All Roads Lead to Rome (Georgia)

For the second weekend in a row, I've ventured down to Georgia. This sounds like a trek, but the state line is about only five miles away. You'd think that, given my upbringing in South Jersey, where any number of bridges to Pennsylvania or Delaware were just a few miles away, I wouldn't have a mental block about it. However, nearly 20 years in New Mexico, a state where you have to drive an hour or more to get to a city of any decent size, has trained me to believe that a trip to another state requires a detailed route map, several rest areas with indoor plumbing, and a cooler of food in the trunk, just in case.

First, however, I ventured downtown to check out Chattanooga's Oktoberfest. This was even less about a Bavarian wedding celebration (note the photo of a liter of beer) than the Georgia Apple Festival was about apples. Oh, sure, one of the local brewpubs (the glamorous, self-inflated one) had beer for sale on the Walnut Street Bridge, but the rest of the booths had artists and face creams and candy and cheap jewelry. And, let me tell you, neither of the women behind the table of The Hot Chocolatier (emphasis theirs) were anywhere in the realm of hot. I should sue them for false advertising.

Voice-over: (mumbling)
Me: What?
Voice-over: (mumbling repeats)
Me: It's supposed to be the chocolate that's hot, not the person selling it? Well, that's not what the sign says.
Voice-over: (mumbling)
Me: Yes it does.
Voice-over: (mumbling)
Me: Oh, forget it.

There also was a booth for The Noog, a somewhat non-traditional visitors' bureau. The web page claims, among other things, that locals also call the city Chattaboogie and Chattavegas. (Oh. Yeah. Right.) What I want to know is, if this place is The Noog, does that make those of us who live here Nougats?

If you didn't infer it from my previous comments, I was underwhelmed by the abundance of art and dearth of beer vendors at Oktoberfest. Still, I was game to explore (since I was already there, I might as well), so I stopped in the enclave of artists' tents at the far end of the bridge, scanned the booths, and just as quickly walked out -- and noticed the words "Used Books" on an awning of the store two doors down.

Sigh. I didn't buy art. I didn't even buy a beer. But, I did come away with a bagful of books. (Betty, does it count against my monthly quota if these books were purchased expressly for donation to the school library? Well, yeah, but after I read them, I mean.)

Next (after dropping off the books at home), I headed south. My quest was a rubberized raincoat (not one like this or this or this) to replace the one I own, which is falling apart, even too much for a "work" raincoat.

The closest K-Mart, the store where I had purchased my current raincoat, is in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia (called Fort O by the Nougat across the street from me). I was feeling adventurous enough to explore the way down there, and besides, if I went north, to the K-Mart in Hixson, I would have felt obligated to stop by Nana's, and I've been a good boy this week and don't need any extra calories.

By the way, there was no break in civilization between Chattanooga, Rossville, and Fort O, which helped the journey feel more like a jaunt than a trek. I was almost confused how to get there, though, since it involved a left turn (I think) at an intersection where three roads crossed at non-square angles. I mean, it felt like a left turn, but if I activated my turn signal, would the driver behind me have expected me to turn onto the road I didn't want, since it was the closer option? Besides, none of the Nougats in front of me had a turn signal (although that seems to be standard here), and they all turned on to the same road, so I didn't bother with mine, either. When in Rome...

Voice-over (whispering): You're not in Georgia, yet.
Me: Oh. Right. Sorry.

Once I arrived (without getting lost), would you believe they didn't have any raincoats? I'd understand that in Las Cruces, but it actually rains in this part of the country. No luck at K-Mart, Big Lots, Family Dollar, Dollar General, or even the thrift store across the street. There are two thrift stores I know of here in The Noog which I can try, but I'm running out of options for an inexpensive raincoat. Any suggestions before I start looking at Target, Sears, or other, pricier stores?

Voice-over: (mumbling)
Me: Seriously? You want me to go into Wal-Mart?
Voice-over: (mumbling)
Me: Yeah, I know I own stock in the company, but that just means I want everyone else to shop there.
Voice-over: (mumbling)
Me: All right, but you're going to pay my medical bills -- and take care of my mother, should I not survive at all.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. I decided to try the Italian restaurant near the Fort O K-Mart, even though it obviously used to be a Pizza Hut. The canned Italian music and the touristy, informative placemats were a nice touch, but maybe it would have seemed more like a serious attempt at a restaurant if there were other patrons there. (I mean, other than the family with three granddaughters under the age of five, one of whom would not stop crying.) Indeed, when I bit into my ravioli and experienced a flavor I'm more accustomed to tasting in something that has been breaded and deep-fried, I ranked this place the second-worst Italian restaurant I've ever been in. Maybe I should've tried the Mexican place next door instead.

Incidentally, I've noticed a number of place names from elsewhere. There's Troy in Alabama, Rome and Athens in Georgia, and Dayton and Cleveland in Tennessee. Aren't there any towns in the South that aren't named for other places? Oh, that's right: The Noog.