Before I moved away from Mississippi to live in the cold midwest back in 2001, my mom told me, "You can take the boy out of the south but you can't take the south out of the boy." I think the recent weekend excursion to Mississippi and Tennessee that Jude MC and I took is proof of that. We spent four days eating fried food, driving over the white line, and kickin' it with paw paw.
We left Chicago Friday afternoon and made it to Memphis around nine. Having never eaten a muffuletta, Jude wanted to start the weekend off by consuming as many deli meats as possible on one giant sandwich. So we dropped by the Young Ave. Deli in midtown. This place used to be one of the go to spots for shows or to see other hipsters out and about drinking cheap Miller High Life, watching a decent rock show, or just eating really greasy burgers. However now it's made it's transition from being the place that employed every slacker musician that needed a job that let them go on tour to a total sports bar complete with exclusive frat boy clientele. Though the food wasn't bad we were kind of bummed out till some ladies told us about a free show at Murphy's Irish Pub.
The show was about what I had expected to find; a sub par kind of rock n roll show with skinheads dressed like they were from England rather than the mid south and a few white dudes with dreadlocks. On the upside, my buddy Quinn Powers was operating the sound board. We spent the rest of the night laughing at band punk bands, talking about furries, and Jude got hustled at pool by a chubby girl.
We got back on the road around two in the morning on our way to Vardaman, Mississippi when, while in the middle of nowhere, a tire blew out. Lucky for us there was a spare in the back of the truck. Unlucky for us the jack that came with the truck stripped out, leaving us stranded on the dark, cold, off ramp near nothing with no way to get help until morning.
Finding sleep impossible I sat up right behind the steering wheel until I knew my mom would be awake. Calling her was the last resort but she only lived about ninety miles away and was the only option I really had left. So come six a.m. I called her up and explained the situation. She had other plans and sent her husband Elliot out with a jack. And although help was on the way, we had a little more than two hours to kill. Delirious and strung out, we crossed the highway and walked into a country diner/gas station as it opened and got breakfast. It totally had that "you're not from around here" bullshit vibe. But I think our natural charm wooed the lady behind the counter into making us the best country ham and biscuits that six dollars could buy.
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