Postcard: Tequila mocking bird (2006)Ah, birthdays. I try to have just one a year now.
They do still keep coming, though: it's the march of time and all that, no matter how infirm the step these days. Am I slowing down? No, the world just keeps raising the speed limit. Dave and his wife Karen, friends of mine now in Vegas, are playing the numbers "5" + "6," a decent combination (not every age adds up to 11, so there's bound to be some luck at craps.) At this point, the vicarious Vegas thrills are exciting enough, though the "Viva Viagra" commercial has ruined one of Elvis' better, later tunes for me. Back in 2006 when I was a youngster of 54, Steve and Shelly sent me the tequila mocking bird card above. After a shot or two of Tres Generaciones that's just what I feel like -- a psychedelic parrot in the desert. Arriba!
Dexter the cat has somehow managed to live on Bellemeade Avenue avoiding the MARTA buses and big rig wheels for ten years now. That's got to be eight lives, at least. When there's a cat in the house, birthday card choices are easy: cats with mice on their head, c
ats with silly grins, cats with attitude: there's a million choices. Joan sent me this birthday one for number 52: happy shredder cat, which is pretty close to Dexter's outlook on life. I've figured it out: Dexter's not my cat -- I'm his human. Ten years: a full dinner bowl, an open cat door, and Dexter's the Keith Richards of Bellemeade. One lucky cat.
Set the wayback machine, Sherman, for the year 1978: I was living on Juniper Street. The heyday of the "Atlanta strip" was long over but the street was still full of old broken-down houses, boarded-over windows, and real estate just waiting to be "parceled" into 20-story office buildings and luxury hotels.
Rent was $50. The house I shared with four Tech students at 952 was a prime location: directly in back of the Stein Club with its great jukebox, spelling contests, and cheap beer. The Cha Gio restaurant offered a buffet for $2.95, the old 10th Street Art movie house would be running out-of-focus third-run Elvis flicks (Clambake) that no-one watched, and punk clubs like TV Dinner were starting to sprout in the cracks between abandoned buildings. It wouldn't be long before a thousand construction cranes bloomed along Peachtree Street.
It was a perfect place for Snow White, Goofy, and Mickey. Joan sent this birthday card with its green whirl of "happy birthdays" on the flip (and the added green "Baba" hat.) All up and down Juniper St. it was Disney on parade for real: gals, guys, and otherwise in a forgotten area of town full of drunks, punks and lunkheads looking for thrills.
It was all kind of fun in a way, if you didn't mind cleaning up the used hypodermic needles in the front yard on the weekend, like a civic duty. Good times. Midtown was the "tri-bar" area: if you could walk in, you could try anything. The girls, and the "girls," hanging around on Peachtree and 10th in their spiked heels were usually friendly, and you could always outrun those that weren't. (Just be sure to leave your drink at the door.) Today, 952 Juniper is just the entrance to the lower parking deck behind the 999 Building on Peachtree.
They do still keep coming, though: it's the march of time and all that, no matter how infirm the step these days. Am I slowing down? No, the world just keeps raising the speed limit. Dave and his wife Karen, friends of mine now in Vegas, are playing the numbers "5" + "6," a decent combination (not every age adds up to 11, so there's bound to be some luck at craps.) At this point, the vicarious Vegas thrills are exciting enough, though the "Viva Viagra" commercial has ruined one of Elvis' better, later tunes for me. Back in 2006 when I was a youngster of 54, Steve and Shelly sent me the tequila mocking bird card above. After a shot or two of Tres Generaciones that's just what I feel like -- a psychedelic parrot in the desert. Arriba!
Dexter the cat has somehow managed to live on Bellemeade Avenue avoiding the MARTA buses and big rig wheels for ten years now. That's got to be eight lives, at least. When there's a cat in the house, birthday card choices are easy: cats with mice on their head, c
ats with silly grins, cats with attitude: there's a million choices. Joan sent me this birthday one for number 52: happy shredder cat, which is pretty close to Dexter's outlook on life. I've figured it out: Dexter's not my cat -- I'm his human. Ten years: a full dinner bowl, an open cat door, and Dexter's the Keith Richards of Bellemeade. One lucky cat.Set the wayback machine, Sherman, for the year 1978: I was living on Juniper Street. The heyday of the "Atlanta strip" was long over but the street was still full of old broken-down houses, boarded-over windows, and real estate just waiting to be "parceled" into 20-story office buildings and luxury hotels.
Rent was $50. The house I shared with four Tech students at 952 was a prime location: directly in back of the Stein Club with its great jukebox, spelling contests, and cheap beer. The Cha Gio restaurant offered a buffet for $2.95, the old 10th Street Art movie house would be running out-of-focus third-run Elvis flicks (Clambake) that no-one watched, and punk clubs like TV Dinner were starting to sprout in the cracks between abandoned buildings. It wouldn't be long before a thousand construction cranes bloomed along Peachtree Street.
It was a perfect place for Snow White, Goofy, and Mickey. Joan sent this birthday card with its green whirl of "happy birthdays" on the flip (and the added green "Baba" hat.) All up and down Juniper St. it was Disney on parade for real: gals, guys, and otherwise in a forgotten area of town full of drunks, punks and lunkheads looking for thrills.
It was all kind of fun in a way, if you didn't mind cleaning up the used hypodermic needles in the front yard on the weekend, like a civic duty. Good times. Midtown was the "tri-bar" area: if you could walk in, you could try anything. The girls, and the "girls," hanging around on Peachtree and 10th in their spiked heels were usually friendly, and you could always outrun those that weren't. (Just be sure to leave your drink at the door.) Today, 952 Juniper is just the entrance to the lower parking deck behind the 999 Building on Peachtree.
From Disney to gone with the wind, for sure.
We're all older and wiser. Aren't we? Liz had been one of the denizens of 952, and she still sends birthday cards these many years later. That should count for something, though I'm not sure toward what. The card below was for the big 5-0, in 2002: Although you're at that awkward age between teenager and codger, you're looking good, dude!
Postcard (2002): "You can run but you can't hide"
What more can you ask? These days I probably couldn't outrun those high-heeled girls, even if they were interested in chasing me. They're at home waiting for hits on their Craigslist ads, anyway. So it goes.
1 comment:
At this time in your life you need a $5 shot of tequila daily.....too bad you only get 1 birthday a year!
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