Archive for July, 2006
I found this Baller of the Week™ parked in front of the building that houses Dirty South Studios. I am guessing this week’s baller is not big time, because the vehicle has GMC emblazoned on the grill instead of the wreath and crest.
I walk into a cavernous dining room. The focal point is a gorgeous bar, which could only be made more beautiful by strapping Stephanie Swift clothed in latex fetish wear to it.
I sit down and notice the Graveyard Tavern has Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap for only two fifty a glass. Score!
Appetizers arrive. I had foccacia*, which was all right. Unfortunately it was served with some kind of ground up olive shit. I loathe olives. What the fuck happened to serving bread with regular ass butter? All this high falutin’ shit is starting to piss me off.
Entrees are served. Recurring Propeller Skies character Katt comments the shrimp scampi is not so tasty. I have eaten rocks that were softer and tastier than my overcooked and flavor free salmon. In contrast, my sides of garlic mashed potatoes and rice are decent, but not bursting with flavor like Gilbert’s. Recurring Prizzo Skeezy character The Beaver notes her sides are also good.
As a restaurant, the Graveyard Tavern is fucking bootleg. For the benefit of all five Propeller Skies readers, I will return and choke down a few drinks to ascertain its potential as a bar.
* Italian for five dollar slices of bread.
Wednesday evening, The Beaver, The Rabbit, The Dog, Katt, and I went to dinner at Gilbert’s. Reservations are a good idea, as the interior is diminutive.
Service was excellent. Our waitress flew to Latrobe, Pennsylvania, chose only the finest malt and hops, personally supervised the brewing process, and pulled me a bottle of Rolling Rock straight from the tank to ensure I had the freshest and finest Rolling Rock in all of the world. Despite the slow start, the speed of service increased as the night progressed.
I ordered the pork tenderloin wrapped in bacon. This dish was extremely zesty and exploded with flavor, but the tenderloin could have been slightly more tender. Underneath the tenderloin was a superlative risotto. Gilbert’s is totally bitchin’.
Last Saturday, some dude from Cincinnati put together a little pub crawl through the now sun drenched Vizzo Heezy. Moe’s & Joe’s was the first stop. I consumed two draft Pabst Blue Ribbons. The bartender was all right.
We moseyed across the street to Fontaine’s. I switched to Sierra Nevada and chatted with a blonde hottie. The bartender was attentive and quick with the drinks.
Noche was next on the list and rather dull. I had a big bottle of Newcastle Nut Brown and bitched about downtown Atlanta’s bum problem with an attractive young lady.
We wandered across Highland to Taco Mac. Elizabeth, the bartender, was blonde and smokin’ hot. We all did a shot of something disgusting. I imbibed a Loose Cannon India Pale Ale. I highly recommend Loose Cannon IPA. This beer is on par with IPAs from Saranac or Southern Tier Brewing.
Limerick Junction was the last bar on the crawl that I made it to. We drank a round of Irish Car Bombs. I consumed more SNPA. The bartender was an easy to look at brunette, but somewhat surly.
I wandered back towards Highland and stopped at George’s for a tasty burger. The Professor met me there. We headed over to his place and drank some more. I highly recommend pub crawls organized by Dan.
Last Thursday, I paid a visit to the Apache Cafe to see Dip N Steam perform. Upon arriving, I wandered in, sat down at the bar, and ordered a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. While sipping my fine hand crafted brew, I observed the waitress was hot. However, they should consider feeding her once in a while. About halfway through my beer, recurring Propeller Skies character Big A showed up and we chilled at the bar. Just before Dip N Steam went on, a dude who would be a recurring Prizzo Skeezy character if he came out more than once a year - Teezy - arrived.
do not sleep
For this show, Dip N Steam were backed by a live band. When I first heard about the live band, I was skeptical. After they opened with G.U.M., my suspicions were laid to rest as the band was pretty damn good. The rest of Dip N Steam’s set was excellent, but more vocals in the mix would have been nice. Hear their joints for your damn self at Dip N Steam’s Myspace page. I highly recommend Dip N Steam.
After Dip N Steam played, some dude named Jaha that I had never heard of went on. I dug his chilled out sounds. To my one New York City reader, I highly recommend catching Jaha. Everyone else can hear him at Jaha’s Myspace page.
Sunday, I arrived fashionably late to brunch at the original Atkins Park and was exiled to the far end of the table. I was not ecstatic about sitting with people I do not know. I was also not particularly interested in getting to know them. Instead of striking up a conversation, I turned my attention to checking out the hot blonde waitress. My reverie was interrupted when a tight blonde with glasses came in and sat down next to me. I dig the sexy librarian look. I decided exile might not so bad after all.
Despite our large group service was, for the most part, remarkably quick and smooth. My black and blue burger was exquisitely cooked, but still could not match the fine examples served up by The Earl or Hand in Pants. No matter, there is no shame in cooking up a third place burger.
Paying the bill was an absolute disaster. The aforementioned waitress had a terrible time splitting up the bill and managed to lose my credit card. Good thing she’s pretty. Management came through and hooked me up with a gift certificate for my trouble, thus depriving all five Prizzo Skeezy readers of a patented rant. I recommend Atkins Park.
Friday night, recurring Propeller Skies characters The Beaver, Katt, Chris, Young Deezy, and I met at Franco’s to drink beer. Prior to hitting Franco’s we attempted to gather at Apres Diem, but the inconsiderate chickenheads did not provide sufficient parking. Fuck Midtown Promenade. Bunch of bitches anyway.
At Franco’s, the tenderloin was all right and included a sublimely bitchin’ cheese with a nice tangy finish. Fettuccini alfredo with shrimp was reasonably tasty and included a sizeable amount of diminutive seafood.
I had a difficult time deciding if the waitress was hot or not, which means she was not. She was also slow with the beer refills. However, she was far more pleasant than the angry owner. That douche needs to smoke a fat joint and chill the fuck out.
I recommend Franco’s, with the following caveat: the food is good, but the establishment is essentially the same as the myriad other Italian joints scattered across generica.
Kneeling down with your head in a bowl
Telling yourself there should never be days like this
Just when you thought that you had it down
You woke up dreaming of cocaine and clowns
Officer Naughty, Jason, and I are chilling on the dock waiting for the shuttle. Two tall brunettes walk past looking for the shuttle, one with stunning ice blue eyes and the other with legs longer than a Stephen King novel. I ignore the hotties and continue admiring Officer Naughty’s cleavage and pounding Old Chubb.
Three cans of Old Chubb later, we arrive at the houseboat. I drink a few more cans of Old Chubb and end up in the water.
the hot carltons
Around three o’clock, The Hot Carltons played. I think. I do not remember their set.
After The Hot Carltons played, I switched to Dale’s Pale Ale because the Old Chubb was fucking my shit up. Hence, I actually remember most of Big Vessel’s set. Highlights included Big Vessel playing the supremely appropriate Raft and one of my favorites, Something Out There, which name checks 6th Street. I highly recommend catching Big Vessel, especially if they happen to be playing on the water*.
drunk, drunk, drunk in the gardens and the graves
Big Vessel finishes and I remain in the water with various other recurring Propeller Skies characters. One of them expresses concern about my inebriated swimming skills. I respond I can swim better than I can walk. This turns out to be true. I pick a chair on the beach and sit, since this walking thing is not working out so well. The Quiet One brings me an extremely zesty brat filled with cheese and wrapped with bacon. I highly recommend brats grilled by The Quiet One.
I am essentially out of commission at this point, as is most of the crowd. I decide this is a good time to stop drinking. I reflect that three Old Chubbs ago would have been a great time to curtail the imbibing while launching a technicolor yawn off the side of the boat.
* Let’s just say the lead singer is not so difficult to look at in a bikini.