The Autograph Man

by Zadie Smith

"These days there is most likely a name for that sort of thing... But in the late 19th century, with few exceptions, most people were still prepared to call it love.
A lot of things that are syndromes now had simpler names back then. That why some people like to call them the good old days."

I actually read this years ago, but just remembered about that.

The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas

Currently playing at OnStage Atlanta, in Decatur. I recommend.

It's just a little bitty pissant country place, nothing much to see
No drinking allowed, we get a nice quiet crowd, plain as it can be
It's just a piddly squatin no time country place, nothing to hide at all
Just lots of good will, and maybe one small thrill, but there's nothing dirty going on

54 ways to make a woman look ditzy

Is what this should have been called

High Falls Park

Choosing to go for a hike in 35 degree weather means a bit of research for a trail that is mainly in the shade and perhaps includes a waterfall or two.

Enter High Falls Park, near Locust Grove (really), south of Atlanta. We read a description of a hike near a river, beautiful water falls and a pool fot swimming. We pack some water, sun block and a couple of towels and head out in search of this:

Funny story: the "swimming pool" actually was a swimming pool, not a beautiful nature spot with calm water. And was a little more like this. 

But frankly, after that hike in those 35 degrees, you're just not that picky. 

Atlanta Weekends

This is what happens on a weekend with no previous plans.

A Friday night vodka tasting party with a couple dozen vodka varieties including PB&J, cake, cookie dough, pear, watermelon, gummy bear, whipped cream and more. A Saturday at 43 degrees spent in the pool, trying not to combust. Italian dinner at the restaurant run by Pisani with northern accents but a very good schiacciatina, followed by drinks at the bar patio with live music. More Sunday morning pool time. A horrible defeat in the Euro2012 final, watched at the pub with chicken wings and tears. Back to the pool to drown sorrows and said tears. And a pizza dinner to honour our country's great exports (note: the rest of our game-watching-gang went to a Spanish restaurant for the above-mentioned drowning. How very wrong). And, yes, 9PM grocery shopping on a Sunday, just because we can.