My wife and I arranged to meet our kids and grandkids in Atlanta last weekend for a Christmas visit---Atlanta is about halfway between us. This was her idea, and she had it well planned with things to do that would keep the kids entertained, such as a visit to Stone Mountain and to the Aquarium.
All this was very good, but as I've said many times, "If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans." First, there was a major wreck on the Interstate that turned it into a parking lot from a few miles north of Montgomery to just this side of the Georgia line. So much for our plans to get to Atlanta before dark. Little four hour delay.
Do y'all know how many people live in Atlanta? I don't either, for sure, but most of them got in their cars and came out to welcome us---they certainly do have entertaining methods of driving. They'd have had even more fun if they'd known how bad my depth perception gets after dark. Oh, yes, I almost forgot (or repressed the memory), our GPS got the electronic equivalent of the giggling hiccups. It had us circling our hotel for some four circuits before it got us there. When we did finally get to the hotel, of course they had messed up our reservations which we had carefully checked and confirmed the day before. It's a damned shame I don't drink any more.
They got us settled in according to our requests: away from the elevators and ice machine. What we had not planned for, nor could the hotel do anything about, was the fact that we were a half a block away from a very popular night club that had an extraordinarily loud sound system and featured a lot of hip hop and rap. I took a second Ambien shortly after bedtime. And for the next two nights.
Next morning, we made our sleep-deprived way to Stone Mountain, which was impressive. We rode the tram to the top, where it was cold and windy, and soon came back down. We saw that there was a train that made a circuit around the mountain and thought that it would be a great way to kill some time and enjoy the scenery---that rumbling sound was God, still rolling on the floor and laughing. The ride was designed for kids and was a Christmas singalong the whole way with another overpowered sound system controlled by a frustrated, over-extroverted actor on meth. My Son In Law agreed to help me kill him if we could find him. Forty-two minutes of singalong to the worst possible Christmas music---yes, I timed it. The whole Stone Mt. experience was Christmas themed and aimed at six year-olds and by the time the day was finished, I had been Scrooged, reindeered, Frostyed and holly-jollied into a rededicated, copper-lined, computer driven, stainless steel HUMBUG. If it hadn't been for a dude doing giant soap bubbles, the day would have been a total failure. Even our young grandkids went into overload. Did I mention it was cold? Yeah, it was.
The aquarium had to be better. Fish, right? Actually, it was fine, except that it doesn't take little kids long to look at fish, even the whale sharks. I had hope at one point when the male of the pair of beluga whales was swimming on his back, ready to get it on with his lady friend---he had his, er, antenna raised and everything, and I couldn't wait to hear the explanations the mommies would be giving to the kids, but nothing happened. I got to see some sheepshead and crevalles---no cobia following any of the manta rays. I think the high point was when we were walking through the plexiglass tunnel under the aquarium and a blacktip shark crapped extensively and accurately.
Anyhow, I'm back at my hunting camp with the rest of the family asleep while I listen to the rain on the tin roof and the fire crackling in the fireplace. That's as noisy as I want it to get. SCROOGE LIVES HERE! BAH, HUMBUG!
