Though I don’t eat Mexican food very often, it’s something I’m quite fond of. Or at least I’m fond of the stuff called Mexican food in Utah. I can’t vouch for its authenticity. From what I understand, what I enjoy is probably more properly referred to as Tex-Mex. But regardless of what you call it, ever since I moved to the southeast region of the United States three years ago, I have discovered a fundamental difference between the Mexican-inspired dishes you’ll find in any Utah restaurant and those exact “same” dishes as prepared and served in Atlanta or Tallahassee. The difference? The kind of cheese they use. And that is a very important difference.
Having lived in Salt Lake City for nearly 28 years, I’ve eaten in many Utah Mexican restaurants. And what did I order almost every time I visited one of these establishments? Cheese enchiladas. As a child, I considered these my favorite food of all, ranking them above even that most sacred of child-friendly delicacies, pizza. And never once did I order a cheese enchilada in Utah and receive a tortilla stuffed with white American cheese. No way, Jose! And I would have remembered if I had, because it would not have been a very pleasant experience. But as soon as I moved to Atlanta, that is all I have seen. Granted, I’ve only eaten at maybe five or six Mexican restaurants in Georgia and Florida combined, but in each case, cheddar cheese was nowhere to be found. (Unless you count Moe’s Southwest Grill, which I don’t. And even they put a soupy “queso” sauce on their nachos rather than melted cheddar. But I’m only concerned with full scale restaurants here, so forget them.) The problem with American cheese—and my most recent waiter told me that’s what they use, so I’m not just guessing—is that it’s so fake. Well, it exists, obviously, but it tastes phony. Prepackaged. Blasé. Desagradable.
I assume Atlanta and Tallahassee are far enough apart to ensure that this is not unique to the few Mexican restaurants I have happened to try between the two cities. It must be a regional difference. But what a sad, sad difference it is. It’s one of the most lamentable aspects of my having moved across the country. Qué pena!
Formerly Benj (& Purge); formerly Sucking on Oranges
Showing posts with label Atlanta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Atlanta. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Friday, August 08, 2008
The Atlanta Chronicles: Goodbye to You
I wanted to write one final blog entry while still living in Atlanta. This will be it. As soon as this is posted, I’ll be tearing down my computer and putting it into a box. This will not be my last post about Atlanta, in part because I’ll probably compare Tallahassee to Atlanta during my first few months living in Florida, but also because I never posted about some things I had always intended to. So those will (probably) still come, at some point.
The real tale to tell has to do with the horrible experience Melanie and I have had getting our Tallahassee apartment all squared away. It’s too much to go into here, but sadly I can already tell people to avoid any apartment properties owned by Concord Management Limited. Aye carumba. To tell you the basic point, Melanie and I were only guaranteed as of approximately 5 p.m. today that we had a place to live in Tallahassee this upcoming Monday. Concord just gave us the run around and kept making it sound like we’d be approved any second, but then kept telling us they needed something else and something else and something else (and they never called us, mind you, it was us constantly calling them to see what was happening – and I’m not kidding when I say they literally never called us, not once).
OK, I won’t wallow in that. Hopefully I’ll be able to post again soon. Tally is such a small town, I haven’t been able to figure out who offers Internet service down there. Everything I’ve looked into is a no-go, so right now I don’t have any Internet service coming my way. Which freaks me out, because I’m totally Internet-dependent (for school, if not for leisure). I don’t know what to do about it, though. I’m clueless.
Alas, that is all I have time to say. Next time I write, I will be in Tallahassee. Here’s hoping I’ve smiled a lot between now and then. The frustrations of the past two weeks have been unbelievable.
Oh, and for the record, I do defend my thesis on Monday at 10 a.m. Right before I leave for Tallahassee, because I have to be out of my apartment by 11 a.m. Fun, eh?
To be continued….
The real tale to tell has to do with the horrible experience Melanie and I have had getting our Tallahassee apartment all squared away. It’s too much to go into here, but sadly I can already tell people to avoid any apartment properties owned by Concord Management Limited. Aye carumba. To tell you the basic point, Melanie and I were only guaranteed as of approximately 5 p.m. today that we had a place to live in Tallahassee this upcoming Monday. Concord just gave us the run around and kept making it sound like we’d be approved any second, but then kept telling us they needed something else and something else and something else (and they never called us, mind you, it was us constantly calling them to see what was happening – and I’m not kidding when I say they literally never called us, not once).
OK, I won’t wallow in that. Hopefully I’ll be able to post again soon. Tally is such a small town, I haven’t been able to figure out who offers Internet service down there. Everything I’ve looked into is a no-go, so right now I don’t have any Internet service coming my way. Which freaks me out, because I’m totally Internet-dependent (for school, if not for leisure). I don’t know what to do about it, though. I’m clueless.
Alas, that is all I have time to say. Next time I write, I will be in Tallahassee. Here’s hoping I’ve smiled a lot between now and then. The frustrations of the past two weeks have been unbelievable.
Oh, and for the record, I do defend my thesis on Monday at 10 a.m. Right before I leave for Tallahassee, because I have to be out of my apartment by 11 a.m. Fun, eh?
To be continued….
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Atlanta Chronicles: Fact, Fiction, & Forwards
Over a year ago, St. Mac G forwarded me an email designed “for anyone who lives in Atlanta, Georgia, has ever lived in Atlanta, has ever visited Atlanta, ever plans to visit Atlanta, knows anyone who already lives in Atlanta, or knows anyone who has ever heard of Atlanta.” The email is intended as a humorous hyperbole of life in Georgia’s capital city. I always intended to post about it, to examine what the email gets right and where it goes wrong, but for some reason it never happened. Now that I’m less than two months from moving to Florida, I figured I’d better get all my Atlanta commentary out on the table, before it seems entirely irrelevant.
What follows, then, are just some of the Atlanta “facts” presented in the aforementioned forwarded email. After each “fact,” I will offer some commentary, hoping to dispel any unwarranted rumors while acknowledging those things that are spot on. Enjoy.
Atlanta is composed mostly of one-way streets. The only way to get out of downtown Atlanta is to turn around and start over when you reach Greenville, South Carolina.
I feel like the “one-way street phenomenon” is less pronounced in Atlanta than it is in other major cities I’ve visited. I’m actually surprised there aren’t more one-way streets here. The problem for me is that, in Atlanta, there are tons of streets with nearly identical names. What’s worse, the street names change without warning. In some cases, you have to make a hard right or hard left just to stick with the same street name, whereas if you drive straight through the intersection and keep going straight, you’re no longer on the same road. It’s all very counterintuitive. Interestingly, I was told that the apparently random change in any given street name is a relic of legalized racial segregation. In order to make it clear when you had crossed from a white neighborhood into a black neighborhood (or vice versa), the street would bear a new name.
All directions start with, "Go down Peachtree" and include the phrase, "When you see the Waffle House." Except in Cobb County, where all directions begin with, "Go to the Big Chicken."
I can’t vouch for Cobb County, but seeing as how I live on one of the many streets that contain the word “Peachtree,” it’s hard for me not to include “Peachtree” when giving someone directions. And yes, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I suspect there are more Waffle House restaurants in Atlanta than there are human beings.
Peachtree Street has no beginning and no end and is not to be confused with: Peachtree Circle Peachtree Place Peachtree Lane Peachtree Road Peachtree Parkway Peachtree Run Peachtree Terrace Peachtree Avenue Peachtree Commons Peachtree Battle Peachtree Corners New Peachtree Old Peachtree West Peachtree Peachtree-Dunwoody Peachtree-Chamblee Peachtree Industrial Boulevard
This barely scratches the surface. According to the Frommer’s Atlanta guide I perused shortly after moving to Georgia, Atlanta has over 100 streets with the word “Peachtree” in the name. I’m not kidding.
Atlantans only know their way to work and their way home. If you ask anyone for directions, they will always send you down Peachtree.
Very true. After two years of living here, my knowledge of how to get anywhere other than my school, the post office, the grocery store, church, and Papa John’s is next to nil.
Atlanta is the home of Coca-Cola. Coke's all they drink there, so don't ask for any other soft drink unless it's made by Coca-Cola.
More true than I’d like. I generally prefer Coke over Pepsi, but as anyone who has read my blog more than once or twice can tell you, my number one beverage choice is the Pepsi-produced Mountain Dew. In Utah, this was not a problem. It seemed any gas station you went into had both Pepsi and Coke products available in the fountain. For some reason this seems incredibly rare in Atlanta. When I first moved here, I had a dickens of a time finding a gas station that featured Mountain Dew on tap. Luckily, Melanie and I eventually discovered QuikTrip (or QT, pronounced “cutie,” a charmingly appropriate nickname). QT not only has the cheapest gas prices in town, it also has some of the best tasting fountain Mountain Dew (or Fountain Dew, as I lovingly call it) in all of America. QuikTrip will be sorely missed when I move to Tallahassee. (For the record, the first gas station that I found with Fountain Dew in Atlanta was a BP. The Mountain Dew tasted heavily watered down, but at the time it was considered a joyous discovery. I almost wrote a celebratory post about it at the time, entitled “God Save the Queen.”)
The gates at Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport are about 32 miles away from the Main Concourse, so wear sneakers and pack a lunch.
The Atlanta airport is big, and supposedly it is the busiest airport in America. But if you use the airport train to get from one concourse or terminal to another, it doesn’t strike me as a difficult airport to get around. And if you fly Delta and take the public train (not the airport train) to the airport, you’ll be dropped off right at the Delta check-in desk. It’s ultra convenient.
The 8am rush hour is from 6:00 to 10:30 AM. The 5pm rush hour is from 2:30 to 7:30 PM. Friday's rush hour starts Thursday afternoon and lasts through 2am Saturday.
Sad, but pretty much true. I originally thought the traffic in Atlanta wasn’t so bad, but I quickly had to recant that view. The 5pm rush hour is exaggerated a bit here, however. I’d say it doesn’t get too horrible until about 4 PM, but depending on where you’re headed, it might not clear up by 7:30. One time when Melanie and I were returning to Atlanta from a weekend out of town, the freeway traffic became dead stopped approximately 30 miles prior to reaching Atlanta. That was on a Sunday afternoon.
The falling of one raindrop causes all drivers to immediately forget all traffic rules. If a single snowflake falls, the city is paralyzed for three days and it's on all the channels as a news flash every 15 minutes for a week. Overnight, all grocery stores will be sold out of milk, bread, bottled water, toilet paper, and beer.
This is exaggerated, particularly when it comes to the rain. It does snow in Atlanta on occasion, and it has even snowed for us a handful of times (though it didn’t snow at all during out first winter here). True, they canceled our church 24 hours ahead of time because of the snow, which strikes a native Utahan such as myself as very premature, but nobody acted like it was a big deal. As for the rain, Atlanta is very used to it. The most treacherous thunderstorms I’ve ever experienced have been in Atlanta. Often enough, a Georgia thunderstorm sounds like multiple freight trains are dropping out of the sky and landing in a giant pit a few miles away. Lightning flashes, and almost immediately you are treated to a long, tremendously loud, booming reverberation. It’s quite an experience.
I-285, the loop that encircles Atlanta, which has a posted speed limit of 55 mph (but you have to maintain 80 mph just to keep from getting run over), is known to truckers as "The Watermelon 500."
I don’t know anything about the watermelon nickname, but you’re definitely causing problems if you’re going only 55 mph (assuming it’s not one of the 12-hours worth of “rush hour” in which you’re not moving at all). Atlanta drivers are horrible.
There are 10,000 types of spiders. All 10,000 live in Georgia, plus a couple no one has seen before.
Coming from the relatively dry Intermountain West region of the United States, Melanie and I have had to get used to the horrific bug problem that the South harbors. The word “bug” has a completely different connotation to me now than it did when I lived in Salt Lake City. Thanks to Atlanta, I’ve now encountered insects that are the size of bugs I had previously seen only in museums, pinned to a piece of corkboard. This goes not only for spiders, but for roaches (the dreaded Palmetto having made one too many appearances during my Atlanta tenure), millipedes, bumblebees (so big they look like flying eggplants), and other unidentified crawling objects (UCO’s).
If you notice a vine trying to wrap itself around your leg, you have about 20 seconds to escape, before you are completely captured and covered with Kudzu, another ill-advised "import," like the carp, starling, English sparrow, and other ''exotic wonders."
I noticed the Kudzu right away, but it looked rather cool to me. I had never heard the word before, and I didn’t know it was considered a weed. It does cover tons of trees here, but to me it looks lush and ivy-like. It makes my train commute a little more scenic.
What follows, then, are just some of the Atlanta “facts” presented in the aforementioned forwarded email. After each “fact,” I will offer some commentary, hoping to dispel any unwarranted rumors while acknowledging those things that are spot on. Enjoy.
Atlanta is composed mostly of one-way streets. The only way to get out of downtown Atlanta is to turn around and start over when you reach Greenville, South Carolina.
I feel like the “one-way street phenomenon” is less pronounced in Atlanta than it is in other major cities I’ve visited. I’m actually surprised there aren’t more one-way streets here. The problem for me is that, in Atlanta, there are tons of streets with nearly identical names. What’s worse, the street names change without warning. In some cases, you have to make a hard right or hard left just to stick with the same street name, whereas if you drive straight through the intersection and keep going straight, you’re no longer on the same road. It’s all very counterintuitive. Interestingly, I was told that the apparently random change in any given street name is a relic of legalized racial segregation. In order to make it clear when you had crossed from a white neighborhood into a black neighborhood (or vice versa), the street would bear a new name.
All directions start with, "Go down Peachtree" and include the phrase, "When you see the Waffle House." Except in Cobb County, where all directions begin with, "Go to the Big Chicken."
I can’t vouch for Cobb County, but seeing as how I live on one of the many streets that contain the word “Peachtree,” it’s hard for me not to include “Peachtree” when giving someone directions. And yes, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I suspect there are more Waffle House restaurants in Atlanta than there are human beings.
Peachtree Street has no beginning and no end and is not to be confused with: Peachtree Circle Peachtree Place Peachtree Lane Peachtree Road Peachtree Parkway Peachtree Run Peachtree Terrace Peachtree Avenue Peachtree Commons Peachtree Battle Peachtree Corners New Peachtree Old Peachtree West Peachtree Peachtree-Dunwoody Peachtree-Chamblee Peachtree Industrial Boulevard
This barely scratches the surface. According to the Frommer’s Atlanta guide I perused shortly after moving to Georgia, Atlanta has over 100 streets with the word “Peachtree” in the name. I’m not kidding.
Atlantans only know their way to work and their way home. If you ask anyone for directions, they will always send you down Peachtree.
Very true. After two years of living here, my knowledge of how to get anywhere other than my school, the post office, the grocery store, church, and Papa John’s is next to nil.
Atlanta is the home of Coca-Cola. Coke's all they drink there, so don't ask for any other soft drink unless it's made by Coca-Cola.
More true than I’d like. I generally prefer Coke over Pepsi, but as anyone who has read my blog more than once or twice can tell you, my number one beverage choice is the Pepsi-produced Mountain Dew. In Utah, this was not a problem. It seemed any gas station you went into had both Pepsi and Coke products available in the fountain. For some reason this seems incredibly rare in Atlanta. When I first moved here, I had a dickens of a time finding a gas station that featured Mountain Dew on tap. Luckily, Melanie and I eventually discovered QuikTrip (or QT, pronounced “cutie,” a charmingly appropriate nickname). QT not only has the cheapest gas prices in town, it also has some of the best tasting fountain Mountain Dew (or Fountain Dew, as I lovingly call it) in all of America. QuikTrip will be sorely missed when I move to Tallahassee. (For the record, the first gas station that I found with Fountain Dew in Atlanta was a BP. The Mountain Dew tasted heavily watered down, but at the time it was considered a joyous discovery. I almost wrote a celebratory post about it at the time, entitled “God Save the Queen.”)
The gates at Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport are about 32 miles away from the Main Concourse, so wear sneakers and pack a lunch.
The Atlanta airport is big, and supposedly it is the busiest airport in America. But if you use the airport train to get from one concourse or terminal to another, it doesn’t strike me as a difficult airport to get around. And if you fly Delta and take the public train (not the airport train) to the airport, you’ll be dropped off right at the Delta check-in desk. It’s ultra convenient.
The 8am rush hour is from 6:00 to 10:30 AM. The 5pm rush hour is from 2:30 to 7:30 PM. Friday's rush hour starts Thursday afternoon and lasts through 2am Saturday.
Sad, but pretty much true. I originally thought the traffic in Atlanta wasn’t so bad, but I quickly had to recant that view. The 5pm rush hour is exaggerated a bit here, however. I’d say it doesn’t get too horrible until about 4 PM, but depending on where you’re headed, it might not clear up by 7:30. One time when Melanie and I were returning to Atlanta from a weekend out of town, the freeway traffic became dead stopped approximately 30 miles prior to reaching Atlanta. That was on a Sunday afternoon.
The falling of one raindrop causes all drivers to immediately forget all traffic rules. If a single snowflake falls, the city is paralyzed for three days and it's on all the channels as a news flash every 15 minutes for a week. Overnight, all grocery stores will be sold out of milk, bread, bottled water, toilet paper, and beer.
This is exaggerated, particularly when it comes to the rain. It does snow in Atlanta on occasion, and it has even snowed for us a handful of times (though it didn’t snow at all during out first winter here). True, they canceled our church 24 hours ahead of time because of the snow, which strikes a native Utahan such as myself as very premature, but nobody acted like it was a big deal. As for the rain, Atlanta is very used to it. The most treacherous thunderstorms I’ve ever experienced have been in Atlanta. Often enough, a Georgia thunderstorm sounds like multiple freight trains are dropping out of the sky and landing in a giant pit a few miles away. Lightning flashes, and almost immediately you are treated to a long, tremendously loud, booming reverberation. It’s quite an experience.
I-285, the loop that encircles Atlanta, which has a posted speed limit of 55 mph (but you have to maintain 80 mph just to keep from getting run over), is known to truckers as "The Watermelon 500."
I don’t know anything about the watermelon nickname, but you’re definitely causing problems if you’re going only 55 mph (assuming it’s not one of the 12-hours worth of “rush hour” in which you’re not moving at all). Atlanta drivers are horrible.
There are 10,000 types of spiders. All 10,000 live in Georgia, plus a couple no one has seen before.
Coming from the relatively dry Intermountain West region of the United States, Melanie and I have had to get used to the horrific bug problem that the South harbors. The word “bug” has a completely different connotation to me now than it did when I lived in Salt Lake City. Thanks to Atlanta, I’ve now encountered insects that are the size of bugs I had previously seen only in museums, pinned to a piece of corkboard. This goes not only for spiders, but for roaches (the dreaded Palmetto having made one too many appearances during my Atlanta tenure), millipedes, bumblebees (so big they look like flying eggplants), and other unidentified crawling objects (UCO’s).
If you notice a vine trying to wrap itself around your leg, you have about 20 seconds to escape, before you are completely captured and covered with Kudzu, another ill-advised "import," like the carp, starling, English sparrow, and other ''exotic wonders."
I noticed the Kudzu right away, but it looked rather cool to me. I had never heard the word before, and I didn’t know it was considered a weed. It does cover tons of trees here, but to me it looks lush and ivy-like. It makes my train commute a little more scenic.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Snowing in Georgia!
That’s right! It’s snowing here. And it’s a decent amount of snow at that. We’ll see if it sticks—probably not, from what I’ve heard. But this is the first time I’ve seen it snow here, so I thought I’d pass on the news…
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Potpourri No. 15
It seems like everyday, there’s a good 24 hours worth of crap going on. Here’s some of the most recent happenings…
Feeling Peachy
Melanie and I finally got our Georgia State driver’s licenses and license plate. It felt weird, kind of like we were moving all over again. All those strange feelings of thinking, “hey, we’re no longer Utahans!” came flooding back to us. It was like consummating our marriage to a new part of the country. It’s still bizarre whenever I open up my wallet and see my smiling face superimposed onto an official, Georgia-government issued piece of plastic. But, perhaps an even bigger change, I’ve now chosen to be an organ donor. I just couldn’t see any rational basis for a posthumous coveting of my ooey-gooeys. I used to be adamantly opposed to organ donation, at least for myself, but I could no longer justify it in my mind and decided I’d much rather err on the side of charity. So … certified Benny K bits available (hopefully not too) soon!
The Buck Starts Here
Sensitive to our current financial situation and vastly limited by our four-month-old son when it comes to recreational activity, Melanie and I have started taking advantage of those movie rental kiosks that are springing up at grocery stores and fast-food joints all over the country. On the chance that you don’t know what I’m talking about, these are movie rental vending machines where, for the low price of $1 per day, you can check out a movie just by swiping your credit or debit card and following some simple onscreen prompts. The machine spits out your DVD and, once you return the movie, charges you for the number of days you’ve kept it. If you’re diligent, it’s an incredibly cost-effective way of renting movies, far cheaper than running to Blockbuster or Hollywood Video. Of course, I’m just waiting for the day we get an incredibly scratched-up DVD or return a movie that somehow fails to get “checked in” and then have to call an 800-number and be put on hold for 45 minutes before we can talk to someone to get it all straightened out. It’s bound to happen. I’ll be shocked if it doesn’t. And yet I’ll keep going back until that day comes. Don’t worry, you’ll certainly hear all about it when it does.
Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For
Speaking of money, the other day a transient woman came up to me and blessed me, “in Jesus’ name,” that I would find $5,000 in my backpack. So far I’ve only found two out-of-ink pens and a smashed up pack of peanut butter crackers, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled and my fingers crossed.
Write On!
I’ve done the math and it looks like I’ve got about 60 pages worth of essays to write over the next few weeks, give or take. That’s a bit intimidating. But, before I get too exhausted and frustrated to admit it, I have to say this has been the most productive and rewarding semester of school I’ve ever known. I’ve never felt so personally enriched as I have over these last few months. I’m learning a ton, and I’m excited for the future. What more could a student possibly want?
Feeling Peachy
Melanie and I finally got our Georgia State driver’s licenses and license plate. It felt weird, kind of like we were moving all over again. All those strange feelings of thinking, “hey, we’re no longer Utahans!” came flooding back to us. It was like consummating our marriage to a new part of the country. It’s still bizarre whenever I open up my wallet and see my smiling face superimposed onto an official, Georgia-government issued piece of plastic. But, perhaps an even bigger change, I’ve now chosen to be an organ donor. I just couldn’t see any rational basis for a posthumous coveting of my ooey-gooeys. I used to be adamantly opposed to organ donation, at least for myself, but I could no longer justify it in my mind and decided I’d much rather err on the side of charity. So … certified Benny K bits available (hopefully not too) soon!
The Buck Starts Here
Sensitive to our current financial situation and vastly limited by our four-month-old son when it comes to recreational activity, Melanie and I have started taking advantage of those movie rental kiosks that are springing up at grocery stores and fast-food joints all over the country. On the chance that you don’t know what I’m talking about, these are movie rental vending machines where, for the low price of $1 per day, you can check out a movie just by swiping your credit or debit card and following some simple onscreen prompts. The machine spits out your DVD and, once you return the movie, charges you for the number of days you’ve kept it. If you’re diligent, it’s an incredibly cost-effective way of renting movies, far cheaper than running to Blockbuster or Hollywood Video. Of course, I’m just waiting for the day we get an incredibly scratched-up DVD or return a movie that somehow fails to get “checked in” and then have to call an 800-number and be put on hold for 45 minutes before we can talk to someone to get it all straightened out. It’s bound to happen. I’ll be shocked if it doesn’t. And yet I’ll keep going back until that day comes. Don’t worry, you’ll certainly hear all about it when it does.
Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For
Speaking of money, the other day a transient woman came up to me and blessed me, “in Jesus’ name,” that I would find $5,000 in my backpack. So far I’ve only found two out-of-ink pens and a smashed up pack of peanut butter crackers, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled and my fingers crossed.
Write On!
I’ve done the math and it looks like I’ve got about 60 pages worth of essays to write over the next few weeks, give or take. That’s a bit intimidating. But, before I get too exhausted and frustrated to admit it, I have to say this has been the most productive and rewarding semester of school I’ve ever known. I’ve never felt so personally enriched as I have over these last few months. I’m learning a ton, and I’m excited for the future. What more could a student possibly want?
Friday, September 29, 2006
Potpourri No. 14
It’s been five months since I’ve busted out the potpourri and it’s starting to get a bit stuffy in here. It’s time to clear the air!
Gas Pains
In moving from Salt Lake City to Atlanta, I was certain gas prices would be a bit steeper. This hasn’t been the case. In fact, it turns out SLC has some of the highest prices in the nation (as my friend recently discussed here). I’m Shell (and Sinclair, and Chevron, etc.) shocked, but obviously pleased that at least one aspect of ATL is going to be cheaper. In fact, I filled up my car for about $21 the other day, the least I’ve paid in who knows how long. How much did I pay per gallon? Just $2.11! Blimey!
Plenty of Time for Chinese Fire Drills
While on the theme of transportation, I initially reported that Atlanta traffic hadn’t bogged me down as much as I’d expected. When it comes to the Interstate, that is mostly true—it does tend to keep moving, even when horrendously slow. However, I’ve had plenty of experiences since that time that have made me feel livid, and almost all of them have been on the regular roads. There is one street in particular, about 2.5 miles from my apartment, where many a business resides. When I went for a haircut this week, I had to drive this road for just under two miles. Thanks to my receding hairline, my haircut took about five minutes. Getting to the haircut establishment took about 35-40 minutes. No, I’m not kidding. And when Melanie and I braved this road for the sake of buying the new Barenaked Ladies album, it took us even longer to go even less distance. I’m starting to doubt that I’ll feel heartbroken when I leave Atlanta two years from now.
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Speaking of the new Barenaked Ladies album, there have been some pleasant developments in the world of entertainment. In conjunction with their new music, BNL has added Atlanta to their list of tour stops. Melanie and I have been to four BNL concerts over their last three tours, so we’re incredibly hopeful that we can make it to their November 9th performance. We’re looking for babysitters, so please leave your pertinent info in a comment! Aside from music, Amazing Race debuted its tenth season a couple of weeks ago. Catch it Sunday nights on CBS. And did I mention that Melanie and I have cable TV? This is not something we had ever planned on acquiring, but I’ll write more about it later—it’s a story worthy of its own post.
Does This Baby Come with GPS?
Question of the week: why do babies want you to be standing when you hold them? How can they tell a difference? Edison has followed infantile tradition and, quite often, fusses unless you’re on your feet whilst you hold him. And I thought I’d read my schoolbooks while taking care of the little guy. Silly me.
My Better Half and Then Some
Melanie has done a much better job getting pictures of Edison on the web and reporting on his latest habits. I discreetly added her blog to my sidebar a few months ago, but I’m now giving it a wholehearted and boisterous endorsement. Check it out here! I guess it’s sad that I have to point my readers to another page in order to keep up on the most important facets of my life, but so be it…
Gas Pains
In moving from Salt Lake City to Atlanta, I was certain gas prices would be a bit steeper. This hasn’t been the case. In fact, it turns out SLC has some of the highest prices in the nation (as my friend recently discussed here). I’m Shell (and Sinclair, and Chevron, etc.) shocked, but obviously pleased that at least one aspect of ATL is going to be cheaper. In fact, I filled up my car for about $21 the other day, the least I’ve paid in who knows how long. How much did I pay per gallon? Just $2.11! Blimey!
Plenty of Time for Chinese Fire Drills
While on the theme of transportation, I initially reported that Atlanta traffic hadn’t bogged me down as much as I’d expected. When it comes to the Interstate, that is mostly true—it does tend to keep moving, even when horrendously slow. However, I’ve had plenty of experiences since that time that have made me feel livid, and almost all of them have been on the regular roads. There is one street in particular, about 2.5 miles from my apartment, where many a business resides. When I went for a haircut this week, I had to drive this road for just under two miles. Thanks to my receding hairline, my haircut took about five minutes. Getting to the haircut establishment took about 35-40 minutes. No, I’m not kidding. And when Melanie and I braved this road for the sake of buying the new Barenaked Ladies album, it took us even longer to go even less distance. I’m starting to doubt that I’ll feel heartbroken when I leave Atlanta two years from now.
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Speaking of the new Barenaked Ladies album, there have been some pleasant developments in the world of entertainment. In conjunction with their new music, BNL has added Atlanta to their list of tour stops. Melanie and I have been to four BNL concerts over their last three tours, so we’re incredibly hopeful that we can make it to their November 9th performance. We’re looking for babysitters, so please leave your pertinent info in a comment! Aside from music, Amazing Race debuted its tenth season a couple of weeks ago. Catch it Sunday nights on CBS. And did I mention that Melanie and I have cable TV? This is not something we had ever planned on acquiring, but I’ll write more about it later—it’s a story worthy of its own post.
Does This Baby Come with GPS?
Question of the week: why do babies want you to be standing when you hold them? How can they tell a difference? Edison has followed infantile tradition and, quite often, fusses unless you’re on your feet whilst you hold him. And I thought I’d read my schoolbooks while taking care of the little guy. Silly me.
My Better Half and Then Some
Melanie has done a much better job getting pictures of Edison on the web and reporting on his latest habits. I discreetly added her blog to my sidebar a few months ago, but I’m now giving it a wholehearted and boisterous endorsement. Check it out here! I guess it’s sad that I have to point my readers to another page in order to keep up on the most important facets of my life, but so be it…
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The Atlanta Chronicles: Homeland Security
As I reported in my first posting about Atlanta, I’ve felt safer in my new town than I ever could have expected. Even now, having grown accustomed to a daily commute downtown via public transit, my opinion hasn’t changed. I have never felt leery of the situations or places I’ve encountered. Still, when it comes to safety concerns, there are a few things Atlanta has taught me, namely that…
1. Gated communities provide about as much protection as standing behind the automatic sliding doors at the supermarket. I know because now I live in one—a gated community, that is, not a supermarket. Luckily, this wasn’t a selling point when I signed my lease; otherwise, I’d be sorely disappointed. To begin with, it’s incredibly rare that one actually needs the gate keycard to get in. During my first week of living in my new apartment, I had to use my card about 30% of the time. The rest of the time, another car had entered recently enough that the gate was still wide open and you could just pull through. On the rare occasion that the gate isn’t already open, you can just as easily pull over and wait one or two minutes before someone else will let you in (whether wanting to or not). When I do use my card, it’s not uncommon for two or three other cars to make it in on my swipe. And, for about two weeks now, the “out” gate has been stuck open anyway. Heck, I’ve stopped to swipe my card for access to the “in” gate and had impatient people zoom around me to go through the “out” gate just to save those few seconds of waiting. So, while I may be slightly less likely to be the victim of a random act of crime, I hardly feel protected.
2. Beggars can be stingy. On my first day of school at Georgia State University, I came out of the downtown train station feeling somewhat disoriented. As such I took off in the exact opposite direction of my school. Before long I was skeptical about my whereabouts, and as I tried to figure out where I was and where I needed to go, a man started following me around asking me for money. I offered him some change, but he quickly quelled my apparent naivete by explaining that his cross-town rendezvous would require several dollars. I then offered him a dollar, which apparently offended him, or so I’m guessing by his disgusted retort of, “Oh c’mon, man!” I told him that I too had to take a bus trip later that day and could spare no more, and finally he obliged to accept my donation. Which leaves me thinking, homeless people would simultaneously save money and eliminate 80% of begging if they stopped making appointments all over town (what appointments are they making anyway???). I understand their wanting to hold homeless conventions in the nicer, suburban parks, but why not cross the street to the downtown park that you’re planning to sleep in that night anyway? Beggars may not be able to be choosers, but surely they can be more pragmatic! (Momentary Academic had a similar run-in with an ungrateful vagabond—see here.)
3. Cellular phones cause crime sprees as well as brain cancer and car wrecks. It seems everywhere here has a policy against using cell phones while transacting business. While I could make sense of this if you were, say, at a gaming table in a casino, I’m talking about the mundane business we all take part in on a regular basis. Convenience stores, banks, and the like all have signs prohibiting the use of cellular phones while one is at the counter. I even heard a bus driver tell a passenger not to talk on his cell phone while he tried to ask the driver a question. Surely there’s a reason for this, and it’s easy enough to assume it has to do with security. But, failing to be a criminal mastermind, I’ve yet to figure out how a contemporaneous telephone conversation could aid you in committing armed robbery. I suppose you could be instructing your get-away driver when to pull the car around, or describing something key about the particular situation you’re in (number of employees on the premises, guards, cameras, etc.). But, with plenty of people text-messaging more fluently than they can speak, couldn’t all of this “sensitive” information be getting passed along from the discreet confines of one’s own pocket? If an actual phone call were in progress, at least you’d know what information is being communicated.
1. Gated communities provide about as much protection as standing behind the automatic sliding doors at the supermarket. I know because now I live in one—a gated community, that is, not a supermarket. Luckily, this wasn’t a selling point when I signed my lease; otherwise, I’d be sorely disappointed. To begin with, it’s incredibly rare that one actually needs the gate keycard to get in. During my first week of living in my new apartment, I had to use my card about 30% of the time. The rest of the time, another car had entered recently enough that the gate was still wide open and you could just pull through. On the rare occasion that the gate isn’t already open, you can just as easily pull over and wait one or two minutes before someone else will let you in (whether wanting to or not). When I do use my card, it’s not uncommon for two or three other cars to make it in on my swipe. And, for about two weeks now, the “out” gate has been stuck open anyway. Heck, I’ve stopped to swipe my card for access to the “in” gate and had impatient people zoom around me to go through the “out” gate just to save those few seconds of waiting. So, while I may be slightly less likely to be the victim of a random act of crime, I hardly feel protected.
2. Beggars can be stingy. On my first day of school at Georgia State University, I came out of the downtown train station feeling somewhat disoriented. As such I took off in the exact opposite direction of my school. Before long I was skeptical about my whereabouts, and as I tried to figure out where I was and where I needed to go, a man started following me around asking me for money. I offered him some change, but he quickly quelled my apparent naivete by explaining that his cross-town rendezvous would require several dollars. I then offered him a dollar, which apparently offended him, or so I’m guessing by his disgusted retort of, “Oh c’mon, man!” I told him that I too had to take a bus trip later that day and could spare no more, and finally he obliged to accept my donation. Which leaves me thinking, homeless people would simultaneously save money and eliminate 80% of begging if they stopped making appointments all over town (what appointments are they making anyway???). I understand their wanting to hold homeless conventions in the nicer, suburban parks, but why not cross the street to the downtown park that you’re planning to sleep in that night anyway? Beggars may not be able to be choosers, but surely they can be more pragmatic! (Momentary Academic had a similar run-in with an ungrateful vagabond—see here.)
3. Cellular phones cause crime sprees as well as brain cancer and car wrecks. It seems everywhere here has a policy against using cell phones while transacting business. While I could make sense of this if you were, say, at a gaming table in a casino, I’m talking about the mundane business we all take part in on a regular basis. Convenience stores, banks, and the like all have signs prohibiting the use of cellular phones while one is at the counter. I even heard a bus driver tell a passenger not to talk on his cell phone while he tried to ask the driver a question. Surely there’s a reason for this, and it’s easy enough to assume it has to do with security. But, failing to be a criminal mastermind, I’ve yet to figure out how a contemporaneous telephone conversation could aid you in committing armed robbery. I suppose you could be instructing your get-away driver when to pull the car around, or describing something key about the particular situation you’re in (number of employees on the premises, guards, cameras, etc.). But, with plenty of people text-messaging more fluently than they can speak, couldn’t all of this “sensitive” information be getting passed along from the discreet confines of one’s own pocket? If an actual phone call were in progress, at least you’d know what information is being communicated.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
The Atlanta Chronicles
Having just moved to a new city, it seems fitting that I would document my acclimatization to that city. While some people are well versed in cross-continental moves, it is a wholly new experience for me. Of my near 28 years of existence, 18 of them were lived in the same house. And until three weeks ago, I had never changed cities. So, although my readers may not be interested in Atlanta per se, it seems pertinent to catalog an event as monumental as my moving across the country. And so begin The Atlanta Chronicles…In this first edition of TAC, I shall address the subject of the weather. A hackneyed topic of conversation to be sure, but one cannot speak of comfort zones—nor the breaking through thereof—without confronting something so rudimentary. Atlanta has proven to be no exception. It’s humid. Very humid. And this is something I’m still adapting to. Whenever I step outside, it feels as though I’ve entered a sauna. Oddly enough, I find it cooler here than in Salt Lake City, but the moisture makes the air thick and unpleasant. On a handful of occasions, I have gotten out of a nice, air-conditioned car only to have my eyeglasses immediately fog up, which can be quite a nuisance. Furthermore, I feel like I’m sweating a great deal more than I did in SLC. But does this make sense? Intuition suggests that heat would influence sweating more than humidity would, but Atlanta seems to prove otherwise. If you’re scientifically inclined, please feel free to enlighten me.
Apart from the extreme humidity, Atlanta has also introduced me to severe thunderstorms. Now, the meteorologists in Utah were known to issue severe thunderstorm warnings from time to time, but they apparently have quite a different conception of the word “severe” than Atlantans do. The best way I can describe the Georgian thunderstorms I’ve experienced thus far is to say this: imagine the sound of empty freight train cars dropping from the sky. Going for accuracy over poetry, I do believe this captures the essence of it. The disappointing thing is that, when the sky goes gray and the rain begins to fall, my brain is accustomed to expect a crisp, cool breeze when I walk outside. But it remains muggy, and then I feel gypped. Looking at it from behind your living room window, Atlanta does a pretty good job of emulating Seattle. Stick your head outside and it’s a brutal reminder that you’re far from the Pacific Northwest.
Luckily, our apartment has central air. The outside world has little bearing on how comfortable we feel inside our home. Prior to the move, I mentioned this as a key incentive to embarking on this adventure. Now that I’m here, I’m all the more convinced that central air alone has made the move worthwhile.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Greetings from Atlanta!
At the risk of repeating myself, “Greetings from
2. Georgians are quite friendly. At least when it comes to those persons working in the customer service industry. I’ve yet to chat it up with strangers, but when I’ve been dealing with people on a professional level (whether bankers or fast-food employees), I’ve found them to be extremely pleasant.
3. Georgians love their chicken and waffles. I’ve never seen so many varieties of fast-food fried chicken. Church’s Chicken, Popeye’s Chicken, Mrs. Winner’s Chicken, as well as the more nationally recognized KFC (which, believe it or not, made its debut in my hometown of
4.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
One Week and Counting
One week from today, Melanie, Edison, and I will be moving to Atlanta. It’s that close. It’s that unbelievable. We’re not nearly as packed as we should be. The four weeks or so since Eddie made his post-utero debut have kept us plenty busy. On top of providing for our newborn, we’ve been: switching out our health insurance, reserving hotel rooms, filling out forms for students loans and graduate assistantships, faxing and mailing those forms, hunting down proof of my immunizations, canceling our local phone service and other utilities, figuring out how to forward our mail when we’re not sure of our forwarding address quite yet, etc. etc. It’s surprising the work this move entails that doesn’t involve packing boxes.
Luckily, we’ve had a lot of support from family and friends. People have been kind enough to bring us dinner—lasagna, hamburgers, lasagna, meatballs and rice, lasagna, pizza, and lasagna, for example. With the support of loved ones and the passing of time, I’ve actually started to feel like I can handle this whole fatherhood thing, let alone the move. The first couple of days of Edison’s life, before we had even left the hospital, I was filled with monumental anxiety. Now life almost feels normal again—a vastly new and improved kind of normal, but normal. And though everything will change again next Tuesday, I’m actually kind of excited. It’ll be nice to de-junk, which moving always encourages one to do, and I’ll be thrilled to live in a new apartment (for various reasons attested to in posts past). Despite the fear of Southern humidity, the prospect of a Georgia apartment equipped with central air is much more titillating than my Salt Lake City apartment, which features a semi-functional air conditioner that cools—at best—most of one room.
I hope this won’t be my final post before embarking on this journey. Once we lave Salt Lake City, I’m not sure how quickly I’ll have Internet access or the time to write. But surely I’ll do my best to chronicle the adventure. For now, I hope everyone is enjoying August. More importantly, I hope you’ll enjoy these new photos of my son.
Eddie’s favorite sleeping position involves crossing one leg over the other. If he’s asleep (and not in our arms), there’s good odds you’ll find him striking a pose similar to this one.
Edison at his monkey-ist.
Purely of his own accord, our sleeping baby took on a pose that demanded we grab the camera. Only his drying umbilical cord—admittedly somewhat ghastly—would prevent an observer from being all smiles.
Luckily, we’ve had a lot of support from family and friends. People have been kind enough to bring us dinner—lasagna, hamburgers, lasagna, meatballs and rice, lasagna, pizza, and lasagna, for example. With the support of loved ones and the passing of time, I’ve actually started to feel like I can handle this whole fatherhood thing, let alone the move. The first couple of days of Edison’s life, before we had even left the hospital, I was filled with monumental anxiety. Now life almost feels normal again—a vastly new and improved kind of normal, but normal. And though everything will change again next Tuesday, I’m actually kind of excited. It’ll be nice to de-junk, which moving always encourages one to do, and I’ll be thrilled to live in a new apartment (for various reasons attested to in posts past). Despite the fear of Southern humidity, the prospect of a Georgia apartment equipped with central air is much more titillating than my Salt Lake City apartment, which features a semi-functional air conditioner that cools—at best—most of one room.
I hope this won’t be my final post before embarking on this journey. Once we lave Salt Lake City, I’m not sure how quickly I’ll have Internet access or the time to write. But surely I’ll do my best to chronicle the adventure. For now, I hope everyone is enjoying August. More importantly, I hope you’ll enjoy these new photos of my son.
Eddie’s favorite sleeping position involves crossing one leg over the other. If he’s asleep (and not in our arms), there’s good odds you’ll find him striking a pose similar to this one.
Edison at his monkey-ist.
Purely of his own accord, our sleeping baby took on a pose that demanded we grab the camera. Only his drying umbilical cord—admittedly somewhat ghastly—would prevent an observer from being all smiles.
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