I just got this from my good friend and former boss, who has been an Athens resident since the mid-eighties. I love it. Aside from the fact that I have always loved Chunklet anyway, the music is super cool, and now I feel inspired to go watch Athens, GA Inside Out again. I still haven't finished reading Party Out of Bounds, largely because I was afraid it would be too depressing as I was heading out, but there are serious gaps in my knowledge of Athens music in the early days.
One of the reasons for this is because the music scene is still (and, it seems, has aalways been) so vibrant that I didn't have time. I was so busy watching history being made that I didn't have time to go back. I recently discovered a couple new bloggers who are just getting started on their musical journeys, and I felt a little jealous. I remember when I wasn't lazy and jaded. I remember the shock of hearing, for the first time, somebody saying they didn't want to walk "all the way" (half a mile, at most) down to the 40 Watt to see a really great band. And I remember feeling the same way not long after that.
I remember the first show I saw in Athens. Cafeteria played at Allen's when I was visiting a friend. The first show I saw after I moved there (huh- I just typed "here", because I still feel like I am there) was The Lures at The Caledonia. I called my friend in Chicago from the patio to tell him that the drummer had sung every note of "Joey" by Concrete Blonde and not missed a beat. I was floored. But now Clay is well, just Clay.
In the nine years I spent living in Athens, I saw brilliant bands come and go. I watched FFS become Modern Skirts an The Redbelly Band become Dead Confederate. I saw the first show The Whigs ever played, Caught Patterson Hood solo for two bucks at Nowhere Bar on a Thursday night(and bought his solo CD, which at the time was a burned copy from his home computer in a cardboard sleeve), and watched The (shirtless) Star Rooms Boys play their last show to a packed Tasty World. I saw the Glands there, too, as a matter of fact. I can't say which show had more people, but I'm glad the fire marshal didn't show.
These are just a few of the hundreds of amazing shows and bands I've seen, and mine is an experience that encompasses just a tiny sliver of what was happening during the time when I lived there, which in itself is a tiny sliver of time. And yes, I admit that I got lazy. I just got spoiled having good bands playing so often. It wasn't until I knew for certain that I was leaving that I started going out to shows several nights a week again. I guess it's better that I got away for awhile. Living in a place with little or no music scene has already upped my appreciation of Athens.
I wonder if anybody will ever make another Athens music documentary. And if they do, I wonder who'll be in it. No matter who it is, things will be left out. You just can't capture it all.

Athens does that "Small World" thing to me Again.

So I'm at the Local Liquor Store, and I am assisting a customer with beer choices. He is a regular customer who comes in once a month or so and stocks up on different beers, tasting and taking notes as he goes. He looks to employees for recommendations, and since W, the beer guru, was not working, I was lucky enough to be able to help him choose. We strolled the beer cooler, I gave him some Arrogant Bastard and a Young's Double Chocolate Stout and a few random singles, and we got to talking about our respective cases of Anglophilia. He asked if I had ever been, and as we walked up to the front counter with his four six packs, I replied that I hadn't, and that I was afraid if I ever went I might never want to return.
"I do have a blogger friend there, though we have yet to meet in person," I explained, wondering if that sounded weird.
"Where?" he asked, not missing a beat(I guess it didn't).
"She lives in Bungay"
"Where is that?"
"Not entirely sure, but I get the idea that it's about a hundred miles North of London," I answered, suddenly wondering why in hell I had never looked on a map.

A woman who looked to be about sixty, standing in line in a Georgia Bulldog Cheerleader outfit (not that weird on game day, I'm afraid) suddenly piped up:
"Bungay England?"
"Yes."
"I thought that's what you must be talking about. We have friends that live in Bungay England. It's about a hundred miles Northeast of London."

Of course she does. Because that's how it is here.

Fun New Time Sucker.

Holy crap. I've just spent a good bit of time over at the Athens Music Family Tree. If you haven't seen it yet, go on over. But make sure you have plenty of time when you do, because it is chock full of interesting information. I can't wait to see what it looks like in a year. I've sent the link to several people who I hope will start contributing to it. It is a nice reminder of just how fucking cool the music scene is here, how many great shows I've been to, and in short, how lucky I am to have lived here for the past eight years.
I worked both jobs yesterday, which meant that I was mostly useless by the second half of my bar shift. Fortunately I had a lot of help from J and N. I still felt like a useless piece of crap, though. I have got to get my schedule sorted out.

Not feeling very talkative at the moment, come to think of it.

Close Call.

The b.h. had an old friend from out of town stop in on Friday. We both went to work in the morning and then met at the Flicker bar for a drink while we waited for J to meet us.
When J arrived we went to pick up some dinner at La Pari11a before heading back to the house. We placed our order to go, and I took J over to F0xz Tavern for a beer while we waited for our food. J Hasn't visited Athens in years, and my thought was that if you're only passing through, a drink at Foxz has a lot of bang for your touristy buck. The place is an institution, and even though it has moved to a new location in recent years, it brought with it all of the funk (as in filth, not "tha funk" or "da funk") and weirdness that makes it unique.
The b.h., knowing full well that he would not be able to procure a non-alcoholic beer at said tavern, went to the liquor store, saying he would meet us back at the restaurant.
J and I walked in and made our way around the bar, through a haze of cigarette smoke, pulling up two stools on the far side between the bar and the karaoke stage. We ordered a couple of beers. It took me several minutes to realize that there was an unusually old crowd in there, even for Happy Hour. I think there may have been two or three other people in there under the age of fifty. Not that fifty is old, mind you- it's just a rather high median age for that bar with that many people in it. Most of the women were particularly dolled up, and normally I would have assumed that it was because they had just come from work, but they were showing an awful lot of cleavage. A lot of very tan, very wrinkly cleavage. I found it curious, but not necessarily worth mentioning, so I didn't. I explained to J that this place was the home of lesbian softball teams, bikers, old grizzled racist redneck guys, drag queens, college students, lefty nutjobs, drug addicts, and any other person brave enough to stay after they've wandered in. The bartenders are funny and patient and generous. Except when they're angry and mean, which is all the more entertaining. In short, it's a great place to drink. There was a guy on the other side of J that seemed like he wanted our attention, possibly to get in on the conversation, but I wasn't feeling up to it (because we were only there for a quick drink) so I avoided eye contact and kept on talking directly to J. He told me about his favorite dive in Pheonix, and about the excellent dive he had been to in Austin two nights previous. The karaoke was just getting started as we finished our beers, thanked the bartender, and headed back to get our food.
Last night I mentioned that visit to my good friend M. His eyes got real wide for a split second and he said

"Aw man, that was First Friday, wasn't it?"

There was a long pause, and then I shuddered.

The local Swingers Club meets there on the first Friday of every month.

Where Have I Been?

Jeebus- It has been a week already, hasn't it? Well, Let's see... Thursday I went to work at the bar, then at the Big Stupid Box STore, then home for two hours, then back to work at the bar. Slept for four and a half hours, got up and took the b.h. to work, then back to the BSBS. Busted ass there for many, many hours, managed to zing Middle Manager Jim (He made a reference to the fork lift as a "dork lift", because in addition to being fat and bald at twenty-six, he is also incredibly clever, and I looked him up and down and said "Nah- that thing couldn't lift you," and walked off. Got some raspberry and blackberry bushes on super sale, stayed late to help L with a giant azalea order, then went downtown to get coffee at the Jittery Joe's Roaster and wait for the b.h. to call.
At the roaster, I ran into a very good friend who I never see anymore as he lives in Atlanta and has a real job. We sat in my favorite glider chairs of all time and talked about life and love and important stuff. He is going to Afghanistan in May to train police officers (he is not in the military, he is a cop in Atlanta, and let me just say that if all cops were like him the world would be a much, much better place). I hate that he is going and I get a little ill just thinking about it, but it will be great for his career and as I said, he is fantastic and is the kind of guy you want training other people. It was incredibly serendipitous that we ran into each other. I wish we could while away more hours like that again.
The b.h. called a while later. He had to go to band practice, so I picked him up from work, dropped him at his practice space, and went home. I cleaned the house as best I could, ran the dogs, and ate and showered before heading back downtown to the Caledonia. The boys from J. Roddy were already there, so I hung out and talked to them about their tour for a bit before Lake City went on.
It was Drummer Dave's last show with Lake City, as he has gotten a "real job" and will be heading out to Boulder this week. They kicked much ass. After that, J. Roddy tore up the stage. About three songs in, one of the Lake City guys leaned over to me and said "I'm really glad we went first." He was right. Regardless of what a fantastic set Lake City had had, I would not wish on any band following J. Roddy and the Business. Everyone that I had harangued into going was very happy that they had. Two of the managers from the Forty Watt came by, as well as the tour manager for The Hold Steady, who I later overheard heaping praise on Zack (J. Roddy bassist). This is an excellent development. I am crossing my fingers for those boys. The Empties also had a great show, and when it was all over the b.h. and I headed back to Casa del Outside In with The Business for the traditional post-show pizza and beer.
I woke up early on Saturday (my blasted body is just doing that now, whether I like it or not), had some coffee, saw the Business boys off, and called the b.h.'s mom to go shopping for plants. That was an adventure. We got lost, three times, made calls, got directions, got lost again, made another call, and finally found the nursery. It is owned by a former UGA professor. I wasn't thrilled. His wife had a black eye (I know there are a million ways that can happen, but it made me feel weird), and all of their signs were misspelled. Plants that were virtually identical had varying prices. We got what we came for and left.
Crap. I have to get to work. More later.

Sometimes I'm Socially Awkward.

On Wednesday night I went to Farm 255 to see a show. It was a benefit for the Robert Osbourne Film Festival, which will be coming to our fair city early next year. The main reason I went was to see Dave Marr, but also featured on the bill were Patterson Hood, Don Chambers, Bo Bedingfield, Dave Barbe, Brad Morgan, John Neff, and, occasionally, Clay Leverett. It was fantastic. Dave sings like the smoothest shot of honey-flavored whiskey you've ever had. He played several of my favorites. Patterson pulled out some old tunes you never get to hear anymore (well, at least I don't), and Donnie did a cover of Gordon Lightfoot's Sundown that was so good it deserves to be in regular rotation at his shows. As for Bo, well, I think he is maybe the best songwriter you haven't heard of (yet) in Athens.
I came in just as they were about to start, and went up to the bar to grab a beer. "Grabbing" wasn't really possible, however. There was a sizable crowd and the bartenders both had their hands quite full. I ran into Dave at the bar and we were still waiting to order when the first couple notes were struck from the stage, so he asked me to order the beer he needed and went off to start the show.
I got my beer, got the beer he needed, and made my way past the stage area, dropping off his beer on my way as surreptitiously as possible, and scooted into a seat at a table nearby. The table was occupied, luckily, by a familiar band of Trucker wives and friends, all of whom I was happy to see. I noticed several songs into the set that He Who Must Not Be Named was at the other end (the head) of the (very long- there were several tables connected, actually) table. I remembered that I had joked years ago that I was going to title my Athens memoir "An Illinois Yankee in King Michael's Court." I smiled to myself a little, savoring that moment and the memory and thinking about how I was going to go home and blog about it- and then I realized that I probably looked like a stalker, gaping at the poor man from the other end of the table. A got up quickly and went to the bar for another beer. When I returned to the table, I made certain not to look like I might even be thinking about turning my head in his direction. I kept my eyes riveted on the stage. I'm sure it all looked very natural.

Misuse of Tae Kwon Do?

Two women, early thirties, walking alone down a street at two in the morning. They're chatting, not really paying much attention to the man (I use that term loosely, as he was clearly a fucking frat boy) in the gray fleece and the white baseball hat on his cell phone walking toward them. As he passes them, he lunges toward the nearest woman, sticking out his tongue and screaming "Blahhhhh!" right in her face.
The woman turns toward him, takes a step, and then turns and skip side kicks him right in the chest. His whole body folds, momentarily, and his face contorts in confusion, which then turns to rage. The women laugh a little. They continue walking. Still talking on his phone, the man turns to follow the two women, shouting after them
"Now I'm going to follow you. Isn't that funny?"

"Yeah, in fact, it's fucking hilarious," retorts The Kicker.

There is a police car in the street adjacent to them, lights flashing, with a car pulled over. Two more cops approach on bikes.

"Officer!! This man is following me!! Help me please! This man is following me!!"
The cops pay no attention.

"What the fuck?!" the befleeced fellow continues. "You just hit me for no fucking reason!!"

"You just screamed in my fucking face! We're women, we're walking alone, and it's two in the fucking morning! What are you thinking?!"

"Blah blah blah," continues the drunk man, still following, still on his cell phone.

"Get in the car," says Woman Number Two, opening the passenger door.

"No, I don't want this asshole to get your plate number. What if he fucks with your car later?"

"It's fine. Just get in."

The Kicker gets in the car, and as she is pulling the door shut behind her the man turns and walks in another direction, still shouting obscenities at her (and into his cell phone). Just then a cop comes across the street, and The Kicker gets back out of the car to talk to him.

"Ma'am, did you know that guy?"

"No sir, I have never seen him before in my life. He just screamed in my face and scared me, so I- well, I kind of just hit him."

The cop went after the guy, who was still on his phone. The women got in their car and drove away.

Olives.

Last weekend the b.h. and I took a rare Saturday night off and went out to dinner- you know, like grownups. We ate at The N@tional, a new local restaurant, for the first time. When we walked in,we immediately saw He Who Must Not Be Named (and no, I don't mean Dan Horowitz)

with a table full of friends having dinner. Wilco was drifting over the stereo system. The bartender greeted us with "Hey, I finally get to wait on you guys for a change." Ah, Athens.
I love the way the restaurant is decorated- very simple, classy but not over-done. They had small potted thyme plants on the tables, which i think is brilliant. The lighting is low and the seats comfortable, and I was more relaxed than I had been in a long time. The wine was exceptional, the food was fantastic, and after the manchego cheese and celery stuffed dates with smoked paprika (but before the roasted red pepper and tomato soup), as we dug into a small bowl of olives marinated in garlic and citrus, we remembered that Alt0n Brown had a link to a website where you can order fresh olives.
We came home and ordered some. And all eleven pounds arrived in the mail a couple days ago. So today, we begin the curing process. In ten days we will begin the actual flavoring process, so if anybody has suggestions, feel free to bring them on. I know that garlic and citrus is first on the list. We're hoping they work well so we can give them as Christmas gifts. (On the other hand, if they're half as good as the ones we had at the restaurant, we may decide to keep them for ourselves. No more fresh green olives until next September, after all.)
I also made a pie this week. Graham cracker crust with sour cream filling, topped with raspberries. This weather just puts me in a cooking mood.
Hoping to get back to Ellijay in the next couple of weeks for the annual J & J apple and pumpkin purchase. Man I love the fall.