Death in the Afternoon

We found an awesome Mexican restaurant called El Toro. I don't mean awesome in the sense that the food is really good, but awesome in the sense that they play conjunto music, the staff barely speaks English and the food is crazy greasy. Traci mentioned that it reminds her of every other greasy spoon in San Antonio, and I have to agree. The only real complaint that I had was that they are stuck in the Georgia "cheese dip" conundrum, which I just don't understand.

For a photo of their cool "El Toro" sign, check out Traci's blog,

Atlanta and my job remain pretty uneventful, as I only started doing real work (as opposed to catching up on administrative issues) this week. Today I should be driving around looking for an apartment, but I will remain lazy until after the hot part of the day ends. Guess I'l be driving around at 2 am then.

The housing situation here is odd. There's plenty of stuff online, but everyone I know who has lived here a long time keeps telling me not to rely on either the paper or the alternative weekly, but to drive around and see what's out there. The big problem is that "nice" is very relative in this town when it comes to housing. It's the old "good block, bad block" routine. Just last week Traci got accosted by the most put togther junkie in the world; it's hard to say whether or not a street or neighborhood is a good place to live without actually being there and walking around, which, again, not always that safe. There is a certain urge to stay in Decatur, but only because I'm getting to know the area and it is definitely a nice place to live. It's over a 30 minute commute to work though, and I am all about the shorter drive or the use of public transportation (there's MARTA in Decatur, but no park-and-ride, you have to leave your shit on the street and, yeah, no fuckin' way).

To all my friends in Austin: I bought some tickets and okayed it with work, and I will be home on the morning of Friday, September 28? 29? Whatever the last Friday in September is. I'll be there until Sunday evening, and I'll hopefully arrange a little Crown excursion. Probably not a good idea to expect a private audience with my ladyship, 'cause y'all know that most of my time will be spent with Mooky. By that point in time I won't have been kissed in nearly two months, which is both a tragic and painful circumstance. Ah, two years of this, nice.

The Ugly American

Week One is over and done.

That's not just my first week of work, but today also marks my first full week in Atlanta. The job is basically okay; today was the first week that I did any real work. Everyday has been meetings or orientation, or just playing catch up on the policies and literature written for the project.

Other than that, I have been enjoying much of the fine Asian cuisine that the city has to offer. On Thursday our collaborative partners from Boston University were down and the library director tool us out to lunch at a Thai restaurant on Spring Street called Nan's. Oh my God. I ordered green curry because it's my favorite and it's a good yardstick for testing the restaurant (like the salsa in a Mexican place). The guy across from me, Sean, got the same, and within about 10 minutes we were both snifling and he broke into a fine sweet. The waitress was laughing everytime she refilled are water glasses.

Another thing about that place: the decor. Absolutly beautiful. Totally modernist, but with traditional Thai accents. The wiatress were all beautiful Thai women in long, Mandarin-style brocade dresses, with sexy slits up to their thighs. I had been told that the bathrooms were worth the trip, so my coworker Meredith and I went to check them out. Dark and wooden, with faint incense and marble basins full of stone. They also included my favorite touch, real white hand towels. Meredith felt like there should be a slow yoga tape playing, to help relieve you of your meal. A five star bathroom for sure.

Traci and I had planned on going to see "Superbad" tonight, but we skipped it for a trip to our local Chinese joint and some "OZ" on DVD. At the Golden Buddha, Traci introduced me to a strange and delightful Georgia Chinese food tradition: sizzling rice soup. I have never seen this on the menu of a Chinese foor restaurant in Texas, and I know now that we are lesser people for it. They bring you a soup of chicken with mushrooms, bamboo shoots and water chestnuts and a separate plate of quick friend rice. They dump in the rice and it starts to sizzle, turning the crisp rice soft again. it is fan-tas-tic. We also got eggrolls, which were some of the best I've had in a Chinese restaurant, and I had my favorite, chicken lo mein. There's was just okay; nothing on the Magic Wok in Austin. Traci's orange chicken, on the other had, was sublime.

Does it seen odd to you that I blog a lot about food? Not to me; big fat people eat a lot, and we like to talk about it. On that note, I got a line on some Mexican restaurants in downtown Decatur which I've heard are good.

Other than the state of my Asian-food diet, Atlanta is okay. It's a big-ass, confusing city, and other than getting to work and Kroger, I couldn't find my own ass with both hands if I had too. Luckily, I have Traci, and some very friendly co-workers who have offered lots of good advice on areas that I might enjoy living in. It's very different from Austin in that areas that look nice, aren't always. The streets right around my work look cute, like fairly nice student housing, but someone got murdered across the street from the library over the weekend before I started work. I'll see cute house, shops and apartment houses, and say "Hey, what about..." and Traci or a co-worker will just shake their head a push me along. It's hard to tell where the crackheads hang out in broad daylight.

Glamorama

Some big stuff has gone down recetly, including my first day of work, yesterday, which involved me getting in the car on time only to find it INFESTED with ants, me getting stopped for the crossing of the entire Morehouse College football team, all half-naked and glistening in the morning sun, and me getting lost in downtown Atlanta on the way home. (Note: Atlanta is not designed on a grid) But none of this compares to Sunday, the day of my first Atlanta-based celebrity sighting: Chili from TLC.

Traci and I were shopping in the produce section of Whole Foods, when suddenly she piltoed me over to the oils and said "That woman in the white, don't look until we're away". I thought some bitch was causing trouble or looking crazy, so I didn't even get it until Traci started to sing that godawful song "Waterfalls". Then I caught on and started gaping liek a carp.

One thing to note: Chili is teeny-tiny. She can't be more than 5'2", and pretty thin, but way shapely and just as beautiful as she looks on TV. I was really impressed by that. I was more impressed when Traci overheard her telling her son "We'll get that at Kroger".

Traci and I were all excited about this, because we make separate Kroger and Whole Fods lists too. And Traci even got to talk to her, saying "Thank you" when Chili moved her cart out of the checkout line so that Traci could get by.

She left right after us and we joked about following her to find out what car she drives and where she lives, but didn't, of course. Then we went to Kroger to do our cheap shopping. As we got out of the car, we started joking about Chili being at Kroger too, and how we felt so close to her because she does cheap shopping too. I even comented that the lesson was just like the lesson in "Friday After Next" (which we watched on cable the day before), "We're all different, but we're all the same."

We went to that Kroger because it has a Starbucks in it, and I was fading too much for a Sunday afternoon. When we walked in, I bolted to the coffee stand, but stopped short when I hear Traci hiss "She's here! She's here!" of course she was. After we got our coffee, we tried like Hell to avoid her. At first I wasn't embarrassed for her to see us, but once we were about to follow her down the bread row to get bagels, I got a little freaked. It's a coincidence to see us at the same two stores in a row, but there was no way I wanted to put off that much of a stalker vibe. I chickened and made Traci get salad dressing first.

Apparently alot of musical celebrities live in Atlanta, including Sir Elton John. That one surprised me. I mean, I knew about Usher, but Elton? Hmm, maybe Traci and I should try the Whole Foods in his neighborhood.

Heart of Darkness

Yesterday Traci and I made our first foray into the wilds of Georgian Mexican food. It was not a good beginning.

We went to Mexico City Gourmet, one of the closest Mexican restaurants near the apartment. It has a great and tacky outside, complete with Mariachis and the Mexican flag painted on the windows. Also, a neon sign. When we walked in, there were "Best of City" reviews from Citysearch. It turned out that these were a bad sign, because all they mentioned were the margaritas and the service, but not the food.

The service was fine, as were the prices and the beer list, but good God, the food was crap. The salsa was spicy, but not-fresh, it was clearly Pace-style from a jar. The chips were those disgusting, dark yellow things that come in super-bulk size. We ordered queso fundido, which was okay; the chorizo was delicious, but it just had a thin layer of cheese on top that was nothing special. It was clearly not baked, but heated. Despite the fact that we ordered queso, the waiter was sure to offer us "some guacamole or cheese dip?" Being offered "cheese dip" in a Mexican resturant is never a good sign.

Traci got enchiladas verdes and I got mole enchiladas. I'll stick to bitching about the mole, since Traci covered the verdes on her blog, Glamour at Every Turn (www.gaet.blogspot.com). First, the beans were from a can, with no additional seasoning and a large amount of CHEDDER CHEESE melted over them. Traci says that this is a Georgia thing. The rice was even worth the two tastes I gave it. It was the color of Meixcan style rice, but it had no flavor and nothing but peas in it. The "salad" was a pile of shredded lettuce and half of a tomato slice, covered in Ceasar dressing. Then there were the enchiladas. Soggy, packaged tortillas, drenched in gooey black mole with no spice to it whatsoever. There was also a pile of raw, white onions, that I suppose were meant to be a substitute for flavor. The only good thing was the chicken, which was moist and chunky and flavorful. Odd that the chorizo and chicken were so good. In Mexican food, isn't the meat the most expensive part? why skimp on everything else, but not the pricey stuff?

Anyway, we were unimpressed. The check was only twenty-nine bucks, with me drinking a beer, and the service was fine, but so not worth it. We didn;t even come close to finshing our food. Before we left, I was sure to walk back to the bathroom and look in the kitchen door. Yep, it was full of real Mexicans. Were they just playing a trick on us gringos? Or, have they been so beaten down by the lack of interest in authentic Mexican food that they just don't bother anymore? There are plenty pf Mexicans in town, so there has to be the real deal somewhere in Atlanta.

Fear of Flying

Driving from Austin to Vicksburg is a little bit scary, just knowing how unsafe our nation's highways can be. But the truly frightening leg of my trip was Day 2, from Vicksburg, MS, to Atlanta, GA.

Unlike Day 1, Day 2 was spent entirely in Interstate 20, which has a fairly steady speed limit of 70 mph. Occasionally it drops down to 55 for construction or a larger town, like Birmingham, Al, but it's mainly at 70 the whole trip. This seems like a blessing at first, but there were several times yesterday that I got completely road blind, lulled by the beautiful, but monotonous landscape of pine trees, and snapped to only by realising that I was flying along at 90, something my brand news tires not only allowed, but encouraged. Whenever I would have to put on the brakes my car completely resisted, and at times I felt like I was coming up off the pavement, I was moving so fast.

The trip was pretty uneventful. All of the gas stations sell Confederate flag stickers, which is kind of funny, and occasionally, there would be good signage to laugh at, but Interstate 20 through Mississippi and Alabama passes by towns, not through them (even Birmingham), and the scenery is primarily 50 foot virgin pine trees that line the sides of the road, so thick they even hide the Western bound side.

I did get to pass through Talledega National Forest in Alabama, and it is really beautiful. I rolled down the windows for that patch. It had just rained and the smell of the pines was amazing. I had forgotten how the South smelled. There are lots of pine trees in Mississippi, and the air always smelled damp and faintly of pine, like rich forest soil. Mississippi and Alabama are nothing if not lush and verdant.

Three good signs:

1. Somewhere in Mississippi, "NHOP". You mean I can't get crepes there?
2. Oxford, Alabama, "Love Stuff: A Touch of Class for Adults"
3. Ranburne, Alabama, "TNT sold here" This was funny to me mainly because the "TNT" was a huge red and yellow cartoon explosion, followed by docile little black letters that said "sold here". Also, I don't seen many dynamite stores, so it was unique.

Once you pass Birmingham, it's only about two hours to Atlanta. At the time, I was rocking out in the car to the best of George Micheal. I was listening to the song "Hard Day" and singing along as loud as I could (at this point, I was exhausted; the music helped; don't judge me). At the exact second that the song clicked off, I crested a hill, and for the fist time, downton Atlanta was visible. The sight made my breath catch in my throat, it was so beautiful. The entire city was laid out before me, visible only through a tunnel carved into a thick forest of the tallest pine trees imaginable. A split second later, and I am not making this up, the next song started to play. It was "Faith", of all things, with that swelling organ music for the introduction. This conicided exactly, perfectly, with the sprawling view of Atlanta before me. It couldn't have been a more beautiful moment if I have made it up. A moment later, as George started to sing, I rounded the bend and the view was gone.

Soon after I was in Atlanta and then at Traci's. We hauled in my stuff, ate and watched wrestling, and I unpacked a little. I passed out completely, until Mooky called me this morning before his bedtime. Today Traci is going to drive me around Decatur, show me a route to my library, and we will also begin out quest for good Mexican food in Atlanta. pray for us.

Notes from the Underground (And by "Underground", I mean Mississppi)

At the moment, I am a Mississippian again.

I lived for two years in Oxford, MS, and never thought that I would be back. For last night and this morning, I live in Vicksburg, in the home of my friends Lauchlin and Olivia. I am currently en route to Decatur, GA, and this was the perfect stop off; almost exactly halfway between Austin and Atlanta. As of tonight, I'll be an Atlantan, a state that should last at least two years.

Right now I am waiting for Lauchlin and her sister Katherine (visiting from St. Louis, also a friend of mine from Oxford) to wake the Hell up. I've been up for hours, drinking coffee, talking to the cats and reading all of the Dlisted posts that I missed while driving yesterday. I need to leave within an hour, but I was promised the breakfast bar at the AmeriStar Casino, and I'm not wavering on that point. I shall not leave Mississippi without sausage gravy and loose slots.

The trip yesterday was excruciating. The first stop I made for water and toilet was in Marquez, Texas, which is nothing but a stop sign and two gas stations. I was going to pull in at the first, until I saw that the store attacthed was called the "Kountry Korner", this one belonging to Susie. I pulled right the fuck out. Fuck Susie and her unnecessary aliteration! Nothing makes me angrier than exchanging "c"s for "k"s. The "q" ones are the worst.

So I went across the street, got out, and was immediately hit with a huge blast of parking lot grit from a big diesal truck pulling out of the lot. At that point in the day, I hadn't turned on my AC yet, and was just riding with the windows down, so the grit from the lot mixed with my Texas morning sweat to make a fine paste all over my body. I tried to clean up as best I could, but kept finding patches of road mush on me throughout the day.

Things got worse in Louisiana. For some reason, Louisianans do not understand highway driving, and they are all out to kill me. I had more near wrecks coming across the state on Highway 20 than I have had in the last year of Austin driving.

I stopped in Grambling, LA at gas station with the World's Filthiest Bathroom in it. I have never been anywhere that smelled this foul or was this filthy. Also, there was a beautiful, sweet, black lab puppy that had been abandoned in front of the station. I asked the clerk if he belonged to anyone there, and he shrugged, saying the dog had been there dor a while. He had no water and was sitting in the 100 degree sun, and all the jerk did was shrug. Luckily, an old man and the clerk from the attached liquor store overheard me, and they set him up with food and water under the overhang of the station. I asked about a shelter, but they have nonesuch in Grambling. Hopefully, that nice old man will continue to make sure the pup is okay.

It was a relief to see Vicksburg and relax with L-Boogie, K-Dawg and Bolivia. They had cool red wine, stir fry and hot and sour soup waiting for me. After drinks and a chat and dinner, we went downtown to partake in Vicksburg nightlife. We stopped at The Lobby, a lovely modernist entry on the city's main drag. We walked in just as the bartender closed out her register (10 o'clock people), so we headed down the street to The Loft, which is a much darker, smokier affair, with pool tables, two for one Jager shots (yes I did) and a jukebox with no music made after 1997. I relieved high school with every new song.

I should mention that Lauchlin is one of the only reporters in town, so she knows people everywhere. We ran into one of her juniors from the paper, who went to KU, plays rugby for Jackson and (obviously) loves Jager shots. We talked Big 12 and the Austin Blacks and I felt like I was in college again. Sigh.

At the gas station, buying beer for house, we ran into Fred Dave, a guy we all sort-of knew in Oxford, Lauchlin, hollering out of her window at him from across the parking lot, invited him over for porch beers, much to Katherine's chagrin. I had all but forgotten her short tryst with Fred Dave, a memory that he apparently holds more dear then she. He and the Junior Reporter came by for beer each. Soon after they left I realized that it was 2 am and I was drunker than I thought. So I called my Mooky and crawled into bed, only to wake at 6:30 when Olivia left for work, and at 8:30 in the throes of an allergy attack. A great day to start my first day as a Georgian.