The Delta and Oxford, MS

Twice a year, for a number of years, an odd whimsy strikes me without fail. I want to become the next president. Every January 1st, when it dawns on me that nothing of merit will happen after 1am and it's time to head home, yet I loaf around because I am dreading the drive back in a sub-zero car, I think to myself, "If I were president, we'd celebrate New Year's like Persians -- on the first day of spring." True, I could celebrate New Year's in Key West, but it just makes more sense to celebrate new beginnings when Mother Nature herself celebrates new beginnings.

Half way into the new year, around July 4th, same thing, "If I were president, we wouldn't call Independence Day, Independence Day. Maybe Autonomy Day, or something like that." I think it's the least we could do if the government continues to balk at reparations and it took a British man to direct one of the most present (in the sense that when you're watching it, it doesn't feel like you're watching a movie) films about U.S. slavery. It'd be logical to write about Washington D.C. or Boston this week, but it made more sense (there's a difference, and I know you know it) to write about the Mississippi Delta instead.