US Airways: Bane of My Existence

So, it's finally time to leave the South for Milwaukee. We're taking the bridal couple to the airport with us so they can leave on their honeymoon to Europe (awww, how cute). Perhaps we shouldn't have stopped at Sonic first, but who doesn't love it? Running slightly behind, we made it to the Memphis airport. We get on the flight and make it to the Charlotte airport. Now begins the hell.

My flight was canceled. Why? Technical difficulties? Weather? No. "Air Traffic." Apparently, this is a condition where the FAA says the airline has to cancel a flight, and guess what? The airline isn't liable! How convenient! When asked, the airline personnel explained it to me as this: "There are too many planes in the air." Hmmmm.... sure. So, can they get me on the next flight? Well, of course, everything is overbooked to Milwaukee until the next day, which is when I start work! Well, that's just super. But, they were so nice, they offered to fly me into Chicago, arriving at 9PM. But they offered me nothing more than that. Not a connecting shuttle, or anything. Apparently, that's as far as they had to help me. It's really the fact that they were so willing to go the extra mile. That's what makes "US Airways" so special. So, I get on the plane, make it to Chicago, then get on a bus into Milwaukee (on my own dime) just fine, right? Well, no. Of course, the plane is delayed over an hour. This puts me in Chicago waiting at the baggage claim until past 10PM, when the last shuttle for Milwaukee has already left. Oh, but that's not enough. My bag didn't even arrive! So, I go to the luggage counter, and asked for their help. The lady behind the counter informed me that my bag was probably sent to Milwaukee, since that was the original destination. Then she tried making some calls, but realized that everything had already left. So, she turned to the two men (father and son) next to me, and asked them if they were going to Milwaukee. They said yes, and she asked how. They said they were driving. "Oh, well this young man [me] needs to get there. Would you be able to take them?" Well, if that isn't just awkward! Well, luckily, the first helpful people that I had met all day happened to be citizens of the great state of Wisconsin, who offered to give me a ride into Milwaukee. I was desperate, so I took it. They seemed nice enough, and judging by their car, they were upper-middle class at least, so I wasn't too afraid to ride the hour with them. The important thing is that I was there safe and sound. Just without a lot of my dress clothes, dress shoes, or toiletries. So, I was ready to start work the next day!

I had everything planned so wonderfully for my first day of work. The plan definitely did not include me shaving with Julie's extra Lady Bic disposable razor and "Melon Madness" shaving gel, without me washing my hair, since I had no product to put in it! But, luckily I still had my suits in the garment bag which I had carried on my flights. So, on my first day I was still able to wear a suit and tie. And a bitter, bitter hatred towards US Airways.

Part IV: Better Off Wed So, twas time for the wedding itself. A lovely ceremony indeed (even though I didn't get to be the crucifix bearer as I was during the rehearsal. What can I say, those years of being an altar server really paid off.). I think I have yet to see a bride walk down the aisle without crying. It's kind of cute, actually. Now the fun part: the reception. Back at the Big Pink Guest House, it was time to drink and eat my fill. This was supposed to be some very Southern cooking: BBQ sandwiches, catfish poppers, fried green tomato sandwiches, cheese grits, jalapeno squares, chicken salad, mini-drumsticks. It was amazing. Plus, the wedding cake was unbelievable. Sooo good. I would have eaten my own weight in it if I could. In fact, I think I tried to do that the next morning. In addition to eating and drinking, there was requisite dancing. I couldn't help it. "Fever" is one of my favorite songs. Understandably, we were recognized as the cutest couple there (ok, cutest couple that wasn't getting married). Next, it was time for the after-party, celebrated at the blues club across the street. It was a roaring good time. Except for the fact that the kids (i.e. 18 year olds--I can call them kids now) did not know how to drink and dance at the same time. They were a tad annoying. Spilling, bumping, stepping on toes, all rookie mistakes. Ah, but we were all young, once. Of course, the night--and the trip to the South--couldn't last forever. All good things must come to an end. So went my journey into Dixie.

Part III: Nice Day for a White Wedding

Saturday was the big day. Time for Crady and Brad to get hitched. But first, food. Nothing starts the day off quite right like a greasy spoon diner. While I would have enjoyed biscuits and gravy, I was quite happy with the food they had. Amazing pancakes. Also, there was a dog (7 month old chocolate lab that was very cute and still awkward since he hadn't grown into his body yet). After playing fetch with the dog in the diner, it was time to go. Outside, we met Puttin'-- a somewhat elderly man sitting outside the diner who showed us some dice tricks.

Shack-Up Inn: Clarksdale's B&B (Bed & Beer). Apparently, this used to be a plantation. Then, they turned the sharecroppers' shacks into rooms to rent (this is where Brad & Crady went post-wedding. Indeed.) I think this was when the South started to frighten me. And not just because the Mississippi flag incorporates the "Stars and Bars." It's all fun and games until somebody secedes. Not being able to take much more of the heat and the "Southern Charm," it was time for the brunch. Yay for food and booze! Now, like any good brunch, they served Bloody Mary's. However, once again, I am faced with the realization that people do not know how to make a good Bloody Mary. Allow me to take this tangential opportunity to elaborate:

Andrew's Bloody Mary Manifesto:
1.) A good one is not simply mix + vodka. If that's all you have, then Mr. & Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix is the way to go (especially spicy). But frankly, you should not stop there.
2.) It needs celery. Not a pickle. Not pepperoni. Not pepper jack cheese. Celery. (Incidentally, this is just about the only time I enjoy celery).
3.) It should not be too liquidy. It needs to be somewhat viscous. A watery (or too vodka-heavy) is no good.

What's a sure-fire way to avoid the pitfalls of the Bloody Mary? Well, it's an art, not a science. So I can't give an exact recipe. But here's what we do:

1. Start with a glass filled with ice. Cubed, not crushed (otherwise they melt quickly, leading to watery disaster).
2. Add Lemon Pepper, Celery Salt, Tabasco Sauce, followed by generous amounts of Worcestershire sauce.
   
3. Add desired amount of vodka.
4. Add Spicy V8 (or Mr. & Mrs.T).
5. Taste! Add any more ingredients to balance.
6. Add celery.
   
7. Now you have the perfect instrument to survive any family gathering!

Now that I am done digressing, I shall continue. Post-brunch, it was time to take a nap. Good food and a little vodka will do that. Following the nap, I headed on down to the Delta Blues Museum. I don't know a lot (ok, anything) about the blues. However, I do enjoy museums and history, so I was not going to turn down this opportunity. I'm glad I went. It was a really cool museum (I think it used to be a train depot. If not, prove me wrong).

It's Always More Fun South of the Mason-Dixon Part II: Blues Country

After finishing our Memphis-leg, it was time to head down to the Mississippi Delta for the wedding.

Our first stop was at "Chick-Fil-A." Now, I am not familiar with this particular chicken restaurant, but apparently it is some kind of classic drive-through. It was indeed a tasty treat. I had a plain chicken sandwich (and dipped it in some honey mustard. De lee cee us.) with waffle fries. Yum. Finally it was time to head over to the bridal brunch. This was where I really was able to delve into the southern ways (including "Shrimp & Grits"-perhaps a name for a great buddy cop show in the 70s? I shall work on that). I met the bride-to-be, Crady Yerger Bobo, her mother, the bridesmaids, and some other women. I began the count of how many times someone called me/referred to me as a Yank(ee). Trip Total: 7.

After feeling a little too much estrogen (yes, even for me, and that's saying something!) I politely excused myself to the Bobo household where I could go back to reading (Lies My Teacher Told Me). After almost falling asleep on the couch, (that would have been an awkward experience), it was time to get to the Big Pink Guest House (shown above-it was a little odd telling Mother that I was staying at the "Big Pink Guest House." Although, I guess it's better than saying "The Shack Up Inn" see next installment) to start setting things up for the reception. This is also where we would be staying. Since we got there first, we took the good room. You could tell it was the good room because the curtains were made out of Hawaiian shirts. And apparently a hammock, but nowhere to attach it. Sad. But I got over it.

After helping out, twas time to go to the reception. It was a lovely place (co-owned by Morgan Freeman!) with great food. When I asked what was for dinner, I was told "Filet mignon and stuffed chicken." Naturally, I assumed this meant I had a choice between the two. Nope. I got both! Needless to say, I was in heaven. MMMMmmmmmmmeat. There was much merriment, drinking, and a slideshow! But eventually, twas time for bed.

It's Always More Fun South of the Mason-Dixon (Part I)

Last Thursday, at 5:20 AM, I departed Milwaukee to begin my journey into the South. First stop? Connecting flight in Charlotte, NC.

Before departing on this trip, I recognized that I would have a stereotype of the South: backwards, slow, twangy (is that a word?). So I tried to separate myself from that bias. However, upon visiting the Charlotte airport, I realized that the South is indeed a different place. It seems to be catching up slowly, and is somewhere between the contemporary and Reconstruction. You can see this as you watch the planes land while sitting in a rocking chair. The airport has rocking chairs! Ok, maybe I'm the only one intrigued by these simple, somewhat backwards ways. Regardless, I was able to meet up with Jordan (although not at the right gate--I can't read or write) to get on the second leg of our trip. Next stop: Memphis, Tennessee.

Upon arriving in Memphis, we did the most natural thing. Visit Graceland. Being the proud Elvis fans that we are, the platinum package was a no-brainer. I mean, why stop at just the mansion, when you can also see the car museum? Or the airplanes? Ok, we didn't see the airplanes. Whatever. The point is this: go to Graceland. It's completely worth it, even if you just go there to see a sort of time capsule of 1970s extravagance. I mean, it's like stepping into the past--a past where I didn't exist. Two words: Jungle Room. Two more words: shag carpet (on the walls, ceiling, and bed). Of course, if I could have filled out a comment card, it would have been this: did we really need to take a shuttle bus across the street to the mansion? Even if they wanted to avoid traffic and people being hit by cars, clearly the answer should be to have a walkway over the street. Preferably a moving walkway.

After we left Graceland, it was time to check in to the Peabody Hotel downtown. And yes, we saw the ducks. For those who aren't familiar with the excitement over this seemingly simple event, allow me to elaborate. The Peabody is famous for its ducks. They live on the roof, and every morning they take the elevator down to the lobby at 11:00 AM, taking the red carpet to the fountain. Then, promptly at 5:00 PM, the ducks take the red carpet, up the elevator, and back to the roof. Of course, they are accompanied by the Duck Master and some honorary Duck Master (Apparently, not me. some "child." Whatever. I'm not bitter.).

Next, we went out to dinner at Rendezvous for some Memphis BBQ. Pulled pork nachos? Perhaps one of the best things that I have ever had in my life. The ribs were good. Now, perhaps I'm simply a Memphis BBQ Philistine, but I prefer my ribs to be drenched in sauce. This was more of a rub. It was good, but to me, great would have required approximately 25 pre-moistened towelettes. Give or take. Especially their BBQ sauce (from the nachos), which was amazing. Oh well.

After gorging myself on food and beer, we walked around a bit, then took in a movie. Fracture. What can I say? I love my A-Hop (aka "Anthony Hopkins"). I definitely recommend it. At least for a rental or the cheap seats. Of course, I'm now at the point where any kind of legal thriller leaves me with the question: "Is that how that would really work?" I hate myself sometimes. But I love Memphis!