You were named for your Yankee grandmother.

Today was almost unimaginably lovely. After a Very Long Night (I had RA duty, and a drunk person jumped out of a window to avoid capture), I woke up to the most perfect early-autumn-in-Georgia weather. The sun was shining and there was a breeze and it was maybe 80 degrees outside. It’s not late enough in the year that I’m stressed out about homework. It was good.

I even managed to be appropriately collegiate and go on over to the Student Center for pizza and drinks with classmates for college football season kickoff. (It was for the free pizza, I admit, but still. I went!) I took the shuttle into Atlanta with a friend and went with her and my family to the Decatur book festival. In addition to the perfect festival weather, it was my friend’s first time going to an event like that and it is always so much fun to see people get really excited about these things. And it was fruitful! I got the Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? tabs for banjo, and an issue of McSweeney’s (number 33–it’s a several-hundred-page newspaper). We even got to go to a recording of The Moth, which was fabulous. The theme was Southern Gothic, and Hollis Gillespie told a story, as did the founder of The Moth. He’s from Saint Simon’s, and his story was fabulous. It included:

So my grandmother–Big Inez–sits my mama down. My mama is also named Inez. And my mama sits there with her mama in the Turkish Room, and at six years old she is given a plantation. And her little sister Alice comes in and says, “Grandmama, can I have a plantation too?” And my grandmother says, “Child, your name is Alice. You were named for your Yankee grandmother. Go ask her for a plantation.”

It was so, so good.

Duty again tonight, and the highlight of that was finding the most in-your-face, clearly aimed at stoners kids television I have ever seen. It includes Abraham Lincoln. You’ve been warned.

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