Woody & My IBF

My B&B continues to be a source of extraordinary people. This morning I had breakfast with a career border patrol officer. I think his name is Bob, and I asked him several times, but I was so taken with our conversation that it fell into that empty space vacated by GPS usage. Let's call him Bob. Bob's wife likes her tea and something sweet in her room, so I had banana pancakes and Bob had a bagel. Bob and his wife are retired, and they live just north, I mean just north, of the place I spent my high school years. Since they're not doing a heck of a lot of border patrolling on the gulf coast of Florida (but perhaps they should), Bob worked in El Paso. Bob loved what he did. Not in he loves to arrest people, but he loved the people he worked with, the people he developed, and the people on whom he lavished compassion. Understandably, he believes in keeping people out. I believe in letting them in. But no matter. We talked about the Mexican family who was obviously poor, but in their Sunday best and behaving very politely. It was Christmas Eve. They were going over the border to be with his sister because they had nothing to give to their daughter for Christmas. Bob had to arrest them, but gave them whatever was in his pocket, maybe $11 and they cried and thanked him and hugged him. As he told the story, he eyes misted over. He said that the guards did things like this all the time, like share their lunches with the border crossers. He told me how many come over every day. I truly regret not being able to recall it, but the number who come over is huge. Something like 6 million a year. I have to look it up. Bob and his guys figured out how to fix this. Crack down on the documentation employers have to do, and then the jobs would disappear and thus the people searching for ways to make money for a better life. They need proof of two things: identity (you are who you say you are) and eligibility (social security number or green card). When they audited employers for these things and fined those who didn't comply, it worked. And then politics intervened and their budget was cut so far that they could not make it happen anymore. Bob is very passionate about this but he is very kind and gentle. He almost cries again telling me this. He spilled his soul out to me. His wife came down for coffee and they went on a walking tour of the Quarter to be followed by a cocktail tour and capped off by dinner at Arnuad's.

I then had to deal with Woody's bumper problem. This is really going to suck. I've hit so many potholes in this city that the left side of his rear bumper is lifted enough that you can't close the tailgate. Just when I had managed to get my tools out (having gotten the key made), I now could not keep my tools in. Put on another bungee cord and drove to nearest body shop. One advantage of Woody is that we always get extra speedy service. I always worry about people muscling my car and not being gentle and precise in the way it is fixed. The owner of the shop, a skinny middle eastern kid, and I got on the floor and tried to pinpoint the problem. Was it the bumper that was crinkled or was it the bracket underneath?It was the bracket. Charles is an older guy who knows a lot about these. He's sliced and diced them all his life. He is 70. He put the Woodster on a big jack and told me the bracket had to be bent into place. Now I'm no chassis genius, but that bracket looks like cast steel to me. He started mucking with it. I started freaking out. Some fat guy in an ironed shirt came out and watched. As they were working, one of the bungee cords came flying off like a slingshot. He made me go outside because it was not safe. I was pissed and about to be weepy. It was my fucking bungee cord and my fucking car. They did whatever they were going to do and slammed the gate shut. They shut it right on the green bungee cord. I don't know what you know about these cars, but they do not just mash the bungee cord. They sort of wrap around it and shift everything out of place. I bit my knuckles. They wanted the keys to open the lock. I asked Mr. Fat Guy if I could go get them. He had to think about it. Finally he said it was okay for me to go into the car to take the keys off the seat and then hand them to him. Charles could not get the lock to turn. Mr. Fat Guy wanted him to keep on grinding away at it, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the key broke in the lock. I couldn't help myself. I walked in and jiggled it myself. I looked at the middle eastern guy and asked him if it was okay. Don't worry, he said with a shooing motion. He works for me. After a few minutes of futzing around I got it open. Lady in front took my credit card for $40. I told cranky Charles that he did a good job, and he got a whole lot less cranky. I asked his son if he had a tire gauge. I still think my tires are over-inflated but they look mushy. Son fixed me up by bleeding them to 34 psi. Middle eastern guy asked where I was going. I told him I didn't know. He fist bumped me.

Hit the bumpy New Orleans street hoping not to be so bumpy. Went for the heart. Visited Mardi Gras World. Amazing stuff. The first floats were on wooden carriages. They were for ritzy people. The krewes are still social clubs. Krewe is from the old English. Remember, so is tester that sounds like teester. For a French town, there's an awful lot of old English going on. The captains are dictators. It is not a democracy. Must be some French thing. After a movie, we got a piece of king cake and some coffee as we walked to the next gallery. An adorable group of about 50 red-jumpered first graders had to sit and theirs would be brought. Anyhow, someone democratized the whole Mardi Gras thing (I think it had something to do with Mardi Gras World's owner making money), and "super krewes" were born. Some have up to 1,000 members each. There are 54 krewes, marching in 54 parades, needing 54 very expensive float flotillas from Mr. Mardi Gras World. One cost $600,000 in 1984. The tallest thing on a float is 14 feet because that's how high the traffic lights are hung and you really don't want to get electrocuted on you electrified float. The biggest guy is King Kong. Here is his wife. You are allowed to throw your beads back at them and if they hit 'em you get good luck. Sounds like a Mr. Mardi Gras World move to me as there is lots and lots and lots of repair work to do every year.

I have to admit, though, that these are really great floats. They "change them up" every year by putting new "accessories" on them. This basically means that they take stuff off and put stuff on so it goes with the new theme for the year. Mr. Mardi Gras World figured out he would rent them stuff and make a boatload (floatload?) of money. It costs each crew member a ton of money and they also have to buy about $500 worth of stuff to throw. It is called the throw. As in they ordered a lot for the throw (not to throw). The guys in the really great krewes spend $1000 or more. They have really good throw, and you need to show your boobs to get some. Each Mardi Gras, 65 billion beads are thrown. That is not a (not a metaphor, not a simile, I forget). Exaggeration, like the shot heard round the world that is used as example when they teach you the word I can't remember. 65 billion. And that's only beads. They throw cups, dubloons, stuffed animals and decorated coconuts (!). Actually, they hand the coconuts out. A float has to be pulled by a single tractor to be allowed. After the tour, I asked the lady where they keep the tractors. They own them all and drive them all. Each one carries a generator for all the lights and moving jaws and smoke puffing and so on. Those must be some badass tractors. As you know, I loooooove farm equipment. They are on the other side of the river. I bet if I spent some time on it, I could talk them into showing me. Here's where they attach.

Anyhow, some of these mega-floats hold 225 guys. All the floats have bathrooms. I always wanted to know how they dealt with that issue. I would be awfully rude to piss off the floats, not to mention not being telegenic. Here are some of my favorite floats. These are ones from last year that are desserts, shoo fly pie and cooked egg custard. See the shoe?

At Mardi Gras World they do all sorts of cool stuff with papier maiche and fiber glass. They also use real gold and silver leaf. They let you walk all over the place by yourself, and some of the work areas are really cool.

If Woody were a float, this is the one he would be (goes with his outfit):

If I were a float, I'd like to be this. But I'd probably be that. Very tired.

Going out, I saw an interesting phenomenon. As far as I know, the Wizard of Oz didn't take place in Ancient Greece. And I'm pretty sure they don't have Halloween in Delphi.

Dr. Bob told me that there's a beer tasting/tour thing at the brewery across the lake. Lake Ponchatrain, that is. Dr. Bob is a cool guy, so I decided to go. Nice innkeeper's wife says bridge is boring grey haze for 30 miles. I definitely don't care because I am never going anywhere, and I enjoy the going. Abita is the go to beer in New Orleans, especially since Dixie Beer went under. I saw the Dixie Beer place in my various jaunts to Star Lock and Key. It is very picturesque in its decay. Really. I wanted to stop and take a picture but I thought that would be like taking the picture of a corpse post-Katrina. Anyhow, went to Abita. Tours start in tasting room that is a whole row of taps and some plastic cups. I wanted to try Purple Haze but everybody was and I like to be different. I tried some Croc thing. Later I found out that Croc is 8% alcohol. That's like putting a couple of shots in your beer. 

I met the Klinforths from Wisconsin. That's Klin as in win, not kline as in whine. There are six boys and one girl. I met the girl first. She said she was sorry the Packers whooped Pittsburgh so bad. I am an Eagles fan. Oh, we whooped you too. That's true. Two of the brothers married sisters. Mrs. Klinforth, the matriarch, is a cool chick. Here they are. The jerk in the white t-shirt with old cars on it should not be able to wear old cars. He is an abomination to the sport. He kept on bumping into Mrs. Klinforth when she was in one place and he was shifting and then looking back her as though she was annoying him. Mrs. Klinforth uses a walker. 

Abita uses a special thing called a Merlin that is only used in Europe. It's supposed to do something with a cone during cooking. I am shocked that Sonny, our tour guide, isn't deaf. Maybe we should call OSHA. There is no way anyone could hear a word. It did smell like strawberries in there, which was very nice. I think we have to wait 4 months or something until we can drink it. We need to drink more Abita beer because it is number 15 behind number 14, Sam Adams. I did notice in the film that a filter made by my dad's company was being used. Sonny said it's a pain in the ass to clean. Note to self: develop non-pain-in-the-ass self-cleaning filter. Make fortune.

Hit the road for Lafayette, in the heart of cajun country. I want to eat crawdads and dance at Tipitinas to zyedeco. Went from little Abita down to the top of the lake to hit I-whatever. Stopped at very promising BBQ joint, the aptly-named Abita BBQ. I am not hungry (for a change) but I can't pass it up. It is the little crappy kind of building that always has the best stuff. As it is always about 3 when I decide I have to eat, I almost never eat with anyone but the cook and dishwasher. It's kinda fun because everyone is in a talkin' mood. Freida at the Abita BBQ makes the BBQ. She says all of them do. There is a picture in a frame of a pretty girl named Antoinetta (I think, I really did know this a minute ago). There are no big BEST OF ABITA 1997 signs or some such on the walls. The article in teensy weensy writing is below the picture. Best of New Orleans. That's the kind of gal my Frieda is. Frieda's daughter is 27. She has an 18 month old who is a very happy baby, just like her mother. They live with Frieda right now. I asked Frieda what she makes best. She wasn't biting. What do you like? Oh, man. We both decided the combo plate would be the right thing. I asked her what red cream soda is. I just love it, she says. It's sweet and it tastes like cotton candy. That actually didn't sound so great, but I know that Dr. Brown's Cream Soda is really good, so I order it. It is indeed bright pink. The meal was amazing. The ribs just slid off the bone. I have no idea what kind of sausage this is (and probably don't want to know), but it is unbelievable. The guy in the back is banging around trying to find his cast iron skillet for the cornbread. Frieda dishes the mac n cheese up with an ice cream scooper. I even liked red cream soda. I was in heaven. I couldn't eat another bite but did. And I kept thinking of that homemade cake on the counter. By that time it was only me and the dishwasher. Frieda had gone and I didn't even get to take her picture. The dishwasher had latex gloves over his hands and his one finger was bandaged. What'd you do? Slicing cabbage. It went diagonally through part of my fingernail. I try not to think about it. What kind of cake is that? Butter pecan. Oh my god. Like butter pecan ice cream in cake shape. I have never had anything like it. Considered buying the other half of the cake and rolling in it.

Now here's where my nothing day becomes something. In the parking lot. This is Ted and Janee (pronounced ja-nay). They are also wanderers. No better way to do it. Thinking of going to casino.

This is Mary and Jack. They're also going to the casino. Mary needs to find a hotel that's under $80. They want to rent the room, not buy it.

This guy has 43 grandchildren. I didn't even ask his name because I was afraid I'd get a list of the kids. He also has 4 great-grand children that he knows of. The mother of his 8 kids left him after 35 years of marriage. She needed to find herself. I'm sensing a trend here. Woman is just plain tired of his bullshit and she's not gonna take it anymore translates to she's going to find herself. That's what I think happened to almost-real imaginary boyfriend's family. Anyhow, gramps is newly married to Philippina who speaks little or no English. I tell him he's only as old as his wife. He laughs. She looks up and laughs too. She laughs a lot when she doesn't understand the words.

And here is the jackpot. This is Angie, Bobby and Sunnay (I think, this is phonetically). Bobby has lived in Gulfport her whole life. She has a graduate degree in geriatrics. She loves to talk and to laugh. Angie says watch out, she'll talk to you for hours. The girls both have graduate degrees. I either don't remember or never asked in what. One went to Tulane. I think the other went to Ole Miss. I told Bobby I love Mississippi, especially the delta. Bobby was excited. She said you have to get yourself some land up there because insurance is getting too expensive down here and whatnot and people are going north. I believe anything Miss Bobby says. Note to self: Buy Shack Up Inn. I adore these three. This is the kind of contact you wish you would have every day but it would be too exhausting because of the excitement. Miss Bobby drives an old silver truck with a weird cap on it. The girls came rushing by at a stoplight and waved excitedly. About five miles later I pulled over to take a picture of the beach. It is as beautiful as I remembered it. I lived on the Gulf of Mexico. There is nothing more sublime than that confectioners sugar sand. I took my pictures and someone pulled up behind me. Great, another someone that thinks I need help (okay, I often need help but didn't this time). It was Bobby and the girls! Angie gave me her card and wrote all three cell phone numbers on the back. And Bobby's home number. They wanted to know if I needed a place to stay. Or some supper. It's just meatloaf and some rice and gravy... I was going to cry. I just ate more BBQ than I need in a week. I am like a snake that has to lie down and digest for a few days. I love meatloaf. I love southern hospitality. I love Miss Bobby. I love the girls. I must decline. I will regret that for a very long time. Angie took a picture of Bobby and me and Woody. Bobby brushed my hair off my face. She said if I needed anything be sure to tell them I know Miss Bobby Gates, the one that works with old people and has no hair. She took off her cap. She does have hair. It is very short and very pretty. 

My sense of direction is coming back. I've had to learn all over again like they do with the poor people who are in terrible accidents and need to learn to eat or whatever. As I came down from the people high I began to think about where to stay. I really need wifi, and that limits the originality of my repose. On the left! Holiday Inn Express. I am now a Preferred Member. I am no longer David. As a Preferred Member I get a really nice translucent aqua shopping bag with a bottle of water, a bag of Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips, peanut butter crackers, and a Reesies cup. Of course there is free breakfast with Smart Coffee. 

I now have free breakfast and dinner and an ocean view room for $109. I have neighbors I can count on. There is an outdoor pool, and the beach is 100 feet away.