I left Austin Saturday morning on 9/25 for my annual trip to Arkansas. Interstate 30 took me from Dallas to Little Rock where I spent the night with a friend before journeying on to McGehee on Sunday morning.



Even though Little Rock isn't exactly what you'd call being on the direct route, I have found this is easier for me in terms of the drive, and I can arrive at my mom's house feeling a bit more refreshed and not so road-weary.



McGehee is a farm community, as evidenced by this grain facility, and also a wet community, as evidenced by the adjacent liquor facility.



It's also kind of swampy in those parts. This picture of me I took at the Wiley A. McGehee Memorial Park in town, or as I like to call it, the "Swamp Park." [click to embiggen.]



My brother and I drove out to the farm. This is the foundation of our farm house where we grew up. Too bad the house burned down a few years ago after being sold back in the 1980s. I have lots of wonderful memories growing up there.



The farmland begins at the edge of the 5-acre lot where the house was.



This year the entire farm was devoted to the growing of soybeans. This was probably the first year ever in which cotton wasn't grown. My mother was somewhat irked by that fact.



At the back of the farm is an area we called the break. It makes the "Swamp Park" in town pale in comparison. The water has always been coated in a green moss which creates the illusion that you could walk on it. I would advise against that.

I used to go back there as a kid and could find arrowheads and other bits of Indian pottery in the fields after they had been plowed.



It was also very dry and dusty. I have never seen dirt so fine and powdery. It was almost like driving through 6 or 8 inches of snow.



One of the neighboring farms did have some cotton and it was one of the few fields in which the harvest wasn't completed for the year.

Tuesday morning I drove back to Little Rock to have some Indian food. Ironically, this Indian restaurant was located in a building which had housed a Tuesday Morning store.



Just up the street there in this photo is another small Indian restaurant called Amruth. That had been my destination for lunch but unfortunately they were closed on Tuesdays! I was quite surprised to see this huge sign for Taj Mahal in the area as Little Rock had been lacking a variety of Indian restaurants until now.

The food was splendid and the mint chutney was probably the finest I have ever tasted. I will definitely be returning to this one.

Wednesday morning I was on the road ahead, being pulled deep into the heart of central Texas by noon on I-35, bound for kona ranch.



Not long after I took this shot from a Schlotzsky's parking lot in Belton, Texas, I passed a billboard of President Obama with "Socialist" printed on it.

Vacation over. Back to reality.

I seriously have a love/hate relationship with airlines. And when you factor in things like the TSA it really tilts in the direction of hate. But at least I'm not dealing with that tonight.


I'm just sitting around waiting for txrad's flight to get off the ground in Denver so I'll know for sure when I need to leave here to pick him up. He should have already been airborne by now but the flight is delayed 65 minutes due to a "mechanical" issue.

As I was typing that sentence, txrad called my cellphone to say the scheduled departure is now 9:20 Denver time instead of 9:10.

At least I can sit here at home and be tired and grumpy... waiting. Poor txrad already was facing a long layover which has now amounted to about 4 hours in the Denver airport. That's equal to a round-trip flight between Denver and Austin.

What a waste of time. I guess that's one reason airports have lots of bars.

UPDATE: Oh for fuck's sake! The flight is now delayed another half hour and will not depart until 9:40 Denver time. Cancel the damn flight already!

Assuming it leaves then, I won't need to be at the airport until 1 AM.

Every two years, txrad takes a trip up to North Dakota to visit family and today is his travel day. Because this travel is so infrequent I tend to forget how anxious I get in the hours leading up to his departure.

Yesterday was packing day and it was as if he was half gone already. As I sat here trying to concentrate on my work, he was busy gathering essentials for his trip, charging the cellphone, packing toiletries into 3-ounce bottles, and other tasks associated with travel.

The alarm clock, which we never use, went off at 3:30 this morning. As added insurance, we had two clocks set to go off at 3:30. One corded electric clock, and one battery-powered atomic clock. You never know when a power outage might happen, even when there is no inclement weather present, so it's nice to have that added level of certainty.

txrad set the atomic clock's alarm yesterday but it didn't go off this morning. He even put in fresh batteries yesterday. (Did I mention we like to plan for certainty?) Assuming the clock was probably made in China, I told him to blame the Chinese.

We hit the road as planned at 4:15 for the trip to the airport. There were very few cars on the highway at that time of the morning and by 4:35 we were at the terminal. He let out a big sigh, kissed me on the lips, and seconds later I was alone as I will be for the next week. By 4:59 I was back at home brewing coffee for one.

As I sit here typing at 5:58 AM, I'm thinking about the weirdness of air travel. Delivering txrad to the airport 90 minutes ahead of departure seems like such a waste of time. While he's technically "gone," he's still out there at the airport, having "gone" nowhere. And yet, by the time I log in for work this morning he will already be in Denver. Strange how that happens. And shortly after I'm done eating lunch, he will be driving a rental car through western North Dakota.

There is something very liberating about dropping off a spouse at the airport and knowing that you will have to assume 100% responsibility for everything while that person is gone. Yesterday I was riddled with anxiety and depression related to his journey, and this morning I feel a calming sense of relief, "unfettered and alive," to quote Joni Mitchell.

There is no 50/50 anything. There is no sharing and no compromise to make. There is just me and I can choose to deviate from my normal routine in any way I choose. I have the dishwasher running at 6:08. I will bake muffins before work. I can clean the refrigerator and throw out anything I choose. I make take a bunch of stuff to Goodwill. In theory, I could even paint the office.

I am responsible for feeding myself. I haven't been involved in meal preparation in a few months. This will be fun!

The plane is departing right now as I post this.

Oh, and I figured out why the alarm didn't go off on the atomic clock. While setting the time, txrad managed to change the time zone from Central to Pacific. Can't blame the Chinese for that.

My name could just as easily have been Al Green but it wouldn't take much effort for someone to figure out I'm not the Al Green. I shouldn't even need to make an attempt to sing "Take Me to the River" to prove it.

So, why does the TSA have such a fucking hard time figuring obvious things out, and applying logic?

The Transportation Security Administration, under scrutiny after last month’s bombing attempt, has on its Web site a “mythbuster” that tries to reassure the public.

Myth: The No-Fly list includes an 8-year-old boy.

Buster: No 8-year-old is on a T.S.A. watch list.

“Meet Mikey Hicks,” said Najlah Feanny Hicks, introducing her 8-year-old son, a New Jersey Cub Scout and frequent traveler who has seldom boarded a plane without a hassle because he shares the name of a suspicious person. “It’s not a myth.”

Michael Winston Hicks’s mother initially sensed trouble when he was a baby and she could not get a seat for him on their flight to Florida at an airport kiosk; airline officials explained that his name “was on the list,” she recalled.

The first time he was patted down, at Newark Liberty International Airport, Mikey was 2. He cried.

He was 2. Honestly, I just don't think I have it in me to continue with this absurdity. What can I say to top that? Who is training these people? Maybe they should just change his name to Winston Michael Hicks.

Mario Labbé, a frequent-flying Canadian record-company executive, started having problems at airports shortly after Sept. 11, 2001, with lengthy delays at checkpoints and mysterious questions about Japan. By 2005, he stopped flying to the United States from Canada, instead meeting American clients in France. Then a forced rerouting to Miami in 2008 led to six hours of questions.

“What’s the name of your mother? Your father? When were you last in Japan?” Mr. Labbé recalled being asked. “Always the same questions in different order. And sometimes, it’s quite aggressive, not funny at all.”

Fed up, in the summer of 2008, he changed his name to François Mario Labbé. The problem vanished.

Hmm. Easy enough. So what's the point of this stupid "watch list" anyway? Can they tie the names to an actual photograph, or a description of the person on the list? That might make it easier for the TSA screeners to tell the difference from a potential terrorist and a baby traveling with his or her mother or parents.

Even with some interesting connections, the absurdity didn't stop.

Mrs. Hicks, a photojournalist who herself got Secret Service clearance to travel aboard Air Force II with then-Vice President Al Gore, anticipated additional chaos following the attempted underwear bombing. Before leaving for the Bahamas on Jan. 2, she reached out to Congressman Pascrell’s office, which then enlisted a T.S.A. agent to meet the family at the airport. Even this did not prevent Mikey from an extra pat-down.

Is there no way out from this maddening chaos? I really hate to think that I may never fly again but unless they get this bullshit under control, it's going to need to be a dire emergency to get me within five miles of an airport.

This is quite an amazing video. I received a link in an email from my brother which opened in Real Player. Instead of linking to that, I found the same video on YouTube. The text in the email I have pasted below the video which explains what's going on.

If this is 24-hours of air traffic, I can't imagine how much jet fuel and other substances we are injesting daily, and it should not be hard to fathom how years of this could affect climate change. Just sayin'.

It is a 24 hour observation of all of the large aircraft flights in the world, condensed down to about 2 minutes.

From space they look like bees, but the yellow dots are the airplanes in the sky during a 24 hour period.

You will see the light of the day moving from the east to the west, as the Earth spins on its axis. Note how the flow drops at night in Europe and NA.

And see the aircraft flow of traffic leaving the North American continent and traveling at night to arrive in Europe in the morning. Then you will see the flow changing, leaving Europe in the morning and flying to the American continent
in daylight.

And watch the North America traffic move from East to West as the sun comes up.

Ever wonder why Air Traffic Controllers get headaches ???

He has Kenyan blood. And I suppose that's enough to ignite the racists who are scrambling to find any possible way to have the guy removed from office. But personally, I could give a rat's ass whether he was born here.

konagod isn't real fond of political borders, passports, and all that shit. It's OUR planet; we should be able to move about the place as we fucking choose.

And that's why I'm a radical. And that's why I'm scratching my head, unable to comprehend all this complete and total bullshit.

And I thought the election of Obama was going to give us a breath of fresh air after 8 years of Bush. Think again, konagod, think again.

My brother has regular email exchanges (why, I'm not sure) with a crazy fanatic who was in his graduating glass. He forwarded me an email from her today which I will now present to you regarding Obama.

He may not be the reason that Dearborn is the Muslim capital of the US; however, he is turning the Gitmo guys out as fast as he can. There soon will be many Dearborn’s if he keeps going the way he is. If the auto industry started this in Dearborn, hang on, because Obama just gave General Motors to the auto unions and the Government. I detest this man and refuse to call him my president. Maybe you approve of socialized medicine and healthcare; however, I had a taste of controlled healthcare, Workers Comp, and I almost was not able to use might right arm again. I had to take matters into my own hands and work around the system to find a competent doctor and have another surgery to fix what the first incompetent doctor did.

Now, he wants Congress to pass his healthcare before they go home for their break and hear what their constituents really want, which is not what the Messiah wants. He is the most arrogant and incompetent President that we have ever had. He has lied about everything he said during the campaign except the part about CHANGE. He just lied about what that change would be. Go back and read up on Hitler and see how he got started. There are so many similarities that it hurts.

Folks have also forgotten that the democrats have had control of things for a long time (even when Bush was in office). They have caused all of this to happen. Yes, George Bush was not right to start the Stimulus Plan and Obama is wrong to continue it.

OK, how many absurdities can you find in this? Aside from the part about Democrats having control while Bush was in office. Hell, Democrats aren't even in control now!

Through the years I have made countless trips back to Arkansas to visit my mother and none of them have been what I'd call easy trips. While living in Los Angeles, such trips required air travel with a change of planes, usually in Dallas, followed with a car rental and a 2-hour drive from the Little Rock airport. Even then it was probably faster than it is now by car from Austin.

I have flown there from Austin and it still requires a change of planes in either Dallas or Houston and ultimately I figure it saves only about 2 hours over driving. Most importantly, I don't have to deal with airport security bullshit, repacking all my hair care products into approved containers, and hoping I don't have a hangnail en route because I don't have my nail clippers.

Regardless of the travel method, the stress doesn't end upon arrival. As with this most recent trip, I usually drive to Little Rock first because it's faster and easier, and I can spend a night with a friend from high school before heading to my mother's house the next day feeling a bit more refreshed.

The older I get, the more uncomfortable I am being away from my own bed, my own bathroom, and my own routine. I did sleep fairly well at my friend's house, despite having her clock radio alarm go off at midnight, and me hitting the snooze button twice before getting up to turn on a light so I could figure out where the off button was located. Then I was up at 5:30 to quickly shower and dress for my trip.

Along with the usual travel anxiety, I was meeting up that morning with Ellen, another friend from long before high school whom I hadn't see in over 30 years. That was also making me feel somewhat apprehensive. Fortunately, that meeting went great and was one of the highlights on my trip! After chatting for half an hour or so I went on to my mother's house.

My mother hugged me, I put my suitcase in the bedroom and returned to the kitchen and sat down. She immediately went on a tirade about Obama and the bailouts, how unfit he is to be leading this nation, etc. etc. It was bad enough when Bush was president, and although she didn't like a lot of what he was doing, she wasn't real vocal in her opposition to it, and she still thought of him as a fine Christian man, and CUTE! (Yes, I always had to suppress my gag reflex on that one!)

I have a hard time coming to terms with the rationale for such vehement opposition to Obama when he's barely been in office for 100 days. I have issues with several things he had done and said, and I have issues with things he hasn't done. But I'm not stomping up and down, frothing at the mouth while murmuring about socialism.

It is one thing to see clips of right-wing Negrophobes on television ranting about Obama; it is quite another to walk into your mother's house and hear a similar tirade coming from her lips. And it's not like I wasn't aware of her racism and her upbringing! It's still a shock to hear.

After that initial outburst from her and my retort, we eased into more congenial conversation of a non-political nature, thankfully. We had lunch and then I made an unsuccessful attempt at taking a nap.




Around 1999, txrad and I made a quick trip to Vegas to visit a friend we'd worked with in the Los Angeles days. If I recall, it may have been the last time we'd see her before she died. txrad and I hadn't smoked cigarettes in at least seven years, and we'd only recently begun having wine and the occasional margarita after seven years being alcohol-free.

Knowing that our friend we were visiting was a smoker and enjoyed a cocktail or three, and with Vegas being what it is, I had already harbored an unspoken thought of sneaking a cigarette here and there while in Vegas. Then once we were there, I was surprised that txrad brought it up by saying he was going to have a cigarette.

And we did. And we drank. And we gambled. And we held cigs in one hand and cocktails in the other. We had a blast.

It was a couple of days after returning home, and I distinctly remember the moment one evening in the living room, when I said, "I want a cigarette." I suppose the reason why I remember that moment so clearly is because I've not stopped smoking again since that night. It was a habit I should have left on the Strip along with the gambling.

Stress has since become a trigger for a nicotine craving. As I was gearing up for my Arkansas trip, I told myself I was not taking cigarettes along. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, so I was going to make the Friday before my departure as smokeless as possible. My goal was to not have a cigarette that morning until after I had returned from my 9:45 appointment to drop the car off for maintenance. That didn't work.

I awoke at 3:30 that morning having travel anxiety and even being nervous about taking the car to the shop. I went to the kitchen for some water and saw my half-smoked cigarette from the night before. Where's the logic in trying to quit smoking when I leave myself half a cigarette sitting out? So I smoked it.

When I awoke again and got up at 6:00, I had already broken a promise to myself so I had another. Besides, I was stressed. I was also starting to realize I was probably going to break another promise and take some smokes with me to Arkansas. But I was NOT going to smoke at my mom's house; I was sticking with that promise.

After my failed attempt at a nap at mom's house on Sunday afternoon I got up to find her sleeping on the porch with a newspaper in her hand. Even opening the creaky screen door didn't wake her. So I slipped back in the house and out the back door for a quick smoke.

After she arose we decided to go for a drive around town which is customary when I visit. I need to hear about who died in that house, who had a stroke in this one, and which house is now vacant and for sale because the occupant is now in the nursing home. We pass by a dozen or more buildings, virtually all of them vacant and decaying, which bring back a torrent of vivid happy memories from my childhood when the town was actually thriving. My mother then pointed to a restaurant downtown which appeared to be busy, and said, "that's a nigger restaurant."

Since almost no one reading this blog has even been to my hometown, let me put this in perspective for you. The town has very few places to eat that are decent. Most of the options are on the highway, not downtown. There's a Subway sandwich joint out there, probably a crappy little pizza place, and there was a new Mexican restaurant before it burned. There used to be a Chinese restaurant on the highway but I didn't notice if it was still there or not.

Downtown has a drug store where they serve sandwiches on the weekdays, but not on Saturday and I think they are closed on Sundays. There's just nothing downtown! The building which houses the "nigger restaurant" was for many years a locally-owned diner which was named the "Ritz." That closed down a few years ago, another restaurant may have eventually opened there but closed. The fact that somebody went in and opened a restaurant which is not only busy and convenient, but open on Sunday would seem to be a matter of civic pride, not shame and disgust because of the skin pigmentation of the owners.

It was probably at this moment when I began to question just how long my visit here would last. Instead of staying until Wednesday or Thursday, I was now thinking Tuesday at the latest.

Once back at our house from the tour of the decrepit little town, my mother began talking about how she is unable now to get out and work in her flower beds and pull weeds. She mentioned that a friend of hers has a beautiful back yard but paid someone to do it, and then came another bomb: "She had a nigger man do it, and I just don't want a nigger in my house."

Funny. It didn't seem to be an issue in the 1960s when she had a black maid come several times a week to clean her house. But I've always though that was more of a "keeping up with the Joneses" attempt at maintaining our level in our social caste since many of her friends had slaves black housekeeping help employed at ridiculously low rates of pay. (This was before the influx of Mexicans and Central American nannies who have a slightly lighter skin tone.)

All kinds of things were now clicking together in my head and I could almost hear the various pieces of the puzzle snapping in place. She knew I didn't want to hear any Obama-bashing so she was getting her racist frustrations out in other ways. She didn't like the "nigger restaurant" being just 2 blocks from her house, she didn't want a "nigger man" cleaning up her yard, and she sure as hell didn't want a nigger president that socialist in the White House.

I heard this kind of language growing up from people in the town, from friends and their families, and from my own. Between the 70s and the 90s it began to temper somewhat. Obviously it didn't disappear, it just became less public and more private. And somehow, the election of Barack Obama has caused people like my mother to crack wide open, throwing themselves back in time; not to the 1970s, but right back to 1957! They are so adamantly racist they are willing to sacrifice just about anything to stake that white power flag in the ground make their feelings known, be it their homes, their yards, their dying towns, and perhaps even more.

As my mother was preparing dinner, I amused myself by walking around the house snapping photos of various nick-nacks she has acquired over the years and displays in her house.


And as we all know, them black folks sure loves them some watermelon!


Ironically, my mother loves it too and could eat a whole one while standing at the kitchen sink.

In all the years I have made a yearly trek back to Arkansas, I have never been as troubled and perplexed as I was on this trip. It is a lot to absorb and digest. And yet, I cannot allow myself to feel towards my mother the way I feel about the Rush Limbaughs of the world.

Ellen, during our brief visit, said we cannot change them right now. This is all they know, and it is normal to them. My mother is but one of perhaps millions of people who grew up white in hundreds of small towns just like this one across the deep South and elsewhere, raised in a Christian religion which never really liked to asked the simple question, "What would Jesus do," and never had the benefit of an education or a work experience in which they developed friendships with people different from themselves.

I refuse to believe that my mother, deep down in her heart, really is this angry, or this racist. She is a kind and loving woman who does not like change, and wasn't really comfortable when black people were invited by the preacher into her church, despite the fact that the church (which was founded by my father, by the way) is located in what was called "colored town" during more civil times than these. And I can't help but juxtapose this with the "nigger restaurant" located downtown which has drawn her ire.

She carries baggage imposed on her from childhood by a father, also a decent and honest man, but one who didn't even like shaking hands with black people. This has been going on for centuries and will take centuries more to run its course, assuming it ever will.

I made the decision late on Sunday to return to Austin on Monday morning. I was feeling confused and longing to be back in my comfortable environs. Besides, it had rained all month and was continuing to rain so I could not have done the yard work she wanted even if I had stayed another day.

Around 9:15 I went to bed, hoping to arise by 5:30, have a quick breakfast and coffee, and then hit the road.

Thoughts were still being processed in my head as I tried to sleep. I was feeling hurt and disgust. And having not only met Ellen earlier that morning, but also her partner, a beautiful and witty black woman, I kept wondering how my mother would react to that double-whammy.

I had slept for perhaps an hour when I woke up. I checked the clock and it was only 11:15 PM. I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep before being awakened again just after midnight by the loudest freight train I've ever heard. After several minutes of that, just as the train sounds were growing faint as it headed away from town, I was jolted by a clap of thunder followed by more pouring rain.

During the night there was another train incident, then another. And another storm. Around 3:30 AM, I got up and had to sneak out into the backyard for a stress-relieving smoke. I managed to quietly find the key to the deadbolt on the back door (there be Negroes in the neighborhood!), and as soon as I set one foot on the back deck the exterior motion-detection lights came on. Thank God it wasn't accompanied by sirens! I lit up a cigarette and paced across the rain-soaked gravel driveway which crunched loudly beneath my feet like several inches of snow during a hard freeze. I crept quietly back into the house, locking the door and carefully placing the deadbolt key exactly as I had found it, and went back to bed. I finally awoke at 5:45 and got up for breakfast.

Another side-effect of travel for me is constipation. I think it has to due with a variety of factors: a change in routine, change in diet, sitting in a vehicle for 8 or 9 hours, stress, whatever. But I had not had a decent bowel evacuation since I left Austin two days earlier.

I visited with my mother while eating blueberry muffins and sipping two cups of coffee, then I loaded the car with my stuff and hit the road.

About 50 minutes later, just as I had crossed the Louisiana state line, I realized I needed to pee. "Like a horse" as the saying goes. I had just passed a couple of 18-wheelers about 2 miles behind me which is no easy feat on a 2-lane road in a rain storm. I didn't want them to catch up to me and pass me so I pulled over and decided to make this a fast one. As I urinated I began forcing it out faster than is natural in order to speed things up; I could already see the headlights approaching behind me. It was at that moment that I decided to let loose with a fart or two. Big mistake.

I quickly returned to the car and sped away before the 18-wheelers had reached me, and I thought to myself, "I might need to check my shorts when I get to a gas station" even though I really didn't think I had done anything serious. You know, just the likely "skid marks" as the kids used to say in school.

It was about an hour later when I reached Monroe, Louisiana where I would hook up with I-20 to take me west to Texas. I stopped at a service station and went to the restroom to relieve myself of coffee again and remembered I needed to check myself. I popped into a stall and lowered my shorts. Oh my God. Let's look on the bright side: I was no longer constipated! I reached into the black toilet paper dispenser only to realize there was nothing there but an empty roll.

I scooted out of the stall for some paper towels near the sink. Again, nothing. No paper products for hygiene were to be found here! I took off my heavily soiled underwear and used them to clean myself up as best I could and then stuffed the offensive garment into a pocket on my cargo shorts and returned to my car as if everything was completely normal. I put the underwear into a plastic bag in my trunk and proceeded on down the road until I could find an establishment which I hoped would have the proper amount of paper products in the restroom.

I grabbed by duffel bag which contained the previous day's attire and quickly headed into a restroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone lest they read my mind. I got myself cleaned up as best I could and changed into the cargo shorts I had worn while driving up the previous day. I mean, come on; did I need to put on anything clean? Cleaner than what I was wearing would clearly be a huge improvement.

Having dealt with that embarrassing situation, I was ready to hit the road again for Texas, and ultimately, Austin.

I'm not sure when I'll visit my mother again, but I hope it's not another year. I really should do this more often, not less. I need to love this woman who bore me, and enjoy what few remaining years I can with her, despite her flaws, and mine. Maybe I can't change her attitudes, but I can certainly set a positive example.

In the meantime, I can honestly say I wish President Barack Hussein Obama nothing but great success. It probably won't alter racism in any way, but it will nonetheless prove a point. In fact, I could argue it already has.

I haven't been to see my mother since January, 2008. Having scheduled the entire week off from work from 5/11 - 5/15, I figured Mother's Day would be a good time to make the run to Arkansas.

Saturday morning I will hit the road as early as possible to Little Rock and should be there by mid-afternoon. I'll have dinner with a friend I've known since high school.


Then Sunday morning I'll make the 125 mile drive from my friend's house to my mother's house. I should be there by 10:00 or 11:00 depending on when I leave Little Rock. The drive from Austin to Little Rock is so much easier than making the trek directly to McGehee, the last two hours of which are on mostly two lane roads which are exhausting after already driving for 7+ hours.


Now comes the fun part. When I decide to leave, the good news is that I get to deal with the two hour two-lane road portion early in the morning and put that behind me. The online maps suggest this route back to Austin. It's about 580 miles and all freeway from Monroe, Louisiana to Austin. That should take about 9 1/2 hours.


I'm always tempted to try an alternative. This route is the shortest in distance, about 535 miles, but according to the mapping software requires about 10 hours of driving time. But that road from Longview to I-35 in Round Rock is one long stretch of lonesome. It's very good for personal contemplation though!

One time I took the nearby route off I-20 going through Tyler and what a mistake that was. I wasted about 45 minutes going through Tyler traffic. This route avoids Tyler but I'm not sure if it makes more sense than just staying on the freeways, as fraying on the nerves as they can be.

Another one of the cons with this route is really bad radio for about 5 hours. Guess I should take some CDs, or just shut off the stereo and ... contemplate.



If anyone reading this has taken that route, let me know what you think. Regardless of the route, I'll be hitting the Austin city limits just at the start of our horrendous rush hour, unless I get a REALLY early start on this portion of the trip. A 7 AM departure -- at LEAST -- is mandatory.

After a few days of hearing Fox News at my mother's house, I don't think a 6 AM departure would be hard to achieve.

Mr. Pessimism here again to express a few words about the merger of Northwest and Delta. I'll be watching the news of this one with a very close eye -- wondering when the announcement of layoffs and closing of hubs will come.

As if this isn't enough, expect United and Continental to start engaging in foreplay in anticipation of consummating their marriage while the merger pimp-in-chief is still around to bestow his blessing.

Other airlines may rush to merge. One reason for the urgency is that airlines want to get their deals approved by the Justice Department under the Bush administration, rather than risk seeing them stall until a new president takes office.

As for expected job losses, do the math:

At the end of 2007, Delta and Northwest employed a combined 89,000 workers. American Airlines, currently the largest carrier, had 85,500. Delta said the combined airline would employ 75,000 people. That number excludes 6,000 people who work at Delta’s regional airline and Delta said earlier that it would reduce employment by 2,000.

Although Delta said no hubs would be closed, that is by no means a statement that there will not be reductions, or eventual closing of hubs. They are going to do what it takes to streamline. The end result might not be very favorable to travelers or employees in the potentially redundant hubs.

Pardus Capital Management, an investment firm, estimated in November that a combination of Delta and Northwest could reduce costs by about $1.5 billion a year, in large part by combining hubs. Delta’s hub in Cincinnati is close to Northwest’s in Detroit. And Northwest’s hub in Memphis is close to Delta’s in Atlanta.

In other words, if I were en employee in Detroit or Memphis, I'd start having trouble sleeping right about now.

Bloody buggery bollocks! What is up with these mobs in Jamaica terrorizing the gay community? Hopefully the Jamaican tourism board will try and knock some sense into the residents of that island.

I have never traveled in the Caribbean but it has long been one of my destinations of choice. Unfortunately the news coming out of the region in the past several years hasn't exactly been encouraging to the queer community. It may be a long while, if ever, before I feel comfortable going to Jamaica and rolling up a big fat one.

One night last month, Andre and some friends were finishing dinner when a mob showed up at the front gate. Yelling antigay slurs and waving machetes, sticks and knives, 15 to 20 men kicked in the front door of the home he and his friends had rented and set upon them.

[...]

Disapproval of gays is an entrenched part of island life, rooted, Jamaicans say, in the country’s Christian tradition. The Bible condemns homosexuality, they say. But critics say islanders are selective in the verses they cite, and the rage at gay sex contrasts sharply with Jamaicans’ embrace of casual sex among heterosexuals, which is considered part of the Caribbean way.

While some other Caribbean tourist destinations have made a point of marketing to gay travelers, Jamaica has notably not joined the trend.

The double standard on the island is reflected in the antigay lyrics of Jamaican dance hall music, the headlines of more hyperventilating tabloids — “homo” is the term most often used — and the fact that homosexuality remains illegal here, with the specific crime called “buggery.”

A nice start would be to remove the illegality of homosexuality. Sadly, even that would be a very small step in what may be a long road of education and overcoming this entrenched religious-based homophobia and hatred. And don't expect the police to provide protection.

A couple of weeks back, a local tabloid, The Jamaica Star, ran a screaming headline when a local police officer, disturbed by the attack on the dinner party guests, decided to disclose his sexual orientation to the paper. He said he had been harassed regularly by his colleagues because he is gay. He said the police did not take violence against gays seriously.

[...]

Mr. Hayden, who has since taken leave from the force, is in hiding out of fear that his colleagues might kill him.

Even a funeral was disrupted when an angry mob attacked a church during a service for a gay businessman. We're talking Fred Phelps-style hatred here.

Of course there is an easy solution for this problem. If WE would just stop acting so gay, or better, heal ourselves, the violence would stop.

The country’s public defender, Earl Witter, later condemned the violence at the funeral, but he also reinforced the common view that if only gays would be less flamboyant, there would be less violence against them. Speaking to the Mandeville Rotary Club last April, he urged Jamaica’s gays to avoid flaunting their sexual orientation.

The article concludes with a quote from a pastor who is working with a gay man to overcome his homosexuality. The pastor doesn't want his name used in the article out of fears of being attacked for "protecting" the gay man he is trying to heal of this "demonic thing."

The website VisitJamaica.com makes it sound like a pretty nice place. Notice the tagline: "No Wonder Hearts Beat Faster in Jamaica."

Yeah, when you are gay and running for your life from a mob with machetes, I suspect hearts beat plenty fast. That's not my idea of a vacation.


Print version of New York Times article.

I left southeast Arkansas about 7:35 this morning after sleeping until about 6:50 which was at least an hour later than I had planned to sleep. Nevertheless, my estimated arrival at home of 5:00 was almost nailed. I pulled in at 4:57. Not bad after 9 1/2 hours of variables largely outside my realm of control. (Driving 80+ mph between Dallas and Austin didn't hurt either.)

Regular blogging will resume with a vengeance on Thursday. Thank you all for checking in and and sticking by me through what is always an incredibly hectic pace. Some "vacation" eh?

FYI, my allergy situation hasn't completely subsided but I'm much better than I was two days ago.



I'm GLAD to be home!

I feel like shit. What a waste this trip has been thus far. Within an hour of walking in the door at my friend's house in Little Rock I began to feel a bit worn down -- more so than usual after such a drive. I felt like I was getting slammed hard and fast with some kind of allergy. I woke up shortly after midnight feeling as if I'd been running a fever, having weird dreams, and the remainder of the night was not a comfortable sleep.

And today simply deteriorated hour-by-hour but I did make the drive to my mother's house this afternoon. She prepared a divine meal of purple hull peas, collard greens, corn, mac & cheese, slaw, chow chow and cornbread. That should (hopefully) put me on the road to recovery tomorrow.

I may never again travel during the winter. My lips feel like dried up beef jerky despite the fact that I'm drinking plenty water. Anyhow, no more blogging from me today, I'm about to curl up under a blanket and watch the Dems debate in SC.

And I'm sure, with any luck at all, I'll be passed out before that one's over. Can we fast-forward to late Wednesday afternoon? I'm ready to be home.

Expect lighter than usual blogging this week as I'm off to Arkansas to visit my mother. I'll post as I can from the laptop. I'll probably put any personal stuff and some pictures up at Black Soap. I would have to pick the coldest morning of the winter thus far to start a trip. It's 18 degrees and will probably be a bit colder by the time I leave.

This is my roundtrip travel time and miles. Whew! Kilometers tick by faster, but there's more of 'em.



Yes, avoid tolls. Please.

This makes me very glad I'm not flying during the holidays. This is the scene from O'Hare in Chicago. One airport. One day. One moment. I'm sure it replayed many times in every airport.

God, we Americans have a lot of stuff!

And let's not forget a pair of security tips:

•Remember, food items are subject to screening. Pumpkin pie (which has a gel-like consistency) and fruitcakes (which are very dense) are allowed, but may require extra screening.

•Dress the part. You'll have to take off your shoes, coats and any bulky sweaters and sweatshirts before screening.

So what exactly does extra screening of a pumpkin pie entail?

And the second one should probably read: "UNdress the part."

Save time, fly naked.

The New York Times has a very interesting and well-written piece today about the migration of villagers from northern India into Mumbai and other large cities in search of work and a better life. Go read about the 24-hour journey on board the Pushpak Express. It's truly fascinating. After reading the article, watch the video and you'll feel as if you already know these people.

These passengers are also part of a great migration that is changing the world. Goldman Sachs, which has published projections about the Indian economy, predicts that 31 villagers will continue to show up in an Indian city every minute over the next 43 years — 700 million people in all. This exodus, with a similar one in China, helped push the world over a historic threshold this year: the planet, for the first time, is more urban than rural.

To ride the Pushpak Express from Lucknow, in Uttar Pradesh State in northern India, to Mumbai is to see a snapshot of that global metamorphosis.

I really wish I'd been on the train at the moment the three transsexuals in colorful saris boarded.

Alternate link.

Hey, I like to get naked as much as anyone, but this is not my idea of a vacation.

Source Events, a gay travel company, is offering the first gay nude luxury cruise this May in connection with Gay Naturists International, a nonprofit social organization.

[...]

Staterooms on the cruise start at $3,199, not including airfare and port taxes.

I've had too many dreams already where I'm out in public and can't find my clothes. Maybe if they'd pay me $3,199 to get on the ship and travel light, I might consider it. Probably not. And I'm sure that price doesn't even include an all-you-can-drink tequila bar.