People who are either of The South or love The South do light right up when you tell them you’re off to explore their turf. “Oh, sure,” they concede, “you’re going to be confronted with all kinds of right wing craziness that you’re just not used to here out west. But there’s other stuff too…” and they’ll go on and on about southern hospitality and the necessity of visiting the south if you want to understand American identity and the food, the food, also, the food. “It’s not really bourbon territory,” they will say, “but tell them you want your tea unsweetened or otherwise it will be, well, very sweet.”
I have been to Texas — Austin, okay, Houston, no, sorry little brother, that town is not for me. And I’ve been to Florida, Tampa specifically, which I did not like though I enjoyed my side trip to Ybor City. But I have not been to The South Proper, as I have been calling it. I’m a guest of the Mississippi Delta Tourism Association, which means that they picked up the tab for most of my travel, but I’m also co-teaching a workshop to a room full of tourism professionals — it’s about social media and music event promotion, a weirdly serendipitous collision of my skills. My slide deck is mostly screenshots from my band’s Facebook page, so that’s funny. [Oops. That’s off. Bummer.]
I’ll be driving from Memphis to Vickburg and back. No, Memphis isn’t on the agenda at all, though I am kind of hoping my outbound flight is delayed so I can make a quick trip to Graceland (Graceland, Memphis Tennessee) before I fly out. I was a bit frustrated by this at first, I mean, Memphis! – and also by the fact that I won’t make it all the way to the Gulf, but once I came to terms with the geographic restrictions on my trip, I relaxed a lot, because I’m spending a week driving up and down the Mississippi Delta.
I plan to eat tamales (it’s a thing, go figure) and hear some music and talk to strangers and stare at the river and see if the ghost of Mark Twain decides to say hello. I plan to have an awkward conversation with someone about how it is that the “Stars and Bars” is still part of the Mississippi flag given recent events and I plan to sit in some diners eavesdropping. I plan to go to The Crossroads at midnight and ask the devil to take my soul in trade for the ability to play like Robert Johnson and then, with the deal struck, I plan to laugh at the devil and say, “Joke’s on you, Jews don’t believe in the devil!” Unless I’m wrong about that, in which case, I guess the ground will open into a giant fiery maw and hey, it’s been fun knowing you all. I plan to eat pie, mud pie and pecan pie and peach pie. And probably some pie.
And I plan to be wrong about everything I’ve just said. I can’t wait.
Please report back if it shines like a national guitar.
Some other time, you gotta make your way to New Orleans and Savannah (Houston isn’t really The South from what I hear). Both cities are filled with great music, plenty of ghosts, and awesome food. My third (and, so far, last) visit to New Orleans was my bridal shower in 2001; at the restaurant, some 80-something-year-old guy grabbed my hand, took me out on the dance floor and showed me some impressive moods. I hope he’s still dancing somewhere, and I hope some old geezer in Mississippi invites you out on to the dance floor.
Sometimes I wish comments had a “like” button. 🙂