Welp, I finally guessed my login for EAThens.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to login to a site you hadn’t used in seven years, but it’s EXCITING! It’s like:
- Finding a key in the street and trying it on every house in the neighborhood; OR
- Being 5’5″ and asking every girl in a bar for her phone number; OR
- Drinking a fortie¹ and teaching yourself cello.
You try, try, try and try, until…bingo! Your drunk, cello-playing ass has a new big screen TV and a date next Thursday.
In the running for understatement of the year: a lot has changed since my senior year of college at UGA. Since my last stint in Athens, I have lived in five different cities and about twice as many apartments. (What’s that you say? Lack of stability? What’re you, some kinda baby boomer?)
Ironically, I also hate cooking now. That pin you see in the Midwest may have caused the death of my chef-ly aspirations. I went to law school, lost all time and motivation to cook, and have not found a semblance of it since.
That being said, I still love to eat. And I guess I still like writing about food. I also found myself a romantic roommate that enjoys cooking, and does it better than I ever could have imagined. She’s on her way to some reincarnation of Julia Childs. I would’ve just become some terrifyingly ginger Guy Fieri.
Oh, and in case you haven’t picked this up yet: I live in Athens again. I’d make some joke about the prodigal son returning, but I think a local law threatens a fine if made about anyone other than Herschel or Stipe. I’m back and (with exception to energy, fitness, financial responsibilities, and free time) better than ever.
So what will become of this blog? No idea. Will it last? Probably not. Will it be an important, contributing voice in the conversations of change occurring in our communities? No.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I love creating, starting, and abandoning blogs. Also, goals are important. So here’s where I see myself and this online diary (GIRL!) in one year:
I’m kidding, you guys. You guys, come on, I’m kidding. Seriously:
- My romantic roommate will perfect a chili recipe and enter a nationwide (or Nationwide?) competition.
- My romantic roommate will win the (N/n)ationwide competition, allowing us to retire early to Lake Oconee with all that golf money. Thanks, maybe Nationwide! 🎶Cheer-i-o, I have a maid!🎶
- Hugh Acheson will open this site thinking that it’s about the consumption of free-range, Swedish-massaged cornish game hens.
- Hugh Acheson will realize he made a huge mistake.
- Hugh Acheson will close this site.
- Over fourteen people will have read this blog (excluding Hugh, of course) and I will have created the best not-about-food food blog on the north side of Athens.
So that’s the plan. Don’t make me stick to it, corndog.
¹I know that’s not how you spell “fortie” up there. But I’d like to kick this blogging retry off with a bang. I propose that when referring to a 40-ounce bottle of malt liquor or cheap beer, one shall use the -ie ending. It’s cute. It’s hip. It’s everything a fortie should be.
FROM THE GOOGLE IMAGE OCEAN FLOOR: “FORTIE”