It's quarter to two a.m. and I'm trying to read about crystallographic orientation effects on crack propagation mechanisms while nursing a PBR in the hopes that it will negate the 8 cups of coffee I've had today so I might go to sleep sometime. Round about now I start thinking, I need a vacation. When I finish this literature survey presentation, I'm takin' a damn vacation.

Sure enough Maigh has gone and sown the seeds of such tomfoolery with (1) a post in the Atlanta Metblog about some wacky, idyllic treefort-based hostel in the forest, complete with hammocks and lakes and boats and nekkid people wandering around and no goddamn internet in your face; and (2) zany recaps of a trip down to Cumberland Island, complete with ponies and turtles and crabs ad nuclear submarines gliding by, a big ol' island three otherwise intelligent women managed to get totally lost on. I haven't been totally lost since I was in Ireland, and that took a lot of doing. Methinks I need to visit Cumberland Island sometime soon, by way of that treefort hostel thingamabob.

Hang on a sec. “36,415 acres of which 16,850 are marsh, mud flats, and tidal creeks,” quoth the website.

Oh God.

I'd better go this very next weekend before the Bush administration ganks its funding and lets some asses clearcut it, strip-mine it, and pave over it.



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