When in Roam
December 4 -12, 2020: Atlanta - Week 1
Originally, we didn’t plan on stopping in Hotlanta, but based on the trends we saw during the second week of November regarding COVID spread, we wanted to pick a place we could hunker down in with enough stuff to do while the shit hit the fan. Previously, we were going to try to head through the Midwest, but now we reset our course to go west till we hit the Pacific Ocean. Then make a right turn and go up the coast.
The Airbnb we selected, fabulous stay in a modern condo-Atlanta Adventure, seemed appealing as well. It was a beautiful, relatively new hi-rise in North Buckhead. The Modera had a lounge and pool on both the 8th floor, and 20th floor. Of course, for us during C-19, this was nothing more than a movie set with no actors. The spots were empty as they should be. But, great scenery and a nice change of pace from the cute/funky cottages we came from outside of Savannah and Charleston previously.
There were three unexpected surprises though, and two of them were in the kitchen.
The first might resonate if you’re familiar with the Food Network cooking show Chopped. You get three-to-five ingredients that have nothing to do with each other (e.g., double stuff Oreos — my fav, sriracha sauce, and kumquats) and you have to make something saliva-producing out of it…Well, what we’re dealing with, and by we, I mean Carol, is the converse. Imagine that you can use every ingredient known to mankind, but you have only one dull kitchen knife, one plastic mixing bowl and three pots, none of which conduct heat well, to work with. No cutting board, no Pyrex, no baking tray, no sauce pans, no colander. The one night Carol tried sautéing chicken, it set off the smoke alarm, which was located ten feet at most from the stove top. I opened the window which faced both the pool/lounge area three floors below, and 30 other apartments whose windows face the area as well. We received no outreach from the building staff, nor any neighbors. I guess they were all hangin’ out at the 20th-floor pool at the time.
The second kitchen issue relates to coffee. As some readers may know, I’m a lot better off after my morning cuppa joe. The challenge here was that in order to obtain that, I had to learn how to make it in a Mr. Coffee Espresso Maker, which sounds like an oxymoron to me, frankly. Suffice it to say that I’ve named this appliance My Nemesis.
Whenever I have a mechanical challenge — and I put on a tool belt to change the plate in front of a light switch, I go to my brotha from another motha, “The Captain” Pete Marchelos. He’s that guy that is only happy when he’s busy. And, he’s always happy. When he has nothing to do, he tears down a wall and puts up some sheetrock.
After some coaching from The Captain, followed by extensive YouTube videos, and trial and error, I was able to figure it out. I feel like there should be some certificate for completing an espresso course for this.
There was one other unexpected gap in our experience here. On days when more folks died from COVID (3k+) than during 9–11, 75% of our roomies — all of them in their late 20s/early 30s — didn’t mask up in the elevators?! I shit you not. Carol and I started betting over/under on the number of masks we’d see, and unless we guessed zero, we lost.
Every time we entered the elevator, I felt like Shelly Winters in the Poseidon Adventure when she held her breath during that entire underwater swimming sequence to free Gene Hackman.
When we mentioned this to most of our friends/family/work colleagues in the area their response was, “welcome to the South”. After all, there’s a carving of Confederate leaders Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, and Stonewall Jackson that’s bigger than Mt. Rushmore, 30 minutes east in Stone Mountain Park.
We made our peace with all of this. Settled into our cool pad, replete with James Dean and Audrey Hepburn portraits over the boudoir headboard, an orange couch/love seat with lime green shag carpet and Michael Jackson coffee table book All the Songs — The Stories Behind Every Track. Then we ventured out to get the lay of the land.
We drove eight miles south on Peachtree St. NE to Five Points, where the city was founded in 1845. It’s named after the five main thoroughfares that converged there. It’s adjacent to Underground Atlanta, an area originally built during Reconstruction, rediscovered as an entertainment and shopping complex in the 1970s, and reinvigorated in the 1990s. From there, it was a half-mile to Centennial Olympic Park, World of Coca-Cola, and Georgia Aquarium. With the combination of no street parking available, outdoor venues being closed, and no hazmat suits to venture inside, we continued our car tour further southeast, passing by the Olympic Torch from the 1996 Summer Olympics, and the stadium where the Atlanta Falcons play, to the Grant Park neighborhood. Think various levels of refurbished Victorians and a Montclair, NJ, vibe which includes Zoo Atlanta.
From there, we sashayed further east to Little Five Points and ended up at the legendary Manuel’s Tavern. Our Wayne, NJ, pals got us hip to this joint, as part of a terrific bon voyage present which included many wonderful nuggets throughout the country. (Eat your heart out, Guy Fieri!) That morning, Carol was listening to the local news in ATL that included a piece about how this pub was endangered due to C-19 restrictions. That motivated us to go there sooner than later and we’re glad we did. We dined out back and continued to marvel at the percentage of diners who bring their dawgs out to eat. Eventually I had to stroll through the restaurant to powder my nose, and meandered through this political watering hole that was founded in 1956. The place wreaked of nostalgia. From Jimmy Carter announcing his first run for governor, to Obama playing darts during his campaign, you wish these walls could talk.
Then, it was home to celebrate Will Candell’s birthday via a Zoom Dueling Pianos cocktail hour! Another great day in the books.
The next morning got off to a rocky start. I got cocky with the espresso machine. Figured out how to use it and was cleaning out the metal filter in the sink over the garbage disposal and, you guessed it, dropped it right down the chute. As I’ve never lived in an abode with such a thing, and as I just received a new pair of thumbs, I decided to do what I had done while living in an apartment building for the first 40 years of my life, call maintenance.
Once that was sorted out, and spoiler alert, it would not be the only time I leaned on that resource, we headed north to Dunwoody, to visit my cousins, and my aunt. It’s always a treat to be with my cuz Gaye for many reasons, one being that she bears a great resemblance to my mother, especially around the eyes. I’ve always felt this and it became more pronounced 18 years ago when Mom passed. In addition to catching up, we got to walk down memory lane and glimpse into the future with my Aunt Marilyn, and Gaye’s son Josh respectively.
Marilyn recalled days of growing up in the East New York neighborhood in Brooklyn with both my mom and dad’s families, and around the corner from Red Holzman, former coach of our beloved Knicks back when they were an actual team in the NBA before owner Jim Dolan mismanaged them into the ground.
And Josh is immersed in the social media space, specifically the online entertainment industry with a focus on Twitch if you’re familiar with that gaming platform. He’s part software engineer, part public relations advisor, part business development specialist. Basically, working with content creators to enhance their brands. Welcome to the roaring 20s of the 21st century!
As we left, Gaye surprised us with latkes for the road to commemorate the first night of Hanukkah, and I realized it would be the first time in 61 years that I/we wouldn’t be lighting the menorah because that’s how tight the car is packed, and I couldn’t find the right crowbar on Amazon that would have enabled me to retrieve it as needed.
As I write this, I have the same warm smile I had driving back to the Modera. As I’m the only cousin out of nine left on my mom’s side of the family left in the New York metro area, it’s always great to get that unique warmth that being with family can bring.
The next day we toured the Sweet Auburn area of town, which, in the early 1900s, was considered one of the “richest Negro streets in the world.” The area is also synonymous with the Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historic Park as his birthplace, resting place, and the Ebenezer Baptist Church are within 0.2 miles of each other on Auburn Avenue NE. Outside his home, Carol asked Park Ranger Marty Smith to tell us something about Dr. King that we didn’t know. He said that MLK was raised in a progressive and successful black family. He went to good schools, and traveled, and that set him up foundationally for what he would achieve. It wasn’t like he sprouted up from a broken home. Those were Marty’s words and they really resonated with me for two reasons. They echoed remarks by Connecticut Senator Chris Murphy that I heard that morning during a virtual Gun Violence Prevention forum I attended, and that was my experience teaching for ten years in low-income neighborhoods. If you create a safe environment where people feel valued, EVERYONE can learn. EVERYONE can contribute.
Both Dr. and Coretta Scott King’s resting places are in a raised pool, with water flowing down to it over the inscription, “We will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
The original Ebenezer Baptist Church, where his father and grandfather were also pastors, was closed. The door handle looked like it had been there since the building’s inception. Holding it for a moment reminded me of how I felt in Rome going into the Pantheon, opening a door handle from the 15th century, and getting a chill, thinking that Michelangelo opened the same exact door handle.
Decatur is a nice little suburb east of the city filled with colorful and tasty craftsman-style bungalows. I met Miami Knight, host of Grief Talk, for a cup of joe outside the local coffee shop, Kavarna. It’s across the street from Harmony Park, which had charging stations for electric cars in the parking lot, and a fella singing tasteful Marvin Gaye karaoke out of a portable speaker. You get the vibe.
It was wonderful and fulfilling to meet with my fellow Everytown/Moms Demand Action peer, mask-to-mask, and compare notes on the work, and day-to-day life. If you’re reading this you probably are familiar with my gun violence survivor story. In Miami’s case, her son Ty-Key was shot in an incident which also claimed the life of his best friend. Though Ty-Key survived, he lived with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and survivor’s guilt. Five years after his attempted murder, Ty-Key died by gun suicide at 22 years of age.
Since then, Miami has worked towards and received degrees in grief coaching, counseling, and consulting. In addition to hosting her Grief Talk podcast, all her work for Everytown and Moms Demand Action, and raising her family, she’s an inspiration to me. So are my 6M fellow members of Moms Demand Action who are working tirelessly to advocate for sensible gun legislation. This public health crisis claims 100 lives and injures 200+ more on average each day in our United States.
The next afternoon, Carol and I headed to Little Five Points to check out the neighborhood and grab a bite. It felt like a mix between Greenwich Village in the 1970s and the movie Escape from New York. Really nice $750k homes, a block and a half from guys dealing nickel bags next to the tattoo parlor. Felt like a neighborhood that started to gentrify, then the artists and LGBTQ community all decided to leave.
My Spidey sense started tingling and the place just seemed a little too sketchy. So, we went to another potential dining venue in Cabbagetown. That took us through the Krog Street Tunnel, and Memorial Drive Southeast, where we saw some of the most amazing and varied mural art we’ve ever seen.
The tunnel consisted of layers upon layers of graffiti, some beautiful, some raw, some political. Artists continually spray paint their new images, using pre-existing art as their canvas. With no pride of authorship, each creator realizes their work is temporary, soon to be covered by another’s visual, like Instagram stories are.
The Cabbagetown Park murals are painted on a wall that wraps around Wylie Street for about half a mile and gates part of the neighborhood. Each mural is about 15-foot square and they blend into each other honoring loved ones, toasting lifestyles, providing images of love, humor, and peace. Both the tunnel and muraled walls remind me of The Beatles. The whole being greater than the sum of the parts. And each part was friggin’ great. I’ve even developed great affection for Ringo’s classic tracks.
We got to our dining destination, Scout, which was right across the way from Kavarna, where I had that cup of Joe the morning before. It was a great spot that had outdoor seating, heat lamps, and wait for it — a firepit!!! Sold! Big Drew, the barkeep, recommended the Tennessee bourbon Chattanooga Whiskey’s 1816 Solera Barrel Finished — Reserve to go with my bride’s Caroltini. We sipped to some classic 1970s guitar jams and great food, and came to the conclusion that to date, the towns south of the city were far more our speed than Buckhead and the northern burbs.
Roswell, GA, is 15 miles north of Buckhead and north of The Perimeter, which is the area outside of the Route 285 Beltway that encircles the city, like the 495 beltway rings around Washington DC. We visited with one of Carol’s former colleagues and her husband who have relocated here. According to Bill, Atlanta has sprawled much like Houston and other US cities that aren’t constricted by a natural boundary. It’s like that ripple effect when you drop an object into water. Waves of construction expanded outward from the original incorporated city, in the north to midtown, then Buckhead, then north of the perimeter into Dunwoody, then Roswell, Alpharetta, and Cumming.
Their home, all decked out for the holidays, was in a pristine development right on a golf course. JoAnne was incredibly gracious and considerate, serving latkes, apple sauce, and sour cream, which we consumed over a conversation that included sizing up the 12th hole on this challenging Links-style course. Then devoured some holiday manicotti and prosciutto, followed by rugelach and Christmas cookies! Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!
This fulfilling day cushioned me for the Vikes loss to the Bucs in Tampa, due primarily to the lack of prowess by 10-year veteran kicker, Dan Bailey, who missed four of them and left 10 points on the table. Prior to joining the greatest franchise in the NFL, he spent his career with the Cowboys, where he was known for his accuracy. Again, Dallas is messing with me/us. Makes me think of the original Hail Mary pass, and the worst trade in NFL history all over again!
Stay tuned for Atlanta — Week 2!
