Jump (Little Children) play Turner Field?

I love Jump (Little Children). They are an extraodinarily good group of musicians, and I have been in love with their music ever since Ryan put "Cathedrals" on a CD for me, and Christy and Will took me to see them in Richmond. So when I discovered that their current tour was going to be their last tour, I decided that I was going to be a postman--neither hail, nor sleet, nor snow, nor rain or any other adversity would prevent me from seeing them on this farewell tour.

Luckily, I had none of these things to contend with, since they had a show scheduled in Atlanta, at the Variety Playhouse which I have heard so much about. All I had to worry about was getting to the Variety, and hell, I've been to Little Five Points before--Priya and Govind took me there. I could find it again. No problem.

So Sarah (an awesome Medievalist student from PA) and I made extensive plans (Me: "Hey, it's 7:20 pm. Wanna check out this show?" Sarah: "Sure! You know how to get there?" Me: "Oh yeah. I can totally find it. TRUST ME.") and I went to pick her up.

Perhaps I became excessively confident after finding Sarah's apartment. I only made one directional mistake, and I quickly realized it ("Ah," I said to myself, "That street must not have been marked!") and corrected it. I drove on 285 for the first time, successfully, and the world was rotating in sync with the Jump Little Children CD I was playing on my car stereo. The show was going to be incredible, and we were ready for a night out.

Without hesitation (I'm excluding the moment when we left Sarah's apartment and she said, "Turn left," and I immediately turned right), we navigated back to Ponce de Leon, and drove down the street, looking for Moreland. I had memorized the exceedingly simple directions to the Variety--left on Moreland, then left on Euclid. As we drove, we scrutinized the street signs; after all, it's Atlanta, the land of unmarked streets. And as we peered into the darkness and the headlights of cars going in the opposite direction, we studied the signs that were presented to us on the right side of the road, the signs we could actually see--our first mistake, after living in towns that made sense. We assumed that an intersection would have the same street on both sides--that the intersection for Moreland would indeed be the INTERSECTION of Moreland, with both sides marked and ready to indicate where we should turn left.

This is where it gets good, so I'm switching to present tense.

So we drive. And drive. And drive. And there is nary a Moreland sign to be seen. But there IS a MARTA station up ahead. And it's . . . it's . . . it's the Midtown station. Midtown? We're in Midtown? This CAN'T be right.

"Sarah," I say, "I think we're in Midtown."
"Midtown?" she asks, "Are we supposed to be in Midtown? I haven't seen Moreland."
"Me neither," I reply, "I think we're ummm . . . I think we're north of Little Five Points." Really, I have no idea if we're north or not. But saying a direction on the compass sounds informative. "Let's look a little more, and then turn around. If we see Peachtree, we've gone to far."
Sarah laughs, "Which Peachtree? That one?"

Indeed, we are about to cross one of the Peachtrees. Ponce de Leon has become one way, so I hang a right to turn around, and we see some very bright lights up ahead.

"What are those lights?" I ask, as an uncanny feeling of recognition begins to creep over me. It looks like a stadium. "Is that . . ." I hesitate, disbelieving, "Is that where . . . where the Braves play?"
Sarah and I contemplate the crowded bleachers before she responds, "Yeah. That's TURNER FIELD!"

Yes. On our way to Little Five Points, we have somehow ended up at TURNER FIELD. At THE BRAVES GAME. There were only two things to do. Laugh, and find Ponce de Leon.

I immediately turn right, and we attempt to find the portion of Ponce de Leon that runs both ways. In doing so, we find the intersection that sums up all of Atlanta. We stop at a red light, and discover that we are (I am not making this up) sitting at the intersection of Peachtree and Peachtree. I should have whipped out my phone and taken a picture of the two little green signs which declared that Atlanta is the most ridiculously designed city on earth. But I was laughing too hard.

Because the world was rotating in sync in my Jump Little Children CD, we managed to find Ponce de Leon again, with minimal trouble. We were determined women--Moreland would not evade us this time. We would now be taking a right onto Moreland, and we would be able to see the sign.

And because the world was rotating in sync with my CD, Fate did not leave us to our own devices to find Moreland. Fate had seen our excursion to TURNER FIELD, and kindly decided to prevent us from ending up at Six Flags, or the Margaret Mitchell House. Fate sent us a guide to our street sign. Fate sent us Rasheed.

And I want you to know that my Henry James seminar has reminded me of all the great works that have been serialized. So, as I attempt to do schoolwork and emulate several literary heroes, I will leave this story . . .

To Be Continued . . . .