Kissing cousins

St. Francisville, Part Deux:

This afternoon's excursion was a great one, called "Rosedown and Catalapa Legendary Experience"

Once again, it was a once in a lifetime treat  as we toured  beautiful antebellum homes, rich with history and decorated with tasteful antiques.

My mind was still preoccupied with all the critters I saw at the farm earlier in the day, when we rode by a bunch of heifers who rudely stared at our bus as we inched by them in their field.. They looked suspicious, as I would look,  if a bull had been interested in me and my eleven sisters, for selfish bullish purposes only.

He couldn't buy her dinner first?

We first stopped at the larger estate, Rosedown, with it's impeccable landscaping and it's porch that looked like something straight out of  "South Fork."

We learned a lot about the history of the families who lived in  both mansions, and we heard the word "yellow fever" a lot, as it seemingly killed everyone back then, especially the men, especially right before they had to go to battle in the civil war.

We heard the words yellow fever as much as we heard the word "boll weevil" the nasty beetle that destroyed the cotton plants on farms run by slaves  of these misogynistic  plantation owners.

Jim says to me, "I am loving the look of these mansions, and I know the current owners are educated and not responsible for the abysmal behaviors of their ancestors, but I am kind of glad that these evil monsters were taken down by something as innocuous as an insect."

"Hah!" I say.."I'm hoping they were guided by  a female boll weevil and her name was something like Stormy..Stormy Daniels."

We weaved through endless rooms with elegant crystal and china and chandeliers.  Beautiful rugs woven overseas. Childrens' rooms perfectly preserved with antique rocking horses and porcelain dolls.  Showers the size of closets, punch bowls decorated with hand painted cherubs.

We'd see all of these antiques and  irreplaceable household items that were so perfect and so beautiful, and then we'd hear horrifying stories about the twelve year old son of a slave, who had the job of swatting flies and mosquitos, or pulling down a protective piece of fabric from the dining room ceiling,  as the owners and their wealthy friends dined on quail during parties that lasted  over three hours.

The women entertained themselves with music, the men smoked cigars and drank brandy, and the  entire story..as shocking as it is..has to be told .  In schoolrooms everywhere in the United States.

Everywhere in the world.

The second antebellum house was run by an ancestor named Mary, who looked and sounded a lot like the actress Mary Steenburgen.  This experience was a bit more personal as Mary still lives on the estate.  She shared personal anecdotes and showed us antique bureaus that looked like what Rose DeWitt Bukater's  must have before all her treasures  were lost at sea after the sinking of the Titanic.

Mary is a first  cousin of country singer Brooks and Dunn(I don't remember which one, possibly both of them ) and told us her late Mom wouldn't he happy if she hadn't taught her daughter to serve her guests and treat them like family, which is why we were offered sherry served in beautiful glassware or cold lemonade that we sipped on rocking chairs on the wide wooden  porch.

She also told a funny story about how she had to transport a large vessel of homemade soup to an event, and was considering using an antique chamber pot to do so.

I say, "that'll work..as long as it's pea(sic) soup"

We learned a lot about crinolines and incest, even more about Southern pride and culture and  hospitality.

I felt like we were in an episode of "Antique Road Show."

Tonight's lounge entertainer is Judy Davis, but not the Australian actress from Woody Allen movies.  

She's an edgy comic who loves bear hugs..I'm hoping I'll be awake enough to give her one.

Next stop:  Baton Rouge!

Crawfish on the Bayou

Welcome to St. Francisville, Louisiana, or, as most of our  tour guides pronounced it, "Lousy Anna."

(Which is weird to anyone following this blog, knowing how much I loved our Memphis tour guides, the PB&J maker Anna, and the  other informed guide , Anna Lee, who is slightly hearing impaired and  pronounced her name as "anally.")

We turned in early last night after relishing an amazing concert by husband and wife banjo players Michael and Jennifer McLain of Banjocats.

And we wake up here, in a land of swamps and cypress trees, a city that's known for being two miles long and two yards wide, where counties are called parishes and cousins are called spouses.

Our tour guide was named Cletus, which it probably isn't in reality but it works for now, and he told us a story of how it took his cousin twelve takes to utter a line in 1969's "Easy Rider" that made him a local legend, something like, "we don't want you hippie type people"

Twelve takes.

Our morning excursion was called "A Southern Agriculture Tour--a True Farm-to-Table experience--From Crawfish to Cane."

It took place at a large crawfish farm called Four Oaks Farms, and we were told that the farm had more than crawfish and gators..there's musk and otters and beaver and coyotes, the latter chasing a deer in front of a busload of shocked tourists just yesterday.

There's also rice and cows and beans.

We were loaded up onto a yellow school bus, because tourists need a bus more than students do. 

 (I say this because  later on, we drove by the line waiting for parents to pick up their kids after school, and it was like 100 cars deep)

Bubba drove us around a million acres of swamp land and crawfish, fat shaming alligators every few miles by telling us that the gators are porky here not because of some "global warming bullshit" but because of their daily all-you-can-eat road kill buffets.

He kept using the phrase, "this ain't Disneyworld" over and over again, and I whisper to Jim, "right..because in Florida, the gators eat octagenarian golfers walking chihuahuas, not otters"

Bubba points out many drain pipes and their agricultural purposes, but he also tells us that the gators like to hang out around them.

So help me God, he then says the "gators like to hang around a beaver hole" and Jim almost had to smother me so I wouldn't laugh like the eight year old I am, but as Bubba continues with, "when an alligator wants to enter a beaver hole, nothing can stop him" and then, even Jim lost his composure.

Bubba must have said two or more facts about beaver holes: I could no longer listen without wetting my pants.

All I knew about farming prior to this terrific outing is what I learned from watching "Green Acres" or watching Evan pick pumpkins dressed as Spongebob Squarepants at a nearby farm when he was six.

I felt like a fish out of water(pun intended) but I really was fascinated by crawfish farming.  

Not fascinated enough to get on the crawfish trawler like some folks in our group volunteered to do, (as though  they were Forrest Gump and Lt. Dan) but fascinated enough to ask this question, that, when answered, had me hysterically laughing for a good minute or so.

I ask Cletus, "so what is your favorite personal seasoning for crawfish?" and he answers, "September!"

(like the infamous contestant did when Richard Dawson asked her "in what month does  a woman's pregnancy begin to show?")

Cletus continues on, adding "September or May" and I finally caught my breath and asked the question again, to which he responded " Oh. Salt and pepper."

We toured some of the buildings(where an active gator leapt and scared the crap out of me, and where Bubba showed us two crawfish "making love."  He later denied that that was what they were doing, but I know shellfish pornography when I see it.  Don't ask me how)

We finally were rewarded with samples, a plastic cup of spicy etouffee(don't worry, Jim didn't know it was  fish stew either, and he's studying French) and then actual crawfish. 

 I'm sure we were exposed to Covid germs as we sat around a raised wheel piled high with crawfish, but we didn't care.  I was, of course, too spastic to break claws, so I had help, but she insisted I pull out the vein by myself, which was surprisingly a fun thing to do.

The crawfish were delicious--especially dipped in a spicy sauce..and the  homemade toffee samples served in the gift shop would make you volunteer to be a sugar daddy.   We're taking a bag of the white chocolate toffee home, and don't bother asking..you're not getting any.

(I'll give you the name of the company upon request)

Cletus gifted us with Louisiana pies on the way back if we answered his trivia questions correctly--based on his talk on the way to the farm, when nobody was listening.

He did tell a few running jokes, about a redneck named Bordeaux, who "raised the wrong kid" because when he and his wife Muriel left the maternity ward, they were advised to "change the baby first" or..when the kid had a diaper that had obviously been filled for days, Bordeaux shrugged and said, "the box said it was good for up to nine pounds and I think it's only about half of that now"

The things that make me laugh.

I'm giving myself a rest..you guys as well..and I promise to describe the afternoon excursion in another blog.

It was filled with funny moments and fun facts as well..stay tuned!

Tamales, dresses and dolls

This afternoon's activity wasn't quite as daunting as our morning excursion--nor was it as important--so brace yourself for some comedic moments..and maybe a little taste of history class.

Only eight of us booked the trip called "Natchez Trails and Tamales", which meant we got to know everyone on the small white bus instead of the  crowded luxury coach.

We even met honeymooners from Utah--finally, a couple who are younger than us!--but you never know.  

The Grey Mafia sat this one out(maybe they stayed on the boat for Bingo?) and that suited me just fine.

"I bet Florida Man isn't too happy about today's indictment," Jim offers when the news broke.

"I bet he does anal twice a month" I respond.

Back to the excursion description.

We were introduced to our effervescent guide, Chrissy, who tells us that part of the trip, sampling tamales at the mansion, had to be cancelled because of a gas leak.

I ask Jim if he thinks  the gas leak was caused BY the tamales.

"Don't worry," Chrissy assures us.  "We'll still get tamales.  At one of the best places  in Natchez, "Fat Mama's"

"Photo op!" Jim squeals, excitedly.

"You're lucky I have enough self esteem to let all of my friends reading this  know that I am not apologetic for being..a mama"

"So you're okay?" he asks.

"We're a couple of Yanks going to a restaurant in the South that's not part of a tour.  I'm  hopin' we're not shot at"

The tour started off kind of lame, reading a bunch of plaques at the community center(if I wanted to read, I have a balcony with spectacular views and a very neglected Kindle, thank you very much) and  then spending more money at the old Trading Post.

Once we were seated at the long wooden table at Fat Mama's, sharing margaritas and tamales, we became one big happy family, although Chrissy assured me that I was not THAT big..at least, not by Southern standards.  

"We gals like to eat"

(They also like their Miss America titles)

Chrissy, who is slim and petite,  worked in a popular Natchez Hotel as a kid, when actor Hal Holbrook walked in one day, asking for directions to "Nellie's" which is one of the most popular brothels in the south.

He claimed to be going to join his cast and crew, but he was dressed as Abraham Lincoln.

Maybe if he had won that popular  vote  instead of just the electoral college he wouldn't be seeking validation from Miss Nellie?

We drove by all the mansions here, the trees, and the one synagogue in town..near the mansion of the Jewish doctor.

(His home was in front of a sign that read, I swear to you,  "Christian Schwartz")

(Made me think of Rob Morrow's "Joel Fleishman" from "Northern Exposure")

Our last stop was the magnificent antebellum mansion, Magnolia Hall, that smelled just like the antebellum mansion in Vickburg--it smelled like lavender and expensive wood and money.

We were fortunate because they are preparing for a gala ball this weekend for some Patriotic Mothers of Something or Other.

So? 

So  what if we saw some stray ladders and workers, we also saw tables set so beautifully that they gleamed, with crystal goblets and fine silver plated utensils.

We saw antique dolls in cases and wicker rocking chairs that made you believe you were smack in the middle of your favorite PBS drama.

We saw a room of just dresses--ruffles and lace and tight corsets that teens should be considering for their upcoming proms.

As we walked by a particularly comfortable looking four poster bed,I said to Jim, "look at those steps.  They look like the stairs Luke used as a puppy, when he was trying to get on our mattress so he could destroy the bedding."

Chrissy flips open a lid and tells us, "oh no..these are not stairs!" and everyone grins as we make our way to the next ornate bedroom.

"They're not?"  I ask.  "What is it..some kind of old ..phonograph?"

Chrissy laughs and says, "no..something much more important than a phonograph.  This is actually a very convenient ...chamber pot"

To which my clever husband responds, "maybe it's a combination phonograph AND chamber pot..but it only plays.."Muddy Waters."

Yeah, we all cracked up.

Except those poor souls who got the runs from Fat Mamas tamales.

Off to hear a husband and wife banjo team.

As always, thanks for your comments.

They inspire me to keep writing!

A Cotton picking moving experience

Forget everything you've read so far.

Ignore this toxic blog.

In my effort to channel Jim Gaffigan's negativity and self-deprecating humor, something I've failed miserably at, I may have given some of you the impression that we're not enjoying this cruise, thus deterring you from even considering a river cruise for your bucket list ..or ever speaking to me again.

I start EVERY vacation journal with hypochondria and being the perfect Karen, but today, we had a life-changing experience--the best excursion we've every been on in all these years of travel.

Let me tell you a little about last night first.

The cruise director introduced me as the woman who won two game shows and won eleven thousand dollars in 1997.

I've been on one game show--in 1977--and won eleven HUNDRED, but Colin provided such a magical night that every faux pas can be forgiven.

We played a movie trivia game, where we excelled, even 'though we're still waiting for that keychain. If only I knew who drove "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" or what Bond movie featured "Solitaire" we would have had a perfect score, but we didn't need bragging rights in a setting like this.

Jeff the pianist tickled the ivories as we named every Broadway song in his repertoire. It was his birthday, so I hastily wrote custom lyrics to a song from "A Chorus Line" which got a very medicore reception--it was tough to stay in tune when he played so many songs from different shows while still trying to hear "What I Did For Love" in my still-congested head.

Jeff put on a whopper of a show later that night, as we docked in beautiful Natchez, Mississippi, the Bed and Breakfast capital of the south. And just as I poked Jim's shoulder and pouted that we were getting everything BUT my favorite Sinatra tune, Jeff played the recognizable intro to "The Way You Look Tonight" and lit me on fire.

Okay..I'm droning and I promised myself I wouldn't drone.  

Magical pianists wouldn't make me call this river cruise an absolute must, but today's excursion, "Cotton and Music" was  a marvelous eye opening experience.

Our guide on the bus was Rusty, a former district judge who survived two heart attacks and college life at Old Miss: he is the baby that would be made it Sam Elliott could impregnate Leslie Jordan.

We rode about thirty minutes to another state..Louisiana--in a town called Ferriday, birthplace of Jerry Lee Lewis,

Our adventure to Frogmore Plantation changed my attitude about river cruises--and perhaps my entire way of thinking in general.

Rusty briefed us on some things we needed to know--that okra is another word for gumbo, that "middling" as in "fair to middling" actually means GOOD, and(I can't decipher my notes here) something about cowboys and indigenous folks.

Once we entered the plantation, we were introduced to the informative and compassionate owner of the working gin mill, Lynette.

The coach bus made its way through the machinations--a lot of milling is computerized now--before heading to our first stop, St. Baptist Church, with its beautifully hand carved furnishings and tambourines on every pew.

We were in awe of Willy, who stood at the altar and regaled us with stirring renditions of "Swing Lo, Sweet Chariot" and "Ole Man River"..clad in a beautiful silk suit that was fitting and youthful for his 86 year old soul.

Lynette gave us quite a history lesson and encouraged us all to read "12 Years a Slave" by Solomon Northrup. We loved the film but apparently the book was richer and more detailed.

She spoke eloquently and hauntingly, and even 'though I thirsted for the lemonade we were promised before departure(Jim selected hot apple cider tea) I thirsted more for her knowledge.

We left the church to see the quarters the slaves stayed in, and it is as important to see this as it is was when we toured the concentration camps during our visit to Prague.

You can read all the books you want(if you don't live in Florida) but experiencing it..feeling what is WAS--is something we'll never forget.

The sharecroppers homes (post slavery) were more appealing than those of the 

slave quarters, but not by much. We toured the cotton fields where we were actually encouraged to pick some and bring it home as souvenirs. We got an interactive, hands on vacation experience--our ancestors did this for survival.

Lynette explained that Africans were targets because of their jewelry-making and farming skills--"slavs", as they were originally called, were wonderful cooks and musicians as well. . 

But nobody back then talked about the inhumanity of it all--the punishment the escapees were given, how they were forbidden to read and write. 

Learning christian hymns was mandatory, but many added their own spiritual touches as they toiled in the field..the gospel music we know today. 

Lynette talked some more about how deeply hated Lincoln was in the south, how he did not win the popular vote but only the electoral college, and about a slaveowner who grew a conscience..and freed his slaves before returning to his native England and composing "Amazing Grace.”

Lynette emphasized how abhorrent slavery is viewed today. Its a reminder of how todays Germans feel about the horrors of the holocaust.  Both must be taught and remembered so as never to be repeated.

I shuddered as she described the slavery that still exists today, in the form of human trafficking--drug addicted parents who sell their children to feed their meth habits.

My eyes and fingers are weary..I think it's time for a break, but I will describe this afternoon's outing, as long as some of you still want to hear about it, as I know many of you do.

Bingo, burger, battlefield

Guess what we just spent the last hour doing??

Playing Bingo.

Sometimes you just gotta pick your battles. 

 (I'll be describing our visit to an actual battleground, our morning excursion to  Vicksburg National Military Park, momentarily, but the Gray Mutiny were up in arms:) at Bingo, so let me talk about that first.

We only checked this event out because it was described as "Burgers and Bingo"

The burger Jim ordered was bloody, the nachos were reheated twice and still covered with a cold cheese wax.  The pizza, and everything else we ordered at the fourth deck cafe, tasted like gas station food only not as good .

Jim even ordered a Bailey's milkshake that we're pretty certain contained some glass.

If you think the meal part sounds unappetizing(from now on, it's fine dining  in the main dining room only) wait'll I describe the actual game.

This was not your Woodloch Bingo.

There was no buzz in the room, no fun variations like "Pajama Bingo" (tops and bottoms only) or "Loser Bingo" where the last Woodloch Guest without any numbers called on their card is the winner.

No, this was Ambien Bingo, with mass confusion and prizes that looked like Maga Hats.

We are good sports so we did not quit, even when Jim became so preoccupied with his impending dysentery from the burger that he couldn't concentrate on his card, we did not quit.

I whispered Woodlochian responses like "Chicken Legs!" when "B 11" was called.along with  "and after!" after hearing "B4"

(And a morbid personal contribution of mine, not Woodloch's..after "B 9" is called, I uttered something like, "thank goodness!")

Three quarters of the way through ,the  Bingo app dies, but the Bingo crowd was not ready to, so the cruise director just starts calling out random numbers, repeating them so often that he decided not to go for the "full card" after all, just a plain old, "hurry-the-hell-up-so-I-can-unload-this-last-mug-with-any-legitimate Bingo"

I am too much of a feminist to still be in Mississippi, but we're sailing shorty. 

To another town in Mississippi.

We have a few hours to kill before the "Movie Trivia Game"(oh..this one is gonna be juicy, unlike Jim's burger) and dinner.

Laundy is clean and folded. 

We have a wonderful cabin attendant.

I wish she could wash that "reb" right out of my hair.

I already pre-ordered the Yankee Pot roast for dinner, I'm wearing my pink Yankees cap, and before my nap, I might try to play a few tunes from "Damn Yankees."

OK..some people reading this are actually interested in what happens on a history rich excursion, so I'll try to discuss the tour of the battlefield.

It was hilly and green and filled with confederate ghosts. The most important thing we learned is that Ulysses S. Grant could not take no for an answer, that he just was not going to give up.

We stopped at a monument and the guide said she no longer climbs the forty seven steps to get to the top, but Jim did, (I told him if he'd do it twice, I'd film him, like Rocky Balboa at the Philadelphia Art Museum) but he declined.

I stayed on the bus, naturally, and listened to the snoring from the other hypochondriacs who thought that climbing forty seven steps was forty six steps too many.

We had an exciting stop--this one I left the bus to see--and it was all about the destruction of the USS Cairo.  I enjoyed reading about all the men on board--most were inexperienced seamen(don't you DARE go there..I'm not allowed to so YOU'RE not allowed to) and we got some nice shots in front of cannons.

There was a lot of talk about the Union and the Confederate armies, and Grant Vs. Lee, but the story that most held our interest  was the story of a brave soldier named Albert Cashier.

Albert was a valiant soldier who served his country well, starting at age nineteen.  Some sixty years later, Albert broke his leg but initially refused hospitalization, and nobody knew why.

For some reason that's unclear, Albert was forced to go to the hospital where an interesting thing was discovered about his leg injury:  It was the leg of a woman named JENNIE  Hodgers, who was forced to wear a dress for the rest of her life.

Well done, Mississippi!  

You have the first transgender soldier on record..and yet you still think drag shows are more harmful to children than assault rifles?

Tsk tsk Mississippi..tsk tsk..

People of the moose

Finally!

We dined with our demographic!

Reasonably young, educated, Biden supporters...

And...

( I know I'm four days early but..)

April Effin' Fool!!!

It's my fault for going to dinner late because I just HAD to blog.

Nope..it's YOUR fault ...for encouraging me to blog.

Let's not quibble about semantics, we got to dinner late, there were no set tables for  only two, no tables without getting blinded by the sun, so Mr. "Not SILVER, but.."  ("drunk?") waves us over to join him and his lady.

From now on, it is going to be our anniversary every night that we're here.  Or one of us just heard about our dying grandmother. Whatever excuse it takes to dine with only each other.

We're waved over and we're reintroduced to K and B, who remembered us from the "Heads Up" game that DARED to NOT be Bingo.

They tell us they're from Florida, and yes, those of you who are too tired to keep reading have my permission to leave now, because you know exactly what I'm going to say about "Florida Man"

K starts exchanging pleasantries, telling us all about her adventures with her husband, some with sexual innuendo, and I just nod politely and smile before asking B, "so how long have you two been married?" and he replies, "I'm not the husband.  I'm the boyfriend.  We are widowed and we don't want to deal with financial complications"

This conversation still flowed smoothly at this point, where K described the disasterous dates she had before meeting B, and how they love Bingo night, where they're both volunteer callers.  On a weekly basis.  And the guy winks and talks about what happens whenever he calls, "O-69!" but he didn't talk about it with words.

They talked about their love of John Wick movies and how they're gun owners.

B tells us about his children,  his three sons who live close by--one in Tennessee, one in Louisiana, and one in prison.

 (alcohol issues)

They greet a lady at an adjoining table and one asks the other, "aren't you a "watt-'em???" meaning a WATM, which means a "woman of the moose"

(I don't think people like Jim or me or anyone reading this is supposed to understand that)

K calls me a good conversationalist(!!!) and we switch to the safe topic of... current events.

She says, "if only that transvestite in Nashville had been treated for mental illness, those children might still be alive"

I pick up my fork and stab ONLY the creme brulee cheesecake and say, "a transvestite is someone who dresses in clothing that the majority of their gender usually  don't wear" and she apolohgized.

Oh my, these people!

The cruise is PERFECT otherwise, but we are meeting some deplorables  who help us understand why Marjorie Taylor Green gets votes.

Even the guy last night, when we were talking about how clever the pianist was when he asked audience members what their home state was when requesting a song, totally shuddered and called my suggestion "inappropriate" when I thought the CSNY song "Ohio" was a good choice for the couple from Columbus.

"It's ANTI-WAR!!" he shouted, before walking away.

Tonight's entertainment was a very talented banjo player, who cracked jokes like, "does anyone want to hear me play some Banjo Vee?" and all the Boni Jovi fans laughed.

He played bluegrass tunes I never heard of but had I been called upon for a suggestion for the banjo, you can bet your bottom dollar I'd be telling him to play the theme from "Deliverance."

Tomorrow we go to Vicksburg's most popular attraction, the military park.

My BFF Rochelle made me promise not to share a link to my blog with anyone I'd possibly meet on this trip. 

 She made me promise this before we even left, before she was introduced to the cast of characters.

She is very very smart...

Up the Yazoo to Vicksburg

Welcome to Vicksburg Mississippi, home of rich history, antebellum mansions, culture, inspirational backstories, and, at least during this week, a boatload of cranky octagenarians paying a visit.

Look, before you'll get your granny panties in a bunch, let me preface by saying I hate ageism as much as I hate fattism, except in the case where comedic gold can be mined, and as a fat old lady, I've been doing a lot of mining ever since embarking.

American Cruise Line's "Melody" is spectacular.  

The rooms are spacious with ample storage, beautiful decor, and sun-drenched views of the rolling river from a private balcony.  

The gourmet meals have manageable portions: the staff anticipate your every need before you even realize you have those needs.

It's filled with love and perfection, and this week, civil war buffs who were most likely alive during the actual civil war.I

I was hesitant before we booked about strenuous excursions, in case I get a sciatica flare-up, but I am Usain Bolt in this crowd.  

I noticed the generation gap immediately after dinner last  night, in the River Lounge on the third deck, when the multi-talented pianist/singer/comic was taking requests based on home states. or names.  It made sense for the women in the room named Georgia or Virginia, not so much for we Garden Staters.

Curiously, one guy was nicknamed "Three Beer Breakfast" but I'll assume the pianist had his reasons for giving him that moniker..

I thought the Empire State would be best represented by Billy Joel or Broadway: the  NYguy was only calling country and vaudeville tunes.  I didn't want Willie Nelson or Johnny Cash--or--not exclusively them--but if I bitched, I chanced being whacked with a cane. 

Today brought us ideal weather, a scrumptious veggie omelette for breakfast, and lots to blog about, so bear with me.

We had a history lesson that was unlike any boring lecture you might have suffered through in high school--this guy knew his stuff, and even described how the Mississippi Flood of 1927 inspired Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks."

There was some confusion about the activity scheduled before lunch.  The  sheet said Bingo but cruise director Colin, who channels a little bit of Pete Buttigieg, decided to switch things up, since "Bingo and Burgers" is on tomorrow's itinerary, so today we  got to play one of our favorite party  games on any app, "Heads Up."

Jim and I play this fast-paced game whenever there's a gathering and we're pretty good--it's like charades for the pop culture set.  It brings on camaraderie and team work and laughter, but in this case, it brought on a crowd protesting crowd that I termed the "Grey Mutiny."

We came here for BINGO" they insisted.

"That's tomorrow" says Colin, 

"We came for BINGO" they persisted, and were shortly joined by a mob of polyester-clad protesters.

"Look" Colin pleads.."let's just try "Heads Up" for a little bit,,you can get a prize like a cap or a mug"

"WE CAME FOR BINGO"

Colin then ups ante and says there might be a prize with an alcoholic content, so they decided to give "Heads Up" a shot..at least, temporarily.

Do you remember that underrated CBS comedy, "B Positive" with Thomas Middleditch and Annaleigh(not "anally") Ashford, where her character  inherits a lot of money in season two and buys a seniors home?

I'm convinced most of my fellow passengers were extras on that show.

This version of "Heads Up" was mind-numbingly simple: no challenging categories..just regular  words that appeared on an overhead screen, but Jim and I were the only volunteers.  Poor Colin  desperately attempted to recruit staff members who were in the middle of lunch--the blank stares of the crowd were unnerving.

He offers:  "What if you don't have to guess?  What if you just act out the word on the screen and make our volunteers here, Jim and Karen, guess the word?"

"NO!" they shouted in unison, as 'though they were shouting "Bingo!"

I tried to get one brave soul to guess the name of a popular actress:  "She's British!  She died last year of old age!  She played Mrs. Potts and she was in Sweeney Todd and she was Jessica Fletcher in "Murder, She Wrote" and..c',om..you know her!"

He did not.

He did not know Angela Lansbury, who was young enough to be his daughter.

I give him another great clue on a new word by saying, "it's not SILVER...it's.."

"Drunk?" he responds, hearing "sober" instead of silver, which is why he didn't say "gold."

You know what though?  

By the end of the game, they were  actually trying, and we were celebrities, and one woman actually approached us and said, "you know, you don't HAVE to expose yourself when you play Bingo" to which I respond, "Oh yeah?  You never played Bingo with me B4!"

See what I did there?

And see how much time I wasted with this story when I should be telling you about Vicksurg?

We went up the Yazoo to actually get to this wonderful town..the Yazoo is an extension of the Mississippi, I wasn't being cheeky here.

We saw a wall of beautiful murals painted by local artists and then boarded our coach for our tour of this town, guided by the great great grandson of none other than Jefferson Davis himself, a wonderful speaker named Bertram Hayes Davis who, in case you're wondering, thinks the confederate flag should be a thing of the past.

We saw beautiful mansions with remarkable landscaping before stopping at Christ Episcopal Church, the oldest house of worship in the state. (circa 1839) The stained glass was magnificent and the stories, narrated by the rector, held our interest as 'though we werre seeing a one-man play. He talked about the old organs, which made me giggle and think about the men who tried to play "Heads Up" hours earlier, and he showed us a replica of an actual cannonball that hit the building during the Siege of Vickburg.  (The replica was a Christmas gift--the real one was stolen from the premises)

We were told about frenemies Jefferson Davis and Zachary Taylor, and residents of Vicksburg who lived in caves during the bombings. 

After the church, we took a short walk to the most liberal antebellum house in all of Mississippi, the Duff Green House which serves as a bed and breakfast and events venue. 

I stepped inside and felt like a Sugarbaker sister(even 'though "Designing Women" took place in Atlanta) and was overwhelmed with all the gorgeous furnishings and candelabras and chandeliers.

The scent was intoxicating and I told the home owner how pleased I was breathing it in.  She wouldn't give away the secret, but I'll try to describe it:

It smelled like heaven.  Fine, expensive wood and lilacs and happiness. You can google the Duff Green Mansion of Vicksburg to see what it offers as an antebellum house, but wiki can never capture that gorgeous scent.

I barely can.

We stayed mostly in the gentleman's ballroom and the ladies' parlor and were totally transformed to another era.

Jim was instructed how to escort me (with my left hand extended over his) from one room to another.  I should have been wearing a petticoat or hoop skirt instead of faded capris and a "Luke's Diner" Gilmore Girls t-shirt, but I still felt like Scarlett O'Hara.

I apologize for the length of this--but it'll take you less time to read than it took me to write, and I feel I have to capture these experiences on the written page ,since I am very grateful to be experiencing them in reality.

Jim is so glad he planned this trip.  He's a history buff, and he's enjoying the company of many ghosts from the past.

We're going to be really busy tomorrow as well.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

Lorraine Motel to the Peabody

Farewell Memphis, you gorgeous vibrant city! 

 I don't care how much construction we saw on our little coach tour before boarding American Cruise Lines "Melody", what I saw was not an eyesore, but the largest city on the Mississippi(I always thought St. Louis was) ..a city with music, medicine, and heart.

If Beale Street could talk, it would say, firstly, "yes..that impossible to please Karen Amster was totally on board with Regina King's Oscar win for a movie with the same name," and secondly, it would say, "told ya' Karen..this is a GREAT city!"

Our guide told us she has to rely on lip reading because she's horribly hard of hearing, but apparently not as impaired as I am because I heard her name as "anally" when in fact, it's Anna Lee.

One can never presume anything in an era where kids are named Apple and Moxie Crimefighter.

Our first stop was Sun Studio, the musical birthplace of Elvis, home of the Million Dollar Quartet.  The museum wasn't open for the day yet, but we felt like we were inside in spirit, with many passengers posing for photo ops in front of the iconic guitar that gives the building instant recognition.

Anna Lee pointed out St. Judes Hospital, an important Memphis landmark that made me realize there's a lot more to the late Danny Thomas than his love for Baba Ganoush. 

I see  PSAs for St. Judes before virtually every movie I see in the theater, but this time, thanks to Anna Lee's informative talk, it really sunk in how worthwhile a donation to this place is. 

 It's bad enough when a parent has to hear that a child has a devastating illness: paper work and financial issues should be the last thing on their minds, and thanks to St. Judes, it is.  

It costs three million dollars daily to run it, and it exists soley on donations.  Doctors and nurses are trained here before heading out to other St. Judes throughout the country, but it is in Memphis where they develop their skills and learn to realize how precious every life is. I welled up when Anna Lee told us about two children with cancer  who met here-- grew up, fell in love, and got married, to live healthfully and happily ever after.

Our next stop was haunting:  The old Lorraine Hotel, the site where Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968.  The balcony looked so real that I actually felt Dr. King's presence. 

Anna Lee talked about his assassin, James Earl Ray, and how he is now part of what has  eventually replaced the hotel, the Civil Rights Museum.  The ground felt positively sacred as we walked up a slight incline, covered with plaques from religious leaders of all denominations.  (My cousin Martin, a cantor, heard a rabbi once compare this area to the Wailing Wall.)

It was a daunting experience, and Anna Lee told us about the one person who refused to leave after the hotel was converted to a woman's shelter before becoming the Civil Rights Museum it is today.

Her name is Jackie, in the red jacket that she wears daily when she comes out to speak to tourists. At first, I thought it was just awful that she was protesting the building of a Civil Rights Museum--for over thirty-five years--until we heard her side of the story.  She felt that MLK would have wanted it to stay a shelter for battered women, and I guess I saw her point.  Still..she should have relocated to another  safe location when others did--the Civil Rights Museum is an important part of all our history.

The next stop was a little bit lighter..and one I was familar with, but Jim was not.

We entered the very posh and very famous Peabody Hotel, where our timing was perfect as we grabbed a great viewing area from the mezzanine to watch the famous March of the Ducks, which is a twice daily occurrence at this hotel.  There is a hilarious backstory that you can look up, but the ducks  really do parade on the red carpet, briefly swim in the ornate fountain in the lobby, and then head back to their two thousand dollar penthouse where they're treated like royalty.

Our last stop was to a gigantic pyramid shaped building that used to be the home of the NBA team in Memphis, and now is a gift shop..with live alligators and catfish.

I really fell in love with the city and all  its Southern charm, from the minute we landed at the beautiful , state-of-the art airport until we boarded the river boat that we're now enjoying.

The stateroom is huge..there's enough storage if you packed for six months, which I pretty much did.  There is a scent of citrus and disinfectant, which makes me feel exceptionally clean.

The staff is catering to our every whim..I'm impressed with everyone so far.  Jim and I sat at our own table for lunch(the ship has only 76 passengers this week, about half of its capacity) so I'm sure I'll meet everyone and have plenty of things to say, but today, Jim and I just wanted to enjoy each other's company in a bright and airy dining room that was beautifully decorated.

We're sailing, and I keep hearing Tina Turner in my head, singing multiple choruses of "rolling down the river" and when I want to tune her out, I think of Paul Robson, singing "Old Man River" in a voice that only angels could imitate.

I'll detail the excursions as they happen--we're in for a relaxing but fun week!

Jailhouse “Shlock”

Good morning you Memphis Belles, you Tennessee Titans, you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New England.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I said no more blogging before I'm rolling down the river, but I'm pumped up on Claritin and cortizone and have forty minutes to kill before we take a city bus tour that ends at the port. 

Anna, the film projectionist/night manager/PB&J sandwich maker extraordinaire is so freaking cute that you want to take her home with you. She'd actually  fit in your luggage and she'd make it smell like lavender and molasses.

She claims she looks "like a frog" in photographs, but I only see Scarlett O'Hara's Meemaw, so Jim snapped  a photo of us, even 'though I had wet hair. 

Anna escorted us to the beautiful 400 seat theater--in the hotel!!--and regaled us with all the glorious details  of when "Elvis" had it's premiere here last year.

Apparently, director Baz Luhrmann was so addicted to her infamous PB&J sandwiches that he'd call for room service and ordered them by the truckload. Anna was introduced by Baz to Tom Hanks, who shook her extended hand and when he learned she was the Peanut Butter and Jelly Lady, he said to her, "wow..interesting job!"

She blushed and thanked him, but because I am not a lady-like magnolia like Anna, had he shaken MY hand, I would have said, "you have an interesting job too. You're one of my favorite actors of all times..I loved you in "Philadelphia" and even more in "Gump"..but c'mon, don't you think you were..um.."Cast-awry" as Colonel Tom Parker?"

Again, we're all grateful I'm not Anna, because when Priscilla Presley was confused about where she was supposed to be, Anna guided her when I would have said something about what Botox does to one's sense of direction. 

I guess many of Elvis's movies are music videos with plots, and I loved his boyish good looks and honey coated voice, but his acting in "Jailhouse Rock" makes Tommy Wiseau look like Daniel Day Lewis.

It's NOT Elvis's fault--all film noir offerings from that era look like SNL parodies, but aficionados call this his second best performance, next to "King Creole."

Elvis plays a mumbling convict named Vince who doesn't realize his own brute strength while protecting a dame in a barroom brawl, but  cons  apparently serve a lot less time for manslaughter than for bank robbery, in a cell that isn't big enough for a gerbil, but as long as the cons had their wits and their cigarettes, they'd survive the slammer.

You get released into a world of boozy cocktail parties, where broads and dames are mannequins come to life with  cotton  candy hair and expensive  holders for their smokes.

There are spontaneous cocktail parties in every scene.  You visit your gal's folks and the living room is suddenly filled with boozers: you pick up your dry-cleaning and a cocktail party breaks out.

You can google the plot of this B movie(B stands for "bad") if you're so inclined, but it's not about the movie itself, but the movie-going EXPERIENCE at a Graceland Hotel, in a theater surrounded by Elvis fans. 

We're going to meet in the lobby shortly to board the tour bus, and I keep reminding Jim to wear a "lantern" around his neck, because the lantern holds his I.D.

Lanterns..lanyards..One doesn't need to be totally with it when they're about to sail on Old Man River.

One just has to learn how to go with the flow.

Graceland.. a monument to the 70s

Congestion!

Chafing!

Crankiness!

Constipation!

But enough about what I have in common with Elvis Presley, my friends come here to experience a  vicarious trip to Graceland, not to hear my petty  and non stop complaints.

It's a challenge to try to capture in mere words and photographs what it's like to be at one of the most popular destinations in the world, but I'll give it the old college try.

 The shuttle ride to the estate was short, sweet, and filled with singers miscontruing every lyric ever crooned by the King, but that's what made it FUN!!

I was impressed with how clean the grounds are, how hospitable the staff is, and how much it felt like a backlot tour of a Hollywood studio, but with more white satin and more pink cadillacs. 

I learned everything I needed to know about him--his love of meatloaf and all  comfort foods, his generous heart, his passion for football and fine jewelry. Each exhibit was its own entity, including the newest one dedicated to the Oscar nominated 2022 film.  I loved seeing real scripts with notations from director Baz Luhrmann and authentic props, and I actually felt a little guilty because the movie didn't totally blow me away.  Maybe in a less competitive year, I would have been hoping for an Austin Butler win.

The interactive stuff is always a hoot..I'm posing with Elvis in a shot that makes us look like we were in Hawaii together, while we both tried to camouflage our growing  guts. 

We saw fancy costumes and fancier cars; walls covered with inspirational quotes: movie posters and a semi documentary narrated by a very loving Lisa Marie.

As much as I loved touring all the museums and displays(while side-stepping the gift shops in every one of 'em) the highlight of the day for me, besides applying Cortizone cream when we got back to the hotel, was seeing where  and how Elvis actually lived.

I've never seen the inside of a real celebrity's home before. 

 I saw the outside of the home where soul group Sister Sledge lived, because it was in my neighborhood, and I toured  the castle at San Simeon, but only those of us who majored in journalism give a rat's behind about William Randolph Hearst and all his indulgences.

This was a first.

I liked seeing the inviting pool even 'though we were not invited to use it; the horse stables, the racquetball courts.

Upstairs is off limits..it would be insensitive for guests to tour the place where Elvis uttered his last words, but we enjoyed seeing the rest of the house, with all it's kitchy decor and it's 70's vibe.

I lived in a house like this in the 70's, before I needed a bra and before I had self esteem.  It had a similar color scheme, though Graceland did not smell like Pall Mall cigarettes.

If you removed your head from your shoulders, (which Jim was tempted to do!!) you could get a photo of the guest bathroom, used by Vernon and Gladys Presley, with a wallpaper pattern filled with ...poodles!!! Can you get any more 70's than that?

You felt a little like you were in an Austin Powers nightmare, a Brady Bunch flashback with shag rugs on the walls and lots of  dark wood paneling in every room.

Oh..and how did the chief cook and bottle washer in that kitchen every prepare the family dinner without feeling like they were on an acid trip?  All that avocado and orange appliances would have had me spinning  out of control.

The Memorial Garden was inspiring, with it's gentle waterfall and its sooth landscaping.  What a nice final resting place for Elvis, his stillborn twin brother, Jessie, his parents, beloved aunt Minnie Mae,  and now,sadly..his daughter and grandson.

I left the estate with two questions that only someone like me could possibly have the nerve to ask, if only to herself:

1) Why is the King's middle name sometimes spelled with two "As" and other times, only one?

2)  Why is there so much attention given to January 27th, 1956, the day he recorded "Jailhouse Rock" (which is the movie we're coincidentally seeing tonight) when something just as important happened that day?

Yeah..Elvis might have left the building..but yours truly left the womb.

See you on the Mississippi, bright and early tomorrow

A lot of shakin’ going on down to Memphis

Welcome to Tennessee..where it hasn't been too much of a drag, (Thus far) 

Yeah, I went there..and booked this vacation before the  evangelical idiots had their say.

Today is not the day to complain about rigid red states and their dislike of Mrs. Doubtfire: it's not the time to complain about the stray eyebrow the wax lady missed yesterday, today is the time to be grateful for the best shower pressue in the world--a virtual monsoon of hot water--and to be grateful neither of us are Ed, the limo driver.

He picked us up at 5:15 AM..and I apologized for the early call that wasn't my fault, and he was as cheerful as Mary Poppins, waving off my apology and telling us we were his second pickup, and then he had one more before starting his seven hour shift ...as a postal carrier.

Nothing rattles Ed..not rain, not sleet, not hail..not a thirty five pound bag of CVS circulars that will double its weight by the end of his shift, not the shut in two floors up waiting for porn, not even dog bites.

"Yep..got bitten five times," he explains, and the holes in my hand were not as bad as what happened to that rottweiller that saw me and crashed through his front  window,. His owner moved the couch, true, but it's a little unnerving to get into a staring contest with a shard-covered rottie"

So no more complaining..until about five seconds from now.

I packed very carefully, only forgetting the defibrillator and MAGA hats that Monday's crew will inevitably be donning: Jim forgot that his foil covered meds would set off TSA alarms as the agent showed him an "enormous red blob in his crotch area."

First class breakfasts are so bad that they almost justify buying  tickets in coach.  It was some kind of cold oatmeal made out of chia seeds and cardboard, a combo that didn't go well with all that mid-flight turbulence.

"I can't believe we're Memphis bound with all this turbulence," I say.  "Seriously..I'm all shook up"

Jim threatened to flash the red crotch blog in the middle of the night if I continued to crack such lame  Elvis jokes.

The Memphis airport is covered with Federal Express planes, which made me think of Tom Hanks in "CastAway", where he played a FedEx pilot who left Memphis to spend four years with a bloody volleyball.  It also made me think of how I disliked Hank's performance  as Colonel Tom Parker, but that's not going to ruin my Graceland experience.

We were picked up in a van by a woman named Ernestine who was 101 ,who was actually asking ME for driving tips.  It was her second day, and the poor thing droned on and on about how she's stuck in Memphis because her husband's in the military, and we weren't sure if that meant they were together or not.

Ernestine told us that she "couldn't do" Graceland..there was way too much walking, but sciatica be damned..I'm not leaving until I see the throne the King sat on as he drew his last breath. 

 And of course I'll be wondering if there's a bidet.

Ernestine told us there were several weddings going on, and because our room wouldn't be ready for hours, she'd babysit our luggage.  Well..we saw no weddings..but we did see our suitcases again, much to our surprise.

Every item on the  restaurant menu is a cute Elvis pun("Love Me Tenders") but if you ask me, it's all basically deep fried grease  fried in deep lard and  then refried in fried oil. 

 

Sounds deadly...I better pace myself before Monday's cruise, because I intend to outlive the average passenger, and at this rate, I won't.

Oh, and from now on, I'm calling our American Cruise Line's Melody ship simply "M" because it was bad enough trying to get autocorrect to cooperate with spelling Mississippi the right way the first time, I'm not going through a week's worth of blogging spelling out the whole name each time, thank you very much!

Oscar.. the grouchier..

The crowd pleasing Woody Harrelson vehicle "Champions" is schmaltzy and manipulative and predictable..and I still loved it a lot more than ninety percent of what's nominated for Oscars this year.

Almost everything, everywhere, and seemingly  all at once... is pretentious and boring

 I'm not saying only popcorn movies should sweep award seasons, but  this year's crop  should be serving Ambien at the concession stand.

I'm not rooting for anything except Brendan Fraser, and his win is unlikely according to experts.

The Best Actor award looks like it's Austin Butler's to lose, and I don't get it. If I hear that phrase.."he absolutely channeled Elvis!" one more time I'm going to eat some fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches until I burst.

It's ELVIS, not Cary Grant or Ernest Borgnine or Emil Jannings.

 It's a music legend we've seen impersonated thousands of times before, by thousands of talented and untalented performers.  I saw absolutely nothing original...and even 'though Tom Hanks is one of my favorite actors, I thought he was dreadful as Colonel Tom Parker. 

Final predictions, noting that most of these would be my last or second to last choices:  EEAAO for Best Picture and Best Director, and Butler, Yeoh, Bassett, and Quan for the acting wins.

I think I'll be concentrating more on what apps are served at the after parties this year..they'll be a lot more interesting...and less predictable.

Oscar.. the grouch

Usually, my Oscar fever is so high in the days leading up to the show that I often feel I'll require hospitalization: this season, I'll be lucky if I remember to tune in.

I don't recall ever seeing such an awful batch of nominees...even the ones that aren't  really boring bored me.

 I'm barely rooting for anything, even things I'm rooting for.

I've seen everything but "Avatar" but trust me when I tell you that I know that seeing that  wont change my mind.  It'll bore me as much as "Tar" did, and that was actually  a GOOD movie. 

 "AvaTAR" doesn't even have a lead performance for me to root for.

Oh, and I didn't see the "Black Panther" sequel either...because I absolutely despised the first.  Before you say anything, I realize that WAS a well-made film--just not a genre that I'd care about.

There was so much excitement last season, with feel-good contenders like "Coda" and "Licorice Pizza" and even "Belfast" and "West Side Story."  I couldn't wait to "Meet the Ricardos" or look into "The Eyes of Tammy Faye."

The only movie I'm even slightly excited about is "The Fabelmans" and I don't even care if it loses, which it will, obviously. 

A few weeks ago, there were still unpredictable outcomes, now, everything, everywhere, all at once, it seems like we know who will walk away with the coveted gold.

Hey, I know most smart movie goers LOVE this front runner, but I apologetically despised it.  I'm not going to watch it again.  I wanted to gouge my eyes out the first time.   I agreed to see it last spring because there was absolutely nothing else playing, and Jim assured me it wasn't going to be a typical, dizzying sci-fi flick that I couldn't follow, so I went with an open mind and still hated everything about it.  I remember cracking, "this is going to last in theaters for another day or two" and look where we are now.

It's going to sweep.  

It's getting Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actor, and there's a good chance that Jamie Lee Curtis  is going to be glad she stepped out of the "Halloween" franchise.

There's not even much of a race for Best Actor anymore...as much as I want the Oscar to go to its deserved future owner, Brendan Fraser, all signs point to Graceland. 

 I'm actually going there the end of the month, so maybe a win for Butler is an assurance  for increased crowds and traffic, (oh joy!) but I'm still hoping for a Fraser upset, as "The Whale" was the only movie I loved in 2022.

I remember the Oscar parties of yesteryear..my friends would gather with score  cards, in costumes that honored a nominee..even with pot luck dishes that were tied in to highlighted films.

(There'd be good choices this year if I hosted an Oscar party, I'll give you that.  A Fudgy the Whale Cake as a shout out to Brendan Fraser, fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches in honor of Austin, cut up finger sandwiches as a salute to Brendan Gleason.)

I guess it's exciting that sixteen out of twenty actors nominated are first timers, and some of the live action and documentary shorts were just fine, but I'm just not feeling it.

I felt it last year, but do voters for the 2022 Oscars really care about elderly movie  fans like me?

They don't.

There will be no unpredictable moments..nothing controversial or exciting for Boomers like me.

And it's a slap in the face.:)