News you can ooze 

What hasn't happened recently? Old-skool clubbers wept at the Nike Pavilion's passing, but then shed tears of joy as Halo turned 5. Other birthdays have been celebrated by local (self)promoter MJ (I jest lovingly), the "Drunken Unicorn, himself" Armando, and socialite shutterbug Ben Rose. Karma celebrated a reunion, and Butch Walker commemorated a CD release with members of Second Shift, Y-O-U, the Whigs, etc. (the Smith's Olde Bar Brigade, we call 'em). I've shared a Rush! 'N Russian vodka cocktail with the energy drink-fueled Rock Bus crew (yet another notch in the locally based Sixthman "musically driven lifestyle events" success story), and watched Washington, D.C., hipsters do cutesy calisthenics to a Brazilian beat that put Southeastern pogo punks to shame!

But the biggest news is the sudden and impending Aug. 5 closing of Vision, the palatial Midtown estate dedicated to sensory indulgence and churning out mass quantities of crunkitude. It was reported in Nov. 2005 that the two-acre 1010 Peachtree lot was to become a mixed-use development. Though sidelining as an anarchitect I have no exact schematic; but I do know Daniel Corp. and Selig Enterprises (also responsible for Plaza Midtown at 950 W. Peachtree) plan a 443-unit condo high-rise and 38,000 square feet of street-level retail. And I'm informed that the final party will be Jezebel's Bachelor & Bachelorette Party. Tear the roof off tha mothafucka one more time before, well, they literally do.

So who will collect the patrons normally overflowing the Crescent Avenue curbs? Safe bets include neighboring 112, then Compound, and perhaps Fever. Just watch those fake tits bob upstream. But I think bodies to spare will benefit the entire Peachtree corridor. Already poised to accept hip-hop's tired, poor and huddled masses -- well, poor after $10 cocktails -- is Verve Lounge, the lively three-story South Beach-styled setting next door to Django, the Shakespeare Tavern and Inserection. A gypsy, an Elizabethan drunkard, a dildo and a velvet rope -- just an average night around the RedEye house.

With neon red and blue staining the white interior, the ground floor of Verve would be perfect for a Crockett and Tubbs investigation. Cocaine cowboy pastel and designer stubble is a hot second from being fashion-forward again, so there's no better time to enjoy Verve's breezy rooftop patio with its tiki torch skyline.

The upstairs bottleneck is a little uncomfortable at times, and parking is almost as much of a clusterfuck. And there are far too many "Good Samaritans" casing the block. But what's a real city without a little verve, anyway?

RedEye celebrates going out and going off. Send comments to, but hand-scrawled hate mail is preferred.



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