Savannah is ...

... where I've been staying for the past two days and the murder capital of the American south. My Mom relayed that factoid to me after she read it in Zagats ... just kidding: She relayed it trying to scare me out of lonely roaming. She forwarded me an email roughly a week ago about serial killers. I have developed a habit of giving rides to harmless-looking strangers, but it's safe because each stranger only qualifies for the ride by promising to have no intentions of robbing or assaulting me. So far, three out of three strangers have been honest about having no pernicious intentions. The last stranger to ask for a ride looked 25 and was very pregnant, hot, sweating and tired; she had just finished meeting her probation officer, and she asked for a ride so she wouldn't have to walk the two miles to her house in 95 degree heat: How could I refuse? I made the mistake of telling my Mom about the incident and she lectured and then sent the email I started this side-story about: The message warned about serial killers pretending to be injured and appealing for the help of a trusting individual, all as a trap to get said individual into his (or, less often, her) car and drive the about-to-be victim to a dungeon where he (the killer, or, sometimes, she) will starve, rape, maim and ultimately kill the trusting person. To refuse a ride to someone who truly seems to need it because there's a something like 1 in 10 million (complete guess) chance that he or she is a serial killer is an assault of its own: against logic. BOO-YA. And guess what! I haven't been murdered in the south's murder capital.

The only thing that upset me about Savannah being "the murder capital of the south" was that it gave me high hopes: When I heard "Savannah is the murder capital of", I waited eagerly for "the world" to follow, and when it was only, "the south", I frowned. Maybe the rape rates are more impressive. (Story of a close call to follow.)

I paid $15 to go on a horrifyingly boring ghost tour that touted every death that has ever occurred in historic Savannah as proof of the existence of evil. Had I died of boredom on the 7:00 p.m. tour, they probably would've bragged about it twenty minutes into the 9:00 p.m. tour. The tour's highlight was the little bit of Civil War History it included. $15 was the perfect price: It was just interesting enough so that the 15 didn't feel like a COMPLETE waste but not so interesting that a tourist would be willing to devote another 15 dollars and 90 more minutes to repeat the tour and determine if the "scary stories" and "recent corroborations" were told verbatim or in any other way which would reveal them as total bullstreet.

(The Hyatt, where I've been staying, in my own lovely, lonely room with windows overlooking River Street for walls, is on Bull Street. I've spent part of my trip with children, around whom I won't won't won't cuss; instead, I've replaced cuss words and phrases with non-foul Savannah words: "What the fuck?!" became "Riverfront?!" ... and nobody knows it but me.)

I'm in Savannah in my capacity as a certified paralegal ... even though I'm not a certified paralegal. The purpose of the trip is conferencing of the NACC (National Association of Counsel for Children). Most attendees are lawyers for children, and their work is really inspiring. Today, I attended two conferences: my boss' on "What Does 'Best Interests' Mean, Anyway?" and another about racial disproportionality in the foster care system. Tomorrow, at 9:00, I'll attend this depressing lecture: "Cruel and Unusual Punishment: Sentencing 13 & 14 Year-Old Children to Die in Prison". It'll make me cry, but the conference's coffee and muffin supply is boundless.

Ethical dilemma: Should I buy Baby Mama to watch before bed? It costs $12.99, BUT my boss, who makes $200 an hour, is paying for my room and all related expenses. What I should be asking is if I should order creme brulee to go with my midnight entertainment ... or the chocolate pate.