Yeah, it's hot and humid as fuck in Atlanta, but you adjust. It's like any other place that scorches, it seems: You just lean on the AC. The night we got here there was a wicked storm that scurred even the locals, and right about the same time were trying to keep it cool and act like we're totally down with tornados, we hear an enormous crack and boom that sounds like something actually hit the house. Turns out it did. A fifty-foot tree from next door crashed over the fence and onto a garage/shed the owner of the house uses to store his motorcycle and lawnmower that I will never touch. The timber literally cleaved off about 7/8 of the big back yard, which is a shame when two 85-pound dogs want to get their run on. As it is, one of the dogs just hauls a mud track through the fallen tree and somehow makes it to the other side, where he finds the tennis balls I lob over to him.