2:48 AM |
Poor me. Woody is covered with water. No other car at this Holiday Inn is covered with water. I asked the desk guy and he said it rained last night. So how come it only rained on me? I really needed to clean Woody out anyway, so I pulled everything out to reorganize. The front passenger side is soaked, all the way down through the basket I put all my crap in, through two layers of carpet floor mats (I didn't know I had two sets), to the carpet on the floor. Pulled mats out. Pulled basket out. Put mats on hood of car. Hood of car is wet, you idiot. Left them there anyhow. All my book maps are wet and I don't use GPS. I'm really freestylin' now. My tootsie pop box is soaked. Fortunately, all the little wrappers are okay so I just dumped them directly in the basket. Threw out about 10 pounds (truly) of visitor information stuff. Handed the bag to guy at front desk. I didn't want to shove it all into trashcan in lobby. He put it on the floor. Found Historic Ruth's Blue Monday candy bar (squished), Historic Ruth's bourbon balls (melting), four pralines (bonanza!), and peanut M&Ms packed at start of trip but AWOL since then. Also box of tea (I only drink Irish Breakfast, double strength, with milk, but I am drinking coffee now).
Back of Woody is a mess. Sewanee spirit gear tucked in all over the place. Purple t-shirts, YSR (Yea, Sewanee's Right) insulated cups, Sewanee Dad baseball cap and who knows what else I bought in my hooray-my-son's-actually-going-to-college euphoria. Kentucky license plate birdhouse (I forgot I bought it) is real problem as it is a shape that fits nowhere. Deciding whether to stow coolant, Sta-bil, two bottles of oil and spray graphite in tail gate as the key doesn't work all the time. Repack bag with cold weather outerwear and threw handwarmers in there. Found other handwarmers later and didn't want to climb over the back seat again, so threw them out. Exchanged positions of pants duffel bag and bring-your-crap-into-hotel duffel bag. Put clogs into Girl Scout cookie box. I only ate three boxes so far, but there's still a little extra room. Put wet mats back on top of everything. Tried to rearrange art. Dr. Bob's onionhead is now in a slot. Earl's blue truck is more difficult. Put it under towel and hanging bag for fancy dresses.
Left Do Not Disturb sign on hotel door so that I can get my special Preferred Member late checkout. No free breakfast. Stayed at a Holiday Inn instead of a Holiday Inn Express. Shame on me. They have a restaurant and so you have to pay for everything you eat. Had coffee from lobby pitcher.
Pull out guidebooks. Nothing to do in Mobile but eat at Roadfood recommended place. Had to do it. Drove 20 minutes to Dew Drop Inn. Definitely worth it. The place is a little luncheonette kind of thing. Two policemen going in (to eat). Good sign. Nobody said anything about Woody. Ambivalent sign.
Blogger ate my post. From here forward is a reconstruction. My fingers are sore and I can’t sleep. Spent two hours trying to get it back in about a billion different ways. Bottom line: Don’t compose on Blogger. Compose first then upload so you have a copy. Moving on…
Local cops eating. Good sign. Servers won’t meet eye. Bad sign. Line forming for table. Good sign. Ordered special. Catfish and two sides. I chose fried pickles and stewed okra and tomatoes. Starch of choice: hush puppies. Plate came loaded with fish, okra, hush puppies, pickles and onion rings and french fries and the check, tucked under the food. That’s under-promising and over-delivering if I ever saw it. I don’t know how they do it, but they appear to use no oil in deep frying at the Dew Drop. The catfish is white and flaky and really crispy on the outside, but absolutely no oil. The fried pickles are (obviously) fried but have no oil. The onion rings have no oil. The hush puppies have no oil. It is the new miracle cooking method. I bet you could lose fifty pounds by eating only fried foods. The okra, on the other hand, is not fried. It is stewed and comes with a spoon. The fried pickles are exactly how you expect them to be. A family friend said they are terrible. They ate them at the wrong place, one that fries with oil. The pickles were so hot temperature-wise that I had to open my mouth a little to let the steam out. Chased it with sweet tea. The sweet tea was ever-flowing. A positive. The french fries suck. A negative. They should have stuck to what I ordered. However, an exemplary meal overall. I wish they had pie. No desserts.
It is okay to use GPS in city. Set GPS to go north to Unclaimed Baggage place. Will be at least six hours but I am doing everything in my power to keep from visiting family in Orlando. Get on I-whatever. Think about getting long-sleeved shirts and sweaters out. Got off I-whatever. Got on I-whatever in opposite direction back to beach. Pass Denbo’s Smoke House, a small yellow building with dark people painted on it, sort of a cross between Aunt Jemima and Little Black Sambo, with some lawn jockey thrown in. I love this kind of place. In my experience, they usually have large black men cooking and/or wielding the huge knife. I really want to go in. I have had too much to eat at the Dew Drop. Should have just asked them if I could smell the meat. Drove around a lot of little towns with nothing in between them. Felt better. Saw small brown signs. Ferry. Bellingrath Gardens. I had read that Bellingrath has an explosion of azalea blooms at the end of February or the beginning of March. It is then. Drive for a while. No more signs. Stop for gas and Krispy Kreme. And directions. This is Doug and Roger. Richard came out later and didn’t want to be in the picture. Doug has a twelve pack of some beer with a blue and silver label. He is working at the church, doing construction. There are no jobs closer. Ask cashier for directions. Not too far off after all.
Headed out. Hit harbor. Think I’ve gone wrong way. Turn around. Go by Four Mile Road. Then Three Mile Road. Two Mile Road. One Mile Road. Does it go to Zero Mile Road? I’ll never find out because I got to Bellingrath before then. Saw pheasant. Now lots of other chickens. Peacock, pheasant, duck. Walked/ran twenty minutes to house. I am always five minutes late, but am on time this time. Tour already started. Too many bugs outside to wait. Was pushy. Joined tour. Saw a lot of porcelain. A lot. Including baby doll heads and limbs. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Man made money from Coke (as did every other rich guy south of the Mason Dixon). Our guide was very precise in her instructions. We were to wait at the end of the hall by the porcelain and not go further. Two of us did what we were told. The other one asked if I was a teacher. She is. She knows how to follow directions. Three dining rooms. One is always set for sixteen, but there are only ten seats and it looks to me like it would be pretty tight to put any more in there. I asked the guide if there were more leaves for the table. Yes, she said, and there are six more chairs around the room (you idiot, her tone said). Went to butler’s pantry. Fifteen sets of china and huge chest of silver. Now, as a well-bred young lady, I can spot 12 plates at 50 feet. These services were all for 12. I guarantee you. Resisted asking guide how they fed 16 on 12 plates. Ended tour at back door. River nice. Bugs not. Guide asks where we’re from. They usually do that when we start. I’m from a small town outside Philadelphia (no, Pennsylvania, not Mississippi) and I’ve driven my 70 year-old car 3200 miles so far. Oh, I was thinking maybe one of the people I would have has that car (and she hoped it wouldn’t be me). You go fast. Yes. I gave you lots of room. Good idea. I have no power steering and no power brakes and I drive 2 tons of steel at 70 miles per hour. 
Pick through garden for azaleas. Lot of them. No flowers. Some flowering camellias every now and then for diversion. This is the sum total of the azalea blossoms at Bellingrath. It cost me $18 and no AAA discount. 
Decided to go to ferry on Dauphin Island. See sign. I’m on Dauphin Island. So I need to go to ferry to get off of Dauphin Island. Queue up. I have no idea when they run or how often. Sign. Every hour and a half. Now you know that I am always five minutes late, so I’m guessing that no matter when they are scheduled, I will have to wait one hour and twenty-five minutes. The ferry cannot be sweet-talked. Opened window and put feet out. Ate Historic Ruth’s Blue Monday candy bar. Like cream candy but flatter and covered with chocolate. Good. Doesn’t even matter that it’s squished. Relax. For five minutes. It is time to go on ferry. Wow. This never happens to me. Got good position, right in front in the center lane. The two side lanes get off last, even though they were ahead in the queue. This is Steven. He collects the money. Wanted to trade free ferry ride for Woody. Told him it doesn’t work that way. 
This is Carol and Leonard. And this is Howard and I don't remember his wife because she has big white sunglasses on and her head in the trunk most of the time. There was also a guy in a Vietnam ball cap that was the spitting image of my ex-husband. I asked him where he served. He told me exactly. I had no idea where those places were so I nodded and paid at lot of attention to the rest of his story. He was originally airborne, but then did some other stuff in the Army. 
This is the Bishops. John and Mary are from the Illinois side of St. Louis. They think I should bring Woody under the arch. Mary was a school teacher. She taught third grade which she really liked. She used to teach first grade. Then 200 teachers were laid off. She was one. She waited until the fall and got a job in fourth grade. And finally third grade. She has a good pension. She goes with her girlfriends on vacation because he doesn’t like to travel. They drove down one side of the Mississippi and up the other. It was fun. John works in a printing shop. They did the stickers on the credit cards with the numbers you have to call to activate. He also had the client everyone dreaded. The chocolate lady. She had a pink dress on her card and wanted the background to be milk chocolate. They couldn’t get the chocolate just the right color until John added just one drop of a special water-soluble paint. Bingo. He always came home with a lot of different shades of brown on his clothes during that job. When I go to St. Louis, I am to tell them that the Bishops sent me. This is Woody. And this is the wheelhouse.
This is Sean. He has been working on the ferry for two years. He used to be a deckhand on a boat that didn’t fish. It delivered stuff to an oil-drilling platform. That one. I asked if they call the platforms anything special. They call that one The Ox. He doesn’t know why. He said that the water is only 12 feet deep and they drill the depth of 3 Empire State Buildings. There is a sign next to the wheelhouse telling all about it. When I checked later, it said 20,000 feet. That’s deep. I asked Sean if they saw much of the oil spill (that required Biloxi to post the Oil Spill Distress Hotline). Not really. The Ox is natural gas. Sean has his captain’s license but there are already three captains. Plus he was stuck in one of those really, really, really freaky storms where the winds were 150 to 160 miles an hour. He is glad now to have regular hours. Due to my great field position, I was first off. The guy had to grab his bicycle and get down to the gates before we got there.Headed off to the most beautiful beach colony ever. There were little pastel houses that looked like sugar cubes stuck on toothpicks with bubble gum wrappers for hats. There were pine trees in long stretches between the clumps of houses. No gas stations. No restaurants. No nothing. Just sand and waves and peace. Kept on driving. Sign saying Duck Season Over January 10.
Pass state park beach pavilion with goofy modern architecture. Swoopy roof. Great beach. Guy with small asian girl. I can't reach the soap. Come on honey I'll take you in, I say. Ready for a big boost? Washes hands vigorously as I wash the soap off her elbows. I push dryer button. She pushes dryer button. Nothing. Now I'm not going to send this girl to her daddy with wet hands. I put my shirt out. Dry them on here. She does with no hesitation. Back to dad. This is Barb and Leo. They are from Canada and take pictures of Woody with a really serious looking camera. They just got here so they don't have any recommendations.
Drive some more. Now gas stations. Now restaurants. Now tattoo parlors! I didn’t stop. I really want to watch. I promise myself I’ll go tonight when more drunk people decide to get tats. Discover treadmill of Pensacola. I had read about a place to eat that is right on the beach and kind of divey. Perfect. It’s in Destin, an hour and a half away. It’s still the afternoon so that’s great. If Kentucky has the black hole of Elizabethtown and Clarkesdale still has a rubber band on my heart, then Pensacola has the treadmill. An hour later I stopped for a Coke. Where are we? Pensacola. Bought a bag of Baby Back Rib flavored potato chips. They were just next to BBQ flavor in same color bag. Had two. They sucked. Ate pralines that I found this morning. An hour later stopped for gas. Guy on dark red motorcycle talks to Woody. Wants to see the engine. My kind of guy. Calls me darlin’. I’m in love. Richard gave me his card so I can update him on my progress. He needs a pen to scratch out his sister's number. Like I'm going to call his sister. I am going to Cedar Key next. Richard’s from Steenhatchee! I am to tell them that Richard sent me. He is a land clearer. Richard gives me good directions even though sometimes they feel wrong to me. Cool girl at tollbooth says Dude, nice car. I didn’t know I was a dude but no matter. I am in Pensacola. Getting late. May never eat at chosen restaurant. See Olive Garden, Italian Restaurant next Seoul Garden, Japanese Restaurant. I can’t make this stuff up.See billboard with familiar H with modern cross bar. But it’s blue. I thought that there were only Holiday Inns and Holiday Inn Expresses and all their H’s are green. Maybe this is something new. Holiday Inn Deluxe? Holiday Inn By The Sea? I get close enough to read the sign. Harbor something, a boutique hotel. Well I’ve been working like a dog trying to get clear of Pensacola so I deserved a treat. The boutique hotel it is. The slender pregnant girl at the desk said there are only “city” view rooms. That means street views. Red Lobster views. I asked if I could ask personal question. How tall are you? I expected her to say 5’8” or 5’9”. Five foot eleven! She likes it. She should like it more so that she wouldn’t slouch. Guess what? Room is $49! Last time I was in Destin was Beach Week 1980 with the fratty club. They didn't have hotels here. They didn't have gas stations. They didn't have chain restaurants. They had motels and dive bars. We had a whole motel on the beach. The brothers made moon-a-mids on the beach, quite the feat when so drunk can't stand up. I still have the picture of my College-boyfriend imaginary boyfriend and me. We wore Dolphin shorts and aviator sunglasses. Because the first Preppy Handbook was a best seller, we also wore Izod shirts. They were not Lacoste that my son has to have and are $85. Back then Izods and Lacostes were the same thing. They were $30 which was a lot to pay for a piece of cotton, short-sleeved at that. Back to boutique hotel. Take elevator. Notice that carpet needs vacuuming. Get to room. Undress. Go to world’s smallest bathroom. Center of hot water shower handle missing. And the toilet is dirty. I don’t do dirty toilets. It’s a hygiene thing. On the way down realize hotel is motel with stairs closed in. I tell tall girl that I am not staying. She offers another room. I don’t think so. Get on iPad to find next Holiday Inn Express. Go there. Peek in lobby. Doesn’t look like they have gotten on the new look bandwagon. Turn around. Drive back to huge Holiday Inn (no Express) I saw on beach. Checked in. Funny as hell desk people. Two girls ask for duplicate room key. They are holding a half empty vodka bottle. They are about 14. We’ll have to see your I.D. the desk girl says. Really? I have to go back to the car. No we’re just kidding you. They go with their duplicate key. Desk guy said he checked their ID earlier. They are 23. Really. Girl gives me room key, Internet password and card for DVDs. And car mirror hang tag. The three letters the computer gives them are odd, with some good ones, she says. WTF. Go to room. Wedge-shaped because hotel is big cylinder. Soft and medium pillows, but no Smart Coffee because this is not an Express. Bathroom kind of dated. Thing on faucet that you pull up to make the shower turn on only goes half way. Shower and bath at once. Toilet’s continually running. I know how to fix that so I open the tank cover. They have black mold. Isn’t that what they have to have guys in hazmat suits remove so that the children don’t die of asthma? Must be a beach thing.
Too late for room service. Can't drive at night now that guy told me I have no tail lights. Have to fix them tomorrow. I probably can by myself. Went to car for bourbon balls. Threw them out this morning. Guy making pizza delivery in bright purple car. Nearly bribed him to give it to me instead. Ate box of Girl Scout cookies.
I am becoming afraid. I don't like it at all. The more people there are, the worse I feel. I had two creepy things happen today. And a lot of good stuff, but I wanted to take a shower after each encounter and somehow that trumps the sweet.
This morning I decided to sleep in. I felt extremely guilty not making the 9:30 cutoff for breakfast and Smart Coffee. They have Smart Coffee in the bathroom, but I neither make coffee in the bathroom, nor drink coffee from hotel rooms anywhere. Have you ever seen that episode in Myth Busters where they put some glow-in-the-dark stuff in the toilet and then flush it to see where it goes? It goes everywhere. I try to turn my back on the toilet as I flush it, but it's not as easy as it sounds. The coffee cups are wrapped in plastic, but you still have to touch the plastic. And that coffee pot-- yikes, it's been around for a whole bunch of flushes and I bet no one wipes it down with Lysol. Plus I hate powdered non-dairy creamer. I drink a whole lot of milk in my coffee. Helps with the potential osteopenia that Sally Fields worries so much about on TV. Also my mother drank it that way. I think I'm ending up doing a lot more stuff the way my mother did. My sister cooks pork chops and potato pancakes. But then again my grandmother was always the cook.
Checked out my waterfront view. Still see the beach but fog is rolling in. Just make 11 am checkout cutoff. Because I am now a Preferred Member at Holiday Inn Express, I could request a later checkout time, but I'm trying to have at least a modicum of discipline. This is the first time I've slept past 8:30 in a month. Bummed that I didn't go to outdoor pool.
I am some place between Gulfport and Biloxi (I think) but I'm really sure where. Started Woody up. No problems. While waiting for Woody to warm up (remember that? You have to let the car warm up otherwise your Uncle Marvin would just ruin the car again), saw hand-written note on the windshield. It was from Phil who lives in the log cabin at the end of the street and has two old cars and used to have more. He gave his address. What the hell. These old guys are so cute. Went to Phil's. Phil is sort of skinny with a light grey/brown mustache. He is probably 52. Not an old guy, at least in car years (and mine too, as I am 51 and not one bit old). He has a good handshake, neither limp nor break your fingers. I have been told that my handshake is too strong. I kinda notice that when they increase their pressure half way through. Tough shit. That's why I pay Ron the Hun to beat the crap out of me twice a week. Those weenies should see Ron too. Anyhow, Phil asks me in. I didn't think twice about it. His home is modest and pretty well kept if a bit cluttered. He took me to see his daughter's self-portrait. Tiffany (the first non-oddly spelled Tiffany of the trip) is a reasonably good artist but no Van Gogh. Then I saw Tiffany's rendition of Tiffany, Phil and Nanny. He asked me if I am married. Tiffany also drew a truck. Phil wants to show me around. The light bulb went off. What the hell am I doing in some stranger's house, especially one who talks about nothing but Tiffany? I am beginning to think that Tiffany is one of those kidnappees who has fourteen children while locked up in a shed out back. Phil wants me to see Tiffany's bedroom. He takes me in and shows me Tiffany's portrait of him in his SeaBee (is it written CeeBee?) outfit. He was a SeaBee or whatever for 25 years. I'm feeling more uneasy. Then he shows me Tiffany's drawing of him with his old truck. He reaches behind the drawing and I am sure he is going to pull a knife out. He touches my arm for the third time. He pulls out the photograph Tiffany worked from. He is wearing a baseball cap but Tiffany drew a straw hat as it went better with the period of the truck. Then Phil wants me to see the new bedroom he built Tiffany. Now I know that he has prepared a place just for me. Phil wants me to go there. Uh, do you have animals Phil? I'm feeling a little bit of allergy coming on. Several times he wonders why I would be having allergies as he doesn't have a pet. Then he wanted me to see his garage. His garage is in the back of the house, not in the front like some normal person. He unlocked the garage doors. Oh my god. He is going to chain me up in the garage. He touched my arm again and kind of guided me in. I was absolutely, positively certain that more than one door was open and they were not locked but I was still scared shitless. Uh, Phil, can I take your picture with your car? I was hoping he'd push the door up even further than before. He did. Next, he wanted to show me the first of the outbuildings. This was the first one he built. Am composing note to self if live: check missing persons reports for the year Phil built first outbuilding. He opened the door and made me look in. There are tools hung neatly along the wall. I don't know about you, but I watch Dexter, and that crazy Trinity killer had his tools hung up neatly along the wall too. In the middle is an axe. I am mentally trying to figure out how to grab the axe if he pulled a knife, and then wondering if I would have the stomach to split his skull open. He locked the door. From the outside with me outside, fortunately. Then we went to the second outbuilding. It had some crazy ass name on a board above the door and Phil said something about the name still being good if Tiffany didn't want to live there when it was done. He wanted to show me the inside, and then the upstairs. No fucking way. I told Phil I am a crazy klutz and I couldn't possibly walk around where there are unfinished floors (true). Gee Phil, I have to hit the road now. I was terrified that Woody wouldn't. But he did. You have never seen anyone hit State Road 90 as fast as I did. I was so traumatized that I even remember the number of the road.
Immediately forced myself to think normal thoughts. There is some stuff to visit in Buloxi so I hope I haven't missed it. Not hungry (!) due to junk food courtesy of the Preferred Member's club. Saw IHOP and decided to stop anyway. Had blueberry pancakes. Later decided that they were full of something like jello but probably synthetic. Maybe that was ok as jello is made from horses hooves (my mother told me), but probably are really made from cow's hooves as there are a lot left over after t-bones and hamburger meat. She also told me that penicillin is made of moles. I had a really hard time looking at those grey creatures that we killed by putting a stick in the tunnel and dumping poison in and then stomping on all the tunnels to keep them from coming back. I thought about ground up moles in the capsules Dr. Harrington sometimes made me take. I couldn't swallow pills (and still have a hard time) so my grandmother would open the capsules and mix them in something for me to drink. She gave me orange wedges to suck on afterwards because it tasted so yucky. I can still taste it. I was about thirty when I found out that penicillin is made from a mold, not moles. I tried to figure why on earth I would go to IHOP.
Noticed regular guy in blue oxford shirt and the light-colored jeans that are du rigeur down south. He had on a black leather vest that said Live Hard Ride Hard and had a skull embroidered between. It also had fringe. I hate these weekend warriors, old guys trying to get balls back from wife, like those guys in the movie with John Travolta. I paid Monica, a nice waitress with marginal teeth who called me sweetie. Whenever someone calls me honey or sweety I find myself saying it to the next half dozen people I meet. Note to almost-real imaginary boyfriend: call me honey or sweety. You won't regret it. Paid my bill, left big tip and went outside and to my surprise saw regular oxford shirt guy suit up to get on bike. He is a badass mother fucker. Go figure. His helmet had a bunch of stickers on it about guns and dead people and all sorts of other shit. My favorite:
Am now pretty much over Phil and first college boyfriend. Kept on driving along the coast. I wish I could see more but it was really foggy. Saw sign for Beauvoir, which if my high school french serves me right is nice view. It was Jefferson Davis' home also called the Confederate White House. It got really trashed in Katrina but not as bad as a lot of stuff. The ticket booth is in a trailer. They are building a huge Jefferson David Presidential Library behind it. Probably got disaster relief money to do it. I was told I had perfect timing (which I never, ever have) and the tour would start in 10 minutes, unless I'd like to watch the movie which is approximately 30 minutes and then wait for the tour. Then I could visit the grounds and walk around any way I wanted. And then I would come back and shop in the gift shop/ticket booth/potty/mini-museum/movie theater if I so desired. It felt like I should definitely so desire lest the ticket ladies beat me over the head with iron skillets. Noted confederate soldier mess kit. Looks like first Swiss Army knife in south. Even has corkscrew. Jerry was our guide. There was just something off about him. He looked like a fat Desi Arnes and sounded like Mr. Rogers. It creeped me out. I was hoping not to have a Phil repeat. James Brown was the first owner of this house! I feel good na-na-na-na like I should now, I feel fine, I feel fine do-do-do-do-do dododo. Mr. Brown's wife's name was Saffronita. Jerry thinks this is a pretty name. I learned how valuable everything is and how much money it cost to restore. I heard that the whole tour, over and over again. Also how the board of directors made every decision. And later something about the garden club which seems to be in cahoots with the Natchez garden club when it comes to running old houses. Because Katrina swept stuff away, they were replaced by some of the garden club ladies, including the twin rocker where two chairs faced each other but were far enough away that the kids couldn't smack each other. Jerry knew this because he has twin nephews in California. I think the crappy doll quilt and crocheted throw were also Mary Jane's work. She's so talented. Jerry also showed us a porcelain container which we all knew was a chamber pot. It's smaller than you thought, said Jerry, she must have had good aim. Yuck. Jerry, I don't know what you know about women's anatomy (apparently not much), but I'm pretty sure we don't aim. Jerry also told us that one of the cottages was used for visitors, especially for the board of directors meeting. It's not being used this week, so we can peek in and not worry about seeing a naked man. The lady with the red Coach purse said Oh Good very quickly. I was disappointed. The children eat in a separate dining room until they are 22, and the boys sleep in hammocks under the porch. The hammocks were next to the meat room. Doesn't everyone chill a meat room? No wonder all five of them died an early death. The girls spoke 7 languages and wrote books for a living. It was very clever of them. Jerry has no drawl. That is because he is from Michigan. He says the drawl is for people in the north (meaning north Mississippi) and everyone down here sounds like they're from New Jersey. If he says so. I went to the outbuildings (I think he called them pavilions) and saw no naked men. Did see Wipe Your Paws doormat. There were a whole stack of filled Seagram's boxes amongst the antiques in the other one. There is also the following written somewhere:
Continue to downtown Biloxi. See billboard for Oil Spill Distress Hot Line. Man. Woody coughing. He must have been sleeping with those Davis boys under the porch. Can't find any of the good stuff that's supposed to be downtown before ending up on some odd street. Woody's coughing getting worse. Stopped in at Automotive Electric store. Asked if anyone happened to know a good flathead guy. The shopkeeper and the customer with a sort of ratty concert t-shirt with silver accents on it did a double take. They are car guys. Custom race car guys. The customer is Aaron. This is Aaron. He checked under the hood and agrees with me that it is the carburetor. It is leaking. Aaron knows exactly who to call. Earl. Aaron had me follow him to Earl's in D'Iberville. If I had learned anything, I wouldn't be following guy in dirty white pickup to some other stranger's house. Sigh. What I do for Woody. Checked for 9 mm under seat. Damn, didn't bring it.
It turns out that Earl is the good kind of old car guy. His mailbox is an old car. He has a gorgeous burgundy 1951 Ford. He took the sun visor off because he didn't like the way it made the car look. My dad does that too. Earl also has a neon orange racer that has rear tires that cost $259 apiece. He doesn't work up smoke and leave rubber on the track for effect. Those guys buy 4 or 5 sets of tires a year. Earl says tires get sticky enough if you just burn a tiny bit of rubber. He does a 9 second quarter. Which is really good. This is Earl. I tell Earl I think the carb is messed up. Earl has 14 grandchildren and 4 kids. He wishes he had a do over with his own kids. It was fun. I told him he can do it with his grandkids. Nah, they have their own ideas about things. Earl's wife Bertie brought out their teeny dog Princess. Princess mourns when Earl isn't there. She won't eat. I touched Princess a lot. I never, ever touch dogs. She jumped up on my lap when I was in Woody. Princess can also knock on the neighbor's door. Earl said the carb had junk in it and the float needed to be lowered. He cleaned it and lowered it. The guy next door leaves that expensive RV in the driveway. He's had it for two years and has never used it. He and his wife just pull in from two week trip. In their car. Earl doesn't gamble. Everyone he knows has lost ve-hicles. Every time they publish how much money the casinos bring to the community, Earl says that's how much people are losing. He is right. Earl bets I could get a lot of money for Woody. He watches the craziness of Barrett-Jackson auctions. He tapes it so that he doesn't have to watch commercials. He timed it. One time 10 minutes of show 11 minutes of ads. Another time 11 minutes of show 13 minutes of ads. He thinks the rich guys are nuts to pay all that money. It was better when it was just regular guys. He's right again. Earl is smart. He wouldn't take any money from me. I gave him last bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon from which he will make a toddy for his cough. Sorry, me. I have now given away all three of the bottles of 47. I hope I don't have any more car trouble.
Hit the road again. Saw sign for Cajun Famous Fried Chicken. Then sign Cajun RV Park. Taking that old Loretta Lynn angle. Went in and out and in and out and in and out of Biloxi and could find nothing but casinos. Hit bathroom at some gas station somewhere. Can't remember, but definitely remember one seater bathroom with giant scale that will give you your lucky lottery numbers too. It is digital and you need to weigh yourself every day for good health, it says. Tempted.
Driving down 90 again (wish I could see the beach, still foggy). Woody racing like crazy. He is a woody in heat. I am going nuts and need to have him tuned down a bit. Also, he is still hiccuping but not as badly. See old truck in bay of actual service station, you know the kind that is actually attached to a gas station with two pumps and no convenience store. Stop at garage. Nice old guy named Charlie fixes carburetor and checks plugs. This is Charlie. Thinks ethanol is causing hiccups. I think so too. See auto parts store. Get oil and Sta-bil, as well as spray graphite for cranky locks. Sta-bil bottle the guy gives me is leaking. Washed hands in back of store. Never been in back of an auto parts store before. Cleaner than auto body place, dirtier than auto dealer. Two more miles down 90. CVS. Need to get RX refills. Go in. No more refills available. Note to self: Call doctor. Figure out where doctor should call. Tough because 1) I don't know where I'll be 2) don't know if they have CVS's where I'll maybe be. Eat four pralines. Continue through a billion stop lights. Finally hit part that has little green dots on it on map. Scenic. It is night. It is foggy. You moron, it won't be scenic. Finally tired of being only one on road. Took sign to I-whatever. Outside of Mobile. Saw sign for Holiday Inn (no Express). Decided to have Mexican. First, gas. Went to Speedway which is run like a 7-11. No offense, but these Indians did not have their shit together. Swiped Amex at pump. Said see manager. That usually means no more credit. That would be a nightmare. They don't take Amex. What? Did you ever go to a gas station that doesn't take Amex. They swiped my Visa inside. Went to pump. Nothing. Went back in (this is not close at this station). Did you put the handle back in? Went to pump. Put handle back in. Took handle out. Made sure Premium was selected. Nothing. Go back in. I want my money back. No, wait, he's in training. Other lady says put handle back in. I motioned for her to try. Nothing. I want my money back. They want to try again. I hold the handle up to the side of my head and pressed the lever. See? Nothing. I want my money back. He's in training. I know he's in training. Keep the fucking money. And I left. Went to Shell station. No problem pumping. Two guys in truck admire Woody for a while. Show me coupon book for hotels. Ask if I'm staying here. I am not committing. They've been in the truck for two weeks. Can't I smell them? We're trying to get into that Red Roof Inn. Lady comes out of convenience store. Tom, go away. Go. I guess he's a regular. Decide to get Mexican anyway. Tom follows me. Go in quickly and ask for table from which I can watch Woody. Next to fire pit. Getting smoky. Don't care. Double dip in the salsa. Have large margarita.
This morning I decided to sleep in. I felt extremely guilty not making the 9:30 cutoff for breakfast and Smart Coffee. They have Smart Coffee in the bathroom, but I neither make coffee in the bathroom, nor drink coffee from hotel rooms anywhere. Have you ever seen that episode in Myth Busters where they put some glow-in-the-dark stuff in the toilet and then flush it to see where it goes? It goes everywhere. I try to turn my back on the toilet as I flush it, but it's not as easy as it sounds. The coffee cups are wrapped in plastic, but you still have to touch the plastic. And that coffee pot-- yikes, it's been around for a whole bunch of flushes and I bet no one wipes it down with Lysol. Plus I hate powdered non-dairy creamer. I drink a whole lot of milk in my coffee. Helps with the potential osteopenia that Sally Fields worries so much about on TV. Also my mother drank it that way. I think I'm ending up doing a lot more stuff the way my mother did. My sister cooks pork chops and potato pancakes. But then again my grandmother was always the cook.
Checked out my waterfront view. Still see the beach but fog is rolling in. Just make 11 am checkout cutoff. Because I am now a Preferred Member at Holiday Inn Express, I could request a later checkout time, but I'm trying to have at least a modicum of discipline. This is the first time I've slept past 8:30 in a month. Bummed that I didn't go to outdoor pool.
I am some place between Gulfport and Biloxi (I think) but I'm really sure where. Started Woody up. No problems. While waiting for Woody to warm up (remember that? You have to let the car warm up otherwise your Uncle Marvin would just ruin the car again), saw hand-written note on the windshield. It was from Phil who lives in the log cabin at the end of the street and has two old cars and used to have more. He gave his address. What the hell. These old guys are so cute. Went to Phil's. Phil is sort of skinny with a light grey/brown mustache. He is probably 52. Not an old guy, at least in car years (and mine too, as I am 51 and not one bit old). He has a good handshake, neither limp nor break your fingers. I have been told that my handshake is too strong. I kinda notice that when they increase their pressure half way through. Tough shit. That's why I pay Ron the Hun to beat the crap out of me twice a week. Those weenies should see Ron too. Anyhow, Phil asks me in. I didn't think twice about it. His home is modest and pretty well kept if a bit cluttered. He took me to see his daughter's self-portrait. Tiffany (the first non-oddly spelled Tiffany of the trip) is a reasonably good artist but no Van Gogh. Then I saw Tiffany's rendition of Tiffany, Phil and Nanny. He asked me if I am married. Tiffany also drew a truck. Phil wants to show me around. The light bulb went off. What the hell am I doing in some stranger's house, especially one who talks about nothing but Tiffany? I am beginning to think that Tiffany is one of those kidnappees who has fourteen children while locked up in a shed out back. Phil wants me to see Tiffany's bedroom. He takes me in and shows me Tiffany's portrait of him in his SeaBee (is it written CeeBee?) outfit. He was a SeaBee or whatever for 25 years. I'm feeling more uneasy. Then he shows me Tiffany's drawing of him with his old truck. He reaches behind the drawing and I am sure he is going to pull a knife out. He touches my arm for the third time. He pulls out the photograph Tiffany worked from. He is wearing a baseball cap but Tiffany drew a straw hat as it went better with the period of the truck. Then Phil wants me to see the new bedroom he built Tiffany. Now I know that he has prepared a place just for me. Phil wants me to go there. Uh, do you have animals Phil? I'm feeling a little bit of allergy coming on. Several times he wonders why I would be having allergies as he doesn't have a pet. Then he wanted me to see his garage. His garage is in the back of the house, not in the front like some normal person. He unlocked the garage doors. Oh my god. He is going to chain me up in the garage. He touched my arm again and kind of guided me in. I was absolutely, positively certain that more than one door was open and they were not locked but I was still scared shitless. Uh, Phil, can I take your picture with your car? I was hoping he'd push the door up even further than before. He did. Next, he wanted to show me the first of the outbuildings. This was the first one he built. Am composing note to self if live: check missing persons reports for the year Phil built first outbuilding. He opened the door and made me look in. There are tools hung neatly along the wall. I don't know about you, but I watch Dexter, and that crazy Trinity killer had his tools hung up neatly along the wall too. In the middle is an axe. I am mentally trying to figure out how to grab the axe if he pulled a knife, and then wondering if I would have the stomach to split his skull open. He locked the door. From the outside with me outside, fortunately. Then we went to the second outbuilding. It had some crazy ass name on a board above the door and Phil said something about the name still being good if Tiffany didn't want to live there when it was done. He wanted to show me the inside, and then the upstairs. No fucking way. I told Phil I am a crazy klutz and I couldn't possibly walk around where there are unfinished floors (true). Gee Phil, I have to hit the road now. I was terrified that Woody wouldn't. But he did. You have never seen anyone hit State Road 90 as fast as I did. I was so traumatized that I even remember the number of the road.
Immediately forced myself to think normal thoughts. There is some stuff to visit in Buloxi so I hope I haven't missed it. Not hungry (!) due to junk food courtesy of the Preferred Member's club. Saw IHOP and decided to stop anyway. Had blueberry pancakes. Later decided that they were full of something like jello but probably synthetic. Maybe that was ok as jello is made from horses hooves (my mother told me), but probably are really made from cow's hooves as there are a lot left over after t-bones and hamburger meat. She also told me that penicillin is made of moles. I had a really hard time looking at those grey creatures that we killed by putting a stick in the tunnel and dumping poison in and then stomping on all the tunnels to keep them from coming back. I thought about ground up moles in the capsules Dr. Harrington sometimes made me take. I couldn't swallow pills (and still have a hard time) so my grandmother would open the capsules and mix them in something for me to drink. She gave me orange wedges to suck on afterwards because it tasted so yucky. I can still taste it. I was about thirty when I found out that penicillin is made from a mold, not moles. I tried to figure why on earth I would go to IHOP.
Noticed regular guy in blue oxford shirt and the light-colored jeans that are du rigeur down south. He had on a black leather vest that said Live Hard Ride Hard and had a skull embroidered between. It also had fringe. I hate these weekend warriors, old guys trying to get balls back from wife, like those guys in the movie with John Travolta. I paid Monica, a nice waitress with marginal teeth who called me sweetie. Whenever someone calls me honey or sweety I find myself saying it to the next half dozen people I meet. Note to almost-real imaginary boyfriend: call me honey or sweety. You won't regret it. Paid my bill, left big tip and went outside and to my surprise saw regular oxford shirt guy suit up to get on bike. He is a badass mother fucker. Go figure. His helmet had a bunch of stickers on it about guns and dead people and all sorts of other shit. My favorite:If I Don't Get Laid Soon
Someone's Going To Get Hurt
I had noticed one of the women light a cigarette and get ready to hop on the back of the bike. She put her bandanna on. I'm thinking how is she going to ride with that lit cigarette? Tougher than me, she is. Pat, Tony, Susan and Denise are all suited up but they want to know about Woody. They are very nice and took my picture with Woody (not for me, for themselves). They are staying around here (later deduced that staying there meant lived here) and just riding. They will take care of me if I need anything. Now I have seven friends in Gulfport. They need a motto to put on a sign when you enter: Gulfport, The Friendly Town. Hit the road again.
Still thinking about why on earth I would go to an IHOP when I wasn't even hungry and I'm sure I could find a bunch of all-day breakfast places that would be locally-owned and operated, hopefully by a woman named Alice. Then it hit me. I have been dancing down memory lane the last month or so, and I hadn't visited first college boyfriend. He was my first everything, including my first bad breakup. I told you, I am a bad breaker upper. We went to an Ivy League school which was by definition a snowy place. First college boyfriend never ate on campus. He and his best friend who got married young to a gold-digger who wore curlers while driving with him to dinner always went out. I started going out too, but not all the time. Billy Joel was singing Big Shot and Italian Restaurant to Christy Brinkley but we didn't know that at the time because Billy Joel was so ugly. I played them on my 8 track. My first date with first college boyfriend was to an IHOP. They had these really great colored (and I guess flavored) syrups. I can still see the slush and feel the wind when we walked out. He was going to give me his mother's diamond because she wanted a bigger canary one. He brought Opium perfume for me and his sister from Europe where he went with Kevin. At the time, Opium was very statusy. He left me for a girl with a rod in her back. I stopped studying and got kicked out of school. As I said, memories.
Am now pretty much over Phil and first college boyfriend. Kept on driving along the coast. I wish I could see more but it was really foggy. Saw sign for Beauvoir, which if my high school french serves me right is nice view. It was Jefferson Davis' home also called the Confederate White House. It got really trashed in Katrina but not as bad as a lot of stuff. The ticket booth is in a trailer. They are building a huge Jefferson David Presidential Library behind it. Probably got disaster relief money to do it. I was told I had perfect timing (which I never, ever have) and the tour would start in 10 minutes, unless I'd like to watch the movie which is approximately 30 minutes and then wait for the tour. Then I could visit the grounds and walk around any way I wanted. And then I would come back and shop in the gift shop/ticket booth/potty/mini-museum/movie theater if I so desired. It felt like I should definitely so desire lest the ticket ladies beat me over the head with iron skillets. Noted confederate soldier mess kit. Looks like first Swiss Army knife in south. Even has corkscrew. Jerry was our guide. There was just something off about him. He looked like a fat Desi Arnes and sounded like Mr. Rogers. It creeped me out. I was hoping not to have a Phil repeat. James Brown was the first owner of this house! I feel good na-na-na-na like I should now, I feel fine, I feel fine do-do-do-do-do dododo. Mr. Brown's wife's name was Saffronita. Jerry thinks this is a pretty name. I learned how valuable everything is and how much money it cost to restore. I heard that the whole tour, over and over again. Also how the board of directors made every decision. And later something about the garden club which seems to be in cahoots with the Natchez garden club when it comes to running old houses. Because Katrina swept stuff away, they were replaced by some of the garden club ladies, including the twin rocker where two chairs faced each other but were far enough away that the kids couldn't smack each other. Jerry knew this because he has twin nephews in California. I think the crappy doll quilt and crocheted throw were also Mary Jane's work. She's so talented. Jerry also showed us a porcelain container which we all knew was a chamber pot. It's smaller than you thought, said Jerry, she must have had good aim. Yuck. Jerry, I don't know what you know about women's anatomy (apparently not much), but I'm pretty sure we don't aim. Jerry also told us that one of the cottages was used for visitors, especially for the board of directors meeting. It's not being used this week, so we can peek in and not worry about seeing a naked man. The lady with the red Coach purse said Oh Good very quickly. I was disappointed. The children eat in a separate dining room until they are 22, and the boys sleep in hammocks under the porch. The hammocks were next to the meat room. Doesn't everyone chill a meat room? No wonder all five of them died an early death. The girls spoke 7 languages and wrote books for a living. It was very clever of them. Jerry has no drawl. That is because he is from Michigan. He says the drawl is for people in the north (meaning north Mississippi) and everyone down here sounds like they're from New Jersey. If he says so. I went to the outbuildings (I think he called them pavilions) and saw no naked men. Did see Wipe Your Paws doormat. There were a whole stack of filled Seagram's boxes amongst the antiques in the other one. There is also the following written somewhere:The supremacy of law is the test of liberty
I don't know how much I'd be advertising supremacy here. In Jefferson Davis' time, there were peacocks on the lawn. Jerry said he hates the noise they make at all hours. Mrs. Davis served them to Mr. Davis. They sound good. Other people in tour horrified.
I went back to the trailer to check out the merchandise there were the expected confederate flag license plates and shot glasses. And just to be on the safe side, they had a children's book called Jim Linber Davis: An Orphan In The White House with a little black nappy-headed boy drawn on the cover. Did James Brown die? There was no mention of slaves during the tour. They also had little cartoon frog and turtle statues with things like I Miss You on them. And check this out. Sparkly shirts with Paris, Chocolate and Merlot on them. And a Whimsical Wicks brand candle in Kudzu scent. They must have been chosen by Mary Jane who did the crochet. She appears to be the alpha garden club member. I did get a kick out of one t-shirt:
Real Women Love The South
The Rest Marry Yankees
Continue to downtown Biloxi. See billboard for Oil Spill Distress Hot Line. Man. Woody coughing. He must have been sleeping with those Davis boys under the porch. Can't find any of the good stuff that's supposed to be downtown before ending up on some odd street. Woody's coughing getting worse. Stopped in at Automotive Electric store. Asked if anyone happened to know a good flathead guy. The shopkeeper and the customer with a sort of ratty concert t-shirt with silver accents on it did a double take. They are car guys. Custom race car guys. The customer is Aaron. This is Aaron. He checked under the hood and agrees with me that it is the carburetor. It is leaking. Aaron knows exactly who to call. Earl. Aaron had me follow him to Earl's in D'Iberville. If I had learned anything, I wouldn't be following guy in dirty white pickup to some other stranger's house. Sigh. What I do for Woody. Checked for 9 mm under seat. Damn, didn't bring it.
It turns out that Earl is the good kind of old car guy. His mailbox is an old car. He has a gorgeous burgundy 1951 Ford. He took the sun visor off because he didn't like the way it made the car look. My dad does that too. Earl also has a neon orange racer that has rear tires that cost $259 apiece. He doesn't work up smoke and leave rubber on the track for effect. Those guys buy 4 or 5 sets of tires a year. Earl says tires get sticky enough if you just burn a tiny bit of rubber. He does a 9 second quarter. Which is really good. This is Earl. I tell Earl I think the carb is messed up. Earl has 14 grandchildren and 4 kids. He wishes he had a do over with his own kids. It was fun. I told him he can do it with his grandkids. Nah, they have their own ideas about things. Earl's wife Bertie brought out their teeny dog Princess. Princess mourns when Earl isn't there. She won't eat. I touched Princess a lot. I never, ever touch dogs. She jumped up on my lap when I was in Woody. Princess can also knock on the neighbor's door. Earl said the carb had junk in it and the float needed to be lowered. He cleaned it and lowered it. The guy next door leaves that expensive RV in the driveway. He's had it for two years and has never used it. He and his wife just pull in from two week trip. In their car. Earl doesn't gamble. Everyone he knows has lost ve-hicles. Every time they publish how much money the casinos bring to the community, Earl says that's how much people are losing. He is right. Earl bets I could get a lot of money for Woody. He watches the craziness of Barrett-Jackson auctions. He tapes it so that he doesn't have to watch commercials. He timed it. One time 10 minutes of show 11 minutes of ads. Another time 11 minutes of show 13 minutes of ads. He thinks the rich guys are nuts to pay all that money. It was better when it was just regular guys. He's right again. Earl is smart. He wouldn't take any money from me. I gave him last bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon from which he will make a toddy for his cough. Sorry, me. I have now given away all three of the bottles of 47. I hope I don't have any more car trouble.
Hit the road again. Saw sign for Cajun Famous Fried Chicken. Then sign Cajun RV Park. Taking that old Loretta Lynn angle. Went in and out and in and out and in and out of Biloxi and could find nothing but casinos. Hit bathroom at some gas station somewhere. Can't remember, but definitely remember one seater bathroom with giant scale that will give you your lucky lottery numbers too. It is digital and you need to weigh yourself every day for good health, it says. Tempted. More Biloxi. Saw marina and had to go in. There is no public parking, but Woody gets away with a lot. I stopped and just smelled the sea and watched the shrimpers bob. I thought about my childhood on boats. One of the fishing boats is named Tiffany, spelled the right way. It is beautiful and I hope that Phil isn't holding Tiffany below decks. After all, I've never seen Tiffany. By the time I gave up on the Georgia O'Keefe and George Orr museum and the marine life museum, I was on Route 90 along the beach again. Three minutes later found museum. I didn't feel like going any more. Guy I met on Match was a collector of Arts & Crafts furniture and had one of the best collections in the country. George Orr was an Arts & Crafts potter. Match guy hooked up with personal trainer. Skipped museum.
Driving down 90 again (wish I could see the beach, still foggy). Woody racing like crazy. He is a woody in heat. I am going nuts and need to have him tuned down a bit. Also, he is still hiccuping but not as badly. See old truck in bay of actual service station, you know the kind that is actually attached to a gas station with two pumps and no convenience store. Stop at garage. Nice old guy named Charlie fixes carburetor and checks plugs. This is Charlie. Thinks ethanol is causing hiccups. I think so too. See auto parts store. Get oil and Sta-bil, as well as spray graphite for cranky locks. Sta-bil bottle the guy gives me is leaking. Washed hands in back of store. Never been in back of an auto parts store before. Cleaner than auto body place, dirtier than auto dealer. Two more miles down 90. CVS. Need to get RX refills. Go in. No more refills available. Note to self: Call doctor. Figure out where doctor should call. Tough because 1) I don't know where I'll be 2) don't know if they have CVS's where I'll maybe be. Eat four pralines. Continue through a billion stop lights. Finally hit part that has little green dots on it on map. Scenic. It is night. It is foggy. You moron, it won't be scenic. Finally tired of being only one on road. Took sign to I-whatever. Outside of Mobile. Saw sign for Holiday Inn (no Express). Decided to have Mexican. First, gas. Went to Speedway which is run like a 7-11. No offense, but these Indians did not have their shit together. Swiped Amex at pump. Said see manager. That usually means no more credit. That would be a nightmare. They don't take Amex. What? Did you ever go to a gas station that doesn't take Amex. They swiped my Visa inside. Went to pump. Nothing. Went back in (this is not close at this station). Did you put the handle back in? Went to pump. Put handle back in. Took handle out. Made sure Premium was selected. Nothing. Go back in. I want my money back. No, wait, he's in training. Other lady says put handle back in. I motioned for her to try. Nothing. I want my money back. They want to try again. I hold the handle up to the side of my head and pressed the lever. See? Nothing. I want my money back. He's in training. I know he's in training. Keep the fucking money. And I left. Went to Shell station. No problem pumping. Two guys in truck admire Woody for a while. Show me coupon book for hotels. Ask if I'm staying here. I am not committing. They've been in the truck for two weeks. Can't I smell them? We're trying to get into that Red Roof Inn. Lady comes out of convenience store. Tom, go away. Go. I guess he's a regular. Decide to get Mexican anyway. Tom follows me. Go in quickly and ask for table from which I can watch Woody. Next to fire pit. Getting smoky. Don't care. Double dip in the salsa. Have large margarita.Belly distended from IHOP and Mexican. Need to get back to small-town cooking. Huge room at Holiday Inn. $103. Can't see TV. The one night I want to watch TV. This is getting to be a pain. I hate cities. I hate people. No more food worth photographing. I want to read magazines while I eat alone. I am not enjoying this. Do I head north through Unclaimed Baggage super store? That would be entire day of driving. Do I go east toward all the beaches I went to on Beach Week with fraternity? Maybe really drive, drive, drive to some funky gulf coast island down south? Do I just blow through all of it and see family in Orlando? Last one not likely. Too much drama. This is my trip. As usual, it will be better in the morning. Where are any of my imaginary boyfriends?
You ever had one of those nothing days that turned into a something day? I did. Today I saw:
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.
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.
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.
Back on the road to Lafayette. Approach I-whatever on-ramp. Made a split second decision to head the other way toward Biloxi instead of west to Lafayette. I think I just couldn't get over the refinery nightmare. I will miss the Acadian Village at LSU. I will miss crawdads. I will miss dancing to the light of the moon. I am relieved. Shortly back in Mississippi, my new favoritest state. Stop in visitor center. This one is really really big and shares a parking lot with some kind of NASA attraction that you have to take a shuttle bus to. All the ladies were busy making hotel reservations and giving coffee to people. Oh my. My visitor center secret has been revealed. I will never again meet the visitor lady's son-in-law who is really the police chief. Sigh. All I got out of this stop is that there's nothing left to do after the storm, and in 2 hours you'll be in Alabama (therefore different visitors center). Went to parking lot with one dinky little pamphlet.
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.
The beach! From 3 feet of snow to snow white sand, it has been a journey indeed. The same with my day.
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.
Back on the road to Lafayette. Approach I-whatever on-ramp. Made a split second decision to head the other way toward Biloxi instead of west to Lafayette. I think I just couldn't get over the refinery nightmare. I will miss the Acadian Village at LSU. I will miss crawdads. I will miss dancing to the light of the moon. I am relieved. Shortly back in Mississippi, my new favoritest state. Stop in visitor center. This one is really really big and shares a parking lot with some kind of NASA attraction that you have to take a shuttle bus to. All the ladies were busy making hotel reservations and giving coffee to people. Oh my. My visitor center secret has been revealed. I will never again meet the visitor lady's son-in-law who is really the police chief. Sigh. All I got out of this stop is that there's nothing left to do after the storm, and in 2 hours you'll be in Alabama (therefore different visitors center). Went to parking lot with one dinky little pamphlet.
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.
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