May 21st - The Foreign Exchange @ The Masquerade

It had been raining cats and dogs earlier last week and I was fearful that we would miss seeing The Foreign Exchange perform at Friday's concert yet again. Last time, snow was the culprit. Although Bilal put on a great show, we'd ventured out in the elements to see The Foreign Exchange. What's so great about this friggin group? I'll tell you. The Foreign Exchange is a testament to the many ways that the internet can be used for good. It is a Neo Soul music group born out of the genius of the Okayplayer online community. Two artists, Phonte of North Carolina and Nicolay of Holland exchanged music and lyrics with each other over the course of a year. Through this overseas transfer, they put together their debut album before even meeting each other in person. Thus, when the rain cleared away, I and my lovin' man were no less than geeked to make our way down to the show.

We arrived at about 9:00pm expecting the group to take to the stage at around 10. Neither of us had ever been to The Masquerade and it looked pretty suspect. It resembled the kind of choice location to which a serial rapist would bring his hapless victims. However, when we got inside and got past the initial aromas of urine and marijuana, we found the upstairs concert hall to be pretty neat. It had a great deal of space, aptly placed bars and a stage that was easy to see from anywhere in the room. It's kind of like a more authentic House of Blues-ish dive bar with a grunge twist.

We scored a couple of drinks and then inched our way up to a pretty good position in front of the stage...apparently way too close to the speakers. As we waited for the act to begin, DJ Questions spun a generous mix of 90's underground Hip-Hop with some R&B. I decided not to belabor the state of Hip-Hop. Good music, no matter the genre, is where you find it. We all just need to be willing to look. The fact that this concert was taking place was proof enough.

The Foreign Exchange took to the stage and did not dissappoint. They played all of my favorites including Nic's Groove, Daykeeper and Take Off The Blues. Between songs, the comedy was killin' and they covered some semi-oldies. Using my new birthday gift courtesy of my boyfriend, Fuji Film's Finepix Z270, I was able to capture the pictures above and the video below. I love this camera. Totally blogworthy. I had no idea the camera would be so sensitive to sound so again, I will not stand directly in front of the speaker....ever. However, the picture quality (for a camera that cost under $150) was pretty cool. It was darker than a mofo in there.

As I walked out of the concert, content as all hell, I ran into this boldly dressed lady in the picture to the left. Apparently, The Masquerade offers two nights of cover-free dancing featuring trance, drum and bass and electronica music. As I've stated before, I'm really starting to get into techno and electronica. That and Brazilian music. Check this out. Anyhow, on the techno tip, I have some fishnets. I may just be at that, provided I can get the boyfriend to wear some ultra tight punk pants. Anyhow, until next time.

May 19th- Adult Trivia Night @ The Corner Tavern

I've always been a believer in going out in the middle of the week. I know that having children will eventually change that but for now...why the hell not? I have no curfew. I know what the inside of my house looks like. I carry pepper spray. So what if I have no idea where to go on a Wednesday night in Atlanta! That's what the internet is for.

After receiving a call from a good friend, we decided we'd meet for drinks and laughs at Little Five Points. We'd just meet down there and walk into whatever venue tickled our fancy. We happened upon The Corner Tavern which was offering adult trivia. Not knowing what in the hell adult trivia was, we decided to go in and find out. We sat down and ordered drinks. Since I'm watching my calorie intake, I decided to go with a classic screwdriver. Did you know that vodka has 0 carbs and only 65 calories? My girl, Janiele, ordered this drink that tasted just like a pineapple upside down cake. Really, it was delicious. For appetizers, we ordered the hummus platter (which came with kalamata olives) and fried artichoke hearts. Who says bar food can't be somewhat healthy? It was all delicious and the drinks were moderately priced. On to the adult trivia.

Our server explained what the game was all about. Janiele and I would be on the same team. It was absolutely free to play and the prize was house cash. When the DJ called out a question, we would have three minutes to fill out the answer, select how many points we wanted to wager and then turn the answer slip into him. We would answer questions based on categories such as drugs, liquor, pornography, sexually transmitted diseases, celebrities, television and music. Fair enough. Additionally, each team or table had the opportunity to give themselves a colorful name. We chose "Mahogany" while others chose such classy monikers as "Twisted Fister" and "Call Me Alpharetta Because I'm Ten Minutes From Cumming."

The first question asked who the lead singer was for the group that sang the controversial song Closer. Easy. The name of the group is Nine Inch Nails and the lead singer is Trent Reznor! In addition to being a Nine Inch Nails fan I once had to listen to that song for eight straight hours, three days in a row. Why? Well that's a story involving The Playboy Channel and a live studio audience...which is best saved for my tell-all book.

Anyhow, I learned many things while playing trivia at The Corner Tavern. For instance, it is possible for a male baby to have an erection while in utero. Women talk dirty more often than men do during hanky panky. The movie Blow is loosely based on a book called How a Small-Town Boy Made $100 Million with the Medellin Cocaine Cartel and Lost it All. Finally, Sigmund Freud recommended cocaine for the treatment of "nasal reflex neurosis." What a world we live in.

We did not win. Sadly, we were beaten by Twisted Fister. If ever in Little Five Points, Atlanta, hit up this place. It's pretty cool.

Flashback - Not Cat party. Coke party!

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Today I received a Twitter text message from the Atlanta Journal Constitution regarding a police report about a man falling from a Midtown highrise apartment while attending a coke/alcohol party. Since I'm inherently crazy, I cracked myself up for the next hour with jokes about creating formal invitations for a coke party and thinking up what kind of party favors one would give out at a coke party. Ha, ha, I thought. What the hell is a coke party?!?!? Then I remembered that once upon a time, I'd unwittingly attended a coke party. Like to read about it? Here it goes.

While living in Los Angeles during my early 20's, I supported my independently undergrad lifestyle as a sales assistant to a team of financial advisors at...um...let's call the company Cadmium Craig Rugby. Those financial advisors were the epitome of every stock broker, day trader, greedy bastard movie, stereotype and rumor you've ever heard and will ever hear. They were chauvinistic. They threw money around like there was no tomorrow. They were womanizers. They had huge egos. They were rude. They were crass. They had really idiotic, unfunny senses of humor. I had the time of my life working there. I wish I would have started blogging then. Anywho, all of these stereotypes were compounded by the fact that we all resided in the real life ongoing movie set that is metropolitan Los Angeles. Long Beach to be exact. LBC!!! Oh dear, it was so gorgeous there. Everyone was totally and utterly full of themselves. Yep, it was pretty great fodder for a fledgling storyteller.

One of the top brokers...let's call him Bob...announced that he was hosting a summer party at his house. He had this pretty fat crib in the Naples region of Long Beach. His backyard was a beach. He was going to be providing the liquor, food and entertainment. All any of his guests had to bring was his or herself. I was about 22 and ridiculously hot in the ass, so of course I was going. Plus I was playing hostess to these two young, strapping Marines I'd recently met out at Club Lingerie. One of my coworkers, the very angry and very Taiwanese Oliver Chu, wanted us to all roll together, so I volunteered to drive because I didn't really care for alcohol then. Hence, we rolled over to Bob's villa at about 10:00pm that night.

The party started off innocently enough. I dined on some diet-conscious and rather tasteless hors d'oeuvres while lightly sipping on a heavily iced rum and coke or something along those lines. Like I said, I really didn't do alcohol and since many of the guests were my coworkers, I didn't want to embarrass myself in any way. Back then I had a great deal to prove. I didn't want anyone to make any assumptions other than that I was a ridiculously cute young college student who could hold her own in a party full of wealthy people. I sat down with my three dates on the couch and made small talk with a couple of other sales assistants. Other guests both known and unknown trickled in. It was a pretty tame little gathering on a beautiful summer night in southern California. No big deal.

I noticed over the next couple of hours how many of the women had chosen to store their purses under the sink in the guest bathroom but I didn't think of anything of it. I was more comfortable with my purse securely on my shoulder. I wasn't drinking that much so I saw no reason to make constant trips to the bathroom. However, many of the other guests were practically running a train on the toilet. I assumed they just had weak bladders or something. I really had no clue. Then all of a sudden, everyone lost their friggin' minds. Oliver, the Marines and I were sitting on the couch minding our business when it seemed like everyone just started yelling loudly and incoherently for the sake of yelling. I looked up and one of the brokers was tossing around an empty Jack Daniels bottle while a smaller blond female broker was hanging on to his waist as if she was trying to tackle him. The blond, in turn, was being swung around like a human hula hoop. Someone turned on some music and then everyone started smiling insanely and clapping to their own individual rhythms.

I was pretty confused at this point.

A really skinny, fast-talking sales assistant came over and asked me to get up and dance and I was afraid. First of all, she was speaking wayyyy to quickly. Second, I didn't want to be dancing and then suddenly be knocked out by that Jack Daniels bottle. I lied and told her that I couldn't dance. She insisted that since I was African-American, I could definitely dance and she wanted to see. "I can't dance," I yelled at her. "I don't even like watermelon or black eyed peas. I'm an odd Negro!" One of the Marines grabbed my hand and lead me out to the back patio. We turned and looked back inside the sliding doors at the ensuing madness. Except for the other members of our four-person party, everyone looked CRAZY. The energy was indescribable and foreign and again I feared for my personal safety. I'd never seen these people behave in such a manner. Oliver and the other Marine sat on the couch pointing and laughing at everyone else. We signalled to them that it was definitely time to transform and roll out. We didn't even bother to go back in the house. We just went through the fence on the side of the house and met them at the car.

"What the hell?!?" I said. "What just happened?"

"They were doing coke in the bathroom, Dumb Ass" Oliver Chu said. "Like you didn't know that was going to happen." Oh, that Oliver. So Taiwanese. So angry. He cracked me up.

I really didn't know that was going to happen. I had never known anyone who'd done coke. I'd never done coke and never, ever will for that matter. At that point in my life, I knew nothing about cocaine other than it was something to which I was supposed to say "no." I was both shocked and dismayed. Those people handled millions of dollars in retirement funds and such and this is what they did that on the weekends? Were they high at work? Oh my goodness! I was surrounded by high end junkies! Something had to be done! All three of my dates laughed at me. I'm laughing at myself as I write this. Once upon a time, I was that innocent. Following that experience, I think we decided to go eat at Lucy's Drive In. And that, my dear readers, was my first and last coke party experience.

May 5th - Cinco de Mayo @ Uncle Julio's

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On one hand, it's kind of sad the way Cinco de Mayo is now commemorated with the ingestion of several gallons of acoholic substances. It really should be remembered for how the Mexicans stood up to the French. But then again, who hasn't beaten the French? On the other hand, I guess it is as good an excuse as any to gather together to enjoy delicious Mexican fare and a margarita. No matter my motivation, I decided I would spend this year's Cinco de Mayo at Uncle Julio's.

As soon as I logged off at work, I hightailed it down to Uncle Julio's, valeted park and pulled up to the bar to wait for my friend to arrive. I chatted it up with a bartender who looked no older than 16. He was excited about how packed the place was going to be. I shuddered at the thought. Lots of people and tequila? Sounds like THE recipe for disaster. I know tequila. I would enjoy a personal two drink minimum, a ceviche appetizer and then roll out before the drunken masses took hold of the place.

We left to go to M Bar not long after that. As we got up from our seats, two different men were jockeying for the positions. A crowd had definitely gathered and a line was lengthening outside as we spoke. Peace! (It's a good thing we left when we did because sources tell me a fight between two women broke out at the bar and the authorities were alerted. Good Lord.)After 45 minutes at the M Bar I gave up drinking the worst margarita ever mixed and went home to let my dog out to pee. Pet parenting is so difficult. I can't say that it was all that exciting an evening outside of the dancing couple below and good conversation.

However, here's what I did notice. I did not encounter a single person that would be in threat of being racially profiled under Arizona's ridiculous new immigration law. I spotted every other creed, race and culture. I know Atlanta has a sizeable Hispanic and Latin population but I have no idea where the bulk of those individuals went to celebrate Cinco de Mayo. I find this interesting. Those of us, who are definitely not of Hispanic origin, will all gather to drink in the name of Mexican history and culture but we have a problem with them being here to work and support that culture?!? Cinco de Mayo isn't even an official American holiday. However, I can't tell you how many American bars and restaurants generated a ton of revenue in its name. Sounds like exploitation without representation. To put it bluntly, that just seems ass backwards. Mexicans are not the only large goup to regularly come here illegally (Hello Canadians) yet they are constantly stereotyped as some criminally inclined element of the population who are usurping our healthcare and our jobs. That's madness. Granted, dope smugglers should be stopped but an entire group of people shouldn't be discriminated against for those few. This country wouldn't be what it is if it wasn't for immigrants from nations all over the world. In particular, Mexican people strengthen and enhance the fabric of our society in many ways...including beefing up our bottom line on days like Cinco de Mayo. So, in honor of those folks in Arizona (and nationwide) who are standing up for their rights to the pursuit of the American dream, I'll drink to that. Then I'll wait a reasonable amount of time before getting behind the wheel and driving home.

BTW, is anyone digging that new Usher song or what?!?!?

April 30th - Havana Club

For some reason, I've been having a pretty intense desire to go out dancing to house or techno music. I've never been much of a raver type but I'm starting to see the light. There is something so much more liberating about the music and consequently the type of scene it evokes. You just have to move to it and for me that's alright. Movement is a beautiful thing in all of its various literal and figurative forms. Anyhow, on my 32nd birthday I wanted to be dancing as quickly and wildly as I possibly could. After asking around for some good techno recommendations, I decided upon the Havana Club. This place featured three dance rooms including techno. Eureka!

I spent all of Friday in a constant state of bliss. Every few minutes I would receive a Facebook text wishing me a happy birthday. Modern technology is awesome. After work, I collected on my Valentine's Day 60 minute massage and then floated home to prepare for dinner at Seasons 52. Ironically, I didn't actually start partying until 30 minutes after my birthday had passed. Upon arrival, we proudly stood in the general public line because 32 years of life experience has taught me that paying 40 bucks to skip a 10-15 minute line is simply ridiculous. That same wisdom has also taught my boyfriend to follow the dress code by wearing appropriate shoes. Old boy in front us had to pay $30.00 because he decided to floss in athletic gear. Ah, the sweet folly of youth.

The club was definitely bustling with energy. I shamelessly attributed this to the fact that it was my birthday. LOL. After purchasing drinks, we decided to skip the Hip Hop room. I know. Recently, I've been bashing Hip Hop. It's not because I don't like the music. I love Hip Hop! I spent all of last week listening to Joe Budden, J-Live, Common, Little Brother, Kanye West, Jay-Z and on and on and on. What I don't understand is happening to the party scene. It used to be about dancing, grooving, hanging out in spite of whatever was going on in your life. You wore whatever was comfortable and conducive to working up a good sweat. You did the latest move or made up new ones. Your face hurt from smiling and laughing. Your feet hurt from stomping and kicking. You partied as the DJ saved your life. These days, it's like a funky attitudinal fashion show mixed with a ground fertile for spread of a mean bacterial infection. Sure people manage to have fun but it's just not what it used to be. Maybe it's just me. On to the techno room.

Lo and behold, there were available high boys and stools with no VIP reservation necessary! We camped out directly in front the speaker and moved like we were on fire for the better part of an hour and a half. I am 32 years old, dammit, but you couldn't tell me that I didn't feel as young and energetic as an adolescent drunk on Jolt cola. Thank you, Dance 101 for giving me the stamina of a tiger! Grrrr! At about 2:30, my stilettos reminded me that humans are not meant to spend extended amounts of time prancing around on their tippy toes. Before my feet started screaming I allowed them to lead me and my boyfriend out of the Havana Club and back to the car so that we could take it on home. Good times. Happy Birthday to me.