The two compelling things that have always gotten to me about the city of Atlanta are the total misconceptions of it being [1] a historic city and [2] it being an urban city. The truth is Atlanta is a city of no social or historical importance at all. As such, it is a city that is always trying to be something by living these lies. Until actually living here, it is difficult to realize the magnitude at which it falls short of these myths.
Since I know that I have a far-reaching influence (this means you, readers in Brazil, Tokyo, Sweden, and Taiwan), allow me to let people outside of Atlanta in on a little secret: if Prozac were around in 1864, no one would have even heard of this place. It would probably be just an exit on I-75 that was convenient to get gas and eat at Waffle House on the way to Florida.
Students of history know that General William T. Sherman was a manic-depressive. So, if someone slipped a Prozac pill into his daily ration of hardtack and coffee, he would have had a more positive outlook on life and not decided to break out his Zippo® and torch the joint. And of course that is generally the only thing people think of when they think of history in this town.
Allow me to daisy-chain this a bit. If Sherman didn’t burn Atlanta, we never would have even heard of Margarett Mitchell, Scarlett O’Hara, or that limp-wrist Rhett Butler (not that there’s anything wrong with that). This in turn would mean Clark Gable would have pumped gas throughout the thirties and actually FOUGHT in WWII instead of just wearing a uniform and hanging out getting drunk and laid at the USO parties. Well, that wouldn’t be so bad now, would it?
So let’s review, on historic basis, Atlanta is famous for two things: [1] putting up a defense of its city that would make even the most skittish Frenchman ashamed and [2] a NOVEL that turned into a bad movie with bad actors and no nudity. With that said, they should remake the movie so we can see Rhett and Scarlett get it on. I bet she has a nice rack.
Now let’s turn the page forward a century and a half. What has Atlanta done with its opportunity to literally start from the ground up? So far, Atlanta has made itself into a low-rent version of Los Angeles. Atlanta is doing well in the LA wannabe categories of: plastic people with fake breasts and fake tans, miserable traffic, air quality problems, overpriced real estate, and gangs. However, Atlanta is lacking the redeeming qualities of LA, which include: social hotspots, beaches, the ocean, and mountains.
In contrast, some Atlantans like to pretend the city is hip and urban, like New York or Chicago. Aside from Peachtree Street between Five Points and the end of Midtown, Atlanta is just one giant suburb with a plethora of urban strip malls. The only redeeming feature is its strip-club scene, which was dealt a tremendous blow a few years ago with the closing of The Gold Club. Buckhead is nothing but a strip mall with a bourgeoisie facade. Check that, a strip mall that Ray Lewis got away with murder in. Virginia-Highlands? Nice, quaint, almost has a personality, but impossible to get to except by car and there is no fucking parking.
Then there is “in-town” living. What a joke that is. Ninety percent of all the housing in the “in-town” neighborhoods is single-family detached. Guess what? Ninety-five percent of housing in the suburbs is single-family detached. The only difference between living in Grant Park and living in Dunwoody is the number of gay men (not that there’s anything wrong with that). With the exception of a few neighborhoods, walking anywhere is impossible and good luck finding a piece of greenspace that’s not chock-full of dog shit.
During the last ten years, real estate agents have been extremely successful at marketing tiny rundown 50 year old houses inside I-285 as “urban living”. And like the sheep they are, these so called “urban pioneers” are buying into the dream of “urban living” and snapping up $300,000 houses just because they happen to be inside the perimeter. Then they continue DRIVING TO WORK! If I’m going to drive anyway, I want my McMansion.
Since there is no shortage of suckers in Atlanta, developers have recently jumped on the “urban living” scam and begun marketing small, poorly constructed townhouses and lofts (an increasingly popular euphemism for condo) in so-called “live, work, play” developments. Unfortunately, like everything else here in Atlanta, the “live, work, play” developments are predictably halfassed. But, ooooooh, Mr. Urban Pioneer, you live in the midst of retail? Yeah, what kind? Let me get this straight, Mr. Urban Pioneer, you paid 300 grand for a condo, excuse me, loft built inside of an old superfund site, that homeless people bring their children to, point at, and say, “son there’s where you were born,” all in an effort for you to get all warm and fuzzy inside on an August afternoon, thinking of yourself as, “just a city boy.” And you expect me to believe that walking 100 yards across a giant 200 degree parking lot to go to Target or Smoothie King is a barrel of fun? Really? Wow, when can I come over? But then I ask, “what rail station are you near,” and you reply: “its easier to just drive.” Pretty big waste of 300 grand, I’d say.
notes:
Smoove D thanks special guest co-author Smoove J for his significant contribution to this post.
Unfortunately, Saturday was hot as fuck, so we spent the first couple of hours at the festival standing under a tent and sweating. Eventually the temperature dropped a bit, so I began taking photos for 
As art festivals go, this one was quite boring and had more than its share of NPP. While I was chilling on the lawn at John Howell Park with recurring Propeller Skies character Jamie and her hot friend Danielle, 
The show started off pretty rough, as the sound guy had very limited mixing equipment at his disposal. After the first song, adjustments were made and the band sounded pretty good, although not nearly as good as they sounded a few shows ago at the