Two things I will not soon forget about Athens, Georgia:
1.) The bats no one bothered to tell me about ahead of time.
2.) The downtown bars with great big wooden rocking chairs open to customers who enjoy a little soothing sway while they drink themselves half into the bag.
Harmless little creature of God, you say? No. This little bastard had a belt with my name on it, next to a waiting notch.
My first night in Athens, the Granberry clan happily trotted me out to the backyard (Fences? Forget about them! It’s woods as far back as the eye can see) and pointed to the “wavy leaves” at the tops of the trees, which of course I was stupid enough to believe were, in fact, “wavy leaves,” until they (with a little too much pleasure for my taste) revealed the awful, actual truth.
I tried – believe me – I tried to deny it, thinking denial would be enough to get me through the long weekend. But Beelzebub had other plans, and chose to send a wayward minion to a very well-lit spot right over the front doorway of the Granberry house as a reminder of why one should not mess with the state of Georgia.
Yes. I had to dash past this dirty little Satanic turd to get safely into the fucking house!
Okay, as the vacation went on, I learned not to be totally petrified of bats. MG took me down to the lake just before twilight, when these little guys just wake up and start darting about after the plentiful mosquitos. And I have to admit… it was sort of cool and romantic to watch them flutter about and dive after their early evening breakfasts, just me and MG, even if I did still want to pee my pants just a little bit.
My independent bat research has uncovered a lot of fascinating details about these guys that I would love to share with you. The reason I won’t is that as cool as bats might be, I still fucking hate them and never want to be this close to one ever again.
The Globe Bar at the corner of Clayton and Lumpkin Streets in downtown Athens is a whole other story. Some bars are fun for a drink or two, and some bars are more of an evening’s final “destination.” The Globe is definitely in the latter category.
Not that you necessarily should have too many bars that you consider a great place at which to get yourself blindingly drunk (and we didn’t). But if you happen to find yourself an hour outside of Atlanta in a major college town during the summer when it’s more or less abandoned, and you feel the need for a dozen or so beers, you couldn’t do much better than The Globe.
Comfy leather couches and rocking chairs settled up against giant windows allow you to take in a terrific view of downtown Athens and all the pub-crawling locals headed to their next drinking destination.
The shiny brass bar serves up 14 draft beers and over 100 bottled varieties. I went with a smooth, deep golden brown Warsteiner Lager that went down like candy.
MG and I agreed that if my time in Athens wasn’t so short, we would have loved to sit there together for hours, but the next morning (and the Waffle House) was calling my name, so we cut the evening short…
…just in time to get back home so I could scream like a Polly Prissy-Pants at the evil hairy-winged fart waiting for me at the front door.
Don’t judge me. I can bench press a lot.