I am working on the comments issue.

Hey, the Forth Ward has raised my opinion of Atlanta well out of the “eh”  levels it has been mired in.  I’ll take Rathbuns, Krog Bar, Pacheen, Zuma, Roman Lily, Soto, Fritti, Lenny’s, El Bar,  2 Urban Licks, Thumbs Up Diner, and Six Feet Under, over any set of Restaurants in an other section of the city, and over most sections of most other cities.   

But  I am still thinking of visiting San Francisco for labor day.  Waiting for those truants Kim and Adrian to confirm.

I ran out of things to do Saturday ahead of heading over Eclipse De Luna  so I ducked into Cherry to have a drink.  The downstairs bar was technically closed, except for participants in a modeling casting call, but I pleaded thirst and they let me in to drink and watch.   They were looking for runway models.  Black ones, mostly, I think.  I watched about 20 women strut there stuff and then a couple of dudes.     I walked up to ask what they were looking for and they asked me if I wanted ‘to walk’. I declined, but after another drink I realized that I didn’t yet have anything to write about.  So I went back up and said, “Ok, give me the paperwork”.

They said, “Why don’t you walk first”.  So I kicked off the sandals, did some light stretching, and threw Stallion at them.  They promptly handed my some paperwork, saying “fill this out, and take your time”.      I’m not an ambiturner,  Its gotta be to the left…..

I met up with Gregory , Ash, Dave and Kelly later at eclipse de luna. The lesser luna?  Not Saturday. It was jam packed with foreigners.  Are there group words for foreigners?  Like A Murder of Crows, or Bloat of hippos, It would be neat to say “a Parlay of Frenchmen”.   Anyhow, there was lots of Dancing.    Little by me.

Not that this is an excuse, but I had played basketball for a couple hours earlier in the day.  That game is not as gentle as I remember it.  Me and Gregory, the only two white guys,  battled for second-to-worst player on the court honors.  I think it was a draw, but he definitely won the contact battles.    Good times.

Step-sis sends me this email:

Here’s another show you can do!

SINGLE AND HAPPY?  
CNN     Needs      You

Do you know anyone who is living the single life, in their
mid 30s/ 40s whos happy in their singledom?    

Tired of people pushing you to get married, find
someone.

Theres a singles movement going onwhich pushes away
the idea that you have to be in a couple or married to be
happy…    You may still be looking for someone eventually
but have gotten rid of the idea that youre desperate to
get hitched and depressed without a partner. Now youre
just living your life   (doing Bikram yoga ).

Im looking to interview someone for a story Im doing at
CNN next week..  

PLEASE email me if youre interested… Photo and bio would
be greatly appreciated!

Thanks for reading,
Amy Chillag    
Amy.chillag@turner.com

I don't think its for me. For three reasons. First off, CNN has some old footage of me laying around their vaults, that I don't want resurected.  Second, though I am manifestly Happy in my singledom, I have no interest in remaining there.   What kind of word is singledom anyway?   Why not singlehood?  We don't say bachelordom, or marriedhood. 

The beautiful Stacie K (Previously of Sacramento) is getting married.  I was just talking about her the other night at Aiko with Yogi Gina, whom I was just talking about on these pages a couple of days ago.

I wanted to write about something positive this week instead of just taking pot shots and popular music, but I haven’t been too explorative lately. No T.V. except Deadwood, which I have talked about enough, for a while. No new Music.   No restaurants, except Aiko, which is so obviously a club foremost. 

How about San Francisco.  You all know the food is amazing, but maybe I didn’t give the Bar Scene enough credit. There are streets and streets of dive bars that, had you stumbled into any one of them in Atlanta, you would immediately call you friends up and say “I just found the coolest bar, you won’t believe the jukebox”.  The bartenders are, across the board, a cut above what you would expect.  The fact that I bashed on the bad ones so much is testament to how good most of the other ones were.   I would go so far as to say that other cities shouldn’t be able to call their drinks “Cocktails”.   Champagne comes from France, and Cocktails come from San Francisco.   Call your stuff “drinks”.  The patrons of  these places are uniformly easy to talk too.  Whatever barrier there is that keeps people from talking to strangers, is thinner in San Francisco. Once that barrier is pierced, the conversation is easier than in most other place.

There.   

Being as Stacie is Hawaiian, I will honor her engagement by tempering my Jack Johnson remarks.  First off, he is more palatable than Ben Harper.  I do in fact enjoy his second CD in the morning, while drinking coffee on the porch swing at my cabin in Blue Ridge.  I think there are probably other occasions to listen to it, Say, for instance, a post lobotomy support party, but the Blue Ridge morning is the only one I have yet to find.

Getting out of my car today I had the sinking feeling that I really missed some good “missing coldplay and hitting Jack Johnson” jokes.    It’s too late for me, but I’ll call up Alex and see what he’s got. Stay tuned.

Also, go see Pete Yorn for free at Park Tavern sunday evening.

This obituary is great.  Needs to be read by Ricky Jay for the full effect.

..... During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span. He had a life long love affair with bacon, butter, cigars and bourbon. You always knew what Fred was thinking much to the dismay of his friend and family. His sons said of Fred, "he was often wrong, but never in doubt". When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower - on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French - the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Word of caution though, don't go out in public to drink because of the alcohol related laws our elected officials have passed due to their inexplicable terror at the sight of a MADD lobbyist and overwhelming compulsion to meddle in our lives...

 

Ricky Jay, amongst a great many other things, is the guy who narrated the opening sequence to Magnolia.

Rick stopped by while  I was watching the Cup Final on Sunday. He returned my Heartbreaker CD, and gave me tickets to the Pete Yorn Concert coming up.  He also gave me Yorn bootleg, and a copy of ColdPlay’s Cold Rush of Blood album, since I had mentioned to him my own copy went missing years ago. 

Rick had told me a couple years ago that he liked ColdPlay, so I had given him my copy of the Verve, which he devoured.  I bring this up, because cool people can only mention Coldplay in  a blog if they are making fun of them, or if they first mention the Verve.  (Some would say "Travis" is the recommended offset, but critics ran that into the ground.)

Anyhow, I had remembered ColdPlay's second CD to be the best of the three, and this morning I decided to revisit it on my maiden commute from downtown.  Unfortunately, the CD he gave me, though clearly labeled ColdPlay, was in fact Jack Johnson.  Aiming for ColdPlay and hitting Jack Johnson is a textbook example of the problems with setting low expectations.  I can’t stand Jack, primarily because every song is friggen lecture. He should call his CDs lesson plans.

I made it over half-way through his CD, all the while muttering to myself that if he starts singing about the T.V. News, I would drive into the embankment. It took such steely determination to  survive his various affected accents and low brow morality plays that I drove straight through the toll booth without paying and later missed my exit. I was done in, in the end, by track number 8, which is a tidy little lecture about the coldness of T.V News persons. I promptly ejected the CD and put in the consistently under-enunciating Clap Your Hands, which sounded divine. I swear, its almost worth suffering through thirty minutes of mind-numbing drivel just to be able to switch, at the apex of despair, to “Skin of my yellow country teeth”.   If you switched back and forth is would be like a perverse game of Officer and a Gentleman.  

Anyhow, if you absolutely need to hear a song about death on T.V.  please go find the song “Lake Marie”, by John Prine.  It’s one of the best songs ever written, and I could prove that if I had more time.

My relief about  having kept this site 'google proof' were premature. I soon learned about certain  Chat Room comments, but now  Sfist.com has linked to me.  They also knock my Grammar. At some point I will start proofreading my posts. This isn't that point. I can't imagine the SFist crowd will stay long.

Now that the show is over, I thought I could write a bit about it, but no matter where I start or what I intend, it soon gets personal. This isn't the forum for personal. 

What a Sunday.

First there was the world cup match.  Well, actually, first there was buttload of muscle-ups beforehand.   But after that there was the World Cup match.   If you missed it, think Troy, except have Odysseus taken off the field right before he comes up with the Horse Idea.  The French played the part of the Greeks to perfection, throwing themselves against the Italy’s Fortress-like Defense.  Zinadine Zidane played Odysseus well, cleverly orchestrating the attack. Thierry Henry is Achilles, utterly undefeatable when moving forward.  The Italians, however, had Cannavarro as Homer, rallying his besieged troops to play inspired defense.  Totti, was his usual, effete, Paris: Pretty and Overrated.

Watching the game, while thinking about it in these terms, I was fairly certain the Italian would win. They were completely spent after the first half, but there appeared to be comfortable in their exhaustion.  There would be no Trojan horse. Congratulations Italia! 

I then swung by my condo to pick up some mail but instead got drawn into an hour long phone conversation with Heather, who I hadn’t spoken to for many months.  Turns out Olga and Thomas are getting married.  Heather and I Doubled with them on their first date. I think it was at the classless Union Street Sports bar in SF. It was our second or third date I think. While we were waiting for them Heather had me demonstrate my handwriting by writing ‘Sean loves Heather like a….”. I remember the rest of the sentence, but I can’t write it here without drawing the evil eye of the FBI.   

There is also the other occasion where we all went to the beach and Heater schooled me in a wrestling/tickling match. You know you have been schooled when you let out a honking loud and involuntary fart.  I’m pretty sure that’s Heather’s favorite memory of me.  For good reason.  I suspect its Olga and Thomas’s too.

Anyhow, I only bring this up to point out that I had an hour long phone conversation, I don’t think I have done that since the lowly Jacksonville Days, reading the dictionary to Yogi Gina. This morning my vocal chords were sore.  Seriously.

So, after the Phone conversation with Heather I was feeling like the day was getting away from me.  I started off the vague direction of Lenox, thinking that I might splurge on some sheets.

Heh.

Thinking that I might spend a lot of money on some sheets.  As a housewarming present to myself.  Sort of  a , “I’m moving out of the parent’s house” gift.   I’ve tried to buy nice sheets before, but I always pull up at the last minute. $400 on sheets and stuff, it too much for a guy to spend on sheets and stuff.    

Luckily I didn’t have to make the decision.  When I got to 10^th and Piedmont, the catcalls had an uncharacteristically female tone. Turns out there was a World Cup Party still raging at “Sweet Devil Moon”, which was once “The big red Tomato”, or something like that. There were a bunch of Italian women dancing, and beckoning me in.  Well, I’m not saying they were actively beckoning me.  I felt beckoned, is what I mean to say. It was Sunday and I was craving a glass of wine anyhow.   My support for Italy, at least up until game time, was tepid at best (if it weren’t for Gina F’s encouragement, I might have had rooted Odysseus.) but I decided to pull over and have a drink for the Azzurri anyhow. 

Sure enough, I ran into Gregory.  Wherever there are foreign birds, there is Gregory. I run into this dude more than Meg Ryan bumps into Tom Hanks.  He introduces me to a Curacaoan named Ash, who went to UGA.  We had in fact met once before in 97, as we had Robbie Coelho as a  mutual friend.  Later, Ash and I headed over to R. Thomas (There are actual foreign birds there) for  a late bite with a couple of country folk we met at the party. A gay guy on his way back to  Mississippi, and a Street Smart Hawaiian from Decatur with eastern European Accent who is named after a color. 

That place is smaller than I expected.  I had built it up in my head as THE after-hours dinner scene. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but it’s certainly not what I expected.  I was expecting a cross between Local Luna and Justin's.    Instead, there was just lots of crazy crap hanging from the walls. It was a mix of the Tiki Room and and a Wind Chime store.    Ash was in a tequilla stupor, so he excused himself to the restroom.  Gregory called me and said, “Ash just called me from the restroom.  Don’t let him drive”.   But he came back strong,  feeding Fuchsia Penne off his plate*. 

Mississippi looked at me expectantly.  I don’t think I need to hear any crap about being a poor wingman every again.  

*Aside from the alterative pleasantries in that sentence, it is also something of a double entendre, if  the definition of ‘Penne’ is what the Italians told me it is.    The obvious next joke won't be made for privacy reasons.

Last night I picked up Lauren. We had our obligatory deck discussion glass of wine then we went to Krog bar, which is the Anti pasta and booze kiosk in the Rathbuns' parking lot.  Cool place, instant favorite. I couldn't tell you if the service was bad, or if Lauren's Colonial-New York Aristocratic manner had just pissed them all off.   You never really can tell. 

Then we went to Lenny's which is is something of a conglomeration of Sky's, Roadhouse,   Northside Tavern, and the Earl.  But dirtier.    I loved it.  All the scrappy hipsters fell in love in Lauren. The bartender, when she ordered scotch on the rocks. The pool hustlers when she'd throw he cue after each missed shot. You know the drill.

Hey, speaking of hipsters.  Lileks brought up the use of the word 'Gay' in a recent bleat.  The loss of that word's original meaning has always been blogger-fodder for crusty old conservatives, but I am too young to have ever  grown attached to asexual definition of the word.  But a few times in the last month or two I have wanted to describe an outfit as 'metro', in what I think to be the classical sense of the word, meaning retro sneakers, baggie khakis, and a stylish track jacket, or some other super-casual-but-high-fashion get-up that you might see being worn at MJQ, the most metro of all clubs. Unfortunately, the word, having been lost to the meaningless term "metro-sexual", is now unusable.

Hip is too vague a replacement.

I'm at Brad's again.

Take it easy Chuff.

Dave, of Dave and Kristy Fame, really understood the perils of the two person bowling date when he said, "Every other ball that comes down the lane is yours".    Sucks.

I am averaging around 200 hits a day and I am still google proof: There is no way to link me to the show except word of mouth. I think the uptick in viewership is due to increased viewing from friends and 'fans'.

(I just came on)

Rich: homo
whiskeysean: suck it
Rich: :-)
Rich: meat

(Anne is on a date with Dennis)

Anne's Dennis is the biscuit.  I don't mean that in a bad way, he seems like a really cool dude, he just reminds me of Peter MacNeil, from Chicago Hope v(Ghostbusters 2).

(Michelle is on a date with the guy who looks like Rich)

Brad just exclaimed, "Rich is Back!"

whiskeysean: thats you dude!
Rich: what
Rich: How do you know he has a big cock
Rich: and if it was.....
Rich: she wouldn't have choosen you
Rich: meat

(Anne is on a date with some new guy. Eating Asian food)

Did dude just take edamame from the bowl and put it on his plate?   Not for nothing, but I ate with my hands on my first date on camera.

(The girls are being asked to smell a shirt from each of the guys they are dating)

Rich: ohhh no
RIch: did you shower that week
Rich: this could end badly
WhiskeySean: I smell of the gods

Rich: spring flowers
Rich: soaked in ass

Rich: none of those shirts are yours
Rich: I don't see a woman's small

(Anna Picks a shirt)

She picked the biscuit instead of the edamame parser!

Rich: I should put my pants up there.

(Michelle just picked my shirt. Saying it smelled fresh and laundered)

Rich: you have never washed a shirt
Rich: in your life
Rich: that is crap
Rich: staged
Rich: crap
Rich: the show just lost credibilty

Rich: I would have bought that it smells new
Rich: but not washed

(Michelle was told to break up with the other guy. 'A short period of discomfort is better for everyone')

Rich: how does she know me
WhiskeySean: ?
Rich: she said 90 seconds of aweful

(I am at Sushi Groove with Michelle)

Hard to watch myself kisss someone on T.V.

(Anne takes a date home)

Rich: That guy gets coffee
Rich: because coffee if for closers
Rich: baby

There are two things I absolutely hate.  An old thing and a new thing.

The old thing is people talking about fantasy football during a football match.  It make my skin crawl.  I tried the write about this a long time ago, but I couldn't really get to the point. I should leave this to Alex, who does contempt better than I.

The new thing is people explaining why they don't like to watch soccer.  Fuck. I mean, everyone's got an opinion, and they all began with "I tried to watch it but.."     How about don't try?  The same goes for you fantasy freaks who say, "it makes games I wouldn't otherwise watch, more interesting". How about go do something else, you too-much-time-on your-hand-asshole?  Sport aren't vegetables, you shouldn't try to like them. The only possible exception is women trying to find common ground with their boyfriends. Think about that for a minute Fantasy Footballers.

It’s come to the point that I can’t eat lunch, or go to website, or turn on the radio without hearing some smarmy prick explain that despite his good faith effort, he can’t get into soccer because it’s low scoring, or because “they just seem to run around out there”, or there are too many fouls, or god forbid, a tie is allowed.

 Stick it up your ass. How about holding in Football, or fouls in Basketball?  How many basketball scores, which are comprised of over 20% of the points coming off of free throws, are decided by a 2% margin of victory. And you want to say soccer refs have too much power?   Aren't there Ties in Hockey.  At the end of the daythere is going to be a champion. That's all you need to know. Anyone who complains about the tie in a soccer tournament has a small penis and is trying to sound manly.

32 Nations, whose athletes range from tall and lanky to short and pot-bellied. Whose styles range from quick and precise, to sweeping and powerful, to fluid and artistic,  struggle to find a small advantage. It seems to me that there is enough room in the world for one sport in which a Goal is precious.  Don’t regal me with stories of the low scoring SEC glory days, and then say something retarded about soccer being too defensive.

WorldCup soccer is the greatest sporting event in the world. Its doesn’t need your support.

How good is deadwood?

When something really impresses me, I chuckle.  Its not a 'funny' thing, its a 'Wow that is something' type of thing.  Really amazing song lyrics, or a bit of food that shouldn't be that good, and a few other things, causes me to shake my head and chuckle.  Quality is what it is.  

DeadWood has me doing that NonStop. Part of it is just your everyday sort of belly laugh, but a lot of it is that Quality Chuckle.  Yeah, that's what I am going to call it from now on, the Quality Chuckle.   Phaedrus would be proud.

Joannie Stubbs and Trixie rule.  Kim Diskens' Miss Stubbs should win that T.V. Award.  The scene last week, when Trixie berated Al for not being Al,  demostrated the depth of the show.   Can't wait for the showdown next week.  

Speaking of Phaedrus, the BMW shop near my place in SF was called Phaedrus Motors. I always wondered  if that too was a Zen and the Art of MoterCycle Maintenance reference?

In other news, Some Alaskan Senator looked foolish trying to describe the internet. Lileks quips that "has no business regulating mud, let alone the internet. Seriously. It’s like listening to a stone describe how it thinks a watch works".    Reminds me of the "regulating the breeding patterns of pond scum" meme that floated through here last week.

I put up better than average numbers on a workout yesterday.  I think dropping a few pounds on the Zone as helped.

It took me 15:20 to do the following:
25 Walking lunge steps
20 Pull-ups
50 Box jumps, 20 inch box
20 Double-unders
25 Ring dips
20 Knees to elbows
30 Kettlebell swings, 2 pood
30 Sit-ups
20 Hang squat cleans, 35 pound dumbells
25 Back extensions
30 Wall ball shots, 20 pound ball
3 15ft Rope climb ascents

Ryan Adams is coming, I hear.

Why does everyone keep asking me if I am in the industry?

Rod and I drank for free at the Disturbing The Peace Music compound off Howell Mill.    I spoke with a European League BasketBall player for a while.  She plays 1 and 2.   I'm pretty sure that means she dribbles the ball a lot.

See you you all next thurdasy.