The Lost City

“There’s a madness in us all.
So who wrote the rules?”
-Portugal.  The Man. So American

I keep two active public transit cards in my wallet- one each for the cities of New York and Atlanta.  This may seem a superfluous bit of information, but it is not without import.  In the case of Atlanta, it is particularly telling, because one must pay a small fee to have a reusable transit card.  And we all know how I feel about fees.

My friend from waaay back, Chris was the first to open my eyes to the awesomeness of Atlanta.  He lived there for a number of years, and at some point convinced me and another good friend from high school to come out and visit.  The three of us spent a glorious week together, mixing debonair jaunts around the city, pursuits of health, and self-sabatoge in equal measure.  I remember at the time he tried to sell me on the thrift stores, but I was young and foolish and did not understand thrift stores yet.  Still, Atlanta made its impression as a city big enough to provide a milieu of quirky cultural events and small enough for strangers to say ‘good morning’ in sidewalk passing.  And so many parks in between.

Years later, I returned to spend time in Atlanta quite by accident.  As I’ve mentioned, because I’m an airline employee, I fly standby.  This is fine when it works, but it does occasionally get me stuck (i.e. Milan).  And seeing as Atlanta is a major hub for my airline, I pass through quite a bit for connections in route to somewhere else…and so do thousands of other people, all vying for MY seat on a flight.  So as you can imagine, I get stuck there a lot, unplanned.  And it so happens Chris has moved, so I’ve no one to to call at the last minute and beg for a couch.  Out of necessity, I located a hostel there that I could always count on to have a bed if I showed up.  I learned the neighborhood around the hostel, staked out favorite restaurants, and became a familiar face to the hostel staff.

The more time I spend there, the more I love it.  And every time I go, I try to branch out juuust a little and locate new awesome places around town.  I have found many.  For instance, the botanical gardens are humongous and colorful and free to the public.  I go there to take in the flowers and lakes and play with other people’s children.  My favorite places to eat are Mary Macs Tea Room and The Flying Biscuit Cafe.  Mary Macs alone is enough to bring me to Atlanta for a visit.  Just the thought of it.  It’s a soul food place with an option to pick 4 sides as a meal for under 10 dollars!  Do you understand what that means?!?  Collard greens, sweet potatoes, fried okra, fried green tomatoes, mac n cheese, corn bread, green beans, mashed potatoes….it is a southern vegetarian’s paradise, nevermind the famous fried chicken options.  And the Flying Biscuit has more options for egg dishes than you’ve seen in your life.  And, and, and the grits…good lord.

Another thing you probably did not know about Atlanta is that it is full of hippies.  They may be in hiding throughout large swaths of the city, but they come out in droves in Little 5 Points.  Here you’ll find more thrift stores in a 1/2 mile radius than anywhere else on earth.  Maybe.  Add to that local designers’ shops, shoe stores that sell exclusively to folks seeking animal print spiked heels 5” and up, record stores, a mystic crystal-selling new agey shop, a heavy African art and fashion presence, small coffee shops, and you have yourself an awesome little neighborhood.  My closet is in New York, but over half of its contents are from L5P’s thrift store offerings.

On my most recent trip to Texas, I had an Atlanta layover.  But this time, instead of staying at the hostel, I thought I’d plan ahead, couch surf, and maybe make some friends in this city where I spend so much time eating.  A kind fellow named Kevin took me up on my request to surf his couch, but also graciously alerted me to the fact that it was his birthday, so the weekend would be extra awesome if that was ok.  Fine by me.

When I arrived in town, I caught up with Kevin at a weekly Atlanta couch surfing get together.  Most in attendance were locals, people who already knew each other and played host from time to time, but otherwise just enjoyed spending a night in a pub together.  Next, we drove to a place I had miraculously been years before, and spent the remainder of the evening dancing exclusively to classic 80s hits.

The next day, my host had to work, but gave me a key to the apartment so I could come and go as I pleased.  My first stop was for a pedicure down the street, which is hindsight was a poor decision.  You see, the only shoes I had were boots, so you can’t really stick newly painted toes in there.  The salon gave me “flip flops”, basically a few flimsy pieces of thin foamboard stapled together.  I came to Atlanta with an empty suitcase in order to force myself to purchase some winter clothes, that was my one self-assignment.  But the stores were a couple of miles away from the salon.  I walked those miles in those flip flops, slowly and like a duck, all for the sake of cute feet.  People were staring.  You’re welcome, Atlanta.

That night, I saw my first drag show.  This may surprise you.  In my time around off-off-broadway, I’ve seen a lot.  I have see the theatrical side of drag, and it has been glorious.  I have seen a portly man enter the stage encapsulated all but for his head in a spandex cocoon, proceed to violently slice himself free with a kitchen knife smuggled into said coccoon, and emerge naked accept for titty tassels, man-bits hidden away a la Silence of the Lambs, going on to roll around in neon paint to the greatest hits of the Weather Girls.  I have seen the incredibly fabulous, higher awareness-inducing musical stylings of Taylor Mac, arguably my favorite performance artist ever.  But I have never been to a drag show.  And that’s sad.

Well, it was Kevin’s birthday, and that’s where he wanted to go.  And amid the drunken haze of loud music and a sweaty dancing crowd, I saw something truly beautiful.  I saw these ladies get up there and be exactly who they wanted to be.  Honestly, I can’t imagine seeing anyone more confident, more vibrant, more cosmically powerful than sparking, singing, shimmying queens at a drag show.   Of course, they were at a venue supportive of their choices and artistic expression, but it’s still a lot to overcome fromeverywhere else but that venue to become a performer of such caliber.  No wonder they were confident.

Viva Atlanta.  I’ll be back.