Just Got Back...

...maybe? Covered my first planning commission meeting last night, and wrote a story (on C-2 today -- that's not where I like my stories to run) and it felt great. I already feel at home in the newsroom. It's so strange. It almost feels like I've been here for at least months, if not longer.

My editor Sarah is a free-speaking, free-cursing biker chick who's gorgeous and funny. She seems cool. We're having lunch today, so I'll get to know her better then.

I picked up about a box of business cards at city hall yesterday. I love that getting-to-know-you thing with public officials. Also nice: The editorial page editor told me this morning "You must be a pro. That story read like you knew all about it."

It feels good to be a reporter again.

The Grand Strand

That Atlantic. It almost waylaid me this morning on my way to work. A big part of me wants nothing more than to sit in the sand and look at the water and think about nothing but the beautiful mystery of the ocean.

This was probably my easiest first day at work ever, at least in journalism. Nothing to do but sign paperwork, learn the computer system and read. Usually the first day is "can you do a story for tomorrow?" and then a flurry of trying to learn enough about the topic to do decent interviews and pounding the keyboard as fast as possible to hit deadline.

So why am I so tired tonight? I think I got my first decent night's sleep in more than a year last night, and woke up slow this morning. Drove slow, too, along Ocean Boulevard, looking out at the water as I went. I felt sad to turn inland to the office.

But everyone at my new place seems really nice and friendly. The newsroom rocks the Folgers coffee (no hazelnut "creamer" though) to keep us awake. It took three cups to get the same woozy, head-rushy buzz I get from one Starbucks. Of course, my Starbucks is usually a venti with at least one espresso shot in it.

All of a sudden, the weather has changed. The humidity seems to have gone, at least for now. I don't think it got over 85 today, not a cloud in the sky, a cool breeze all day. Gorgeous. Although it's supposed to storm from Wednesday all the way through the weekend, which is great, but probably means the humidity is about to make an encore appearance. If there's a thunderstorm, I won't complain.

Part of my beat means covering the new Hard Rock theme park that's scheduled to open next spring. The Led Zeppelin rollercoaster is almost complete. I get to go take the "Backstage Tour" soon. The developer promises a great opening show. Pretty sure it won't be Led Zeppelin.

Robbed

The Emmys? Fuhgeddaboudit. Or as Tony Soprano would say, "Whatta ya gonna do?"

Beached for the winter

Got moved in and almost completely unpacked at the winter rental. Thought it was going to be the golf-course life for me, but then this place a block from the beach became an option, and it's less money and more space than the others, so heck yes I took it.

I say I'm almost unpacked because one of my suitcases won't open. It's been that kind of two days.

I was so happy to be able to cook for myself again. I was planning to make teriyaki chicken, veggies and brown rice for dinner tonight so I could enjoy a nice, healthy meal while I watch my friends The Sopranos sweep the Emmys, but when I got home from the store yesterday, I immediately christened the lovely tile floor with an entire bottle of teriyaki sauce, and got glass in my foot and teriyaki sauce all over my sandals. Mmmm, my shoes smell delicious -- like roasted garlic teriyaki that's been sitting out over night. And they're not at all sticky.

I guess it will just be plain chicken, veggies and brown rice tonight, because I don't feel like going back to the store.

However, it's nice not to be in a hotel room for now. If I were still traveling, hotels would be fine. Now that I'm settling down for awhile, I just want to be settled.

Ridiculously, this place has enough bedrooms for me to have company and my company to have company. I could sleep in a different bed every night of the week, if I didn't mind sleeping in bunk beds.

I'm sitting out on the back balcony, five floors above the constantly running fountains and lazy river that go with our condo complex, jacked in to a neighbor's wireless because I don't have the code for my condo's service. Don't bust me -- I'm getting the code tomorrow, I swear.

It's lovely here today -- not hot, not humid, but sunny and breezy. I start the new job tomorrow and am strangely not nervous in the least. I already have a story -- my downstairs neighbors are a film crew here for a few weeks. I just have to find out what they are working on.

I'm learning my way around the MB. I know where all the important stuff is: Barnes & Noble, Best Buy, Bed Bath & Beyond, Costco, the Food Lion, the Piggly Wiggly and Sticky Fingers, when I've had enough brown rice and want some tasty barbecue.

I haven't been to the farmers' market yet, but I'll do that next weekend. Something to note about The South: The city limits signs don't tell the population, unlike California, where we want everyone to know how big we are, or the elevation, unlike Colorado, where they want everyone to know how high they are.

Here, it just says the name of the town or city, but then there will be a big signs telling people how to get to the farmers' market. Everyone here is proud of them. So, OK, I'll go check it out.

On a completely different note, I just have to show off the view from my front door:
Yep, that's the Atlantic.

Scaredy-cat needs a movie review

Someone help me out here. You know I'm itching to see "Shoot 'Em Up," starring my future husband, Clive Owen.

Has anyone seen it yet? I have a low, low, very low, rock-bottom threshold for exploding heads, gushing jugular veins and all other manner of splatter-gore. So, the question is: Can I handle this movie?

I've never watched the "I just shot Marvin in the face" scene from "Pulp Fiction;" more than about 30 seconds of the opening scene of "Saving Private Ryan" (or really more than about three minutes of the whole movie); or the following Sopranos whackings: Brendan Fillone, Jimmy Petrile, the French-Canadian guy in the laundromat, Jackie Junior or Phil Leotardo.

I did, however, watch Bobby Baccala's sad end, so that should give you an idea of how much gore I can deal with.

Someone give me the low-down: How often will I be covering my eyes?

The Redneck Riviera!

Five days since I've blogged? You'd think I've been doing something important, vital, life changing, maybe critical to national security or something, right?

Nope.

I was in Columbia with Betsey for a couple of days, fell in love for five minutes at The Art Bar, looked at vacation rentals on the 'net, hung out with Cow and Chicken and finished a pretty good book called "Special Topics in Calamity Physics."

No, it's not the story of my life. But I'm a little miffed that I didn't think of that title.

Now I'm here in the MB, looking at said vacation rentals, and realizing why this area's called The Redneck Riviera. Woo! Some of these rentals are gorgeous and some? Well, let's just say I wouldn't be surprised to hear "Dueling Banjos" on the muzak channels. I'm definitely passing on the one that has a view of the trailer park.

Found a couple of places along the beach -- tiny, but what a view! Found a couple of others a couple blocks from the beach, bigger, cheaper, and one even has a screened porch for my sheltered thunderstorm enjoyment.

Oh, and I also had to do my pre-employment drug screen today. There are few things more likely to induce a serious eye-roll from me than the whiz quiz. I hate having to lay off the smack, even for a day, dammit.

I'm seriously contemplating Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede for dinner tonight. Either that or Medieval Times. Someone better rescue me!

Savannah morning

Took an early-morning horse-and-carriage tour of Savannah. Very little traffic, few people out and somewhere near my B&B, there were bells chiming out the "Battle Hymn of the Republic." Charming!

Here are some views of the district, which has 24 squares, such as Wright Square, which used to be the "hanging" square in the middle of the city's justice agencies:



Kevin the horse pulled our carriage around many of the squares, past some of Savannah's oldest and most well-known homes.

Unless I write a few best sellers, I'd never be able to afford to live here. Multi-millions of dollars for some of these places. But I can definitely understand why people would want to live here.






I got a little look at The Mercer Williams House, which was Jim Williams' home when the events depicted in "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" took place. My guide said Williams' sister now owns the house and allows tours, but that she's not friendly to visitors. Seeing it from the outside is enough for me:

Savannah has some beautiful churches and a huge Jewish Temple that was built by Catholics: and this symetrical house that is supposed to be full of optical illusions. I might check it out tomorrow.


I hadn't known that John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, was a minister here. There's a statue of him in Reynolds Square, a few blocks from my B&B. My guide drove us past Gen. Sherman's headquarters when he was in Savannah, before he gave the city to Lincoln as a gift. Being a Southern loyalist, last night's tour guide had quite a few choice words abut that. Today's just rolled her eyes as we passed the house, and she didn't slow the horse down for pictures.

The tour guides like to talk about all the bodies buried in Savannah, especially the ones in what seem like unusual plces. There are bodies buried under square blocks of the historic district, because as Savannah grew, people just built right over the graveyards. There's a jungly median along one of the streets we drove down that is all burial underneath the trees, shrubs and flowers. No wonder they say Savannah is haunted.

I strolled down River Street but didn't shop, though I probably will before I leave town.

Had planned to go out to Bonaventure Cemetery to see "Bird Girl," the statue in the photo on the cover of "Midnight," but people got so into the book, they began chipping pieces off Bird Girl. The statue has been moved to an art museum near the Jessop. The museum also has a statue of Michelangelo in the front yard. Never thought I'd see him here!

Ohhhh, also, rode past Paula Dean's restaurant in City Market. You have to go at 9:30 a.m. and put your name in to get on a wait list for a table, just so you can eat a stick of butter in every dish. My tour guide said "Her accent is fake! Fake for TV! I can't stand her." Best quote I heard about Paula Dean though was from Noelle in Columbia: "Paula Dean? She made a million dollars off a fryin' chicken. She-it. She could boil up some kudzu with butter and those yankees'd think they was eatin' somethin'."