Monday, November 29, 2004

My Trip to Mississippi

This was my third trip to the South for Thanksgiving, but the first time I've visited Kelly's relatives in Mississippi. Though I hadn't been to that state since I was 7 (it was 1981, and Juice Newton was in the air), it hasn't changed much (despite the sign in front of the Jackson airport, which declared it to be the "Best of the New South").

We stayed with her grandparents (Maw Maw and Paw Paw -- sp?) on a farm in Jefferson County, near Natchez, and I feel like I got a good taste of country living. For one, we got to see a goat get its head stuck in a fence and then mauled by quasi-wild dogs! Fortunately, Kelly's Paw Paw was able to rescue the goat (I tried to help, but my "May I be of assistance, good sir?" was lost amid the beast's frantic bleating).

Kelly's grandfather also demanded to know why we did not shop at Wal-Mart, and was horrified to learn that there was no Wal-Mart whatsoever in San Francisco. Then Kelly made the mistake of trying to explain her job at Macworld. Her grandparents were not familiar with the publication and asked whether Kelly was allowed to publish cat stories because everyone loves cat stories.

It got worse when Kelly busted out her Photo iPod, explaining that it twas a clockwork device and not one operated by witchcraft. For the rest of the weekend, Kelly's grandmother referred to it as the IHOP, which caused no small amount of confusion (actual quote: "You in California, with your fancy IHOPs").

After a few days in Mississippi we returned to Atlanta, which suddenly felt enormously civilized. I got to go to my favorite hip-hop club in Buckhead, the Uranus (yes, I believe it's pronounced that way -- maybe it's a gay club on other nights of the week?) and picked up some new moves for "calling out" people on the dance floor. My favorite, performed exquisitely by one gentleman, involves flipping someone the bird, then throwing the middle finger into the air and pretending to kick it around like a hackey sack. Perhaps I'm not explaining it well, but it was delightful.

If I'm ever tempted to move to Atlanta, it would be on account of Buckhead nightlife. Where in the Bay Area can you party until 4 a.m. and be the only non-black person in the place? (Note: If I had said "non-Asian," the correct answer would be the Serra Bowl in Colma.)