Showing 1 - 10 of 123 posts found matching keyword: georgia
Today was a UGA home game. The Bulldogs played Samford in Sanford Stadium at 7:30pm. However, I wasn't there to see it. Instead, I had to spend the day on Tybee Island with Mom.
Don't get me wrong. I love Tybee. (And I love Mom.) Tybee is a charming coastal town with some fantastic scenery. (And Mom is Mom.) I'm happy to report that most of the island survived Hurricane Irma just fine, though plenty of scars from last week's storm were still visible everywhere. But it wasn't Tybee's beauty or Irma's wrath (or Mom's Momness) that brought us to the Georgia coast. No, we were here to attend friend Brian's beach wedding in the shadow of Tybee's historic lighthouse.
Mom rented a wonderful house at 117 Cedarwood Drive, and she, Audrey, July, and I used it as a base of operations for our weekend stay. Mom frequently visited the beach (just a few hundred yards to our north) to collect shells, each time leaving Audrey behind to rue Tybee's draconian "no pets on the beach" policy.
Sadly, I somehow managed not to take any pictures of the groom or bride, Veronika. For that matter, I don't have any pictures of groomsmen friends Ken, Keith, or Michael, either. The wedding party didn't show up on the beach until after the wedding officiant warned the attendees not to take pictures because that was the wedding photographer's job. Instead, you'll just have to be satisfied with this screen grab from the lovebird's official wedding website.
In fact, the only picture I have of the wedding was taken by friend James. (James was one of my few friends in attendance who wasn't actually in the wedding party. Matt was the other. Why was I not in the wedding party? I'm sure it had no small part to do with my vowing to Brian after Keith's wedding that I would never wear anything dressier than jeans to a wedding again. "Except mine?" Brian asked. "Even yours," I answered. That's what I like about Brian. He listens.) James couldn't resist disobeying the order not to take any pics, but he somehow still managed not to get the wedding party. (Reminder: "Never do what James does.")
I haven't attended a lot of weddings. I don't like them. Yet I found this one left an especially bittersweet taste for many reasons, not the least of which was that Brian was the last of my single friends likely to get married. From this point forward, we're all more likely to reunite at a funeral than another wedding. That's an uncomfortable thought, though it's better than imagining the possibility that I may have to sit through yet another wedding ceremony.
Good luck, Brian and Veronika. Do me a favor and be so happy together that we don't have to do this all over again, ok? Thanks.
It didn't take long for the 2017 UGA football season to go off the rails. Eight minutes and thirty seconds, to be precise.
There between the goalposts you'll see UGA's 2017 season being helped off the field.
That's when sophomore starting quarterback Jacob Eason went down with what has been called a "knee sprain" on a late hit out of bounds. As I write this, the true extent of the injury is unknown, but judging by how quickly Eason disappeared from the sideline never to return, this thing is serious.
Eason wasn't exactly tearing up the field in the brief time he did play. He completed one of three passes for four yards. His two misses were overthrows of open receivers. Like the rest of the team, he seemed too "tight" to start the game, a recurring problem for the team during Smart's increasingly dissatisfying tenure.
Everyone loosened up when true freshman (and the latest in a line of "No, Seriously, He's The Next Great Thing℠" at quarterback) Jake Fromm replaced Eason, and the Bulldogs went on to win in convincing fashion. Chubb and Michel looked game ready, and everyone was happy. Until the fourth quarter, when Bryce Ramsey, in true Bryce Ramsey fashion, threw two interceptions on two consecutive drives on the only two passes he attempted in the game! All 10 of Appalachian State's points came indirectly from Ramsey turnovers. Sigh. I hope next week's opponent — Notre Dame — wasn't watching.
Jake Fromm, you better find a way to make a uniform out of bubble wrap. Something tells me you're going to need it.
Mom and I spent yesterday afternoon at the Booth Western Art Museum in Cartersville, Georgia.
The Booth Museum is a large, modern building that seems out of place in small-town Cartersville. Having been to several museums of the American West that are actually in the American West, I figured Booth would be a lackluster experience. I'm glad to say that I was quite wrong.
Yes, these are two separate pieces.
The museum was founded in 2003, and most of its collection is around that vintage or newer. Whether a side effect of the newness or the intention of its founders, the museum chooses to embrace the fact that most its pieces celebrate a time and way of life that many of its artists never experienced. In function, it's a museum of the mythology of the idealized American West. Frankly, that makes for a pretty enjoyable experience.
The "Mythic West" gallery is where the action is.
The whole reason Mom wanted to visit the museum was to see the Newseum's travelling collection of President Kennedy photographs. I thought that was a weird thing to include in a Western museum. Little did I know that the Booth's most impressive permanent exhibit is a signed letter from each of the first 44 American presidents (from Washington through Obama, whose letter is actually addressed to the museum). Wow. I'm sure they'll add Trump to the collection eventually, once he learns to write.
Long story short, the Booth Museum is totally worth a visit, and I'm glad we went.
Puddles from the previous hour's rainfall weren't the only things littering the super-sized parking lot. It was nearly impossible to find a parking space because of all the abandoned carts scattered willy-nilly! I'm talking twenty or more. Obviously, the only possible reason for the many, many scattered carts is that the previous shoppers were all witches melted by the unexpected summer shower. I mean, that's science.
But I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to show you the sight that greeted me when I left the store with my milk and ice cream. Behold:
Mother's Day means more Renaissance Festival. We went last year and had a good time. The weather was nice, so we went again this year. It's a tradition now. I suspect Christmas started much the same way.
Not much has changed. Just the important things.
See what this sign looked like last year here.
You could still see the imprint of the word "Coke" underneath the new vinyl letters. Was the festival no longer serving Coca-Cola products? What did they drink now? Pepsi? That's not the Renaissance. That's hell!
I shouldn't have worried. They still sell Coke. It is the Georgia Renaissance Festival, after all. What else are they going to sell? Dasani?
Maybe we'll find out next year. We have a tradition to keep now.
Mom dragged me out of bed Sunday to attend the 86th Cotton Pickin' Fair in Gay, Georgia. I was not enthusiastic about this.
Gay's twice-a-year Meriwether County "fair" is very similar to what Coweta County's Powers Crossroads Festival used to be, with arts and crafts vendors vying for attention and dollars. The Cotton Pickin' Fair supplements this with some antique dealers and a touch of history and civic pride. Bully for Gay! However, I wouldn't put it on my list of reasons to wake up early.
I've lived to be 41 years old without ever attending this semi-famous event. I wasn't interested in breaking that streak, but mothers never care about personal-best records. So one hour later, I was standing in front of a stage watching the Sole Momentum Cloggers and Rachel's Line Dancers amid the smells of cotton candy and barbecue.
We strolled through the fair for a few hours in perfect (unseasonably cool) weather. Mom bought a pair of carpenter bee traps, a $3 sausage biscuit, and a collar tag for Audrey's harness. I had a $5 helping of boiled peanuts from the Greenville Lions Club and a good time. Thanks, Mom!
In the end, the Cotton Pickin' Fair turned out to be way more fun than Mom's Saturday surprise: the "opportunity" to help pick-up and deliver two overstuffed sofas that she purchased at an estate sale. (The next person who tells me that I have it easy living in my mother's basement gets a punch in the teeth. Assuming I can raise my arms again by then.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to catch up on some sleep.
I make fun of newspapers a lot, but they're not always the problem. For example, today I read this Newnan Times-Herald lede:
"Coweta County Crooner Richard Hawk is now officially a member of the Georgia Child Fatality Review Panel."
Yes, I thought it was odd that a singer would be appointed to such an important sounding government position, but this is 2017. We have a brain surgeon running government housing, a movie producer directing the treasury, an anti-science lawyer scuttling the EPA, a bespectacled idiot in charge of a department he can't remember the name of, and a game show host in the White House (on weekdays — on weekends he pretends to be an amateur golfer in Florida). In that light, a singer taking a state government position doesn't seem so strange.
But that's not what the paper really said. After I had my breakfast and was thinking more clearly, I realized that the man wasn't a "crooner" but a "coroner." Appointing a professional coroner makes way more sense for a Fatality Review Panel.
If only the federal government was so rational.
I have been accused of being overzealous in my crusade to save humanity from its cervidae would-be conquerors. To paraphrase a quote from America's inspirational president-elect, I would rather live one day as a lion than 100 years as a deer. It turns out that I'm not the only one.
According to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, a homeowners' association in neighboring Fayette County has a plan to deal with its "dangerous" deer problem. Instead of pussyfooting around with traps or sterilization, the Whitewater Creek Country Club Homeowners Association is planning to call in a team of federal sharpshooters. I assume they're talking about SEAL Team 6.
Naturally, any plan this bold will have its detractors. In this case, the bleeding heart residents have formed an opposition group they've named Concerned Citizens Against Deer Eradication. It's pretty clear they don't know what they're doing. CCADE is a terrible acronym.
The newspaper completely omits just how CCADE is planning to stop the WCCCHOA from executing its plan. It says they have hired "a Washington DC law firm," but I'm not sure how that's going to help. This is America. If there's anything we have more of than lawyers, it's bullets.
When will liberal, country club dwelling people learn? When it comes to remorseless deer marauding across your drought resistant Zoysia lawn or eating your organically fertilized, gluten free cucumbers, there's only one solution. Build a wall. And if you can get your neighbors to pay for it, all the better.
Last week, the Athens Banner-Herald ran a news story about deer/vehicle collisions on state roads, including my favorite road, US Highway 29. The story ended with this line:
"In three instances, deputies had to shoot the badly injured deer."
Think about that. Imagine a scenario in which a police officer "had to" shoot a deer. What do you see? Does it look something like this?
It should. Those collisions weren't accidents. They were yet another offensive in deer's eternal war against humanity.
What if, instead of shooting them, the officers had given the "badly injured" deer medical attention and let them go free? How many days do you think would pass before that deer attacked another car? What if next time, it was your wife's car? Or your daughter's? Can you really afford to take that chance?
Deer. They'd do it to you.
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Final score: University of Louisiana at Lafayette 21, UGA 35. It wasn't that close.
Let's see, what else was memorable about the game? It was really windy. The pregame included another flyover (C-130?). By the time we took our seats, Isaiah McKenzie had already scored two touchdowns.
Hmm. Was there anything else?
Oh, right. Black jerseys. No big deal. Can we let that go now? Please?
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