I would like to play the part of ruthless, pop-quiz-crazed teacher for just a moment and ask you to define the word “portmanteau.” If you do not know the word portmanteau, I am betting that you know the meaning of the word “brunch.” Now let me play the part of
Sunday, August 13th is yet another exceptionally hot day in Macon, Georgia. On days like this, you expect every sensible human being to be out of sight and indoors, basking in the AC and inhaling ice tea, or whatever it is that us Southerners are suppose to drink. You certainly
An invisible energy cloaks the city. Boys and girls are busy, making lists and checking them twice. Even the local radio station is excited, airing special songs to celebrate the season at hand. It is all anyone can talk about and the day has finally come. It’s the most wonderful
THE LOCAL TOURIST Visiting a new city can be exhilarating. New scenery stimulates senses that may have become dormant in the repetition of daily routines. The tongue never grows tired of trying new things. The eyes open as wide as they can to see all that there is to see.
Under the bridge, to the right, over the tracks, and into the light. No, those are not Peter Pan’s directions to Neverland. They are, however, directions—vague, impractical directions, but directions nonetheless—to Amerson River Park. Unlike Neverland, Amerson welcomes people (and pets!) of any age and is open every day from
Let’s talk about talking for a moment. I talk a lot about my hometown, about how proud I am of its growth, about how much I appreciate those who invest time into building it up. And although I mean what I say wholeheartedly, there is also another language in which
I want to apologize, first and foremost, for any unwelcome images of neon fanny-packs and island-print shirts that the word “tourist” might have spurred. That is not the type of tourism I wish to endorse. I would, however, like to take a moment and celebrate the infamous tourist. Tourists are