I'm not sure if this story is amusing or pathetic, but here's how I spent my Thursday night:

I wanted Mexican food. I have craved it for weeks and decided I was due. Armed with a healthy appetite and a fresh magazine, I went to a place where I previously had seen some mellow, nearly sleep-inducing live music. I was all set for a quiet, librarian-ish evening.

But as fate would have it they seated this solo diner in a booth adjacent to the host of Trivia Night. I found this mildly annoying. I wanted to read and sip a margarita. I hadn't ordered yet, and I considered leaving. Just then the host came by and gave me a pen, invited my "team" to join in the fun — all for free.

Okay, Team Mapgirl signed on. And won in a squeaker. (My NI United Nations Pub Quiz team would have reigned supreme.) The grand prize was a $15 gift certificate to the restaurant. Let me know when you want to join the team and cash in the coupon.

Oh, I am jealous. Big time. When I read DMJ's blog and she recounts all the good times she and the newly-relocated JFA are having, in his swanky condo and various downtown events and restaurants, I wish I were in Nashville. I'm either going to have to stop reading her weblog [not likely] or get myself up to Nashville to partake in some of the wonders. Weekend of 9 October, I will be there!

Three days off, three states! Time to reacquaint myself with good friends and the roads of the South.

After a few hours trying to get out of Atlanta, my familiarity turned to contempt. I forget just how big The Big A really is. But it was worth it to get to Charlotte for the party of the year: a 1-year celebration for my newest friend, who arrived in the world while I was overseas.

What a darling little boy! It was a treat to spend time with him and his parents, who always show such me such great hospitality. It's very fun to see the next generation – although it does make me feel a bit old.

The next day I was off to South Carolina to see The Guy with the Dogs, who is nearly in transit with his entire menagerie. He's relocating to the Upstate and has sold his expanse of land. It's a very nice and relaxing place, and I had a chance to see donkeys, dogs and chickens. I even got to pet a rooster. It was kind of like a fun field trip.

I started the trip home on side roads and soon recalled what an unusual place South Carolina is. I soon got back on the interstate, just in the interest of time. I listened to NPR shows and talked to people on the phone, which made the miles go much more quickly. I thoroughly enjoyed my little jaunt (and got 40+ miles to the gallon, thank you very much) but it's also nice to be home.

My drive to work is 50 minutes, one way. My commute in Belfast was 50 minutes also, 40 minutes when the wind and traffic were just right. Here it's 50 minutes, day in and day out. My personal best is 47 minutes, and another carpooler broke the 45-minute mark, I think, but that was just reckless.

I mention the 50-minute commute because I had railed against it before I moved here, figuring that I were going to drive a long way to work, I might as well live downtown.

The big difference, though, is that the interstate commute would not be refreshingly beautiful. I have a lovely drive through the country, the worst "traffic" is getting stuck behind a school bus, and I meander zoom through little towns and along horses in pastures.

I also see some of the most hilarious things and I wish I could take a picture safely from behind the wheel. Some of these I will stop and shoot in the coming weeks but today's I fear was a fleeting moment in time:

On the drive home I passed a country house with a large porch. That's where the teenager sat, t-shirt and madras shorts, full drum kit, pounding away. Awesome, dude!

My trip into the city this weekend was for the closing of Monet's Water Lilies exhibit at the High Museum of Art. What a great experience. I can't believe I even debated whether to attend. I think that's the inertia of suburban life. So each weekend I try to plan one thing to get me into the Big A.

Toward that purpose I also joined the High, which made a very positive impression on me. I look forward to many more visits there, especially to the Arts and Crafts section and the contemporary art section. It took me less than 30 minutes to find the one Rothko on display at the museum. 

The Monet was the big draw, and you can see why, but I really enjoyed some of the other works on display. I always come home with a scrawled list of artists' names for more reading and research. This time I was taken with Ellsworth Kelly, Donald Judd and Theodore Gericault — someone else was equally intrigued with that one and spent a lot of time writing this Wikipedia article on "The Raft of the Medusa."

Perhaps the highlight of the outing was reading about a famed animal sculptor named A. L. Barye and recalling a monument to him that we found while walking on a Paris street in April. I have a picture of it somewhere!

The only disappointment of the day was that we actually had beautiful weather this afternoon — not the swamplike situation we usually have — so I felt just a little guilty about spending it all inside. I look forward to the next time, when I plan to extend my trip to Midtown to include one of the neat little area restaurants.

Tonight I'm driving into Buckhead to meet a group of strangers to speak Spanish.

Let's examine the craziness of that sentence. What is the strangest part?

Is it speaking Spanish? No, that's a good goal and something I really want to improve upon.

Is it to meet with a group of strangers to speak Spanish? No, I've done that in other new cities, including Belfast and Charleston.

The craziest part of this plan is driving into Buckhead on Saturday night — this particular Saturday night

Everyone is going to be driving in town tonight:

• Paul McCartney is performing in Piedmont Park.

• The Braves are playing the Phillies at Turner Field.

• Some ginormous hair design show is taking place, with 60,000+ people involved. (Can that be right? The stat also was reported on radio.)

AND there's road construction.

Ay caramba!

Latest update from the neighborhood: a welcome event will be held in my honor next weekend. Isn't that nice? I'm looking forward to meeting all the folks from the street and learning more about them. But I have made a quiet note: don't mention politics. A sweet elderly lady (with her wee dog) slowed her golf cart to introduce herself tonight as I retrieved my mail.

We discussed the usual, the weather, the pleasantness of our quiet cul-de-sac, the fastidiousness of my home's previous owners. My neighbor shared that she made the shears that festoon the windows on either side of my front door, and she thinks my house is one of the best in the neighborhood. She recounted her immigration here 68 years ago and all the places she has lived during her time in America.

An America that is being ruined by our current president. She really can't stand him. My jaw was on my tidy lawn. Did you know he wants to take away health care for the elderly? The country is the worst it's ever been, ever been, she said. 

I silently pleaded with the dog for any help in this conversation but he was no good at all. My mind raced. Finally I had the brainstorm to talk about garbage pickup — a topic on which I've become quite conversant. That seemed to move us to a new plane of discussion until she wished me well and drove away in her golf cart, American flags fluttering in the evening breeze.

I have had a warm welcome to Georgia, and I don't just mean the weather. People have asked me to a number of events and I actually fielded two dinner invitations for this evening, both from neighbors. So a group of ladies (with coupons) met for a 5:30 p.m. dinner at a local place and it was a lovely time.

Fortunately the dinner was an early one because I had another special engagement: to see my longtime fellow music fan (referenced here and here as my road warrior pal) who was sitting in with a band on the north side. It has been many years since Nashville but we have exchanged music notes and it's reassuring to know there's another Midwest transplant available for advice and support.

My friends at dinner expressed some surprise that I was driving so far north for this event — about 90 minutes, they reckoned. Really? So I packed a small bag, just in case I got tired on the ride home. Didn't need it, though, because I was wide awake: my friend's band rawked the strip mall on '80s Metal Night! It was worth driving there to hear "Rock You Like a Hurricane."

You may have read news reports that attribute the takedown of Twitter's site to a concentrated attack against a Georgian blogger.

Rest assured, I am not that Georgian blogger.

(It's a blogger from the Republic of Georgia who writes about more weighty issues.)

I love Sarah Vowell and I don't care who knows. She is a humorous writer who is interested in history, music and old plaques. Truly we are kindred spirits — except she can bring to life items that might seem mundane. And she does an amazing job of tying past happenings to modern life. 

Not least, she wrote this essay, which crystallized my thoughts perfectly. And I will always be grateful.

Her latest book is "The Wordy Shipmates," an examination of the Puritans, and before you roll your eyes, it is very informative and interesting. I laughed out loud a few times. If you're wondering why some Americans are so histrionic about our perceived slide into socialism, this book will help you understand the religious beliefs that built — and strained — the Massachusetts Bay Colony and, eventually, the nation.

"The Wordy Shipmates" also has some fascinating passages about the past of the godforsaken part of Connecticut where I used to live. Wish I had paid more attention to the history while I was there, but I was too busy trying to fight my way out of depression and hardship. So I had something in common with the early settlers after all.

One other thing that makes Vowell and I kindred spirits is that we were both raised in strong Christian homes — hers was Pentecostal, mine was evangelical — but sadly she no longer believes the tenets of her childhood. This is where we differ. She might not share the faith anymore, but she can explain it well and is not condescending or negative about it.

I actually met her once after a reading in New York City and it was a great highlight for me. She was with David Sedaris at the time and I stood there wishing I could make time stop and have them all to myself for hours of conversation. She signed my copy of "Take the Cannoli," a book which I loaned out years ago and have never seen since.

Official Amnesty Proclaimed — if you have it on your bookshelf, mail it back anonymously. Then buy "The Wordy Shipmates." Verily, ye shall thank me.