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Rock City!

Borrowed a book from work called Organizing from the Inside Out by Julie Morgenstern. So far, I've discovered that I'm not as disorganized as I thought I was, that in the midst of the clutter there is some kind of method to my madness. I just need to apply a little more method. In between chapters, I found myself compulsively putting things away and sorting things out. Which is not a bad thing.

The High Museum last week was grand, though the Ancient Egypt exhibit didn't impress me much since I'd spent so much time guarding similar treasures at the Carlos Museum. That night, I finally hooked up with azewewish and went with her folks to see The Bourne Supremacy, which turned out to be better than I'd expected. Then again, I wasn't expecting much, so you see what can happen.

On my Monday off this week, I went with my parents and some friends of theirs to See Rock City. I'd actually been to Rock City a couple of decades ago, with my 8th grade class, but the place hasn't changed much from what I remembered of it. Rock City is basically a winding path through a bunch of rock formations (including some frighteningly narrow ones) with stopovers at points of interest like Lovers Leap (from whence you can, they advertise, see seven different states) and Deer Park (where white deer sulk in the corner since just about every spot in their enclosure is solid rock and/or gravel.) The pathway winds its way into Fantasyland Caverns.

Ah, yes. That was the part of Rock City that burned itself most deeply into my memory. Actually the anamatronic elf at the entrance playing "Take Me Home, Country Road" is your first clue that this is more than a nature walk. As you progress through the path, you will occasionally come across little dioramas of gnomes doing things like operating a moonshine still. (No, really.) This is probably to prepare you for the experience known as Fantasyland Caverns.

Apparently somebody thought it would be a good idea to make dioramas of scenes from fairy tales, paint them florescent colors, put them in little rooms along the length of a dark corridor and shine blacklight bulbs on them. The effect is more than a little disorienting--just when your eyes get adjusted to the light in front of you, something tugs at the corner of your vision, you turn and WHAM Cinderella in neon momentarily blinds you. It's just . . . it really does have to be seen to be believed. Luckily, the Mother Goose Village portion of the program has the option to turn right and exit, which is what we gratefully did.

As we left, the elf was playing "Cotton-Eyed Joe." Thankfully, not the techno version.