Bar Chatter

Bar Chatter #32
Sometimes it ain't enough to equal a whole post, but still needs to be said.... it's bar chatter. 

Fraiser Crane's Apartment by Nikneuk on Deviant Art.

I fondly remember my first apartment in Atlanta. It was across from a Harry's in a Hurry, Domino's, a Pharmacy, a Steak house and an Ice Cream Parlor, while being  sandwiched between The Landmark Diner and Johnny's Hideaway with a double bonus Waffle House a two minute stroll away. My future real estate agent claimed I had "Convenient-its" for some reason? Weird, right? But one of the best hidden features about that spot was that it was on the top of a four stack. In the winter months, I didn't even have to turn on the heat, as all my vertically diminished neighbors insistence on not freezing kept my place toasty warm. I say this now as I look for my in-house winter clothes. Too cheap to turn on the heat (or too broke, take your pick) in the winter I have a comfy old green fleece pullover and grey sweat pants. And two fleece throws. And I'm thinking about getting a blanket. Man I miss that apartment.

The House I Want (Part Four)

Planning for the Future Post #4

Don't just rest...relax.

The bedroom is not the heart of the house, but it's the place you rest when you're sick, lounge when you're lazy, entertain when you're serious and rest your head at night. The one I have now has a brown polo paint job (I never did the moldings in the darker brown like I was supposed to) and I've got a leather bed. Not bad work if you can get it. It's a queen not a king, because I believe you shouldn't be able to retreat across the bed from your partner, that the intimacy bred by the proximity is something to treasure. But I digress.

For my bedroom, I want THAT bedroom. With the dark brown walls, but the slightly darker trim. Some art on the walls. Photos that I took. Dark wooden shades and the walk-in closet the size of a complete other room (but that's a whole other post). I want it both spacious and cozy, which I know is quite a trick, with enough room for a couch and a mini-kitchenette, a small space to heat up something in case I don't want to walk down to the kitchen. Maybe a balcony overlooking the fabulous deck I want? Oh the possibilities.

I guess mostly though I want a space where I can close the door and get a good rest.

The House I Want (Part Three)

Planning for the Future Post #3
First you dream. Then you plan. Then you execute. Then repeat.

The kind of place you can pitch a tent...just because.

I want a big backyard. And God knows I never wanted to the cut grass when my folks used to make me - an all day job involving two hills, long thick grass that couldn't just be cut but required an angle technique, patience and repetition, in a space with a dearth of trees that under a South Carolina sun that brought back genetic memories of less than pleasant times. I'm sorry, I just had a flashback.

But I still want a yard. A big flat one, like billiard table flat. And a deck overlooking it. Where I can cook-out and have friends over. Where I put a garden, have sculptures and other things people might not believe I enjoy. Where I can sit on the back deck, with a cool drink on a summer's night and look up at the universe. And breathe. 

In my wildest imagination it's a city townhouse, I can buy the building behind it, tear it down and make myself a yard. But you know what would be really cool? Have a town-home, buy and tear down the building behind it. Build a bridge over the next street back, buy that townhouse and tear it down too. The backyard would be elevated, so I could have a two cool sub-basements on the back. Now that's how you dream!

I want a yard.

The House I Want (Part Two)

Planning for the Future Post #2 

I couldn't find a picture of the room I'm describing, but I like this...

The house I want will have a library. Not just a bookshelf or two, but a library. A whole room dedicated to the idea of reading. I've gone to people's homes...people who have children...and seen nary a book or bookshelf. There are so many things wrong with that. Books allow hear the voices and ideas of those beyond our time, or to learn the thoughts of people on the other side of the world.  To not read,  ugh.

I'd like it to be a good sized room, with natural light if possible, with lots of wood in a burnished dark brown. Floor to ceiling bookshelves. A comfortable leather chair or two, with ottomans. Chairs big enough to curl up in and get lost in an adventure, or fall asleep in with book resting on your chest. A small book table or two. A little art. If there is room, maybe a bookshelf that hides a secret door that leads to a little room where I keep acrylic models of spaceships and 3D maps of places.  

No computer...that's a separate room, no stereo, just books. A place where you could sit down with a good book and get lost in your own mind.

The House I Want (Part One)

Planning for the Future Post #1

I may have told this story before, but when I first got to Atlanta many, many years ago, my brother used to do this thing to motivate himself. During his lunchtime, he'd go down to Lenox Mall, as his office was right there, and try on Rolex watches. The feel of it on his arm would encourage him to try harder, to think bigger. And although there were good times when things were unfolding as they should and he could have gone down and gotten one, he never did. I think it might have been our upbringing to some degree, in that we're not flashy people and though we dream about it we're really more substantive people.

So to motivate myself, get the old juices flowing as it were, I'm making my Rolex the idea of my dream home. It won't be my next home, which I hope to relocate to sometime in the next 24 months (God and the GA Bar Association willing), but it's coming. I will get there.

A template for a great home.

The kind of place where I'll have friends over to watch the game, dinner parties and drop-ins. A HQ from which I can jog, walk to the market for fresh fruit, or sit out on the deck with friends under a starlit sky and tell fantastic lies about how things used to be until we just can't stand it anymore. It's coming. I can feel it. I just have to keep going.

Photography as a idea

Ramblings Post #262
One thing about life is that it does not wait for you. Despite your plans and preparations not quite coming together at the right moment, there is no slow motion, their is no pause, life does not delay for even a second. It comes. And so you deal with it. And sometimes in the aftermath you have to ease back into what you were doing from before. I just went to a funeral, man. I'm thinking I'll need another post before I start getting silly again.

I remember looking at this particular house when I was still looking to buy something, standing in the
middle of the living room already trying to figure out how much the frames would cost if I got them all from IKEA and if I should go with a single row or a double row. I had gotten a photo printer for free from the old gig, had a fairly decent digital camera, and was planning to have what amounted to a private permanent collection adorning my walls. Maybe even a couple of large prints near the corners to break it all up. Get me a comfy upholstered bench and put in the middle, and when you came in I would have turned on some smooth jazz, shown you into the "gallery" and talked about my "process."

This the actual room. I took this picture while house hunting. Small room in back is dining room. Some paint, baseboard work, tile work in bathroom, finishing the basement, curtains etc. Still, it was a damn fine house.

I did not buy that house, and honestly, I regret it. Not just because of the picture thing, but because the house I did buy I did not intend to live in this long. Note: Buy a house to live in, not to sell. But that's a whole other point. All these years later, through all those things that tend to change mens minds, like age and maturity, the idea of photography as a hobby still eats at me. When I use the online floor plan designers to build my future home, I always build out from a art or photo gallery. It also usually has a huge library and full working bar, but those are other issues. Well maybe not issues, let's call them peculiarities.   

I like photos, or rather images. I have art hanging on my walls direct from the artist. I dabble a bit in Photoshop, not on par with the masters but I can do the basics : clean up images, adjust the colors, etc. And although Sporty had a thing about no cameras until she left Georgia, I imagine a portrait of her (and a few other notable folks in my life ) that I would like to arrange and shoot. One of the stories I envisioned was her getting a private photo-shoot at the Palais Garnier. Is it wrong to want the kind of artistic portraits that seemed to be reserved for rockstars for the people I know?

I've got a lot of things I have to do to start "living the dream." But tucked back in there somewhere is a very nice camera, a lot of picture frames and images that will speak to me in later times.

Barkeep, I'll need a nice tall whiskey and soda. No, the house whiskey is fine.  

Food I shouldn't be eating

Ramblings Post #196 
Things in motion, and while there is motion I've been seriously slacking on the old diet. Now I still buy the watermelon slices and grapes, eat mostly chicken and drink that Crystal Light faithfully, but the gaping holes in my eating habits may be starting the catch up with me. And since I have yet to find my way the gym (it's over there somewhere), I need to get a grasp on this before it comes an issue.  In the past two weeks I've eaten two meals that might be considered noteworthy.

Last week I rode down in the middle of the week to see the folks.  There was a job interview too, but that's a whole different story. Anyhow, when I head that way,  there are a number of places the bring back the feeling of home, that strike that mental comfort trigger.  Oddly enough, all of them seem to involve food.  Places like the The Brown Derby. Earl Dukes BBQ. Biddie Banquet. The House of Pizza. But the one I have to go is the one and only Dairy - O.

In my little hometown, the Dairy - O is legendary. It is a little restaurant on the main drag, in a nondescript brown brick building. The interior is bereft of decoration, featuring maybe ten hard plastic booths and a counter where they serve food. And this is the upgrade. It used to be a even smaller nondescript roadside stand with no interior at all. That said, it is a bad habit of mine that whenever I slide back through the homestead, I stop in and get a burger, fries and the vanilla malted. Or at least a chili dog.

When I was younger, I worked in my father's dry cleaners which was just up the street, and on Saturday mornings I worked from 6am to 10am on the front counter. The Dairy - O was my late breakfast or early lunch spot, depending on how you look at it. A couple of sausage biscuits with mustard or a quick burger were the norm. The taste just brings back that feeling of home. It might be the only hamburger I can eat without putting fries on it.

The burger itself, when I think about, is an oddity. It most resembles the more well known Whataburger, as the sandwich isn't fluffed up but apparently cooked in a two sided press, which mashes the bread down firmly onto the meat. Same for the sausage biscuits. And the meat tastes odd as well. Not an all beef patty but one with obvious filler. Unless of course it is an all beef patty and everyone else has filler. Or meat from SC just tastes different. In any case, it's in my opinion ...a very good burger. And not just because it evokes in me a taste memory of my teenage years. 

If perchance you ever end up in my hometown...and are hungry...and want something good, you might want to swing by the Dairy - O. Good stuff.

I like to believe that meal was an aberration. After all, my mother, who stopped cooking regularly about 10 years ago because "she's tired, and we're grown" baked a chicken and made some green peas (no seasoning). So I ate properly for most of the time. And my car doesn't have that AC thing, so my pores were nice and open when I got back. So I vowed to continue eating better...again. Again. Unless of course, I was back in the homestead.

Which brings us to Curly's Fried Chicken.

I don't remember the first time I saw the spot. It is a walk up stand (how throwback ) on the now trendy end of Howell Mill Road in Atlanta, over by the spot where Spanky went on her furniture shopping spree that time. Across from the original Chow Baby, or at least where it used to be, I'm not sure, I just realized I didn't see the sign (but then I didn't really look either). It's in a little white building, with four parking slots up front and a large wooden sign and it is the antithesis of the upscale modern design of area, including the Spanish restaurant next door with the cool floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the supply yard.

But something about it said stop, it will be good. So, the other day I stopped. 

To say it was like being back in the homestead would be silly, but here I am. The smell of the fried chicken was ...different, not the factory smell you get from some places, but a aroma of spices that took me back not only to the homestead, but back to the small town where my grandmother lives. I don't know if its the spices, or a brine they might soak the chicken in or what, but that smell hit my sense memory like a hammer. I scanned the combos, which had the most ethnic names I've every seen, and I got a tender basket so I wouldn't waste too much if wasn't good. I thought it would be a off - brand Zaxby's or maybe even Guthrie's, but I was wrong.

The chicken tenders were large and tasty, with that dark brown hue from the breading all over that you expect from the larger chains because that's what the commercials tout, but never actually shows up in your order.  And they were cooked all the way through, not that extra greasy feel you get from some chicken places. To dip I got the house sauce, which was good although a little thin, but I'll have it again when I go. Now, if you make it over that way, get the Cajun Rice as one of your sides, because I don't think they realize there isn't supposed to be that much meat in dirty rice you don't make yourself.  It's a thick rice mix.  Now this was the small meal, not one of the larger combos, and it almost put me to sleep.

That used to mean a lot, now...it just means there was a little bit more food that you would think.

Now, this doesn't mean that I'm going to give up the ghost or my Oak Hill shirts. I've found that although tasty, I feel better when what I eat is mostly the stuff off my old diet. They tricked me I tell you, they tricked me!

Oh, well. Barkeep. Since I'm eating what I shouldn't be eating, I'm going to drink what I shouldn't be drinking. Let me have a milkshake!

The Holiday Weekend

Ramblings Post #173
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, something something, hear them ringing, we're riding tonight, I don't think this is right, walking in a winter wonderland. We mess around a build a snowman, then pretend that he is Parson Brown, he ask are you married, we'll say "no man, but you can do the job if you're in town," something something, dum de do, something something, hum hum hum, something night, walking in a winter wonderland.


I hadn't been home to see the folks in ages. Seriously, ages. We speak on the phone weekly, but for some reason that three hour trip has been harder and harder to square these past few years. Maybe because I'm a little scared that all the stuff I left won't be there when I get back. Scared maybe too strong a term, maybe "actively concerned." But after I didn't head down for Thanksgiving due to my enhanced educational situation, I felt compelled to head down for Christmas.

The Trip.

I live in a bubble, that is Atlanta. What I mean is that when social tension rears its head, it's a sudden reminder of things that happen so rarely I'd casually forgotten the caustic nature of their reality. No, it's not that I forget I'm black, in the south, it's that it's either usually not an issue or I've already taken the steps to minimize it. So when two guys started yelling at each other over a gas pump when I stopped for fuel it took me by surprise.

I'd pulled up, swiped my card and was gassing up. The lady at the next pump smiled at me and then I heard somebody yell loudly. Two pumps over a black guy was yelling at a middle aged white guy in a jeep. My trouble radar didn't go off, so I just watched silently. The black guy was fueling up, the jeep pulled off and I thought it was over. Then the black guy, middle aged black guy, yelled something and the jeep owner stuck his head out of the window and yelled back. At this point, the lady at the next pump dashed over to the black guy to calm him down. Seriously. Random black woman intervenes to keep random black man from doing something stupid.

The driver of the jeep pulls out of the station and goes across the street, so the whole thing diffused itself in a long fifteen seconds. I took note of the other odd couple in front of the station watching the whole exchange. The elderly white farmer in overalls and the young black man with dreads who after the jeep had pulled off looked at each other and shrugged.

I guess you never know. But then I probably should.

The Grand Folks.

I'm lucky enough that two of my grandparents have made it into their 90's. My mother's parents died when I was too young to feel the full effect, but I remember my mother's father as a kindly old gent who smoked a mean cigar and was always happy to comp us the bubble gum at his store.

My living grandparents are a lively bunch for old people, although my grandmother has been trying to guilt me into marriage and great-grandson for almost 20 years. She has other great grandchildren, many other great grandchildren, but the question of me always seems to come up. I like to believe every one of the grandkids still "holding" get this treatment, but I don't think so. My grandfather is planning on buying a golf cart so he cand drive around his property since he can't get around like he used to...when he was 80.

You hate to think that one day they won't be around. But then I think I've been blessed in this area more than I realized.

Christmas Day

Quiet. Family. A smattering of gifts but mostly just relaxing.

Hit Sporty up. Sent out a few Holiday texts.

Then driving back to Atlanta, because it's nice to have the stuff you left in your house still be inside your house when you get back. Driving back in the rain. Listening to the Christmas music...and the odd old school hip hop mix on some station out of Augusta.

The Day After Christmas

I had planned on relaxing and consuming enough water to clean my system out after the huge meals I'd eaten over the weekend. Well, that was the plan when I went to sleep Sunday night. Didn't work out.

Had a hearty All-Star at the Waffle House with my brother as I delivered his gifts to him. My brother is in a long term relationship, which has established its own Christmas rituals, so he didn't make the trip. I probably need to do the same myself soon. But that meal put me in back in the bed until dark...so like 4pm or so. Then trouble called. Or rather, my psuedo cousin did.

We rode over to a house party of a one of his buddies to watch the Falcons-Saints game. Not my usual fare, but I guess it will be soon, with small kids running about while the adults watched football and noshed. I have a problem drinking in front of kids, so I had a lot of soda and ate a lot of wings. And I've found that if the Cowboys aren't playing when something goes wrong or a coach does something stupid I can keep watching instead of cursing through the next three plays and turning off the TV before I start throwing things. So I watched and gave color analysis to the surprisingly underage crowd before calling it a night right after the whistle blew.

So It was a good Holiday weekend.

Kinda.

Barkeep, some of that Pale Moon beer or whatever it was they were drinking last night that I couldn't.

If I could move today...

Ramblings Post #159
Sometimes you don't want to get familiar. There are places where you're happy when they recognize you, because it means something good. Your favorite bar makes sure you get good service, your favorite restaurant means you food is always piping hot, your favorite book store where without asking they've got a couple of the hot sellers under the counter because they knew you'd stop by. And then there are mine.

The first set of officers just left. The second set have been delayed.

The thieves who periodically break into my house finally got the big screen after two years of trying. It was bolted to a six foot steel stand with four of the inch and half long screws. It was glorious. It is now gone. In its place is a pile of debris, because my alarm company took so long the crooks had time to literally take the damn thing apart. It took me twenty minutes to set it up, I wonder how long it took them to take it down. I am not happy.

They took my third PS3...with the Tiger Woods Collector's edition that's no longer available. Or the three quarters of a season that I had played. I am not happy.

They did leave the PC, which was wisely in a an old beige case, disguising it's high powered contents, but the flat screen monitor is gone. Again. I am not happy.

They took the change cup I keep in my bedroom. I am not happy.

There is probably more missing, but since I can't clean up until officers from Robbery get here, I'm stuck. So I'm sitting here. Frustrated. Just so, so very frustrated. I got other stuff to do, and I just did not need this. My plans,with the quitting the job-going to school-getting through this all I can tell you did not call for a major catastrophe like this. But then whose does?

Oh, if I could move. Today. I would have a truck out by tonight if I could. Back to the side of town where I lived for eight years without a single attempt. When the police officers say that your address rings a bell when they hear it on the radio, and when they pull up they ask "so what did they get this time?", let's just say it gets old fast.

The only way this will stop if I'm not here. And then I think they'll swing by for the copper. I am so, and I mean so, done right now.

Barkeep. Whatever you got.

A House is not a Home

Ramblings Post #29
Sometimes you want to feel a certain way. You know, a feeling of how things are supposed to be. Like eating off of china instead of paper plates, or not being comfortable leaving the house until you've got your face on, or until you've had that first cup of coffee. Sometimes, and it's not always large or significant to anyone but you...you just need certain things, certain ways.

How is a house supposed to feel?

My house feels like an over sized apartment. Due to financial constraints and an unwillingness to incur unnecessary debt, my house is basically the furniture from my former apartment plus appliances, spread out. I believe since I've moved in my major purchases have consisted of a step ladder and a picture frame. I only have a decent sized TV because Spanky went flat screen and thoughtfully left,er...donated her old TV to the cause. And since I've decide to go to graduate school, a modern decor makeover doesn't seem to be forthcoming anytime soon.

Which is kinda depressing when you consider how old I am.

Thus my house feels more like a place I'm staying as opposed to say, my house...which still mentally invokes my mother's home in the Cackalack, with it's warm and homey touches that come from just living there. It's my house, I pay the mortgage but I don't feel like a live there. I feel like it's temporary. Which is fucked up considering the housing market and the sad reality that I'm gonna be the a while (barring lottery windfall or lighting strike). I need to stop thinking about the other house I shoulda bought.

When I first moved in I purchased the interior design books: Metropolitan Home, Renovation Style, Home and Architectural Digest and the like, hoping to get some idea of what I wanted. And every week passes and my house continues to resemble a college kids apartment. It is singularly frustrating. You know how it is, every time you get a little bit ahead, something pops up...transmission on the car, dental work, something else...and bang you're eating popcorn on that couch one more Tuesday night.

They say you never grow up to your parents, and although my parents have visited, they seem content with it. Which is hella disconcerting. I'm fast approaching middle age, and since a man's home is his castle, I figured they would at least be on me about making some upgrades. But no, they seem fine with it's decor about fifteen years to young for me.

So I'm a little ashamed to have folks over because of where it is and what is in it...which is the whole of the thing. True my friends "understand"...but I'm uncomfortable with how it looks most of the time, its not them. Call it ego. I'm not looking for flashy, but at least up to standard, ya know. I kinda wish I was brought up like apparently everyone else and only cared if my rims was tight.

I so do not want to go into debt behind this. I may have no choice for my own sanity.

Barkeep. Would you be interested in selling those loungers by the window...cheap.

A Weekend Out - Second Stage

Mental Rehab Post #8
Sitting around the house ain't gonna fix nothing. The problem is you have to want to be fixed and I think I'm still just going through the motions. But my acting is getting better, and the I'm starting to find the shadows again. Ah the stage.


Last weekend I spent prepping, then attending and then recovering from a single party. What can I say, we does it big. 500 people at a house party may seem like an end all be all to you, but if my instincts are right the fellas are already scheming up the next function.

One of the signs I'm getting old is when I think 500 people might just be too many. I say we keep it to a nice level 75 or 100, but then I don't usually have full control of the guest list.

This weekend was the second in getting my mind back to right...well, the appearance of getting my mind back to right.

Friday was the Jack Daniels event, a fusion of art, music and whatever else was happening in that room called Art, Beats and Lyrics. With free Jack Daniels. I got there right as they were starting, and maybe next time I'll read the invitation. Although apparently I wasn't the only one, as there were three or four kids in line when the invite specifically said "no one under 21". That fabulous the rules don't apply to me mentality.

Inside they had those annoying fake guitars setup and apparently you could tap the keys in feel like a rock star for three minutes. Oh Wow. Then I walked through the smoke wall and things picked up.

The room is huge, although the last time I was in the same room with a Old School Saturday event I promise you it felt much much bigger. Back then it felt like an aircraft hanger, now it just feels like a barn. On little three corner stands they've got art setup by local artists. And it's some good stuff too.

Soul Brother #1 and then some.

Blackstar and his pieces.

I chat with a guy whose artistic moniker is Blackstar about a few pieces and even see about some commission work. He's got some colorful pieces which will offset the black and white I have from other favorite artist, who oddly is setup in the next space. I can't spot him, but I know I need to holler at him to see I can pickup a few more prints.

A few of photo exhibits looked good. I get a card before I realize I'm fantasizing about a mundane activity that's not going to happen. I keep the card anyway.

The Race Card

The set is nice. Gentlemen Jack Daniels for the free-free, a nice set of art, some good artwork on the walls too, they got a live band coming on later, with a DJ and break dancing to open. It's a throwback kinda festive and you can just chill.

Only I can't I've promised to meet on old college buddy who I haven't seen in years for drinks a little later. So although the JD thing is looking live, I slip out a side door and whip down to the Ultimate Bar on Camp Creek Parkway. For those who are unaware, the development on Camp Creek is North Atlanta development finally come to the Southside of town.

I get there and my first thought...seriously...is that Dugan's went upscale kinda moved to Camp Creek and setup shop (It's an Atlanta concept, sorry. I'll explain later). I run into my old buddy and we share a few beers and talk noise to chicks at the next table half seriously for the next two hours - he's married, I'm in recovery. Then I accidentally try to pick up the 20 year old waitress who has three jobs. Don't see that one happening though for a variety of reasons. Nah.

Saturday is a little reading and a little me time. Okay, a little wake up and then fall back to sleep on the couch time until I have to go catch Schmoopy for brunch. Afterwards I think brunch might not have been the best idea, as I end up back on the couch. Way too much food. Okay, the fact that it's 95 degrees in my house and maybe 85 degrees outside might have had something to do with it. My uncle is supposed to helping me out, but when you're getting help you're at the mercy of their schedule. That and his AC works. So really once I got back to the house I'm laid out sweating like below decks on the Amistad. I didn't even bother to call looking for trouble. Which I understand I could have easily found. Stayed in.

Sunday...I cleaned up. Did a bunch of Laundry. Watched a Jack Lemmon movie on TMC (that is a great channel). Did my "homework". Forgot to eat until almost 8pm. Talked to my folks a little bit. Then talked to God. Yeah, thought about Sporty. Can't help it.

Still got a long way to go.

It Continues - Family

I had been in my own house roughly three months, maybe a little more. I've yet to put my stamp on it, to make it mine - I'd only just painted, there was no art, little furniture, the landscaping and yard work months away in the spring. It's a shell, a work in progress at best.

Then my father moves in for a week to recuperate after an operation.

You would think I was staying with them, not them staying with me. I watch little to no TV as my parents are ensconced in living room. I cannot cook as my mother has taken the kitchen. They control the heat or cooling depending on their whims. I am an errand boy at best, eating alone in my unfurnished kitchen as they watch FOX news. My mother criticizes my housekeeping and occasionally my clothing selection. My father, as he is prone to do, gives sage bits of advice at what can only be described as inopportune moments.

I love my parents, but thank god it is only a week to ten days.

Barkeep. Everclear. Straight. I just need to make it a little bit longer.

Painting aftermath...the family

My holiday weekend consisted of painting, going to Home Depot, painting, painting, visiting my aunt for Thanksgiving, painting, going to Home Depot, painting, going to Home Depot, painting, Monday, painting and clean-up.

I now know why people pay for professional painters. On the good side I did learn a new skill and helped keep my mind off Sporty.

It had to be done, yesterday or early next year for certain, as the previous clients were color challenged. We changed the front two bedrooms (formerly crimson/brown and yellow/blue respectively) in a nicely muted off-tan that looks warm and inviting. Add in the new side table from Ikea and the square glass lamp, also from Ikea, all that's needed is some artwork and one room is actually finished.

But my art guy disappeared. He used to work in the Bazaar in Little Five Points, has anyone seen him?

The living room, previously a color that we will refer to as "that sickly shade of green" is now a neutral toned brown, with an accent wall sharing the same colors as the bedrooms to bring the whole thing together. So now we've done roughly half the house.

The parents will be in town for two weeks starting today, staying with me, and so there was some urgency to get this done. I figure I have 72 hours before they cease being guests and become my parents again. That strangely is probably also the longest amount of time I had spent with them prior to moving to Atlanta. You love them, but you have to remember to the parents you're always gonna be the child. Even when you're grown up.

Barkeep, Bookers neat. This is gonna be the last drink for a while, make it a good one.