Propeller Skies

Friday evening I attended the Snake Nation Pig Gig at the Tullie Smith Farm, which is located conveniently in Buckhead at the Atlanta History Center. Accompanying me were recurring Propeller Skies characters John, Jason, and Sanket.

Attentive readers may recall that way back in June, I attended the Snake Nation Annual Summer Shake, which was put on by the same group. Although I was not overly thrilled about that event, it was far more entertaining than this one.

The best part of this event was the unlimited beer and wine, which we took full advantage of. However, it was fucking freezing out and there was a distinct lack of hotties at the event. There may have been some hotties in attendance, but it was impossible to tell, as everyone was wearing thick winter jackets.

notes:

PHOTO: Random revelers attending the Snake Nation Pig Gig at the Tullie Smith Farm in Buckhead, Atlanta, GA. October 15, 2004. Courtesy of d.2263 Photographics. View more Snake Nation Pig Gig photos.

Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed at the ungodly hour of 9:00 am. By 9:30 am, I had arrived at Elbow Room and within a few minutes I cracked open my first beer of the morning. Normally, this would make me an alcoholic. At a minimum, some would consider me to have a problem. However, since it is October and I was heading to Helen with USA Entertainment to celebrate Oktoberfest, it is called “getting in touch with my German roots.”

After arriving in Helen, I stumbled off the bus and looked around for a place to take a leak. Conveniently, there was a hotel nearby so myself and a few other people from the bus availed ourselves of the facilities. We then headed to the Wurst House, where we proceeded to drink heavily. While drinking at the Wurst House, I chilled with recurring Propeller Skies characters Michael and Lara.

Around 3:30 pm, several people headed over to a faux Mexican place to watch the Georgia/Tenesee game. While hanging out at the faux Mexican place, I was amused that the only thing vaguely Mexican about it was the goofy fruit flavored frozen Margaritas they were serving. Eventually, after drinking several more beers, I found some people slightly more sober than I was and followed them back to the bus.

This was a really fun event, even though recurring Propeller Skies character John bailed TO ATTEND A FUCKING BABY SHOWER. My advice to recurring Propeller Skies readers is to board a bus to Helen and start drinking heavily.

After a less than stellar Martini experience at The Mark recently, I began to wonder if Halo still made the best Martinis in Atlanta. In the interest of scientific inquiry, I had three of them last Wednesday evening.

I was at Halo for Netparty’s Heavenly Evening event. As previously mentioned I am fond of Netparty for a number of reasons. An important reason is they always manage to bring loads of hotties. This evening was no exception, as there were plenty of attractive angels in attendance. I highly recommend Netparty.

Hell, it’s not even a fucking party. How many times do I have to fucking type this - BRING THE MOTHERFUCKING HOTTIES. And the “s” on the end of “hottie” implies more than five.

Friday night, I attended the Atlanta Social Circle’s Toga Party at the Tin Roof Cantina with recurring Propeller Skies characters Michael and Lara. In addition to us, there were roughly ten other people in the place. The previous figure does not include the staff or members or the band. This so-called party was as dead as fried chicken.

For the benefit of all five Propeller Skies readers, I will check out the next few Atlanta Social Circle events and see if they improve any.

Previously on Propeller Skies, I have waxed ecstatic about The Mark’s attention to detail when constructing Martinis. Unfortunately, on Friday evening they committed a cardinal sin. The bartender served my Martini IN A PLASTIC GLASS! This is wrong for several reasons; in the interest of brevity I will only address two. First, plastic imparts flavor on any liquid it touches, thus ruining the taste of a well-built cocktail. Second, plastic does not retain a chill as well as glass, so by the end of the Martini the drink is warm and nasty.

I was at The Mark for Square Hat’s Eighties Party. The event was packed and pulled a younger than usual crowd. In contrast to normal Square Hat events, there were a few young tenders there worth hitting on. Unfortunately, most of them left before I consumed enough Martinis to consider introducing myself. I did, however, manage to talk to one bored looking beautiful baby. The conversation went something like this, “You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

“The most interesting thing here is the Twizzlers.”

“What?”

“The most interesting thing here is the Twizzlers.”

With that I ended the conversation by wandering off, because she was obviously crazy. I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, as I did not see any Twizzlers. About half an hour later, I noticed that instead of standard bar snacks like peanuts, The Mark placed Twizzlers on the bar.

While consuming Martinis, I spent some time chilling with recurring Propeller Skies characters John, Michael, and Lara. I recommend checking out Square Hat when they hold events in well designed new venues that have a tendency to attract hipsters wearing post-ironic trucker hats.

Any event organizers that are reading this should get a pen and paper and start taking notes. Because this is how to do an event up right.

I dropped in on the Hair Ball on Sunday evening to photograph. I thought this motherfucker would be as dead as fried chicken, since it was [1] on a Sunday and [2] at Compound, which is so over. However, the entire fucking place was packed. Unfuckingbelievable, especially since tickets were $25.00. I am not sure who the event organizers are, but they BROUGHT THE MOTHERFUCKING HOTTIES. I highly recommend this event and will make sure that my people go next year.

An extra large Propeller Skies shoutout goes to Kim for hooking me up with VIP status. The extra large is because she set me up, despite my criticism of her writing skills. Event organizers, write the following shit down and underline it a few times. Pay special attention to the part written in all capital letters. VIP status meant the photographer got ALL THE KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BURBON WHISKEY HE COULD DRINK. And it was Makers Mark. This provided significant motivation for the photographer to take assloads of pictures and will ensure that future Hair Balls receive media coverage from the best event website in Atlanta.

This event also included a fashion show, which was okay. Thanks to Photoshop® and Nikon® the photos are excellent. [Undecipherable drunken ramblings removed - Ed.]

Saturday afternoon I stopped by the 2nd Annual Virginia Highlands Pub Hop, which was put on by USA Entertainment and Hair of the Dog. Last year, I attended the inaugural pub hop and had a great time, even though it did not attract a huge crowd. This year the crowd was much larger, but the ratio was terrible. There was more sausage than a Bob Evans factory. Additionally, the beer special was terrible. Coors Light is yellow colored sparkling water, not beer.

Events can, and quite often do, suck for any number of reasons. However, to have a successful event it is essential to BRING THE MOTHERFUCKING HOTTIES.

[To the person out there who is obsessed with photos of Twisted Taco bartenders, THERE ARE NO PHOTOGRAPHS IN THIS POST. Move it along. -Ed.]

I stopped by Twisted Taco tonight for their two year anniversary party. Usually I avoid house promotions, because they generally suck. However, the folks at Twisted Taco threw a killer Cinco de Mayo party, so I decided to stop by this little soiree. Oh, and there were free drinks for an hour.

Soon after arriving, I determined that I knew exactly zero people in the place. Fortunately, there were plenty of televisions tuned to the Miami game, so I settled in to watch some football. About the time I was getting bored with watching Miami mosey into the end zone whenever they felt like it, Antonius showed up. I chilled with him for a while and then went out back to check out the mechanical bull.

This event was packed, however none of my friends were there and I was not in the mood to make any new ones. So I took advantage of the free booze and left fairly early.

Tonight, I stopped by Toast for Arts Safari’s My Big Fat Opera party. Toast has beautifully designed interior, which would have looked fucking awesome in photographs. Because the crowd was rather sparse, I did not bother shooting. Apparently several people stayed home, since they were afraid of the hurricane somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. Which is roughly 1,000 miles from here. In conclusion, Atlanta’s olympic mascot should have been a giant vagina.

As a side note, I ran into Elizabeth’s hot friend at this event. Amusingly, she and Elizabeth are friends of The Vegetarian, who was also in attendance.

Since I have been in Buckhead several times over the past few weeks, readers may be getting the idea that I actually like the place. The key purpose of this post is to disabuse any recurring Propeller Skies readers of that notion. Tonight, I covered the opening of the world’s first sushi bar/annoyingly loud dance club located, of course, in Buckhead. Not sure who the fucking genius is who came up with that brilliant idea, but there is a high probability they possess a marketing degree from some overrated institution of higher learning like Georgia.

My major problem with Buckhead is not the annoying fake people with more plastic surgery than Michael Jackson and Cher combined, it is the crowds of thuguidos who hang out there. Thuguidos are pathetic wannabe thugs, who all think they are 50 Cent, but are unable to rhyme their way out of a wet paper bag. Like guidos, they are really just a bunch of bitch-ass pussies from the suburbs trying to represent. Unfortunately, their idea of representing usually includes busting caps in the asses of other thuguidos and any innocent bystanders who happen to be nearby.

The highlight of the night occurred when some hot blonde with a big rack was chatting me up. Like I would lower my standards to hook up or go on a date with someone I met at [1] a bourgeoisie bar, and [2] in Buckhead.

In conclusion, the DJ was wack. An Ipod on shuffle would have done a better job. And I hate sushi. If God had meant for us to eat raw fish, he would not have given us the deep fryer.