June 12th - Maxwell and Jill Scott @ Philips Arena

Last night is the first time I ever attended a concert that actually made me tired. It wasn't that the concert was bad. In fact it was absolutely fabulous! It was awesome! It was the bomb and the grenade. Because it was all of these things, my little excited soul was completely worn out. Oh, all the excitement simply ravished me. I saw Maxwell and Jill Scott at Philips Arena and I promise if they ever decide to do another concert either together or separately, I will be there wearing my proverbial bells.

We began the night with drinks alongwith a fellow and newly-engaged couple at Sidebar. (Congrats DJ Underground and Sherita!) Despite the FIFA games going on, the bar was surprisingly empty save for a fews chicks taking shots, a drunk guy waving a really large and tattered American flag and an even drunker guy in a blue cap dancing in front of the jukebox in the corner. The blue-capped guy really took the cake. We imagined that he had suffered a recent heartbreak and needed the company of kindredly sloshed spirits to alleviate his pain while he danced rather haphazardly and shamelessly to Mariah Carey. Why do drunk people hug so much?

The flag guy kept pacing back and forth trying to rouse the crowd because of the U.S.'s World Cup tie with Britain. He even made sure to distribute high fives all around. I was more concerned with the state of that flag. One is not supposed to ever allow the colors to touch the floor. Nor should an American flag in disrepair be prominently displayed ...not even by a sot. Alas, since I'm not the flag police, I said nothing. I drank my cocktail, enjoyed my company and anticipated the fine show I was about to witness.

We walked over to Philips Arena from the bar in a crowd of fellow concert-goers. We admired the fashion sense and occasional lack thereof. Apparently, I did not receive the "wear the most uncomfortable yet attractive shoes you have in your closet" memo. I wore flat sandals so that nothing, NOTHING, could distract me from the sweet sounds I was about to hear. We got inside, made our way to our seats and sat down just as the lights went down.

First up was Jill Scott. Earlier in the evening, Babe requested that I put some tissue in my purse in case he needed to blow his nose. The tissue was actually for me. Jill Scott's performance was beautiful and heartfelt and authentic. I'd heard the lyrics to The Way many times before but after surviving a failed marriage only to reconnect with a long lost love who is my one somebody to love, I now really get it. Sure, I was a bit tipsy but I know I probably would have cried anyway. I laid my head on Babe's shoulder trying to keep snot from getting on his shirt while whispering how wonderful it is to be with him. Sigh. I gotta marry this guy...and stay with him for EVER.

Jill Scott entertained us for nearly two hours. When the lights went up for intermission, I felt I'd gotten my money's worth for the tickets already. Nevermind, sexy-ass Maxwell. After about 15 minutes of bathroom-visiting and drink-buying and chicken finger-purchasing by the crowd, Maxwell came on. He's such an energetic entertainer! He was quite flirtatious and all of us women in the crowd rewarded his efforts with a barrage of screaming. My throat is still pretty sore. All the guys who'd brought dates kind of sat there in confused contempt. On one hand, this dancing, singing mofo was causing their women to lust after him...HARD. On the other hand, his lyrical stylings would definitely result in some feverish lovemaking by the end of the night. All-in-all, the female fanaticism was a small price to pay for guaranteed bootay.

The funniest part of the show was when a woman sitting close to the stage threw a pair of bright yellow panties at Maxwell. Mid-song, he picked them up, sniffed them and then starting singing "sushi, sushi, sushi, sushi." That took me back to my panty-tossing days at a D'Angelo concert in L.A. Shame that brother is on heroin now. Maxwell closed his set after another two hours with Pretty Wings and I left in an utter state of tired-as-hell bliss. As we walked back to our car, I thought it was cute the way Jill Scott had taken her wig off and was hanging out of the window of her tour bus waving to the crowd with a plastic cup in her hand. I will never forget this night in Atlanta. Next concert is Talib Kweli and Hi-Tek!!!!

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

..........

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.

April 27th - Clermont Lounge

Eh Meh Geh! I think I’m still tipsy from last night. I’m going to pay for this for the next eight hours of copywriting I have to do. I don’t care. It was worth it. In the midst of celebrating my 32nd birthday week, I made the insane decision to go to Clermont Lounge. Now what exactly would possess me to go to a strip club/dive bar on a Tuesday night? I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to do something out of the ordinary. Plus it was karaoke night.

A little history. Clermont Lounge is the only remaining operational portion of the Clermont Hotel. Clermont Hotel was built back in 1924 and served as apartments for many years before officially becoming a motor hotel. Eventually, it was condemned because it quite literally was a hot mess. However, the Clermont Lounge is still alive and kicking. Opened in 1965, it is officially the first and longest running strip club in Atlanta. I’d heard about the place from a couple of acquaintances way back when I first moved here. They referred to it as the place where strippers go to die. If you Google it, then you’ll find all kinds of reviews about its randomness. It’s just one of those places that you have to see. Hence, I chose to see it last night.

We got there at about 11:00pm, parked and took a couple of pictures of the exterior since no cameras would be allowed inside. We were greeted by this ruffian, bearded, motorcyclist-looking bouncer guy. After showing him our IDs, we entered. The interior had one of those root beer glows to it. You know. Brown and murky. To our left was the stage for karaoke and a collection of tables and chairs. In front of us was a juke box which was only allowed to be operated by the strippers. To the right was a horseshoe shaped bar lined with some sort of padding for the elbows and adorned with various bumper stickers. Dancing on a stage in the middle of the bar was a very naked and very tattooed bleach blond woman who had to be in her late 30s. She had a fairly fit body and very perky implants. We sat down at the bar to order a beer and a cocktail. Two and a half drinks and three strippers later, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

Here’s the thing. None of the strippers were young. None of them had pin-up bodies. One of them -her name was Solai- didn’t even get naked. Instead, Solai kind of pranced around in these really cute boots. After Sweetheart gave me some tip cash, I gave Solai a dollar and asked her where she got those bad boys. She thanked me graciously before telling me. When Sweetheart called her “queen” she flashed some nipples our way. The next lady had to be at to be 50...at least. Her body had definitely seen better days but she pranced around coyly and then spanked herself for us. We tipped her too. I think the icing on the stripper cake was this really meaty chick. She made her ass clap. I applauded. That takes talent. We tipped her and then discussed how I should go about practicing that same move at home.

I can’t tell you how ridiculously entertained I was. Initially, I felt like I was watching someone’s cookie-baking mother strip but then I realized that these were just real women. Real women have flab and stretch marks. Real women age. But that doesn’t stop them from being in touch with their inner freak, nor does it dictate that they should be ashamed to do so. I don’t think any of these women were stripping because it was the only thing they could do to make money. In fact, status quo would tell them to keep on every inch of their clothing. Instead, I want desperately to believe it was a choice to give the middle finger to conventional notions of beauty. I’m not mad.

After conversing with this guy named Joshua about Sweetheart’s cocktail and the coolest U.S. cities in which to party, we made our way over to a table in front of the karaoke stage. I was pretty lit by then so I can’t even begin to recall what some of the folks were singing. Wait. I do believe that someone sang the theme song to Family Matters. One couple sang A Whole New World. It was pretty terrible. Finally, I got up and sang Prince’s Darling Nikki. I must have put on some show because one of the strippers came over to the stage and tipped me. LOL!!! After I sat down, I was all set to go up again and do Alanis Morisette’s You Oughta Know but Sweetheart reminded me that it was about half past 1 and I still had to go to work at 7:30 in the morning. Poo. Begrudgingly, I agreed to leave.

I had an awesome time. It was so cool because there was no pretense and everybody had a real chill attitude. I like that. Plus, I got to wear these wedge heels I’ve only worn once for the past eight years I’ve had them. It’s the little things.

April 23, 2010 – Loca Luna and MJQ

Last week, I decided this past Friday night would begin the week long celebration of my 32nd birthday. It started off fantastic. By the wee hours of the morning on Saturday, I was in a much more pensive mood. I’m beginning to think that each anniversary of my time spent on earth is meant to be a period of reflection amidst the sordid revelry. Let me explain.

We had every intention of going salsa dancing at Sanctuary with some other happy couples but they ended up flaking. So, we decided to call up a newly single friend of ours for tapas at Loca Luna and dancing at MJQ. As we sipped mango mojitos and dined on plantains at Loca Luna, it seemed the theme of the night was matured sexuality. What is the protocol for re-entering the dating-with-a-purpose scene once one is past a certain age? What are the expectations? How does one plug into their inner sex appeal? What is flirtation? What games are no longer worth playing? I think every unmarried thirty-something is trying to figure this out as they determine what comes next.

We rode over to MJQ at about 11:00pm to find a pretty vacant party scene. After paying the $5.00 cover, we decided to stay put. Things normally picked up pretty quickly and we were enjoying the renovations. Much to our surprise, MJQ had updated the underground walls with colorful, spray painted murals. The men’s and women’s bathroom were now distinguishable from the outside! Upon entering the women’s bathroom, I found they’d expanded it to four fully operational stalls and painted the interior a soft rose hue. They’d also managed to hang a mirror which actually had a clear reflection. Way to go, MJQ! Additionally, they now had a coat check service. That’s about where my delight ended.

We’d apparently come to the wrong party. That night, a worthy crowd didn’t gather until about 12:30. In that hour and a half we were an audience to the usual nightclub peculiarities. Folks like to line the room drinking their courage while a few rhythmically challenged creatures of the night can not help but to hop around haplessly on the dance floor. That evening, it was a young college girl who looked like she had a fire burning in her belly. I wasn’t mad at her. Ten years ago, I was that girl. Then there were the drunk chicks who were on a mission to be screwed. They’re always easy to spot. They tend to be a little bit dressier and a lot more drunk than the rest of the ladies. They part their legs wide to dance in really, really short skirts. Come to think of it, they don’t actually dance. They writhe. And they’ll do so with the first guy bold enough to buy of whatever they're selling. In the middle of watching one of these girls bent over backwards on the dance floor, I started coughing uncontrollably. Can you believe that? After six years of living in the smoking free-for-all that is Las Vegas, the cigarette smoke was actually bothering me.

I drank some water and started to focus on the music. The DJ left much to be desired. For an hour or so, he played some West Coast and East Coast favorites a la Tupac, Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls but it was nothing to turn flips over. After the nostalgia wore off, I found myself terribly bored by the ridiculously slow beats. Has hip-hop always been so slow or have I just been that much more into House lately? I waited patiently for some reggae or some Floridian booty-shaking music to be mixed in but it didn’t happen. Instead, I looked out over a scene of young drunks in a seemingly perpetual state of sex simulation. Again, I tried to focus on the song lyrics. I then came to the conclusion that I no longer wish to hear about any penis for which I do not have an exclusive interest. Additionally, I realized that some Hip Hop songs are just not meant to be listened to in a club setting. For instance, Renee by Lost Boyz is depressing. Why the hell would I want to do the Cabbage Patch to that?

My boyfriend realized a change had come over me. Inside, I’d actually begun to write in my head. Outside, I was experiencing a contact high. Since when did every third person in a nightclub find it necessary to smoke a blunt right on the dance floor? Had it always been this way? Yes indeed, I was high as hell. It was time to go. The first thing I uttered as I breathed non-Chronic air was, “I’m getting old.” I don’t know what I was more dismayed by. Was it the music? Was it the involuntary smoke out? No. I think it was the dancing or lack thereof. Don’t get me wrong. I’m as big a fan of lewd and lascivious behavior as anyone else. But, I’ve come to believe that sexuality should be more than a walking, talking commercial for doggy-style. Sensuality is so much better when it is understated. A glance of the eye. A fire in the gait. The movement of a bare shoulder. Thoughtfully applied scented oil. Clever, never obvious, innuendo. And while a sinfully, lustful sexual encounter can have its pleasures, it is so much better to have the ability to make real love all day with someone deserving of one’s time. You hear me? These days, true romance to me is falling into a drool-inducing slumber after eating spicy pepper soup and then awakening to find that my lover has placed the leftovers in Tupperware. That kind of flirtation will have me hanging naked from a chandelier with an electric hand mixer in one hand and raspberry flavored massage oil in the other. (Please direct all inquiries to outpast30lady@gmail.com. I’m not even going to begin to explain that trick in this blog.)

Anyhow, maturity is having its way with me.

Tuesdays at Java Lords

American author Jack London once said, You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club. During the past couple of months, I really needed to kick myself in the pants to sit down and write. I don't know what it was. I was going places and seeing strange things.

My inner narrative was chattering up a storm but when it came time to write, I just couldn't make myself sit down in front of the computer. The past couple of weeks has reminded me to never fail to use and share my gift.

I know I'm supposed to be writing. Yes, the content is sometimes questionable but I'm supposed to be the crazy scribe that I am. The Universe proclaims it.

In February, for inspiration's sake, I began frequenting a coffeehouse in Little 5 Points. The name of the place is Java Lords. I must say that the hot white chocolate there is to die for! Sweets and I discovered this place on a particularly cold afternoon while buying Bilal/Foreign Exchange tickets. You can order any coffee or hot chocolate or hot tea and spike it with a variety of flavored syrups. White hot chocolate with hazelnut and raspberry! Mercy! I'm drooling...but that's neither here nor there. I asked the hippie-esque barista if they have an open mic night. She said yes, every Tuesday night starting at 9. During open mic, Java Lords features $3 beer and a $3 cocktails special. Like I wasn't going to go. Puh. Leeze.

So the following Tuesday, I went for the first time and watched about five or six different acts. There was this old dude playing a guitar and singing. He did both things terribly. I'm serious. It was not good. However, the crowd was so polite. There was not a smirk or sneer on anyone's face except for my own. Out of shame, I tried my best to look pleasant and then finally I just decided to text someone. I possess no poker face. Once old dude finished crooning, the crowd applauded appreciatively. How nice is that? No heckling or anything. Just an appreciation for the enormous balls it takes to bear one's soul to a crowd of strangers. That's cool. Reason #38 for my current romance with Atlanta, Georgia.

Next up was an Igbo comedian by the name of Odinakachukwu. (I dare you to try to pronounce that.) He was telling Black jokes in a predominantly White crowd. Ha. I probably laughed the loudest and most often.

We are now Facebook friends. He was followed by a couple of forgettable, angst-ridden guitarists who whined rather incoherently over home grown melodies.

I sighed. I smiled. I clapped politely. After this cool magician did a couple of tricks, I made my exit and vowed to return the following week.

The next week, the old dude who'd gone first on last week took to the stage again. He was no less drunk and no less horrible at both his strumming and his grunting into the mic. What I made myself notice was his extreme level of commitment.

I like when people commit. In time and with less alcohol, he will improve. About three more acts went on as I drank my fruity cocktail and waited for Cousin Von to arrive.

Then this trio out of Austin, Texas got up on the mic and what they did was beautiful. I will let the following video speak for itself.

I can't recall what the name of their group was (The Blue Mints?!?!?) but I will never forget the way I felt as I watched them perform. They moved me. Their whole vibe seemed....pure. As if they were doing what they loved in the hope of reaching some momentarily captive ear to share a bit of their version of soul. It's not unlike what I'm attempting to do with this blog or anything else I write. I just want to share with someone... anyone who's willing to read a few paragraphs. Maybe stir up some shock or revelation or laughter or the feeling of knowing that someone else out there is thinking the same ridiculous thing I am. So it took me a month and some change to write down this particular piece. Sue me.

April 2nd - The Velvet Room

I just know my girl, Tanisha, has been waiting on this one with her crazy ass. I love you, Tanisha! Okay. So following my experience at the Pink Floyd concert, my boyfriend and I hightailed it over to The Velvet Room in Chamblee. We arrived at about midnight or a little bit thereafter.

I'd never been to The Velvet Room and I can't say that I would have gone if it hadn't been for Tanisha or the fact that Biz Markie was going to be spinning. The Velvet Room is often promoted by a few of the local radio stations and I am a bit of a party snob. It's not that I think I'm too good for any venue. I just don't like to be shot...as I've mentioned before. Over the past few years, The Velvet Room has been the scene for many a gun crime. Oh well. There we were.

When we arrived, I couldn't believe that this much lauded club shared a parking lot with Big Lots. I had to take a picture. They charged us 20 dollars to park at Big Lots. I'm not even going to say what it cost for us to skip the line. Let's just say it was the equivalent of three tanks of gas...or two sushi dinners for two...or a utility bill payment...or an HOA payment.

Let me digress here for a minute. Just the fact that I compared a club cover to an HOA payment is a clear and present sign that I'm tiring of this sort of scenario. Perhaps I should do concerts or other extra-ordinary events from now on...unless I'm in Vegas. But anywho...

We got in and again there was no reason on earth why those people standing in line outside couldn't gain access. We crossed a fairly empty expanse of the dance floor before having to wade through a crowd of people not dancing, but instead standing around looking at all of the other people standing around. I don't get it, Colored People. What's that about? Your feet hurt? You came to a dance club not to dance?!?! I pulled out my cell phone and started texting Tanisha to find her location. Of course, she was in VIP. She came out to meet us, we took pictures and giggled and danced a little for about ten minutes when Biz Markie took to the turn tables.

Ahh finally! Sweet, sweet, classic Hip Hop. Not that current rap crap they try to pass off as music. He spun a bunch of the classics back to back to back to back. The crowd sang or rapped along. Damn, those songs were old.

Which means we're old. I reject that. I feel like a wiser, more experienced 14 year old with a cool wardrobe. I don't know why everyone in the club was facing the DJ stand instead of just dancing, but whatever.

I guess they were trying to get a gander at Grandmaster Flash. Yes, THE Grandmaster Flash was there and started spinning. I thought of how my older sister and brother would have just loved to be here. I really gotta get them to move to Atlanta.

Following the spin show, Rob Base came on stage with some unknown singing guy. Where the hell was DJ EZ Rock? At that point, Tanisha disappeared with her random Caribbean date. (Girl, where the hell do you find these guys?) We managed to get through Rob Base's performance without being thoroughly annoyed. He didn't really rap any songs. He just kept talking to us and asking us if we remembered old Hip Hop songs. Yes, WE REMEMBER ALREADY! Sigh. Thankfully, he left and then Whodini came on stage. Those guys looked exactly the same! Maybe a little wear and tear here and there...but we all know that black don't crack. They looked good. And lo and behold, there was Tanisha's crazy behind dancing on stage right along with them. I don't know how she manages to always do that. You'll see her in the video with the long hair and baby doll dress singing One Love. Go Crazy!

After their performance, I was done. There is only so much I can tolerate of random people crossing the floor and bumping into me for no apparent reason. This one Lycra-covered lady must have criss-crossed the floor four different times. She was way too big to be moving around like that. She's going to have to make up for that calorie loss with hella cake. Between that and this random smiling guy, I had to leave. He just kept standing there looking me directly in the face and smiling like that boy on the cover of Mad Magazine. Now that I think of it, he must have been high on Ecstasy or something. Now, he knows he was too old for that! It was a grown and sexy party! And probably my last general public grown and sexy party in the ATL. I'm sticking to the immigrant night clubs or strictly exclusive affairs. PEACE!

April 2nd - The Machine plays Pink Floyd with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra

This outing was particularly random considering that I am SO unfamiliar with Pink Floyd's music. One day in March, my boyfriend announces that we're going to a Pink Floyd concert some time in April. I'm all really?!?! Don't get me wrong. I love rock music. In fact, I love all kinds of music except for that slow Mexican music with all the horns and stuff. It kind of grates on my nerves and you can't really dance to it. But seriously, I love System of a Down, Rage Against the Machine, Disturbed, Incubus, Tool, Chevelle and many more bands. I can't say that I ever really dabbled in much rock coming out of the 60's and 70's but I'm open. I was kind of shocked by my boyfriend because I listen to way more rock than him. However, he was interested in this concert because he loves a Wyclef Jean remake of a Pink Floyd song called Wish You Were Here. Plus it was a chance to hang out with this really cool couple we know, Stellion (awesome name) and Deniece. The only song I know by Pink Floyd is Another Brick In the Wall but hey, it's all good.

We got down to the Woodruff Arts Center at about 15 minutes before the show began to encounter a bunch of other concert-goers who were primarily well over the age of 35. I giggled to myself. We were going to be in the company of aging hippies. That's cool. LOL. Probably twenty years from now, the orchestra will be accompanying a cover band that plays nothing but Jodeci or LL Cool J or Green Day songs. We made our way to some pretty fantastic seats smack dab in the middle of the orchestra section about ten rows back from the stage. Thanks Stellion and Deniece! The symphony musicians were already seated on stage when the members of The Machine came walking out. They had to be about 50 years old, dressed in all black, sporting hair reminiscent of the 80s hair band crazy. We were ready to rock.

The lights dimmed. Hanging above the stage was a large round circle which turned out to be a projection screen. A strange movie began to show on it as the musicians started the intro to Shine On You Crazy Diamond. It was of this kid walking through a field and then encountering the entrance to some sort of Alice in Wonderland type environment. Colored lights began to flash patterns against the walls and ceiling of the halls, sometimes shining directly into my eye. I thought, Wow Pink Floyd must have loved being high on acid and crap. The concert continued with four more songs including One of These Days and Comfortably Numb before the leader of The Machine announced there would be a short intermission before covering the entire Dark Side of The Moon album.

At that point, I got up to use the restroom and snag some booze. I was enjoying the music but according to the history behind this album, it was probably better that I listened with some spirits in me. Apparently the themes of the album focused on the passage of time, greed, conflict and oh yeah, mental illness. The main composer of this album, Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett, was, in fact, suffering from mental illness. Personally, this begs a lot of questions. The Dark Side of the Moon sold millions upon millions of copies. People walk around with t-shirts featuring the album artwork all of time. For those of us who enjoy this music, are we a little bit crazy too? Does it take insanity to produce timeless music? Where can I get me one of those t-shirts?

Anywho, I have to say that I really liked the show and I do believe we should add this album to our music collection. My favorites were Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun, Any Colour You Like, Breathe in the Air and On the Run. I thought it was kind of funny when this lady came out and starting moaning to The Great Gig in the Sky. Why didn't they ask me to moan to this song? I could've moaned and writhed on stage for three to six minutes.

We left and went to R. Thomas to eat some breakfast with Stellion and Deniece. There we had a discussion about Communist Romania and Democratic Nigeria. Stellion is from Romania and you know my honey is from Nigeria. They were both very pleased to be in America. We also discussed this odd video we saw on VBS.tv. Apparently in Columbia, the young boys like to have sex with donkeys. We left there and immediately went to our next outing at The Velvet Room...but that's another blog.

April 1st- Sutra Lounge and Opera Atlanta

Admittedly, I've been slacking on my outings but I have pretty decent excuses. For one, winters in Atlanta suck compared to winters in Las Vegas. You don't want to go out of the house. It's cold as hell. And why would you go out into the night to look at people when you can cuddle up with your honey and watch James Bond movies? Additionally, we've been doing more social gatherings at friends' homes. It's just so much easier. There's no cover charge or overpriced cocktails or unwarranted trifling behavior. It's funny how I absolutely relished these amenities in Las Vegas. They just made for good blogging. But as I grow older and wiser, I want to go to venues or functions where I can do what I intend to come there to do. If it's drinking then I don't want my wallet to get raped. If it's dancing then I don't want to wade through a sea of uncomfortable-looking 21 year olds just taking up space. And if it's acting a fool...well, I can act a natural fool anywhere, but I don't want to run the risk of getting shot doing so. I still have to have babies.

However, my girl Tanisha was visiting from Las Vegas so all bets were off. Now you may remember the lovely Tanisha from our adventure at Olympic Gardens. Good times. While I was in the midst of writing copy for a San Diego business lawyer's website, she called me to hit the club. We decided on Leopard Lounge in Midtown. I blew out my fro, stuffed my body down into some leggings and headed out the door listening to Incubus. As I drove into Atlanta proper, I laughed to myself at the people lining the streets. You would have thought it had been summer for at least three months. On Monday, it was 50 degrees in the middle of the day. That night, it was a very pleasant 69 degrees at 9:55pm and the city was buzzing. We found each other and preceded to Sutra Lounge for discounted cocktails. It's funny. We never saw any part of Leopard Lounge. Oh well.

Sutra was empty, which surprised me. It's not like I'd been there before but then again, it was a Thursday night, Sutra's a nice venue and the drinks were a decent price. But come to think of it, we were hitting the streets pretty early. It's not typical to reach any party down destination until half past 11, but seeing as I had to write a website for a catering company the next day, I figured that I should get out and turn in earlier.

So I was at the bar drinking vanilla Smirnoff and cranberry juice when this dude with a receding hair line grabbed my arm and told me how good my hair smelled. His hand was hella cold. His name was Juan and he was a 41-year-old contractor from some damn place. I forget. He looked kind of stupid. Like he was desperately trying to cling to his youth by hitting on women he supposed to be half his age. I love being 31 but I love not looking it. He kept on making remarks about how we were too young to know this or we probably didn't remember that. I just looked at him. He was with a guy named Derrick and another guy named Trevor who looked to be brothers. They planned on going over to Opera Atlanta which was just across the street and they wanted to know if we would accompany them. Hell no, we weren't just going to buddy up with them. Come on. I mean, there was nothing wrong with them or anything, but seriously. It's not like they offered to buy us drinks. Plus the last thing I was thinking about was pretending to tolerate some stranger. I was there to kick it with my friend. Have a few drinks. Chill. Dance perhaps. I needed to get in another half hour of cardio for the day.

We let them leave, closed our tab, went to the bathroom and then paid to skip the line at Opera. I hate, hate those nightclubs that have you standing outside in the free line just to give the impression that it's teeming with revellers inside. That mess is just ridiculous especially when you get inside and the club is still half empty. Also, it's not like you're going to have an easier time getting a drink if the crowd just trickles in. These places are notoriously understaffed. One almost always has to elbow his or her way through fools to be seen at the bar by some nervous, overworked drink-pourer. Sigh.

We got into Opera and I was totally convinced that the party was 18 and over. Women were on one side of the room and men were on the other. They were just standing there in packs. Just a couple of girls were dancing and that was with each other. We stopped to ask a bouncer what the age requirement was. He said 21 plus. I thought of my nephew. He'll be 21 in July of this year. I can't do this shit anymore. Not here anyway. We took a picture and then left. The bouncers asked us why we were leaving and we said because we were bored. They gave us wristbands for the VIP section, so we went back in. We went up to the balcony and looked down onto the dance floor. There was this bald albino looking guy just dancing by himself. Next to him was this guy wearing a hat kind of jerking around on the dance floor. We decided that we were going to dance with them and we did but the DJ kept playing mere snippets of songs. Tsk. The bald albino guy turned out to be a boxer who could give but couldn't really receive a punch. I'm not sure why he felt it was relevant to explan that, but whatever. We left again and this time for good, but didn't feel like walking all the way back to the car. So we hailed some Ghanaian guy driving past the club and got him to drop us at our parking lot. He was very appreciative when we gave him our VIP wrist bands. Bye now!

At our parking lot, we encountered a problem. The parking attendant's car was blocking Tanisha's rental and the attendant was nowhere to be found. We noticed that the window was halfway down so we reached in and unlocked the door from the inside. We got in, released the parking break and rolled the damn car out of the way. Suddenly the attendant came running up asking for the keys to his car. We didn't have you friggin keys, Fool. Jeeze. Louise.

February 12th - Bilal and The Foreign Exchange @ Centerstage Theater

Last month, when I discovered Bilal and The Foreign Exchange were going to be performing in Atlanta over Valentine's Day weekend, I reminded my man an average of once a day that we should definitely be AT THAT. The Foreign Exchange 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 foreign exchange, they put together their debut album before even meeting in person. Now that's the power of the internet at work because their music is BOMB!!!! They have a second album out now and their song Daykeeper is up for a Grammy. Naturally, Sweet Love and I were extremely geeked about going. We liked Bilal and all but we really wanted to see The Foreign Exchange.

Thus we went about the business of securing tickets, getting haircuts and choosing attire all to be met with snow. It motherfu*&%n snowed for four hours the day of the concert! When it snows in Georgia, it might as well be the end of the world. Ain't nobody out on the streets. Ain't no more milk or bread at the store. Everybody locks themselves away in their houses and prays for the speedy emergence of a relentlessly hot sun. Sweet Love and I decided that the elements would not prevent us from venturing into the city to see our beloved TFE. We layered ourselves with thermals, sweaters and coats, wiped the snow off of the car and carefully crept our way through the streets to downtown Atlanta. We parked about a block away from Centerstage Theater and clutched each other as we tipped down the icy sidewalk. Smiling ear to ear at our own bravery and resolve, we were met at the doors by signs proclaiming "Due to weather TFE will not be performing." BULL. SHIT. After buying a couple of B-52's and finding seats, we decided to stick around for Bilal. Afterall, we did own two of his CDs.

We were in good company with a nice crowd of 30-somethings as local neo-soul artist Anthony David took the stage and gave us quite a nice performance. He had excellent stage presence and a really sweet singing and rapping voice. He performed a nice little duet with a young lady named Algebra (oh Black people and their names) and tickled us as he did a cover of a Lil Wayne song with his own lyrical twist. See below.

Following Anthony David, an unnamed comedian took to the stage. He chose to spend about a good fifteen minutes discussing the merits of giving and receiving oral sex. Of course, he focused more so on the receiving and than the giving. It was funny because most of what he said rang true. What was even funnier was the crowd's reaction to the subject matter. It is truly amazing just how conservative we colored folk are when it comes to the discussion of sex. Black women simply do not admit to the activities in which they participate behind closed doors and in the presence of their women, Black men will completely shut up as well. The laughter was stifled at some points and almost everyone refused to raise their hands when the comedians posed certain questions. I personally feel that I'm too old to be embarassed about nature and since I didn't know anyone there I laughed my ass off. Blame it on the B-52 (yeah right).

Next, Bilal's band took the stage playing their respective instruments. Bilal, himself, came swaggering, all slew-footed, out onto the stage wearing dark glasses, wailing into his mic. Sweet Love and I immediately gathered that he was drunk and/or high. I guess every neo-soul artist is getting into the habit of cutting their hair because his signature dreadlocs had been replaced with a gumby-esque haircut. Okay. We sat back and listened to him singing For You and Something to Hold On. He's got this crazy falsetto thing that he does and you can tell that Prince is one of us his major influences. We liked. He was jammin.' Especially when he pleased the crowd with Sometimes and White Turns to Grey.

Bilal's antics on stage were just hilarious. At one point he said "Hole up, we ain't done no sound check so our shit is all fucked up." At another point he said, "What's up Detroit! Well that's where it feels like I am with all this snow and shit." He forgot the lyrics to Sometimes and kept stopping and restarting the song and he looked like he was going to fall right into the crowd when he decided to stand on one of the speakers. But when he covered Thelonious Monk's Round Midnight, we had a new respect for him. Dude is a true artist who loves the music. We were very glad that we'd given his live performance a chance. We were still bitter about The Foreign Exchange though.

Bilal ended the show with Soul Sista and then we left. It took us nearly two hours to get home due to the road conditions. Idiots were driving way to quickly on the icy freeways and were slipping and sliding all over the damn streets. When going up hills, some cars were sliding in reverse. It was frozen hell. We decided that we wouldn't venture out in Georgia snow ever again...unless The Foreign Exchange comes back.

February 14th - Georgia Aquarium

My Sweet Hot Baby and I consider Valentine's Day to be a commercial farce annually forced upon us by conspiratorial chocolatiers, florists and greeting card makers. However, because of our heady passion for each other and recent reunion, we tend to celebrate more feverishly than most. Thus we observed the weekend with two bouquets of flowers, a Bilal and The Foreign Exchange concert, Halo 3: ODST, a couple's dinner party at our place featuring Monopoly City and a surprise visit to the Georgia Aquarium. We seem to really, really like each other.

I had no idea Georgia even had an aquarium, let alone the world's largest. Apparently, people come from all over the world to catch a glimpse of the universe hidden in the depths of this globe's oceans. After being blindfolded, I was driven to Centennial Olympic Park and then carefully lead to the aquarium's entrance. Upon the reveal I couldn't help but exclaim with clapped hands and giggles. I hadn't been to any world class aquarium since I was about 16 years old. The place was teeming with throngs of visitors of all ages. Of course, it was mostly families and that warmed my heart. I'm sure that one day we'll probably be dragging our wide-eyed brood through those same corridors.

The campus is split into six main attractions; Coldwater Quest, River Scout, Georgia Explorer, Ocean Voyager, Tropical Diver and Deepo's Undersea 3D Wondershow. "Deepo" looks suspiciously a lot like "Nemo." I'm not sure which funny-looking fish came first. We visited Tropical Diver first which further increased my desire to snorkel near some Caribbean reef. The aquatic creatures are all so colorful and seem to radiate as they move through the water. There were these little creatures called garden eels peeking out of the bottom of one of the aquariums. They looked like multicolored reeds of grass blowing in a meadow. Then of course there were the jellyfish, (OMG, if this cat doesn't stop bothering me while I type this!)cuttlefish, seahorses, anemones and turkeyfish. Beautiful.

We then went to touch pool in the Georgia Explorer exhibit where they were feeding eels. The eels actually reminded me of our dog Genesis as they swam up to the attendants and took food from their hands. They flapped their wings with glee. It was kind of cute. Just imagine having a pet eel! When they weren't surrounding the attendants, they were flying through the water and passing the sharks like kites. Amazingly, the miniature sharks seemed to like being petted by visitors. Pet sharks. So cool.

After being photographed with one of the mascots, we went to the Ocean Voyager and that's when my mouth just dropped. This exhibit is HUGE. I guess it had to be in order to accommodate the three shark whales and all of the other ridiculously large creatures. By the way, we learned that two of the shark whales were transported from Taiwan by UPS. Can you imagine getting a delivery like that? During moments like these, I can't help but think what an awesome world we inhabit. There are these creatures all around us of all sizes with their own habits that enhance the environment in their own special way. It reminds us to take care of what we have so that our children can show their children. Anyhow, I'll let the video speak for itself.

We were about to go to the 3D show but we suddenly had an urge to eat sushi. However, we felt kind of guilty at the idea of eating the cousin of something that we had recently spent so much time admiring. We ended up having a turkey dog instead. Seeing the life living underwater was such a study in harmony. All of those different creatures, whether in schools, in lifelong pairs or alone, went about their business of living in sync with all of the other beings. They weren't declaring ownership of the tanks or reefs. They weren't building technology to take each other out. Sure, some are eaten by others but such is the food chain. Nevertheless, there is an abiding peace and tranquility beneath the sea. I made a mental note to behave more like the fish and go with the flow of things. All in all, it was the best Valentine's Day I've ever had.

January 11th - The Art of Dinner Partying

Undoubtedly this is a departure from my normal shtick...but come to think of it, this is probably what I, we, all of us over 30 should be doing around this rosy-colored middle age. In lieu of dragging ourselves around sticky dance floors under the influence of fruit-flavored spirits, we begin to go to the homes of others. Why?

Well, the people we've come to know are beginning to live in spaces worth visiting. They now have crap to sit on instead of those clear inflatable couches from college. The didn't spend the electricity money on beer, so there is heating or air-conditioning. After years of weed-smoking, they've learned the value of having munchable quantities on hand instead of having to scrounge up 2.99 from the floor of the car to make it to Burger King for a fish sandwich that may or may not make them cry. They may have even given up the weed-smoking habits because the job which affords them the house and furniture and food frowns upon that sort of activity. Additionally, they may have pets and/or children who prevent them from gallivanting about town until the clock strikes nothing. However, they still miss the joys of socializing and need desperately to talk to someone else besides their significant other, their toddling child or their overweight cat. Thus, they make the leap of hosting their own personal low-key extravaganza.

These people invite me and my significant other because we're an attractive couple on the road to nuptials who don't mind expressing affection in a manner that is appropriate to the given environment. We make interesting and relevant small talk, tell pleasant jokes, remove our shoes when we enter and know the proper time to make an exit. Finally, we are law-abiding citizens who aren't likely to be casing the joint for our newly escaped convict of a cousin. In other words, we are the quintessential housewarmers for which housewarming gatherings were intended. Since moving to Atlanta, we have been invited to more than our fair share of these events and I felt it would be prudent to share some valuable tips on both hosting and attending as if I'm some sort of expert. Plus my mom would really like this since she pretty much taught me all of this junk. Here goes...

For the host:

1. Always be sure to give your guests ample time to plan to attend. This way they can schedule your shindig accordingly and if needed you can change dates to be more accommodating. Plus, it builds enthusiasm. You'll hear things like "I'm really looking forward to our get-together" or "Shall, I bring my Scrabble set?"

2. Be sure to have or create an eclectic mix-tape of music with both popular and rarely heard (yet tasteful) selections. This serves two purposes. First it sets the tone for the evening depending on the tempo of the music. Second, if there are any uncomfortable silences it provides a fall-back topic of conversation such as " I love this song, it reminds me of.." or "Who is this song by? What's good to listen to these days?"

3. When guests arrive, let them know where the bathroom is immediately. This way you give them the opportunity to wash their filthy hands before touching all of your stuff. Make sure the bathroom is stocked with everything they will need to do their business IE. soap, paper towels, toilet paper, wet wipes, air freshener. It would also be a good idea to stow any pharmaceuticals, porn mags or anything you don't want your guests happening upon in a bathroom they are not likely to use.

4. If dinner is not prepared upon arrival, do make sure to present your guests with suitable snack and/or appetizing options. We all know that people make it a point to come to free food events as hungry as humanly possible. Don't allow them to sit there starving or they will talk about your ass after the fact. On the flip side, some people will have eaten beforehand because they don't trust your (or anyone else's) cooking. The provision of these snacks gives them an excuse to decline large portions when it comes time to sit down for dinner...(and it deters piggies if you especially liked whatever you made and you desire leftovers). Yo, this is real.

5. Prepare only those meal items that you have cooked at least once before. A dinner party is never the occasion to try out a new recipe. If it sucks, that's all your guest will remember and again, they will talk about you. If a dish goes awry make sure that it is something that can either be quickly replaced or something that the party can do without. Anyhow, know the food you're making. Know how it tastes. Present it in such a way where people will want to eat it. It's called a serving dish.

6. Prepare activities like games but don't force these activities upon your guests. If the evening is progressing nicely then just let it flow as it will. If not then, then you have the backup of the games to bring about the fun times you are so fervently seeking. Try not to kick your guests' asses in games with which they are unfamiliar. I can't say this enough... they will talk about you after the fact.

For the guest:

1. Never, never, never go to a person's house empty-handed. There are so many reasons for this that I could write an entirely separate blog on this alone. A few are as follows:

a. It's just plain good taste to bring offerings and builds your personal brand.

b. If they don't have a single thing you like then you can always eat or drink what you brought because you know you like it.

c. In case the host forgot something like beer or wine, you've got it covered, thus keeping them from having to go rush out to the store to save face.

2. Wear clean socks because you never know if the host requires guests to remove shoes. In fact, just take it for granted that you're going to have to take off your shoes when you go to someone's house. Ladies, have your feet done if going sockless. Men, no holes in the socks.

3. Be sure to find at least one thing to compliment. It could be the decor, the music, the food, or whatever but compliment it. There's no telling what the host put his or herself through both mentally and physically to prepare the event. This event could be saving their marriage, their sex life, their personal sense of worth.... You just never know. Acknowledge their costs, their work and their hospitality by appreciating it.

4. Do not go anywhere in the house that you have not been invited. It's not Disneyland. It's their house. If you discover something horrible and/or shocking then it may be quite hard for either you or the host to live it down. Plus, it's just poor taste to be snoopy.

5. If you brought anything pre-packaged like beer, wine, or potato chips, leave any unused portion at their house unless they tell you specifically to take it. If you cooked something and have leftovers, offer to leave them a portion but be sure to take your cookware. Also, gather any accessories like gloves, hats, scarves etc. There is no telling when you'll see that stuff again if you don't take it with you. (It took me four hours to make those hobo gloves, TC.)

Hope that helps! May you enjoy your next dinner party experience profusely.