Waffle House, US 90, Biloxi, MS.
7:36 AM

What an f-ing ordeal. Northwest Airlines redefines incompetence! Connection from Memphis was cancelled. That's cool... I was hoping to spend time in Memphis — just not 5 hours at the airport!

Anyway, great people watching: Huge Polynesian-looking dude and his wife with Maltese poodle in tow. Stoned dude in a polo shirt with lots of gold chains. His face reminded me of Mike Gaspari (sp?). And then there was the guy — he had that ailment where you don't physically develop completely (or at least he APPEARED to have that ailment). He was wearing a baseball hat that said FBI and all black clothes (appeared to be FUBU). He was with an older woman (his mother) and an infant (his?) who seemed to already be sporting a mullet — although I might be projecting.

We finally got to Gulfport but our luggage did not. YAY! Only those of us who got cancelled earlier. Double whammy. The angry mob descended on the NW counter ready to murder (or tar and feather). It might make it on the later flight — Southern Hospitality Deliverance Style. Thank you sir, may I have another?

So, off in my rental car (Accent. Hooo Wee!) and to the lavish Motel 6 on the beach (with no ocean-facing windows — just ocean-facing walls). How does Motel 6 afford to give up $33 rooms? No shampoo, no tissues, no alarm clock. I figured a WalMart was in my immediate future.

Instead, I headed to "The President" — one of shittiest of the Biloxi casinos. No, I wasn't planning to gorge at the buffet at the shittiest — my lackluster hotelier suggested it.

$12 all you can eat buffet — lots of crawfish, shrimp and crab legs — all of which needed manual labor to eat.

Observation — There are LOTS of obese people here. Watching them get their money's worth at the buffet makes me less hungry. Buffet 1, Andrew 0.

Everybody at the casino seems sad. And desperate. I put a buck in a poker game. Nothing happened. I can't even be upset. Just one of those days. My luggage will NOT be on the later flight — but I go back to the airport anyway.

I see my friend with his mother and baby. He tells me he's on his 3rd coke. They didn't get on the flight I did — they'd been to Houston and then GPT. But no luggage for them either. He's mostly upset at the prospect that his cigarettes are lost — evidently he gets a real good deal on half cartons of non-name brand smokes — he's from NC. As I chat with him, it appears he's not fully developed in other ways as well. Soon we're revisiting phrases, comments etc. from earlier in the conversation.

But he's cool. We're now at the luggage belt. I see familiar faces. Luggage starts coming out. I have a major headache. No sign of mine. Belt stops. More luggage loaded. Belt starts. People are cheering when the cases show. My head hurts. Belt stops. I'm ready to cry. Belt starts! My FBI friend is plucking cases off the belt and cheering. My head hurts. Then, as if all that made the day a disaster just disappeared — my case! I wished special agent respirator a great vacation at his hotel-casino (he'd spent some time telling me how he thinks they shouldn't call them "hotel-casinos", but "hootelll... casin os" since they aren't really connected — MS laws etc).

I stopped at a WalMart (HUGE) super-mega store for some Excedrin and back to my opulent digs (after a quick drive through downtown Biloxi — nothin' doin').

Biloxi, MS