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Wednesday, 24 October 2007

A Cross-Country Excursion through the Southern States - Page 4

Written by Josh Mitchell
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When my roommate told me that he was leaving Boston and moving to San Diego, I jumped at the chance to drive with him through the southern states – a part of the country that I have always longed to explore. There are not many times in your life when you are able to dedicate an entire month to traveling.

We also downed a bag of cheap white wine and then tested our pitching arms in the MLB tent.  Both of us couldn't break 65.  Not bad for being tipsy.


The sheer volume of the stimuli was overwhelming and exhausting.  The musical highlight of the excursion was seeing the reunited trio of virtuosos called The Police.


Watching fireworks erupt, as Sting's undiminished voice sang about "a little black spot on the sun today" was pop culture in motion and right up there with seeing The Pope or Lindsay Lohan partying at your hometown watering hole.


southOther acts that we caught and thought deserved an equally euphoric response:  Lily Allen, delivering funny, sassy, pop songs; Regina Spektor, playing childlike-sounding but layered piano tunes; Michael Franti, now one of my favorite acts, exploding with a politically-minded yet body-moving set.


Bonnaroo was like a small country full of shirtless and braless music buffs who smoked so much grass that they must have had to have their stomach mowed once a day.


southWe exited the festival dirtier than a sumo wrestler's bellybutton and burnt like a BBQ potato chip.  It is probably something I could only do once in my life, but it was a monumental experience that I will never forget.


We woke up at the crack of dawn on Monday morning and, with Bonnaroo in our rear view mirror, we raced three hours to Atlanta to prepare for The Red Sox to do battle with The Braves at Turner Field.


The scenic drive was a breeze as we headed through the mountains of Tennessee and after me singing "Pardon me sir, is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo?" for the fifth time, I annoyed the dust off of my travel companion and he decided we needed to fuel up at The Waffle House.


The restaurant had a jukebox so we punched in The Charlie Daniels Band and listened to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" as we devoured our hungry man breakfasts.


(Page 4 of 6)
Last modified on Sunday, 16 December 2012

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