To Tampa

Suzie, Reuben, Chris and I stayed up late prattling like school girls and Mike opted to be the responsible one and sleep a reasonable amount.  Thank you, Mike.

We rose at the crack of 10:30 and I picked off the last of the fruit salad after Reuben’s dad showed us the glories of a man and his quest to make a bear suit and after learning that, while awesome, the Atlanta Aquarium cost $40 a head, we opted for the vastly freer Fernbank Science Center.  Along the way, we picked up Grant at the University of Atlanta where in the distance of three blocks I was reminded of all the things I hated about college including loud bad music, people with the sartorial splendor of sock puppets, and liberal arts majors yelling about things.  On the way out, we passed a vagrant asking for money to whom I yelled “quijon, unt brocojantore!” my stock response to panhandlers.  It’s a line I picked up from an MCI commercial for international calling from at least a dozen years ago and it seems to silence them.

The science center was about as good as free science center can reasonably get but at least had clever signs:
Tiny Lungs

Inside, they had displays on bees and space.  I can’t really think of what else you’d need in a science museum after that with a display of a monkey in a capsule and a depiction of the lunar surface reminiscent of a failed under-chocolated brownie but we pressed on and explored their nature trail.  The mark of an urban nature trail is that it is paved and terminates at an artificial duck pond, this one had both and our group registered its approval by placing a TI sticker on the sign-in log.

We stopped for lunch at “The Varsity”, a classic-style of eatery where cashiers shout for the next person and you’re passed if you don’t make up your mind quickly.  The food tasted of grease, orange, and repressed racial strife which seemed appropriate considering the comparatively small portions and after crushing our frosted oranges, we headed again south.

Driving to Tampa was uneventful and it was good to see Bob again.  His is a face I’ve never seen marred by sadness nor a wit dulled by cynicism.  We ate at Steak ‘n’ Shake and my triumph of the evening was leaving with no food on my shirt.  Bob had brought the housemates that seemed to compose his ersatz but happy family.  Also attending were <tk lord slapnut> and his adorable daughter Zoey.  She received TI stickers with great jubilation and proceeded to slap all the ones she could get her hands on (10 or so) to her car seat.

Bob and I went on a question “for that guy that was on our team whose head was kind of misshapen.”  It was Surprised Face.

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