June 25th - Hookah smoke @ Divan Restaurant and Hookah Lounge

I'm not going to lie. I'm job hunting in this new landscape called Atlanta and it hasn't been easy. "Stressed" is putting it rather lightly. By nature, I'm a doer. Not a sitter. Not a stay-stiller. Not a sleeper. A doer. Thus going from a marketing professional / Las Vegas party girl to a Southern domestic goddess has been challenging. I decided that I needed a bit of hookah smoke in my life. Thus after delighting in the nectars of the vine at WineStyles, I made a pilgrimage to Buckhead for the relaxing benefits of hookah at Divan Restaurant and Hookah Lounge.

Divan touts itself as Atlanta's sexiest restaurant and hookah lounge and this could very well be the case. It certainly had great ambiance and seemed to attract a number of couples while I was there. There are four areas of the house-turned-restaurant off of Piedmont Avenue. A patio area at the front interest is shrouded in trees and vines. A lounge downstairs offers overstuffed cushions and intimate little nooks. A bar flanks the lounge area and then upstairs is standard seating. The lighting is dark and sultry and I guess there is just something sensual about sofas, pillows, hummus and many clouds of fruit tobacco.

Now hookah smoke is not necessarily safer than cigarette or cigar smoke but is definitely more legal than other smoking options such as pot, crack, meth, etc. In the company of friends, good food and soothing music, it can be quite a relaxing and pleasantly aromatic undertaking. At Divan, I received the much needed serenity for which I was so desperately seeking. I want to say that we smoked some sort of mango tobacco but I honestly can't remember. All I know is that it was sweet and soothing. I accompanied my shisha with a cocktail called Sunsplash which I believe included Belvedere and Grand Marnier. We ate crab risotto croquettes, seared tuna and eggplant on pita. It was delicious. We talked about the passing of Michael Jackson (R.I.P.), the Atlantan dating scene and the possible eradication of all the misgivings and prejudices which keep Americans from realizing one collective culture. Funny how the conversation always ends up going in that direction.

Anyhow, if you know someone looking for a brilliant marketing and PR professional with awesome story-telling abilities, hit me.

June 25th - Wine tasting @ WineStyles

Although I grew up within a stone's throw of Napa Valley Wine Country, I didn't develop an appreciation for wine until I started selling advertising. Working for a 100% commission-based salary in a den of liars, cheats and generally greedy people can drive the coolest head to drink. You start off tossing one back to take the edge off and then before you know it you're barreling towards professional lushery. Since I wasn't interested in developing a shake and everyone seems to admire a wine connoisseur, I decided that I would become one of those educated imbibers with a lovely collection of wine glasses and a pretty little wine bag for outdoor excursions into intoxication. While in Las Vegas, I went to more than my fair share of wine-tastings in which I walked around with my nose up, all warm-faced, attempting to get the jazz quartet to play A Night In Tunisia. I developed an affinity for Riesling and Merlot and learned what went best with shrimp, round steak, blue cheese or brie. However, last night in Atlanta, I received an excellent education at WineStyles.

WineStyles is a quaint little wine shop located off of the 285 on Cascade Road. Each Thursday at 7pm, WineStyles offers a tasting of eight selections with light refreshments for $10. It's nice. Very nice. You don't just walk up to the wine bottler with your glass and pretend you've been well versed in the art of wine appreciation for years. Instead you sit down at tables with fellow samplers and have an intelligent discussion about each of the selections (Silky, Crisp, Bubbly and Rich for whites and Fruity, Bold, Mellow and Nectar for reds) as you sample. For your convenience, you are provided with a list of what you are sampling so that you may take notes. The nerd in me was totally thrilled.

I don't mind passing on a few tidbits, especially to any of my male readers. (Men, please be up on your wine. A little knowledge goes a long way with the ladies.) All of the premium wineries in the world are located between 30 and 50 degrees latitude of the equator. Every vineyard has three components: a body of water, a valley and a mountain. (Sorry Pahrump, but you'll never go platinum.) Red wine gets its coloring from the skin, seeds and stems left in the barrels during fermentation. White Zinfandel is red for this reason. Red wine can have a life span of 100 years due to the tannins from the skin, whereas white wine has a life span of up to ten years. Tannins give the wine a harsher taste which is detected with the back of the tongue. Swirling or aeration of a glass of wine helps to release the alcohol vapors which softens the wine. A bottle with a screw top as opposed to a cork is called a "stealth enclosure." Wine is constantly fermenting which is why a bottle of wine can taste completely different after only three months. Finally, never hold a wine glass by anything but the stem or else any true sommelier will just think you're a poser.

Speaking of sommeliers... a special shot out to Ms. Mary and George for teaching us so much. I'm going to bring my boyfriend to the next tasting for sure. Also, what's up to Rameses, Dee Dee, Jennifer and Tanya (I hope I spelled your names correctly) and that cute couple sitting at our table. It was great to share this experience with you!

June 19th - Sol Fusion Block Party @ The View

Oh boy. Even given the partying I've done in Las Vegas, it's been a minute since I slept in past 10:00am the next morning. I blame the heat. The hot, sticky, unforgiving heat of the south. I think I'm waterlogged from all the humidity. Last night found me at a Sol-Fusion promoted event. They called it The Block Party and it was being put on at The View Specialty Events Facility at King Plow Arts Center. All of my Atlanta connections advised me that the party would be well attended. It was. They said there would be a lot of dancing. There was. Still I managed to misinterpret a few key details.

I'm not sure why I was thinking that there would be some sort of VIP access. When my date and I arrived, we were forced to stand in line with the general public. I know that sounds terribly snooty but it was a humid 85 degrees outside at 9:45pm. The doors were supposed to have opened at 9:30pm. Yet another misunderstanding. Apparently nothing starts on time here. They didn't start letting people in until 10:00pm. "In" is figurative. The event was touted as having both indoor and outdoor accommodations. We waited in line outside to be ushered into a red-carpeted holding area...also located outside. We cooked there, in the heat, until 11:30pm at which time the indoor area was opened. I'm pretty sure I lost about 8 pounds. The balcony didn't open until maybe another hour later but by that time it mattered not. I was also under the impression that since it was a Coors Light sponsored event, there would be an abundance of complimentary Coors beer. There was not. I instead had to drink the worst $8 dirty martini ever. I came to the sad realization at that point that I have been spoiled by Las Vegas. Spoiled. Spoiled indeed.

I'll stop bitching now. There were so many beautiful people. Not beautiful in that contrived Los Angeles, fake breasted, million hours at the gym way, but beautiful in that "he/she reminds me of my cousin at the family reunion back in 89" kind of way. For the first time, I didn't mind how the 80s are creeping back into our fashion decisions. I was digging the fro-hawks, the wide belts, the camouflaged pants. I just had to take a picture of this girl. (See picture to the left.) That dark halo around her head was one bad-ass afro. Maya, you looked gorgeous last night. Keep rockin.' I also took a shot of a couple of cats posing and clowning for the Sol-Fusion camera man. So many locs. So many locs. I've got half a mind to shave this relaxer right out of my head.

The music had me feeling like I was in the Barn at Xavier. (XU! XXXXXX U!) As I sipped my "View" martini, I danced and sang along with All I Need, I Get Around, Ain't No Fun, Vivrant Thing, Hoes in This House and Hay. (Admittedly not the most positive music one could dance to but what the hell.) All of the careful hot curling I had done to my hair was totally pointless. Now, I see why so many chicks had on wigs. My skillfully selected dancing shoes had the balls of feet screaming. At about 1:15am, I'd felt as if I had run a marathon on my tippy toes. My life was pain. Sweaty, hip-hopped, yet still exceptionally attractive pain. My next clubbing outfit will require sensible flats because last night's choice ended my activities rather abruptly. Much to the chagrin of my dance partner, I lead his high energy tail out to the car and requested that I be taken home. Instead he took my tipsy ass to eat. I think he knows me better than I know myself.

Sol-Fusion, you do know how to promote a party. I'll be at the next one as long as it's not outside.

June 17th - DJ Romeo Cologne's Funk Disco Party @ The Star Community Bar

Tuesday night did not end with Apache Cafe, but rather fell into early Wednesday morning. When one is betrothed to a wilder and more extreme night owl than oneself, the partying does not and will not stop until the both of you fall out. Hence, we left Apache Cafe and headed for Little Five Points with no particular destination in mind. As we drove down Moreland Avenue, we heard the unmistakable crooning of Michael Jackson wafting out of what looked like a total hole in the wall. However, people were still streaming inside, so we flipped a bitch, parked and made our way to The Star Community Bar.

Unbeknownst to us, the party had been going since 10pm. It was approximately 1:50am. As we made our way to the door we overheard a young lady and five guys trying to determine who was the least inebriated and therefore the most capable of taking the young lady home. She was, and I quote, "drunk off her ass" to which one of the gents replied "Oh, I'm not that drunk, I swear." I haven't checked the papers to see how that whole episode played out.

Sweets walked in, scoped the packed dance floor, made room for us and then we commenced to cutting the proverbial rug. About twenty minutes later, we were drenched with sweat, smiling, spinning around and generally having a fine time. We managed to attract a group of chicks who were celebrating their totally sauced friend's 21st birthday. That girl was very tall and very wasted. We were happy for her despite the several times she nearly fell on us and killed us.

The best part of all was the DJ. I later learned that his name was DJ Romeo Cologne and he hosted the weekly Funk Disco Party. I wished like hell that my sister would have been there. She's a child of the 70's for one and always waxes poetic about that era's party scene. Additionally, around the DJ's neck was a NECKERCHIEF! I've never seen any presumably heterosexual male, besides Charlton Heston in Soylent Green, wear a neckerchief. I don't know what purpose a neckerchief serves. All I know is that it took all of my will power to avoid pointing, laughing or screaming "It's made out of people!!!"

June 16th - Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session III

...continued from II.

As is probably customary around these here Eastern and Southern parts, a big dude from the Caribbean took the stage. Please do not ask me what he was saying or why he was saying it. I do not know. I just kept thinking he was going to say something about his "champion sound" or "skiddly whoa -oh-oh." I believe he was more than a little drunk and/or high.

This next cat's name was either S.O.S or Secret Agent Orange. I wasn't quite clear on that. I'm also not sure why he was wearing a backpack, nor did I know what the backpack contained. I'm hoping that he was peddling CDs but who knows. These rap guys are an odd lot. Crazy, cool, artistic, tortured. What I was clear on was the fact that the guy had flows. Few and far between can just freestyle like that.

At the end, all of the various performers were invited back on stage to bust another on-the-spot flow. It was cool to compare and contrast all of the different styles. I couldn't help but think that this is where Hip-Hop really lives. Not on the radio with thoughtless rhymes and beats formulated to appeal to a mass audience, but instead in the minds and hearts of youth who are just trying so painstakingly to be heard. It's their way to say something beautiful or profound or funny or real. It's their way to reach out to an otherwise cold and unfriendly world and say "I'm here." I wish like hell that I could rap. I guess I do in a way.... except my rap comes in the form of electronic paragraphs bouncing across broadbands, flashing on screens and hopefully being read by you.

Go back to Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session I here.

Go back to Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session II here.

June 16th - Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session II

.....continued from I.

Next, my man Orphan got on the mic and put it down. He had the crowd singing his hook "ANIMAL" as he finessed his way back and forth across the stage. I especially liked the way he was prepared to market himself. When I approached him about posting his video on my blog, he had his business card ready to go. Orphan is a member of The Tripod 3xperience. They even have a tagline: "Rugged, musical genius with a touch of class." Orphan, much love to you! Do your thing!

The next guy had me dying laughing. Before this guy took the stage or uttered a single syllable, My Sweetheart said he was the incarnation of Bizzy Bone. Sweetheart called it right. He looked and sounded every bit like Bone Thugs n Harmony. Homeboy came to put on a show. After he finished stating that he was a Gemini and brought a close to his song about freaky girls, he put the mic down on the stage and began doing some of the weakest poplocking I've ever seen. He then ripped his shirt off like something akin to Michael Jackson and proudly flexed for the audience. I just about fell on the floor crying. I'm glad I got it on video.

By this time, I was quite pleased that I'd come. We'd reached that point in the night where there is a sense of intimacy among the attendees and participants. Folks were feeling good about the show, the performers, the venue, and their cocktails. There was no negativity and certainly no disrespect toward anyone brave enough to get up on that stage and speak their minds. For some first-timers to the stage, the night proved to be a learning experience.

Continue to Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session III here.

Go back to Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session I here.

June 16th - Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session I

Awww Man! People, last night was so packed full of activity that I'm going to have to break this particular venue up into three smaller bite-sized pieces. In all humility, I ask that you hang with me and give me some love by clicking through to II and III.

Riding out, listening to Mos Def's latest project, The Ecstatic , which we just happened to score at Moods Music, we decided to check out the Hip Hop Jam Session at a little spot in downtown Atlanta called Apache Cafe. (Go Apaches! Go, Go Apaches!) Downtown Atlanta, admittedly, is a little sketchy after dark as all downtown areas tend to be. I still can't get over the shock of seeing obvious prostitutes just decorating the corners of the street. Even more shocking is the fact that they are men dressed as women seeking compensation for whatever "gifts" they are offering. When the police roll by, they scatter like roaches. Crazy, absolutely crazy, but I digress.

We arrived at about midnight to a stage full of white t-shirted young men milling around, passing a blunt, chanting a chorus about their N-words. I didn't have high hopes for the rest of the night. I sighed, shook my head and sipped my signature vodka martini with extra olives. The bartendress, Lakisha, saw my disappointment and we held a conversation about the displaced animosity towards women amidst the ridiculous amount of affection for fellow men. This social phenomenon which tends to rear its ugly head in Hip-Hop over and over again always begs the question of sexuality in my mind. Kind of reminds me of of The Boondock's "Gangstalicious" episodes or that time in L.A. where I accidentally found myself in a bar filled with homosexual gangsters. I don't have a problem with any one's choice in a sexual partner, but don't hate on women just because men are your preference, okay?

After the N-words left the stage, I noticed that there were actual musicians on stage instead of just a DJ. That was a plus. The host for the evening began to invite people to showcase their talents on the open mic. A couple of different cats went up followed by a Lil Wayne wannabe who didn't do a bad job, plus the martini was kicking in. I found myself swaying to the impromptu beat and then I reminded myself that I should probably be capturing this stuff on video. I have no idea what this cat's name was but the video below speaks to his talent.

Go to Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session II here.

Go to Apache Cafe Hip Hop Jam Session III here.

June 14th - Moods Music @ Little Five Points

Nothing captivates, motivates, communicates, inspires, relaxes, intrigues, revives or grooves like good music. Every night that I visit a dance club, I put my faith in the DJ to get me exactly where I need to be. I NEED to be high, free, moving my body, stretching, flowing, and letting go of my cares inside the womb-like warmth of a jammin -ass melody wrapped around a smooth beat. That's probably why there's been so many odes to DJs. DJs save lives. They can hype a crowd, unite a crowd, rock a crowd, calm a crowd. Due to their knowledge of music, they truly possess a unique power. After a career of spinning tunes, it is this most exquisite gift that prompted Darryl "D-nice" Harris to dream and realize Moods Music.

Moods Music, nestled in the soul of Little Five Points, is not your ordinary record outlet. At the respectable age of eight, the establishment is comparable to a fine wine shop. You come in. You enjoy the ambiance. You peruse the racks for that special gem. You check out the new. Reminisce over the old. Get recommendations of what would go well with dinner. Sample the goods. Chill and savor the flavor. Swap stories and exchange pleasantries with other connoisseurs. Hear about upcoming events to further whet your appetite. It's so cool. Additionally, no matter what day you visit, the cats behind the register know exactly where to find that obscure artist whose name you forgot but whose song you can't get out of your head. This is your destination for those hard-to-find grooves and the jams that you love that "don't be gettin' no airplay."

Yes, people still purchase CDs. Moods doesn't try to compete with itunes. Rather, it uses the electronic jukebox as an on-site tool to further promote its stock. I think that's a fine display of marketing savvy. In true entrepreneurial spirit, you'll also find incense, perfumes, lotions, candles, jewelry, t-shirts, and a cafe. LOL! I'm not complaining at all. I don't know anywhere else where you can find 100 sticks of incense for $5.00. Additionally, when I want to tempt my honey into the sins of the flesh, I dab on a scent called...um...Pussy. Thanks Moods.

This evening, as I walked down Euclid Avenue with my best friend, we dipped into Moods to scope out some jams and ended up staying for a live concert. The artist was a neo-gospel singer named Sonya McGuire . Her voice and accompanying musicians reminded me of a cross between The Clark Sisters , Cece Winans and Jill Scott. The performance was awesome. The songs were heartfelt . Truly touching. At the end, we scooped Sonya's My Journey CD to add to the family collection. If you like the sample below or even if you just want to check out the spot (which I strongly suggest for any music addict), get yourself down there and tell them OutPast30 Lady sent you. Who knows. You just might spot me there one Sunday inhaling Nag Champa.

June 9th - Strip Steak and Sushi @ Atlantic Station

My fledgling romance with Atlanta is not without its complaints. Although the streets of the southern city are beautiful, they tend to be schizophrenic with name changes. There is no grid, but rather a collection of random intersections turning, weaving, and wandering through the urban landscape and its surrounding suburban paradises. I nearly lost both myself and my patience while attempting to travel to Strip Steak and Sushi for Tuesday's 5p-7p happy hour. Thank goodness for GPS and the nearby Ikea.

Atlantic Station is a mixed use property just west of downtown featuring designer shops, office space, condos, restaurants, a movie theater and a rather oddly placed gym. In its midst is a grassy area for events and family gathering. After parking underground, I made my way to Strip fully expecting to encounter a fierce networking crowd of professionals knocking back cosmos and swapping business cards like their lives depended on it. Not so...and there in lies my second complaint.

Networking tends to be a tenuous undertaking round these here parts. Although folks gather at trendy spots, it is not with any purpose outside of just hanging out. If I'd been in Las Vegas, the place would have been packed at 5:00pm and a couple of folks would be working on drink number three. I would've made at least two contacts in that first hour and rounded out the night with five more. Whether on or off Las Vegas Blvd, I would have had to speak from my gut in order to be heard by the person sitting next to me. So, I couldn't help but be shocked by the mere couple of suits sitting at the bar speaking on their cell phones. I smiled and was thankful that I would be meeting a pal from high school. (HEY LiL BOBBAY!!!)

I gripe, but Strip has potential. It's a cool little spot. Served large helpings. Well stocked bar. Served Riesling although it cost me $7.50 for half a damn glass. But then again, the entrees were half price. No obnoxiously loud mood music to disturb me. Enjoyed a very cool conversation with the homey who gave me the lowdown on some more spots to hit in the next couple of weeks. I do want to like this spot, so I went to the bathroom to study the fixtures. Way cool. I loved the designs of the doors and the full length mirror. It had a very industrial look but managed to incorporate art by having an alcove adjacent to the mirror with a lovely little custom-fitted painting. I ended the night by walking through the wonderland of Ikea. I know it's kind of crazy to potentially go into anyone's house in the world and see the same Billy bookcase but so what. I love that store.

June 6th - Loca Luna

Atlanta, in all fairness, is very much a "chocolate" city meaning that there is no shortage of such amenities as soul food restaurants, loc-ticians, and poetry slams. However, Atlanta is also called "home" by people from nations all over the world. Driving through Atlanta's meandering and rolling thoroughfares, it is not unusual to encounter both Israeli and Palestinian, Filipino and Mexican, Chinese and Taiwanese, Ethiopian and South African, British, Irish, Russian, French and everything in between. Kind of sounds odd when one calls to mind the various stereotypes associated with the southernmost United States. No, everyone's neck is not red. Yes, many, many different languages are spoken. And for those of us who are accustomed to the flavors of the Southwest, hell yes, there is salsa in the south.

After watching the Argentina vs Columbia soccer match at a friend's penthouse (sorry Columbia), we made our way to Loca Luna to help observe another companion's 29th birthday. Now, only in America would an immigrant from Cote D'Ivoire be able to celebrate his birthday with people from all over West Africa and the Carribean at a Latino establishment. Gotta love this country. We dined on tapas that ranged from $5 - $15 each. (Free valet, Las Vegans.) Not bad at all. I had my usual vodka cocktail, which was on special for just $5 courtesy of Absolut. I can appreciate that...primarily because I only needed one drink. Someone hug that bartender for me.

Loca Luna features a live band nightly playing Salsa, Samba and Merengue. As the night progresses, the dining tables are folded away and more room is made for swinging and twirling to the heart's desire. OutPast30 Lady was delighted. I couldn't get enough of all of the various cultures and ethnicities intermingling, coexisting...celebrating. The whole rainbow was on the dance floor, at tables , at the bar dancing, dining, smiling, talking and feeling good. I had to ask myself again, "What recession?" Through open doors leading out to Loca Luna's veranda, we saw the sun set around 9:15pm. The air was steamed electricity. The energy was contagious... and abundantly so. This is lovely. Very lovely.

June 5th - Modern Jazz Quartet (MJQ)

So, when you are an adult who has experienced an unusual amount of stress such as packing up all of your worldly possessions and driving for three days across the southern states of America with two highly attitudinal felines, you inevitably reach a point where you either require a nervous breakdown or you must dance really, really hard for a long time. Having recently relocated to Atlanta, Georgia, this marketer by day and reveller by night thankfully chose the latter. I decided to get loose at an ATL favorite by the name of MJQ (Modern Jazz Quartet). MJQ is the kind of place one goes to dance. There's no need for flashy outfits with matching accessories or six hours at the salon. If you feel like dancing and not leaving the dance floor for hours despite the wet heat, a random elbow in the face and the unmistakable aroma of burning illegal substances then MJQ is your place. In the daylight hours one would never tell that this random garage on Ponce De Leon is an absolute crackin' music emporium once night falls.

After centering myself to the tunes of Paulo Nutini , donning a boy-beater, jeans and stilettos, and grabbing a bite to eat, we hightailed it over to MJQ at the stroke of midnight and walked into the literally underground spot to the sound of the late Biggie Smalls. We ordered a couple of beers and then hit the floor, happy, smiling, excited and all. From the DJ's table was a steady stream of hip hop classics including A Tribe Called Quest, KRS One, Naughty By Nature, E-40 and on and on and on. Then at one magical point made specifically for lovers, the music switched to reggae and we grooved to hits like Action
and Murder She Wrote.

In a word, it was AWESOME. You see, MJQ always attracts a crowd who will give you plenty of space to express yourself on the dance floor. There is no person randomly standing in the middle of the floor or shouldering their way through to the other side. Even the folks standing outside of the center are moving to the beat. The DJ knows how to hype the crowd. The music is stopped for sing alongs. Exhibitioners have dance-offs and the crowd makes a circle to accomodate.

OutPast30 Lady danced for just two hours that night. Why? My goodness...because of the humidity. It's been about six years since I've sweated a freshly permed head of hair out on the dance floor. I guess it's something with which I'll just have to reaquaint myself. Upon exiting the club, ears ringing, sticky, heads still bobbing to the bass we checked out the ice cream truck parked outside. Sweet Asha sold everything from Otter Pops to bottled water to Lifestyle condoms. Now, that's good marketing. MJQ, I will be back....soon.

To my West Coast readers, please stay tuned and keep reading. If you've never been to Atlanta, there is so much to do. In the tradition of Las Vegas, it is a 24 hour city but it's got a certain je ne sais quoi that makes it reminiscent of the Bay Area and New York and New Orleans all wrapped into one. I hope that I can convince you to visit. To my new Atlantean friends....oh the fun we're going to have.