story

Gentle readers, I have placed below the "fold" photographs documenting certain events of this afternoon, which events I have come to believe I must relate to you, even though I think it likely that you will dismiss them as the product of an "over-active imagination" or a "nervous disposition". Indeed, I fear that you will think me mad. Nonetheless, the only proper course is disclosure. I have come to know certain things — awesome and terrible things — about what dwells in the ancient hills of North Georgia. I must risk my reputation if it means that even one person is prepared — as I could not have been — for what he will find stalking amongst the sagging homesteads and rusting cars of White County.

I went in to work somewhat earlier than usual this morning, and the early alarm clock seems to have caught me in a dream that I now recall as follows:

I am walking down an urban street at night with what seems to be the United Nations of young hip people. (I'm not sure what I'm doing with them. The street is too close and shadowy to be one of Atlanta's; it seems European, though it could be New England.) I speak briefly with one not-so-hip fellow who I imagine to represent Russia. He appears in every way to be Jerzei Balowski (played by Alexei Sayle) from the Young Ones.

I end up speaking with a tall blond gentleman who is the center of the group (both socially and spatially), and I tell him that I think we're going to Russia's party, though I express that, having met Russia earlier, I am skeptical about the quality of this party. The gentleman stops and turns to face me and, with an aristocratic air that is both commanding and winningly inclusive, says “I am Russia, and my parties are legendary”.

It turns out the first guy was from some former-Soviet satellite state or something.

Anyway, the “legendary” part turns out to be true, as I find myself in a beat up car with three people who were friends during my college years (none of whom have recently commented on this site). They are desperate to get into Russia's party because they have heard that he is generous in handing out party drugs. They think that I can get them into the party because I was with the UN crowd earlier. I'm torn between wanting to do a good turn for my (fairly pathetic) former friends and a sense that their quest is a ridiculous, pointless waste of time. We drive through a crowded parking lot while I try to think of something else to do, and that's about when I wake up.

Weird, huh?

So to sum up: I committed a faux pas and then failed to take any action to separate myself from some stupid people's stupid agenda. In my dreams, I am Charlie Brown.

We went to a Pumpkin Patch down near Newnan with my parents before Halloween. In addition to a whole lot of pumpkins, there was a petting zoo and a hayride. A number of photos (somewhere between too many and too few), some with captions, can be found after the jump.

Sg, we went down to the church at the end of the street this morning to vote. We got in line right at 7:00, when the line extended halfway down Mell Avenue. We only had to wait about an hour, though, and you had fun playing on the steps of the church and with the flowers growing out front. It was fairly warm for November, even by Atlanta standards.

You went to the voting “booth” with me, and you touched the screen for Barack Obama and Jim Martin. No offense, but you were slowing down the process and getting heavy at the same time, so I took over from there and handled the school board races, constitutional amendments, etc.

We saw a few neighbors, and everyone in line was friendly. Voting in Candler Park is kind of fun because you can be pretty sure that about 90% of the people in line around you agree with you on about 90% of the issues and candidates up for a vote. Let’s hear it for enclaves!

Then we went to Starbucks, where they’re giving away free coffee to those who have voted. On the way out, a reporter from the Atlanta Journal Constitution spoke with us about the free coffee, and about the statement by the Georgia Secretary of State that the promotion is illegal. I said that surely free coffee in exchange for any vote (and not a vote one way or the other) was not what the legislature had in mind when the law was passed. You said “I got a milk”, which was true.

(The law, § 21-2-570 of the Georgia Code, says “Any person who gives or receives, or offers to give or receive, or participates in the giving or receiving of money or gifts for the purpose of registering as a voter, voting, or voting for a particular candidate in any primary or election shall be guilty of a felony”—so I guess mommy and I committed a felony this morning. And then spoke to a reporter about it. And gave our names. Come to think of it, if we’re in jail now, and you’re being raised by someone else, you may be better off.)

The poll workers gave you an “I’m a Georgia Voter” sticker, which you lost before we left Starbucks. You were kind of mad that I wouldn’t give you mine (which is fair, I guess, as I don’t usually show a lot of possessiveness about stickers). But daddy might want more felonious coffee later.

Daisy: Bark! Bark!
AT: Would you see who's at the door?
LM:[Checks door, then, sitting back down at the dining room table with Sg] There's no one there.
Sg: [Asking] No one dere?
LM: That's right, there's no one there.
Sg: No one dere?
LM: No one there.
Sg: [Brow furrowed] No Grandaddy?
LM: No, Grandaddy wasn't at the door.
Sg: No Grandma?
LM: No Grandma.
Sg: No Pumpkin?
LM: No Pumpkin either.
Sg: No Pumpkin. I got juice!

This morning we walked in some sort of cardiovascular disease charity's walk. We did this in the Raleigh area once, and there were a lot of people in attendance. There were nothing like this many people, though:

Here's another picture. You can see that Georgia's capital building has a dome that is actually plated in gold. How fabulously stupid.

Though I fear, Sg, that you may have been disappointed. You were talking the whole way there about going to the “pumpkin catch”, which sounds pretty cool, I guess. We'll post a few photos to Flickr when time allows.

We've been having what the radio man says is "postcard weather"—dry, sunny, highs in the mid-seventies. Good stuff. AT, Sg and I decided to be out in it a little more by hitting the pattio at El Azteca for dinner. Photography ensued.

After (apparently intentionally) dumping a spoonful of rice on her head, Sg feigns dismay.

But it was only a joke.

It's all fun and games until you realize there's rice in your jacket.
That's a little bit of real dismay.