Travellinbaen

Entries tagged as ‘Oxford’

Clyde

April 15, 2010 · 3 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“Do not cease to drink beer, to eat, to intoxicate thyself, to make love, to celebrate the good days.” Egyptian Proverb

For some reason today TB got to thinkin’ back to my law school days, specifically the days passed in company with TDW at the old Holiday Inn Bar in Oxford, Mississippi. It doesn’t sound like a very happenin’ joint does it? Well, it wasn’t. But the place was run by an old black dude, well, old by my standards back then anyway, named Clyde. Clyde managed, tended bar, set out the complimentary hors d’oeurves, dispensed fresh darts, and wiped down the tables. At the Holiday Inn Bar in Oxford, it only took one dude to do all that you see. But the best thing ol’ Clyde did was disappear for long stretches.

I have no damn idea–check that–I have a couple of ideas but no actual evidence of what he did during those absences. Other than turning the place over to TB and TDW that is. Don’t get me wrong. If the place was hoppin’ on a given day, say the recently fired assistant football coaches had a table or an illicit romance was being conducted in the dark corner, you know, if three or more people were around, Clyde would do his thing on the scene. But so often, it was just TB and TDW and maybe a special guest drinker sometimes and when that was the case, Clyde would leave us in charge and go do whatever in the hell it was Clyde went to do.

Free darts, free snacks, the cheapest and cheesiest jukebox you ever saw–TDW still pats himself on the back for establishing the playlist/soundtrack of our law school years as “Me and Bobby McGee”, “Ain’t No Sunshine” and “I Touch Myself”–and unlimited access to the kegs–for TB and TDW, it was like a home away from home. But better than home what with the free food and unlimited beer. And we never even really talked much to Clyde other than to say hello and so long. He was just a shrewd judge of character, and he decided after it became obvious TB and TDW were gonna keep showing up that he liked us. How do I know? On about about the fourth or fifth trip Clyde disappeared on us for the first time. Becoming thirsty, we naturally helped ourselves to pitcher after pitcher of cold, refreshing, less filling beer. When it was time for us to stumble on our way Clyde was back in place behind the bar. “Ten Bucks!” he said as we gave him the “let’s settle up” sign. Well TB and TDW were then, as now, more or less honorable types. “Nah, while you were gone we had several pitchers. Several. Like, we quit counting after three.” We were not, after all, so honorable as to say “eleven, plus we each took a turn drinking straight from the tap.”

“Ten Bucks!”

“You sure?” This was too good to be true. We gave him twenty and he passed back ten.

“Ten Bucks!”

“Thanks Clyde, you are the man. We are coming back here forever.”

And so we did. And it was always ten bucks. I don’t know why he liked us. The only thing I can come up with is he really liked TDW’s taste in music.

Categories: Life · Mississippi · People
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The Walk of Shame

May 25, 2009 · 21 Comments

Quote of the Day:     “The only shame is to have none.”     –Blaise Pascal

TB always gets good blog material on my frequent trips to Oxford. Sunday morning I was in charge of breakfast so I drove to the square to pick up pastries from Bottletree. Cruising down Lamar I spied ahead of me through the light misting rain a lumbering, large and fast moving figure. “What in the world is that broad doin?”, I wondered. Her black skirt slightly askew, hair mussed, shirt partly tucked in, purse nearly dragging, and jewelry laden, what was most wrong about her were the heels. So high, so impractical for a Sunday stroll on an uneven sidewalk, so…..wrong. I am getting old. It was several seconds after I passed by her, recoiling at her fierce countenance, that I realized it. She was making the walk of shame, and to add insult to injury, the worst known version.

The mildest form of the “walk” is the one where you have to greet the roommates. Generally, everyone has a little slightly embarrassed laugh, followed by the offer of a soda and often a period of relaxing where walker and watchers can catch up on mutual acquaintances or an upcoming exam. Some walkers prefer to head straight for the door and make a quick exit. At any rate this walk involves only a brief period of shame and is possible when the walker has a car parked outside. Even a ride will do.

The next level up on the walk of shame scale of shame builds upon the first. Only no car and no ride are available so the individual with whom one has just shacked up is forced to provide a ride either home or to the shackee’s vehicle left at a bar. The stilted conversation and awkward farewell are the worst parts of this WOS. Sample conversation:

Walker–So, uh, what was your last name again?

Driver–Ummmm, Smith. Yeah, that’s it. Smith. Hey, I had fun last night.

Walker–Great. Did I?

Driver–Ha. Funny.

Walker–You know, I NEVER do this. I can’t believe I did it last night.

Driver–Oh, me neither. 

Walker–That’s me over there–the Sentra.

Driver–Ok, well….ummm….be careful. You didn’t forget anything did you?

Walker–If I did just keep it.

Sometimes a number is exchanged, sometimes even an uncomfortable hug and almost always a brief blank stare. No one ever looks back.

The poor lass I saw this weekend however was forced to endure the worst of all walks of shame. The one where she had to walk past the roommates, had no ride, had left her car back at the bar and received no half-hearted offer of a ride. I can imagine her host woke up and decided he’d made a damn dubious decision to bring this girl home last night and stayed in bed after she finally rose. Undoubtedly his roommates provided no Diet Coke. And it was raining. And she was on the main drag in town. She did the only thing she could do. She grabbed all her crap, slipped on those pumps and started hoofing it. Her shame was only matched by her ire. Though I kept my distance and quickly left her in the rearview mirror, I could read her mind.

Never again.

But deep down she knows that’s a lie. Just like it was the last time.

Categories: Humor · Life
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TB, REK, Double Decker and the Limelight

April 27, 2009 · 8 Comments

TB, as has been said before, ain’t no music critic. But I do like Robert Earl Keen and it just so happened he was playing a show at The Lyric in Oxford Friday night, so I went to watch it. The first thing I noticed as I came in the doors–ok, the second thing, after locating the bar–was that the crowd was decent but not large and that the college crowd was small relative to the old timers like me out for a special occasion. I don’t know if REK doesn’t resonate with the gang under 30 any more or if they are clued in to information I don’t have about the quality of his show lately, but I can say he wasn’t up to the standard he set the first time I saw him several years ago in Charleston, S.C.

The show started really slow, really mellow, and though I don’t have any first hand knowledge of the band’s pre-show routine, it appeared to me that Robert Earl was really high. The tunes were introspective and the expression on REK’s face was a perma-grin, like he was onto some joke to which the rest of us weren’t privy. The perma-grin, some might call it a (redacted)-eatin grin stayed the whole show, but fortunately the song list picked up in the second hour and most of the crowd was able to join in the pickin and grinnin and singin, TB included. The second hour of the show the band played classics like “Gringo Honeymoon”, “Feelin Good Again”, and  his signature song, “The Road Goes on Forever.” At an hour and a half the guys took their bow. I knew an encore was coming, but I was pretty disgusted the show was going to be so short. REK came back out solo for the encore and played and told stories for about 15 minutes, and then surprised me by bringing the band back out for what amounted to a shorter second set rather than a typical encore, which was nice. He ended up going well over the two hour period I was hoping for and in spite of the slow start and the nagging feeling that he had mailed in this performance, I had a great time and I’m glad I got to see him again.

Saturday morning was a little rough on me, but after a little caffeine and sugar I was ready to brave the crowds and headed for the Square and the Double Decker Festival. There were several acts we were interested in catching a bit of including Charlie Mars and George McConnell and both these guys along with several other bands I wasn’t familiar with all put on nice shows. The weather was perfect–mid 70′s, bright sunshine and a gentle breeze–right in the sweet spot. The food was good, if overpriced. The crowd was manageable. It was really a great day. On top of all that TB received my first interview request since the origination of the blog. Not that the request had anything to do with the blog, or even me at all. I actually think it was my beautiful daughter that got the attention of the local reporter, but as she’s too young to talk he was left to ask me the questions. At any rate, it was my chance to get some publicity. What follows is a transcript of our conversation. In italics is what we said to one another and what will appear in some form in the local rag. In parentheses is what I would’ve said if I hadn’t completely choked.

Reporter–Hi, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

TB–Sure, go ahead.  (Sure, go ahead.)

Reporter, after getting names and hometowns–So, are you having a good time at the festival?

TB–Absolutely. It’s a beautiful day for it. (Absolutely. It’s a beautiful day for it.”)

Reporter–What brought you up to Oxford?

TB–Ummm, <to self–thinkthinkthink> we like to be outdoors? Like to look around. Oh yeah, food. (Well, you see, I have this blog, www.Travellinbaen.com and I thought this would be an interesting event to write about. I really dig Robert Earl Keen, as do many of the readers of Travellinbaen.com and I wanted to check out his show. Also, I’m looking forward to the George McConnell set to see how he’s evolved since his Widespread Panic days.)

Reporter–That’s really great <blank stare>. How did you find out about it?

TB–Ummmmm <to self–don’t screw it up again, thinkthink> we are alumni? My in-laws live here. But they’re out of town this weekend. Well, not both of them. We always come. <to self–Dang> Say, you’ll clean up my quotes a little, right?  (Oh, my office, the Ben White Law Firm–that’s B-E-N etc had some meetings up this way and it made sense to mix a little business with pleasure. That, combined with my Travellinbaen blog work helps me stay abreast of all the major events in the area.”)

Reporter–The quotes are fine. <blank stare> What’s your favorite part of the day?

TB–Ummmm <to self–please let this end soon> outdoors? Weather. FOOD! (For me its the chance to see so many old friends and fans of the blog, Travellinbaen.com, and of course to meet with some of the Ben White Law Firm’s important clientele.)

Reporter–That’s great. Have a nice day.

TB–<calling after reporter, who quickly disappeared into the crowd> WAIT! You’re not going to print that are you? I want to start over, I just thought of some stuff! (You’re doing a great job son. Here’s my card. Have a nice day.)

TB–<to RockStar> That didn’t go so well did it?

RockStar–It wasn’t your finest moment.

Categories: Humor · Mississippi · Music · Music
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The Proud Larry’s Story

March 23, 2009 · 6 Comments

Quote of the Day:     

Could Man Be Drunk Forever
 		  
  Could man be drunk for ever 
With liquor, love, or fights, 
Lief should I rouse at morning 
And lief lie down of nights.  

But men at whiles are sober 
And think by fits and starts, 
And if they think, they fasten 
Their hands upon their hearts. 

Alfred Edward Housman 

It is not, I believe, a great surprise to those who know TB that I basically stumbled through life a blind and blithering idiot for many years in my early adulthood. Oh, there were productive, sober and lucid intervals to be sure, but for ignorance and timidity and the lack of a knowledgeable advisor, I spent much of my time as a truly accomplished and genial sot. It was a skill my hometown was known far and wide for cultivating. I was quite proud of Pascagoula’s specialty. It was exported around the state and beyond by so many before, though perhaps never better than by myself and my own asshole runnin buddies (ARB’s). Ahh, pride. Like gluttony, a deadly sin, and when pride and gluttony become intermingled, life gets weird. So it was one night in Oxford back in 1992.

I was attending summer school at Ole Miss that year trying to get my grade point average above the Mendoza line. As anyone knows who’s spent a summer session in college, one of the great things about it is being forced to befriend whoever happens to be up there with you rather than relying on your tried and true regular season social network. As one of a score or more of Mississippi State alums attending Ole Miss Law School, I was fortunate to have a good pool of guys around who had at least one common interest and a motive to stick together in enemy territory. One cool summer eve I happened to run into such a like minded classmate who happened to know of a small afternoon gathering of our kindred where it was proposed to eliminate the contents of a keg. Now this young scholar and I had TWO things in common. So off we went.

By this time in my life, I was a world class beer drinker. I could pretty much drink beer until I fell asleep voluntarily. Draft beer only lasted longer.  I recall standing around the keg making fast friends with four or five fellow State alums, none of whom I now recall. But one had been a backup linebacker for the Bullies and was on his way to the FBI, one was from Long Beach, and the other two were tolerable sorts who just stood around and laughed at whatever the rest of us said. Well, truth be told, we all laughed at whatever the linebacker said, as long as he kept laughing anyway. We mostly talked about football season coming up in a few weeks, the prospects for our Bulldogs, and the great games we’d recalled through the years, especially our victories over the hated Rebels who’s stories and propaganda we were constantly subjected to surrounded as we were by the enemy. Enjoying the conversation free of Rebel nation interlopers for once, I worked myself up into quite a fanatical lather. More than once the linebacker asked in a drunken holler, “We got some dawwwwgs up in here?!!!” And each time the rest of us, and I know this sounds a little ridiculous if you didn’t go to State, well, we barked twice. Ok, it was more than “more than once.” He asked us a bunch of times. The day, moving in to evening was proceeding favorably and not at all out of the ordinary for those days.

Sadly however, like Achilles, TB had/has a fatal weakness. Be it from chemical imbalance, genetic defect, Cherokee blood or weakness of character, your guess is as good as mine, I cannot hold my liquor, especially the brown sort. By 1992, I was well aware of this and generally eschewed the devil’s elixir. But on this day, my judgment was impaired not only from copious amounts of beer, but by hometown pride. Here’s how it went down, roughly:

Long Beach guy–Yeah TB, us coast boys can out drink anybody can’t we?

TB–Damn right. But a Goula boy can outdrink the rest of you coast boys too.

Long Beach guy–I wouldn’t go that far.

Linebacker–TB, I like you. I’ve known a few Goula boys in my day. Y’all all can drink.

TB–(to self–Thank God); (out loud) Damn right.

Other two dudes–heh, heh, heh

Linebacker–I tell y’all what. Let’s do some shots. I think I got some Jack in the trailer. (gone a few seconds and returns with bottle and Dixie cups, pouring 5 shots)

TB–(to self–this is probably not a good idea for me); (out loud) I’m down.

Linebacker–”To the Bulldogs” (drinks)

Other two dudes–Heh, heh, heh (drinks)

TB–Damn right! (drinks)

Long Beach guy–I’ll pass guys. I can’t handle the brown stuff.

TB–(inexplicably, to Long Beach guy)–You’re makin the coast look bad, son. I’ll take yours. (drinks)

Linebacker–WE GOT SOME DAWGS UP IN HERE???

TB, Long Beach guy, and two other dudes–WOOF, WOOF

This cycle repeated until the bottle was drained and beyond. From there, its all a blur.

The remainder of this story comes to me via flashbacks and second hand accounts that I picked up over the next three to six months from numerous sources. I believe its important to note at this point that I rarely passed out in those halcyon days. I DID black out when I got on the brown stuff. I can apparently function in a blacked out state for hours. I also, apparently, transform into a jackass.

It seems the Linebacker decided we were all going to Proud Larry’s, and who were we to contradict him? For several hours I managed to stay out of trouble. One of my defense mechanisms–extended periods of silence–had kicked in. I found a wall to prop up and accepted beer after beer from my new pals along with the occasional shot. Double shot actually, as I continued to take up the Long Beach boy’s slack. By God I had to show him a Goula boy could hang, and I wanted to make him look bad for putting the rest of the coast up on that pedestal where only my ARB’s and I belonged. I was doing pretty dang good too. There was a little rockin blues band playing just the right pace to keep me sippin and grinnin over in my little corner of the universe. The linebacker thought I was hysterical. The two other dudes kept nervously chuckling. And the Long Beach boy, our sober driver was beginning to appreciate the greatness that is the Goula boy drunk. Then the band took a 5 minute break.

The relative silence of the bar without the band playing reminded my gang they had things to do. Off to the head, over to the bar, and across to a group of girls they went, while I guarded our spot and waited for the music to return. And waited. And waited. It seemed the music was not coming back and neither were my newfound friends. In my mind over an hour must have passed though in reality I’m told it was not more than a couple of minutes. However long it was, I took the notion the place needed music and just as I’d jauntily downed all those shots, I eased my cocky ass through the throng and toward the stage. I stepped up and looked over the crowd. I picked up the mic. The eyes of summer school Rebeldom and a few stray Dogs turned expectantly toward me as I began to sing the blues. 

TB–We got some dawwwwgs up in he-er? <pause> woof. woof.

Rebel Crowd–(staring blankly up at me, trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or frat prank)

TB–(getting in to it a little more now)–We got some DAWWWWWWWWWWGS up in he-e-e-e-e—-r??? <pause> woof. woof.

Rebel Crowd–(staring with hostile intent)

TB–(making it up now)–cuz if we got some DAWWWWGS up in he-e-er, I wanna hear ‘em bark. woof. woof.

Rebel Crowd–(apoplectic now, and making way for the bouncers and a drunken linebacker, respectively)

Linebacker–(reaches 225 pound TB first and slings me over his shoulder)–I think its time to go home Goula boy.

Rebel Crowd–(booing and laughing)

Bouncer–Get that sumbitch outta here ‘fore we throw him out!

TB–(still holding mic while perched on Linebacker’s shoulder)–I’ll be here all summer boys. Thank ya….thank ya very much….gotohellolemiss…(mic’s cord reaches limit and flies out of TB’s hand–TB continues waving at the crowd).

Then, darkness.

 

Fin

 

 

Categories: Humor · Life · Mississippi
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Another Weekend in Oxford

October 6, 2008 · 2 Comments

Quote of the Day       “You can do that alllll night long.”   Larry, to Smily one night a long time ago. I’ll have to put that story in print pretty soon if I can do it justice.

Travellinbaen sometimes feels like the only place he travels is Oxford. And that is where I spent my weekend once again. I have to admit, much as I wish it weren’t the case, I do like going there. It was especially nice this weekend. The fall and spring weather in Oxford are as close to perfect as can be found, and on Friday and Saturday, Oxford was at its best.

One of TB’s favorite pastimes is staring into space on a starry night, preferably with some spirits close at hand. Friday night I broke out a couple of bottles of wine that I’d been saving for a special occasion. The chance to sit on a blanket under the stars, way out in Taylor, Mississippi, where you can really see them, listening to a great band, was just such an occasion. The Kudzu Kings were referenced here several times last week and I guess karma had something to do with it. I haven’t heard those guys in years, but they still sound great, and they’re aging well. I could’ve sat there and listened, drinking and staring up at those stars all night long.

TB is pretty down on Mississippi in a lot of ways lately, but I gotta say, Friday night was one of those times and places where you’re thankful to be a Mississippian, and you know you’re experiencing something different than folks most anyplace else have a chance to do. You can’t plan nights like this, they just happen.

I spent most of the day Saturday in the fabled (and overrated) Grove at Ole Miss. The Grove is a place where people try to “plan” those special, “only in Mississippi” experiences before and after football games. There was a time when the Grove on gameday was unique, but now its just another tailgate place with people trying to hard to re-create the magic they felt back in the day. That’s not to say its not still fun. Lot’s of food and drink, pretty girls and obnoxious guys, and of course the sounds of football on the radio gently assaulting the ears from every direction make for a fun day. And if you skip the game to kick your feet back in the shade with a beer and just one more Abner’s chicken strip, you’ll never regret it.

I capped off my weekend at a small party with a most unusual guest list. The one most worth mentioning here was a guy from Long Island, New York. He only has one name, like Madonna. He’s about 100 pounds overweight, but still good looking somehow, and deeply tanned. His accent is beyond what any prejudiced southerner would consider possible, even for a yankee. He is an artist and a ladies fashion designer who formerly danced in renowned ballet companies, then trained under Marcel Marceau as a mime. He was gregarious and charming. Go figure. It’s a strange, beautiful world, especially when its 70 degrees and sunny in Oxford.

Categories: Life · Mississippi
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The Mississippi Debate in a Bizarro Universe

September 25, 2008 · 9 Comments

Word of the Day     Truthiness–”truth that comes from the gut, not books” –Stephen Colbert; the quality of preferring concepts or facts one wishes to be true rather than concepts or facts known to be true  –American Dialect Society

TB was wondering what a Presidential debate between Obama and McCain would sound like if both sides could inject their opponent with a “truthiness” serum to force both to speak as they are depicted in chain emails, blogs, and FOX News. The format of my debate is, of course, a conversation between the candidates.

  • McCain–Guten tag, Friends.
  • Obama-Yo wassup comrades.
  • M-Let’s start with the pledge of allegiance.
  • O-Dude, you know I ain’t down with that.
  • M-I pledge allegiance to everyone who makes over a million dollars, and to the corporations for which they stand, one nation, under my thumb, without liberals, its just us against all.
  • O-I think we’d do better to start by thanking Allah for everything, and warning you that there are 19 suicide bombers secretly placed around the building in case anyone tries something funny.
  • M-Let’s talk about the Constitution.
  • O-Sounds great. I’m a scholar you know. My favorite part is Section 13, Article 7, Verse 1: And Allah said, “let there be reperations.” Oh wait, that’s the part I’m going to introduce after I’m elected.
  • M-My friend, I think we should burn the whole thing.
  • O-Where do you stand on the financial system oversight proposals?
  • M-I’m sorry, I nodded off for a minute. Did I remember to take my heart pill? Anyway, I think we were talking about increasing parity in the Southeastern Conference.
  • O-Say, just how “married” is Sarah Palin anyway. I think she’s looking at me.
  • M-Yeah, she asked me to get your number. I already gave it my best shot, but being a war hero just doesn’t go as far as it used to. Speaking of war, my friend, it is my understanding that you are opposed to my plans to attack Iran and Russia and to march in to Canada and Cancun to liberate the English speaking peoples of North America, allowing them to join our Reich.
  • O-Until you agree to convert the populace to Wiccan, I cannot agree with your proposal. Perhaps if you would agree to relocate the Federal Treasury to Somalia, we could negotiate over the middle ground.
  • M-I think its time for my nap. My friend, let’s get out of here.
  • O-Sounds good, but follow me. I don’t want to run in to any servicemen on the way out. I hate shaking hands with soldiers. But first we should bid the audience farewell.
  • O-Peace out ya’ll.
  • M-Heil Myself.
  • M-Just meet me at my house. My friend, I have a fridge full of beer.
  • O-Sure, as long as Sarah’s coming. Which house?
  • M-I forget.

Categories: Humor · Politics
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Travellinbaen Goes to Oxford

July 6, 2008 · Leave a Comment

Quote of the Day      ”I never know what I think about something until I read what I’ve written on it.”    – William Faulkner

Travellinbaen spent the 4th of July holiday weekend and a few other days recently in Oxford, Mississippi. It’s a town I’ve spent quite a bit of time in, including three terrific years of academic misery and alcoholic bliss. I’ve been there to watch football, basketball, and baseball, often cheering on my Bulldogs, but even more often as a more or less neutral observer.  And I go there a lot to visit friends and family. Oxford is a great town.  It’s not as great as its weekend denizens and part time citizens think it, but a damned sight better than any other town in Mississippi, and most of the South.  And no, this is not hard for a State man to admit.  Travellinbaen calls it like he sees it.

Independence Day in Oxford means first and foremost independence of the town from the a-hole students that call it home for 4-6 awesome years of undergraduate heaven.  They overrun the town in a constant ooze of obnoxious and spoiled behavior while also injecting the vitality and the ever increasing economic stimulus that allows the town to be.  The kids are gone maybe three or four weeks a year and even most of the truly ardent Ole Miss alumni will tell you those are the best days to be in Oxford, save 6-7 Fall Saturdays each year.

My week there began with breakfast at the fantastic Bottletree Bakery (honey cream cheese Danish, chocolate croissant and hot tea if you’re curious), then moved on to the city swimming pool.  This is not a misprint.  At 37 and a half years of age, I’ve never been to one.  I thought they closed them all down because of integration.  At any rate, it is a very large, nice pool, surrounded by blue sky and green trees plus a bit of kudzu, cost under two bucks to get in and has got to be the least Ole Miss place in all of Oxford.  

There was a street party on the square July 3 with great music, lots of dancing, and a whole lot of townies, their kids, and relations.  Many of the songs mentioned in my Music Buffet post and comments were on the songlist including two that should have been but were mistakenly interposed with similar tunes by the author.  Instead of “When a Man Loves a Woman” and “Strokin”, I should’ve inserted “Let’s Get It On” and “Electric Slide.”  Hey, I write these things in stream of conscience. But most importantly, they ended the show with a rousing rendition of the music buffet staple of staples–yep, Mustang Sally.  Sweet.

I ran in to Joey Lauren Adams, Hollywood actress in residence, twice.  For several years I’ve heard tales again and again about how aloof, ugly, smelly, slutty and rude she was, but that’s not what I saw.  She smiled, she greeted me in the same friendly way most everyone in Oxford does (seriously–no joke there), and she looked great.  Not to mention she was driving an old, large, blue pickup truck.  I like her movies, I like her voice, I hate Oxford myths and I trust my own eyes.  She seemed pretty and cool to me.

Which brings me to the lowlight of my trip.  One of the 5 percent or so of the folks that make people hate Ole Miss.  Within five minutes of meeting the guy he punched my Katrina/State Farm button.  Actually, he smashed it to bits.  I can tell you there is no redeeming a personality that starts off a conversation bragging about the way he’s helping screw people 350 miles away out of their money.  Then he proceeded to make fun of his ex-girlfriend, though she probably deserved it seeing as how she was dating this buffoon, pontificate on the excellent state of the local, state and national economy, brag about his money and trash Joey Lauren Adams.  I missed a lot of his other highlights thanks in large part to a nice bottle of Washington state red table wine and a big red stadium cup.

My crew also hit the fireworks display, 5K race and the town parade which was so truly awful that it came full circle (as parades are want to do) and was deliciously campy and sweet. We ate ice cream and watermelon and grilled chicken.  We went to the park and we crashed a hotel swimming pool.  There was absolutely no excitement.  And we were sad to leave so soon.  

Bonus Quote of the Day     “It’s not a normal voice.”   — Joey Lauren Adams, describing her voice

Categories: Life · Mississippi
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Mississippi Writers

June 23, 2008 · 3 Comments

Quote of the Day       “History has remembered kings and warriors, because they destroyed; art has remembered the people, because they created.”      – Willie Morris

I had occasion to enjoy an overnight stay at the Alluvian Hotel in Greenwood on Saturday.  It’s quite nice, and the staff is beyond question the friendliest I’ve ever encountered, and the rooms are cool.  I was underwhelmed by dinner, though, which was a surprise considering its a Viking outpost.  But breakfast was excellent, featuring some of the best biscuits this connoisseur has ever sampled.  And after, I looked over the Alluvian’s impressive collection of books by Mississippians.  

I started wondering how I’d rank the great Mississippi writers and also how many I could recall off hand. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

  1. William Faulkner has to be number one.  And I even like most of his books.  Possibly his most famous is “The Sound and the Fury.”  It’s been over ten years since I last tried that one, and I have to confess, I’ve never made it past the first chapter.  Guess I’ll try again.  I expect Faulkner would be pretty impressed with the Snopes’ foray in to myth-busting decades after his passing.
  2. Eudora Welty, I guess.  I never read any of her work, and probably won’t any time soon.  Maybe its good, who knows.  All I know is she liked to go to the post office and the Jitney Jungle.
  3. Willie Morris should still be writing.  I have read most of his books, some twice, and the guy was really good.  Its curious that his fiction never took off.  I guess truth was stranger.  The one annoying thing about Willie is that so many people claim him as a runnin buddy.  I bet he hated most of those dudes.
  4. John Grisham.  Yes it is the fashion to dismiss his work because of the style of his best books.  And yes, he went through some years where the obligatory blockbuster was pure junk.  But recently he’s taken on some important and misunderstood subjects.  I can’t even bring myself to read his latest, The Appeal, because I’ve been forewarned about just how true it is.  And I know if its so, Grisham has the talent to raise my blood pressure past the point of comfort.  
  5. Walker Percy wrote “The Moviegoer” which is widely cited by hipsters as the best of the Mississippi books and “The Last Gentleman” which is noted by no one.  But Travellinbaen likes them both, and is saving a favorite quote from the latter for an appropriate post.
  6. Larry Brown wrote “Fay”, which I liked, and Barry Hannah wrote “Bats Out of Hell” which I read.  They are/were both Oxonians and for awhile were part of the literary superiority complex coming out of that town; though both were far outsiders from the polite mythical society of which Oxford and its school are so proud.  So I kind of like them both.
  7. Jimmy Buffett has written several novels and some autobiographical books. I have read all but his most recent, and I think they are hilarious.  Jimmy will sneak some wisdom in when you’re not looking too.  With Willie Morris gone, its an easy choice for Jimmy as the Mississippian I’d most like to get drunk with and talk to some dark and stormy night.
  8. Donna Tartt gets in the rankings because she went to some elite Northeastern liberal college and she seems really weird.  The Secret History is good, and strange, and makes me wish I’d had enough college time to spend a year or two at one of those schools down east.
  9. Greg Iles wrote two historical novels revolving around World War II, but he apparently liked them a lot less than I did.  He turned to murder mysteries, including the book “24 Hours” from which the Fox series with half the same name stole a great idea.
  10. And number 10 is reserved for whoever else I can think of.  Robert Harris and his trilogy including “Silence of the Lambs”, Elizabeth Spencer who wrote one of my favorite sentences ever about the Mississippi Coast–one which she now needs to update.  Margaret Walker Alexander and Richard Wright are supposed to be great, but I’ve not read them so I can’t move them higher.  Stephen Ambrose wrote “Band of Brothers” and a lot of other historical books.  He has been accused of being a plagiarizer, and I don’t know if its true, but if so, he stole some good stuff.  I love all of his books. Ace Atkins is writing detective novels, and I need to check him out because I’ve read some magazine essays of his that were good.  The last I can think of is Jill Connor Browne and those sweet potato books.  For the most part I find her and her merry band of followers slightly ridiculous, but I’ll rank her because I once got the better of her by turning down the opportunity to fly in her chartered plane to Little Rock and watch her give a speech.  I’ll always treasure the look of revulsion, shock, and suspicion with which she regarded me.  But a sycophant, Travellinbaen ain’t.

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