I don’t have many positive things to say about Atlanta these days, but I certainly have had some grand times there. In the mid 90s, just after college and before moving to DC, I (along with M.) was among the first handful of gentrifiers* of downtown Atlanta’s Fairlie Poplar neighborhood. We snagged the first lease of an apartment in the Muse’s Building, a renovated former department store that had been joined with a number of other buildings to form an interesting collection of residences. But the residences weren’t nearly as interesting as the residents. In one small community we had ourselves, a university president, a handyman, a fashion buyer, a stripper, a bank VP, an old writer, a political con man, pot-smoking business professors, and the mega-rich owners. And we all knew each other, sharing spaces, drinks, and parties. I sometimes wish I’d not been in such a rush with my life – it was an incredibly positive and stress free time (I mean, lived at 50 Peachstree St. and worked at 100 Peachtree St. Does it get any easier?). Alas, time flows and we move on. A few tracks, however, bring me right back there:
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUrJdf4PbEk[/youtube]
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVL-zZnD3VU[/youtube]
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_kZetNY5so[/youtube]
*Do you still count as a gentrifier if you’ve moved *from* Vine City, one of the poorest neighborhoods in the area? (Note that that article is from 1966. Nothing had improved by the time I lived there.)
Photo courtesy coka_koehler
MB
M. read this and reminded me that I forgot to include the phone sex operator that lived there. It’s probably far too late, but I’d just like to pass along confirmation that yes, all of your fears about phone sex operators are true. She was busy nursing a baby between calls.