake in Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Manconi...he's describing some rowdy Northern street. I can't remember which one...but, he says it's like Bourbon without the guitar motif. Of course Bourbon St. has trumpets and saxophones everywhere. It's a jazz town. It's Beale St. that has g'itars on everything...everywhere. Not that big a deal but...

Then there was that muddly bit in the middle of the week.

Despite it all, I do enjoy getting to see my in-laws...even if L, my sister-in-law, did say to me, after a game of scrabble...

"Why don't you take that J to bed with you tonight...use it as a pillow...you don't seem to be able to do anything else with it."

I got yer number L...yer gonna pay for that one.

A BUNN coffee pot turned out to be a source of some amusement. It's a coffee maker that keeps a reservoir of hot water...there's no waiting. You pour in cold water...hot coffee comes out...not exactly a new fangled idea.

"Do you leave it on all the time?"

"Sure that's what keeps the water warm."

"Is that safe?"

"Of course not. That's why we bought it for you...hoping it would burn your house down.....No No No. I'm kidding. It's perfectly safe. Ours is on at home right now."

"Well...how much energy does it use?"

"I have absolutely noooo flipping idea."

"Well..."

It's a coffee pot...not a *&^**&^% jet pack. I'm sure it's back in the box by now.

We were back by Wednesday afternoon...



Thursday morning I was at the dentist.

You may be asking...as I was...at this point, where's the vacation?

It happened for a few hours on Friday afternoon at the golf club...



...with these two.

Then it was back on schedule. We're selling our house and Sunday afternoons mean Open House. We have to split. It works out 'cause...after all, we're lookin' for a house ourselves.



You'd think it would be a no brainer with a back yard like that. Sadly, the layout of the house is almost as chaotic as the yard is serene. A serenity that was broken when I turned my back on the Boy for two seconds. I heard a door burst open..

"Put that down and get away from the pond."

The Boy had picked up the Goose and I guess the realtor...who was watching through the window...nearly had a heart attack. So, Martha ran out to give us both a dirty look.

I think me and the Boy were kinda wearin' her out anyway. She loves her boys but....she would have loved us more if we'd been in another car.

We think we're hilarious...

Boy - "Excuse me."

Me - "Excuse you."

Boy- "No excuse me."

Me - "No excuse you."

or...

"Stop sayin what I'm sayin."

"Stop sayin what I'm sayin."

"Stop sayin what I'm sayin."

I think Martha's still wondering where the vacation was.

Now Now!

Can you smell the meth?

Rural Indiana is littered with derilect farm houses and out buildings...and meth labs.

Can't imagine why.





While I was there, I spent some time around a fire...



I post the picture not as a fruedian slip but, as evidence of how nice the fire was.

I got my hair cut...



...they have a better grasp on current trends up there.

Here's me trying to get a grip...on the look before the cut.




I did get to see Mazes. We went for pizza...



...at a Ski Lodge themed pizza place. Like I said...they got the trends.* and **

Took in a few more sights...



Then...sadly...it was time to leave!

***


*That is not Mazes in the photo...you could fit two of mazes in that.

**Speaking of Mazes...there is some hope for this patch of dirt. Little Mazes. That kid is cool...he will "show them something."

*** Forgive the NSFW language...but, this foul language exists because sometimes it is all that will do.

Hey Now!

Beale St...Memphis, Tennessee.





Beale St. is not Church St. It's not even Clarkesdale...and tourists will sometimes wondered down into Mississippi under the mistaken impression that the Jukes along 61 Highway are just a more "authentic" extension of Beale.

It's not that people aren't hosptitable or that you can't "tour" The Delta. Some of them little towns are run by drug money from Memphis and, no matter how much you really love the Blues, you don't need to be monkyin' around down there...and just 'cause there's a crowd outside a Grocery on Sunday night it don't mean everybody's welcome.



Still...Beale St. isn't exactly Disney World and it's a lot of fun.



Well it's fun until you're told you ain't allowed in the bars.



That's the Boy trying to convince his Moma that he is big enough to go in.

He was mesmerized by the live music...which passed from Rockabilly to Noise/Jazz/Regga to Chitlin Circuit and Soul Blues...

"Daddy let's go in...we have to go in...I have to go in there."
___________________________________________________
12 hours later we had crossed the river twice...the land of lincoln...a long way from Memphis, Tennessee.

For Now.

Just logging on to leave some convenient images of Spring...




...before getting in the car and heading north to visit the in-laws. About a billion parts of pollen per square inch around here right now. If it doesn't rain for a few days everything appears through a greenish yellow haze. It's a strange sight.

This is my dogwood y'all. Hopefully she'll still be in bloom by the time we get back next week. It's about the only time of year I actually notice the back yard.



The neighbors yard will have exploded by the time we get back.



Just one long mound of azaleas...hot pink and white.

For the next couple of days we'll be travelling back in time to barren winter and naked trees. It's been warmer than usual up there this year but, I'm certain, as soon as we cross the Mississippi River into ciaro, illinois...the clouds will roll in and the temperature will drop 20 degrees.

Y'all say a prayer for me too...at least the few of you who aren't heathens. We all know what happened the last time I drove through illinios. &&^%&%^&%^&% Yankee Cops!!!

We've got one refreshing pause before carrying on up there...tonight we'll be on Beale St. in Memphis. Baby!