Propeller Skies

As promised in this previous post, I dropped in on another Bravo! event. All five recurring Propeller Skies readers will be thrilled to know that it went well, with roughly forty people showing up. Additionally, several hotties attended.

About halfway through the event, I was hanging at the bar with my friend, and recurring Propeller Skies character, Terry and my imprisoned married friend Rodney. As we were talking, I noticed that an acquaintance of mine, Elizabeth, had wandered in with a hot friend.

So I ditched my friends and went over to hit on Elizabeth’s hot friend. Things went pretty well, in the first minute of conversation I ascertained that she hated Andrews Upstairs and enjoyed hanging out in my favorite part of town, East Atlanta. It is not every day that one runs into hotties that enjoy East Atlanta, so we chatted for about forty-five minutes. When I asked for her phone number, she declined. This really annoyed me, because during the time I wasted talking with her I could have been hitting on any of the aforementioned hotties. But no, I got stuck in an interesting conversation with a cockblocker.

In conclusion, I need to go buy some beer from the overpriced, yet convenient, liquor store. And drink it.

[Smoove is about to rip this event hard core, like a porno flick bitch. If you are associated with the American Cancer Society or Party With A purpose, it would be a good idea to stop reading right about... now. Mmmm-kay? - Ed.]

Last Saturday evening, I stopped by Party With A Purpose. Ostensibly, the purpose of the party was to raise money for the American Cancer Society. I suspect that the real purpose of the party was to annoy me. The first irritating thing about this event was the distribution of media passes. I had to pick mine up at Andrews Upstairs, which I hate, before 8pm. However, the VIP soiree there would turn out to be the best part of the night, since it involved free beer. And the bartender was hot.

After drinking several free beers and eating some free food with recurring Propeller Skies character John and his date, I headed over to The Roxy Theatre for the event. Soon after arriving, I headed to the bar and had the following surreal conversation with the bartender: “Bourbon on the rocks, please.”

“That will be nine dollars*”

“What?**”

“Nine dollars, please.”

“Never mind, what is available at the open bar?”

“There is no open bar.”

“Not even a beer special?”

“No.”

Douchebags. After further investigation, I found out that the bastards at The Roxy informed the organizing committee two weeks prior to the event that it was against their policy to allow an open bar. Also, none of the bar receipts from the severely overpriced drinks went to the American Cancer Society. It gets even better. Management could not even find it in their hearts to donate the two free drinks that paying suckers partygoers did receive. Therefore, we here at Prizzo Skeezy bestow upon The Roxy Theatre the first ever Cocksuckers of the Month award.

Almost as bad as the lack of free booze was the wack musical acts that were playing. One of the featured bands was Serene, who are quite possibly the most tiresome band in Atlanta. Unfortunately, they seem to have a knack for self-promotion and keep showing up at events in an effort to bore me to death. The “headliners” were three singer-songwriters from forgotten early 90s one hit wonders, who strummed acoustic guitars and sang their aforementioned hits. The level of excitement was unbelievable.

This event sucked goat cock. A combination of a poor organizing committee and a greedy venue doomed it. I do not recommend this event.

notes:

* Even Compound, the most expensive club in the city, only charges seven dollars for the same drink.
** In years past, Party With a Purpose has been inclusive and was advertised as such this year on several event sites.

Last Friday, recurring Propeller Skies character The Beaver and I had dinner at the Floataway Cafe. Although the wine list was short, I doubt there is a bad wine on it. Stay tuned, as I will be back to try them all. The food was fucking awesome. For a more in-depth review, ask Google.

This post is brought to you courtesy of my shiny new 802.11g network and some random person in my apartment building, who was kind enough to leave their network wide open. For the record, Linksys 802.11g wireless PCI adapters are complete and total shit. The first one I installed jacked up my computer hard core, and the second one, Windoze refused to recognize. The third time around, I got a USB adapter and it worked like a motherfucking charm. Amusingly, my neighbors are the only people in the building with WEP enabled. Despite that, they brilliantly named their SSID after themselves.

More blogging later, I need to see if I can get my router to route things wirelessly. It routes fine wired, but I am sick of tripping over the damn coax running across my apartment.

Thursday evening, I paid a visit to Buckhead. The night started off auspiciously, when a Buckhead Betty with bigger fake boobs than anything I have ever seen outside a porno stepped out of the car parked in front of me. They were so large it was comical. A neon sign hung around her neck with the words “gold miner” would have been subtler.

I was in Buckhead because I was hoping to get shot and begin collecting disability. Also, I was there to cover the Hair of the Dog (HOTD) event at Andrews Upstairs. Normally, Andrews Upstairs is not a place that I would be found, for the following reasons: [1] it is in Buckhead, [2] the staff is incredibly rude and obnoxious, [3] it features a pretentious $30,000 millionaire clientele, and [4] I was almost arrested there once, thanks to the aforementioned incompetent staff.

Based on all the hype surrounding Andrews Upstairs, I expected it to be as nice as Compound. As usual for Atlanta, the place turned out to be an over hyped suckfest located in a decaying strip mall. The best feature was a bartender with obviously fake boobs that were continuously on the verge of popping out of her top. This bar is essentially a dive with a veneer of sophistication and overpriced drinks.

Despite the wack location, the event was decent. Several hotties showed up, but HOTD is beginning to attract an older crowd. This is not a good thing, as I am not looking to hit on old divorced women from OTP.

notes:

PHOTO: Kim and a random reveler attending Hair of the Dog at Andrews Upstairs in Buckhead, Atlanta, GA. August 19, 2004. Courtesy of d.2263 Photographics. View more Hair of the Dog at Andrews Upstairs photos.

Overheard yesterday evening at Willy’s on Peachtree Street:

Gay man no. 1: I was hanging out at the Cheetah Friday night, and the Pink Pony last night.

Gay man no. 2: Why?

Sunday afternoon I drove over to Criminal Records, because I do not own nearly enough CDs. I picked up a copy of Is Ellipsis by local hip-hop crew Psyche Origami.

The group consists of two DJs, spinning actual vinyl, and one MC. DJs Synthesis and Dainja to put down some fantastic dueling scratch solos on the album, while MC Wyzsztyk continuously serves up buckets of tasty cerebral rhymes that are, amazingly, not about bitches, guns, and money. The end result is supple wordplay over fantastic original beats.

These guys have a definite old school influence, however the sound is thoroughly modern. They remind me of Run DMC, or early Beastie Boys (before they smoked too much pot, made too much money, and turned into a bunch of tree-hugging liberal douchebags).

In conclusion, buy this album. Now. Stop reading and go buy it.

Sunday morning, as I was riding my bike to Buckhead to retrieve my car, I noticed something strange. Dozens of people were out jogging, at eight o’clock, on Sunday morning! Freaks.

Eventually, I arrived in Buckhead Village. I expected to find that my car had been stolen or towed. Amazingly, not only was my car still there, it was boot, parking ticket, and flyer free. Even more impressively, the radio was still in it and there were no bullet holes.

Saturday afternoon, I stopped by CJ’s Landing to cover the Redstripe/Armada Magazine/96 Rock Jammin’ Freedom Fest Block Party. Just like Armada is not a real magazine, this was not a real block party. Apparently the organizers thought “parking lot” was a synonym for “block”.

Soon after arriving, I met up with recurring Propeller Skies characters John and Jason and had a few beers. Since their job sucks, they had to leave for a conference call. Undeterred by this turn of events, I had a few more beers.

The event was dead anyway, so I left to attend recurring Propeller Skies character Ashley’s graduation party. Because Ashley was the only person I knew at the party, I did not stay long. After a few several glasses of Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey and a trip with Ashley to her car to check on the dog, I attempted to meet recurring Propeller Skies characters Dawnmarie and Kat* at Fat Matt’s.

I made it about a block before determining the best course of action would be to park and head back to CJ’s landing. The dillweed at the door claimed the press pass would not get me back in for free. The Red Stripe marketing floozies were far more accommodating and let me in. Roughly ten minutes later, I was leaning over the fence at the edge of the parking lot suffering from a bad case of reverse paristalsis. A big Propeller Skies shout out to Lainey** for bringing me plenty of water and checking periodically to see if I was still alive. Also, a heartfelt thanks to the staff at CJ’s for letting me talk to Ralph in private. One last shout out goes to the nice people who had the sense to get a cab and drag my drunk ass into it.

notes:

* Since I was drunk, I thought I was meeting Dawnmarie and Katt. Much confusion and hilarity ensued.
** I am not sure that was her name, but it started with an “l” anyway.

“I guess if Oasis are geniuses for aping The Beatles, then the Darkness are great for making Def Leppard videos.”
– Dan Tobin, for Inversion Magazine, Summer 2004.