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Like this, but not as hairy

Elusive creature spotted at community park
From Staff Reports*

BROOKHAVEN, Ga. — A group that claims to track the mythic beast known as “Teenager” through the streets of Atlanta says they finally spotted the creature over the weekend in Dekalb County.

According to the group, the sighting occurred around 3 p.m. Saturday afternoon at Murphey Candler Park.

A woman named Beth said the creature made its presence known after she and fellow group members set up iPhones preloaded with Fortnite at various locations in an apparent attempt to lure the Teenager in.

“The angle of the sun was shining straight down on the seats on the Major Field and something big stepped into view,” Beth said. “I lifted my sunglasses to see better, and I saw a large bipedal animal covered in peach fuzz and ill-fitting clothes. It took one step into the stands, (then) I took off running toward it.”

The woman said that she and fellow Teenager trackers proceeded to follow what they claim was a large creature marginally recognized by modern science around the field to the concession stand.

“Its face was barely washed with no hair on it,” she said. “Its hands and feet were enormous. It was wearing clothes that looked way too big, but that is apparently the style among these creatures.”

Though not social, the creature did take extreme interest in the iPhone and was willing to sit near humans in the stands of the Major Field for moments at a time. Though it did not speak, the beast did grunt occasionally in response to stimuli.

*Credit/apologies to Travis Hall and Blue Ridge Outdoors for the words I liberally changed.

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EPISODE 3: Bad taste in beverages
Rated G for grandma, giant babies and “Good God, that Guy is … Gregarious!”

EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX POOL – LATE AFTERNOON

ENTER FATHER and TWO KIDS, DOMINIC and GIDEON. MOTHER shows up 30 minutes later after finishing the Season 2 opener of “Jersey Shore Family Vacation.” (Ronnie had a meltdown on social media? Say it isn’t so!) FATHER and MOTHER practically double the average age of pool denizens.

MOTHER
Who are these people (referencing the dozen or so twentysomethings)?

FATHER
No idea.

GIDEON
Can we go home now?

MOTHER
Dude, I just got here!

FATHER (to MOTHER, who is wearing jeans)
Are you swimming?

MOTHER
No.

DOMINIC
Then let’s go.

MOTHER
Here’s the key. We’re going to hang out for a bit.

DOMINIC and GIDEON exit.

FATHER (referencing the cooler MOTHER has brought)
Anything in there for me?

MOTHER (handing him an adult sippy cup)
Yes.

MOTHER plays Words with Friends. FATHER watches a video of a man getting sucked into an escalator in Turkey. MOTHER overhears loud talking from one member of the youngster group.

MOTHER (to FATHER)
Why is there always one loud guy in the group? Which one is it?

FATHER (to MOTHER, whose back is to the group)
Look around. It’s the one you think it is. It’s always that guy.

MOTHER (glancing over her shoulder)
It’s the big guy in the hat, isn’t it?

FATHER
Yup.

LOUD GUY (repeats this phrase three times)
It was the best time of my life.

MOTHER
All right. I’m going to throw this out (references her empty can) and get out of here.

FATHER
Great idea.

MOTHER sees that these children don’t even have good taste in beer.

MOTHER
Bud Light? Ultra? GAH! (The Athena is hers.)

Look at this trash!

MOTHER
You coming?

FATHER
Yeah.

END SCENE

 

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Dear Routinely Judgy People:

I try not to be you, but sometimes I am. Case in point: Friday night.

It was a weird, busy night.

5:30 p.m.
Mini reunion of some high-school friends: Lee Ann, Susan and Katherine. Lee Ann’s husband had signed up to be part of the 500 Songs For Kids fundraising event at The Earl.

7 p.m.
Quick get-together with Eddie, the kids and Brenon, an old friend in town for a funeral.

8 p.m.
Picked up Wendy to go to The Earl. Wendy is a college friend in town to move her son into our alma mater.

8:30 p.m.
Wendy and I met up with Lee Ann and Susan (and I hoped my worlds colliding would be a success).

The fundraiser featured plenty of crowd-pleasing songs such as “Bad Reputation,” “Stacy’s Mom” and “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.” Lee Ann’s poor husband Bill got stuck with “The Gambler,” though. Not a bad song, but not so great for this event/venue.

Here’s where the judging comes in:

Between each song, the host chatted up the fundraiser, all Jerry Lewis telethon style. After a while, though, he talked more than the bands played.

There he is, talking. Again. Still.

I began to hate him.

I actually looked in my pocket to see how much cash I had, thinking I could donate all of it to make him SHUT UP.

Lee Ann and Susan had left by this time, but Wendy was with me in sentiment (lest you think I was the lone hateful hag).

But then, something magical happened.

That’s right. He threw Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies into the audience to the tune of Michael Bublé’s “Haven’t Met You Yet.”

And my heart grew three sizes that day.

The romantic aftermath

I should have learned my “book by its cover” lesson, but no.

Another group came on stage. Riff Raff with a dye job, an ’80s hair band reject wearing Uggs lite and smuggling chicken nuggets in his spandex, and a D&D basement dweller.

Whose basement exploded?

 

Wendy and I were being very mean.

Me: (About the RHPS lookalike) There’s your boyfriend.

Wendy: (Squeals) Every time I see him, I’m freshly horrified.

Then they began to play.

They played Rush’s “Tom Sawyer.”

They played Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” better than any band I have ever seen (sorry, Jesse’s Divide) besides Rush themselves.

Riff and the gang earned mad respect. And Wendy and I felt like the heels we were.

So hallelujah for self awareness.

And hallelujah for that guy. Amazing.

So even though I try not to be disparaging, I often fail. But I also admit when I’m wrong.

I was wrong.

I’m sorry.

I’ll do better.

Love and karma,
Beth

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Dear Fellow Thrashers**:

Y’all are the best. I joined the volleyball league to meet new people and have fun, and it’s working!

Last night was a little heartbreaking — good volleys but we couldn’t pull through in the clutch.

And right now I hear my other friends gasping in shock. Yes, believe it: I joined a volleyball league. (Waves hands in front of the faces of the passed out; shouts, “Give them some room!”)

Yeah, I know I’m not the sporty one in the family. I’m not particularly coordinated. I’m usually on the sidelines (unless flag football is involved, and then I’m a she devil [Right Chris and Linda?]).

But last night, two out of my three immediate family members came to watch me play. And I had the night of my life.

We still lost all three matches, but it was close, and I don’t care.

I turned as red as Will Ferrell as Lucifer.

I happily iced my arm.

Yes, that is an ice pack shaped like a cherry Life Saver. It fits perfectly on the painful spot on my wrist.

I wore the last bruise like a badge of honor.

Sexy, I know.

And I’m happy. So thanks. Love you all!

See you next week,
Beth

* Thank God for Thursdays

** AKA “Trashers” (We did not pick the name.)

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Echo and the Bunnymen perform for the elderly at Chastain Park.

Dear Fellow Concert-goers (aka Grizzled Old Beasts Just Like Me),

It was great to hang out with you at the Echo and the Bunnymen and Violent Femmes performance last night. Between the sets, I was taking a good look at all of you — people watching, as I do. You know, finding inspiration for this blog and other writing projects.

I noticed plenty of partial and full hair loss, beer bellies, socks pulled up too far, white shoes, varicose veins, gray hair, etc.

“Jesus, these people are old,” thought I.

That uncharitable thought was followed quickly by this one:

“Oh shit. These are my people. I’m old too.”

Dang. That was a rude awakening. I’m still 27. In my head. Forever. As I bet you are too.

 

Notice the beer (which was delicious). Then notice who is beyond the beer. Notice the cane and the socks.

How we feel how we look.

It’s depressing.

😕

But not as depressing as the thought of the geriatric dating game. Some of you were definitely hooking up (or trying to, at least). I mean, good for you.

Eddie and I ended up joking about that this morning (I’m in blue, in case you are cursed with an Android phone):

(Don’t give me flak for hating on the stout hairless men of the world. We all have a type, and that’s not mine. And they don’t like me either. So there.)

If forced, I guess I’d have to get some Botox and lipo and start cougaring. But then I’d have to forget knowing every ’80s song, including the Femmes’ repertoire.

I cannot live a lie.

Just like us (in our minds), the Femmes’ sound hasn’t aged at all.

So I think we should all agree to keep on keeping on, just as Hunter S. Thompson recommended:

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow! What a Ride!'”

Ride on, fellow geezers.
Beth

 

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Yep, that’s a moonshine still (and a guy named Bullet Bob). Welcome to the South!

Dear Liquor Lovers:

Though I am mostly a beer and wine drinker, I went on a mission that you would love: a trip to the Dawsonville Moonshine Distillery.

For someone like me who likes to go on adventures and write about them, this had all the elements of a good story:

1. An interesting setting
The distillery is next door to Dawsonville City Hall, which is also home to the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame. The distillery is connected.

It’s a short walk to the Food Lion if you need vittles before or after.

2. Colorful characters
Inside, I met “Rocket Man” and “Bullet Bob.” That’s how they introduced themselves. Here’s Rocket Man with his wares:

And here’s Bullet Bob with the grain mash on the tour of the (about 20′ x 20′) distilling room:

And here’s Richard, the stuffed Raccoon, otherwise known as “Dickless,” according to Rocket Man:

Hando will be disappointed that he missed meeting his brethren.

4. Snappy dialogue
Me (introducing myself because I felt I had to as I was the only person on the tour): “I’m Beth.”
Bullet Bob: “Where are you from?”
Me: “I grew up in Stone Mountain.”
Bob: “I once drove up the mountain in my jeep on a double date.”
Me: “Was that the last date?”
Bob: “No, I married her. That didn’t last long.”

Rocket Man (at the tasting, pouring me a pink potion): “Ever had Sex on the Beach?”
Me: “Yes.”
Rocket Man: “I mean the drink.”
Me: “Har har.”

4. Believable conflict or peril
After a tiny taste of the White Lightning, I had to keep from screaming “Motherf—–” at Rocket Man and sprinting to the Food Lion for a jug of milk. (Moonshine that is 109 proof will do that.)

3. Compelling plot
I drove an hour to a city I had never visited to take this distillery “tour.” I put myself in great danger (Atlanta roads, moonshine tasting, jar of raccoon penis bones next to the tasting cups), all to get presents for friends (and a good story).

Peter Piper picked a peck of trash-panda peckers.

The tale also had a great resolution: I came away with an understanding of how moonshine is made, more information about “Awesome Bill from Dawsonville,” the aforementioned gifts, and this blog post.

And perhaps new items for the must-drink list for you boozehounds.

Salud!
Beth

The devil in a jug

*Apologies to Will Smith for changing his lyrics.

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