Saturday we go to the Mississippi Natural History Museum. Huge expanse of nature trails in the back with swamps and cypress. The museum part of the museum was very dinosaur-focused. Now to fill in the gap in my Mississippi history between the Pleistocene era and Muddy Waters. If this was in Texas they'd have a Cro-magnon wax figure of Tom Landry in jaguar skins. If I had been an art major there'd be a graphic here of Tom Landry in jaguar skins, but I majored in Psychology, so I'm just going to feel guilty about it.
Some sort of nature holes that Bill understands. The outdoors are full of nature holes.
I'm following Aimee's advice of picking a place on the map and going somewhere that looks cool and letting the spirit move you. We saw some buzz across the street at the parking lot between the Mississippi Sports Hall of Fame and the
Smith-Wills ballpark. Turns out the buzz was the Jackson Cruisers Classic Car Show. Lots of muscle cars. I liked the '61 Nash Metro. The owner had a smile a mile wide, let people not only touch the car but get in and take pictures, and drives the car four days a week and to the golf course. This is a guy with no need to compensate for anything. I'm wondering if the guys polishing their Camaro with a diaper are missing out on something.
Me in a Nash Metro: the car that says I'm not only not compensating for anything, I have to play down my masculinity so the doe won't skip into the forest.
The Mississippi State Fairgrounds looked interesting on the map, so we went there. Lots cowboys and a few cowgirls riding horses into the stadium. We found an unguarded entrance and walked into the stands and watched the U.S. Team Rodeo Mississippi Championship. We saw calf-roping for free.
I saw calf roping. So many things happen away from the desk. Flowers, trees, barnyardania.
The other open building at the Fairgrounds is the Trade Mart, a big open expo hall. My first gun show! The most fun was the non-gun items: DVDs of Song of the South and Amos and Andy, The Anarchist Cookbook, homemade explosives instructions, Yankee hunting permits, a petition booth for Mississippi Federation for Immigration Reform and Enforcement, tasteful lithographs of Stonewall Jackson and Jefferson Davis.
I bought a huge duffel bag and a copy of the Army Leadership Manual, simply the best written technical writing I've ever read. Judge for yourself. I also bought a zip-top bag of homemade jerky from a man sitting in a wheelchair who jumped out of the chair when I flashed my money like I'd cured him of palsy. It's the best beef jerky I've ever had. Assuming I live.
Sunday, Bill gives me directions to where he works. Perfect directions from a 15-year-old. Every turn, every street name. That's the soldier in him. Soldiers give great directions. Soldiers never tell you "there's a big rock. Don't turn there," or "Turn right where they're thinkin' about building the new bank."
Bill's boss, a 60-year-old great-grandmother, flirts with me again, twice in two days. Can't say I blame her. She's the hottest great-grandmother I've ever met, and I told her so. I'm not ashamed, and I will not hide our love.
Driving up I-55 to Memphis, at Mile 107 there's a cell phone tower hidden in a scale model of the Washington Monument.
I wish they'd put a cell tower in the real one.
I finally find a Krystal restaurant 40 hours after arriving in the South. That's my personal endurance record.