BOUTIQUE HOTELS

We are staying at boutique hotel. "Boutique" apparently is Hotel-talk for "petite". This is our closet and dresser.

I'd show you the bathroom, but the camera won't fit in there.

THIS IS KIND OF COOL

Check this out. And be sure to read the story behind it.

ANYONE KNOW A GOOD ENTIMOLOGIST?

We saw this creature yesterday on our hike up Panther Mountain. It was in a hole made by a woodpecker in a tree. I had reached out for support and thought, "I shouldn't go putting my hand in tree holes without knowing what's in there first." I looked and saw this guy.
















The view from the top of the mountain was worth the slip-and-slide path we took to get up there.





















It's raining today, so we'll probably go into Lake Placid instead of parasailing.

PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES

only without the trains.

I TRIED to blog the following from the plane yesterday, but after typing it all into my phone, "it" wouldn't let me send more than a sentence or two. ERRGGG!!!

Anyway, just before boarding in Chicago, Jenni and I each received calls from Orbitz telling us that all flights to the East Coast would be delayed in landing, but take off schedules would remain the same. The delay was due to weather conditions between Chicago and the East Coast.

Huh?

We started boarding, and ten minutes before we were due to push back from the gate, we were advised of the weather delay of an hour and twenty minutes. BUT, we could not leave the plane. In fact, the plane would be leaving the gate at the normal time to make room for another plane. BS! That was so they could go on record as leaving on time.

So we sat for an hour and a half. Jenni at first worked Sudoku on her PalmPilot until she got bored. She explained that she's now beyond that. She now does Kakuro.

Time passed quickly and we landed in LaGuardia about 2 hours late. A word about LaGuardia. WHAT?!!?!? Was it the first airport built and hasn't been renovated since? At least that was the impression we got from the "D" concourse. Ceiling tile falling, rain through ceiling, etc.

An hour later, we were in our rental car and heading to Upstate New York. Oh. Except for the sitting in traffic part. I let Jenni drive and it was an eyue-opener for her. It's not like driving in Maryville, Missouri!

After we FINALLY got to the nice relaxing drive on the Palisades Parkway and the rest of our trip north, there were some road closures due to flooding. Fortunately, we didn't have many problems with that. We got up here about 10:30 last night, got to hug Meghan a lot, got a quick tour of the place in the dark, and she told us that today was "Breakfast in Bed." Sounded nice after our trip.

Oh. The "Breakfast in Bed" was for the campers, and the breakfast was to be made by the adult visitors. So, we were up this morning, reporting for duty in the kitchen and making egg McMuffin things with the others. It was actually fun. I worked frying eggs with a corporate attorney and an attorney with the DOJ.

I just can't escape attorneys.

Anyway, this is these are views from our cabin porch.

Meghan has the day off today, and we're getting ready to hike up Panther Mountain.

Wish me luck.

Delayed - Part Tres

That's the conversation going on behind us. Omg! Omg!

--

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

Delayed .- Part Deux

This won't let me send much at a time. The commercial with the cheerleader babbling on the phone?

--

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

Delayed!

Help! American airlines is holding us captive on the taxi way. We get to sit here for 90 minutes.

--

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

Test

Test

--

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

THIS IS FUN

Clink on This Link and then enter your name. Turn up your speakers.

Enjoy!

Hmmm. Now I'm in the mood for a Klondike Bar.

RELEASING MY INNER GLADYS KRAVITZ

My Inner Gladys Kravitz has been screaming to get out, so this post is her release.








First of all, I covet my neighbor's porch. Last summer, he worked very hard on remodeling it, and this summer, he's working on the landscaping.

The privet fence surrounding his property had been quite tall and blocked my view. This spring, he was courteous enough to tear all of that out and is currently replacing it with some shrubbery of a much smaller size.

The yard chores at my place are the responsibility of my neighbor in my duplex, J. The landlord had offered him a reduction in rent if he took care of the landscaping. They are currently having a difference of opinion on the translation of "taking care of the landscaping". The landlord's interpretation is mowing it when it needs it, and weed-eating. J's interpretation is mowing it once a month whether it needs it or not, and he chooses not to eat weeds.

My other neighbors mow at least once a week, and bag the clippings. Trust me, "bagging the clippings" is not in J's vocabulary. So, the grass in our yard is either quite long, or is lying about the lawn in need of being baled. We are the neighborhood eyesore.

Please note the tuft of long grass in the first photo (not the one of Gladys). I don't know why, but that particular spot does not get mowed. Nor does it get hit with the weed-whacker.

And after mowing, the sidewalk also doesn't get swept.






And then there are the weeds growing everywhere.

One time last year, I saw him mow around a newspaper. After the newspaper was removed, the long grass stayed there (until I pulled it out by hand). I wasn't here yesterday, but apparently he must have at least kicked the newspaper out of the way several times when he mowed. I thought I had picked up all of the newspapers, but he apparently thinks that one is mine.

So, since today is a nice cool day and since I've been complaining to you all about this, I'll spend this afternoon sweeping the sidewalk and pulling weeds. Am I being an enabler? I don't care; I'm tired of being the neighborhood eyesore.

However, I am NOT going to rake the grass clippings. Mainly because I don't have a rake.

IT'S CRAP CAM PICTURE TIME!!!

Gather 'round, Kiddies. I have some really bad shots from my camera phone to share with you.

I have an ulterior motive for doing this, however.

My son-in-law, Tim, is at this moment, playing in a 3-on-3 basketball tournament in the area. And by "in the area", I mean, over an hour away in Troy, Missouri. Every summer, he and his buddies compete in the Gus Macker Tournaments. During yesterday's events, we determined that Gus Macker is the patron saint of basketball being played on asphalt on a hot summer day. I'm not there today because, well, I overslept.

Anyway, I didn't have my real camera with me yesterday, but had my camera phone. I've asked Tim to send the pictures taken with his camera, and as an incentive, I'm posting these bad shots to inspire him to send the good ones.

Yesterday's earlier performances were less than stellar, but the guys (Tim, Travis, Dave and Bill) improved the last game they played. I honestly thought they were going to win that one, but they ended up losing 11-15. Oh well. The game was tied at 11-11 for quite some time. A nail biter.

See? I usually have beautifully manicured nails.

And here is the album of crappy pictures.

Wade was there playing basketball and I have photographic proof. If you squint real hard, you can see him in his jersey underneath the tree and above that girl's head. Or you will just have to take my word for it.

You will also have to take my word for it that somewhere out there is a basketball game going on. The girl in the ponytail with her back to us is Jenni. She's wearing the t-shirt I bought her at BB King's when I was in Memphis a couple of months ago. She's wearing it because she has the kind of Mommy who goes someplace neat and buys her kids lousy t-shirts to give to them. Tim has a matching one. Meghan.... I think I have a coffee cup for her, actually.




During a break in the action, while we were eating lunch, I caught the tail end of a conversation. One of Tim's friends, Bill, was talking about seeing Sonya Kitchell performing. The way he talked about her, I thought he knew her. Later, some other friends showed up, and I thought they said their names were Jeff and Sonya. A celebrity amongst us? I hadn't seen Sonya Kitchell, so I didn't know if she was as blonde as her name sounds. But that is "Sonya" sitting next to Jenni. I later found out that is Sarah, and her husband Jeff. So, no celebrity sightings.



Well, other than the Wade sighting. Have you found him yet? Remember, squint.

And here is another fine picture of Jenni and Sonya/Sarah's backs.

And for your viewing enjoyment, here is a video taken with my camera phone. I did not know it recorded sound as well, so this has a soundtrack, courtesey of the public address system.

I just previewed the video after uploading it, and I gotta tell you --- lousy. When I viewed it on my hard drive, it was just OK. But during the uploading, the quality dropped to less than a convenience store surveillance video. And the sound disappeared. This is my first attempt at linking to a video and obviously, I need to study up on this.

But not today. There is capuccino to be consumed and kids to visit. The last game should be over in a few minutes and they will be returning to shower and pack before heading back home.

DRIVE-BY BLOGGING

I may have to start taking my laptop with me on the bus. On the rides to and from work, I think up all kinds of things to post here. But once I get off the bus, I'm either too busy or I sit down to write and get hit by that blank screen and a blank mind.

Previews of upcoming posts: The staining and varnishing weekend(s) and Jenni's and Tim's new house; the new addition to our family, Little Miss Annarae; and an update from the files of my inner Gladys Kravitz. Then there's the upcoming trip to New York, and Jenni and Tim's move into their new house.

Yup. I just may need to take the laptop on the bus.

In the meantime, I leave you with this shot of newborn loveliness; my new grand-niece, Annarae.

CLEANING OUT THE BLOG CLOSET

I have a number of things on which I've been wanting to pontificate.

1. Update on my flight last weekend. I had the "B" ticket. I was told, probably not a problem, especially if I got there fairly early and was towards the head of the "B" line. Wellllllllllllllll, there's this problem I have with TSA agents. They hate me. The first time I flew after 9/11 was the second weekend that planes were allowed in the air. I was told to send my cardigan through the machine since it had metal buttons. The TSA agents gathered around the screen to look at the bag that was on the conveyor belt behind my sweater. Conferences were held over the bag. Supervisors were called over. But because the conveyor belt was halted, my sweater was still on the conveyor belt out of reach.

Me: Can I have my sweater, please?

Agent: (glances my way and says nothing)

Me: (To another TSA agent): May I have my sweater, please? It's stuck on the conveyor belt.

Agent: (Glances my way and says nothing)

Me: (To YET ANOTHER TSA agent): My sweater is stranded on the conveyor belt. Could you get it for me, please?

Pimply-Faced Agent Who Hit Puberty on 9/12: Ma'am! We are all fighting terrorism here. You will have to be patient.

TSA Agent Who Overheard This and takes my sweater off the conveyor belt and puts it on a table behind him. Calls over a supervisor.

Supervisor: Yes?

Agent: Could you check out her sweater? She seems to be a little too anxious to get it.

Supervisor: (pause while looking at the now 5 TSA agents grouped around the screen looking at the bag on the conveyor belt): Seriously?

Supervisor: (gets sweater off table and hands to me): Thank you for your patience, Ma'am. (To agents) We CAN do our jobs without pissing off the public.

But ever since that trip, I've made it through security without being stopped three times. And I traveled a lot during that time. Honestly, I think I must have been put on some sort of "list". A friend of mine calls it the "Global threatening Soccer Moms of Kirkwood List".

I was flying to St. Thomas and was stopped in the security gate. Also stopped was a little old lady in a wheel chair and a 12-year old girl. I am so serious about that. A little old lady in a wheelchair, a 12-year old girl and a middle-aged soccer mom. The three of us were being searched for weapons of mass destruction and I SWEAR I saw the Shoe Bomber's brother walk through with a bazooka on his shoulder without any problem.

OK, it wasn't a bazooka. It was some PVC piping, 6 feet long, but he DID look too much like the Shoe Bomber for my tastes. The PVC piping went through the x-ray machine with no problem. AND I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM FIT THAT INTO THE LITTLE "IF YOUR LUGGAGE FITS IN HERE, IT'S CARRY ON" BOX, BECAUSE, I DON'T THINK SO!!!!

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Security. Anyway, this past weekend was no different. I had taken all potential metal-containing objects off me and put them in my purse. My eensy teensy cutesy strappy sandals were put into the bin, because I've learned that my shoes drive metal detectors absofreakinglutely nuts. I took off as much as I could without getting a citation for indecency. I successfully went through the metal detector.

My purse did not.

TSA agents pounced upon it. First, they took the little coffee-filter thing and wiped it down. Then they put the coffee filter thing into some sort of apparatus, punched buttons, waited for it to do whatever it does, it went "Ding" and a light went on which told them, correctly I might add, that my purse did NOT contain any explosives. As if.

Then they dumped it out in front of God and everyone and began to paw through it. Cellphone. iPod. PalmPilot. Wallet. Keys. Meds. An impossible tangled mess of earphones for cellphone and iPod. Makeup.

"What, exactly, had you concerned?" I asked.

"Your keys," I was told.

Excuse me, but doesn't everyone have keys? I didn't want to ask them because I had the feeling that if I asked, I'd be spending the night at Gitmo.

My keys were sent through the x-ray machine and it was determined, correctly I might add, that they WERE keys. Duh.

I grabbed everything, shoved my feet into my eensy teensy cutesy strappy sandals and clip-clopped off to my gate. To find out I was at the end of the "B" line.

I got a middle seat towards the back of the plane. THANKFULLY, I was not in the live-stock section.

As I was standing in the back of the "B" line, I saw a guy emerge from the security gate with a belt looped around his neck, feet shoved into untied tennis shoes and clutching the waist-band of his pants as he dashed down the concourse towards his gate.

Meanwhile, a PVC-Pipe-carrying Shoe Bomber sauntered through the metal detector.

OK, maybe not.

***********************************************

2. Plantar fasciitis sucks. I got nailed with it when I woke up around 2:00 to go potty.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I could not stand on my foot at all. Not even on tippytoe. I considered hopping down the hallway to the bathroom. I could hop. OK, I was really sleepy, it was 2 AM and I had quite the full bladder. Hopping? Don't think so.

So..... I laid down on my back and scooted down the hallway to the bathroom, all the while, thinking "thank heaven no one can see me."

Then I blog about it for all the world to know.

Heel pain is doing somewhat better now, by the way.


******************************************************

3. I had more, but I'm tired and I'm going to bed.

WEST BY SOUTHWEST

ADMISSION: TODAY I’M FLYING SOUTHWEST FOR THE FIRST TIME.

Most of my travel in the last few years has been through work, and the flights were all on the major airlines. Due to all of that travel, I had frequent flier miles built up, so when I traveled for vacations, I used up those miles on those major airlines.

Today, I’m flying for the first time on Southwest. I’m feeling extremely intimidated by this due to that quirky “first come, first served” seat assignment rule they have. I’ll admit it, I’ve been spoiled by the other airlines. You know, the ones that let you log onto their websites so you can pick your own seat. And wouldn’t you rather I do that than pick my seat in public? (rimshot).

Little by little, I’m finding out more about how this whole thing really works. It seems that if I REALLY believed it was “first come, first served” I’d be quite the fool. Conceivably, I could get to the airport before anyone else on my flight and end up with a seat in steerage, holding a live chicken on my lap. The secret all seems to be in those alphabetical boarding passes: A, B or C.

So, “First come” actually means “First to log onto your computer and check in online”, which you can start doing 24 hours before your flight. Those “A” boarding passes are so coveted that a website is now available to help you get them. For a $5.00 charge per passenger, you can have Boardfirst.com get you your golden ticket. If they fail to get an “A”, there is no charge and they supply the live chicken.

Being a Southwest novice, I was totally unaware of these intricacies. It was all explained to me ten hours before my flight at which time I rushed to my computer to get my boarding pass. I have a “B” boarding pass.

B

I know that’s not good, but is it at least OK, or am I kinda screwed, seatwise? I e-mailed my daughter and son-in-law to ask them since they’ve flown on Southwest before BUT NEGLECTED TO CLUE ME IN ON THE SECRET OF THE “A” TICKET.

Basically, they were not helpful. Jenni’s response was to “suck it up” as it is a fairly short flight (St. Louis to Kansas City) and if I get a middle seat, I can deal with it. I pointed out to her that I was more concerned about getting my carry-on luggage in an overhead compartment without any hassle. To save time, I don’t want to check it. But being short, I have a tendency to knock people on the noggin when I’m trying to get my luggage into the overhead compartment on crowded flights.

That’s when the short jokes started – lead off by Tim who is 6’4” or something like that. Now, is that nice? I’m flying up there to help them stain and varnish the wood in their new house and I get short jokes?!?!?

(Just kidding, kids. Sort of)

For my return flight, I’ve registered with Boardfirst.com and will hopefully get the coveted “A” boarding pass. But for my flight today, I’ll just have to “suck it up.”

I also heard that Southwest is going to start assigning seats. But that’s scheduled for the year 2007; not before my 6:30 pm flight this evening.

sigh

UPDATE

I received an e-mail from Meghan. She'd gone parasailing 4 times yesterday. No word if she was still serving as a crash-test dummy.

Interesting term; "crash-test DUMMIES".

Is it too early to start drinking?

I THINK MEGHAN IS TRYING TO KILL ME

Or just cause me to have a slight stroke.

My little girl (OK, she's 21, but she's my youngest) will not be home until August 20. And then she has to be back at school August 21. She is interning at a youth camp in the Adirondacks. Sounds like a fun summer and I'm happy for her.

Really. I am.

Until I got this phone call Monday.

Meghan: It's snowing today.

Me: Wow, we've only had rain, but it has been chilly.

(more boring -- to others -- weather-related conversation)

Meghan: Yesterday was my day off and I went parasailing.

Me: Was it warmer?

Meghan: Just a little. It was 40 degrees.

Me: {{shiver}}

Meghan: We didn't have to pay for it, either. The guy needed to test everything.

Me: ??

Meghan: He'd been testing everything using barrels and bouys and needed live people to make sure it was all OK.

Me:

Me:

Me:

(I was speechless)

Meghan: Mom?

Meghan: Mom?

Meghan: Mom? Seriously, breathe!! I'm OK.

And this was just her first week out there.

oy.

OPEN LETTER TO THE MEDIA

STOP IT!!!!! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do NOT ever again report on Britney Spears and her son. First of all, I don't need to turn on the news and find out "oops, she did it again" and (1) possibly had her baby's car seat facing the wrong way (b) had her baby in a convertible without sunscreen (iii) almost tripped and dropped her baby.

I am NOT a Britney fan, but the last thing any new mother needs is a horde of photographers and reporters anxious to broadcast to the world her next supposed gaffe.

HEADLINE: OOPS, SHE DID IT AGAIN; BRITNEY DIDN'T BURP THE BABY AFTER HIS BOTTLE

HEADLINE: OOPS, SHE DID IT AGAIN; BRITNEY DIDN'T USE DIAPER RASH OINTMENT

HEADLINE: OOPS, SHE DID IT AGAIN; BRITNEY DIDN'T USE JOHNSON'S NO MORE TEARS SHAMPOO AND GOT SHAMPOO IN HIS EYES.

There are more important stories that need to be told

GASP!!

For most of my life, I've taken breathing for granted. Day in and day out, I've been blithely breathing both in and out and thinking nothing of it.

And then last week, I found myself gasping for air, feeling like I was suffocating. Walking across the parking lot to the doctor's office was an uphill journey, even though the parking lot was completely flat.

I was sure I was going to be admitted to the hospital for pneumonia. So sure, in fact, that I had set out jammies and other things for my parents to pick up for me when I called them about what was going on.

But no. I have asthma. And where, may I ask, did THAT come from?? I thought, no biggy. I'll take a couple of hits from an inhaler and will be fine.

It's a week later and I am doing better. But I'm going to need some education about this stuff. I've already found out that it wasn't as sudden as I thought. In reading about it, I've apparently had it for a very long time. Like, forever. And 8:35 PM seems to be some kind of magical gasping hour. I will have had a wonderful lung-filled day; but at 8:35 -- gasp, wheeze and cough. Then there's the no-sleeping thing because that Albuterol stuff is stronger than St@rbucks coffee.

AND, there's my impeccable timing. I'm experiencing the wonderful world of wheezing just in time for a paradigm shift in the make-up of the medication. Apparently in order to protect the ozone, the inhalers are being changed and will no longer have ozone-eating fluorocarbons. Now, I admit I'm new at this stuff, but exactly how are inhalers adversely affecting the ozone? Unless I've been doing it incorrectly, an inhaler is (follow me here) INHALED. So..... if the fluorocarbons are in my lungs, how do they get to the ozone and destroy it? I understand how that happens with hairspray, because it is NOT (usually) inhaled.

This is all just weird.

WILLY NILLY WEEKEND IN MEMPHIS

Our plan for the weekend was one we called "Willy Nilly". After we arrived in Memphis, we'd just call each other and figure things out from there.


Friday, May 5; THE JOURNEY

My departure from St. Louis on Friday was later than I had planned. I couldn't get away from work early, and then this happened and then that and before you know it, was hitting the road for a 5 hour trip at 8:00 pm. To help myself stay awake early in the drive, I called everyone I knew and chatted with them. When I called Lab, I suddenly thought I had accidentally called another friend of mine; and the conversation got a little strange. We finally got it straightened out that I was speaking to the party to whom I was speaking.

After the drive, complete with construction slow-downs, I arrived at my hotel around 2:00 a.m. I stood at the elevator with all of my stuff, waiting for it to arrive. Up walked a guy about my age, carrying a brown bag. He was very friendly and started asking me the usual strangers in an elevator questions. When strangers do talk in the elevators. He introduced himself as "Slade, with a D." We got off on the same floor, and then he pointed to my room and said, "There you are."

Oops. He knew my room. I recalled he was nearby when the desk clerk gave the room key to me and announced my room number. Great. His room was next to mine. As I opened my door, he called out to me and asked me if I'd like to come over for a drink, and indicated the brown bag.

I said, "thank you for asking, no," then scurried into my room. A few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. A shiver went up my spine, not so much from the knocking but from the fact that my room was absofreakinglutely FREEZING!!!!! The AC was on full blast. I didn't answer the door, but DID leave a message on a friend's CallNotes and told her that if I suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth, to check with Slade in room 307 of the Fairfield Inn. Another possibility was that I had succumbed to hyperthermia.

SATURDAY, MAY 6. THE DUCK HUNT

I showered, dressed, partook of the complimentary continental breakfast (yogurt and raisen bran) and drove to downtown Memphis to meet up with Lab, The Insolent Wench and Federal Duck.

I thought this would be a good place to start looking for The Duck.









But I was wrong.







I thought maybe I'd find him at his cousin's.


Again, I was wrong.






As I walked up Third Street, I saw a sign. Apparently, I had just missed him.















I was not fooled by these silly decoys:














I heard something about a Duck Walk at The Peabody Hotel, and thought I'd go try my luck there.


I sat in the lobby bar, ordered a mimosa and waited.

















This duck hunt was drawing a huge crowd.














The ducks arrived to a John Phillips Sousa March (the one that sounds like the Monty Python theme song). None of them were of the Federal species. One of the young men waiting to see the Duck Walk returned to the bar stating, "I can't believe I waited all that time to watch 5 ducks.











I called Lab and told him I was in the lobby bar and had ordered another mimosa while waiting, which he dismissed as a "girly" drink. I pointed out to him that there was a young man sitting next to me drinking one. He asked how young and suggested it might be The Duck, and if it was, he was disappointed in him for drinking a girlie drink. I dialed The Duck, looked at the phone on the bar next to me, wondering if it would ring. It did not. When Federal Duck answered, he said he was still about two hours outside of Memphis.

About a half hour later, I met up with the Lab and his wife. He had told me I'd recognize him because he'd be the guy in the Speedos. He lied.





We headed down to Beale Street, where we were immediately approached by a panhandler with a different kind of a spiel. He said that Jerry Garcia had double-charged him for a burger. He wanted to sell his swag to us in exchange for busfare. OK, Jerry Garcia is dead, and the guy didn't appear to have any swag. As if, anyway. We declined, and then he cussed us out.

As we wandered further down Beale Street, The Wench received a call from some friends of hers and we met up with them at BB Kings. We listened to some really great blues while lunching on pulled pork sandwiches.

At the table next to us was, oddly enough, Jerry Garcia. A very thin Jerry Garcia. But I guess he hasn't been eating much the last few years, what with being dead and all. I found it difficult to sneak in a picture of him, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

The music was loud and I didn't think I'd hear my cellphone when The Duck called. So I sent him a text messge:

We are at BB Kings on Beale
Under a sign
that says Lucille.

(that was not a haiku).

For some reason, Lab felt compelled to wear some food....and this was before any alcohol was consumed.









Awhile later, we decided to
leave and head to the river front for the festival. I sent The Duck another text message "We left BB Kings. We're walking in Memphis." OK, even I rolled my own eyes at that.

Lab started his own efforts in looking for The Duck.














He even built an impromptu duck blind.













A couple of blocks later, I received a text message from The Duck. "I'm here." I called "Where is here?"

Duck: BB Kings.

Me: We left, but are only a few blocks away. Just walk up the hill and you'll find us.

Duck: Which way?

Me: UP the hill. (I would later find out that if this particular duck had to migrate for the winter, he'd end up in the Artic).

A young man was approaching us and I said to Lab, "I bet this is the Duck". As he passed, Lab gave a duck call, and the guy kept walking. And then suddenly, The Duck arrived and joined us.










Oh, yeah. It started to rain. But that was OK. I had an umbrella which I was convinced would collapse if the wind hit 1 knot per hour. Lab and The Wench were fully prepared and had ponchos, and an extra one for The Duck because oddly enough, water does not roll off his back. We went to the Blues Tent, the only one of the four stages that was under cover. Great music there! We first heard Honeytribe featuring Devon Allman..... an offspring of an Allman Brother.

Next was Richard Johnston (a local favorite) & Jessie Mae Hemphill, a legend. Most of the set was Johnston, which was great. At the end he brought up Jessie Mae and the crowd went wild. After introducing her, we waited and waited. People were still standing. Since he's tall, I asked Duck what was going on. He reported that they were helping a very old black man to the stage. I asked him if it's possible that it was a very old black woman. He checked, and yes, it was possible.

They sang one of Jessie Mae's favorite songs, and by "they", I mean, Richard Johnston. Jessie Mae played the tamborine. After the song, the crowd again went wild. I thought that the Memphis folks must really like tamborine. Then we heard a scream, and Jessie Mae started singing and again brought the house down. About 12 years ago, she had a stroke which ended her career. Lab said she's a legend, which is why everyone was going nuts. I'll admit that I've heard her name, but am not that familiar with her music. Lab admitted he'd have to google her when he got home.


This was one of the few (read "only") music festivals I've attended that featured tractors, and lines of people waiting to drive them.








As we walked around the grounds, it was easily apparent that the festival featured food on sticks; chicken-on-a-stick, pork-on-a-stick, beef-on-a-stick. The Duck was hungry and ordered the original meat-on-a-stick; a turkey leg. We returned to the Blues tent, and I found myself sitting between him and one of The Wenches' friends, both of them ripping meat off of turkey legs. All they needed were trenchers and mugs of mead and we'd have a real barbaric meal. But seriously, the turkey smelled wonderful. The vendor proclaimed it the original Jamaican turkey.

Show of hands, how many people were surprised there are turkeys in Jamaica. I mean other than the sunburned kind arriving on cruise ships. Yeah, me either. I think it's hype.

Lab mentioned that there was an apparent error in the schedule and Bruce Hornsby, not Jerry Lee Lewis, would soon be playing on the stage close to the entrance; so we loaded up and headed out.

As it turned out, the schedule we had was correct, but we decided to stay and listen to The Killer. As we spread out the ground cover so thoughtfully brought by Lab and The Wench, a random guy wondered by started giving The Wench some guff for not throwing away a beer can that was next to her. She looked up and told him she hadn't thrown it there, that she properly throws things away. He continued by telling her she could throw it away anyway, and he proceeded to be really obnoxious. The guys nicely asked him to move along; but he chose to stay and hassle us. It was no surprise to me at all that the guy was wearing a shirt with a "Dirty D!cks" logo on it. How appropriate.

Lab told us that when The Duck and I were out getting Jamaican turkey legs, the guy gave them some trouble about saving our seats. A real pleasant fellow.

I tried to get a photo of Jerry Lee Lewis, but someone (quack) got in the way.










A number of people approached Lab and his wife and asked them where they got their mat we were sitting on, and complimented them on being so prepared. The explained that every year, they upgrade their provisions. They ran into some people from Michigan with fur-lined ponchos. I believe I saw Lab coveting them.

By the time The Killer had finished, we were pretty much wet and cold. We decided to listen to a little of Bruce Hornsby, and then head back to Beale Street and food not-on-a-stick. That place ended up being Huey's where we sat and talked for about two hours, covering a plethora of subjects; sleep disorders, how Lab and Wench met and fell in love, the fact that they got married on April 1 on purpose, writing styles, child rearing styles and Paul Teutul.

When we left Huey's, The Duck and I said goodbye to Lab and his wife, 'cause we weren't sure we'd be meeting up with them on Sunday. They were spending another day in Memphis, I was heading back to St. Louis and Duck was heading back to Nashville.

The plan was for us to walk to Duck's car and he'd drive me to my car. Remember I had mentioned his sense of direction earlier? After some wandering and wondering, I mentioned that I thought we were close to my car, so we could get it and then drive around looking for his. As we walked across a park opposite the FedEx Forum, a guy came up behind us asking for money. We said no and kept walking. He kept following. We told him to go away and walked faster. So did he. Duck told him we couldn't help, we only had plastic. We were sort of speed walking at that point; heard the guy mutter something, and he left. WHEW!

I saw the parking lot where my car was. And the high fence surrounding it with razor wire that stood between us. We walked around the circumference for quite aways before we found an opning to get in. I was beginning to worry that my car was locked up for the night. And about three blocks later, we found his car. Ironically, we had almost gotten to the parking lot, when we gave up and went to my car.

SUNDAY, MAY 7. BRUNCH.

Duck and I had decided to meet for brunch. Lab and Wench said they just drink coffee for breakfast. Well, if you are going to have Sunday brunch in Memphis, The Peabody is the place to go. And not surprisingly, he wanted to check in with the family.















Here he is having a private conversation with a cousin. You can kind of see him behind the fountain; I didn't want to intrude.










I had sent a text message to Lab telling him of our plans and asking if they could join us. The message back was that they were in search of a pharmacy with good drugs. Lab managed to come down with a cold and I'm sure sitting out in the rain didn't help. I'm hoping they got in some good music on their last day.

Sunday Brunch is in the Skyline Room. Very nice. The Duck had the more traditional brunch fare with a Bloody Mary, and I hit the salad and seafood bar and had another mimosa. Absolutely delicious. It sure beat the heck out of powdered donuts and YooHoo.

We pondered if The Peabody ever had duck on the menu. He suggested that perhaps they show the menu to the flock to keep them in line. I imagined a waiter some night saying, "Tonight's special is Gerald, a mal-performing mallard which the chef has prepared on a stick."

Then there was the dessert bar. To. Die. For.

After brunch, we went out on the terrace to view the skyline, and to check out the Duck Palace.



Seriously, the Peabody ducks live on the roof.

















This was when I began to suspect Federal Duck is a stalker.
















The Duck Palace even has a back yard.










We checked out the view of Memphis from the roof before heading down; such as AutoZone Park.


















We strolled down to Beale Street for a bit, I bought some souvenirs and then we said goodbye. Federal Duck is a great guy and a lot of fun.

On my way back to my car, I managed to get lost myself and in my searching, I ended up getting interviewed by the Fox News crew about panhandling. They said that Memphis is trying to deal with the problem and asked if I had experience any of it this past weekend. I related the stories about the Jerry Garcia guy and the guy who hassled us in the park. The interview was interrupted several times by trolley cars. I chided the guys a little bit for setting up shop next to the trolley tracks. I have no clue if that's going to be on the news tonight. I don't know anyone in Memphis to call and say "HEY, watch me on TV!"

Oh, side note about Lab; he tries to act like a curmudgeon; but it's hard for him to pull that off with that twinkle in his eyes. He and his wife are a load of fun, and I hope to be able to meet up with them and with Federal Duck next year for the music festival, if not before.

As I had said, we termed our plans as willy-nilly. At one point after we had all finally met up, we declared the will-nilly plan as successful. But Lab did say that he'd had plenty of willy and could use some nilly.

No one said anything as we digested that.

Then he said, "that didn't come out quite right."


Note on the Peabody Ducks: That is a tradition that started in the 1930's. The manager of the Peabody and some buddies went duck hunting in Arkansas. They had no luck, but when they returned, decided to put their three live decoys in the hotel's fountain. (live decoys were legal back then) It was a hit with the guests. The three original ducks were replaced with 5 mallards and a Duckmaster was assigned to them. The current Duckmaster is named Daniel Fox. Seriously. My link earlier in this thread takes you to a link about more info on the ducks, if you so desire.

And in the event you were wondering about the decision to put the original ducks in the fountain; yes, alcohol was involved.

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WALKIN' IN MEMPHIS

This coming weekend, I'll be motoring to Memphis to meet up with Lab and the Duck. Next weekend, I'll fly to Texarkana to join Moose and Squirrel.

Seriously, this coming weekend is the Memphis In May International Festival, and I'm joining some friends there; Lab and his wife, The Wench (real names Gary and Cindy); and Federal Duck (real name Daffy).

I finally got around to making hotel reservations tonight. Had I known it was the Memphis In May INTERNATIONAL Festival, I might have made the reservations a little further ahead of time. I mean, I didn't know I was going to be competing with an international contingent of music lovers.

Pricel!ne.com basically laughed at me. I did get a suggestion from them of a motel in a podunk town in Mississippi, just across the border from Memphis. I ran it by Lab, who advised me to see if it was near cas!nos, and to read the reviews. The only review mentioned a bullet hole in the mirror. Seriously, a bullet hole. And mold on the walls. I'm guessing a guest may have been shooting at varmits in the room.

So, I passed on that, and found something else that is in the actual state of Tennessee, has a high probability of not having been a recent crime scene and offers a complimentary continental breakfast.

This is gonna be fun.

And yes, I know that a complimentary continental breakfast in Tennessee is probably a powdered donut and a Yoohoo.

UPDATE: Bloglit "Wysiwyg" from Canberra, Australia asked if a YooHoo is the same thing as a "WooHoo". Um. No. It is considered by some to be a drink of chocolatey wonderment. Apparently, after having a drink of it, one is moved to say "Yoo Hoo". I'll admit to drinking it as a kid, until I got one that was w-a-a-a-y past it's "born on date" out of a vending machine. Nasty!! Haven't had one since.

On its website, there is a link to "nutritional information." I laughed at the concept of YooHoo and Nutrition. But I checked it out and silly me; it even has riboflavin. Whatever that is.

UPDATE UPDATE: El asked if there is a picture of the hotel. I do happen to have one, but it's a little old.








Federal Duck gently chastised me about the Tennessee breakfast. He says that I'm wrong, it is really a Moon Pie and an RC Cola.





Fed, that is apparently lunch.

I'm going to need insulin after this weekend.

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE: Lab is already calling me names. *snork*