You pithecanthropes may have heard about that latest Audubon Society report about our common American birds.  All the bad news can be read here, but the below sentences pretty much say it all: 

Yet while the above news is beyond depressing, the IP experienced a weird thrift store kismet in conjunction with those stories.  About a week after the Audubon report about the birds, The IP found this:

A recording of the songs of the very birds in decline.  Totally mint too!  It provided an excellent review for The IP’s aural knowledge of his feathered friends.  It’s like a refresher course. 

And then, about two days after the amphibian story, The IP found this:

Uncanny!  The IP loves his web-footed friends, and knows some species fairly well, but this record really made him realize he’s got some studying to do, especially since, the way things are going, many of these frogs and toads might be extinct in The IP’s own lifetime:

Squirrel Tree Frog?

Barking Frog?

Oak Toad?

Sphagnum Frog?

WTF? 

The Frog/Toad record is particularly fantastic, in both its incredible audio fidelity and the narrator’s sublimely unemotional vocal descriptions.  “You will hear a Barred Owl in the background.”  Kick Ass!!

Voices Of The Night is actually a fairly popular record among the herpetology crowd, and it’s been re-released and updated several times since the 1948 (!) original. Ironically, it comes out of the Laboratory of Ornithology at Cornell University; that’s the lab that is constantly trying to confirm the existence of the Ivory Billed Woodpecker.

A lot of the frogs and toads on Voices Of The Night were recorded in New Jersey and Georgia, so The IP felt even more of a connection to the noisy little bastards since he was born in the former and now lives in the latter.  Georgia remains good frog/toad country, and if you want to check out some good Georgia frog/toad pics, check out this site.

Here are some more amphibious sites to check out:

Amphibians in Decline (this site, BTW, is amazing)

Our Amphibian Ancestors (amazing fossil)

And a special shout-out to Rene at the IP’s workplace for picking up a copy of Monday’s Boston Globe for him.  That’s nice.

While creeping slowly towards the traffic signal on his commute home, he saw another one: An Emoroid.  All the markings were there:  the new BMW, the New York tag, the Emory University decal in the back window, and the young woman in the driver’s seat yapping on her cell phone while “checking” her hair and face in the rear view mirror.

Not all Emory students are Emoroids, but all Emoroids are Emory Students, and they form not an insignificant cohort of the student body.  Every time The IP sees one, he cringes in both anger and embarrassment.  He’s angry at their blithe demeanor regarding their spoiled-rotten status, and he’s embarrassed by parents who obviously think caring and “love” means you send your 19-year-old daughter off to college with a new BMW.

But The IP truly thinks that Emoroids are created; they’re not born that way.  They must have been suffocated by a very shallow, materialistic and superficial familial and societal culture.  It’s really quite sad.  The IP never feels “jealous” of the Emoroids; he feels sorry for them. 

The IP has seen so many of these Emoroids with new BMWs it makes him sick; and it reminds him of Andy Hall, a buddy of his from the very affluent town of Wellesley where they both went to high school; that is, when The IP actually “went” to high school. 

Andy’s parents could have, but they never did, buy him a new car.  However, they did let him work on any number of shitbox cars in their garage.  And Andy’s father would help him work on those shitboxes.  The IP can’t remember any time from high school through college when Andy had anything but a good-running shitbox for a car, one he bought with his own money and one that he brought back to life. 

And he was generous to a fault with helping other friends with their shitboxes.  Installing a rebuilt carburator for The IP’s Volare?  No problem.  Installing a new water pump for The IP and his girlfriends’ diesel Rabbit?  Hey, just a few bloody knuckles.  No problem.

I’ll never forget the time, when leaving the isolated, electricity-less vacation cabin in Maine lumber country, we all piled in to Andy’s 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme after having canoed to the place where we parked our rides (yes, just like Deliverance).  We had to go a few miles down some rough dirt road with all of our shit PLUS a canoe strapped to the roof. 

Andy carefully forged ahead, weaving in and out of ruts, around and over rocks, and straddling or driving through brown puddles of indeterminate depth.  Then it happened: 

WHAM!!

CHICKITY-SCREE CHICKITY-SCREE CHICKITY-SCREE CHICKITY-SCREE CHICKITY-SCREE CHICKITY-SCREE!!!

WTF!!!  We’re doomed (they had no cell phones back then). 

Andy just chuckled.  “It’s probably just the transmission scraping the cover plate.” 

So he turns off the engine, crawls under the car, and starts shouting for tools by name like some surgeon: “Give me a 3/4 socket wrench!!”  “Yep.  It’s the cover plate.” 

Soon he emerges from under the car with the offending, severely dented cover that protects the transmission linkage, mostly from dirt and dust from paved roads; the Cutlass was not designed for such off-road excursions.

Before one could say “WTF?” Andy just grabbed a nearby rock about the size of a basketball, put the plate on the ground inside-out, and just nailed the thing.  He then went back under and after some tweaking with a large screw driver, bolted the sucker back on.  We were back on the road after about 10 minutes of “repair.” 

Lesson?

Don’t let your kids grow up to be Emoroids.

The below is from Emory’s own school paper:

Emory fashionistas make mall trips a way of living

By Chris Megerian and Catherine Eclavea
Executive Staff Writers
November 09, 2004

When College freshman Christine Henderson arrived on campus, she said one of the first things that caught her eye was that almost every girl seemed to be wearing tight black lounge pants.

She wasted little time in picking up a pair of her own.

Emory students place a high emphasis on not only looking nice, but also the type, brand and price of clothing.

Henderson said there is definitely a push to dress a certain way.

“The places Emory students come from are cosmopolitan, well-off areas,” Henderson said. “When people are wealthy, they want to flaunt their money more.”

Last time he went shopping, College sophomore Nick Ferguson said he spent about $1,500.

College freshman Jenna Backman described the campus fashion scene as a sort of “passive competition.”

Backman said she shops for clothes almost every other week, usually spending an average of $200 to $500 a trip at malls in the area.

Backman she recently spent approximately $600 at Bloomingdale’s, Neiman Marcus and J. Crew.

“It’s like a bad habit I’ve gotten into,” Backman said.

Many Emory students consider clothing to be an important part of social life.

College sophomore Leslie Nielsen said girls spend a lot on clothes, especially jeans.

“The average girl on campus wears Seven jeans, which cost about $150 a pair,” Nielsen said. “To most people here, it’s not a lot of money.”

When asked whether or not students spend a lot of money on jeans, College sophomore Maya Silberman replied, “It depends if you want status jeans.”

College sophomores Erica Boutte and Jason Fisk both said they spend a lot of money on clothing, often upwards of $1,000 in a short amount of time.

“In the last three months, I’ve spent about $1,500,” Boutte said.

Some students said they don’t worry about spending $400 on velvet jackets or $250 on Armani jeans.

“I don’t look at prices. I just charge,” Fisk said. “My mom pays for everything.”

But Fisk said he thinks the price is worth it.

“I gotta keep my California style,” he said.

Well.  The only person who probably has absolutely NO clue about the topic of this post is the ever-elitist Dr. Kinbote.  He has long rejected anything “popular” as anathema; perhaps he has good reason to do so.  Nonetheless, if one is out in the public sphere, it’s hard to ignore certain trends.  Right now (and not just in Atlanta), it’s all about “Soulja Boy,”   After all, his song “Crank Dat” is the most popular downloaded song on the Intarwebs.  And with the below lyrics, it’s clear to see why:

[Chorus]
Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy
Then Super Man Dat Hoe
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy
Then Super Man Dat Hoe
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)[Verse 1:]
Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Lean And Watch Me Rock
Super Man Dat Hoe
Then Watch Me Crank Dat Robocop
Super Fresh, Now Watch Me Jock
Jocking On Them Haterz Man
When I Do Dat Soulja Boy
I Lean To The Left And Crank Dat Dance
(Now Yuuuuuaaaaaa!)
I’m Jocking On Yo Bitch Ass
And If We Get The Fightin
Then I’m Cocking On Your Bitches
You Catch Me At Yo Local Party
Yes I Crank It Everyday
Haterz Get Mad Cuz
I Got Me Some poopie wipes[Chorus]
Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy
Then Super Man Dat Hoe
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy
Then Super Man Dat Hoe
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)[Verse 2:]
I’m Bouncin On My Toe
Watch Me Super Soak Dat Hoe
I’ma Pass It To Arab
Then He Gon Crank It Up Fo Sho(Sho)
Haterz Wanna Be Me
Soulja Boy, I’m The Man
They Be Lookin At My Neck
Sayin Its The Rubberband Man (Man)
Watch Me Do It (Watch Me Do It)
Dance (Dance)
Let’s Get To It (Let’s Get To It)
Nope, You Can’t Do It Like Me
Don’t, So Don’t Try Do It Like Me
Folk, I See You Tryna Do It Like Me
Man That *Dance* Was Ugly[Chorus]
Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy
Then Super Man Dat Hoe
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)Soulja Boy Off In This Hoe
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy
Then Super Man Dat Hoe
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)
Now Watch Me Yuuuuuaaaaaa!
(Crank Dat Soulja Boy)

Hold on here!  Did The IP read in those lyrics something about “poopie wipes?”  WTF?  WTF could that be about?  That has got to be the first ever song that mentions “poopie wipes.”  And what’s this about “super soak that hoe”???  What on earth is Mr. Soulja Boy rapping about??? You don’t think he’s rappin’ about…no…He couldn’t be!  Could he? 

Well, whatever he’s rappin’ about, it has struck a chord with a large audience.  The song is # 1 here in The ATL, so much so that it can heard right outside the workplace of The IP:

You see, in The ATL, many businesses (espeically the one in the above pic) take it upon themselves to “entertain” their potential clientele by placing a big public address speaker in front of their establishment and crank out the popular tunes of the day.  Lately they’ve been cranking “Crank Dat!”

Evidently, Soulja Boy’s “Crank Dat” is a perfect musical lure for the place across the street from The IP’s workplace.  Whether one can purchase “Super Soakers” or “Poopie Wipes” at that place The IP can’t say.  They better stock up.

You gotta admit that Soulja Boy puts Paul McCartney to shame; Paul McCartney wants to “hold your hand” but Soulja Boy is “off in this hoe.”  When it comes to writing lyrics, Soulja Boy wins hands down.

The ATL is such an epicenter of Hip Hop that even that wannabe black dude, Kid Rock, got into some trouble here in The ATL just the other day. 

At least he smiled for his mug shot.

He should know betta.  After all, The ATL is the home of  “Da Crunk!”  Don’t be messin wit da ATL.  The IP be serious nigga!.  And if you be comin down here you better be bringin’ your poopie wipes!!  Ahh-ight?

When confronted with the magazine rack at his local supermarket, The IP is both fascinated and aghast at what he sees.  He’s always considered the American supermarket  magazine rack to be, perhaps, the best indicator of what most Americans really care about; otherwise, the magazines would not be there.  If one were to objectively document what people “cared about” by looking at the magazine section, it would result in a rather pathetic portrait of our general populace.   

Now some might say “But IP, you are judging too harshly; these are only frivolous indulgences, recreational reading materials with no real importance to the lives of those who purchase them.”  The IP thinks this reaction is a steaming crock of shit.  These crappy magazines cost money, and people would not buy them if they did not, at least in some basic way, care about their contents.  WTF? 

The IP will only present two magazines he saw on this post. First we have the UK’s answer to the long-lived American Psychology Today; it’s called Psychologies: 

Think of Psychologies as yet another “Women’s” magazine, but with a greater emphasis on the “mind games” aspects of relationships and “feelings.”  It’s got lots of HUGE, staged photographs of women standing in photogenic locations, ostensibly evoking the topic of the article: “Are you lonely in love?”  It was hard for The IP to take the magazine seriously as it was chock-full of clothing and cosmetic ads and shit.  Some “psychologies” never change. 

But what really got The IP pissed off was the article “Spirituality For Atheists.”  WTF? 

Like The IP, you’ve probably encountered folks that, when asked to state their professed religious orientation, they will say “Oh, I’m not religious, but I am spiritual.”  Hearing that response ranks for The IP as one of his top 5 recurring WTF? Moments.  Whenever he hears it, he says “What do you mean?” because saying “I’m spiritual” doesn’t really explain anything.  Then the person starts riffing unconvincingly about feeling “connected” to some “greater power” or how he or she believes that “we all are part of something greater than ourselves” blah blah blah…Again, WTF?  Of course we’re part of something greater than ourselves!  It’s called the universe!  Wait till the sun starts expanding and roasts our meager planet (and all the life on it) to a crisp.   

What The IP thinks is that these people want to believe that they are important, that they couldn’t possibly be just another mammalian species that could go extinct like so many others have and many more are right now. The hubris! 

Listen.  The IP has forged and honed his atheism precisely to contradict the whole notion of “spirituality.” The IP does not believe in “spirits” any more than he believes in magic pixie ring circles of mushrooms or forest elves.  What’s so bad about just being a Homo Sapien lucky enough to be able to enjoy our short time on this planet?  Why throw all this “spiritualism” bullshit all over the experience? 

 Just when you think atheism is making ground and Psychologies Magazine says we atheists want to be “spiritual.”  WTF?   Really, people…get a life!!     

OK.  Now on to the next magazine:  

The IP appreciated the honest-yet-misguided approach of the editors of Concealed Carry.  It’s a magazine that promotes the idea that the safest populace is an armed populace; preferably armed with concealed weapons.  

A lot of politicos across the country are drafting legislation to encourage this type of personal protection; Georgia (surprise!) is one of the leaders in the “Conceal and Carry” movement. 

But one thing gun opponents are loathe to admit is that guns, in short, are really cool.  Seriously.  They are like works of art.  They have that “form follows function” beauty, despite their intended “function” of killing another person.

Hey.  The IP does not own a gun, nor does he support the NRA, but he can understand how people really get into guns.  Just try shooting one and you’ll see.  BLAM!! 

Hey you pithecanthropes!  Make sure to check out The IPs “First Fifty,” the first part of his LP cataloging project over at his other blog.  The IP is finally cataloging his record collection after nearly 15 years of collecting.  There are some LP highlights and some links to some interesting and unrecognized artists.  There are also some in-depth record reviews of some of the “crap” that The IP collects.  WTF?  Give it a look!

From The IP’s 9 years of observation, there are basically two types of people in the office where he works:  those who are engaged with the world beyond themselves and their small sphere of family and friends (even if superficially), and those who aren’t.  Just the other day, The IP asked a decidedly upper-middle-class co-worker who she liked better, Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama.  “Who’s Barack Obama?” was her reply.  What’s worse, she was not joking, or being “ironic.”  

“Who’s Barack Obama?”  WTF?  This is a woman with three seemingly normal kids, a husband, a house, is active in her church, but she hadn’t heard of Barack Obama?  The IP thought to himself “What kind of lifestyle rock must she be living under?”

This kind of political disconnect is common around here; I suppose one could say, with only about 50% of our voting-age populace actually voting in this country, it’s not just here but all across America.  We’re 35th on the list of countries in terms of percentage of voting participation.  Yay for us.

But this coworker of The IP loved Hillary.  Oh yeah.  And that seems to be the case with most AAs in this country.  They just can’t get enough of Hillary.  They couldn’t get enough of Bill.  Haven’t they always joked that Bill was, in fact, “The first African American President?”

You see, Hillary and Barack are really trying to lock up the “black” vote, and it seems that Hillary is running away with it.  Barack has already visited The ATL twice, but The IP thinks the AAs like Hillary better.  One reason this might be the case is that Barack is not “really” black, HE’s MULATTO!  It seems that the word “mulatto” is almost as anathema to our media pundits as “nigger;”  which is strange because it’s not really a pejorative.  In fact, the etymology of the word points to a meaning of  “a person characterized by strength and vigor.”  The word also relates to the “mule,” an animal that is notorious for just that.  But you never really hear the word.  People prefer to use the term “mixed race” or “biracial,” but that is even more vague than mullato.      

Clearly, being a “mulatto” is not as bad as being a “macaca,”  but it still makes people feel awkward, so the mulatto becomes either “black” or “biracial” or “mixed race.”  WTF?  I would just love to hear Obama just say “I am a mulatto.”  What harm would there be in that?  “I’m a mulatto and proud to be a mulatto.” 

The parents of Barack Obama 

Of course, another very real “thing” that Obama “is” is a “light-skinned black,” or “high yellow.”  He passes the infamous paper bag test.  Folks that are so labeled are paradoxically “advantaged” and scorned for various reasons within the larger and more generic “black” umbrella.

This letter was in today’s AJC:

By Delores Knight, Tina Trent, Rod Paramoure, Donald Gallup
For the Journal-Constitution
Published on: 10/17/07

Blacks can’t let down Obama

I am disappointed that U.S. Rep. John Lewis (D-Ga.) endorsed Hillary Clinton (“Clinton scores coup in fight for black vote,” Page One, Oct. 13). As a sixtysomething black woman, I can remember old-guard Negro leaders cautioning that young radicals were moving too fast; it was not time to demand equal access. Those young radicals, including Lewis, said “If not now, when?” Those young radicals have become the old guard, and many are cautioning that it is not time to support a black man for president. My question is, “If not now, when?”

Mormons do not justify their support of Mitt Romney; Catholics did not justify their support of John Kennedy; NOW is presumed to lean toward Hillary Clinton. Many non-blacks support Barack Obama because he represents the future, as Lewis once did. How can any black voter not support a qualified black candidate? If not now, when?

So there you have it.  A white woman is more popular among some black voters than a mulatto man, or, according to the above letter, a “black” man.  Go figure.  

 

The IP is certainly aware of the drought that has struck us here in The ATL, but it took one of those deadpan declarations of reality in the daily paper last Friday that made him pause and say to himself: “WTF?”

By STACY SHELTON 

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Published on: 10/11/07   

Lake Sidney Lanier, metro Atlanta’s main source of water, has about three months of storage left, according to state and federal officials. That’s three months before there’s not enoughwater formore than 3 million metro Atlantans [that includes The IP]to takeshowers, flush their toilets and cook.Three months beforethere’snot enough water in parts of the Chattahoochee River for powerplants to make the steam necessary to generate electricity.  Three months before part of the river runs dry.

A veritable clusterfuck of interstate politics, State and Federal environmental policy, stubborn and grandstanding politicos, and a palpable lack of rain, has conspired to make water (and lack thereof) the # 1 issue here in The ATL.  One thing The IP has kept telling his fellow Georgians here is that they should stop calling these water holes “lakes.”  As one water conservation site declares:

“Most people in Georgia have no idea that there are no

natural lakes in this state. All their lives, all they have

seen is water everywhere, and that is why they do not

understand why we are facing a serious crisis here. They

do not understand why their water use behavior needs

to change.”

So, on the very day that our esteemed Governator, Sonny Purdue, tells us to “take shorter showers,” what were Coca Cola and the brilliant folks over at Stone Mountain Park doing in 80-degree temperatures?

The above picture in the paper sent many folks into shock.  WTF were these asstards doing in the middle of the worst drought in a half-century?  And WTF is this “Snow Mountain” they’re talking about?? 

It turns out that the already stupid Stone Mountain Park has “partnered” with Atlanta’s most famous company, Coca Cola, to bring ”Winter recreation” to the Deep South.  The fact that the Sunbelt is probably a bad place to introduce “Winter Recreation” is not going to stop the dreamers at SMP and Coke.

If the above does not make you say “WTF?,” probably nothing will.  Although the park’s “Living History” village might do the trick: 

That’s right folks.  Go back in time to the place where it’s the White folk that jump around and sing and serve the Niggras!  How authentic!!

Why dosen’t SMP add a special KKK feature to their ersataz “Crossroads” village?  After all, that would actually be more authentic:

Knights of the White Kamellia at Stone Mountain in 1969.  That’s right; 1969.

The sad truth is that there could be a very real, very interesting history exhibit at Stone Mountain, one that would address and discuss race relations in The South, but most folks would rather fuck around in fake snow…there’s not much money in telling painful truths or discussing virulent racism…that kind of stuff is for the non-profit sector.

For those who don’t know about Stone Mountain, at least check out the Wiki entry.  It’s a truly fascinating place, even today.

The folks at Stone Mountain Park asserted some stipulation in the watering ban policy that gave them the right to use municipal water for their stupid mountain of artificial snow.  The main reason for using the municipal water instead of the water IN THEIR OWN FRICKIN AR-TI-FICIAL LAKE was that the latter water would have made the snow greenish-brown; only expensive filtering would allow them to use it.  

The story that came out in the AJC about the Coca Cola Snow Mountain triggered a rather ludicrous and comedic response from Coca Cola and the park.  Their capitulations, obfuscations, and PR-speak statements of their decision to quit the project (at least for now) were worthy of a SNL skit.  

But lost in the blizzard (sorry) of media attention was a simple question:  Even if there wasn’t a drought, even if The ATL had enough water to wash all of its SUVs, water the lawns of all its subdivisions, and fill “lakes” Altoona and Lanier to the brim, how in anyone’s mind could one think to have a 400-foot mountain of artificial snow IN ATLANTA, GA??  WTF?

The IP assumes plenty of fucking Yankees are involved in this stupid scheme as well; Yankees have been taking advantage of The South for decades.  But seriously, how many times will The ATL and The South in general keep making fools of themselves?  Coca Cola Snow Mountain?  WTF?

“Stranger than fiction are the tales of true, unvarnished fact.” 

Talk about White Power (powder?)

The IP thinks there is a good New Yorker article in this post.

Check out that header image.   You long-time fans of the CONEWATCH are lucky. 

Inexplicably, a cone has reappeared at the location of the shoddy brick sidewalk repair in front of The IP’s workplace.  It’s likely that some minion from the U.S. Government’s landlord, the GSA, correctly foresaw a potential lawsuit, and procured a cone.  Regardless, THE CONE HAS RETURNED!!  And you can rest assured that The IP will make sure you’re updated regarding it’s ever-changing status.

But do you guys remember the debate about Chicken Bone Plaza?  The cops are now on the scene.

Oh how lonely are the benches and planters…

This whole week has seen an overt Atlanta Police presence at the Chicken Bone Plaza (CBP), the subject of a previous IP Post.  This Police presence has be assertive, with cop cars just parking, flat-foot cops standing, and bike cops riding.  The result has been an almost unbelievable vacation of most of the folks that used to occupy the benches.  This new and knee-jerk policing is obviously a direct result of the AJC and NYT articles referred to in The IP’s first CBP post.  We’ll see how long it lasts.  WTF?  Where do all those loiterers go?

Poor ATL Cop…He has to sit all day in his van.

The IP hopes that those of you who missed CONEWATCH are as ecstatic as is The IP.  Have a great weekend!!!

OK.  Today The IP will use one of his thrift store LP finds to talk a little musicology, a little architecture, a little Atlanta History, all because he found yet another Atlanta-related record. 

The artist is Uraguay’s Mario Peralta, and the LP is his 1972 smash album Mario Peralta at The Regency.  The IP says the album was a “smash” because he figures that a lot of kids did just that after their parents discarded it in the wastebasket after having given it one sober listening; it probably was a good target for a B-B gun.

Peralta played a bandoneon for a several-year engagement at what was then Atlanta’s famous architectural icon, The Polaris Lounge atop John Portman’s new Hyatt Regency Hotel.  The IP will try to keep this post succinct, but he is obliged to address three things here:

1. Mario Peralta

2. The Bandoneon

3. The Rotating Polaris Lounge

Mario Peralta:

Evidently born in Uraguay, Peralta became a virtuoso on the German-designed and Argentinean-embraced bandoneon, a rather oversized squeeze box that can be heard in most Tango music.

Peralta took bandoneon playing to the next level by playing songs like “Hey Jude” and “Help Me Make it Through The Night,” an apt song to hear while listening to Mario Peralta (sorry Mario).”

The Bandoneon: 

The IP will refer you to the Wiki entry on this instrument here.  But he will note that, according to the liner notes, Peralta’s bandoneon was (is?) valued at $30,000!!  WTF?

The Polaris Lounge:

The IP was lucky enough to experience at least 3 rotations of the vintage 1969 Polaris back in 1998, a few years before it was shuttered, ostensibly for “renovations” that have yet to occur.  The Polaris was a revolution (sorry), not just for the Atlanta skyline, but for ANY skyline in America as it was part of John Portman’s Hyatt Regency, one of the country’s first “Atrium” hotels.  For several years it’s eerie-aqua UFO profile stood above its surroundings, and a drink or two in the rotating lounge would probably make you think Atlanta was really the coolest place in the USA.

Plan 9 From Outer Space?  No, it’s just the Polaris Lounge.

The IP supposes that when Mario was playing at the Polaris, it really was in its prime.  But eventually taller buildings (including some of Portman’s own), kinda crowded it in, making the view from it less of a city skyline than one of the sides of some rather banal concrete towers.

So there you have it; some biography, some musicology, and some architectural history, all because The IP found a really crappy bandoneon album with the Polaris on the cover.

Just to brag:  The IP’s album is SIGNED by Mario Peralta!!!

You know those times when you’re really thirsty, and while you don’t know exactly what you want to drink, you decide that you’re gonna buy some can or bottle of something after you finish pumping your gas?

Then you walk into the world’s most cramped and dirty-ass gas station store (Northlake, GA Citgo on Lavista) and look into the coolers with all the drinks. “WTF?  Should I get a phlegm-cutter like a ginger ale or Fresca?  Maybe this should be one of the 4 times during the year that I actually buy and drink a Coke?  Wait a minute; it’s hot today.  What could really quench that thirst other than that most wholesome of Summer drinks, a lemonade!!??” 

So then you sit in your car and kinda ponder your purchase…you know how you do that…you take a sip of the drink and then start looking at the bottle and the labeling…you look at the little chart that shows the sodium, fat content, carbs, etc.  No need to leave right now because you’re the only person at the station and there are plenty of open pumps.  So you REALLY start looking at the label on the lemonade and notice some little framed caption at the top that says “Orchard Style Lemonade.” WTF?  “Orchard Style?”  WTF does that mean? 

And instead of acknowledging that you know perfectly well that most advertising is bullshit, you play dumb and start thinking about how stupid it is by taking it literally:  “Orchard Style?  Like there’s some special ‘style’ of lemonade called ‘Orchard Style?’  WTF?  Aren’t most lemons grown in orchards?  What other kind of style could there be?  Non-Orchard style?  How about ‘Greenhouse Orchard Style?” Then you see a tag line that (initially) truly makes no sense at all: 

“Made With Not From Concentrate?  WTF?  What kind of grammatical construction is that?  That must be a major typo.  I’ve seen enough fruit drink labels to know that their trying to say this lemonade is ‘Not From Concentrate,’ but why would they say ‘Made With Not From Concentrate?”

Then you just get frustrated and say “Fuck it” and drive off. 

And then, about two weeks later, you decide to write a blog post about the whole thing, and even do some research in the supermarket and on The Intarwebs to understand the logic/illogic behind the labeling.   

In The IP’s supermarket research he found that only Tropicana brand uses the term “Orchard Style.”  But he did find another fancy-pants juice brand that uses the term “Farm Style” for its lemonade.  Then The IP started trying to think what kind of farm or farmer would “farm” lemons.  It made no sense, especially when the juice was a “Farm Style” blend of lemonade and MANGO JUICE!!  Mangos?  WTF?  What “farm” harvests mangos?

It was conceivable to The IP that, say, a farm in Florida or California might have, dare he say it, an “Orchard” of lemon trees (or a ‘grove,’ but let’s not go there), but the whole mango thing threw the scenario off. 

So this is what that fancy-pants juice company says about their “Farm Style” mango lemonade:  

Our farm-style lemonade blends ripe mangos with fresh squeezed lemons for the perfect balance of tropical fruit sweetness and lemonade refreshment. It’s the way farm-style lemonade is supposed to be.

WTF?  That statement doesn’t really define WTF “Farm Style” really is.  You know why?  THERE’S NO SUCH THING!!  It’s just a fake and meaningless expression.  Farm Style.  In the style of a farm.  A juice that is produced using the same ingredients and techniques of juice production that are used on a farm.

Sure. 

Actually, mangos are pretty sweet.  When The IP was in Brazil, he ate fresh mango every morning without fail. 

The IP’s Intarwebs research actually tempered his ire.  Here’s the breakdown on some of the above issues, most of which The IP knew in a vague way, but which he now feels more comfortable discussing:

Tropicana uses the term “Orchard Style” to distinguish a particular type of lemonade from another.  In the lexicon of juice drinks, one has to understand that the “juice” in juice drinks is usually either made from juice that is made from “concentrate,” or juice that is not.  The juice industry basically has two types of juice.  One is made from “concentrate,” an evaporate of natural juice; the other is made from the actual juice derived from some industrial squeezing of actual fruits.  In both juices, water is the solvent, but some folks think that the concentration of fruit juice (evaporation of the solvent to produce a ‘concentrate’ that can be shipped and used anywhere at any time saving tons of money in ‘juice’ production for companies that just buy concentrate and add water to produce ‘juice’ that isn’t really juice) is anathema.  Hence the demand for “real” juice.  The fact that the term “juice” can be used for both has always been a sore spot for those manufactures that actually squeeze real fruits; which brings to the mind of The IP a juice syndrome he’s experienced many times.   

The IP is a big fan of a local fruit juice “outfit” that operates here in The ATL.  It’s called Arden’s Garden.  It’s local, it’s small, and somehow it has managed to secure a refrigerated spot in the large supermarket chain where The IP sometimes shops [at].  Do you know how The IP knows that Arden’s Garden is real, actual fruit juice?  Because if he doesn’t drink it within two days from purchase, it begins to ferment, and the plastic bottle starts to expand, and, if The IP is not diligent in drinking it soon after purchase, it literally “blows up” in his fridge.  That’s the power of REAL fruit juice.  It all makes sense, don’t it?  REAL fruit juice is the “juice” from “real” fruits. 

It seems Tropicana has pretty much abandoned poor little Tropic-Ana, the little “tropic” girl on the header image.  Maybe she became too “ethnic” or “insulting” to some people.  You can check out her history here.

The IP has no gripe with Tropicana; they are an American icon and actually offer semi-real fruit juice.  But only Arden’s Garden will actually blow up in your fridge.  BTW:  Tropicana has a “Homestyle” lemonade that has actual “pulp.”   How many “styles” of juice can one fruit juice company have?

While one can suppose that a juice with pulp is different than one without, regardles of its “style,” this is all still an example of product differentiation, or what one of The IP’s favorite Intarnets sites terms “pseudo-variety.”   American beer makers and drinkers are responsible for the most horrible example of this syndrome.

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A few notes on the Red Sox, since The IP is a fan.

First, the idea of intentionally walking David Ortiz to pitch to Manny Ramirez is a perfect example of desperation and, as was shown, failure. 

However, The IP must say that being a long-time Red Sox fan has become more of a chore since more recent “bandwagoners” have swamped our once-smaller “nation.”

 You gotta read this to understand.

One of The IP’s main daily stomping grounds has been getting a lot of press lately; none of it good. 

What is variously known as Barbara Asher Square, Broad Street Plaza, or what The IP calls Chicken Bone Plaza (CBP) is a swath of open public space formed from a portion of an ever-since discontiguous Broad Street.  A big chunk of the latter was taken by the city for its new Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority or “MARTA” heavy rail station.  The area and the station is known as Five Points.  The station is the nexus of The ATL’s meager-but-appreciated N/S and E/W transit lines.

Since so much of politics and culture in The ATL is about race, a common “joke” for some (mostly white folk) is to say that MARTA stands for “Moving Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta.”  The IP thinks that is both ironic and funny because, like many cities –with perhaps Portland OR being an exception– the larger percentage of public transit patrons are mostly of minority stock, and in The ATL, that discrepancy is acute (though the N/S line has its share of honkies, especially since they extended the line a few years back close to the territory MARTA was once forbidden to go).  It’s really lame and a shame to think how racism fucking blew it for the true potential of ATL rapid transit:  

Designed 30 years ago, the Five Points station was imagined as the dazzling anchor of a modern rail system that would serve a five-county metro area. But suburban fears of urban (read: black) crime led voters in three counties — Clayton, Cobb and Gwinnett — to reject MARTA service, along with the penny sales tax that would help fund the system.

The above quote is a slice of stale loaf from our “alternative” paper, but it still applies.

The IP has been riding MARTA since 1998 and, aside from below-average service, he’s never had any scary “incident” or been mugged, or felt unsafe.  In fact, The IP has met and made several black friends just by riding MARTA.  A lot of what is being dealt with on this post relates to white paranoia.  A fun sight for The IP is to see the looks on the faces of the lily-white Braves fans from OTP as they exit the train into the Five Points MARTA station and make their way via shuttle bus to the stupidly located Turner Field.  For you Boston folks, think about Fenway Park; rapid transit on its doorstep.  But then again, there aren’t many black folk (or even moderate-income folks) going to Red Sox games or living too close to Fenway).

Irregardless (why wouldn’t Microsoft spellchecker get that?  Is irregardless now accepted usage?  WTF?) of scared Braves fans, the CBP, a place that is such a figure in the daily routine of The IP, and has made such a fixture in his mind, has finally been getting a lot of  attention in the papers lately.  People have had enough.  “Enough of what?” you ask?  Here are some comments from the recent AJC articles and editorials:

“For those who say downtown Atlanta is a world class city, have apparently never been anywhere. Delta pilot here, travel for a living, and I can truthfully say that downtown Atlanta is by far the sewer of cities.”

“Downtown Atlanta is disgusting. Unfortunately, I work at GSU and do not have a choice but to spend more than my fair-share of time downtown.  Each day I see homeless lined up on just about every corner of the Farlie Poplar Distict. They hangout in the park all day with their bag packs, roller boards, sleeping bags, etc. At night they bunker down in all of the doorways that line Peachtree Street.”

“Each time I travel to other cities across America, I find myself comparing them to downtown Atlanta. In my opinion, downtown Atlanta is shameful. The feedings that are allowed in Woodruff Park, Barbara Asher Square, 5-points Marta Station, Underground, most of the Fairlie Poplar district are shining examples of why don’t spend time in downtown Atlanta. I am surprised that downtown Atlanta gets any repeat tourism.”

The IP wrote a poem many years ago about the CBP (his apologies to the previously subjected):

I walk across the MARTA plaza

and quite unlike a tabla rasa

the detritus of “God” abounds

with human forms in heaps and mounds

with wasted men and chicken bones

religious screams and drunken moans

an ugly parade of useless souls

that smolder like the dying coals

of a fire made with wormy wood

a fire of “God” that isn’t good

that sheds a light so bleak and pale

upon his subjects doomed to fail

and like a smoke this pathos fouls

the air of men who make avowals

to never make the same mistakes

not thinking of the lucky breaks

that put them on the other side

of a reality that shows how “God” has lied

OK.  There are some cringingly bad lines in that poem, but The IP was actually trying to make a comment on the randomness of life, on how who wins and who loses is often a throw of the dice of who your parents were, where you were born, how your most important first years can create a trajectory that takes over.  The IP thinks one is not born with free will, but that it’s an “idea” that needs to be planted and then one has to cultivate it over time, and even then it may go dormant now and again.  Some would call this a “soft determinism,” but whatever you call it, The IP can’t look at all the people of the CBP and simply say “It’s all your fault!  You made bad choices!  You are here because you are simply lazy and weak.”  Not that many of the CBP people aren’t “lazy & weak;” they certainly are that, but those attributes may relate to a history of bad behavioral cultivation, fertilized with bad examples from parents, siblings, friends, etc.  And let’s face it, some bad luck and substance abuse thrown it too.  Hence the lines:

men who make avowals

to never make the same mistakes

not thinking of the lucky breaks

that put them on the other side

You see?  That’s a guy who looks at the CBP people and says “Boy, I’m glad I didn’t  screw up like those dudes” without realizing that he had already been set up for relative “success” simply because he was born to a relatively wealthy white family in the suburbs.  The IP thinks too many people take personal credit for circumstances out of their control. 

Now, for someone who has done nothing but complain about the CBP for years and years, The IP is not exactly pleased with some of the rhetoric expressed in the media about the place.  The strictly observational comments above are all accurate; in fact, The IP could relate even more of his own observations about the CBP that would make any pithecanthrope wince with incredulity, but in the spirit of Jane Jacobs, The IP would like to go over a few things:

Loitering

What a crock of shit!  The whole concept of “loitering” was invented just to screw people that the people in power didn’t want around.  Who of us doesn’t fucking loiter?  Loitering is one of the great privileges of being a human; just fuckin hang out and watch people go by.  The IP is a proud loiterer and will defend anyone’s right to just sit and do nothing.  What harm is there in that?

Because The IP did not want to call attention to himself whilst taking pictures of the CBP, he literally “shot from the hip” on his little photo expedition.  It’s all good because he didn’t want to violate their space anyway.  These planters closest to Marietta Street are where some of the more sketchy folk hang out in CBP.

Our own Supreme Court has actually dealt with this whole “loitering” thing.  Scalia sounds like a total dick on the issue (no surprise).  And more recently the ACLU has entered the loitering fray arguing a case in Baltimore.

The MARTA cops have become really fascist lately since this whole “quality of life” bullshit has hit the fan around their Five Points Station (its above-ground portion abuts the CBP).  The IP has seen MARTA cops shoo off folks who were just hanging out, perhaps “leaning against the walls” or whatever.  WTF?  Not surprisingly, it’s been The IP’s observation that, like cops who park in front of fire hydrants, they are the ones who often “lean against the walls.”  But they’ve got guns and badges.  The IP almost got screwed when he told some MARTA cops who were leaning right against the “No Leaning” sign “Hey! No leaning against the walls!”  The IP had to feign that he was joking to pass unmolested…WTF?  

These cats are in full defiance of the MARTA policies…they’re leanin’ AND loiterin’!!

This cat prefers to loiter solo style.  He’s

outside of the MARTA jurisdiction, so he’s coool for now.

Even though The IP is an advocate for loitering rights, he’s still

amazed at how many people around CBP just kinda, well, loiter

a lot.  As one interviewee stated in the article noted above

“People are just hanging out there. People who obviously don’t have anything else to do.”

Obviously. 

Panhandling:

Ever see that show on TV called “Dirty Jobs?”  The IP thinks of panhandling as just a bad job.  The panhandler’s gotta keep asking and asking and asking.  Rejection rejection rejection.  At least there are no administrative costs in the donation.  And YOU CAN ALWAYS JUST STERNLY SAY NO.  That’s what The IP does (though, for some reason, he randomly gives some poor schlep two bits when the mood strikes him).  And sure, the rejected panhandler might spit at your feet and call you a fucking bastard, but is that so bad?  WTF?  Are you that thin-skinned?   Whatever happened to “sticks and stones?”  Geez.

Then there is this whole thing about getting rid of the benches.  Read this shit from that AJC article:

“Everyone with a stake in it wants the seats gone.”

“The environmental stuff is huge. Removing those planters will go a long way,” said Lt. Trudy Boyce, day watch commander of the police department’s Downtown Mobile Precinct. “We support the efforts to do some environmental engineering.”

“Environmental Engineering?”  Like when they gave all those homeless folks one-way tickets out of town during the Olympics.

WTF?  If anything, a cool city needs MORE benches.  Don’t blame benches for your societal problems.  Just think what would happen if all those folks at the CBP dispersed into the city.  People say they “have nothing to do.”  That’s wrong.  They are “loitering.” That IS what they “do.” Their relative inactivity and “loitering” is actually a good thing; their potentially negative behavior is controlled by having a place to hang out.  Sure, you sometimes get a guy whose clothes are like a personal leeching field and make you gag, but at least he’s contained there at the CBP.  You’re only passing through anyway. 

The IP has come to see the CBP as THEIR place.  And it IS their place.  Why would you WANT to hang out there?  There are WAY too many homeless people! 

This sculpture is by Francesco Somaini, an Italian

with a fairly large portfolio of work.  It’s called

“Rising Phoenix,” a nickname for The ATL that

refers to the city’s rebirth after the Confederates

set fire to their own city prior to Sherman’s arrival.

In The IP’s nearly ten years in The ATL, he has never met anyone who has ever mentioned, expressed an opinon on, noted the artist of, or given one frickin shit about the above sculpture.  He finds that strange because it’s really cool; evidently, it’s a huge chunk of copper ore that came from some mine somewhere.  WTF?   Here’s a little bit more on Somaini. 

The Pigeons

The IP has mentioned to some friends that the pigeons of the CBP are a sub-species of the regular genus.  Generations of pigeons in that area have learned that there are tons of free food from all the “good Samaritans” that keep throwing bread scraps, stale cornbread, and yes, CHICKEN BONES onto the plaza.  The pigeons pick at the battered crispy crust remnants that were used to cover the limbs of their dead brethren.  What’s worse, the have developed a complete fearlessness to pedestrians as they plunge en-masse from their roosts toward their free CBP buffet, literally passing within inches of your person (usually your head).  On more that one occasion The IP has whacked one out of his face with a folded AJC newspaper (a better use for that rag, actually, than reading the piece of journalistic shite).   

The IP has no “Erlich’s Magic Bullet” solution for making CBP a “better” place.  Maybe it’s found its purpose in some twisted Atlanta way.  Maybe if we had better ways of helping ALL of our citizens, especially the poor blacks that live ITP, to get off to a better start, not so many folks would be just sitting there doing nothing.  Maybe if instead of Popeye’s Chicken and McDonalds and Burger King you had some sushi bars and coffee shops (no, not Dunkin) it would change, though that’s doubtful.