Notes from the Underground (And by "Underground", I mean Mississppi)

At the moment, I am a Mississippian again.

I lived for two years in Oxford, MS, and never thought that I would be back. For last night and this morning, I live in Vicksburg, in the home of my friends Lauchlin and Olivia. I am currently en route to Decatur, GA, and this was the perfect stop off; almost exactly halfway between Austin and Atlanta. As of tonight, I'll be an Atlantan, a state that should last at least two years.

Right now I am waiting for Lauchlin and her sister Katherine (visiting from St. Louis, also a friend of mine from Oxford) to wake the Hell up. I've been up for hours, drinking coffee, talking to the cats and reading all of the Dlisted posts that I missed while driving yesterday. I need to leave within an hour, but I was promised the breakfast bar at the AmeriStar Casino, and I'm not wavering on that point. I shall not leave Mississippi without sausage gravy and loose slots.

The trip yesterday was excruciating. The first stop I made for water and toilet was in Marquez, Texas, which is nothing but a stop sign and two gas stations. I was going to pull in at the first, until I saw that the store attacthed was called the "Kountry Korner", this one belonging to Susie. I pulled right the fuck out. Fuck Susie and her unnecessary aliteration! Nothing makes me angrier than exchanging "c"s for "k"s. The "q" ones are the worst.

So I went across the street, got out, and was immediately hit with a huge blast of parking lot grit from a big diesal truck pulling out of the lot. At that point in the day, I hadn't turned on my AC yet, and was just riding with the windows down, so the grit from the lot mixed with my Texas morning sweat to make a fine paste all over my body. I tried to clean up as best I could, but kept finding patches of road mush on me throughout the day.

Things got worse in Louisiana. For some reason, Louisianans do not understand highway driving, and they are all out to kill me. I had more near wrecks coming across the state on Highway 20 than I have had in the last year of Austin driving.

I stopped in Grambling, LA at gas station with the World's Filthiest Bathroom in it. I have never been anywhere that smelled this foul or was this filthy. Also, there was a beautiful, sweet, black lab puppy that had been abandoned in front of the station. I asked the clerk if he belonged to anyone there, and he shrugged, saying the dog had been there dor a while. He had no water and was sitting in the 100 degree sun, and all the jerk did was shrug. Luckily, an old man and the clerk from the attached liquor store overheard me, and they set him up with food and water under the overhang of the station. I asked about a shelter, but they have nonesuch in Grambling. Hopefully, that nice old man will continue to make sure the pup is okay.

It was a relief to see Vicksburg and relax with L-Boogie, K-Dawg and Bolivia. They had cool red wine, stir fry and hot and sour soup waiting for me. After drinks and a chat and dinner, we went downtown to partake in Vicksburg nightlife. We stopped at The Lobby, a lovely modernist entry on the city's main drag. We walked in just as the bartender closed out her register (10 o'clock people), so we headed down the street to The Loft, which is a much darker, smokier affair, with pool tables, two for one Jager shots (yes I did) and a jukebox with no music made after 1997. I relieved high school with every new song.

I should mention that Lauchlin is one of the only reporters in town, so she knows people everywhere. We ran into one of her juniors from the paper, who went to KU, plays rugby for Jackson and (obviously) loves Jager shots. We talked Big 12 and the Austin Blacks and I felt like I was in college again. Sigh.

At the gas station, buying beer for house, we ran into Fred Dave, a guy we all sort-of knew in Oxford, Lauchlin, hollering out of her window at him from across the parking lot, invited him over for porch beers, much to Katherine's chagrin. I had all but forgotten her short tryst with Fred Dave, a memory that he apparently holds more dear then she. He and the Junior Reporter came by for beer each. Soon after they left I realized that it was 2 am and I was drunker than I thought. So I called my Mooky and crawled into bed, only to wake at 6:30 when Olivia left for work, and at 8:30 in the throes of an allergy attack. A great day to start my first day as a Georgian.