I met some dear old friends from NYC
out Monday night. It was good to see the
'C+C Music Factory' in the ATL again – it had been too long. We had a great time at multiple crappy establishments in
Buckhead (of all godforsaken places). Colin impressed with capital ‘A’
architecture stories, CKS said a lot (it was all “retarded”), Black Joe drove
the car and I wore a cool hat. As a
result of said good time, I’ve been convalescing with the pups for the last (48)
+ watching hour after hour of bad movie.
Colin was introduced to me as the
“music guy” in the break room of the firm on my first day. I took exception to this immediately (of course). My “mentor” was a tool and I unfairly assumed Colin
was as well by extension. I learned
otherwise, but it took a while – not that you need my advice (rock star architect),
but you should get loud. You’ve got a
voice. Artistically. Architecturally. Emotionally.
Musically. I rarely hear it. Get LOUD brother. Own who you are.
I met Caroline in a Monday
morning meeting. Soon after, I realized (I
knew right away) that she was full of shit.
She sold it well though and knowing everything she said was BS wasn’t
enough for me to not get behind what she was saying. That’s a helluva thing, right? I’m an Arab.
You’re selling me sand. I don’t
need it – I will buy a billion pounds of it Caroline. It’s ridiculous. You actually believe the nonsense that comes
out of your mouth and that makes those words genius (not retarded). I re-read the recommendation letter I wrote
for you some time back. I clearly drank
the Kool-Aid kiddo. Well done. You call it marketing. I call it Jim Jonesing.
Black Joe remains an enigma, by
design I’m sure. You’ll never read this
(being anti-social media and all) but you’re the guy. Even more than Kiley 108, I’ve modeled how I
manage on how you “managed” me. You let
me make mistakes and learn from them. If
not for the fate twisting recession you’d still be my boss. (In private I sometimes wish that were still the
case.) There are many times throughout
days that I could use your guidance or at least your advice. You surely understand that I can’t ask for it
though. It’s my show now. Let it be said
that you set a standard to which I judge myself in this firm – a standard that
I may never live up to. Thanks for driving.
I wore a cool hat.
I'm way off-topic.
After weeks of prodding, I accepted an invitation to play trivia with my boss and some of his family tonight. As is the case with all other things, trivia is different in the ‘burbs. As soon as I heard the team names I was taken aback. In my neighborhood, trivia team names are badges of honor (or at least of decadence). Team names in Dunwoody are “The Parents”. In the EAV we were the “Prom Night Dumpster Babies” – in Dunwoody tonight, my team name was the “Diablos”. Though catchy, it’s not edgy is it? “Stephen Hawking’s Football Boots” was replaced with “I Cheated in 4th Grade”. Take a breath, John. This is different.
I'm way off-topic.
After weeks of prodding, I accepted an invitation to play trivia with my boss and some of his family tonight. As is the case with all other things, trivia is different in the ‘burbs. As soon as I heard the team names I was taken aback. In my neighborhood, trivia team names are badges of honor (or at least of decadence). Team names in Dunwoody are “The Parents”. In the EAV we were the “Prom Night Dumpster Babies” – in Dunwoody tonight, my team name was the “Diablos”. Though catchy, it’s not edgy is it? “Stephen Hawking’s Football Boots” was replaced with “I Cheated in 4th Grade”. Take a breath, John. This is different.
I appreciated the invitation and
in spite of my hesitance I did have a helluva good time. The people were unlike what I’m used to
though. They all seemed so happy. And friendly. No ink. More khaki than denim. No people of color. Not the patrons, not even the wait staff. That’s weird, right? It’s like black people don’t even exist in Dunwoody, Georgia.
But alas they do, as I found out
when I stopped for smokes and a sixer for the long ride back to the “hood”. Black people are in full control of the
gas stations in Dunwoody. And the gas stations are over-run with polite white kids in nice clothes and nicer cars buying sodas and snacks after 10:00 on a weeknight. I'm not sure who this says more about, but I was just as apprehensive and wary of these kids as I am the base-heads at the liquor store on Fayetteville.
It was like driving to another time zone for me
to get to Dunwoody’s Mellow Mushroom tonight boss and it felt like another country - another planet really. I’ve explained to you where I live a thousand
times and you still don’t know where that’s at and you’ve still never been
closer than Turner Field to my block. I
don’t live in Decatur. Yes, I’m south of I-20. Yes, it's inside the perimeter. Yes, it’s like Little 5 but it’s different. It’s East Atlanta. I live here. I love it here. You couldn’t hold a gun to my head and make
me live where you do. It doesn’t make
either right or wrong – it’s just a statement of fact. In some ways I’m envious of the “safe”
suburban bubble that you live in. But in most, I’m not. I’ll be back for trivia though.
Having been warned of the
Dunwoody police I was on high alert on the ride. Back safe in the ‘ville I googled this classic
cluster of gansta rap blasphemy.
It’s kinda gold, but I prefer the
real thing:
And for those of you like me, here's the real:
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