Reflections on the Inauguration of the Millennium

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around ... when yellow will be mellow ... when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen. - Rev. J. Lowry

Amen!

It’s Inauguration Day. Yesterday was MLK Jr. Day. What an amazing time in our country’s history. What a milestone. Our neighbor, Barbara, came over for my Inauguration 2009 Party and the two of us watched together. Goosebumps, tears, pride, resolve, hope… I’d say “it was better than CATS.” But it was so special, I can’t even joke. I still choke up when I hear other people sharing their inauguration stories. Today, we are all untied again. I can’t help but reflect on this monumental event and Obama’s amazing race to the White House. And how it all relates to me.

My first brush with Obama-For-President:
Borders Book Store on North Michigan Avenue, Chicago
October 2006
He was signing copies of “The Audacity of Hope.” I had my copy and my place in line at 8 a.m. After hours of waiting and queue fraternizing, I had made it to second floor, close to the front of the pack. “Awww Man, I thought it was Jamie Foxx,” was the running joke of the morning. When it was my turn, I folded open the hard cover to the blank second page as directed and stepped up to the table. Boy, he’s tall! I used my 5 seconds with Senator Obama to say thanks, good luck, and thanks for leading the White Sox parade and hope to see you in front of the Bears parade! .… I managed to get it all out before security was flagged.

Second encounter:
Super Tuesday in Anchorage, Alaska
February 2008
(Written last year, after the event. I still had a lot of pent-up stress...But it was all worth it.)
Never participate in anything that is pronounced by combining caulk and ass. Imagine 3,000 people driving (organized carpooling or public trans hasn’t caught on yet) to the Nate Begich Middle School, looking for parking, parking on the medians, in between the landscaped evergreen bushes, next to bike racks, double parked left and right. Keep in mind, middle school parking lots were not designed to accommodate mass parking. After I realized this wasn't going to be pretty, it was too late to turn around with all the other responsible voting citizens closing in behind me. I parked illegally and walked in the school, entering the 6th dimension. The last time I was stuck anywhere so crowded, it was on the Red Line CTA coming home from a Sox vs. Cubs game. The poll volunteers ushered me towards the gym since I was already registered to vote. That's where I got caught in the cattle line, no where to go, no where to run, no where to exit, being walled in by the responsible voting citizens spilling in behind me. We were instructed to get a blue card and proceed to the room that corresponded with our district where we could be manually counted. What the hell archaic process is that?? So, like my grandpa, I made friends with people in line. A half hour later, they announce over the loudspeaker that they've run out of blue cards and that we no longer need them. Mind you, I have not physically moved in the sea of people for about an hour. And the woman next to me starts coughing. It's like Germ-A-Palooza 2008. Then, they start announcing over the loudspeaker that whoever owns the white Ford truck license plate XLF77FU must move their car, it's blocking the entrance way. Then they make the announcement again, then they announce other cars that were going to be towed. But there's no way to get out to move your car!! And the parking lot is so overfull, where are you gonna move it to? There's no where to go!! Unless you were body surfing, there was no way to physically leave the school. Plus, after waiting in line for the blue card/golden ticket/papers of transit, there's no way in hell anyone is going to give up their spot. I was imagining writing a letter to Obama, letting him know how thrilled I was to be part of the Obama majority from AK and then asking him to pay my towing fees from the caucus night.... Then over the PA, we hear that the white Ford is blocking an ambulance. Well, this is just great. I swear, I was waiting for the "showers" to turn on and kill us all.

Finally, there was a mass clearing, I got my blue card, found my room, which had been relocated from where the map said it was due to over-crowding. I looked like a stockbroker, walking around the hallways, holding up three fingers on one hand, two fingers on the other. "32nd District?" "32nd District?" I shouted down the hallway. "Do you know where the 32nd District is meeting?" "Can someone please, for the love of God, tell me where the 32nd District is meeting!?!?" My queue buddy Mary and I were wondering around, convinced that we missed the counting as we passed rooms that had finished tallying their vote. Finally, we found the meeting place. Mary went to the Hillary line or was tired of being queue buddies because I lost her. I waited in line again with other Obama supporters, holding my blue card, waiting for the guy who was making tick marks on a legal pad, to tell him, "Obama." Doesn't anyone verify my driver's license? My voting card? No master list to check I am who I say I am and live where I say I live? No? Ok. And then we were supposed to move to the other side of the hallway and wait. To hell with this. I gave my card to a nice boy named Marcus and asked him if he would please see to it that this went to the right person. I was on the verge of blowing up the school myself. Marcus made an astute comment while we waited in line. He had been there waiting for a while. Longer than I. But he was in it for the long haul. I was ready for wine and Cajun gumbo two hours ago. He said, "It's easy to understand how FEMA became such a mess. And our lives aren't even being threatened." I wasn't so sure about that part, I was still suspicious of those showers. Especially when I later found out the republican primary had a normal polling process, and there was even a place to vote republican in Eagle River. I knew I should have gone with McCain. End of the day, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I exercised the rights that my fiancé serves to protect. It was inspiring to see so many people turn out for this. But pride and inspiration lasted for, like, a minute. The rest was a giant pig f***. Good times!! Go Obama.

(If I was alive 60 years ago and Black, I would have never made it past the poll tax. "You want me to pay for this? The hell with you!")

Third:
Naperville, IL
September 2008
Mailed my absentee ballot to Alaska, where I was still registered. Knowingly outnumbered with Alaska's own Palin in the contest. I think my vote was counted. Eventually. But I sealed that envelope with as much Gusto! as I said "I do" to Brian two weeks later.

Fourth and final:
Election Night in Ocean Springs, Mississippi
November 2008
I should clarify here that Brian and I are a “mixed” marriage when it comes to politics. I should also clarify that I am subtle like a train wreck. As we drove Danielle to soccer practice that evening, I alternated between NPR’s election coverage and Disc 2 of Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits, singing “If you wanna be my president, it don’t matter if you’re black or white…” I was giddy with historic un-precedence. State by state, the votes were piling in. Obama was winning swing states. My democratic-minded friends were keeping me on the pulse of Blue v. Red. I was on edge with excitement on the sidelines of a soccer field. More NPR and M-Jackson on the way home. Then, at 11 p.m., the California polls closed. In this minute, at the top of this hour, the Democratic Presidential Nominee Barack Obama became the President-Elect Barack Obama. I cried. I wanted to go outside and bang pots and pans. We had just moved in to the neighborhood, and McCain/Palin signs were posted up and down both sides of the street. You probably don’t need me to tell you that this area wasn’t known as “Obama Country.” But when you’re on the winning side, it’s best to show some class and dignity, to refrain from gloating. But when I saw the McCain/Palin signs still posted the morning after the election, DAMN! I came close to chalking OBAMA RULES on every driveway. Back to 11:01 p.m., this One Moment in Time as Whitney Houston would say, I watched the glowing gathering in Grant Park in my Ol' Hometown. I just went out on the porch, spoke with like-minded democrats on the phone, and gazed up at the stars with gratitude.

Then, a fiery meteor blazed across the south-western horizon and into the upside-down open chalice of a crescent moon.

Whatever it means, all is right with the world.

G'night and G'bless.

Life in MS Chapter 1: Country Dawgs and Knocked-Up Bitches

Crude? Not even. I need to make an important clarification here. We’re not talking about dogs. We’re talking ‘bout your certified pedigree country ‘dawg.’ And some of them happen to be female. And pregnant.

On a regular basis, when I leave the house, whether to walk Gretchen or go for a run or even a bike ride, I am chased by dogs. Every day, at least once a day, I tell a dog to, “Go home!” Doesn’t matter what time of day, what the temperature is, what kind of neighborhood I’m in or even if the owner’s within earshot. Little dogs, big dogs, barkers, growlers, yippers; they all come out and let me know that I’m passing by THEIR territory. I should explain that while we live in a gorgeous area, there are a few pockets of impoverished living arrangements, dilapidated homes and “Katrina cottages” where it’s hard to tell if they’re occupied or not. Until I see their dawg come running after me.

While renting our friends’ condo at Harbor Landing, we became acquainted with the neighborhood “regulars.” Nobody seemed to know who owned the dogs, because I would ask them, like I asked the group of kids waiting for the school bus one morning. A chestnut Labrador mix had been following me and Gretchen for most of the block as I passed them, but when I gestured to the dog, the kids just shrugged and said, “That’s just one of the neighborhood dawgs…”

On a different morning run, I passed by a house with a Lab in front, the same that had followed me the other day. This was early in our Miss’Sippi Living experience, before I had wrapped my head around the whole ‘neighborhood dawg’ concept. I waved to the woman out front and asked if the dog belonged to her. When she replied yes, I let her know he followed us home the other day across Beachview Drive, a VERY busy street. “Oh yeah, he does that all the time. Kody’s jest got a mind of his own and likes to do his own thang...” Being the new kid on the block, I wasn’t going to judge. Shit, Kody’s living the High Life! I said thanks and waved good-bye. Kody ran along side us a few more times after that, like a running buddy. He’d follow us all the way to the front steps of our condo, and I’d tell him “So long, Kody! This is our stop!” and remind him to be careful crossing Beachview on his way home. And then he’d scamper off towards the other condo units, sniffing stuff. Yazoo was another dawg that ran with the same footloose crowd as Kody. He looked like the dog from The Little Rascals and would hang out at the pool, finding shade under a lounge chair. He was tiny enough to squeeze through the fence, and it’s not like he went IN the water to cause trouble or blow his cover; we figured he came for the atmosphere and the privacy. Yazoo is the name of my favorite county in MS. I had no idea what the dog's real name was.

The other country dawgs haven’t been so likeable. .

I don’t know if I draw more attention by having Gretchen with me, or if it’s good that I have her for protection. On one morning run, a very pregnant and very unfriendly Boxer came at us and started barking. She stopped within a few feet, close enough to see that her underbelly was swollen from nursing. “See what happens to loose females,” I told Gretchen. She kept barking at us from the middle of the road. Keeping my distance and Gretchen’s leash taught, I called out to no one in particular, “Could you please come call off your dog?!”- my voice inflected with ignorant hope that someone would hear or care or be awake to take ownership of their knocked-up bitch. “Please call of your dog???!!!” As Gretchen and I started turning around to find another path of less resistance, an anger came over me. The Hell with this! There was only one way home, and we had been out long enough- we’re going home! I looked the slut dog straight in the eye and with my sternest voice, ordered “GO HOME! GO ON NOW!! GO HOME!” And I’ll be damned, it worked. We lived to stir up bayou vermin another day.

Now, I’m completely accustomed to the neighborhood dawg. Even after buying a house and moving to new neighborhood, Gretchen and I still manage to stir up the ‘locals.’ These country dawgs generally stick to their own yards, except for a few exceptions. There’s a motley crew down the street consisting of a black Lab, a Pomeranian and a Chihuahua. We call them Jose, Jack and Jim. The three of them once tried to gang up on Gretchen and put the ‘moves’ on her before we could shake them off- obnoxious albeit somewhat amusing, like the movie, “The Ringer.” Then there’s an old Basset Hound who I called The Admiral because he would patrol back and forth between his yard and the neighbor’s across the street, assuming he lived at one of those addresses. As soon as he saw us, he would ‘sound the alarm’ which sounded more like one continuous note than a dog bark. A few weeks ago, I found out he’s a she and her name is Lucy. But we were right to think she owned the neighborhood. Her and her dachshund sidekick make the neighborhood rounds between 10 and 11 a.m., which is usually when I catch them scampering between yards from out my window. When I do, I can’t help but proclaim, “Heeeere’s Luuuuucy!” a la Ricky Richardo.

And to think poop on the sidewalk was my biggest pet peeve back in Chicago and Eagle River, Alaska. At least poop doesn’t chase you.

Here’s a song I like to sing when I see neighborhood dawgs. It came to me while biking home the other day, after shooing away a mangy terrier.

(To be sung in the style of John Denver)

Country Dawwwwwwwwg
Leave me aloooone
When I’m comin’
Down yer roooooooaaad!
Get a leash…
Or a fence…
Country Dawwwg
Leave me a-loooooooooooone.

Variation: “…When I’m bikin’/runnin’/walkin’/joggin’ down yer road…”

Interesting...

Here's a good one. Currently, it's 35'F in Ocean Springs. We're going through what you might call a "cold spell." The front page of the newspaper yesterday displayed warnings and safety tips durring the "Deep Chill." Never mind that kids back in Fairbanks, AK will continue to go outside for recess as long as it doesn't drop below -20'F. In the meantime, back in Eagle River, the temperature at this moment is 37'F. At this second, it's warmer in Alaska than in Southern Mississippi (I'm sure it won't last, and they'be been paying their dues with the longest cold streak of temperatures below 0'F since October... a couple weeks ago, the city of Anchorage had to postpone the ice carving festival because it was so cold, the ice was turning to powder, instead of retaining its shape when cut into. Let me repeat: too cold for ice in Alaska. Sort of wacky).

So, to recap, Ocean Springs, MS 35'F. Eagle River, AK 37'F.

Chicago, IL right now? -12'F

Cinematic Flora & Fauna

There are TONS of movies that depict the richness and mugginess of this area. Listed below is just a small sampling of the obvious titles, as well as a few sleeper films that will gear you up and help you practice your accent for your trip Down South.


IN THEATRES- Curious Case of Benjamin Button- haven’t seen it yet, but already have it on the Netflix list!

Forrest Gump- We drive right pass Bubba’s hometown, Bayou Le Batre (Alabama), on our way to Mobile.

Big Easy- A good flic based in N’Awlins, with lots of good ol’ Cajun spice, sass and seediness. Dennis Quaid has the Southern thang down pat.

Heaven’s Prisoners- Alec Baldwin, Mary Stuart Masterson and Terri Hatcher play just a few characters in this colorful cast of good people caught up in bad circumstances. Great bayou scenes just south of N’Awlins. Terri Hatcher likes dem Gin Ricky cocktails. Brian introduced me to this film- surprisingly entertaining!

Interview with a Vampire- The first part of this fantastic and soft-gay-porn classic takes place on one of the Louisiana plantations we visited along the historic River Road called Oak Alley. Many of the scenes were shot in and in front of Oak Alley, so named for the 20+ majestic oak trees that line the driveway to the mansion.

COMING SOON! Hurricane Season- A movie about people picking up their lives post-Hurricane Katrina and find their spirits lifted by a high school basketball team, starring Forest Whitaker, Bow Wow and Lil’ Wayne!!! I can’t wait.

COMING SOON! Midnight Bayou- This was being filmed at Oak Alley Plantation while we were there! Starring Faye Dunaway.

There are a couple others, like Mississippi Burning, but it was too scary to watch.

BCS Bowl Trivia!

Is it a Wide Receiver or a string of counties in MS?

How bout those Gators, eh? Since all of my hometown alliances came up short this BCS/NFL/MLB season, it's nice to follow and cheer on a winner once in a while, even if it's only second-hand spousal celebration.

Well, did you try your luck yet? Could you pick out the true wide receivers from the made-up names based off of Mississippi state counties? Answers are bolded.

JASPER JONES
CADE HOLLIDAY (WR, U of F)
TIPPAH LEE DESOTO (Isn't that a good one! Totally made-up using counties of MS)
DESEAN JACKSON (WR, Philadelphia Eagles)
TATE COVINGTON
MARION BENTON
OMARIUS HINES (WR, U of F)
TRAVIS SIKES (WR, U of AL)
CARROLL HOLMES
LAMAR WILKINSON

Trickier than it seems... Brian and I came up with this game during our August evacuation from Hurricane Gustav, while driving the backroads of MS and listening to NPR storm updates.

Thanks for playing! Join us next season.