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Tomorrow afternoon, I have the rare treat of escorting an out-of-town guest around The Big Peach. Now here is something that I think I will be very good at, and I really look forward to it. How often do I get to take someone around my city and show them everything I love about it and try and get them to love it too? Though of course, like everything else in my life, there is bound to be some weirdness. Like the fact that my out-of-town guest is not REALLY from out of town. He’s actually a resident of an Atlanta suburb, Kennesaw, and has never, in fact, been to Atlanta. How this is even possible is beyond me, but it will certainly be interesting to show him what he has been living a mere 20 minutes from all his life, and never seen. And hopefully this will ignite some sort of desire in him to get out of that suburb up there where there are still occasionally public KKK rallies and camouflage is always in style, whether it’s on a shirt, a cellphone cover, or even use as a paint substitute all over your car. (coming in handy, of course, for hunting.)

Theresa asked me a few days ago if I knew what a ‘lifer’ was. She talked to me for a little while about the people in Alaska that will never move, and will remain in the place of their birth for the rest of their lives. As I thought about it, I realized that, no, I do not want to live in Atlanta all my life. I have no desire to move right away, but I will if called to do so by some illusive job op.

And what about location? Being a lifer in Atlanta must be very different than being a lifer in Kennesaw. Though some people love their small towns, and don’t want to change anything. They love the people they see every day, and have no desire to leave. In a city like The Big Peach, you can go anywhere and get lost in the heart of it. In the city, you can hide.

I think this little town where I’ve found myself house-sitting, Sugar Hill, consists mainly of lifers. And I think they must be out of their minds. But it’s their home and they love it. And even this place is going through it’s own changes. In 2000 the census took the population, and it was 11,399. That must be almost doubled. There are so many subdivisions here now, McMansions everywhere, and even upscale condos right on The ‘Hooch. Where there are suburbanites, there are liquor stores, Publixes, banks and restaurants. And that means mini-malls, and shopping centers.

Curious as to what this little town used to be, I did some research. This is their logo:

The city of Cumming, to this day, does not have a rail line. And back in the late nineteenth century goods were transported by wagon. Well, one of the wagons, overloaded, on it’s way from Buford to Cumming, (traveling on what we now call Buford Highway) lost a wheel while going over a large hill. The wagon overturned, spilling a few huge bags of sugar. From then on, it was known as “The Hill Where The Sugar Spilled,” and was used as a reference point on the road between Buford and Cumming. Then it became Sugar Spill, sometimes Sugar Hill, and eventually was a Georgia Militia District and finally was named Sugar Hill, and charted as a city on March 24, 1939.

One of the Outer Limits … of Atlanta.

Sugar Hill. Located about three miles to the West of 985, or, Lanier Parkway, (that’s what 85 splits into about 30 miles outside of the city.) this is probably considered one of the last suburban outposts before you get north of the lake, into “Banjo Territory.” (that’s what I call it anyway.)

My mother’s neighbors, a darling young thirty-something couple, has been paying me to house and dog sit for them for almost five years now. The last of these house-sitting ventures concluded about a month and a half ago; but it did not conclude without mishaps that, for some reason, occurred this time, as opposed to the last four-odd times I’ve stayed there.

Here is a invoice of the things that I owe my neighbors:

-One beach-themed plastic plate. (microwaved, when not microwave-safe. This is a very important loss to them, due to the fact that they eloped to the Bahamas about ten years ago, and their ENTIRE HOUSE is beach-themed. Shit.)

-One green, plastic colander. (microwaved, when not microwave-safe. During a drunken hunger-fest, I decided that the Pop Secret! Super Butter! would be too buttery, so I opened the package, rinsed all the pseudo-butter off, and threw it in the colander with a little salt and tucked that safely in a microwave; not even considering, of course, that all the salt fell right through the holes. I probably should have kept the result and called it ‘art’.)

-One Crate and Barrel Storage Table Unit. (gorgeous piece of furniture, and handy. It stores books, DVDS, remotes, and goes with just about anything. Unfortunately, it’s finish does not necessarily stand up to spilled nail polish remover. There is a much more interesting story behind this that I am simply too ashamed to share, but regardless: it was a gorgeous piece of furniture.)

- One wooden toilet seat. (no telling what exactly happened here. According to my boyfriend, it was whole one minute, and the next, it was split in half. This was also a crucial beach-themed ornament for their house. Or, at least, the top of the seat was, not the wooden, put-your-cheeks-here-part.)

Despite this poor couple’s multiple costs to their love nest, the female of the two recommended my dog/house sitting services to her sister, who lives here, in Sugar Hill. Thusfar in the week, things have been going just fine. Their dog is sweet, so is their cat, and the area is filled with wildlife. They even have a zip line out back that proves faster than I could ever imagine.

But the house is located in a subdivision that should probably be right out of The Stepford Wives. As a matter of fact, this neighborhood is so ’secure’, that they felt it necessary to instruct the people that live two doors from this house to re-paint the door to their house, which is red. Apparently the Neighborhood regulators claimed that it looked, and I quote my semi-employers, ‘like a house of ill repute.’

Besides the ridiculousness and the shitty weather, I’ve been having fun out here. It’s nice to be outside of the city for a while. I actually saw some deer, and an enormous rabbit. The ‘Hooch is a little low, (that’s slang for the Chattahoochee River to all you Yankees) but it’s been that way for a couple of years, due to the drought. I still would like to float it maybe later in the week. I’ll have to ask around, see if anyone wants to blow up a ‘tube and float on down with me. Of course we’ll have to design some sort of rudimentary device that will be capable of floating a cooler full of beer.

It’s good to be a-breathin’.

Third Fav blog K? Thanx bai.

This is purely for my own ridiculous sense of humor, and has nothing at all to do with class-related things. I luv lolcatz.

…aaand it won’t let me post a link, for some reason. But anyway.

http://icanhascheezburger.com/

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.

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Welcome to Atlanta. More to come.

Also, the first two of my favorite blogs so far:

This guy takes pictures of dogs tied up to things. It’s pretty hilarious.

This artist is really great – plus he helps show you how to bend your own wire!