Awkward Longhorn?

Honestly, I really did not expect it to be difficult at all to get swept up in the idea of being a Longhorn. They'll never play Maryland in anything so I avoid that predicament (Terps all the way) pretty easily. But yesterday, standing in a sea of burnt orange felt very very strange. The experience, in and of itself, was amazing. As a sports fan in general, there's nothing better than college football, especially in a place like Texas, where this stuff is practically religion. Our tailgating began steps from LBJ's presidential library in the breezeway of our school building. $40 buys you a season's worth of burgers, chips, soda, beer, and a T-shirt that proclaims your membership in LBJ's Great Tailgate Society. The only difference between this tailgate and those we used to throw at Maryland was that there were babies. Cute babies in burnt orange onesies wondering what in god's name everyone was yelling about. There were drinking games and food, football and washers, and alums who graduated before LBJ was born playing Uno and smoking cigars. When gametime rolled around, we missed the dedication of Vince Young's #10, but saw Matthew McConaughey throw the horns up on the Jumbotron. About 30 rows up from the 10 yard line, we stood for a solid 3 hours while the orange jerseys ran circles around Florida Atlantic. And yes, it's nice not having to worry about your team beating their rollover opponent. But there was part of me having trouble looking around and seeing orange instead of red, my new friends rather than my die-hard Maryland crew, and white and orange "TEXAS" in the endzone rather than red and white "MARYLAND". My hands resisted the thumb over two middle fingers, index and pinky up formation and I felt a little bit like an intruder in someone else's world. So many things about Texas are familiar, which is wonderful and calming. The football fan in me is glad to have two more years of student tickets and bragging rights. The burnt orange will seep into my wardrobe little by little, and yes, I imagine I will eventually wear boots to a football game. But my roots will always be with the Terps, regardless of how many interceptions Steffy throws.

First impressions

I suppose what follows here can't really be considered first impressions, since I've visited Austin twice before moving here and I've been here for (gasp!) almost two weeks. But I want to try to convey to my east coast loves and compatriots exactly what my life has been like in Tay-has so far, and what I expect it to be like from this point out. I explained before about getting my life in order before class began, and I am truly settled now. I'm sitting at my kitchen table/desk right now waiting for people to arrive to have a drink before we head to a party tonight. I'm having a glass of wine, listening to my blues mix in lovely air conditioning, looking at a very clean apartment. The beauty of living in a studio is that you have to keep it clean, or you'd go crazy. I promise it's going to stay this way. Really. Anyway, first impressions...

On the road: The drivers in Texas are crazy. And that's saying a lot because most of my driving experience has been in either Rhode Island (always on the bottom of the worst-drivers list) and Maryland (painful). I don't know if it's this whole "Drive Texas Friendly" nonsense or that people are just used to moving at a pace that seems excruciatingly slow, but whatever the cause, I've had several bouts of road rage which are only aggravated by the heat. Parking is another insane issue. I can't wait for it to be cool enough for me to walk from my apartment to the Drag (Guadalupe, across campus from LBJ and my apartment) without subjecting myself to the very real possibility of death-by-heatstroke.

Food: The tex-mex is great. The tex-mex that's modern is great. The mexican is great. The barbeque is great. But make me a bagel people. For real. There's an Einstein Brothers bagels on the Drag but their bagels are less than stellar. Someone from UMD needs to freeze me some Bagel Place Old Bay bagels.

People: Nice. So so so nice. I can't tell you how many times I've had to tell myself that just because someone that you don't know says hello on the street they are not mentally ill. Admittedly I need to get used to this because when the cashier at Ikea wants to have a 20 minute conversation about kids and the weather with the customer in front of me, I really just want to get out of there. That's the east coast go go go in me I suppose. But honestly, this is something I should not complain about because I think it is going to have a lovely calming, blood-pressure lowering effect.

Dogs: Everyone has them. Lots of people in my program even. I'm glad they do, even though this is not an endeavor I would take on as a graduate student. It's like being an aunt. I can go play with the cute puppies but when I get bored or exhausted I get to home and they have to go back to mommy and daddy.

Ok.. I'm sure there's more but Erica just walked in so I should be a good hostess. Don't worry Mom, I'll write about school tomorrow.

So I'm an LBJ student, who are you?

The past few days have been excellent. I arrived in Austin, set up my super cute apartment with a lot of help from Dad, got oriented, and met a great group of people. I discovered I have free internet in my apartment (yes!), went grocery shopping, did three loads of laundry, bought Microsoft Office for $29, got my ID (terrible picture), made my bed, bought my first two bottles of vino, and started to put my clothes away. I ate at a restaurant 4 blocks from my apartment, walked to campus (13 minutes!), and tried my local coffee place. Walking into the building for my last orientation session this morning, I really began feeling like a graduate student. I imagine that feeling will only get stronger when I start spending 40 hours a week in the library. I dropped Dad off at the airport, stopped at Target, and continued my attempt to put my clothes away. I'm finally realizing I have too many pairs of shoes, and looking at the 10 sweaters that made the cut made me nauseous. I have a fur vest, a leather coat, two wool coats, and 6 sweatshirts that I doubt will get any use until maybe February. Maybe. I have too many T-shirts and too many black tank tops. Then there are the 6 or so formal dresses taking up space in my mini closet. But what can you do? Once it's all away or stored under the bed, I'll be happier but right now my empty "living room" is home to semi-organized piles of belts, t-shirts, bags, shoes, and jerseys. My sweet sound system right now consists of my speakers hooked up to my ipod on one of my window sills. I still don't have gas (which means no hot water until Tuesday) and the air conditioner isn't turning on for some reason. Thankfully it was on earlier today so it's sort of cool with the ceiling fan. I need to be working on this mess rather than writing. Really.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

Greenville, MS - Austin, TX

Miles: 531
Stops: 3
States: 4

We arrived in Austin around dinner time on Sunday, after a 9 and a half hour drive from Greenville. For most of the drive we were literally in the middle of nowhere, passing more ranches and soybean fields than cars. Once we hit Waco and got back on the interstate, it got a little crowded and our last 30 minutes in the car were plagued with a little Austin traffic. Of course, after you drive 2200 miles, the last thing I wanted to encounter was traffic for the last few miles but it wasn't all that bad. (There is a picture of me standing in front of the Welcome to Texas sign at the border, it'll be uploaded soon enough). Getting to Matt and Alison's was a relief. We relaxed then emptied the car into my apartment and went back for dinner. The next morning I had to finish studying for my statistics exam, take the exam, and run errands. The test was OK, we'll see what happens. IKEA with Dad was productive and I got my electricity turned on. The evening was my first LBJ social event- dinner followed by an optional bar outing. Everyone seems great and while I'm anxious to get settled and unpacked and organized, I'm happy to have a busy orientation week ahead of me.

Yankee eats dove, enjoys it.

The last little bit of this journey was by far the most fun in terms of the amount of serious cultural education you can receive in a limited amount of time. Our last afternoon in Greenville, and the night before we would make the long-haul drive from Mississippi to Austin, we had a fish fry. Rosemary, Susan's friend, had called the other day saying she had a whole lot of catfish lying around and would we like to fry it up Saturday night. Paul then got the idea to feed me every Southern oddity possible before I left so it became his plan to shoot some doves for the feast. When the night was over, I had tried dove, fried deer meat, fried frog legs, fried catfish, and crawfish. Around 6, Mack and Penny, Rosemary and her husband (Jim, maybe?), Paul and Jamie, Dad and I, and Susan and Buddy were standing outside the garage drinking beer and waiting for the oil to get hot. Paul and Jamie brought the dog and it wasn't long before Paul was lighting a fire just for the heck of it. (My earliest and one of few memories I have of Greenville is sitting in the driveway when I was about 8 burning ants with a magnifying glass. Paul wasn't there with us- it was his little brother Justin, but he too has been known to set things on fire). The dove sat on the grill wrapped in bacon until Paul gave me the go-ahead to try it. It was good, a little like chicken and a little like duck. A little tough, but good. I mused that I couldn't believe I was eating something that had been alive that day, which first made Paul laugh, then look at his watch to let me know it was more like 4 hours ago. Apparently, Jamie was ready to leave to come over to Susan's when Paul was making her wait so he could shoot one more. Next on the agenda was washers, which Susan described as, "the redneck game". It's sort of a cross between skee ball and horse shoes. There are two rectangular boxes, on on each end with three circular holes cut in the top. The first is in the center and large, the next two decrease in diameter and are further back on the box. There is a portion of the box nearest the opposing team that is left untouched. The short side of the boxes face each other. One member from each team stands on either side and you throw metal washers that are about 5 inches wide, aiming for the three holes. The holes are valued at 1 point, 3 points, and 5 points. The game is to 21, which you have to hit exactly. Go over 21 and your points decrease to 13. Once you are at 21 you have to hit the top of the box with each remaining washer in order to win. Jamie and I played against Paul and Buddy for round 1. I was pretty terrible at first but immediately after Paul pointed this out to me, I hit three for five. The ladies went on to win, much to my cousin's dismay. This went on for a while, Michael Phelps won his 8th gold medal and we kept playings washers. I was getting eaten alive by the 'skeeters' despite having reapplied Off twice. Eventually we went inside to watch home movies of my sister Camille when she was about two. Taken on an old Super 8 by my father, we saw my grandparents, Aunt Susan and others circa 1973.

Sarah Fisher said, via text, that she was glad I was embracing my southern side after I let her know I was about to eat freshly dead dove. I'm glad I got to embrace that too, but even more, I'm happy to have been able to spend some time with family.

Jim's Cafe and Greenville's Historian

The day began with breakfast at Jim's Cafe with a table full of good old boys who meet there every week. Benjy knows everyone and we sat with these guys for breakfast and heard stories, old and new, in their distinct slow Mississippi drawl. Gun Johnson owns the place that his father opened sometime in the 1920s. Oscar, an 81 year old Navy veteran and Greenville resident since age 9, told me that the cafe was his first stop when he arrived in town with his mother in the 30s. His family's store, Bradley Signs, made the sign for Johnny's Place, which was the blues club where BB King played one of his first shows. Then there was the man who 'stepped out' on his wife, which pissed her off so bad that she shot at him 11 times with two different guns, hitting him 5 times. She felt so bad that she called him an ambulance and (at her lawyer's suggestion) checked herself into the hospital for a nervous breakdown. The whole thing was ruled an accident and they're still together. This exchange carried on for about an hour. Guys trading stories and introductions being made; it seemed everyone wanted to tell us a piece of history that only they knew.

We drove across the street which, in all honesty, is post-apocalyptic at best, to Benjy's musuem- The Greenville History Museum. In an art deco storefront he has created a shrine to Greenville's past. There are detailed displays of the town's development and history, decline, rejuvenation, and second decline. He has yearbooks, high school newspapers, photographs, and artifacts enough to make a Smithsonian curator drool. The Greenville High School class of 1963 was displayed on the wall of the entrance hallway and I found Dad, looking pretty much exactly like he does now, just a bit younger. There was also mention of him in the PICA, GHS's newspaper, for his athletic prowess; his kicking ability earned him the nickname 'golden toe' Williams. He loves that. Another GHS graduate happened to be in town, Jay Stein whose family created Stein Mart. He stopped into the museum while we were there and the three of them traded names and stories of the classmates whose whereabouts they knew. I'm not sure who they were talking about but at one point Benjy said, "well, he's been dead since 1970, but his body just died 'bout six months ago".

Finally Benjy took us on a drive through town and over the bridge in his 'Jew Canoe', a white Escalade. He explained the car was necessary to "keep up [his] image". We drove to the levee, saw the riverboat casinos, and drove across the bridge to Arkansas. A new bridge is being built beside it because the towboats can't seem to stop running into the old, lower bridge. Throughout the drive, Benjy provided us a running commentary of the people and places in the town. I'm not kidding when I say downtown looks post-apocalyptic and it is truly sad because not only are there wonderful people here, the buildings are just itching to be restored. Beautiful early 20th century architecture that has endured decades of abuse and would make a beautiful rejuvenated downtown. But it might be too far gone. White flight, a terrible public school system, a lack of industry, and poor public management have desecrated the town's ability to function as such. Benjy's still here, along with a few others that would like to see the redevelopment efforts materialize, though he claims he'll be the last one to leave and the one turning off the lights. With all of that in mind, he is incredibly lighthearted about his work and takes serious pride in his efforts to maintain a sense of the town's history. If nothing else, there is a movie theatre just outside town, an archive of the town's past, and two excellent eating establishments that have lasted this long, so why not 60 more years.

Greenville, Mississippi

Clarksdale, MS - Cleveland, MS - Greenville, MS

Miles: 72.3

Leaving the Blues Museum we went on to Cleveland, Mississippi, where Dad's boyhood friend Paul Kossman is an attorney for the Department of Human Services. The plan was to find him, old-school style without a cellphone number, office number, or address, and see if he wanted to have lunch with us. We drove around downtown Cleveland for a few minutes (believe me, that's all it took) and after a stop in to ask the librarian, found what we thought were his law offices. His partner informed us his office was elsewhere so we drove there. After 15 minutes of sitting in his office, I completely understand why he and my father are friends. He harassed me and Dad, Dad harassed him, and I just laughed at the whole thing. At the end of all this, I was being set up with a Russian tennis player, we had directions for lunch, and Paul's promise to meet us at Doe's for dinner.

The drive to Greenville was next. Another 35 miles down Highway 61 is Leland, Mississippi, a town 12 miles east of Greenville where my Aunt Susan lives on Black Bayou Road. We found the place because she was standing halfway down the driveway waving her arms for us. And yes, should you be wondering, we are out in the middle of nowhere.

We sat around at Susan's place with my cousin Paul, his wife Jamie, and Susan's boyfriend Buddy, before we piled into cars headed for Doe's Eat Place. Doe's is a family-run place that has been in Greenville since 1941. My grandfather, Dr. Collins Williams was one of three obstetricians in town for quite sometime so pretty much everyone knows someone who was delivered by him. Doe's is no exception and the story was that he delivered most of the family. We had hot tamales, steaks, and their famous salad. The lemon and oil dressing is apparently quite difficult to recreate but it's certainly worth trying. When you first walk into Doe's, you're standing in the kitchen. An old gas oven is full of steaks three inches thick and people are shaking hands with all the people they know. Our group was quite large, and each person there knew someone else who also happened to be eating at Doe's. All Dad had to say was, "my father was Dr. Collins Williams", and people threw their heads back and said "oh yea, he delivered my [insert family member here]". Sitting in the tiny dining room of this place, there was almost too much to take in. Paul Kossman, Benjy, and Dad sat at one end bullshitting each other about something. I sat with Jamie and Paul and Susan and Buddy while Paul devised a plan to get me to eat dove and catfish the next day. After dinner we drove to the Italian-American club in Greenville which was a smoke-filled bar full of people who were definitely not Italian. We met more people who knew Susan or Buddy or Papa and left for home with plans for an 8:30 breakfast with Benji the next morning.

Where the Southern Cross the Dog

Memphis, TN - Clarksdale, MS

Miles: 76.8
This particular leg begins the real down-home roots portion of the drive. We left Memphis in the morning, heading down Highway 61 towards Clarksdale, Mississippi and the center of Blues folklore. And let me say that the Delta is nothing if it's not flat. About two miles after we crossed the border into Mississippi there was a slight dip in the road, and we didn't go uphill ever again after that. Clarksdale is where Route 61 and Route 49 cross, and supposedly where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil for his guitar talent. As with most legend, there is disagreement about the 'facts' surrounding this bit of music history. Dad says the real crossroads are where the 'Southern cross the Dog', as sang the unnamed bluesman that WC Handy encountered at a rail station in Mississippi. The Southern and the Yellow Dog were rail lines in the early part of the 20th century.

We arrived in front of the Blues Museum about an hour and a half later, after driving through part of Clarksdale that looked like a time warp. The signs that are still in tact are in 1950s and 1960s lettering, and the storefronts are rundown versions of what you see in old movies. Clarksdale is not on the road to anywhere, so our being from Rhode Island and DC was taken with a small amount of shock. The Blues Museum is a pilgrimage. People go there from as far as we came to be in the company of the inspirations of the great bluesmen. There are no restaurants, no hotels, only the blues. Had we stayed longer, I would have gone to Sarah's Kitchen or Red's Lounge, where locals still play sometimes or at least the bartenders can tell you what it was like growing up when the blues was the pulse of this little town. What is left of Clarksdale is an example of the many forgotten corners of America, but from what I could tell, the people are proud to live in the cradle of the Delta blues.

Photography was not allowed inside the museum and there were no postcards of any of its famed items so you will have to take my word for what was there. I suppose this is an appropriate way to tell a story that is steeped in its own legend. Muddy Waters was the museum's focus; his cabin dominated the end of the long room. Also housed there was a guitar which he once broke over the head of a man in a bar fight and then sold to get out of town quickly. The guitar found its way back home. Another guitar was fashioned from boards of Muddy's cabin that was partially destroyed by a tornado. ZZ Top guitarist Billy Gibbons had the guitar made and it travels the country to raise money for the museum. Rather than paint it blue, for the Blues, he had it painted white with a winding blue line down the neck and around the body, representing the Mighty Mississippi.

Beale Street Blues

Our plan for the evening in Memphis was the Rock n' Soul Museum, drinks at the Peabody, and dinner somewhere they were playing music. We got on the trolley around 5 , heading south on Main Street. I have to give a shout out to Sarah Fisher, who is not only my great friend and one of my three loyal readers, but a future city planner and transportation expert. She likes electric trolleys (and other forms of good transport), so I was happy to inform her about the resurrection of downtown Memphis' trolleys. Most of the system was ripped up sometime in the first half of the last century but before they could get rid of all of it, someone thought that it might be a good idea to actually put it to use. So there are three lines left, mostly used by tourists and folks getting around during their lunch hours. Not a revolution by any means, but an example of alternative transport that works.We got off at Beale Street with a bunch of Elvis fans and found the museum. When I come back to Memphis, I will go to the Southern Folklore Museum (you in, David?) and the Gibson guitar factory, both of which failed to make the cut this time around. I'll also have to go back to the Rock n' Soul Museum because we got kicked out when it closed, and I was only about halfway through the exhibits. It is nearly impossible to describe a museum in words but let me just say that this place was like the Louvre of American music in the mid-century. From country and blues, to rock and roll, they described the evolution of the new musical forms of the 1950's and their relationship to the social movements of the same time. White folks got involved with black music and eventually we got Rock n' Roll. Elvis was a white guy who could play black music and the kids of the time felt like this new sound was their own. There was actually a T-shirt in the gift shop that said something to the effect of "Without the cooperation of the indignation of the parents, rock n roll might not have survived...". Sam Phillips, founder of Sun Records, said that. Anyway, it was a great museum and I'm even more hooked on the music than I was before.

Next we had good southern drinks at the Peabody Hotel, a beautiful old building that was going to be torn down in the 50's before a group of local residents' outrage prevented its destruction. Back on Beale Street, we found BB King's Blues Club, that had a live blues band playing. They were charging a $3 cover which at first seemed like a rip-off tourist-trap kind of move, but I later decided it was their way of keeping those who were not actually interested in hearing good music out, ie the Elvis fanatics. And boy was that $3 ever worth it. We got a table off to the side of the stage and ordered beers and barbeque. I had the best pulled pork sandwich of my life, all the while listening to Blind Mississippi Mark's blues band. Mark, I imagine, was the well-dressed older black man wearing sunglasses and sitting in the center of the stage singing and playing the harmonica. Three white guys flanked him on bass, guitar, and set. The guitarist looked a bit like he may have walked out of my father's chemistry lab that afternoon; he wore black jeans, a plaid short-sleeved collared shirt and white sneakers. But this guy had serious chops. Mark sang like a true bluesman, head toward the ceiling swaying back and forth, feet stomping the beats. Thats the thing about Blues players- they play their instruments with their entire bodies. Their set ended and we hung out while the next guys set up. Dad wanted Mark to keep playing but I saw brass cases and knew the next set would be just as good. The BB King All-Stars took the stage about an hour later and they were incredible. Louder than Dad would have liked but fantastic. The 'sisters' at the table next to us were dancing up a storm, while the boring white European kids on our other side barely cracked grins. I had a blast. Then the "Princes of Beale Street" joined them and did an Aretha set. Chain of Fools and Think back-to-back. My two favorites. Growing up going to my sister Camille's apartment in Providence, we would cook and listen to Aretha Franklin records. I have a strong memory of sitting on her floor in front of a wooden bookcase where the stereo was, singing 'Respect'. We left about an hour later, with souvenir glasses, and headed back to the hotel feeling great. Beale Street had an energy about it that I am certain is rare. I imagine it's a little like Austin, and that makes me happy.

TCB in a flash

Graceland. Memphis, Tennessee. The home of Elvis Aaron Presley, King of Rock and Roll. I have been looking forward to this particular portion of this trip for quite some time. I grew up on Elvis. More specifically, I grew up on young Elvis. Before the white jumpsuit, the prescription drugs, and the weight. My father lived on a street off Madison Avenue, which cuts through the downtown area, from age 4 - 8 (1949 - 1953). Elvis graduated from high school in 1953, and his music career really took off shortly thereafter; Dad likes to say that he might have walked past him any number of times. Besides sharing the same town for a few years, Dad is a fan. Not an expo-attending, jumpsuit-owning, Elvis-lives-with-aliens fan, but a fan nonetheless. So Graceland was a major part of our planned stop in Memphis.

When we arrived in Memphis late on Wednesday, August 13th, the first two hotels we checked out were booked. We thought this was odd, but relaxed after the third place was the charm. We woke up Thursday morning and walked across the street for breakfast. A table next to us was occupied by an older man, a guy about my age, and a younger girl. Normal except for the fact that the guy my age was an Elvis impersonator. While I was amused, I figured this is Memphis, and there must be hundreds of these guys roaming the streets at any given time. Back in the lobby of the hotel, I picked up a copy of "Downtowner" a Memphis magazine full of all the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. On the cover it said: Elvis Week. I turned to Dad and asked, "Is it possible that we're here during Elvis week?". The events of the past few hours began to make sense and our concierge then told us we better be ready to stand in line at Graceland because it was- indeed- Elvis Week.

So we set out for Graceland ready to battle lines of British tourists and Elvis aficionados only to have the parking lot attendant explain that we shouldn't have too much trouble today because, "everyone's downtown at the expo". The expo. Of course! We should have guessed. We got Platinum package tickets so we could see the cars and airplane in addition to the Graceland mansion and grounds. I have so much to talk about this trip, I am trying not to get carried away, but bear with me for a minute while I describe the scene:

Several groups of fanny-pack wearing Americans mixed up with a few French-speakers and several handfuls of Brits. Dad and I seem to be the only ones seeing any of the irony in this whole display. There are about 30 drawings of Elvis displayed in the lobby, made and signed by elementary-aged Memphis residents. I take a turn through the tacky-stuff laden gift shop and then see two 90 year old women in pink 50's style shirts with "Elvis" embroidered on the back, black shorts, white knee-highs, and saddle shoes. Sparkled pink Elvis tote bags to match. They were engaged in a serious conversation with a third person, or I would have asked for a picture.

Back to the tour. The house was a perfect example of mid-century kitsch, from the mostly-white living room to the mirrored staircase and my personal favorite, the yellow and navy blue TV room, with bar. Above the couch in the TV room was a lightning bolt with the letters TCB which stood for Taking Care of Business, an early Elvis trademark. To the left of the couch in the picture was the TV wall that had three TVs installed. Elvis had heard that President Johnson watched all three network news programs at once, and he wanted to be able to do the same. On our drive to Memphis, Dad warned me I'd be disappointed by the site because it was "a house a truck driver bought and decorated to impress his mom". (Elvis was a truck driver in Tupelo, Mississippi before the family moved to Memphis for a better opportunity). I was not disappointed. We slowly made our way around the house, through the kitchen where countless peanut butter and banana sandwiches were made and into the yard where he and his entourage drove golf carts and played touch football (once with a few of Dad's fraternity brothers around 1964). We went through the Trophy Room, which was full of memorabilia and his gold and platinum records.

Finally we came to the place where he is buried. The graves of Elvis, his mother, his father, grandmother and his twin brother Jesse who was stillborn, were covered in flowers and tributes in various languages. It was impressive to see the sheer devotion his fans have for him. He passed away in his bathroom in Graceland on August 16, 1977, which is why Elvis Week takes place at this time every year. People were filling buses wearing Elvis Week T-shirts as we were leaving and while I don't imagine I'll ever think of Graceland as a religious site, it was an experience.. That's Alright.

The Parent Swap

Savannah, GA - Atlanta, GA - Memphis, TN

Miles: 653
Stops: 2
States 4

One of our earlier mornings was also Mom and my last together. Day 5 of the drive began from Savannah at 8am with a quick stop to fill a leaking tire. 4.5 hours later we arrived at Nicole and Jim's for lunch, where I got to see her new bling and eat yummy lunch. The drive was relatively uneventful, but rainy and we arrived in great time.

Next on the day's agenda was going to the airport to drop Mom off and pick up Dad. The Dad portion worked out, while Mom had to wait a very very long time for her flight after AirTran blamed "her agent" for not booking her a seat assignment. I call BS on that one and blame them for overbooking the flight. She wasn't happy but she did get a round trip flight out of it, which I quickly pointed out can be used to visit me. Or for me to visit home. Dad and I didn't discover this little hiccup until we were about 20 miles into Alabama having a quick dinner. Other than that delay, the plan worked out beautifully.

We had set off from Atlanta about 4 and were about 10 miles from Birmingham by 5:30 local time (6:30 PM EST). I was a little confused by our on-the-road time change, but it ended up making the drive seem a lot less painful. We were getting gas somewhere in the middle of nowhere Alabama at about 8:30 Central time, on our way to drive through Tupleo, MS the favorite son of which is none other than The King himself, Elvis. I continued to drive, while we listened to the utterly appropriate Forrest Gump Soundtrack along the way. "It Keeps You Running", "Sweet Home Alabama", and "Running on Empty" were particularly fitting. We really had a great time driving, and Dad took over in Tupelo for the last 100 miles. I actually can't believe how enjoyable the physical driving of all of this has been. I haven't been antsy in the car but once, when Mom and I were stuck in traffic north of Richmond. Goodness that feels like forever ago.

So Dad and I drove a total of almost 400 miles and found our way to a hotel in downtown Memphis. We passed a lot of beautiful countryside along the way and while I'm glad I don't live in Sumton, Alabama- I am glad to have been able to drive through it once in my life.

Comments about Part 1

I decided my titles needed some changing because after today's drive (which I will get to), I wanted to reiterate that this trip is really two trips in one. Part 1 was not just Day 1, but days 1-4.5 during which Mom and I traveled from DC to Wilmington and then on down the coastal plain through the Lowcountry to Savannah. After ending up in Atlanta, where my father joined me for our part of the journey, Mom was on her way home to Rhode Island.

Dad and I are embarking on Part 2, which is a Blues roots tour through the Delta. Driving first to Memphis, then down Highway 61 through Clarksdale, Cleveland, and to Greenville, Mississippi- all important sites in the development and history of the Blues. We will then cross "east Jesus" Texas and land in Austin to finish up the trip and move me out of my car and into my apartment.

So really this is two very different vacations wrapped into one. It has developed as an idea over almost an entire year, only recently becoming the way in which I move myself to Texas for school. I read an article in National Geographic Adventure last August about the Blues trail, which planted that portion of the trip in my mind. Once I knew I'd have to drive to Texas, Mom wanted in on the fun so we added the southeast and made it a road trip supreme. Anyway, the next few entry details one entire day, today, August 13.

Gardens of good and evil

Charleston, SC - Savannah, GA

Miles: 108
Time: 2 hours and 30 minutes
Stops: 0

The third leg of this little roadtrip was a mere 108 miles from Charleston, SC to Savannah, GA. It took us 2 and a half hours and about a quarter tank of gas. There was more gorgeous countryside along the way. Arriving into Savannah was a relief, because it was (to us) a particularly hot day. The hotel is beautiful- a great old building with impressive decorating and a back hallway that smells constantly of barbeque due to the restaurant downstairs. We had arrived in town in time to change for dinner, enjoy a glass of wine in the lobby, and wander to our restaurant destination Bistro Savannah.

First impressions of the city were less than enthusiastic, as we were walking along a relatively commercial street that had several empty storefronts and little historic flare. All this changed once we found ourselves at Bistro Savannah. We have a saying in this family; the "Top 5 Meal". This is what we use to indicate superior culinary experiences wherever we may be. There are absolutely more than 5 meals that one of us would characterize as a "Top 5" but, you get the idea. Anyway, Bistro Savannah definitely earned this designation. We had a great truly bistro table by the window and ordered the shellfish pot for an appetizer. The meuniere sauce was made with onions and parsley and it was phenomenal. I had halibut that was excellent, Mom had quayle off the tasting menu proving that you truly should always ask even when you know your request is not likely to be obliged. A half-bottle of wine and the best strawberry shortcake either of us had ever had later, we were raving. The ultimate compliment was requesting to take a copy of the menu. Once back in the room, there was more Olympic swimming and gymnastics including Michael Phelps' 9th career gold medal in the 200m Freestyle.

This morning we had breakfast, I studied Stat, and we went off for our trolley tour of historic Savannah. This is when we got a better sense of the city's squares, history, and charm. The well-restored buildings are interspersed with newer buildings in some blocks, while other blocks are almost entirely early architecture. Savannah experienced numerous fires that destroyed early structures and others were torn down in the early part of the last century. While 23 of Ogelthorpe's 24 original city squares remain, 13 of Savannah's 56 major historic structures were torn down between 1933 and 1956. In 1955 when a local funeral home owner was going to tear down a home for a parking lot, seven Savannah ladies raised the money to purchase the Davenport House. They spent the next 13 years restoring the interior to its period appearance, founded the Historic Savannah Foundation, and are credited with jump-starting historic preservation in the city.

After an afternoon of boutique browsing, we relaxed with a glass of wine before dinner at the Olde Pink House on Reynolds Square. The meal didn't hold a candle to last night but the dessert was excellent. As were my shrimp and grits. Now we're back watching Olympic beach volleyball, waiting for swimming and gymnastics before bed. An early wake-up call awaits us tomorrow morning because we're driving to Atlanta to have lunch with Nicole and Jim.

24 Hours in Charleston

Before I detail our (relatively short) drive from Charleston to Savannah, let me first describe our short time in one of the eldest towns in America. Like I said before, we were greeted with champagne upon check-in. Building on the idea that Uncle Mike had introduced us to the night before in Wilmington, we picked two places to dine that evening. The first, Cypress, was our destination for drinks and appetizers, while 82 Queen would be our dinner location.

Note: We freshened up before going out for our walk, drinks and dinner, which is a term that I never truly understood until I spent a serious amount of time in the South. Multiple showers a day are necessary in this heat but as that is impractical, one rinses off in the shower or washes her face 2 or 3 times per day to avoid looking like a wet rat. Anyway, this is off topic and real Southern women would probably say that I just don't have that "glow" versus "sweat" thing down yet.

We strolled around the historic district of Charleston where there were a large number of fantastic windows and doors to photograph. Anyone who knows me well or has traveled anywhere with me knows that I like interesting doors and windows. The one posted here was my favorite, the rest will go up elsewhere. We found our way to The Battery, which we would later learn was really a landfill for early Charlestonians. It was also not where the first shots of the Civil War were fired from as the history is popularly retold. In fact, Fort Sumter was fired upon from three smaller forts on the mainland and the harbor, quite a distance from the Battery. Despite all this, there are canons and statues honoring the brave Confederate soldiers pretty much everywhere.

Arriving at Cypress was like walking off a street in historic Newport into the new trendy spot in Manhattan on an off night. It was impeccably decorated, mixing modern style with the colonial architecture of the building. The food was excellent. Mom had an eggplant Napolean and I had almond-fried Brie with cranberry chutney. She also had a sweet tea mojito which won the drink competition, even though my Sauvi-Blanc was excellent. And yes, I'm going to be a foodie for a minute because that's part of what this little adventure is about. Yummy yummy food. 82 Queen was excellent, although I had barely enough room left to eat a third of the buttermilk fried chicken I had. Mom's shrimp and grits were excellent and (despite the unnecessarily loud French Canadians next to us) the experience was wonderful. When we returned to the hotel, we had coffee and cookies, Mom fell asleep and I watched Michael Phelps and Company beat the French in the 4x100 Freestyle Relay. The race was incredible, and while I tried, I couldn't stay up for the Medal ceremony. I will say, the French anchorman had the same dazed-and-confused look on his face that most of the Patriots did after that stupid helmet catch lost them the Superbowl.

This morning, we ventured out for a Carriage ride (my Mother's weakness). Eric, our driver and Assault and Battery, our dear mules provided shade and education for an hour long jaunt around the historic district. Apparently these two particular mules don't like the barn staff very much, hence their names. The ride provided a much-enjoyed commentary on early Charleston, its architecture, and society. Below is Rainbow Row, the longest continuous set of colonial buildings in the country. Our driver did skip from the early settlements in the 1670s and 1680s straight to the Earthquake of 1886, conveniently missing that pesky "War Between the States". In reality, the funniest part of Eric's talk was about Charleston's many churches and bells. During the war, the city gave its church bells to Vicksburg to be melted down into ammo for the Confederate army, with the guarantee that for every one bell they gave, they would receive two at the war's end. Provided that the South won. As can be expected, it took a while to get a few of them back.

Finally, we toured the Edmonston-Alston house, which contains 90% original furniture, making it one of the more authentic Charleston homes. The house was gorgeous, obviously an important piece of old Charleston and well-restored. But the coolest part was the joggling board. An interesting, rocking bench-like apparatus that can not easily be explained with words.

The Lowcountry is Beautiful

Wilmington, NC - Charleston, SC

Miles: 175
Time: 3 hours and 30
Stops: 1
States: 2

Our night out in Wilmington was a traditional Bodine family affair. Drinks at George's with Uncle Mike and Aunt Anne's favorite bartender followed by dinner at the Phoenix Cafe. We got home in time to watch Michael Phelps win his first gold medal in Beijing, in the Men's 400 IM. This morning, we walked along the water in Wrightsville Beach, just down the road from Wilmington. It made me wonder why I was traveling so far from the ocean.

But before all of that, I woke up around 5:30 AM to notice that it was still dark out. I thought of Nicole and Jim in Maine, and the fact that I knew Jim was planning his proposal for this morning. I didn't know it would be this particular day, but I figured as much since I hadn't gotten the phone call yet, I knew he was planning on a sunrise, and tomorrow is their last full day up there. So when I woke up at 5:30 and noticed the darkness, I took my phone and held it in my hand before I went back to sleep, knowing that if Nicole called, I would wake up. I got up around 7, no phone call. But I only had to wait 24 more minutes until the funny picture of her showed up on my cell and she got to tell me she was engaged. What made it all the more hilarious were her first few words, "you've been scheming for months, you skank". She meant it with love, and it's true. Jim then got on the phone with me to thank me for my efforts in misleading my roommate, which I (of course) was more than happy to do. I love weddings.

Since nothing can ever go exactly according to plan (what would be the fun in that) I realized just before we took off towards Charleston that I am required to have four semesters of a foreign language in the same language for my graduate degree. While I understand the value of this requirement, I was planning on making good use of my Rosetta Stone for working on my Spanish. Having an extra class every semester I am at LBJ will be a major increase in coursework and it's most frustrating because of the surprise. Nowhere on the website is the requirement listed (that I could find) and this is the first I'm hearing of it- exactly 11 days before orientation. Needless to say, I was frustrated for the first hour of the drive but I'm feeling more relaxed now. I have to focus on studying for stat right now- one thing at a time.

The drive to Charleston (minus the strip malls in Myrtle Beach) was beautiful. The "low country" has a charm and peace about it that was enjoyable to drive through. No traffic, no honking, no cities, just country. Green country. The bridge that led us into Charleston was magnificent and the hotel is charming. Good southern hospitality has already made a difference in my blood pressure, since we were offered champagne even before we were offered our room keys.

417 miles to 4819 Whitner Lane

Miles: 417 (one tank of gas!)
Time: 8 hours and 15 minutes
Stops: 2
States: 3

Started out from Rachael's apartment where we said goodbye (tear) around 8am. When I arrived at the airport, I was still feeling the negative effects of several gin an tonics courtesy of one Matthew Curtin the night before. A coffee and a bagel later, I was good to go. Mom arrived on time, and we set off from the airport with a packed car and lots to chat about. We hit our first traffic jam at exit 166 on 95 after clearing the Beltway with ease. The posted sign said "Slow between Exits 166 and 160". That 6-exit slowdown turned into a two-hour battle with drivers of various states trying to get to the beach. Traffic was heavy to Richmond but we were through and making our first stop a little after noon. We took turns reading out of our tour books about Charleston and Savannah's history, prepping ourselves for the touristy portion of the drive, all of which is in the opposite direction from Texas.

The next 18 hours or so will be spent in Wilmington with Aunt Anne and Uncle Mike having dinner, drinking wine, eating cheese, and seeing the "reason they moved to this town" - the beach.

Errands can be fun.

Yesterday had to be one of my most productive days in a long time. The number of things that I accomplished between when I woke up at 9 and when I left the house to see friends at 7:30 is incredible. It makes me wonder how I functioned working 9-5 every weekday, because a lot of what I accomplished had to be done during normal business hours, or was made significantly less annoying because I was doing them during normal business hours.

First of all, I called my lender for my UT student loans. Having been lucky enough not to have to deal with loans as an undergrad, this is uncharted territory for me so I have needed a lot of coaching. Apparently I now have two additional bank accounts to handle my loan money. One is with the "loan servicer" and one is a savings account with University Federal Credit Union (UFCU). The woman at UFCU told me that my loan is "dispersed" on August 19 and will go directly to UT, which will deduct my tuition, fees, etc. from that amount. Then they will reimburse me the remainder of my loan and (I'm almost certain of this) charge me a FEE. So not only do I have to call someone to tell them what I want them to do with that money, when I tell them what account I want it in, they charge me to put it there. Ridiculous. Anyway, figuring all that out and realizing I didn't actually have to do anything yet was accomplishment number 1.

Next, I dealt with GEICO which was surprisingly easy. My car insurance is $30 cheaper per 6 months now that I'll be living in Texas. Excellent.

I applied for a change of address with the United States Postal Service and while I have generally been happy with the USPS in my life, I don't quite understand why they need to charge me $1 to "verify" my address change. Whatever, it's $1.

Next on the agenda was reading the last bit of the stat work I started the night before. Check.

Rachael and I then drove to Catholic so she could be productive and buy her Law School books and hole punch her European sized paper from her Polish classes. And let me take this time to talk about how very happy I am that I am not going to law school. Those books do not look fun. Even a little bit. I used to laugh at Nicole for going "ooooo yay!" when she had to read books about Yellow Fever, but at least they had interesting covers. My books will most certainly not be hardcover embossed leather with gold writing. They look like something out of Sherlock Holmes' personal library. Very un-fun.

Next was the fun part of the day, which involved us going to have lunch with Peggy and Kate (Office of Undergraduate Admissions bosses/friends). It was weird being back on campus during the summer, seeing all of these kids going on tours. They look unbelievably young, which is to be expected since they are all 17 or under. It was also odd to walk into the Images office that Rachael and I (and the rest of our friends) essentially lived in for Summer 2006 and not know any of the kids working there. But we aren't that old because there were still pictures on the walls that were taken in both of our apartments.

Next was a trip to Kinko's ($50 to print out the rest of my stat reading) and Jiffy Lube ($50 for an oil change during which they topped off the washer fluid brake fluid, radiator fluid, checked the tires, vacuumed the interior, and washed the windows. I also received a receipt for a free car wash.

After a stop at Giant for supplies I got back to Rach's and baked a cake and made baked ziti for dinner. We then brought the cake to Charleton to say goodbye to the boys who are leaving for Alaska this morning. In blue icing on top I wrote "Please don't die in Alaska!" but by the time we got there, it just said akljeafija lsd fja Alaska!