The Kingdom of Cornflakes

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Since I was a kid, I've always seen names like Battle Creek, Michigan on cereal boxes and so the image of Michigan being the corflake kingdom of the world was pretty much set in my mind, just like Detroit makes you think of the auto industry.

Since leaving Ada, Michigan back in February, I had not given much thought about ever coming back up here. Fortunately, this time, I arrived in the fall instead of mid-blizzard like the last time.

Ray, the other guy I'm working with, and I took a drive over on the shores of Lake Michigan to the village of Saugatuck Saturday. Really a nice day driving through the colors of red, yellow and orange. He's from west Florida so we both agreed it was really nice seeing real fall colors. Usually, at home, the leaves go from green to the ground before much change.

Worth noting, is the fact that Lake Michigan is like being near the ocean when the wind whips up the waves and somehow your mind keeps telling you it's the Pacific. It even includes sand dunes much like you'd find in places like the Oregon coast.

Looks like I'll be here past Thanksgiving so I started scrambling today for some tickets home. Usually I don't get them this early but knowing what it's been like in the past, I thought it best that I put my name in the hat already.

So, I'll be hanging out in the cornflake kingdom for a while when I get back.

Boudreau and The Myrtles

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<------Louis & Jan

Having finished up a pretty intense week in Arlington, TX, the kind folks at American Airlines capped it off Friday with baggage mishandling and a couple of hours delay for my arrival home. Already dealing with some kind of stomach bug, it all made for a particularly long day.

With no particular plans, Darlene and I visited our friends up north of St Francisville. We, along with Louis, Jan and her sister Denise enjoyed the buffet lunch at the Myrtles there in St Francisville. It was a nice leisure lunch with tables resting on the bricked patio where a couple of black house cats twined through our legs as the girls swapped folklore tales of haunted experiences here. A Red Tail Hawk watched us from the top of a Cypress tree and eventually flew off in search of it's own lunch buffet.

After spending a little time, we checked out some kind of "festival" of sorts, looked a few restored cars and enjoyed a retro band playing their interpretation of Pure Prairie League, Van Morrison and a few others. After driving up to Louis & Jan's place, we let our hearts and minds wander by looking at a few lakeside homes for sale before turning south back to Baton Rouge.

All day long, Darlene had told me I should buy that motorcycle I've been wanting ever since my brother-in-law came and took the Sportster away 7 years ago. I had pretty much made up my mind that if I were to buy, it would be a Japanese bike because they used ones were so much cheaper. With absolutely no intention of going for a Harley, Darlene and I dropped off for a look at the local HOG pen on Siegen lane. Before I realized it, a dead serious, heart throbbing lust for a red on black FLSTC Softail Classic had settled on me and wouldn't get off. Vowing I wasn't going to "write a check today" to Bob the salesman, I left there at closing time with VIN numbers and name and phone of the previous owner of the contraption folded into my sweating palm.

I muddled all day Sunday and that night about whether I should buy it or and wasn't really sure one way or the other when I went back Monday morning for further looking and drooling. Long story short,I now own "Boudreau" (named after the original owner). The irony of all this is, the moment I signed the papers to take possession, my cell phone shattered my living dream and now found myself booking flights and hotels to Grand Rapids, Michigan. If that call had come in 30 minutes earlier, I probably would have delayed and backed off the deal but now, I'll have only this photo of "Boudreau" and the memory of the roar of those Screaming Eagle pipes to entertain me until I get home in a couple of weeks.

Oh, by the way, the critics hated it but the movie, Wild Hogs was a hoot. I loved it and recommend it for a rental.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeee....Haaaaaa!!!!!!

Friday, October 19, I thought I had a long weekend off but that fantasy came to a screeching halt when the powers that be called around 2 PM with news from Arlington, TX. At first my plans were to be there for Monday morning but the second call from the mother ship had me driving 250 miles back home to re-pack for Texas. Still miffed that I had missed my grandson's birthday party and would be missing my son-in-law's birthday get together Sunday, I went early to vote Saturday and boarded the plane for DFW.

Reluctantly, I worked Saturday but got in touch with my cousins and aunt up in Denton and arranged a meeting at the Texas State Fair in Dallas. "Meet us under Big Tex", cousin Ken said. "Bringing Aunt Leror"? I asked. "Yep, she'll be with us", he replied.

It was just nice connecting with family that I had not had a chance seeing for a couple of years. We all cruised the butterfly gardens, home exhibits, car shows and of course the food court before we split up. Giving Ken, Nancy and Aunt Leror all a big hug we parted ways and I made my way back to the hotel.



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North Georgia

September 14: With less than 24 hours since arriving in Baton Rouge from Virginia, I was already booking a flight to Burlington, Iowa. Thinking it impossible to be more remote than that, within 3 hours, the phone rang and my trip to Burlington was canceled and I on the cell phone in traffic booking a trip to Blairsville, GA. Not knowing for sure where that place was, I relied on the travel agent to choose the best airport. She tells me, "Knoxville". "Tennessee?", I asked. "Yep, your other choices are Asheville, Chattanooga or Atlanta". "Well", says I, "that's three states and a lot of space between those towns, are you sure?". Long story short, I'm on a flight early Thursday morning, flying over the tropical storm that had just passed through Louisiana and landing right back in the middle of it. Relying on my trusty (?) Garmin GPS, I took it's advice and went blazing down the road and within 30 minutes I'm on some little road in a drizzling rain questioning the wisdom of Mr. Garmin's invention. When I tell you that road was crooked, that is an understatement. At one point, I kid you not, I looked through the trees to my right and saw a car put on it's brake lights and 15 seconds later, I met that same car in the next curve. My trip to Blairsville lasted three hours through these curves and rain and had me muttering near profanities at the thought of my travel agent and the folks at Garmin Industries.

Blairsville is a Mayberyesque town of around 700 full time citizens with an old courthouse occupying the pivot point of a roundabout. The office where I met up with Wally, the other rep, sits on the north side of it. Unfortunately, it was nearly closing time by the time I arrived so Wally and I went out scouting for a place to stay. We chose Holiday Inn Express after a quick look at couple of other motels, thinking it was the safest bet, not knowing anything about the place.

September 26: After spending the past two days in St Louis, I flew back to Georgia. Thinking it might be best to fly into Atlanta, I flew in on American this time, giving my usual rant about Delta a rest. Feeling fortunate that we arrived on time, I retrieved my bags and tried to find the rental car shuttle bus. Atlanta's signage is less than wonderful so I found myself pulling two large bags to and fro outside the terminal building. After asking and receiving bad advice from two sources, I eventually was aboard the shuttle.

Instead of driving the fastest way, Saturday morning I checked out of my Patel and took Hwy 19 north. It soon became much more scenic than Hotlanta when I began to get into the north Georgia mountains. Arriving in Dahlonegah, I checked out a couple of motels and eventually unloaded at the Super 8. Believe it or not, it had more going on for it than the Holiday Inn Express and a lot cheaper to boot.

Dahlonegah, was hosting a couple of bike rides, one 50 mile ride and a hundred miler. There was more spandex covered butts there than at the flea market in Gonzales, LA. This small college town has a pretty neat historic downtown with satellites of shops and cafes all around the old courthouse. While the main attraction was supposed to be bicycles, the tight turned roads were constantly yielding to various arays of Porches, Beemers, vintage roadsters and everything imaginable in motorcycles.

October 6 and 7: Wow! Were the natives excited about the Sorghum Festival! Complete with a canon shot to start the parade Saturday morning, Blairsville denizens turned out on the courthouse square to take in the sights of all 5 fire trucks, Boy Scouts, people on stilts, Shriners, the high school marching band and every restored Camaro or Mustang still running. True enough, in conventional terms of traveling, there isn't a lot going on for Blairsville but somewhere deep down in your soul you'll find a lot and your heart will be better for the experience.

The last 3 weeks, I decided to stay at the Seasons Inn right on the square. It's an older inn that had been bought and run by a young couple. Furnishing were spartan but nevertheless, it was fitting for my stay in Mayberry......er...Blairsville.

Washington DC

Sitting in my car, I watched umbrellas shielding LSU students from the rain and the drip of Crape Myrtle draped sidewalks. With a few minutes until my wife got off from her job in Himes Hall, I was fascinated with how the water globbed up and refracted the colors from the student apparel. Sometimes boredom just takes over, so I experimented with settings on my digital SLR.

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The cell phone rang and my attention now turned to my next assignment near Richmond, VA. Since I'd never been to DC, this seemed like a good opportunity to put things into perspective to how it’s all laid out. This was probably going to be a short one and were that I would have only one weekend to explore.

Rising early one Saturday morning, I drove into Washington DC and found my way to the mall using the Washington Monument as my focusing point. Originally, my plan was to park somewhere and take a tour bus but I had arrived too early and the buses wouldn’t be running for another 1½ so I found a spot between the obelisk and the White House. My walking tour included the WWII, Korean and Viet Nam war memorials as well as the Lincoln Monument.

It was a good thing that I decided to just walk to the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue. Security was tight and only preauthorized vehicles were allowed near there and I was quite sure I wasn’t on the list. Honestly, I was expecting a bigger deal about the White House, especially the view. As I arrived at the viewing point there were lots of people there taking pictures of each other with the White House in the background. It just seemed further away and much less glamorous. After seeing news correspondents using it as a background,I thought people would be much closer than we were. It was fenced with wrought iron fencing but had hog wire attached to it. Most disappointing was the fact that there were no protesters, no Cindy Sheehans or John Kerrys throwing medals over the fence. I took my obligatory pictures and moved on back to the car, cranked up and drove myself to the Congress and Jefferson Memorials. My feet were flat, knees hurting and just a little tired from all the walking so after driving around a while, I went back south to the little burg near Richmond I was staying.

Sorry I missed you, Mr . Bush, I understand you were on a flight to Iraq at the time. Maybe next time. I'll call first.

Chicago

Reluctantly, I left St Augustine, Florida for a week in Chicago. Quite intimidated by the traffic, I took a hotel near O'Hare and plotted my course downtown then into the fringes of the infamous Southside of Chicago on State Street. Somehow, I could hear the music of Jim Croce singing about "Bad, bad, Leroy Brown, the baddest man in the whole d*mn town, badder than ole King Kong and meaner than a junk yard dog". I turned on to the Eisenhower Expressway and headed toward Lake Michigan and was captivated with the idea that I-290 would actually go through the 3rd floor of the old post office building. I guess it was easier to drive through it than to tear it down.

State Street, once you got past a few sleazy buildings headed south, is in somewhat a a reconstruction mode with new high rise condos selling for just under a half million. Hip young females walked dogs and stopped off at coffee shops where five years ago you might have witnessed a mugging.

When you visit another city, people there go out of their way to show you what they think defines their city. In this case, we were directed to what was supposed to be a really good pizza taste. I had never heard of Uno's Pizza but my partner I was working with wanted to give it a try so we headed north to downtown. Finding Uno's wasn't that big of a deal but finding a parking spot posed more of a challenge but Jon slid into one in the middle of a mud puddle. Celebrating our good fortune, we got out, waded through near ankle deep water, fed the meter and headed a couple of blocks west. Finding a seat, we split a deep crust pizza and waited a short time before being served. Personally, I just didn't see what all the fuss was about and thought the best pizza for me would have to be one of Johnny's Sweep The Kitchen special down in Monroe, Louisiana or perhaps a calzone at one of De Angelo's of Baton Rouge. Uno's crust tasted somewhat like baking powder biscuit dough.

Fortunately, our stay was short lived and honestly, I didn't find the Hyatt much of a bargain. That being said, it truly is an interesting city with the elevated trains and high rises waving at the sky.

September 19, Talk Like A Pirate Day

Arrrrr matey! September 19 is approaching! What's the big deal about September 19, you might ask. Well!....It's National Talk Like A Pirate day and you could be a part of it.

All you have to do on September 19 is talk like a pirate. Here's an example: "Sep-tem-Barrrr nineteenth, arrrr matey, click the pirate!"

If you think loading the dishwasher means getting your wife drunk....you might be a Redneck. - Jeff Foxworthy

Main Entry: red·neck
Pronunciation: 'red-"nek
Function: noun
1 sometimes disparaging : a white member of the Southern rural laboring class
2 often disparaging : a person whose behavior and opinions are similar to those attributed to rednecks
- redneck also red·necked /-"nekt/ adjective

Where did we go wrong? You know, the "redneck" thing. While I never really thought of myself as much of a redneck, the necessity to seek an identity and at least be inclusive within some popular group sometimes makes me lean in that direction.

Somewhere along the course of events, the "mutts" of South pretty much found themselves positioned low in the racial and cultural pecking order for national prominence. One morning we woke up and found we had been swamped by hyphenated tags. Bruno is an Italian-American, Clarence is an African-American, Joan is a Native-American, etc. You get the drift. I've never heard anyone seriously call themselves a Redneck-American. While Redneckdom is generally thought of as being from the South, I've been told that not all Rednecks are Southerners. There are claims that the denizens of the Upper Pennisula of Michigan, known as Yoopers (UPers), can pretty much stand toe to toe with Bubba in LA (Lower Alabama) when it comes to Redneck prowess. There are unsubstantiated rumors that there are even European-Rednecks but I never heard of Icelandic or African Rednecks.

All that being said, you have to admit, often the butt of jokes, Rednecks have held their heads high and proud. famous Rednecks have included Jerry Clower, Larry the Cable Guy, Jeff Foxworthy and many others.

So, if you're are a Redneck, sympathize with Rednecks or just want to be able to identify one, check out this web site.

http://www.lilligren.com/Redneck/

Mercedes

This morning, a co-worker called on the phone and we were talking about California. In the fall of '05 and into the spring of '06, I spent 8 months out in Calabasas, California in the northwest corner of Los Angeles County. Along with a couple of gigs on Maui, I count it as one of my most pleasant assignments.

In the business center that had our office, a lady by the name of Mercedes was the parking lot attendant. Mercedes lived 25 miles away and she worked two shifts there. One by day where she watched the lot and cars for the business residents and the evening shift where she collected parking fees from patrons of nearby restaurants. Some people may have been content to sit on their tufts and waited for some agency to put them on some program but not her. She put in as many as 16 hours 4 days a week and another 8 for Saturday and Sunday. I don't care what you say, that's a lot of work even if you do get Tuesdays off.

Every day, I would take a break and walk the bank deposit up a few hundred yards to the Bank Of America in a trendy little shopping center and would sometimes bring Jane and Lori back a treat from the Coffee Bean and Tea Company. Often, I would bring Mercedes something back as well. She loved vanilla lattes.

Southern California isn't known for it's bad weather and often, in the late winter, temperatures would hover in the mid 70s and rarely did it rain. She sat vigilant in a plastic chair behind her Ford Explorer under the large eucalyptus and china berry trees and admonished the botox vixens to park within the painted lines of the parking lot. I always wondered why Mercedes would be wearing a rain coat and holding an umbrella in the seemingly pristine atmosphere. After curiosity finally festered one day, I screwed up my courage and asked why she had an umbrella when it wasn't raining. She took a sip of her latte, grinned, shrugged and remarked, "Oh Senor,............. it keeps the birds from pooping on my head."

Feeling Average?

So, at best, sometimes you feel just "average"? How cool would it be if we could just make it mandatory that others saw us from a photoshop reality? Way cool.

Magazines do it all the time and keep the celebrity royal appealing to us.

Check Faith Hill out
Click the Redbook picture.