Category Archives: Drinks

Southern Fried Road Trips: Days 7-11

Friday certainly started dramatically. With Hermine having come ashore as a category 1 hurricane causing a lot of damage and the projected path taking it almost directly over the top of Savannah, the city was in a little bit of freakout mode. Everything shut down – schools were closed, businesses shuttered, people stayed home from work. The town took it very seriously.

So it was a little bit of the boy who cried wolf when Hermine, downgraded to a strong tropical storm by this point, pretty much fell apart just before it got to Savannah. There was a lot of wind – it blew down a few trees, a lot of branches, and a couple of things that weren’t secured properly like some metal crowd barrier fences that got blown into the street. There was a decent amount of rain but it only caused some localized street flooding. There were a few power outages around town, but that was really it.

Still when there’s a hurricane a-coming (Golden Girls reference), it is best not to spit into the proverbial wind so I pretty much stayed put in my room for the bulk of the day. Around lunch time the wind was blowing rather gustily but there wasn’t much rain so I decided to venture forth and find something more interesting than the Hilton Garden Inn’s lunch buffet. Unfortunately, as mentioned, everything was closed. Even the McDonald’s was closed, so you know they weren’t kidding around. So I slogged back to the hotel and did the buffet. It was exactly what you would expect of a Hilton Garden Inn buffet.


By late afternoon, the rain had stopped, the wind had died down, and the sun was even peeking through the clouds so I moved some stuff around and went to 700 Drayton for dinner. Located in a gorgeous mansion built in 1881, the restaurant and neighboring hotel are right up at the top of the pecking order for “fancy” in Savannah. Due to the storm, I had one of the many rooms in the house all to myself with a stunning chandelier and a fireplace…



Dinner was a wild boar shank braised in IPA and served with cheddar grits and asparagus.


I was a little nervous ordering it seeing as how I’ve had a couple of bad experiences with boar before. As much as we’d like to think is just a pig that hasn’t been housebroken it is actually pretty different in terms of the taste but a lot of it depends on preparation. Chef knew what he was doing here. It was practically falling off the bone, deliciously tender, and a little fatty on the edges but in a good way. The cheddar grits were a little on the bland side but it was probably just the boar overwhelming things. I’d give it a solid A- overall.

A lovely surprise came at the end of the meal when the check was presented – or rather a note that told me that The Fat Pack had taken care of my meal. Steve, Diana, Nettie, Steve, Chuck, Wes, Audrey, Robin, and Leigh Anne, thank you very much. It meant a lot to me that you would do that, although I’m still not sure when I told you where I was going to be eating so I’m pretty sure there was some witchcraft involved in that.

Afterward, I ventured over to get that picture of Scary Mary that I mentioned. This is a statue of the Virgin Mary that sits in a window on an enclosed bridge that runs between a church and a school and has gained a bit of a reputation as being either haunted, possessed, or just downright creepy. I’m voting for all three after I looked at the pictures I took. Now, before I go any further I want you to get context of where Scary Mary is at…


She’s facing an alley behind the church so it’s not look out onto the street or a courtyard or anything.

Now… look at these two pictures, which I did nothing to other than resize them… the first where the statue looks fine, almost beatific…


And this one, where I’m pretty sure she has developed a bit of an evil grin…


Now, I’m sure that this is just because it had rained and the window was a little foggy and I moved positions slightly when I took the pictures and its some sort of reflection in the glass, but come on! That’s creepy, right?

That night I went back to the bar where I was amused by this sign:


And hung out with drag queens as midnight rolled in and I turned 50 years old.


Saturday morning, on my actual birthday, I went back to 700 Drayton to take park in their cooking class. Led by New Jersey native Peter Russo, the classes run regularly all week out of a custom built kitchen and feature a bunch of different programs. The one I did was a Farmer’s Market, where Chef took us across the street where every Saturday you’ll find a bunch of locally grown produce, cheeses, meat, and more in the gorgeous Forsyth Park…




He had already gotten the meat so we picked up kale, grits, red onions, carrots, cheddar and herb goat cheese and had a honey tasting just because it was there. He gave us some tips on how to spot the best produce (which boiled down to “when in doubt, ask – they WANT you to buy something”), we cooed over the chickens eating watermelon…


And then we took our purchases back to the kitchen and got to work…



We prepared… grilled chicken in a jerk spice marinade; grilled beef fillets; grilled shrimp in Maryland Old Bay seasoning; kale cooked in butter, garlic, onions, and bacon fat (which Chef Russo kept calling “love” – “this is love” he’d say as he spooned it into a pot) and then topped with bacon; roasted carrots and onions in a balsamic reduction; and cheddar and goat cheese grits. As you can tell, from the photo above, the man is not shy about the fat content in his food. When preparing the grits he brought out a gallon of whole milk and asked, “How much of this should we put in here?” Someone said, “A cup.” Another said, “Two cups.” He said, “That’s right, all of it” and poured it into the pot. The same was done with cheese, butter, and bacon fat. He may die young of a massive coronary, but he will be revered as a god.

After we ate, I just walked around a bunch, enjoying the city. Forsyth Park, the squares, the moss-covered tree-lined streets, the cute shops.

I went to one called Chocolat, purveyor of all things sweet by Adam Turoni. This guy is a bit of a prodigy – he started cooking when he was 8, got his first kitchen job at 14, became the lead pastry chef in a restaurant at 17, and had published several books and opened his own chocolate making company by 20. I on the other hand just turned 50 and I watch a lot of TV. Whatever. His stuff is outrageously expensive, but so, so good. I got some milk chocolate caramels with a dark chocolate drizzle and sea salt, Bailey’s Irish Creme truffles, a honey infused chocolate bar with hand-painted edible gold leaf, and a jar of honey caramel to bring home. Here are a few of the pieces…


One of my sightseeing stops was at The Waving Girl statue along the river. Florence Martus was her name and, according to legend, she fell in love with a sailor who went to sea and to ensure his safe return she greeted each ship as it came into the Savannah River from the Atlantic with a handkerchief by day and a lantern by night. They say she didn’t miss a ship once in more than 40 years between 1887 and 1931 as she waited for her love to come back to her… but he never did.


Then it was time for Bacon Fest 2016! Knocked back a day by Hermine, the festival features arts and crafts vendors, music, booze, games, and (of course) food vendors offering a bunch of different bacony goodness items…


I was a little disappointed because the number of food vendors was smaller than it has been in the past and the offerings not quite as original. I was told by one person that several restaurants had to drop out because they were originally scheduled for Friday and Saturday and couldn’t commit to Saturday and Sunday so they just didn’t come. Hermine, you bitch!

But I still got some interesting bacon inventions including Chicken Fried Bacon with a ranch and Buffalo sauce drizzle…


A classic bacon wrapped hot dog with ketchup and onions:


Bacon pups… which I was told were like hush puppies with bacon, cheddar, and jalapeno but which tasted like corn bread and nothing else. The woman who told me what they were was very nice and I can’t imagine why she’d lie to me, but I suspect she was…


And for the sweeter side, cherry glazed bacon and chocolate bacon…


I know it’s sacrilege, but I’m not a fan of the chocolate bacon. But I will keep trying it until I find one I like.

I got back to my room and was delighted to find a package there from Maureen, who very thoughtfully sent me birthday cake… or rather, six of them in sealed Mason jars from Wicked Cakes of Savannah. There is cookie dough, wedding cake, red velvet, turtle, lemon and blueberry, and carrot. I devoured the cookie dough and brought the rest home with me so it’ll be birthday cakes for the next week. Thank you Maureen!!


Since the Lady Chablis had cancelled her show, I decided to go instead to the Savannah Theater to catch one of their long-running singing and dancing revues, “Savannah Live!” The facility is the oldest continually operating theater in the United States, first opened in 1818. It has been substantially redone after fires and hurricanes damaged it, most recently in the 1940s when it got its current “streamline” art deco look…



The show featured a cast of six singer/dancers, a featured singer, and a five piece band who did covers of everything from Queen to “Phantom of the Opera” to Gladys Knight and the Pips (“Midnight Train to Georgia,” naturally) to *NSYNC and beyond with a little bit of comedy and heartfelt salutes to our troops along the way. Having reviewed every revue that has ever played Vegas, I have seen this type of show a bazillion times and what I found most interesting was not the talent or quality – they are all fine, good, some even quite good – but rather the spirit. The people in these types of shows in Vegas are still holding onto the idea that they are going to be famous some day. These folks in “Savannah Live!” seem to just want to entertain the folks that come to their town. It may not have been standing ovation worthy (although they got one, which we need to get under control and only give out to productions that actually deserve them) but it was light-hearted and earnestly delivered fun so I give it a thumbs up.

After the show, I took another walk through the some of the less popular squares and streets away from the bar district that draws the drunk, loud tourists who do stupid things like pedal just to get a drink:


Why would you do this? You can go sit on a bar stool and someone will bring you a drink and you don’t need to do anything other than lift it to your mouth. I don’t get it. I honestly don’t.

Anyway, I don’t have the kind of camera that will take really good night pictures, but you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that it is absolutely beautiful, serene, somehow magical, and with just the right touch of the eerie to give it that something extra special.




I of course went back to Troup Square to visit my beloved Armillary, featured heavily in my book Ineritas and also swung by the Colonial Park cemetery, which is featured heavily in book two (which I am currently writing).





Then of course it was back to the bar for some more drinking, dancing, and drag shows, where I was thrilled beyond measure to catch Layla, a saucy queen who loves to do country music, doing the classic “Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia” speech from “Designing Women,” which I used to know by heart…

“And that, Marjorie, just so you will know and so your children will someday know…” If you’ve never seen the whole thing, watch it here:

All in all, it was a very, very fine birthday.

Sunday I was a bit bummed – I always am when I have to leave Savannah – but I cheered myself up with a visit on the way back to Atlanta with a stop at the Woodbury Shop in Senoia, the official home of “The Walking Dead.” I bought a bunch of stuff and visited their museum, which has props from the show and walls that have been signed by all of the cast. Check out the one from Melissa McBride below…






Accommodations provided by The Grand Hyatt in Buckhead, which had a nice view of the Atlanta skyline in the distance:


And then finally my last southern meal, at a restaurant called Southern Art. Chicken and dumplings soup, buttermilk fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and macaroni and cheese. I left very happy and very, very full.

Finally IMG_3289


I flew home today and there is really only one more story to tell and it is of the crazy woman on my plane. I had a window seat, which I prefer (more room, less getting bumped by people coming down the aisle), and as I approached my row, crazy woman was standing in it, in front of the aisle seat. She was in her late 50s, I’d guess, with lots of makeup, lots of jewelry, LOTS of perfume, and either a lot of vodka or a lot of mental instability.

She said, with a slightly wild-eyed look, “Are you in the window seat here?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Do you want to switch to the aisle seat?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I prefer the window.”

“But I need the window,” she said.

“Uh… what?” I asked, now holding up people behind me because she wouldn’t let me into my seat.

“I need the window!” she said, freaking out a bit.

“I’m sorry,” I said and kind of pushed past her to get to my seat.

She then plopped down in the aisle seat and stared at me with a hateful gaze, silently for about 30 seconds and then said, “Are you going to keep the shades shut?”

“The window shades?” I asked, unsure if I had hear her correctly. After she nodded vigorously and crazily, I continued, “I’m not sure. I may watch a movie and I have some work to do so I’ll probably keep them shut most of the time.”

“I am terribly claustrophobic,” she proclaimed loudly, “And the window shades must remain open.”

Okay, so, up until then I’d been confused but was handling it with what I thought was a firm, but polite, standing of my ground. But at that point I was done. I was tired, I was cranky, I was hungry, I was done.

“Perhaps,” I said, channeling my best Julia Sugarbaker, “You should have of that before you bought an aisle seat.”

“There were no window seats available when I booked my ticket!” she practically screamed.

“Funny,” I said, still full Julia, “There were when I bought mine.”

She harrumphed… almost literally harrumphed and got up, pushing past the people who were still boarding so she could get to the flight attendant. She proceeded to complain that I was unwilling to switch seats with her. The flight attendant said, “If he doesn’t want to move, there’s nothing we can do,” which was good because at that point you couldn’t have gotten me out of that seat with a crowbar.

The woman in the row ahead of us, meekly raised her hand and said, “My son will switch – he has a window seat.” The crazy woman harrumphed back to my row, gave me a harrumph that seemed to indicate she thought she had some sort victory over me even though my skinny ass was still sitting exactly where it had been all along, and then harrumphed to take the kid’s seat. She raised the shades with a slam, and then stared back repeatedly until the plane took off. During the flight she was up no fewer than 20 times, asking the flight attendant for water, for juice, for an extra blanket, for nuts, for the time, I stopped paying attention, but it is worth noting that the woman’s new seat… was in ROW 1!!! Literally she could have said, in a normal speaking voice, “Excuse me, Flight Attendant?” and the flight attendant would have heard her but she decided it was necessary to get up out of her seat every single time. I was so tempted to sneak over there and shut the shades while she was up.

Perhaps I just need to watch Julia Sugarbaker some more.

Thanks for following along. I hope you had some fun reading because I certainly had a lot of fun doing. It was good 50th birthday trip. Looking forward to 51!

Southern Fried Road Trips: Days 5-6

One one eye obsessively on The Weather Channel app, I checked out of the hotel on Wednesday morning with a revised plan for the day. Originally I was going to do several offbeat museums in and around Atlanta and Georgia including the CDC Museum, the Waffle House Museum, and the Crime and Punishment Museum (complete with electric chair!). But not knowing what the storm was going to do made me want to just get to Savannah, get checked into the hotel, and hunker down while making a new plan from there.

How does one “hunker” exactly? Whatever.

Since it was kind of on the way, I did go ahead and make a brief stop at the CDC Museum. Well… I tried. It turns out that you are not allowed to drive onto the CDC campus with an open bottle of vodka in the trunk of your car. Or any other kind of liquor for that matter. They didn’t really explain why but I envisioned all sorts of Hollywood level disasters (“How did the level 4 virus get out!?” “Someone brought a bottle of Grey Goose into the parking garage!” “Damn it, man!!”)

So I had to go park in a big shopping complex across the street (CVS on one corner, CDC on the other) and walk in, where they promptly yelled at me that I wasn’t coming in the right way. Something about a visitors’ sidewalk. I don’t know. Anyway, I finally made it inside, had to have a full cavity search performed on me (or perhaps I was just annoyed by that point and it seemed that intrusive), and then was directed to the museum.

It’s basically all about diseases – ebola, typhoid, legionnaire’s, AIDS, you name it – and other calamities that can affect your health like terrorist attacks, nuclear meltdowns, toxic chemical accidents, and so on. Yeah, real cheery subjects. They had a bunch of funky looking equipment that was explained in a way that I think they think made sense but didn’t, really. This thing for instance…


It’s an electro-positronic-dynamic-thingamajig. It does something important I’m sure.

I did enjoy the cheeky artifacts of disease prevention campaigns of yore:


Feeling the need for a Silkwood shower, I high-tailed it out of there and got on the road to Savannah and got into town around 2:30. I’m staying at the Hilton Garden Inn, which has absolutely none of the charm that the hotels that I have been in before did, but it’s clean, it’s comfortable, and I have a balcony that I won’t be able to use much because of all the rain and wind.

I took a walk and then lazed around while the first outer bands of Hermine made their way through Savannah. Rain and wind. Shrug.

For dinner I went to Alligator Soul, a funky little upscale restaurant located in the basement of a building in the historic district. It’s new Southern, meaning updated twists on classic fare. They started me with an amuse bouche of beef tenderloin in a balsamic reduction with garlic and chives and I was indeed amoosed. Then came the warm multi-grain and garlic focaccia bread with lemon herb butter and I was even more amoosed. The main course… a filet wrapped in brown sugar cured bacon and done in a veal demi-glaze, served on a bed of roasted garlic mashed potatoes. I can’t remember the last time I had a steak this good… perfectly prepared, insanely flavorful, slightly decadent with the bacon. I loved it – favorite meal of the trip so far.


I got an after dinner drink of a white chocolate martini but couldn’t finish it so the waitress said, “You want that in a To-Go cup?” And I said, “I do love this town.”

After dinner I watched it rain a bit more and then headed next door to the local gay bar, which was very quiet until about 40 very drunk, very straight, but very fun Australians on some sort of holiday tour came in. It got loud after that. I didn’t help matters much by buying them all Jello shots. Welcome to America!

Thursday I was going to do the road trip down into Florida but the weather was just too dicey so I stuck around Savannah and tried to get some of the things that I was going to do on Friday accomplished a day early. I went out to Tybee Island to visit the museum that was closed off when I was in town last year but made a stop at the lighthouse across the street first just to see if I could get some good pictures of the storm coming in.


I’m not sure what made me think that my reaction to going to the top of the thing and out onto the tiny little catwalk that surrounds it at the top would be any different than the last time but I assure you it wasn’t. I took one step out there and immediately freaked the fuck out, almost fell to my knees, and practically had to crawl back inside. This photo was taking through a window from the interior of the lighthouse.


The museum is located in an old battery garland along the beach that dates back to the 1800s. Although not the most contemporary of museums in terms of presentation, it had a fascinating history of both the military and civilian lives of the island through the years. The area peaked in the late 1800s and early 1900s when Tybee was a major resort destination, with grand hotels, bathhouses, beachside pavilions, and amusement rides. As with most things built of wood in that era, a big chunk of it burned down and although some of it was rebuilt it never really regained its appeal, especially with competition from nearby Florida beach communities reaching their zenith.

The displays are down in the bowels of the battery and you can go up onto the top to look around…



One of the things that fascinated me was the Hotel Tybee, the grandest of resorts originally built in 1889. It was a beautiful Victorian structure that burned down in 1909 and was replaced by an even more grand cement one in 1911. The bulk of the hotel is long gone, torn down in 1961, but I went to where it was anyway and the hotel that sits there now – a boring modern thing – had some books about the island and the hotel so I can binge a little on history. I think I’m going to put it into one of my Interitas novels.

Right next door is a foodie famous place called The Breakfast Club, which is only open from 7am until 1pm and, unsurprisingly, serves (mainly) breakfast. This place is such a destination that the last two times I have tried to visit the lines were wrapped around the block to get in. Since I was there late on the day before a tropical storm was set to roll through, I was able to get in quickly and have a seat at the counter for a late breakfast/early lunch. I got their Philly cheese steak omelette – tender chunks of top sirloin with onions, mushrooms, and cream cheese. It was an interesting mixture that took me a moment to get used to but I got there quickly and enjoyed the hell out of it.


Afterward I tried to swing by to get a picture of Scary Mary, a statue of the Virgin Mary that sits in a window at a local church but it’s also a school and it was in session so I didn’t feel comfortable going onto the grounds to do it. She will be in one of my Interitas stories as well, so I will get her before I leave at some point.

Another line of storms moved through and then it cleared out so I went over to River Walk to sit, read, and enjoy a cocktail (or 3). Peach vodka, lemon juice, simple syrup, and a few other things I have forgotten. Yum.



For dinner I visited another new Southern restaurant, A.Lure. They had amazing biscuits before the meal with “pina colada” jam and I had their meatloaf for dinner – ground filet mignon, foie gras, and caramelized onions with fingerling potatoes and chunks of blue cheese. I forgot to take a picture of it before it was half destroyed…


The only reason I am not raving about it is because the steak the night before was still lingering in my memory, but it was very, very good.

As the first serious parts of the storm rolled in I went back to the bar and had a few drinks while watching a drag show. One of the ladies wanted to know why they only gave boring white people names to hurricanes. If she was in charge, she’d go ghetto fabulous and do things like Laquisha and Shanaynay. I am now obsessed with this idea.

Hermine really started hitting overnight, with a lot of rain and a lot of wind and a few thunderclaps that were loud enough to shake me out of bed, but for the most part it has just been a bad storm. It is looking like the bulk of the bad stuff is skirting to the west of Savannah so right now as I type this, when the eye is passing nearby, it’s just heavy rain and gusty winds and not much else – nothing like the damage and flooding that she wreaked in Florida.

Once the storm passes later this afternoon, I’m going to try to get my Savannah visit back on track. They did cancel Baconfest for tonight, but are still on for tomorrow and now Sunday as well. The Lady Chablis show was cancelled for tomorrow night so that’s a bit disappointing but I’m going to go see a local revue instead.

Off to come up with good drag queen names for hurricanes…

50th Birthday Southern Fried Road Trips: Days 1-3

Georgia is a state of contradictions. On the one hand you have confederate flags flying from the backs of pickup trucks with NRA and Trump bumper stickers and on the other hand you have deep fried BBQ pork. You can see why I’m conflicted.

I got here Friday afternoon after a flight that was uneventful except for the rather indirect route we took to get here. Everything was fine until Oklahoma and then some bad weather forced us off the flight plan. We went north, then south, then back west again, then flew in a circle, upside down, and in a figure eight pattern. Okay, I’m exaggerating but not by much. The path on the in-flight monitor looked like a a child had scribbled on the wall in crayon.

We left more or less on time but were almost an hour late by the time we got to Atlanta. A quick rental (Ford Fusion Hybrid Smugmobile) and little traffic got me to the Hyatt where they promptly upgraded me to a top floor corner room with a gorgeous view of Midtown.


I changed quickly and then I practically sprinted up the street to South City Kitchen, my first restaurant of the trip tradition.

I was tempted by their insanely delicious fried chicken but tackled, ultimately, by the smoked pork chop. I’ve had it before but they are preparing it differently now, and while it is hard to improve on perfection they have managed to do it. It’s smoked and grilled with a rich sorghum glaze and sits on a bed of charred Vidalia sweet onions. Insane! I got a side of their smashed bliss potatoes and I was, appropriately, blissed out.


Every day on my vacation I’m going to do themed road trips, just because I’m not a sit by the pool kind of guy and it helps my OCD to have something to obsessively plan.

Saturday was my Atlanta Icons trip and I did about 75 miles in and around the city and its burbs.

I started with the inaugural Great Southern Food Truck Rally, a festival held on a college campus in Kennesaw, one of the northwest Atlanta bedroom communities that is mostly tract homes and strip malls but nicer than that. The event featured about two dozen local food trucks offering everything from Maine Lobster to barbeque to Greek to Polynesian and beyond. I needed more of my down south flavor so I got samples from three different trucks.


The first was Nana G’s Chik-n-Waffles, where they were offering a small portion of their namesake dish. The waffle, maple syrup, and powdered sugar was perfect and the chicken was a little spicier than I was expecting but still very good. Of the three things I tried, this absolutely won hands down.


Next was a BBQ truck that I have forgotten the name of, although it was (Insert Person’s Name) G’s BBQ, to which I had to ask “Any relation to Nana across the way?” They didn’t get it.

From them I got a pulled pork sandwich sans sandwich (yes, just a pile of meat) and macaroni and cheese. Both very good but not award winning.


The last was another BBQ place that I didn’t bother remembering but it wasn’t very good – smoked chicken that was drowning in a boring tomato based sauce.


Next on the Atlanta list was the Atlanta History Center, a fantastic campus of museums, restored historic homes, a research center, gardens, and more. The main building has several galleries with permanent and rotating exhibits, the main one being Gatheround: Stories of Atlanta. It traces the city’s history from its roots (Attention The Walking Dead fans: before it became Atlanta it was called Terminus) through the civil war and into modern times. It’s one of those great hands-on, interactive exhibits that allows you to do more than just stand and look at things behind glass.




Other exhibits include a balanced and really interesting examination of the Civil War, which focused more on the battles than the political and sociological reasons for it, a folk art display, a look at Native American influence on the region, a fun room called Atlanta in 50 objects (much of which was suggested by patrons), and something about golf that I paid absolutely no attention to.



Outside are beautiful gardesn that you get to stroll through to the Smith Family Farm. The house and several outbuildings, complete with sheep and chickens, is a Civil War era homestead that was moved here and restored with care. The furnishings, the tools, and even the costumed actors are faithful to time period and managed to not break character when some asshole (me) asked them “Did they really have air conditioning in 1864?” To which the young woman hand stitching a blanket replied, “We are truly blessed, kind sir.”




Next was Swan House, the 1928 era mansion that built on these grounds for the Edward Inman family, heirs to a cotton brokerage fortune. It was donated to the city after Edward’s wife Emily passed away in 1966 and from it they created the Atlanta History Center. The house is stunning inside and out, with a stately oval drive leading to a columned portico and a terraced backyard with a watefall fountain. Almost all of the rooms are open and the restoration and upkeep here is spotless. You can tell they really care about this place.





I was so impressed that I made it #46 on my $50 for 50 by 50 list.

Next, I headed into Downtown Atlanta for the VIP tour of the CNN Center. This was mostly an excuse for me to stalk Anderson Cooper although I was disappointed to learn that he does all of his stuff from New York. “He doesn’t even come here for meetings? The company picnic? Nothing?!” After that it just wasn’t fun anymore.

Actually it was very interesting, with a look behind the scenes at how they keep their multiple channels going around the globe 24 hours a day. The VIP tour was a smaller group and got to go onto the HLN set, into a working control room, and traipse through the main news center where people were working. Well… “working” may have been more like it. One woman was sitting at her computer buying shoes. Slow news day, I guess.


Dinner was uninspiring. There were a couple of restaurants I had picked as possible contenders but wound up going across the street to place called Henry’s just because I was feeling lazy. It’s a comfort food type of restaurant and the meatloaf and mashed potatoes were fine but not fantastic so let’s take a mulligan on that.

Huh… I guess I was paying attention to the golf exhibit.


Sunday was my Outsider Art Road Trip, which began at Constitution Lakes Park on the southeast side of town, home to the Doll’s Head Trail. The history of this place dates back to the late 1800s when the South River Brick Company was formed on 51 acres with a railroad right of way cutting more or less through the center of it. The excavation pits became Constitution Lakes years after the brick works had gone out of business when the area was flooded by the nearby South River. It became a county park in 2003 and this is where it gets strange.

A local contractor, Joel Slaton, had fallen in love with the park and hiked its grounds often. The trails cutting through the woods were littered with trash, some left by people, some by the floods, and some by history – bricks and clay tiles practically carpet the forest in places. Some of it was even dumped by the trains who would stop in this area to get rid of whatever they didn’t want.

In 2011, Slaton was out in the woods and came across a doll’s head, which he put into the nook of a tree just because. When he came back the next time the doll head was gone so he found another one and did the same thing. That, too, disappeared. Annoyed, he started using whatever trash he could find to create art installations along the trail. In the years since, the place has become hallowed ground for the offbeat and artistic. It’s fascinating, creepy, funny, and inspiring in a lot of ways. I only wish I could be this creative.




Anyone can contribute to the installation – the only rule is that you have to use stuff found in the park. Any new items will be removed.

Important notes should you ever want to visit yourself… First, there is only one way to get there and despite what it may say online there are no signs until you are deep in the woods. Follow the paved path out of the parking lot and just keep going. Second, and this is important, take a Sharpie. Just trust me. Second, wear bug spray. While the trail may start as the aforementioned paved path through the scenic Georgia woods it becomes, at its worst, a mere suggestion of a way to get through the dense underbrush.

At the bottom of this post are tons of photos.

I was going to continue my outside art day with a restaurant called Folk Art but when I got there approximately nine thousand other people had gotten there before me and all of them were waiting to get in. I passed and went to the next stop, Junkman’s Daughter, a sort of thrift-shop meets Spencer Gifts oddity emporium. It was… eclectic. I got National Embarass Mints with Donald Trumps face on the tin.



My plan B lunch spot was The Diesel Filling Station, a former gas station turned into a bar and restaurant. They are famous for their drinks including a Bloody Mary made with BAKON vodka and Zing-Zang and their burgers. I wasn’t ready to start drinking yet so I just went for the Diesel Burger, a half-pound of meat with spicy as hell (in a good way) BBQ sauce, cheddar cheese, bacon, and an onion ring. Damn! I said that internally several times, partly because of the spicy as hell BBQ sauce but mostly because it was such a good burger. I am pleased that those 9,000 people redirected my route.


Then it was a 90 mile jaunt northwest of Atlanta to the little town of Summerville and a place known as Paradise Gardens.

This oddity was once owned by Howard Finster, a Baptist minister who, at the age of 59 in 1976, claims to have had a celestial vision – an image appeared on his thumb. It was God, said Finster, who told him to 5,000 pieces of sacred art. By the time he died in 2001 he had created more than 46,000 works including paintings that are hanging in Atlanta’s High Museum and graced the covers of albums by REM and The Talking Heads. He was called the “Andy Warhol of the South.”

He turned this suburban bit of land into a holy grotto of sorts, with sculptures, paintings, mosaics, and peculiar landscaping all over the grounds and outbuildings, the biggest of which is the 16-sided, 40-foot tall “World Folk Art Church.” On the one hand, it’s a fascinating look into the mind of an artist – one who is driven to create despite a lack of training or particular skill. On the other hand, it’s a Baptist minister doing fiery rants about Sin, the fallibilty of man, and the divine nature of God, only as art instead of from a pulpit. I don’t mind art done as devotion – the Ave Maria Grotto that Mary and I visited on one of our Plucky Survivors trips, was a serene, beautiful, and contemplative example. But this was in your face, confrontational, and too angry for me to really appreciate.





Or perhaps it was the massive thunderstorm that came out of nowhere pretty much the moment I stepped outside onto the grounds. Yes, I was concerned about lightning and not from the storm.


Back in Atlanta, I had to get my first REAL barbecue fix – the food trucks were fine but anything served out of a thing on wheels doesn’t really count. So I went to Daddy Z’s, a place that has gotten more “Best” and “#1″ accolades than just about anywhere else. I don’t know why I haven’t visited before – I’m always a little leery of a place that gets that kind of attention, thinking it will get spoiled by the inevitable crowds that follow. But Daddy Z’s is keeping it authentic, y’all, with a hickory and oak pit, slow cooking, with their own custom made sauce in mild or spicy.

I wanted everything so I ordered the sampler platter (I know, shut up). It came with two ribs, a quarter pound of pulled pork, a quarter pound of brisket, a side (macaroni and cheese in my case), Texas toast, and a half-dozen Que Wraps.

What’s a Que Wrap you may be asking? Well, see, you take pulled pork and you wrap it in dough and then you deep fry that son of a bitch. Now THAT’s what I’m talking about!! I’m in love. I may also be slipping into a food coma.



By the way, the pork and brisket are UNDER the ribs in the above picture.

All in all I did about 200 miles by car and probably about 2 miles by foot. Not bad.

Tomorrow is a Gambling Road trip as I go up to Harrah’s in Cherokee, North Carolina and then Tuesday is my Civil Rights Road Trip, where I going to go over to Selma and drive the route to Montgomery, stopping at the museums along the way.

As promised, more pics of the Doll’s Head Trail:








































Mardi Gras Day 5: Fat Tuesday

Fat Tuesday arrived and I skipped the big parades (I had enough beads, thank you very much) and headed over to the Bourbon Pub to watch the Bourbon Street Awards.  Hosted by bitchy drag queen Bianca Del Rio, the event puts a big stage on the street and judges give away thousands of dollars in prize money to vary categories like Best Costume, Best Drag,  Best Leather, Best Group, and Best in Show.

The streets were packed with costumed folks enjoying the festivities:


I had bought the VIP package at the bar, which includes access to a balcony overlooking the stage but by the time I got there at 11:15am it was already full.  The street below was wall-to-wall people so  I wandered back downstairs and took up a position next to the bar where I could sort of, kind of see out through the windows.

That’s when I ran into Mathieu, a guy that I used to work with at a bar in West Hollywood 20 years ago.  He fills in at the Bourbon Pub on Halloween, Southern Decadence, and Mardi Gras and he immediately started shoving cocktails in front of me.  Figuring it was noon somewhere I started my day of drinking.  This is me and Mathieu and below is a picture of drink #5 or 6, which was somewhere around 2 in the afternoon.



I don’t know why I took a picture of the drink.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Although I could hear the whole thing, I couldn’t really see the awards happening just outside the nearby doors.  Plus, my photography skills were compromised by the alcohol, but I got a couple worth sharing…





At some point I muttered “I need to get something to eat” and wandered off in search of food.  I’m not sure what time this was but it was later in the afternoon and I had been drinking for hours on an empty stomach because Mardi Gras.

The streets were still packed.





I wandered around for awhile before finally settling on the Clover Grill, a tiny diner that has been in business since 1939.  Since they claim to have the best breakfasts in the Quarter, and because I was in the mood for drunk food, I ordered an omelet with ham, cheese, and onions plus hash browns and sourdough toast.  It was perfect but I don’t know if I would think that if I hadn’t been drinking for hours beforehand.



From there I went to a couple of additional bars and then back to the Bourbon Pub where the free alcohol was still flowing (make friends with a bartender – just saying).

After that I went back to the casino and gambled and drank more until the wee hours of the morning.

And so ended by lusty tales of adventure with Mardi Gras.  The next day it was back to LA (surprisingly hangover free) and then back to work.

But I have beads… lots and lots of beads.


Mardi Gras Day 4: I’m Just Wild About Harry

So it’s freaking cold today or at least my definition of cold.  Something like 50 degrees with wind advisories because of the gusts up to 40 mph.  I know those of you sitting in the bone-chill bullshit that is the north and east are calling me a wimp, but I still say that those of us who were smart enough to move to sunny climes get to complain when it’s cold and those of you who stayed behind don’t.

The weather is important since I spent the vast majority of the day outside.  It started with a jaunt over to Cafe Beignet, a small shop on Royal Street in the Quarter, which isn’t the famous one that does beignets (that would be Cafe Du Monde) but is still quite popular as evidenced by the long, long line that stretched out the door.

I was there because it was the starting point for a walking tour I had booked (before I realized how cold it was going to be) but I was hungry so I stood in the ridiculously long line and eventually got a muffaletta sandwich and a glass of fresh lemonade.  The former usually includes some combination of ham, mortadella, salami, mozzarella, provolone, and olive spread on a bread that is close to the ciabatta family but not quite the same.  This one was mostly ham, which was fine with me, and quite tasty despite the fact that it was pre-made, wrapped in plastic, and served cold (I didn’t have time for a fresh, heated one).



I managed to get down about half of it before the tour started, run by Historic New Orleans Tours, a company headed by Rob Florence who was friends with Mary.

My tour guide was a lovely, young French-Canadian woman whose name I have forgotten already (Claudette?  Claudine?  Celine?  The cold wind blew it out of my head).  She had only been living in New Orleans for a little more than a year but she knew her stuff backwards and forward.

We started with a general New Orleans history lesson in the courtyard of the court building then walked up to a house near Rampart that had been the home and business place of a woman of “ill repute.”  It’s here that we learned all about Storyville, the red light district just outside of the French Quarter, where prostitution and other vices were embraced until the early 1900s.  From there it was on to a St. Louis 1, one of the most famous cemeteries in New Orleans.  Interesting to note that you are no longer allowed to visit the cemeteries on your own – you have to go with a registered tour company.

This being the day before Fat Tuesday there were roughly nine billion people in the cemetery so getting to specific tombs was challenging (we heard about reputed voodoo priestess Marie Laveau but couldn’t get anywhere near her tomb).  Still, got a few pictures…



Below is the Italian society group tomb.  According to our guide, the statue there was seen in the movie Easy Rider when Dennis Hopper climbed up on it and sat in its lap.  Since then, the Archdiocese has not allowed any filming in the cemetery.  Understandable.



Below is the future resting place for Nicholas Cage.



Needing warmth, I went back to the hotel and spent some time in the casino before heading for dinner.

I visited a cool restaurant called Legacy Kitchen, located in the Warehouse District just a few blocks from my hotel.  Nice space – vaguely industrial, fitting the neighborhood – and a menu of modern American food.  I started with the Cajun Queso; tortilla strips served with a bowl of spicy cheese and smoked tasso ham.  Yum…



And then moved on to the fried chicken and waffles.  Double yum!


That maple syrup was fantastic and it provided a perfect counter-balance to the Memphis hot chicken.  I was very happy with my choice.

The night wound up with the parade from the Orpheus Krewe, one established by Harry Connick Jr. in the 1990s.  I got a good view point right at the turn from Canal onto Tchoupitoulas and enjoyed the first few bands and floats, one carrying Harry Shearer.  Then about a block up from us, the parade stopped.  Then a fire truck came in.  And then two energy company trucks came in.  This is what it looked like from my vantage point for the better part of an hour…

nola_05_11Not terribly thrilling.  Apparently there was smoke coming out of one of the under-street vaults and they needed to make sure it wasn’t going to blow up while a Mardi Gras float was sitting on top of it.

Things finally got underway and I totally overdid it on the beads.  It’s like heroin – you just have to have more.


One of the strands in there was thrown by Harry Connick Jr.

I finished off the night with a few cocktails, not knowing that I should have given my liver a break (insert dramatic foreshadowing here).

More parade pics…
















Mardi Gras Day 3: Part 2 – BBQ & Boobs

I’m breaking the post about Day 3 into two parts because it would be too long otherwise and you might suffer from emotional whiplash.  Part 1 is a ruminative look back at a dear friendship while part 2 is about BBQ and boobs.  If you’re more interested in one or the other, feel free to skip around.

On my drive I encountered a Mardi Gras parade in Long Beach, Mississippi, which was apparently an excuse to bring out the confederate flags.  If you look closely at this picture, there are at least a half dozen of them visible and this was one hurriedly snapped photo along miles of spectators along the route.  Yikes.

nola_03_02After the somber visiting of the Friendship Oak, I was hungry (which Mary would have approved of heartily) and so I went in search of something interesting to eat that wasn’t a Waffle Hut.  Seriously, there is one of those things about every 3 miles.

But instead I saw a giant pig on top of a car advertising the restaurant Slap Ya Momma’s Barbeque.

I suddenly forgave Mississippi the confederate flags.



A pulled pork sandwich drenched in sauce on a delicious bun (kinda like ciabatta but not quite) and a side of mac and cheese with grated cheese added on top for extra cheesiness.  Happiness ensued.



I headed back to New Orleans, a drive that took a little more than an hour… and then it took me 90 minutes to get from the freeway to the hotel… and I didn’t actually make it to the hotel.

I thought I was timing it so I’d get there after the afternoon parades and before the evening Bacchus parade, but I totally forgot about the whole “let’s start whenever we damn well feel like it” timetable and there were street closures and what can only be described as complete gridlock.  I sat on one street without moving for a solid 30 minutes.  People were walking around, talking, taking photos of the traffic jam.

So I finally get to Poydras street, directly across from the hotel, and I can’t get to it.  I can see it… it’s right there!!!… but that side of the street is blocked off and there is nothing I can do but go back around the block again.  I finally gave up and begged the valet guy at the Harrah’s Casino to take my car.  The only reason he did is I think he feared I was going to hurt myself or someone with it if he didn’t.

Dinner was a complete failure.  We shall not discuss it.

I caught just a tiny bit of the Bacchus parade, complete with giant floats and laser lights.  Impressive – but I was late getting to a party thrown by Harrah’s at the Cornet, a restaurant/bar along Bourbon Street.  Invited guest were given a big bag of beads and, after signing a waiver saying you aren’t going to jump, ushered out onto the balcony overlooking the bacchanalian hordes.  I armed myself for battle…


Perfectly framing the Jesus/Hell sign was purely coincidental.

I wasn’t great at it at first and I suffered flashbacks to junior high when I was the fat kid picked last for every team sport.  Aim is not my strong suit and I think I may have poked out an eye or two.

But I got the hang of it – it’s more of a swing and drop kind of thing than an actual toss unless you have more athletic prowess than I do.

And despite the fact that I wasn’t asking, lots of women showed me their boobs.  This woman had just shown them to me before moving on to the people down the balcony from me to do it again…



I tried to get better pictures of people catching the beads I was tossing but it was everything I could do to not kill them or myself or drop the phone in the process so mostly I just got blurs but this one turned out okay…

nola_03_17The bearded guy just got my throw and the woman next to him was next.

More bar hopping took up the rest of the night.

Tomorrow it’s off for a Voodoo and Cemetery tour…. until then!





Mardi Gras Day 2: Ava Gardner Was a Wise Woman

We begin today with a quote from legendary screen siren Ava Gardner.  She was quite a character and enjoyed carousing almost as much as she enjoyed men.  I read this – spoken affectionately about her friend Esther Williams – while having dinner in New Orleans and it seemed apt…

“A party isn’t a party without a drunken bitch lying in a pool of tears.”

So true… Now on to the recap:

In general, I’m not great at sleeping when I’m not in my own bed and don’t have a fan to provide white noise for blocking out ambient sound, so you can imagine what it’s like here in the Central Business District of New Orleans, which I have decided is the loudest place ever.  Trains horns, ship horns, car horns, sirens… lots of sirens… I’m going to have to drink more to get myself to sleep.

I started my day with a stroll through the Quarter, snapping a couple of pictures in Jackson Square along the way.



From there I went to the Voodoo Museum, a small, rickety place with a couple of rooms overstuffed with various photos, shrines, and ephemera.  I have been fascinated with voodoo for a long time – I even wrote a TV show about it – but there wasn’t much here to lock onto.  It was mostly just a bunch of stuff that didn’t have any context or meaning.  The good news is that it felt authentic – whether it was or not is beside the point.  Sure, it’s a tourist joint but it didn’t feel like one.



Then it was off to lunch at Yo Mama’s a bar that I remembered as having amazing burgers.  I was not disappointed… loaded with bacon and served with a baked potato also loaded with bacon (and sour cream, chives, butter, and cheese).   I’m pretty sure this picture is in the dictionary next to the word cholesterol.  Or heart attack maybe.  Whatever… Mardi Gras is French for “no calories.”


In the afternoon it was another parade – the Krewe of Iris, this time. It started with this, which I have decided is the worst parade float ever…



Note the woolen cap and scarf and heavy coat on the person in front of me.  Yes, it is that cold.

Lots of pictures down below but here are the throws I got – some good ones including beads with purple babies and a really nice one with an Iris badge and more:


I had hoped to catch the Endymion parade, which I’m told is a really spectacular one, but again, the idea of starting on time seems to be something that people look at and then shrug at.  So by the time it was getting down to the area where I could’ve gone to see it, it was time for me to head off to dinner.

Oh dinner… Commander’s Palace, widely considered to be one of the best restaurants in the world.  I had a table overlooking the back yard garden….


They sent out an amuse bouche of a goat cheese and onion tart on a small piece of garlic ciabatta bread.  I was officially amused – seriously, the flavor packed into that little two bite teaser was insane.  This is how you know you’re at a place where the chef knows their way around a kitchen.

I got the chicken and andouille gumbo, which was spicy as a hell but amazing…


Then the filet, topped with mushrooms and onions on a bed of the creamiest whipped potatoes in the history of the world.  The steak was perfect – cooked expertly, juicy, and tender.


By the way, this is one of those “pictures don’t do it justice” kind of things.  It looks kinda gross but trust me it was fantastic.

Then I capped it off with the strawberry shortcake and all I can say is that despite the fact that I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to eat very much of it after that huge meal, I managed to devour at least 75% of it. This is what it looked like before I dug in…


I waddled back to the room and then finished my night off with more alcohol at a local bar, because I was hoping to run into that drunken bitch making it a party.  I wasn’t disappointed.   This is New Orleans after all.

Parade pics – note the Riding Elvi!








Mardi Gras Day 1: The Things People Do For Beads

I’m not sure what made me decide Mardi Gras was a good idea.  Perhaps it was the free hotel and free airplane ticket from Harrah’s.  Well, free is probably not entirely accurate since they give me stuff like this because of how much money I waste in their casinos.  But still, it was “free” and I’ve never been to Mardi Gras and I’m turning 50 this year and I’m apparently trying to prove something to myself and there would be free alcohol at various places and if you do that complicated little bit of math, it adds up to Laissez les bon temps roulez.

Harrah’s New Orleans is fine – probably on par with, if not a little nicer, than the Harrah’s in Las Vegas.  Rooms are generously proportioned, clean (although dusting doesn’t appear to be housekeeping’s strong suit), and about as bland as you can.    The only strong demerit I can give them is that the hallway on my floor smells like someone was murdered out there and the killer used 10 gallons of bleach to cover up the crime.  It was so astringent that it made my eyes water.  The other floors don’t smell like that (had to go find a vending machine) so not sure if the murder theory is correct or not but something happened that required some heavy duty cleaning.

I have a view of the Mighty Mississippi, although it’s hard to tell at night.


I got in about 7:30 and immediately downloaded WWL’s Parade Tracker app.  The local CBS station puts a car at the head of every single parade so you can see exactly where it is.  With dozens of them happening over the two weeks leading up to Fat Tuesday, and a generally casual relationship with the concept of starting on time, an app like this is a must.

I wandered out into the streets around the Central Business District, which was thick with revelers although not as many as expected.  There was plenty of room along the parade route to get up to the barricades.

With many blocks between the Hermes Krewe parade and me, I decided to find something to eat.  Choices were limited and I was hungry and desperate so I kinda failed by walking into the first thing that said “Po’Boys” – a loud joint called Serio’s.  I ordered a roast beef and they told me to pick it up at the end of the counter when they called my name.

“But you didn’t ask my name,” I said politely.

“Oh,” the cashier said handing me a receipt, “Well now you’re Brent ‘cuz that’s what I put on the ticket.”

Okay.  Brent it is.  Brent’s Roast Beef was not great, for the record.


Then the parade, with some colorful floats and lots of bead tosses.  I got a few but wasn’t as aggressive as I could have been.  It’s pretty cut throat out there.  People will cut a bitch for beads.   Pics of the parade at the end, but here are my throws…


After I had my fill of the noise and fury and the cold (it’s down to the low 40s at night and only 50s during the day), I made my way down the quiet, calm, respectable little road known as Bourbon Street.  Mind you this was about 9:00 on Friday night, so it hadn’t even really gotten started yet.


It’s nothing but loud, drunk people on the street screaming at the other loud drunk people on balconies overlooking the street who are yelling “show us your <insert body part of choice here>!”  And of course, people did.  I saw more bare breasts in 20 minutes on Bourbon Street than I have seen in 20 years of reviewing Las Vegas showgirl productions.

But I finally made it to the far end of Bourbon where I got VIP passes to a nightclub, the Bourbon Pub and Parade.  It came with free drinks so I had a few and got this picture from the balcony.


Saturday it’s going to be a little bit of sightseeing, some more parades, and some much better food including dinner at Commander’s Palace.

As promised… parade photos…






Southern Fried Road Trip Days 6-7: It’s My Birthday and I’ll Drink If I Want To

And I wanted to.  I went out last night for a few cocktails, which should surprise absolutely no one who knows me.  It’s pretty quiet here in Savannah this time of year so the bars were not terribly busy but I still managed to find some fun.  Vodka helped.

On my way back to the hotel, I snapped a bunch of great pictures of eerie Savannah at night.  Here’s a couple…




Speaking of eerie, the hallway in my (supposedly haunted) hotel.   Is it wrong that every time I walk down it I hear two little British girls saying “Come play with us Danny… forever… and ever… and ever…”


Anywho… I got up early this morning to go to the first of two photo shoots I have arranged to get author photos done for my book.  Unfortunately it was raining so we postponed it until tomorrow.  So I’ll be doing one in the morning and one in the afternoon.  At any moment now I’m going to start stressing about what to wear.

So it was back to bed with me, where I lazed until 10-ish (good for me!) and then finally hauled myself up to go attack the day.

First on the list was to complete my Savannah Historic Squares tour.  Yesterday I did 13 so that meant there were 9 left to go.   Saving most of the photos for my book marketing push, but here are some good ones of Whitefield, Lafayette, and Troup (where the heroine of my books lives):




I also wandered by the Mercer-Williams House, the place made (in)famous as the murder scene in “Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil.”


While I was doing the squares, I turned a corner and, providentially I will say, there was Mrs. Wilkes Dining Room.  This is a Savannah institution, serving family style meals of all sorts of different kinds of Southern down home cooking.  Usually there is a line down the block but this time there were only about 30 people waiting – the first rush had already been seated and was being served.  It only took about 15 minutes and I got in and took my seat at the head of a table that looked like this:


I’m sure I didn’t note it all but there was at least… beef stew, meat loaf, bbq pork, cabbage, macaroni and cheese, butter beans, black-eyed peas (not the Fergie kind), squash, dirty rice, mashed potatoes with cheese and onions, candied yams, pickled beets, red rice, collared greens, okra and tomatoes, potato salad, baked beans, macaroni salad, creamed corn, cole slaw, and corn bread.  And it is worth noting that this is BEFORE they brought out the fried chicken…

They also serve dessert but I wound up leaving before it came, already feeling like my body was going to rebel against all of this rich food.  Good thing, too, because when I got back to the hotel there was this from my friend (who knows me very well) Maureen:


Thank you Maureen!

Next on the agenda was Forsyth Park, a big beautiful public space located just north of the Historic District in what is known as the Victorian District for the architecture found on most of the buildings in the area.  This is the park where you’ll find the iconic fountain that you will often see in pictures of Savannah…


Next it was out to Wormsloe State Historic Site in the Skidaway area of Savannah.

Among the first colonists to the area in 1733 was Noble Jones, a physician, who leased land on the Isle of Hope about eight miles south of Savannah.  He built a house of tabby concrete, with fortifications along the Skidaway River to keep any attackers out.  Not much is left standing of it today but the walls that remain are the oldest known structure in Savannah.

There isn’t a lot so see – the grand main house that Noble’s descendants have occupied since the early 1800’s is not open to tourists – but you do get to enter along another iconic bit of Savannah landscape:


Can you imagine that being your driveway?

You can wander through portions of the estate, see the ruins of the original tabby house, and walk out onto an observation deck overlooking the marshy river…


After way more exercise than I ever intended to get (I was hiking through the WOODS y’all!), I came back to the hotel to relax and recharge and eventually headed out for more photos and then to dinner at neighborhood kitchen called the 5 Spot.  They have an eclectic menu but it was their bacon wrapped meatloaf, smothered in Carolina BBQ sauce that caught my attention.


Now that’s what I call eatin’.  It was fantastic and my only regret was that I couldn’t eat more of it – a common regret these days, but whatever.  What I am able to eat tastes good!

Back at the hotel for another recharge and then I’m probably going to go out and hoist another couple to finish off my birthday.

Thank you very much for all of the kind birthday wishes – I really appreciate it.  That and a beautiful day in Savannah is all I need!



TYOLD Day 109: Same Drink, Different View

My friend Fred and I occasionally go out and have a cocktail or two.  Or twelve.  Or until there is no more alcohol left in Los Angeles.

Or at least we used to.  We met working in a bar and drinking was a bit of a sport for us and sometimes a game.  There’s the $3 shot, in which you use the serial numbers of of dollar bills to determine which 3 totally random alcohols you will get in one shot glass.  There’s the ring toss game that involves… well, let’s just say it’s vaguely dirty and leave it at that.

When we went out we would drink as if it was the last time we ever would.  There were many all-nighters in which we would span the hours between 2am and 6am when the bars were closed by going to after hours clubs and going outside every 20 minutes or so to pound a beer or shots from the booze we had stashed in the trunk of my car.

But as we have gotten older we have become a bit set in our ways and usually wind up going to the same bars and drinking the same things and it’s usually a lot more tame than the crap we used to drink and we’re usually home long before last call.

So tonight we decided to go to a different bar – one we had never visited before.

We were going to go to a little bar up the street that used to be called The Silver Rail but was purchased, spiffed up, and renamed Studs Lounge.  Yeah, stay classy, North Hollywood.

So we went there but it had a big sign on it saying it was under new management and was now called Los Potrancos, which I now know means a young, male horse… or the kind that you would use to stud for breeding.

How do you say stay classy North Hollywood in Spanish?

We didn’t go in.

Instead we drove down the street to a place called The Other Side, which we’ve both been in before but when it had other names.  It hasn’t changed all that much, but at least it was different.  We had one drink and then went to the place we normally hang out in and we were home by 12:30 watching old episodes of The Golden Girls on DVD.


25 sit ups, 75 stomach crunches, 25 leg lifts, 1:20 plank.