A Visit to Johns Island, SC

I'd like to believe that every state has its own unique blend of culturally significant landmarks, both natural and man-made, which have been preserved through the generations so that others might enjoy and appreciate them. It's the sort of thing that I, as I've gotten older, have grown to value because I realize the importance of celebrating what's meaningful instead of what's merely popular in the moment. (Age and maturity has a way of revealing the differences inherent to both, I find.) That said, I would also like to believe that in the grand scheme of things my home state of South Carolina is richer than most when it comes to this type of locale - what, you expected me not to root for the home team? My wife, my mother in-law and I recently made our way to see one of the most popular natural wonders that the state of South Carolina has to offer that being the Angel Oak (named after a family that at one point in time owned the property on which the tree sits), a live oak tree well known for its incredible size and sprawling limbs.

The Angel Oak is located on Johns Island, SC which is in Charleston county. This region is referred to as the low country because of the fact that the land, for the most part, sits at or near sea level. Obviously that makes for some rather interesting terrain (there are many swamps and marshes in the area), as flooding isn't uncommon in this part of the world. We were somewhat concerned about the condition of the road leading up to the area around the Angel Oak, which isn't much more than a dirt path barely wide enough for one vehicle, especially seeing as how we've had an unusually wet summer this year.

Fortunately the road wasn't near as bad as I had anticipated. (PRO TIP: The parking lot at the Angel Oak park is very small, as in it can't hold more than 10-15 cars - if it looks packed, park on the road, else you'll have a Hell of a time getting back out of the thing.) For that matter, the drive down I-26 was quite nice as well. We went through a few brief spots of rain but by the time we arrived at our destination the clouds had begun to break and the temperature was hovering in what I consider to be the most idyllic of ranges, that being the upper 70s to low 80s. It was a great day to be outside, needless to say.

It's incredibly difficult to describe the grandeur of the Angel Oak if you've never seen it in person. Like most live oaks, the Angel Oak has a thick, squatty trunk as opposed to that of something like a redwood that stretches up into the sky. Don't let my wording fool you, though; "squatty" is a relative term as the tree's height is quite impressive. It's the kind of tree that you could build a tree house inside of without much concern for stability. I would hazard a guess and say that the Angel Oak's trunk is so thick that 10 grown men could stretch their arms out as wide as possible and still probably not be able to encircle the entire thing.

Other visitors gathered around the Angel Oak - this gives you an idea of how big it is compared to an adult.

What makes the Angel Oak such a breathtaking visual, for me, are its branches. Live oaks tend to have branches that come off the trunk and arch downward. They're the perfect shade tree and quite often they're found with Spanish moss growing off their limbs. The Angel Oak is no different, however its branches have been able to grow unencumbered for so long that many of them have penetrated the ground around the tree and come back out of the soil to emerge and continue on. They're so immense in their dispersion that they resemble the tentacles of a gigantic squid or octopus.

The Angel Oak's canopy - like I said, it's just about the most perfect shade tree ever.

An example of how the Angel Oak's limbs have grown down into the ground then emerged to continue growing

My wife & I had visited the Angel Oak once before. That visit was in January of 2012, and the Oak's foliage wasn't near as vibrant as it was on this more recent visit. What's more, there were patches of greenery growing on the limbs that added to the lush visual.

Foliage and other growth on the Angel Oak

Bear in mind, no one knows with any real certainty how old the Angel Oak actually is - reason being, live oaks are prone to rotting from the inside once core samples have been taken, so the numbers that get thrown around about its age are hypothetical at best. Obviously no one in their right mind wants to disturb this amazing tree, even though it's come under fire quite a few times over the years by clumsy developers and others who would prefer it be removed in favor of putting up condos or other nonsense. (Storms and hurricanes are a more prevalent threat as the Angel Oak has been damaged from high winds; support cables and joists have been installed around the tree in an attempt to bolster its strength without impeding its continued growth.) I've read various estimations that put the tree anywhere from 300 to 1400 years old. (Writing this, I'm reminded of a line of dialogue from The Empire Strikes Back spoken by Master Yoda: "When 900 years old you reach, look as good you will not...") Stop and consider that for a moment. The Angel Oak is a living, breathing organism that has thrived for God only knows how many human lifetimes. I can't imagine what it's seen and the sort of lessons it would try to bestow upon us.

After we had spent our time with the Angel Oak, we made out way over to a fantastic eatery Jill & I discovered on our first trip to Johns Island. The Tomato Shed Cafe is situated inside of the Stono Market, a farmer's market that offers a vast assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables grown on the Ambrose Farm at Wadmalaw Island (I admit I only threw in the description of where Ambrose is because I wanted an excuse to use the word Wadmalaw). These ingredients are used in the dishes that appear on the Tomato Shed's menu.

First and foremost, I will say that you would be well served to get to the Tomato Shed early if you're visiting for lunch. Reason being, they have limited seating that is first come first serve. (Also, they don't have a traditional host/hostess stand; if there are no tables readily available when you go in, you sign your name onto a check-in sheet and a waitress will seat you whenever one opens up.) Once seated, you can help yourself to a beverage - tea, lemonade, and various colas. When it comes to the food, it's a combination of American favorites and low country specialties including various seafood and meats. I, personally, love their she crab soup (if you've never had it, it's a rich, creamy, chowder-like soup packed with the flavor of crab) and spicy pimento cheeseburger. I don't think you could go wrong with anything on their menu but those are my favorites.

We capped off our day with - what else - a bit of shopping and several tastes of ice cream.

Delicious ice cream. That's how every day should end, don't you think?

Anyone Need Some Boots? Perhaps a Handbag? How About Some Shoes?

My wife & I were in our front yard doing some landscaping earlier this month. We have two trees in our front yard and we wanted to create a set of decorative rings around them. At the same time, I figured we should put out a new mailbox and post seeing as how the old one was looking a bit worse for wear. When we were looking at houses, we knew we didn't want to buy a fixer-upper, but we sure have managed to stay busy with projects around this all-but-brand-new home of ours which was built in 2006. From installing a chain link fence to an overhaul of the shrubbery beds around our front porch, trust me when I say that we've found plenty of ways to stay busy. Troubling thing is, I can think of about half a dozen other things that need to be done but we just haven't gotten around to them yet.

We were working away when all of a sudden we hear someone shout, "NEIGHBOR! HEY, NEIGHBOR - YOU KNOW HOW TO KILL A SNAKE?!"

The shout came from one of our neighbors, who was approaching our yard with haste. Jill and I have been in our home for about a year now but I'd never had the occasion to meet this neighbor before as he lives several houses down from us on an adjacent street within view of our house. That said, I wanted to pretend I didn't hear him. I wanted to go back in the house and make believe that I didn't see him or hear the word "snake" come out of his mouth. Alas, I couldn't.

We would later learn from him that he'd gone around the neighborhood asking for help with no success. The people who live next door to us had apparently given some excuse about "women and cats" being inside the home and shut the door in his face.

My response was "Do you have a shotgun?", to which he responded in the negative. As luck would have it, I happened to be holding a blade shovel in my hands at the point this conversation began. It and the fact that I was in the yard were apparently all that were required to volunteer me for this job.

I followed our neighbor, whose name I still didn't know at this point, from our front yard over behind his house. He and his son had spotted the snake lying beside their air conditioning unit while they were outside working, just as we had been. As I approached the AC unit, keeping a good 30-40 foot distance between myself and it, I noticed a cat looked to be in a hunting crouch, prepared to go after prey. When I saw what the cat had cornered, I couldn't believe my eyes.

It was a rattlesnake. The pattern on its scales was unmistakable.

Suddenly this became more than just "a snake" - this was a deadly creature that posed a danger on everyone in our neighborhood, not to mention so many beloved pets. I tried to figure out what was our best course of action, since I was apparently now in command of the situation. We have animal shelter but nothing along the lines of animal control, so I wasn't sure if this was something they'd be capable of handling. I didn't put too much into calling the local police department either; what were they going to do, lock up the snake for trespassing? It seemed like my only course of action was to dispatch this beautiful but deadly creature with extreme prejudice.

I wasn't getting close enough to it to kill it with my shovel, that's for sure. Snakes like this can effectively strike a target several feet away, meaning I needed a weapon capable of killing the snake but not damaging my neighbor's home while keeping me at a safe distance. Shooting the snake seemed to be the only solution.

My questioning our neighbor about owning a shotgun (I don't have one but after this little incident that may change sooner than later) was before I knew of where the snake was holed up. The snake's proximity to the house as well as the air conditioner made using such a weapon out of the question as doing so would have wound up peppering both with pellets. The brick exterior of the home probably could've taken the shot well enough but the AC would've been shredded.

My wife ran back to our home to get one of our pistols, of which we own several. I was hoping she would return with my Springfield XD .40, but she came back with one of our Ruger SR22s. (Remember how Roy Scheider wanted a bigger boat after first seeing the shark in JAWS? For that same reason, I wanted a bigger gun.) We bought a pair of them a while back, intending for them to be concealed carry options for us seeing as how we both have our concealed weapons permits. They're the kind of weapon one buys for personal defense. It goes without saying that we didn't buy these with killing snakes in mind!

We'd had these particular handguns for a while but we'd not yet had a chance to fire them so I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of how it was going to handle. The fact that it was a .22 meant it should be controllable but I wasn't certain how good it would be against the hide of that snake, my never having had the occasion to shoot a rattlesnake before and all. At the same time, we live within the town limits, meaning I was now committed to firing a gun within said boundary - which is illegal.

Just to recap where we are at this point in the story:

- I'm wearing workout shorts, a cut-off t-shirt and a floppy hat.
- I have to kill a poisonous snake.
- I'm about to fire a gun in a residential neighborhood in front of an audience of half a dozen or so people.

I loaded 6 rounds into the magazine. I was still unsure if the .22 would do much more to the snake than piss it off, which is why I didn't bother filling the mag to capacity. This is where if this moment in my life had been a cheap science fiction film I'd have wound up making a horrible mistake - having only 6 bullets when in actuality I'd need 7. Remember, for all I knew this thing could've been some kind of escaped military experiment super-snake with Kevlar scales and steel fangs.

While trying not to focus on that scenario, I made certain everyone was out of harms way, readied the weapon, and proceeded to fire 4 shots, taking the time to check my aim between each (I wasn't concerned about ricochet but trust me when I say that the potentiality of my being sued for damages as a result of putting bullet holes in this man's property was in my mind all along).

Suddenly my audience of 5 or 6 became an honest baker's dozen. Who knew the sounds of random gunfire would attract a crowd?

My first shot wound up being slightly low although the other three were on target. You won't hear me bragging about being a marksman; the fact that the snake was coiled certainly made it easier to hit.

Is it odd that I felt bad for killing the snake? I have always been one to feel empathy, almost to a disabling degree, even in a situation like this where what I did more than likely was for the best. I blame it on good parenting.

After about 20 minutes, the snake stopped moving around. One of our other neighbors, who showed up to the event quite late, took my shovel and attempted to chop off the snake's head using the blade. He didn't do much more than push the snake's body down into the muddy soil surrounding the air conditioner; all the rain we've had lately made it too soft to serve as an effective block, otherwise he might have actually been able to decapitate it.

Satisfied that it was dead, we put the snake's carcass into a large plastic bucket. Upon holding it up, the snake looked to be almost 4 feet in length. We noticed that its abdomen appeared rather distended, meaning it had apparently eaten something recently, perhaps a rodent or some other critter unlucky enough to have been the snake's last meal.

My neighbor's son decided he wanted to touch the snake, just to see what it felt like. He was still skittish about putting his arm in the bucket with a rattlesnake, be it alive or dead, so I put the pan of my shovel in between the head and body of the snake. He reached down and ever so lightly brushed his fingertips against the snake, and he squealed like a little girl. If someone had been shooting video of us, we could've won some real money with that reaction. That or at least been YouTube-famous for a couple days.

I'm not sure what became of the snake's remains. One of our other neighbors had mentioned an old wives tale about how burning a snake after killing it will send a message to others that might be nearby to avoid the area. I want to question the science of that but who knows - the only difference between a myth and fact is documentation, after all.

Movie Review Round-Up #3 - Robots, Demons, and Mutants (Oh My!)

The 2013 Summer movie season is winding down, and I'd have to say that overall this one has been more or less middle of the road in terms of the quality of films I've had a chance to watch. To me, there just hasn't been anything out thus far that has been so epic in its presentation as to make it the definable movie of the season. That's not to say the movies I've seen so far have all stunk; far from it, as there have been several really good movies (Man of Steel, Despicable Me 2, and Star Trek Into Darkness) but nothing that's been absolutely great. There's been no Avengers or Dark Knight, is what I'm really getting at. Those are the kind of movies that make the bothersome task of going to the movies worthwhile for me seeing as how I can't bring myself to spend money on something like Grownups 2 or We're the Millers. That's the reason why I have Netflix, so that when I can't sleep I can watch something formulaic and repetitive that will put me down for a few more hours.

Pacific Rim

In the not-so-distant future, gigantic monsters from an alternate dimension have begun rising up out of the Pacific ocean using a gateway between their world and ours. Traditional machines of war prove to be ineffective against these great beasts called Kaijus, which is why the governments of the world begin building huge robotic avatars known as Jaegers to be piloted by 2-man teams. The Jaegers were effective initially but the Kaiju threat has grown worse and worse, and the Jaeger fleet has has all but been demolished. Down to a handful of Jaegers and pilots, humanity is making its last stand.

There's nothing about this movie I didn't love, quite frankly. It's robots and monsters fighting, how could every 13 year old boy (or a 33 year old man who still acts like a 13 year old boy a lot of the time) not get a kick out of this? There's more to it than that, though, as the stunning imagery and special effects (produced by the wizards at Industrial Light and Magic) are a great compliment to a well-rounded story featuring characters that are somewhat stock in terms of their construction but still unique.

The cast is lead by Charlie Hunnam (known mostly for his work in Sons of Anarchy) who plays Jaeger pilot Raleigh Beckett, a man haunted by the death of his brother who was killed when the two were engaged in combat with a Kaiju. Idris Elba takes the role of Stacker Pentecost who's the commander of what remains of the Jaeger program. He's assisted by Mako Maori, played by Japanese actress Rinko Kikuchi. Ron Perlman is involved here as well, taking the part of Hannibal Chau a black market dealer in Kaiju parts who's something of a snake oil salesman. Charlie Day rounds out the core group as Dr. Newton Geiszler, a scientist working the the Jaeger program on ways to find the Kaiju's weaknesses.

I can't not mention a young actress by the name of Mana Ashida, who appears as Mako when she was a child. I won't spoil the scenario here in case you haven't seen Pacific Rim. She's not on screen for very long but her performance was brilliant, as far as I'm concerned.

One of the biggest compliments I can pay director Guillermo del Toro for how he constructed this film is to say that there was never a point in time while I was watching Pacific Rim where I thought we truly had the upper hand. There's never a moment where you genuinely feel like mankind or the Jaegers are going to run completely rough-shot over the Kaiju, and that's significant because in so many action movies there never winds up being any sense of peril for the heroes. There's never a situation where you, as a viewer, stop and think "Wow, how the heck are they going to get out of this?" Pacific Rim makes you do that about half a dozen times, and the tension it builds is a great additive to the experience.

4/5 Robot Jox References

Elysium

Almost 150 years into the future, Earth has become so polluted and overpopulated that the most wealthy among the human race abandoned the planet, choosing instead to live on an orbiting space station called Elysium where there is no crime, no war, and no disease. Every day is a struggle for survival for the people who have no choice but to remain on Earth, as the criminals are almost as bad as the robotic infantry put in place to enforce the law.

Elysium's plot follows the plight of Max Da Costa, (Matt Damon) an ex-con living in the ruination that is what remains of Los Angeles looking to redeem himself by earning a living working in a factory that manufactures androids. He becomes exposed to a lethal dose of radiation while on the job - given only days to live, he's presented with the opportunity to get to Elysium and save himself. Little does he realize, at least initially, that he actually has a chance to save everyone.

There is a lot of cool stuff going on in this movie from a technical standpoint. You've got ships capable of space flight, futuristic weapons, humanoid robots with fluid movements, and soldiers equipped with powered exoskeletons. What's more, it all looks great - especially Elysium itself. The problem is that there's not enough emotional substance of characterization behind it all. You wind up with a visually compelling piece of work that doesn't leave any impact on the audience.

The realm of science fiction can be a dark place and there are plenty of films that do a great job of making a case for a less than likeable character becoming a heroic figure, but Elysium spends too much time trying to make the audience care about a guy who, quite frankly, has few redeeming qualities. Much of Elysium's plot centers around Max's effort to save himself after he gets irradiated. Up until the moment he's injured we've not gotten any sort of context that makes him into a likeable or sympathetic person. He's been a thug since he was a child; not a Robin Hood sort of thug, either. He's not even an effective anti-hero because when he's presented with the opportunity to save the dying daughter of a woman he loves (and has loved since childhood) he's still primarily concerned with getting himself into a med-bay (you could make the argument that he's trying to get the agents of Elysium who are chasing him away from her home, but I doubt that's his true inspiration for fleeing). Not until it dawns on him that he more than likely isn't going to survive this journey does his cause shift to aiding the little girl, and by then it's too little too late to make a difference in the mind of a viewer.

I loved District 9 for the fact that it was an amazing piece of allegory that gave a rather stunning perspective on apartheid in South Africa. Blomkamp has tried again to make his audience care about a cultural phenomenon using allegorical means, this time shedding light on the concept of healthcare becoming something only the richest among us can obtain. It's a painful truth, but the fact of the matter is that Elysium comes across as being very heavy handed in its message, almost to the point of being preachy. I'm not disagreeing with the message, mind you, I'm merely of the opinion that politics and entertainment don't always make for the best bedfellows.

And is it me, or is it a little bit ironic that Blomkamp made a movie involving a ring-shaped world considering he was supposed to have directed a movie based on the HALO video games?

3/5 Guilty Sparks

Evil Dead

The lazy critic in me enjoys reviewing movies like Evil Dead, simply because of the fact that recapping their plot doesn't require much effort.

This is your classic "kids go into the woods and get terrorized by some demonic beast until all but maybe 1 or 2 of them are alive" type of movie. It's been done to the point of becoming formulaic, and in the case of Evil Dead it's a gimmick that feels even more redundant seeing as how this is a re-make. What's more, it's a re-make of what has to be one of the campiest horror films ever made, that being director Sam Raimi's Evil Dead which was released in 1981 (it's the movie that introduced Bruce Campbell to the world, though, so it's still awesome). The 2013 edition attempts to ramp up the experience by shedding the inadvertent silliness that was so abundant in the original, instead opting for good old blood and guts horror.

The plot of this incarnation of Evil Dead is based around a group of kids in their late teens or early 20s who've all come out to a remote cabin in the woods in order to have an intervention with one of their friends, a girl who's developed an addiction to heroin. It turns out that the cabin has been used for a variety of activities related to the occult and Satanic rituals, so of course when one of the characters finds a book that's wrapped in barbed wire and heavy plastic he immediately begins reading the thing. He winds up unleashing a demonic entity that inhabits the girl they were trying to help, thus setting off a rather nasty slew of events for all involved.

If you're a fan of practical special effects, those being the kind that rely on prostheses and make-up as opposed to computer generated imagery, you'll enjoy the effort put into this film. I have to say it's refreshing to see this sort of thing. Artists can do amazing things with CGI, it's true, but CGI is too clean looking in my opinion for a movie like this. It needs to be dirty, gory, and sick. You just can't get that out of CGI.

2/5 Bifrucated Tongues

The Wolverine

The Wolverine serves as a follow-up to X-Men: Origins - Wolverine and X-Men: The Last Stand, this time peeling back the history of Logan as it relates to the occasions during his long and tumultuous life where he found himself in Japan. According to this mythology, Logan was a POW being held near Nagasaki and was present when the Fat Man atomic bomb was dropped. He was able to save a man named Yashida, one of his captors, from the blast. Fast forward to present day - Wolverine has done his best to drop off the grid as he's haunted by memories and dreams of his lost love, Jean Grey, choosing to live the life of a hermit in the Canadian wilderness. His seclusion is interrupted when he's found by a young woman named Yukio who has come to bring him back to Japan as Yashida is dying of cancer and wants to thank Logan for saving him all those years ago. It turns out that Yashida knows of Logan's pain and offers him the one thing he has never thought possible - a noble death.

Hugh Jackman has made the role of Wolverine his defining work, and he continues to be the linchpin of the entire X-Men film franchise. How many other actors can say they've been able to successfully carry an entire series? (Certain media outlets are claiming Fox has offered him $100 million to continue on with the character in 4 more movies - that sounds like a lot of money until you consider how much cash he and the other merry mutants have raked in for the company.) The work he's done with this character is quite marvelous (See what I did there? X-Men, comics, MARVEL, marvelous?) and I highly doubt the series would be where it is if not for his charismatic abilities to make Logan the sympathetic warrior that he is.

Therein lies one of my problems with this movie. It is incredibly overbearing in trying to convey Wolverine as being in this epic state of depression. That's an understandable move - he wound up having to kill the woman he loved, for crying out loud, he's got a reason to be sad. Add to that the fact that he spends a majority of the film having to deal with being in a compromising position thanks to his healing abilities being suppressed, and you've got a version of Wolverine that's just not Wolverine for lack of a better way of putting it.

What I'm getting at is I don't like emo Wolverine. I like feral, berserker Wolverine. Chaos is just more entertaining, I guess.

I will be forthright in saying that, in hindsight, this movie feels a lot like nothing more than a transitional piece meant to bridge a gap left between X-Men: The Last Stand and the coming X-Men: Days of Future Past. I didn't dislike it, I simply don't think this was that big of a moment in the grand scheme of things. That said, Fox could've simply had Jackman suit up for the post-credits Easter egg scene, put that out around Comic Con or some other similar event, and been done with it.

3/5 Bone Claws

I Went to Atlanta for a Week

In my line of work - that being information technology, if you weren't aware - it's important that I stay relatively up to date regarding what's going on in the world of bits, bytes, and Silicon Valley as a whole. I tend to do a lot of reading, specifically tech-related blogs and associated publications involving news and reviews of what's coming down the pipe but this is really only scratching the surface. It's one thing to know about what's on the horizon, but it's something else entirely to have the knowledge of how to use those evolving developments in the environment of a workplace like mine. This is why it's great to have access to a travel and training budget (to say nothing of the blessing it is to work for an employer that cares enough about its employees to invest in them), an asset which can grant me the incredible opportunity to seek out facilities specializing in continuing the education of individuals like myself. Hence why it was that I recently found myself traveling to Atlanta, Georgia for an entire week.

Of course it wouldn't just be a week of going to classes, though. Far from it. Seeing as how I'd only been to Atlanta once before in my entire life and had no idea what to expect from spending time downtown, this would be an adventure.

As transportation for this trip I was able to take one of our fleet vehicles, that being a Ford Crown Victoria. There will come a day when motorists see a Crown Vic and don't immediately think "COP!", thus prompting a muscle response in their right foot to perform a covert pressurization of their vehicle's brakes, but that day is not here yet. While this particular Crown Vic wasn't an exact match in terms of color to the cruisers used by law enforcement in the region, it's still a Crown Vic with permanent plates. That's enough visual evidence to give most folks pause while they consider whether or not to pass said potential police cruiser.

I tend to pack heavy when I'm preparing for a trip, be it for business or pleasure. I wind up bringing way too many sets of clothes, and I do this because of my appreciation for redundant mechanisms. (That and the fact that I'm too cheap to do laundry whilst on the road. Laundromats are sometimes hard to come by and in-house laundry services at most hotels are ridiculously overpriced.) The old "I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it" logic, which is perfectly sound in my mind. I can appreciate having 5 extra pairs of underwear because you should never be away from home without plenty of clean underpants.

Other than clothing, I packed the essentials - those being my camera, laptop, tablet, cell phone, and iPod as well as their associated accessories. Some of those I needed to have with me (laptop and phone, for work and communication obviously), while others were there because I need them. Little boys don't stop being little boys just because they get old. We still like to have our toys within arm's reach, they're just significantly more expensive than the baubles we toted around as children.

I hit the road on the afternoon of July 21, 2013 which just happened to be the day after my birthday. My wife and our families had dined the evening before at Cowboy Brazilian Steakhouse in Columbia, SC and I was still reeling from the near meat-coma I'd put myself into (not that it's a difficult thing to do at a restaurant like that). Be that as it was, I loaded up the car, said my goodbyes to Wifey, punched up directions on my GPS app and hit the road.

Driving to Atlanta from our home in Saint Matthews, SC isn't exactly a daunting task - not until you get close to the city, that is. You have the option of going north a ways in order to get to I-20 in Columbia, but I prefer taking highway 178. It's a more scenic route and one that doesn't require you to drive 40 minutes north just to turn around and go back south. It connects to I-20 in a more organic fashion for people in our neck of the woods, I guess you could say.

I hadn't really had anything to eat that day and I began to get a bit hungry as I made my way through Aiken, SC. I stopped at a Hardee's there and had a burger with some fries and a frosty Coca-Cola. Much to my chagrin, this particular Hardee's claimed to no longer be serving curly fries, a favorite of mine. This came as news to me as our local Hardee's in Saint Matthews, to my knowledge, still serves them. I settled for the homestyle fries; this emotional blow was softened by the fact that they had self-serve Heinz ketchup, something our hometown Hardee's removed after the building was renovated recently. I do love ketchup, Heinz in particular, and the opportunity to dip my fries to my heart's content was very welcome.

What wasn't so welcome was the mess that awaited me in the men's restroom. It seems like Walmart bathrooms get recognized as being home to some of the most poorly maintained facilities, but this Hardee's bested any Walmart latrine I've ever seen. It looked as though someone had ransacked the joint; tiles were pulled off the wall, the sink was filthy, the urinal was flooded with waste, but the worst part of it was the gigantic pile of puke clearly visible beside the toilet in the restroom's lone stall. I kid you not, this was a veritable hill of vomit - not projectile or splatter vomit, but a thick, viscous mound of sick. (I'm sorry to have to have forced you into digesting that description, dear reader, but I had to witness it so it seems only fair.) I left without relieving myself (truck stop gas station, for the win), however I did report the issue to a member of staff.

I knew from having driven this route previously (see blog entry "The Truesdales Went Down to Georgia") that when I reached Covington, GA I had less than an hour to go before I'd be in Atlanta. It's around this same point that traffic begins to devolve into a ridiculous display of impatience and rudeness. I prepared myself mentally to face the coming storm but it seemed as though my technology was failing me. I noticed that my phone began to blink its indicator light a combination of amber and green, a signal that the device is overheating. I can only assume that the issue was a result of the phone's resources being overloaded in conjunction with sitting in the cradle I'd positioned on the Crown Vic's dashboard that was more or less in full-sun. This was bad seeing as how I was using it as my GPS for this trip; if it went down, I would have had no way of knowing where I was going. I took the phone out of the cradle, unplugged the charging adapter and began holding the phone in front of one of the air conditioning vents. Fortunately, this seemed to work rather well although it became something of a juggling act - suffice to say juggling isn't something you want to do in these conditions.

My phone got me into the vicinity of my hotel, the Westin Peachtree Plaza, but what these GPS units and apps often lack is good intel on where parking garage entrances happen to be located. I wound up circling the area twice before I found where the garage was located, a result of the fact that there was construction in the area limiting access to it. PRO-TIP: While traveling in Atlanta, be mindful of the fact that many streets are, in fact, one way only.

Once I was in the valet area, I dropped off my keys to the attendant and grabbed my bags. I don't know how best to describe what - well, who, more specifically - I saw next other than to just start at the top and work my way down. She looked to be in her 20s. She was tall, made more so by her high-heel shoes, had bleached blond hair, and wore a pink tube top with what was either a mini-skirt or hot pants. Her makeup was overdone but her massive fake eyelashes were even worse (she appeared to have fakies somewhere else on her anatomy, too). I'm assuming she was a hooker, either that or she chose to dress provocatively for the sake of it.

5 minutes in Atlanta and I've already seen an escort. I spent a week in Las Vegas several years ago and while I saw plenty of ads for call girls I can honestly say I never saw one in person.

I do enjoy staying at higher-end hotels, mainly because the level of service you receive is typically on par with what you'd expect. The Westin was no different; the associate who checked me in was helpful and courteous, as were all the other members of their staff I'd encounter throughout the rest of my stay.

Something I learned about highrise buildings in Atlanta starting with my hotel is the fact that not all elevators go to all floors. Case in point, I was staying on the 43rd floor; one bank of elevators went from the lobby to 45, whereas another set went from the lobby to 70-something. (The Westin has a restaurant on several of the top floors; I was unable to see it because of renovations being in progress during my stay. Apparently it has its own elevator independent of the others.) I lost track of how many times I wound up getting into the wrong lift, not only in my hotel but in the building where I'd be taking classes as well. Pure rookie errors on my part.

I went to my room and I have to say this was one of the nicer rooms I've ever stayed in, although it presented some oddities in terms of a general lack of storage space. This was intended to be a room suitable for business travelers, as was evidenced by the desk dominating one whole corner. There was a closet but very little else in the way of drawers. I know not everyone unpacks when they arrive at a hotel, however I do - I may be living out of a suitcase but I don't necessarily want to have to leave everything in my suitcase. Fortunately, there were plenty of hangers to accommodate my shirts and pants, and my overstuffed bag wound up holding just enough to occupy what drawers were present in the room.

Having moved in, I wandered down to the bar in the lobby for dinner. The restaurant was closed, I assume for refurbishment, but their menu was still available. This first evening I dined on fish and chips accompanied by a tasty Samuel Adams - hard to go wrong with fried cod and a great American brew.

I retired to my room once I was finished but my stay at the bar wasn't without entertainment of the human kind. A couple from Europe had been sitting next to me (I am guessing here but they sounded to be from somewhere out of either the United Kingdom or Great Britain), and the lady had been drinking a glass of white wine. She wound up leaving a fair amount in her glass when they departed. Within moments, two women came to the bar and assumed the same seats that the couple had occupied. They ordered drinks and when the bartender went to fill their order one of the women grabbed the wine glass and knocked back the entire thing in one gulp before the bartender had returned.

Two things...

1) Ew.
2) Is finishing up someone else's drink an acceptable "fumble recovery", as it were? I guess it depends on your level of chemical dependance and desperation for libation.

Like I mentioned when I kicked off this entry, the purpose of my being in Atlanta was to attend a series of classes. I'm not going to go into much detail regarding them other than to mention they involved configuration of Cisco network switches and security appliances. I know there are probably a handful of folks out there who would find a recap of those topics tremendously enthralling but the material is a bit too involved to simply start talking about. (This reminds me of my wife's reaction to hearing me "talk shop" with one of our neighbors who is also involved with IT; she no longer tries to follow along, she just tunes it out until the subject has changed.) I will, however, mention a pair of concepts that I learned about, both having to do with IPv6 which is a new internet protocol addressing scheme intended to replace IPv4.

- IPv6 was brought about because of the fact that the world is running out of old IPv4 addresses. Hard to imagine there are that many devices out there with assigned static IP addresses, but it's happened. There are a couple billion IPv4 addresses out there. By comparison, there are 340 UNDECILLION IPv6 addresses.

Yes, undecillion is a word, and yes, it represents a very, very, very large number.

- The concept of IPv6 is mildly terrifying from a security perspective as it will allow for the unique identification of every piece of equipment on the Internet thanks to the way the addresses are formatted. I'll allow your mind to delve into the implications of that considering the fact that nowadays our phones, our TVs, our refrigerators, and even our cars in some cases are connected to a network of some variety. Our instructor for the week referred to this as the Skynet effect, making reference to the artificial intelligence from the Terminator films that became self-aware and deemed humanity unfit to continue running the show. I don't think we're in any immediate danger of being overrun by murderous robots, but it's still a valid area of concern for anyone who doesn't exactly agree with the idea of having your every move captured digitally and broadcast to God only knows who.

Atlanta is a huge city and it's equipped with a number of modern public transit systems, probably the most widely used of those being the MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority), a 4-line subway system that runs underneath the city. I'd never so much as seen an actual subway train with my own eyes, so the fact that one of the main MARTA stations (Peachtree Center) was nearby to my hotel meant I had to go exploring. "Exploring" is an appropriate term to use in this context seeing as how that's what I felt like I was doing while riding one of the longest escalators in the world. (Not until later in the week did I realize that there are elevators.) It seemed to go on forever, 120 feet down into the station which itself resembles a cavern thanks to the exposed rock walls lining the subway tubes. I purchased a multi-day pass for the MARTA and I intended to ride the thing, but I will be forthright in admitting that I didn't ride the MARTA for fear that I'd wind up somewhere with no idea of how to get back where I began. It's silly, I know, but I erred on the side of caution seeing as how I was all by my lonesome with no one to rely on for assistance. That experience under my belt, I decided walking or taking a cab would be my best option for the remainder of the week.

I didn't do much sight-seeing while I was in Atlanta. For that matter, I didn't get away from the area around my hotel all that much but quite frankly I didn't need to since there are a lot of eateries and things to do in the blocks surrounding the Westin. I focused on culinary experiences because food is obviously something I enjoy but also because, to me, it's as much a cultural indicator as anything. The foods of a given region are reflections of the people, and seeing as how Atlanta is a genuine melting pot community I knew I'd be in for some great options.

I wound up eating dinner at Meehan's Public House on two separate occasions. Why? Well, it's not often that I get to encounter an honest-to-God Irish pub with an amazing assortment of bottled and draft beers, ciders, and ales that also serves up a great selection of food. Those reasons combined with the fact that it was literally within 50 feet of the Westin made it too good not to patronize.

My first Meehan's experience was their traditional Reuben sandwich with fries. Not exactly the most eclectic selection on my part, but I love a good Reuben and Meehan's was quite tasty. I sampled a brand of cider I'd never had before, that being Strongbow which is produced in England and is kept on tap at Meehan's. I'll always be a beer connoisseur but ciders are some of my absolute most favorite adult beverages. I know it's not manly to drink something that tastes like fruit juice but I contend it's not always wise to drink something that tastes like you're chewing on a rusty drain pipe, which is exactly what some ales come off as.

I went back to Meehan's 2 days later and wound up inadvertently being part of a crowd who were on hand to watch the CONCACAF Gold Cup match featuring USA versus Honduras. Now I can say I've been in an Irish pub while watching soccer - I feel so very European suddenly. I've gotten more into soccer as I've tried to watch the sport in an effort to learn its rules; I equate it to hockey in a lot of ways, except soccer players tend to over-dramatically sell every poke or push as if they'd been hit in the face with a 2x4 whereas in that same scenario hockey players would just drop the gloves and have at it with each other.

Overall, the experience at Meehan's that evening was very enjoyable. I had several pints of Strongbow (watching soccer makes one quite thirsty) but I dove a bit deeper into the menu this time around as I had their fish tacos as an appetizer and the 101 meatloaf for my main course. I'd never tried fish tacos before but I can say that I'm now a fan; these were fantastic and I would certainly order them again. Likewise, the 101 meatloaf was great (no, I have no idea why there's a "101" in front of the name). It's a combination of beef, bison and sausage making for a succulent meld of flavors. The meatloaf came with mashed potatoes and sauteed green beans, which I'm not certain I enjoyed all that much because I'm rather particular when it comes to my green beans. Even so, I did clean my plate, which is as telling as anything about my thoughts on the meal.

I'd asked friends on my Facebook page to recommend their favorite haunts in Atlanta and I also sought pointers from people in my classes who are locals. One joint kept coming up - that being the Vortex, a truly one of a kind bar and grill with a heavy metal/punk rock attitude. It's a good thing I didn't have access to a place like this when I was in college because I'd have come out of school being a 600 pound alcoholic. They serve Laughing Skull ale as their house beer, which is made locally at Red Brick Brewing. It has the look of a full-bodied ale but is tremendously smooth and easy to drink. What's more, it paired perfectly with my meal which consisted of an appetizer of fried pickle spears (served with an amazing jalapeno ranch dipping sauce) and the Big Blue Buffalo Burger with sweet potato waffle fries. Vortex burgers are unique in that they're made from ground sirloin, and the BBBB is exactly what it sounds like - a big, juicy burger (I had mine cooked to a perfect medium rare) smothered in the Vortex's buffalo wing sauce and covered with a scoop of their blue cheese spread. I am not mincing words here, that was arguably the best burger I've ever had. I can't do it justice here in trying to describe how awesome it was, you just have to go there for yourself and have one.

As a side note to discussing the Vortex, I will add that if you get the sweet potato fries be advised that there will be a cup of sauce on your plate that looks like it could be half a dozen different things, but it's actually frosting. Like the kind of frosting that comes packed with toaster strudels. My waitress didn't tell me what it was and I don't believe it's mentioned on the menu; I feel like I have to make this known because I almost poured it over my burger without tasting it, thinking it was something I had the option of adding on. I'm glad I didn't, needless to say, because it wouldn't have gone as well with the burger as it did with the fries.

I had taken a cab to get to the Vortex but I decided to walk back to my hotel. It wound up being just shy of 2 miles, and it was a good opportunity to get some exercise since the weather was especially pleasant that day (it was most of the week as the temperature never got out of the mid-80s). The only negative aspect to walking around downtown Atlanta is that there is a rather large vagrant population. Having to say no or otherwise ignore their requests for money became a chore; I could imagine that being a woman and walking those same areas would be rather scary.

I don't know if you've noticed or not but I haven't mentioned lunches up until now. Reason for that is that they weren't all that memorable seeing as how I ate in the food court of a mall that's situated underneath the cluster of buildings where I was taking classes. I had a steak wrap and 3 or 4 varieties of Chinese "chicken" (that stuff is so heavily sauced it could be anything) served with various side items up to and including Kraft-style macaroni & cheese. They weren't exactly meals of shame but they weren't anything to write about either, hence why I'm not giving them much attention.

For my final evening in Atlanta, I decided to try a restaurant I'd walked by every day and could no longer resist. Pitty Pat's Porch is located across from the Westin, in what I can only describe as a subterranean level of the building. It's so odd for it to be where it is considering it's interior aesthetic is that of an old, two-story plantation home. The upper floor is essentially a lobby area equipped with a battery of rocking chairs and other seating for guests to use while waiting for a table. The lower floor is the dining room, and to get there you walk down a flight of stairs that takes you directly past an open area of the kitchen where you can see chefs working to prepare various breads, pastries, and deserts.

Pitty Pat's is a very old restaurant as it opened in 1967 and has been in the same location ever since. Their style of food is traditional southern cuisine, specializing in fried chicken and ribs among other savory items. For my meal, I decided to try their interpretation of a favorite dish of mine, shrimp and grits. Before I would get to the main course, though, I made a trip to their salad bar which features so much more than what you'd expect. My two favorite selections were the tomato salad (ripe tomatoes sliced up and marinated in a balsamic dressing with herbs, red onions and roasted cloves of garlic) and pickled watermelon rind - no, really, it's watermelon rind and I promise it was great!

When I returned to my table I found a plate with a biscuit, a piece of cornbread, and a cheesy muffin (I only ate the cornbread since I didn't want to load up on dough to save room for the rest of my meal) as well as my beverage. Pitty Pat's has a full bar but they craft their own specialty cocktails. I chose what they call the Ankle Breaker, which is described on the menu with this: "General Jackson broke his ankle after half a dozen of them. You might have to get yourself a partner to handle one." It's more or less a mason jar filled with light rum, brandy, and enough grenadine to make it pink. Trust me when I say I wouldn't have drank more than one of them knowing I was going to have to walk out of there under my own power!

The main course arrived and it was accompanied by a bowl that was half black eyed peas and half turnip greens. Pitty Pat's menu labels the shrimp and grits as being from the low country (if you aren't aware, "low country" is a term used to describe the coastal region near the South Carolina/Georgia line), but their interpretation is a bit different than what I'm accustomed to eating - different doesn't equal bad, mind you. Theirs is served with blackened shrimp, sauteed peppers and onions, and a butter sauce. It was a very rich but manageable portion and I had just enough room left over to order desert.

I have eaten a lot of bread pudding in my day. It's one of my favorite deserts as it was something my Grandmother made for me as a boy and I have carried on my love for it ever since. Up to this point in time, just about the best I've ever had came from the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, SC and it was a banana bread pudding. Sadly, that bread pudding is no longer available as a result of HOB's management deciding it was time to monkey with the menu, thereby removing virtually all my old favorites. That said, there is a new champion in the world of bread pudding and it's Pitty Pat's Porch.

It was absolutely perfect. Firm exterior and a warm, custard-like interior. A raisin or two in every spoonful. Drizzled with a bourbon sauce and topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. I am not kidding when I say that I would drive to Atlanta just to eat this again, it's that amazing.

My time in Atlanta drew to a close, and thus began the interesting process of packing my bags. It never fails that what fits in a certain number of bags initially is damn near impossible to get back into the same bags once its been used, worn or what have you. I've gotten to be fairly skilled at the game of Tetris that is bag packing, though, and I managed to get my suitcase together better than I thought I would have - it was at that point I realized I still had about a drawer and a half of clothes to get into that same bag.

Drat.

Much like the check-in process, the check-out process at the Westin was a smooth one. I made sure to request that receipts for my stay be sent to me via email prior to leaving the concierge desk as I'd need to give them to our finance people upon my return to the office. I didn't see the point of getting paper copies at that moment so I then gathered up my bags and made my way down to valet services, which was where the only stumble the folks at the Westin made. I'd paid for my valet at the point of check-out but the people at the valet desk claimed I hadn't yet paid the bill for parking. Instead of attempting to argue my point, I went back up to the desk at which I'd checked out and retrieved a paper copy of my receipt. I showed it to the valet clerk and she admitted the error; apparently the valet and the hotel are on independent systems when it comes to payments. That would seem like a problem to me, but what do I know - I didn't stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.

The drive home was mostly uneventful, I'm happy to report. I made my way out of Atlanta and stopped only briefly between there and here in order to get a bite to eat and relieve myself. I did see a random piece of law enforcement, though, as I witnessed a patrolman (I don't recall whether it was a state trooper or a local cop) pull over a single car out of a pack, all of which seemed to be going nearly the same speed to me. I couldn't help but wonder why that car? All I can say is on that day it sucked to be that driver.

I did enjoy being in Atlanta but it sure did feel good to see a whole bunch of green trees and fields when I got closer to home. Being around nothing but concrete and steel all week was good for my allergies but not so much for my state of mind. By the end of the week I was missing my house, my dog, and mostly my wife. As God tells us in the Bible, "It is not good that man should be alone so I shall make a companion for him..." I don't know what I'd do without mine.