Momnesia

AUGUSTA, GA. - Every year, the Master’s Golf Tournament attracts a wide variety of celebrities. This year marks the first appearance of the Golfing Jesus Doll™. The seven-foot version, a creation of Lana Long, known as the Jesus Doll Lady, has exchanged the regal white robe for the Master’s green one and holds a golf club. One press on the heart and the song “Jesus Loves Me” is heard.

Lana Long, originally from Denver, Colorado where she attended school, has made Augusta home since she was twelve. The inspiration for the Jesus Dolls came in 1983 when she was looking for a way to raise money to buy toys for abused and needy children. Today she owns 30 copyrights and produces multiple sizes of Jesus Dolls that she gives away and sells at thejesusdolls.net.

“What a perfect place for the Master,” Lana said. “Right here at the golf tournament.”

Her display is located at 2737 Washington Road, walking distance from the tournament gates, where they’ll be from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. each day of the tournament.

The Jesus Dolls Co., Inc., is dedicated to teaching everyone that they are loved by God and Jesus, regardless of their circumstances or lot in life. We share this message with the world by making handcrafted Jesus dolls and providing spiritual guidance for those in need. Lana was the originator of the Jesus doll and was the first to make it available for the public.

AUGUSTA, GA. - It seems that one of our designers, who shall remain nameless (HeatherHeatherHeatherHeatherHeather), dresses up as a pirate to attend Augusta GreenJackets games. Aw, geez. I don't even have the heart to make fun of her. She's so adorable. But it's good that she's a designer and not a writer. If she were a writer, she'd have to know more than just the letter "Arrrrr!"

AUGUSTA, GA. - So after a long blog post by business editor Damon Cline about not judging Augusta too harshly, we get this lovely story from the Chronicle about... outhouses. I know Janie Peel and she is a fun-filled quirk and a half. I love her humor and her enthusiasm. And, frankly, I love the idea of collecting outhouses... provided that they're properly sanitized, of course.

HOWEVER!!!

I do not think this is an appropriate feature story for Masters Week guests to read. "Hey, y'all! Here's sum bar-bee-cyooo! Would you like tah dayt mah dawter? Welcome (**gur-hic!**) to the South!"

These are the kinds of people who think that WSB really does mean "Welcome South, Brother."

Thanks, Chronicle, for putting your best ass cheek forward. Southerners everywhere appreciate your efforts.

AUGUSTA, GA. - T.G. comes by with a bag: "You can have any of these you want."
"AHH! What the hell are those? Loofahs?"
"Nooo..." he says.
A.C. peeks in: "Are those the morels?"**
"Yeah."
"Wait!" I remember something Paul Pearman said this morning. "Are those mushrooms?"
"Yeah," T.G. replies, amused at my terror.
A.C.: "And they're from Paul Pearman."
"Oh, I wouldn't eat those, T.G.," I warn. "Unless you have 12 hours to recover."


** Check out the classy animation on that link.

AUGUSTA, GA. -
M.F.: Okay, I have an hour to make it to Tom's house five miles away.
A.W.: An hour? You should've left two hours ago!
M.F.: Just when you thought there was no practical use in life for a jet pack... (sings The Jetson's theme song)
A.W.: (joining in) ... his boy, Elroy!
M.F.: Wait, it's already started. Everyone's there, so there won't be any traffic.
A.W.: You just keep telling yourself that.
M.F.: But-
A.W.: Yep.
M.F.: No, I'm saying-
A.W.: Uh-huh.
M.F.: Damn.

M.F.: (heavy sigh)
A.W.: "What's up?"
M.F.: I gotta go up to the Masters. I don't know if I'll be able to stand it.
A.W.: You probably won't, unless you're driving a truck of flaming fertilizer.

Earlier today, he pitched the idea of doing a video report from the airport: "M.F. here for the Metro Spirit, out at the airport, watching the arrivals. See that guy? He's rich. That guy's rich... and he's rich... that guy is trying, he mortgaged everything he had to be here... that guy's rich... another rich guy... some dude in a uniform coming back from the war, he's not important... that guy just declared bankruptcy and this is his last hurrah... oop, another rich guy!"

AUGUSTA, GA. - Despite the poorly reproduced Go-Gos lyrics above, I did not, in fact, get a vacation this weekend. I drove through TWO hail storms and a microscopically close near-collision with a boat pulling pickup truck who wasn't watching where he was going. He only missed my car because I pulled off the road quickly. He ended up hitting the van in front of us. I got out of the car to check on them, getting pounded by hail and driving rain, only to have them jump out and start cursing at each other. In other words, they were just fine. I drove on.

So my visit with my family was to be relaxing. But all I did was work and worry. I didn't have the right gift for my nephew's birthday party. I was going to have to miss the party because of work. I couldn't spend enough time with Emerson because I was cooking and doing dishes and cleaning and fixing my parents' computers. I wasn't getting enough sleep and I was going to be useless at work on Monday. What kind of trouble was Scott getting into while I was gone? Was he getting enough sleep? Was he missing us?

So I left a little early on Sunday. Traffic was speedy, but not reckless (thank you many state patrol officers!). Emmie slept from Madison to Walton Way. When I got home... disaster.

I don't understand how I can go out of town for two days (48 hours, people!), leave a normal-looking house behind and return to a complete wreck? How can he not do the dishes for two days? Why is the laundry piled on top of the dryer? Why is there a crapload of dirt on the floor? Where does the dirt come from? He's not Swamp Thing, for crying out loud!

(Sigh)

I picked up as fast as I could, tossed some dirty laundry in the washer, swept Emmie back into the car and did the grocery shopping, got her home and settled in, then flew back down to work to lay out calendar pages and load reviews to the website. I was at work until 11:15, came home and comforted my husband after he learned that the daughter of a friend of his had died that morning. I was up at 6:15, out the door by 7:30, and went and paid the rent because Scott didn't do it this weekend.

I needed a break. I haven't had a day off since September of last year. I didn't get one. It will be the end of May before I can use my final week of vacation. You'd better believe that I'm taking a break then. Scott will be on Baby Watch for a couple of days while I go out and have fun with friends.

The difference? He'll never have to pick my underwear up out of the floor when he comes back home.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Masters Tournament News: So this morning, I went to go pay the rent. I had to drive across town, from the relatively normal Hill area (from which I could have taken Wrightsboro Road/13th Street and had a straight, nearly traffic-free shot to work) to the friggin-retarded-traffic-on-a-normal-day Wheeler Road at the Target Shopping Center multiple restaurants and crazy gypsy looking megaplex cinema area of town.

It's possible that over the weekend my husband could have paid the rent for me. I know it would have been a lot to ask. I mean, I was 2 hours away visiting family in Atlanta (and fixing their computers and cleaning and such) so obviously I was remiss in not paying it myself.

But in my quest to do this before I had to be at work and, most importantly, before the real estate office opened and they charged us a $25 late fee. I deposited a $40 check, withdrew $420 (gah! that doesn't balance at all!) and booked it to the gas station.

"Our money order machine has been down all weekend," the clerk said.
"No." I said, with joking intensity, and she laughed. "Alright. Have a nice day."

I shot over to the Davis Road Circle K, but I couldn't turn left into it because there's a median now. And when I turned left onto whatever road by Sam's Club, there's another median. And barrels. And I ended having to drive this weird, go-cart looking construction across Bobby Jones, down into some valley I've never been to before, back up, across Bobby Jones and then almost into the second story of an apartment complex because the road very suddenly veers left and the barrels created this weird optical illusion, then finally into the gas station parking lot - where, of course, a police officer pulled in behind me.

"Ma'am, you were driving a little erratically back there," he said.
"Oh, you think? Did you see that mess?" I shot back, now fully frazzled and having long ago forgotten my own name.
He actually laughed: "I guess you don't come over here very often."
"No, I was trying to get a money order to pay my rent to Meybohm and I couldn't get into the gas station parking lot."
"There's that gas station attached to the Backyard Burgers right across the street," he offered helpfully.

Yes. I know this. Thank you so much, officer.

I paid the damn rent and shot back over to the new I-20 access from Davis Road, only to find that traffic was backed up for miles because they weren't allowing anyone to get off I-20 onto Washington Road. Instead, they were routing all traffic down to Riverwatch Parkway, then to 15th Street, then back up Calhoun Expressway, which, for those of you who don't live here, is just another name for Washington Road, the road onto which they wouldn't let you exit in the first place!

Grrrrrr. Took me an hour and a half to make my eight-minute commute this morning.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

And that's the Masters Tournament news for this hour.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Masters Tournament News: I'm going to post some things you should know over the next couple of days, to help our friendly tourists who visit the area every year. Many people return for years, and they need little assistance. So I'll start with some basics for the newbies among you.

Three very important considerations this week are the big C's: cops, construction and cars.

Between Atlanta (into which many golf fans fly) and Augusta, there isn't much to see besides pine trees - some historic sites, sure, but it's all four-lane highways to Columbia, S.C. And on those highways, there are not only state patrol officers, but representatives of just about every precinct from Newton County to North Augusta policing the speeds of drivers. I drove back from ATL this evening. I counted no less than 32 traffic stops, and I'm certain there are some cruisers I didn't spot hidden back among the trees. So, the first rule of thumb is to slow down.

Second, since Georgia has been growing exponentially from about the mid-80s, and that growth hasn't shown any signs of slowing down, we've been working on I-20 pretty much every day since 1986. That blue line on your map... well, it's pretty much just a suggestion by now. Now, having lived here a while, many of us are immune to the orange cones and barrels, accustomed to sudden drops in speed limit and in traffic stalls that seem to have no apparent cause. You are not. So, the second rule of thumb is to slow down.

Now allow me to mention an experience I had right as I got off I-20 to go home. My daughter whining hungrily in the back seat, I attempted to stop in at the McDonald's to pick up dinner at the drive-thru. When I turned into the parking lot, there was a man in full golf regalia - Masters logos affixed to everything that his seamstress could pin down - standing in the middle of the in-lane, checking his text messages. My car half in the lot and half still on Washington Road, I attempted to be patient and wait, inching forward carefully, hoping the sound of my engine would bring him out of his OMG LOL!!!!!-induced reverie. Alas, the cars stuck staring at my trunk began to rev their engines angrily. So after 30 seconds, I gave the briefest and softest (((honk))) that I could produce. It was the vehicular equivalent of "Oh, pardon me. I seem to be trying to use your parking lot. Do you mind terribly if I were to pass through?" If my car could speak, it would use a very British accent. The man looked up, threw his arms out, and screamed, "What the fuck's your problem, bitch!" For which my daughter thanks him. Those are vocabulary words every 3-year-old should know. Some "gentleman's game."

My point? Allow me to explain it more directly: Despite the annual exodus of all Augustans who could get the week off - i.e., those not employed by either the service industry or the media (hi!) - traffic in Augusta has already doubled in number of cars on the road. By Wednesday, the roads in any proximity to the Masters Golf Tournament will be a long shining example of why Al Gore won the Nobel Prize for Documentary Filmmaking - oops! I mean, the Nobel Peace Prize. In short, y'all need to learn to carpool. There's shuttle buses and everything. You can't carry your golf clubs onto the clubhouse grounds, so why are you driving that ridiculous, rented SUV? So, the third rule of thumb is to drive little - and I mean both in size and quantity.

Oh, and get the hell out of the way, chicken legs. My 3-year-old could take you.

A.C.: I was going to forward this to everyone on staff, but I thought she might get mad at me.
Me: No problem. I'll take care of it.

A.W.: "I was driving down the road and I saw Jeff Thomas walking down the street, so I leaned out the window and screamed, 'F--- you, Jeff Thomas!'"
But then he turned around, and it wasn't Jeff Thomas.
A.W.: "I was like, 'Ohmygod I am so sorry!"
The guy turned around and said, "Hey, I'm from up North. That's like a standard greeting."
A.W.: "I was so mortified."

Nice, dude. Hope your wife doesn't find out. He says he'll pay cash instead, but you do what you can.

AUGUSTA, GA. - The Masters Tournament has become the most exclusive sporting event in the world. It's harder to get into than the White House - hey, the White House gives tours. For one week, the eyes of the world turn towards Augusta.

But The Metro Spirit will give you a number of "inside" peeks at the workings behind the wall during the tournament week. You're welcome to share your information with us, too. We're collecting it here. So e-mail us here, and maybe we'll get to share your stories with the rest of the world.

Feel free to join LinkedIn, a networking site for professionals. Or, for some professionals, and some goofy jackasses, like a certain gentleman I invited who said, "I joined your mutherfukin network. Now let's ROCK'N'ROLL!!!!!!"

Yes. Let's do that.

AUGUSTA, GA. - So I've made several guest appearances at my alma mater these last couple of weeks, each time in front of people from about the same area of study: communications, journalism, public relations, and more. It's hard to come up with something new to say every time, but I try to change it up. We got off a little in one class when the professor talked about her area of scholarship.

"There aren't many who specialize in the Civil War press," she said.
"Really? I'd have thought there'd a bunch of interest in that," I said, genuinely surprised. We are in Georgia, after all.
"Nope. Just two of us," she laughed.
"Huh..." I mused.
"They're all out getting dressed up in costumes," one student volunteered with a grin.
"Oh, out losing the war again?" I laughed. "What can they possibly think is going to happen?! Yeah, that's a productive use of time."

A.W.: "They're going to develop downtown walking tours? That's kind of weird. What are they going to do - walk past the panhandlers?"

AUGUSTA, GA. - So let's talk credit crunch. Housing bubble? Burst. Rising economy? Dropped. Bankruptcy filings? Up hundreds of percentage points from the previous decade.

Look, whether you like it or not, bad credit is a reality for millions of Americans. In a country where the slightest infraction goes on you credit report, it's difficult for some to re-build their fortunes and their futures.


Fortunately, there are lenders who are willing to give those with bad credit loans or bad credit credit cards a second chance. Don't blow it, folks! BadCreditOffers.com is a leading comparison website for people with bad credit -- featuring credit cards, home loans, auto loans, personal loans and more. Consumers can apply for the offer that's right for them, and by making payments on time they can start down the road toward rebuilding their credit and, perhaps, their financial future.

This is one of many resources out there for the struggling consumer. As always when agreeing to legally binding contracts, read the fine print carefully and ensure that you fully understand the terms for which you will be responsible. Don't count on the future; bank on the present. Watch out for predatory lending practices and balloon payments, adjustable interest rates and other problem areas for middle-class consumers who don't bring in executive-level salaries.

And chin up. Even Donald Trump has declared bankruptcy in the past.

AUGUSTA, GA. - My tongue feels like sandpaper. Every cell in my body screams for mercy. And yet the refrigerator laughs in my face.

In a panic, I sprint out of the kitchen and into the editorial department, flinging my red plastic cup and myself on the floor. I gasp. I writhe. I moan.

A.W. and A.C. look on, nonplussed.
"You out of Diet Coke?" A.C. asks.

"Oh god! I'm dying!" I wail.
She reaches for her purse and calls to me as she would a drowning man: "Hang on, Stacey!"
I claw my way towards her as she holds out money for the vending machine.
"Thanks, A.C." I haul myself off the floor and walk towards the hallway again.
"No problem."