The Dog Days

Saturday night was enjoyed once again at the aforementioned Sampson Street Lofts. (or, as I discovered they are more formally known as “The Cotton Docks” due to the location once having been a cotton mill) This was a fairly uneventful evening for the most part, hoever atabout three am, I happened to glance up at the temperature gague on the ceiling of my car, and realized that it was 94 degrees fahrenheit. I hate to say it, but that’s what I love; I really don’t think I want to live anywhere that DOESN’T reach 94 degrees in the middle of the night.

Arthur will be back from Italy Friday. Most of the hurt has finally diminished, along with the prickly jealousy. I’m glad to be past most of it, too. I was pretty decently depressed for most of last week, and when consoled by my friends and family, all cooing gentl and telling me Arthur would be back soon, all I could do was scoff. I miss my boyfriend, sure. Somewhat. Mostly I’m just jealous that he is riding in a gondola, drinking Roman wine and swimming in the Mediterranean. But most of that is passing, as long as I don’t sit and stew about it.

We finally got a little bit of rain yesteday, too, so I didn’t need to water out back. Of course after that, it was so muggy I could barely breathe when I stepped outside. Small price to pay for not having to water.

Ok, it’s rant time. I’ve been pretty pissed off about this for a while, being someone that frequently watches channels like Court TV and The History Channel. Obviously I’m about 50 years away from fitting into their target demographic, and occasionally I am bombarded with commercials for LifeAlert and incontinence medication. But what I absolutely cannot stand is the fact that someone out there feels like they can sell something as ridiculous as this:

(I apologize, I can’t link this for some reason.)

http://www.corvettedollar.com/?cid=359602&gclid=CKbFpYiG4o0CFR3XgAodIixhrw

I feel really bad for the elderly people that feel that they need this shit. (Oh, and just in case you saw this, and decided you needed to get one for everyone you know, there is a STRICT LIMIT of five per caller!!!)

I would really like to start posting ridiculous chachka like this as well as discussing Atlanta. Because crap like this is just too hilarious.

I think that’s all for now. See everyone in class tomorrow!

Party Time and then Late-Night Eats

If, in the future, someone should come to you and advise you that there is a party on Sampson Street in the C apartment, I can tell you right now, if you’re into meeting new people and going places that do not suck, the Sampson Street Lofts is the place for you. I’m not totally sure what it once was, perhaps storage space or a factory at one point, But now it has been divided up into lofts and each one sports enormous, open, areas and industrial, old-brick atmosphere. There is room enough for anything you would need a lot of room for. Located in those weird little backroads between Freedom Parkway and Dekalb Avenue,

they are out-of-the-way, private, and host a majority of people between the ages of 18-30. Most of these people make up a very creative little community, people that paint the letters of their apartments on their doors in various creative and bizarre ways. Parties here feature ourtageous things such as acrobatic, arial performances, homemade beer served out of bathtubs, and old episodes of Transformers projected on walls. Even if you can’t get in to take a look at a unit, if you’re ever in the neighborhood, drive by and check it out. It’s truly an outrageous and fun place to be.
Say you’re at Sampson Street in the middle of the night, and you suddenly realize you are hungry. So you dig up a sober, responsible driver and head out into the night – but it’s so late! Where to go? Well, you’ve got some choices in this city.
flaunts a well-known reputation for being some of the best Chinese food in Atlanta. Plus they’re open all night most nights. About a year ago, Chinese Buddha was in a much less-desireable location, and was ssporting ratty carpet, and stained seat-covers. Now, in a swanky locale on 14th street, this little place has moved on up in the world, and along with slightly more expensive prices than one could once expect, now has romantic atmosphere, and an extended, better-dressed staff. For late-night fried rice cravings, this is all you need.
— Atlanta Diner is a bit more of a drive if you’re not in Decatur, but it’s worth it. This place rocks some of the best salads you can imagine, as well as an eggplant parmesan that has, in the past, shaken patrons to their very core, and given them just cause to re-evaluate their personal faith. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the street walkers that occasionally stumble in.
And of course, who could forget, Majestic. You have to really appreciate this eatery for what it really is: a greasy spoon that is open 24 hours, in which you will find a staff that tumbled right out of Hipsterville. The food can be anywhere from pretty good to horrifying, but nothing settles a drunken, rumbling stomach like pattymelt grease. And if you haven’t ever been there, well, it’s worth going at least once. It’s an Atlanta icon, like the Fox and Turner; just don’t slip in the occasional vomit puddles outside the bathroom.

Tuesdays are Spoken-for.

I completely forgot to mention that that last entry was incomplete. I bet that last sentance was a little bizarre. I will have to check with Alissa on the ‘unfinished blog’ etiquitte.

Tuesdays are Karaoke night at the Famous, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why people hate Karaoke so much. Worst-case scenario, you show up just to watch, and everyone that gets up and sings sucks worse than anything the human ear has ever encountered, and you get some free entertainment that can, if you so desire, be magnified by the SAFE usage of alcoholic beverages. What’s the down side here?

Even if it’s not for some, I think the reason that the Famous is such a perfect venue for this long-running bar activity is because, as I explained in my last entry, the Back Bar (the ‘Sports Palace’ to some) is outfitted perfectly to accomodate this sort of thing. I’ve been to one or two Karaoke nights at assorted bars all around town, and I must say that being on a stage has a real effect on one’s performance. It usually seems to make the suckers suck harder and those with real talent shine brighter. I think it’s the best entertainment you can find at a bar.

It could be that I’m partial to Famous Karaoke because of the sweet little troll of a Lemmy wanna-be that runs the whole gig for Bob’s Karaoke. (we will call him ‘Jay’)

However, he can grow to be a little weird and plus he cut the Lemmy ’stache recently. A few months ago, a friend of mine used to work behind the bar on Tuesdays. She has since been fired, but that also has not stopped me from attending nearly every Tuesday without fail. Or maybe it’s that one girl that always sings old country songs and hits the notes with a better, more mellow and buttery tone than the originial singers. I like watching her apply her God-given talent to Whitney Houston songs and matching the And Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeaaaaaiiii perfectly; and due to the fact that she can actually turn “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” into a pretty song, well, she’s pretty much a goddess among mere mortals.

I go for the combination of all those things, of course. But I think the highlight is living in the whole shadow of the Cheers legacy. A lot of people know my name. Not only the string of assorted acquaintences and co-workers that I have Pied Piper-ed in to coming with me every Tuesday, but also a lot of the staff and regulars. It’s a comfortable comradery that I think we lose when we leave High School and College.

So is that it? Is that what kept Cliff, Norm and Frasier always coming back? Why do we want everyone to know our names?

This coming Tuesday is going to be pure Roman debauchery. Whether I decide to drink or not, I’ve already got a fairly lengthy list of songs I plan on butchering, and I’ve been practicing in the car. One of my co-worker regulars is finally going to be over his tonsil/adnoid removal surgery, and I plan on a Misfits duet. Life is sweet.

Getting Along Famously

So if it was not clear from the description, this blog is focused mainly on Atlanta and the places and people here. It will act as a product review outlet, a critique on mankind making his way in the heart of the South, and lastly, a memory album of sorts, in case I do have to leave the city of my birth. Or, at least, that’s what I hope it will become.

Let’s start with Decatur. I’m sure we’ll return there, and for now we can use it as a launching pad. Tucked in the Toco Hills shopping center on North Druid Hills Road, this dive-y bar doesn’t appear to have a lot going for it. Once through the front door, you will feel much the same way. If you order the chicken fingers, they will probably taste like many other chicken fingers you’ve had. The wait staff is courteous and fairly attractive, and the pool tables are in good condition. You’ll find a decently-sized, Emory-laced crowd there just about every night. At first glance, there is absolutely nothing special about the Famous Pub what-so-ever.

You’d probably totally miss the back hallway altogether if the bathrooms and the old Asteroids machine weren’t back there. Above the double doors is a neon sign declaring, in tacky relief, that the darkened cave you’re entering is known as the “Sports Palace.” Now if you want a good place to go, drink a Miller and strain your neck to watch one of the 4 wall-mounted projection T.V.s, then this truly is it. But if you find yourself in the Sports Palace on, say, a Saturday night, well. You’ll probably be the one person there that isn’t dancing.

Of course you could go to any old club to dance, but why pay for entry and over-priced pink drinks? At Famous, you can walk right in, go to the back and get your groove on. There are tables, for the less-adventurous, (or those just looking to be entertained) and of course there’s always the bar back there, and even two more pool tables. But for those with a wild hair, there is the tiered dance floor with the twin stripper poles at the back. Most come in with noses in the air when they see the poles for the first time. And I will freely admit, their presence can, on occasion, cause one to re-evaluate one’s presence at the Famous. However, they are rarely used, and when they are, the occupants are usually too drunk to realize that their performance is not going to cause ‘it’ to ‘rain’, nor is anyone remotely aroused. Therefore, the situation goes from laughable to downright priceless.

Now. With all this having been said, you can probably discern that I highly recommend the Famous Pub as a socializing locale just about any night of the week. But I have not yet mentioned Tuesdays.