Showing posts with label On the Road. Show all posts
Showing posts with label On the Road. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Low Living, Sight Walking.

I've been out and about.


In front of a house on Plank Rd in Baton Rouge. It ends with an incomplete word...a syllable.


Broadmoor Theatre on Airline Highway...Baton Rouge.



A constant and faithful companion.


Pentecostal Church in Biloxi.

 

Raleigh MS...Rogers's Grocery.

 
 


Somewhere around Prentiss.


Between Rocky Mount Church and Winona.



Little Sammy Davis of Winona on Harmonica...not in the Delta but that don't sound much like the Delta anyway.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Rain, Vomit...Pancakes and Rain. Part 1

Birmingham, Alabama...January 2nd, 2015
 

Dreary going out and violent coming back.

.
Follow the red patches down from Tuscaloosa to the bottom of the screen...me and the Big Man are between Livingston and York...at a gas station. In the dark.

Just as we passed Eutaw the bottom fell out...dropped liked an atom bomb. I had about a foot of visibility...and 20 miles to the next exit. I followed the red tail lights of the car in front of us as closely as I dared. You just don't know how people are going to react when they go blind...they will just stop...even on the interstate...or they'll pull off on the shoulder and suddenly you're not on the road anymore...with no where to go.  You wait for the car behind you, doing the same thing, to get up in your trunk.



I have spent my life on the interstates and highways of The South and the US. If I asked an actuary he would probably tell me I should be nervous every time I get behind the wheel at this point...but, it's one of the most comfortable places I can think of. Not Saturday night...not since I ignorantly climbed up on the Red Mountain Pass a few years ago have my nerves been that racked in a car. I had the Big Man on board...of course, he was passed out in the back.

Thank God...we fishtailed and slid our way to the next exit and a Chevron station.* It was a gathering of shell shocked drivers...soaked and bug-eyed. There were flash flood warnings, tornado warnings**...it was raining sideways, screaming through under the awning. The Big man just wanted a sandwich...a ham and cheese sandwich from the in store Subway.

"You want any mayonnaise or mustard?"

"No sir...just ham and cheese...and bread of course."

We weren't gettin' back on the road anyway...and I was just glad he was eating (more on that later). I just need a cup of coffee...but they didn't have any coffee cups...let that sink in...no coffee cups at a gas station. Then the lights went out!

"E'erybody stay where you at...Lock the doh," the girl barked from behind the counter.

Her first instincts were procedural...to protect the store's property and shield herself from any responsibility for it's loss. Then the lights flickered back on...and her better instincts kicked in. Standing elevated, like in a pulpit, looking down above the crowd gathered at the door...

"Man fu****** this...I gotsta go!"

"Daddy can I eat my sandwich in the car?"

As we went through the unlocked door, I heard her...

"No. No. You do not need to talk ugly to me."

Anyway that's what happens when the lights go out at the curb store. This is what happens when you steal...
 
Other than some spicy fried chicken from Popeye's...that was the trip back. The trip out began with a bag of candy corn. We'll get to all that...
 


...next.

 *Just so you know adamparsons...we filled up for 1.89 a gallon. Adamparsons has a fascination with our gas prices...he tracks 'em like a trainspotter.
 
*Tornado watch means the conditions are right for a tornado...tornado Warning means one has touched down in the area.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Highway 49



I am packing now...and I'll be on Highway 49 in an hour headed to Indianola....right through Belzoni.

Then down 61 back from Greenville.



There's probably a song for every town I'll pass through...there's always plenty to report in The Delta.

"Me and BB King used to race tractors in Indianola...he was drivin' a John Deer. I was drivin' a Farmall."





Inverness...home of Little Milton...Little Milton Campbell.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Cairo (Kay-Row)

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Like the sign says...there, between Banbridge and Cairo, Georgia, in Whigham County, on the last Saturday of January...Rattlesnake Round Up. It's not a play on words....it's a mess of rattle snakes that have been rounded up in the area. You can watch them pop balloons and watch idiots be idiots with rattle snakes (I recently saw a man on tv put a bunch of them in his mouth in front of a small crowd for an even smaller fee...he got bit). They demonstrate how the venom is milked for anti-venom and you can eat 'em. I did...breaded and fried. Taste like squirrel...which kinda taste like gator...which really just taste like chicken. That must have been more than 30 years ago now.

They're still rounding them up though. In that part of Georgia and Florida you'll see signs up offering so much money per snake...not enough.

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Tuscaloosa, Alabama...there are many things to love about Tuscaloosa...this is one of them. I don't even know what it was there for...car lot maybe...diner. Who knows. It sits behind a gas station now, near a ledge that separates it from the parking lot of Chinese buffet. It's not a very pleasant block and probably everything on it should be condemned but, I would imagine he persists there because no one wants to claim responsibility for tearing him down.


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Madison Florida...probably the very edge of the cities jurisdiction. There was a bbq and juke there...maybe a hotel. I've been going to Madison all my life...41 years and it's been burnt down, and in that state, at least since then. If they ever do clear that lot I'll cry.

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Somewhere along I-10 in North Florida.

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Is there any place more beautiful in the cosmos than a fireworks stand...No!



Like you're author...North Florida Crackers.

Friday, April 25, 2014

Mississippi Kid


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Alright then...that was Louisiana this week. Actually the place I stayed in Alexandria wasn't nearly so nice as that. Is there anyone here who doubts my slobbering devotion to Dixie? Well, even I have trouble making something romantic out of north Louisiana (as opposed to south Louisiana which is one of my favorite places on the part of the map that matters) I'm pretty sure those arrows are pointing east toward Mississippi...though given Byzantine layout of Alexandria (bypasses, three way stops off of frontage roads, loops to nowhere...loops...to nowhere) could probably just pick a spot on the compass and you wouldn't be wrong.

For me the arrows are pointing east-southeast through Alabama and Georgia into North Florida. I'm heading out, in the morning, to spend a few days with my Daddy...playing golf and drinking coffee. A decades old winning formula.

Provisions for the trip have been gathered...

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Instead of the usual route that would take me down through Mobile, Alabama and along the Panhandle of Florida, I'm going first to Birmingham...then I'll wind my way down through Montgomery into the Wiregrass, with a swing through Georgia...just because.

I have my reasons, other than the fact that I've been making that same ride through Mobile for 25 years...namely Full Moon BBQ and the Birmingham Museum of Art. I had been under the impression that they had a collection of works by Jonathan Lasker...that was why I had originally made plans to go that way. I don't think his work is there anymore but...they have just reopened the African art collection (in the grand reopening was today)...so my plans are the same.

For the curious, Jonathan Lasker and African masks and shields have as much to do with my paintings as tractor trailers and firework stands. Which is to say, a great deal.

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Saturday, March 8, 2014

It'll Last Longer

This week has been messed up as a pila clothes hangers.


For a second or two on Sunday it looked like Martha and the Boy might get to go to the Delta with me.


Around two o'clock Thursday afternoon I, alone on my way back from the Coast, was stalled on the side of 49...watching my rearview mirror and trying to decide which semi or school bus would end up in my back seat.


The day before I got mugged by a penny slot machine. That night my work laptop tied at the tender age of 12.


First next morning, I limped into a service station to have a flat tire plugged.  Then I got pulled over by the cops.


Enough of that though...it's 4:30 in the morning, everybody else is in bed...I got coffee and a stack of old pictures.


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That's me and Wayne. I'm the one on the left...the one that's not obviously gonna go bald. I'm pretty sure Wayne was the first kid I ever saw drink the akahol. He took a swig of his Daddy's bourbon one afternoon and went into a spastic fit. I thought he was dyin'.


A few years later. I care about two things...football and records.


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When I wasn't at Messer Park destroying the will of twelve year old Defensive Backs and Safeties...I was at Vinyl Fever.











A few more years later...

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...right about the time I met this one...




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We're not interacting here but, this will give you a perfect idea of her demeanor every time I tried to talk to her back then.


The only thing I had going for me was them records...she did like those.













Eventually though, I got so sick and discouraged of failing to get her attention that I joined the army and left the continent.




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That's me and Paul in an Amsterdam hotel.... he would go on, that night, to get drunk and furious in the hotel bar. There were four of us that ran together...no matter where we were, what we did was drink beer and play Spades. Paul was always my partner...and the other two always cheated. I thought it was funny. With Paul bidding 15 tricks every hand...cheating was unnecessary and it's always more fun to beat cheaters. Paul didn't think it was funny and he went berserk....ended up yelling at one of the hotel girls as he was getting on the elevator. He was pointing at her when the door shut. I really liked Paul...we all liked Paul...but he was an odd fella given to unpredictable fits of rage.


I was still buying records...












when this one showed back up.


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After I'd left the country...then ignored her for two years...she finally got her mind right, and chased me down.


I'll tell y'all about how hard she worked to convince me to at least give her a chance, next time.






















Friday, February 28, 2014

Soggy Norton


The prison grounds at Angola are very much like a ranch. Once through the gate you travel a straight road, lined with oaks across flat grass...broken in a couple of places by creeks and ditches. There are horses.

When you leave you head for the hills. Unlike coming out of the Delta at Greenwood, where the initial rise is as steep and abrupt as a roller coaster's, this road skirts the hills, turns back toward the river before making  a gradual ascent. On one side you have these sheer red faces of eroding clay...on the other an incomprehensible tangle of vines, branches and brambles...briars in black wet dirt...and old houses and out buildings.

You'd never see this place in the summer. In fact I've driven by it several times and never noticed it there. It's just as well. I would never have stopped here when the ground was warm. And if there had been any flooding? I wouldn't even look in that direction.

The place is existentially creepy enough...


without our arch enemy curled up in the corner you're about to turn. I don't want to give the impression that we're always running from snakes like some kinda action movie...but, this...this, in the spring and summer, would be begging for it.


The floor boards were spongy enough downstairs...that's why I didn't go up...not because I was afraid a forgotten family member might be up there sitting next to a hole in the wall where the fire place used to be.


Our mold and moss are technicolor (almost a chrome yellow in person).

This must have been a very nice spread at one time (though it had to  have been prone to flooding). There were several outbuilding....one of which, I'm sure, was a kitchen.

The roadside is littered with places like this. They'll all disappear here in a month or so...make a wobbly reappearance next winter...and next year and the next...until the vines finally pull them down and the ground swallows them up.

 

Monday, February 24, 2014

Mojo Hand

I'm gonin' to Louisiana...


Y'all know about my issues with that bastard Miro. I told you I'd fix him.

Step One - Go to Louisiana...where they have Mojo Hands.

Step Two - get Mojo Hand. *

This will destroy the power he has over my woman..Martha. Ostensibly I'm goin' down to Baton Rouge to sell Fried Green Beans and Chicken Wings. I will go Cotton Wood Books, eat at Zippy's Tacos and make myself sick on Beinget Fingers. I will not play the penny slots. I will not play the penny slots. I will get the Mojo Hand. I will not play the penny slots.




Then Thursday I'll be in St. Francisville and Angola Farm...Louisiana State Penitentiary. It's not as wretched as it once was...which says more about how bad it used to be than how lovely it is now. There's no more red hats. ...but your prospects aren't good if you find yourself there. It's an odd place with a culture all it's own...there's a feeling of immersion when you go through the gate. Rightly so...most of them aren't leaving.


They got their woodworking shops, their radio station, their football teams (last time I was down, one of the inmates was sporting a golfball sized Angola football championship ring. I imagine they could put together a team to challenge LSU..if not the Saints) but, it's the Rodeo they're famous for. Being in the infirmary means no work and pain pills...they ride hard as hell. I intend to get my hot dogs into the concession stands. Ha.

Step 3 - Learn to paint sneaky landscapes.


A little busy maybe...that's the thing about swamps but, dig it in detail...


Ha. I'm comin' for your stank ass Miro.


*Step 2 1/2 Send mojo hand to gentleman in England who's having a bit of a Ricky Gervais problem.




Friday, February 21, 2014

8 Hours!?!

Yesterday I worked for almost eight hours...EIGHT freaking hours. Can you imagine working like that five days a week?  &%$# on that!

This has been an exhausting week. Not only have I put in over 20 hours...but, I've done manual labor. Just let that sink in.

I painted my room. Well, I put colors on the wall. I spackled some of the holes and even sanded some of the spackling but mainly I just covered the walls with paint.

I spent about 8 years, off and on, as a house painter. Started right after I got out of the Army and while I was an undergraduate...between jobs after graduate school, and whenever I needed some folding money.

If my old boss was to come by and see the work...he'd probably try to retroactively fire me. We got color though and that's the main thing. Color and pictures.


Keep in mind I couldn't completely ignore my day job for this task. I spent time on the road this week...from up to French Camp and down to McComb.


This was taken just off the Natchez Trace between French Camp and Kosciusko.  The phone decided we were in McCool, Mississippi but, of course, any place I go in Mississippi is made McCool by my presence.

McComb was an especially taxing trip. I was so worn out by dinner that it took four bowls of banana pudding at The Dinner Bell just to get my energy back up for a few more hours of work.


Six or seven hours in the car isn't a lot in my line of work but, it is long enough to have your patience and sanity tested by idiot philosophers (as opposed to non-idiot philosophers who have the grace to spend most of their time driving a tractor rather than being a smart-ass). I found a series of podcast called Philosophy Bites put on by David Edmonds and Nigel Warburton. Each podcast features a philosopher being questioned by Edmonds or Warburton on a specific topic. 

One particularly irritating example...Ronald Dworkin on the Unity of Value. He takes two values that are commonly, and to my view rightly, believed to be contradictory...Liberty and equality. Then he shows how they are actually compatible. How? By altering the definitions until they are reasonable. How do you know they are reasonable? They no longer contradict each other. Ronald Dworkin has discovered the color green and mistaken it for the elimination of the colors Yellow and Blue.

As an aside, Spliff and I have argued about this on various occasions...all I can say about Dworkin is that he is no Spliff.

Then there are those who have interesting insights about the findings of neuroscience but don't really seem to be doing philosophy...hallucinations, personality disorders, etc. There are some delights like Emma Borg on Context Sensitivity and Language or Nick Bostrom on the insanity of Simulation Theory (you, me and Tom's house-cat are almost certainly computer generated simulations...it's not that easy to dispute). 

It was Galen Strawson on Pansychism that took the prize. Strawson is a self proclaimed Physicalist. In this view everything is physical through and through...merely physical. Everything has a material explanation. He then addresses the big screaming, purple experiencing, problem with this view...Consciousness. You can't deny the existence of experience but to accept experience as real is to accept the existence of non-physical things...nevermind that, how do you explain the emergence of Consciousness from non conscious material. Science can't do it. It can explain the complex process that seems to accompany consciousness but we don't have access to the data of consciousness...it dosen't exist in any accessible way.

My favorite exchange was when the interviewer, I can't remember which one it was says..."it could be the result of some magic interjection but that's implausible." As if there were anything plausible about consciousness in the first place. 

Sam Harris provides an answer in The Mystery of Consciousness ...it's "incomprehensible - a miracle, in other words." Something, non-physical has arisen from the purely physical, something has emerged from the absence of some thing. No problem for me the Theist...and, obviously Sam, the non-theist, has learned to live with it...not so Strawson. Strawson's answer is that because everything is physical and experience exists...everything must be experiential. Consciousness must be integral to all material...it didn't emerge it was always there. A cardboard box, a wad of gum stuck under a desk are conscious on some level...dear God, that means there must be something it's like to be a urinal at a bus station or Adamparsons' toothbrush. 

I actually enjoyed his interview...it's a clever way of trying to deal with his problem.  After all, it can't be tested. 

The biggest bore of the week came, not from Philosophy Bites, but from an interview at The Whitney with Lawrence Wiener. What a silly ass. At one point, he states "good people can make bad art and bad people make good art...that's why I don't want to know anything about the people I'm showing with."
Yeah man, he doesn't place any importance on personal morality...that's so f****ing bougie. Unless..."they're racist, or sexist...or you know fascists."



That is the kind of shit that causes me to have acute visions, hallucinations almost, of beating a blazing, 50 gallon drum with a baseball bat over and over until I collapse from exhaustion.