Redeye - WWJD - What Would Jesus Drink? March 16 2005
So, not to toot the Loaf’s horn too much, but we’ve been running this “Eats” double-your-value restaurant certificate promotion, and it’s worth it. Most featured restaurants include food and drinks, so I’ve had good nights soaking it up at establishments including Dish (great wine list), Pura Vida (sangria or rum, pick your poison) and the Inman Park Patio (pomegranate mojitos and, on Mondays, half-priced bottles of wine).??
And it was at the Patio that I became privy to an interesting theory. A couple of co-workers put forth the idea that men don’t really begin to act their age until 33. That could be seen as just another arbitrary assertion if it hadn’t been immediately followed by the observation that Jesus is said to have died at 33.
We’re talking paradigm shift in my world view here, people. I was all worried I’d have to get serious at the quickly approaching age of 30, but I’ve been given a new lease on life. If the son of God didn’t have to commit the ultimate sacrifice until 33, who am I to think I’m more righteous? In New York this past weekend, I came up with a phrase for this new philosophy: “Get strung out before you get strung up.” So for the next few years, I’m going to turn the water into wine, turn it back into water and then pass out next to the toilet. In the meantime, here are some field reports of what happened in Atlanta outside the can, and the box:
From two of CL’s lovely ladies, here’s advice for those hittin’ on but striking out:??
How do we put this gently? You can buy a girl a cocktail, but don’t try to run game on her friends if you strike out with the intended target. Who cares if we’re sharing the drink? All that dancing with men other than you makes us thirsty. Nevertheless, our ladies night out at Django went down smoother than the bar’s authentic mojito. The dirty continued to get flirty downstairs with a nice balance of crunk and classic hip-hop, which made for some hot Saturday night Fever, courtesy of Lust Lister Brendan’s strong yet swiftly poured drinks, and Sol Fusion’s J. Carter and Marco “Blue” Johnson of your favorite pita place on Ponce.
Despite being on the day of rest, the Loft’s Hot Hot Heat/Louis XIV show on Sun., March 13, packed in a cool, but sober crowd as the venue doesn’t serve alcohol on Sundays. Socializing in the mostly concrete room was like a club scene straight out of Singles: Echoey sound drowned all conversation, and the crowd merely head-bobbed. And more bizarre was the immense sea of bad dude hair, starting with Louis XIV’s overstyled locks. Makes you wonder if the general formula is the more stylish the hair, the more mediocre the music. The gents of Louis XIV circulated in the crowd during HHH’s more rockin’ set, and showing a bit of immaculate taste, tried to pick us up. But the boys in eyeliner would have better luck with the ladies in zebra spandex dresses, as we would never sleep with someone we had to fight with for mirror time.
Ballers, Shot Callers, Brawlers ...??
Lenny’s weekly open mic, Kirkwood Ballers Club, celebrated its one-year anniversary on Mon., March 7 drawing a noise-heavy contingency still dwelling on the green side of improv.
They came in droves, and over the PA came the club’s promoter warning, “The difference between Eyedrum and Lenny’s is that if you blow the speakers here I can, and will, kick your ass.” But with the ol’ Dirty Baller/founder Randy Castello breaking off birthday cake for anyone within reach, the vibe remained affable.
As with any “open-mic night,” you have to take the good with the bad ... and the ugly. And while a hefty dose of legitimately sharp and cerebral experimentalists performed, one must equally endure post-pubescent tomfoolery. One cross-dressing gutter punk labeled Sexually Active Corpse spazzed out with a torrent of pornographic faux rhymes to the tune of pre-programmed Casio beats as he stripped down to his, well, birthday suit, appropriately. Soon after, a dreadlocked troubadour who took a wrong turn at Eddie’s Attic found himself on stage. When there was a poor response to his out-of-tune, Hootie-esque strumming, he smashed his guitar to pieces. It was a rare show of truly spontaneous rage from the meekest of hippies.
From the beginning, KBC has been all about giving a stage to less recognized acts to channel unconventional performance, and though this first birthday bash was a bit extreme, Kirkwood Ballers Club remains on course.??