filkferengi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
filkferengi) wrote2004-11-24 02:47 pm
filkferengi) wrote2004-11-24 02:47 pm
Update, Part the Second
Post-Fencon, I fell into a bit of a funk that lasted several days. Then I got all archaeological, excavating parts of my house that hadn't seen the light of day in several years. They had, naturally enough, all been full of books, all of which wound up on the new shelves. Which was a bit of a bummer in itself; I'd been expecting to take *years* to fill up those shelves; within just a few weeks, I'd put over 100 feet on them!
Still, I started to get a bit caught up, & even posted a bit. Then, as it drew closer to my birthday, ominous rumors stirred the wind. For Himself's birthday, back in September, my dad and a friend made a four-course Russian meal. It took seven hours, with my parents and the friend blowing smoke on us the whole time. My parents are wonderful, generous people, fun to know. Unfortunately, they're also heavy smokers, and therefore not too healthy to hang out with. For my birthday [& my dad's, which is 2 days before it], they were menacing us with a seven-course French meal.
Now, given that my idea of a gourmet meal is a visit to the local pizza buffet, this wasn't about me at all; it was about Chef Maximilian [my step-father] wanting to show off. I'm all for that [since I swing a bit that way too], but if a four-course meal took seven hours, how long would a seven-course meal take? With extra smokers puffing away heavily all the while?
There was a housefilk down in Cordele I would've loved to have gone to, but one doesn't blow off one's dad's 60th birthday party for a housefilk [not if one expects to survive thereafter]. My spouse told them we were going out of town, since it was the 17th anniversary of our first date [which we have celebrated ever since]. Nothing less than a romantic getaway would've been understood, so we just *had* to leave town. ;)
We went to Savannah Friday, getting there in three hours. There are advantages attached to living on the south side of town--that, and Himself claims to have driven 85 all the way. We spent the afternoon wandering around the old town [after finally finding it, and a parking space, an accomplishment in itself]. We took a riverboat cruise, which was a decided ripoff, since there wasn't much narration, and that not very interesting.
Although it was getting a bit nippy, we hung around downtown a couple of hours, getting dinner at one of those college bars where they put fried eggs on hamburgers [?], in hopes of doing the ghost tour. When we got there, they said it was sold out. We drove around the old parts of town, ogling the historic houses from inside the warm car, & stopping by Target en route to the hotel to pick up some sweats. [Well, of *course* it turned cold right when we got there; isn't that always the way?]
We wore the sweats the next day, when it began to warm up. Still they were useful in the shade or the wind, both of which we ran into in plenty at Fort Pulaski, where we spent several hours exploring every underground passage [dank] and rampart [windy]. The views were rather splendid, but then I'm very partial to water and marsh.
We went thence to the lighthouse on Tybee Island, where we got to dodge crowds of shrill small persons in the ticket line, and crowds of shrill medium-sized persons while exploring all the outbuildings and houses on the site. The line to go up the lighthouse was long, and the young ladies in front of us enjoyed prolonged conversations with their compatriots on the ground in line in front of us. It was 178 iron steps to the top, with a landing each 25. Let's just say, when that much heavy breathing ensues, and my spouse is involved, it's usually for another reason entirely. ;) Still, from the top, the view and the wind were extensive.
We returned to the old part of town early to a) find parking, always in short supply on the weekend [but it's not for nothing that I'm an opportunistic scavenger] and b) get our ghost tour tickets early. We had dinner at a lovely little Greek place right on the waterfront. After dinner, we listened to a street musician and then headed over to the ghost tour. There was a deal more "tour" to the proceedings than we had expected, especially after rambling extensively all day. Still, the stories were interesting and lively; it was kind of like one of those "Haunted" shows on The Learning Channel, the History Channel, or the Travel Channel--well, except for the sore muscles. Himself had come down with a cold, and dripped romantically under the Spanish moss. Needless to say, we slept well that night.
We returned home early the next afternoon, with plenty of time to chill out and get ready for the following week. During the course of which, my loving spouse gave me his cold, for a delightful denouement.
As for my dad's birthday dinner, they had invited two other couples over, both smokers, so he had had an ample--and appreciative--audience to show off for. There were some hurt feelings, but, when we found out their party went until three in the morning, our main feeling was relieved. Fifteen hours with six smokers blowing smoke on us, versus a fun, romantic, and smoke-free weekend--now *that*'s what I call a fair trade.
Still, I started to get a bit caught up, & even posted a bit. Then, as it drew closer to my birthday, ominous rumors stirred the wind. For Himself's birthday, back in September, my dad and a friend made a four-course Russian meal. It took seven hours, with my parents and the friend blowing smoke on us the whole time. My parents are wonderful, generous people, fun to know. Unfortunately, they're also heavy smokers, and therefore not too healthy to hang out with. For my birthday [& my dad's, which is 2 days before it], they were menacing us with a seven-course French meal.
Now, given that my idea of a gourmet meal is a visit to the local pizza buffet, this wasn't about me at all; it was about Chef Maximilian [my step-father] wanting to show off. I'm all for that [since I swing a bit that way too], but if a four-course meal took seven hours, how long would a seven-course meal take? With extra smokers puffing away heavily all the while?
There was a housefilk down in Cordele I would've loved to have gone to, but one doesn't blow off one's dad's 60th birthday party for a housefilk [not if one expects to survive thereafter]. My spouse told them we were going out of town, since it was the 17th anniversary of our first date [which we have celebrated ever since]. Nothing less than a romantic getaway would've been understood, so we just *had* to leave town. ;)
We went to Savannah Friday, getting there in three hours. There are advantages attached to living on the south side of town--that, and Himself claims to have driven 85 all the way. We spent the afternoon wandering around the old town [after finally finding it, and a parking space, an accomplishment in itself]. We took a riverboat cruise, which was a decided ripoff, since there wasn't much narration, and that not very interesting.
Although it was getting a bit nippy, we hung around downtown a couple of hours, getting dinner at one of those college bars where they put fried eggs on hamburgers [?], in hopes of doing the ghost tour. When we got there, they said it was sold out. We drove around the old parts of town, ogling the historic houses from inside the warm car, & stopping by Target en route to the hotel to pick up some sweats. [Well, of *course* it turned cold right when we got there; isn't that always the way?]
We wore the sweats the next day, when it began to warm up. Still they were useful in the shade or the wind, both of which we ran into in plenty at Fort Pulaski, where we spent several hours exploring every underground passage [dank] and rampart [windy]. The views were rather splendid, but then I'm very partial to water and marsh.
We went thence to the lighthouse on Tybee Island, where we got to dodge crowds of shrill small persons in the ticket line, and crowds of shrill medium-sized persons while exploring all the outbuildings and houses on the site. The line to go up the lighthouse was long, and the young ladies in front of us enjoyed prolonged conversations with their compatriots on the ground in line in front of us. It was 178 iron steps to the top, with a landing each 25. Let's just say, when that much heavy breathing ensues, and my spouse is involved, it's usually for another reason entirely. ;) Still, from the top, the view and the wind were extensive.
We returned to the old part of town early to a) find parking, always in short supply on the weekend [but it's not for nothing that I'm an opportunistic scavenger] and b) get our ghost tour tickets early. We had dinner at a lovely little Greek place right on the waterfront. After dinner, we listened to a street musician and then headed over to the ghost tour. There was a deal more "tour" to the proceedings than we had expected, especially after rambling extensively all day. Still, the stories were interesting and lively; it was kind of like one of those "Haunted" shows on The Learning Channel, the History Channel, or the Travel Channel--well, except for the sore muscles. Himself had come down with a cold, and dripped romantically under the Spanish moss. Needless to say, we slept well that night.
We returned home early the next afternoon, with plenty of time to chill out and get ready for the following week. During the course of which, my loving spouse gave me his cold, for a delightful denouement.
As for my dad's birthday dinner, they had invited two other couples over, both smokers, so he had had an ample--and appreciative--audience to show off for. There were some hurt feelings, but, when we found out their party went until three in the morning, our main feeling was relieved. Fifteen hours with six smokers blowing smoke on us, versus a fun, romantic, and smoke-free weekend--now *that*'s what I call a fair trade.
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