Videos I Think Are Funny.

I've been telling a lot of people about these videos lately, so I thought it was worth popping them up here-- if you've already seen 'em... well, watch them again. They're high-larious!

Got My Visa!

Where are the weeks going? Despite the fact that I've gotten a lot done and seen so many dear friends and family, I feel like I've still got so much to do in Atlanta!

I was very lucky to visit my aunt, uncle, cousin and grandmother last weekend in DC. My cousin Amisha joined the army a few years to help with med school fees, and she is just about to start active duty! She had to go buy a combat uniform-- it even has a special medical patch. She was nervous the whole weekend about saluting properly and making sure she saluted the right people.

I know it's weird to find cuteness in camouflage, but she's my younger cousin, so I think she looks pretty cute in her uniform.

Especially when my Ba is hugging her. Adorable.

I've been driving a lot lately, so I thought I'd show you Southern Hemisphere-types what Atlanta really looks like to me.

This is the entrance to the Krog Street Tunnel. It's Atlanta's best-known illegal art gallery. Graffiti don't last long here, unless it's truly awesome. The FU BP paint has been up since I got to town, so you can tell it's hit a nerve.

Also, there is an abundance of adorable kittens in the Atlanta area these days. My friend Joe Tsambiras, who is a kick-ass drawer (not like a chest of, but more like with a pencil) recently adopted these little munchkins, named Ponyo and Fermina. I held them like babies and they both purred and fell asleep. I think I might be a Cat Whisperer.

And Joe and Judith came home the other day to find a 4-week-old kitten in their recycling box! They named him Wendall, and he's so little, it's exhausting.

Popsicle update: At the EAV Farmers' Market on Tuesday, I had a Watermelon Mojito popsicle, tasted an Avocado and Cream one, and tasted a Canary Melon and  Rose Syrup one. They were all awesome. I don't know what I'm going to do without that market.

Anthropology update: I have approximately 32 books to read. I have only read two so far. 30 left to go!! Argh. Oh, well. At least I got my student visa, right?

American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer

by Kai Bird

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


The writing itself is a bit clunky throughout this book-- the word "exquisite" is used at least 3 times between pages 11-12.

But the story is, of course, amazing. Oppenheimer held genius, for poetry, for physics, for sheer nerdiness of the highest order, and a more appropriate icon for American intellectualism, with all its power and ambiguity, could not be imagined. And a more instructive tale about American ideals, and its destructive power against its better values, could not be written.

It is a detailed, thorough, well-researched book. Possibly too detailed and well-researched. Which is to say, I wouldn't call it a 'fascinating' read, because I often got whirled into details about Richard Dawkin's wife and other things that didn't seem to move the plot, or set the stage, or work on a larger metaphor, or convey anything other than the fact that the authors clearly did a lot of research not only on Oppenheimer, but on everyone around him, too.

But as I read the last chapters, of Oppie's losing battle with the FBI and then with cancer, I think about the "security concerns" that even today prevent intellectuals from entering this country, and I worried for the waste we have made of his story.

View all my reviews >>

Um, I meant SHAKE SHAKE!

Right now, I'm up in Maryland, near DC visiting family. Specifically, my masi and masa (aunt and uncle), my ba (grandmother), and my cousin Amisha. After an 11-hour drive from the ATL yesterday, we were exhausted and all fell asleep around midnight.

Suddenly at 5am I woke up. For no good reason. My eyes shot open and I didn't know why. It sounded like a train was going by, and the house shook slightly. I'm fairly used to this, because my sister's house is near a track and the upper level shakes every time a train goes by.

Around noon, someone finally got around to reading the newspaper--

There was an earthquake in Maryland this morning at 5am.

3.6 and the epicenter was about 10 miles away from my Suchi Masi's house.

I just lived through my first earthquake! And I didn't even sleep through it!

I know, I get excited by the wrong things sometimes...

Shake Shake!

That Coathangers song I like is available as a free mp3 from Spin magazine online:
http://www.spin.com/reviews/new-mp3-coathangers-shake-shake

I really liked this band live, but the magic is missing from their CD, which is a common enough phenomenon, I know.

Still, they're a fun band to listen to, and they're not afraid to be shrill, screaming, high-voiced girls, even possibly to the point of annoyance. And there's something I kind of like about that...

East Atlanta Village Farmers' Market and Love Is Love Farm!

In my first two weeks in Atlanta, I heard the same questions at least six times, from separate people: "Have you seen King of Pops? Have you had a popsicle?"

There is a guy, you see –and he has a brother– and together, they make delicious, all-natural popsicles by hand, with genius flavours. Pineapple cilantro. Peach ginger. Arnold Palmer. Lemon basil. They set up outside a busy gas station on Moreland Avenue, and the hipsters queue up.

Because what wouldn't you do for a Blueberry Lemonade popsicle in Atlanta's 37 degree weather?

Lucky for me, the King of Pops is a regular at the East Atlanta Village Farmers' Market. And he sets up directly across from the Love is Love Farm stall, where I've been volunteering on my dear friend Joe's stall; Joe's the farmer running Love is Love. So, in the last two weeks, I have (finally) enjoyed myself some delicious popsicles. Arnold Palmer, Blueberry Lemonade, Peach Ginger, Lemon Basil, and Pineapple Cilantro are only some of the delicious flavours these guys have. King of Pops is the Atlanta phenomenon of 2010. That's right: we're barely halfway through the year, and I'm calling it.

Joe's stall is stuffed with beautiful food at 4pm, and it nearly always sells out by around 6.30pm. He also runs Love is Love's Community-Supported-Agriculture program from behind the stall, so lots of Joe's friends/customers come by every week. He and his sweetheart Judith are well-loved in this town, and looking at how Joe feeds these folks, it's easy to know why. It's enough to make me miss Alfalfa...

Check out Love is Love's Facebook page, for some pictures of me with Joe and a sweet comment from Lynn, my mama-in-law.

This is about how helpful I am to Joe when I work at his market stall. At least the Australian necklace looks good! I also think this picture's great because there's a guy in the background who looks like he has a giant red circle-head.

Judith is, like Joe, also a total badass. She manages the East Atlanta Village farmers' market, and she's also the leader of Atlanta Slow Food, assistant maitre d' at Restaurant Eugene, and assistant program director of Wholesome Wave Georgia. Basically, if you want to talk food in Atlanta, you're talking to Judith. Under her leadership, the EAV farmers' market has developed a killer energy that's fun and exciting and buzzing, even in Atlanta's sticky heat. East Atlanta's already a cool, hip, just-sketchy-enough neighbourhood, and Judith's market has made it even better. She's so busy I haven't even gotten a decent picture of her yet. I'm on it! There's even a fresh-baked pizza stall; the cook brings bases and sauce, and tops the pizzas entirely with cheese and veggies and meats from the market stalls. One week, I had a pizza with Joe's fresh green beans on top-- crispy delicious.

These guys run "Crack in the Sidewalk Farmlet," which is basically a house garden. They don't quite seem to grow enough to last through the market's hours, but they supplement their harvest with foraged food. They had a whole basket of chanterelles last week, which I also regretfully didn't purchase, only to find they hadn't any this time. Never again.

They sell the most amazing wild sumac-ade. I never knew what wild sumac was before the EAV farmers' market. And in case you're wondering, sumac is native red berries, pictured here hanging above the smiling people. And sumac-ade is a traditionally Cherokee beverage called qualla. Exciting. And the taste? Really good.

This market's awesome: you can get your artisan bread here, your cheese and yogurt, goat's cheese, and your soap, cleaning products, honey besides. Scharko farm also sells lovely produce-- last week, they had some butternut pumpkin. I didn't buy any, as I ran out of cash, and they didn't have any this week. Regret! I can't wait to roast some up and pop 'em on a pizza! Oh, I miss the Hive's pumpkin pizza-- wait, I probably shouldn't get into the Sydney food I miss. Bonsoy latte. Chinese noodles. Oh, oh. Woe, woe. But I'm going out with Joe and Judith tomorrow night to try to find some Atlanta-style Chinese Szechuan...

Check out their tomatoes!

For the 4 of July, I did more 4 of July stuff than I ever have before; I attended not only Decatur's dusktime fireworks show (lovely and awesome), but I also watched Decatur's July 4th parade. Decatur is a city east of Atlanta where Craig and I lived for 5 years; it's a lovely town. The parade was ridiculous. Considering how rich Decatur is, and how many seriously over-the-top events this town regularly organizes, this parade suffered from some serious neglect. Consider the Decatur Beach Party, where they literally truck in 60 (60!) tons of sand and water to create a "beach" on the town square complete with kiddy pools and larger pools serving as "ocean," because remember I am currently landlocked. Now, leave aside the environmental implications of this event for just a moment, and think with me about the sheer organising effort this thing must take. In addition, Decatur also holds an annual Book Festival, an annual Beer Festival, an annual Wine Tasting Festival and countless other big yearly events. On the other hand, the parade was mostly kids wandering about, on bikes, on foot, or being pulled in wagons-- and these kids weren't even dressed up for the 4th. It is, of course, customary to wear red, white, and blue on America's Independence day, but IN FACT! One kid–who was way too old to be pulled in a wagon–and his parents, who were nevertheless pulling him in a wagon, were dressed as the Swedish flag. WTF??

A few advertising vehicles drove by, not dressed up like floats, not even dragging floats. They just had a balloon or two stuck to them. It's also about to be election season, so a lot of campaigners drove by, with kids handing out leaflets for Liz Carter and Hank Johnson. The best part of the whole parade, and I am not joking with you, was the fire truck. Though Hank Johnson did have two seemingly 40-year-old black men campaigning for him on rollerskates. They were doing all sorts of 70's disco moves. They were pretty awesome. But I'm still probably not going to vote for him... mostly because I don't know anything about Atlanta politics. All I do know is from Emma and Stefan-- Atlanta recently privatised its parking meters and the people are not happy about it.

I've been driving a lot in this town, and trying my hardest not to revert to my old Atlanta-driver habits, like shifting lanes twice back-and-forth in the same minute. But it is tempting to be a bad driver, especially because I seem to get lost every time I leave the house. This is fairly normal for me-- I was always getting lost in Atlanta when I lived here, and landmarks were essentially homing beacons. But these days, I've been getting lost in what used to be my best-known neighbourhoods. I was getting annoyed at myself, until I realised the other day just how many landmarks either weren't there anymore (damn GFC!) or had moved altogether (damn... reasons people move!). For example, a very distinctive youth-culture-type art gallery called Youngblood used to define East Atlanta to me. If I saw it, I knew I had ended up in East Atlanta somehow. But now, oh no, it's moved to Highland Ave, near Little Five Points, and I saw it and thought, "How the hell am I in East Atlanta?? Oh! I'm not! Hey, look! Youngblood moved! Crap, I missed my turn!"

One thing I had completely forgotten about in Sydney was this cultural norm amongst young African-American men wherein it is completely ok to hit on women you don't know, just anywhere. I realise that, considering my 'Ello, Black Magic post, it might seem that my blog is becoming a forum for me to discuss how often and how inappropriately I get hit on. Trust me, it doesn't happen that often. But this was egregious. You see, my guard has been down, weakened through lack of use in Australia. I wasn't ready for it. I was trying to buy some cherry tomatoes from a program that teaches (I believe) troubled kids about farming and good food. One of the young black guys selling the produce said I was "ripe for choosin'." I wonder if I got the punctuation right on that. Gregg? Please check and let me know. I looked at this guy, confused, picked up my tomatoes, and walked back to Joe's stand, laughing nervously and uncomfortable. I could not believe that I had forgotten about this. A few days later, I was in my car on Moreland Avenue, and two black guys honked their horn until I looked over at their car, just to wave, nod, and make generally lewd faces at me. Really? Does this ever work? I doubt it-- it's just part of the culture that I'd forgotten about. Though in Australia, people would often yell things on the street, they were more often offensive (like the c-word) rather than just straight-up sleazy (like ripe for choosin'). Judith has some really good stories about this custom-- she was sitting in a park, eating a sandwich. Every time she took a bite, some guy said, "I'd like to bite you just like you're biting on that sandwich." Or something like that. Perhaps she'll find time to clarify in the comments, if I'm incorrect... but probably not. As I wrote above, she has approximately 12 jobs.

Just this past Thursday, after the farmers' market, Joe, Judith and I headed over to the East Atlanta Restaurant and Lounge (the EARL) for a Gentleman Jesse and His Men show! GJHM is the band Craig used to be in, so I had to see the show. By the way, the EARL has a new wrist-stamp! Exciting, I know.

The show was opened by GRUMPY!, but I didn't hear them because I was too busy scarfing a much-missed EARL black bean burger and slurping a Newcastle beer. The second opening band was an all-girl act called the Coathangers-- they were great. The venue was dark and smoky, and the music went late, and these girls were drunk, cute, and good at the punk music. I think my favourite song was "Why does everything I love have to break, break?" Bought the CD. Intend to rock out on my drive down to Atlanta tomorrow.

Since we've been in Australia, Jesse's changed the lineup quite a bit. Not only is there a guy named Adrian pretending to be Craig, there's also a guy named Warren playing bass now, instead of Dustin. And there's now a keyboardist in the band! Jesse looks and sounds a little different from what I remember, but that could be memory playing tricks on me. Or, more likely, it's because while Craig and I were partying in Sydney, Jesse's girlfriend Karen had her bag snatched, and when Jesse gave chase, an accomplice to the robbery hit him in the face with a 2x4. Jesse needed plastic surgery, and his nose and voice are definitely a bit changed as a result. Jesus. Right. Atlanta's a bit violent-- though I guess Sydney's no slouch, what with regular glassings going down at the Cross...

I have to say, Gentleman Jesse is still a great band. They sound amazing. The show killed-- the new songs are heaps good, the old songs are comforting. And all very loud. But, somehow, without Dustin (who was short and tiny and really cute and who moved to NYC) and a certain Boy Wonder, the band's is a bit less handsome and adorable than it used to be.

I had forgotten what it was like to have my ears blown to pieces by really good punk rock. I had forgotten how much I like to wake up the next morning with my ears still ringing, my lungs flatironed by indoor smoking and my throat shredded from smoke and screaming over the EARL's general din. I missed it. I really missed it.

ATL to SYD to ATL again

Well, I said I wasn't going to post on this blog anymore, but as you all know, I'm sort of a liar.

I haven't had a moment to figure out Wordpress since I landed back in this big smoggy forest-filled city, but I already have so much to tell you, dear friends.

The flight from Sydney to Atlanta was murder. Nasty, long and brutish. We had individual screens for watching movies and TV shows, but really, after two movies, I've had enough. They were good movies, some Almodovar, some Hitchcock, but still. My vegetarian meal was disgusting, so I couldn't eat it. I got really hungry. Luckily, Monika from the Alfalfa had given me a snack pack full of raw organic cashews, dried mango, and chocolate. It saved my life. I couldn't sleep, because I had a headache, so I took a Panadol (which is an Australian Tylenol) and promptly endured a pretty vicious allergic reaction to that. I'd never "lost my lunch" on a plane before, and wow, that is not a good idea. I do not recommend it. In the end, I had a headache, I couldn't take a painkiller, and I had no food in my stomach, which only made my headache worse.

Horrible. I was hoping to buy some food in the LA airport, but between customs, passport check and boarding my connecting flight, I had no time. I'm not too proud to admit I bought a can of Pringles on the flight, and I scarfed all the reconstituted potato mash I could get my hands on.

But then, finally, I was at the Atlanta airport, and my mom and dad and Lynn (Craig's mom) were all there with smiles and hugs and–importantly–food. Lynn even brought me a piece of the old-fashioned vegan cake from Javamonkey. For y'all Aussies reading this, Javamonkey is one of my old haunts in Decatur, GA. A coffeeshop I used to work at, a cafe that has been my third place for years.

And as my parents drove me home, I felt what probably everyone feels after years away from a place. A strange sense of same but not, intangibly different, essentially unchanged. The big church by the highway is still there, and kudzu still reigns mighty over the trees. The Georgia State University dorms, where I lived my first years away from home, are now Georgia Tech dorms, and my parents' house has a new water heater and a new roof.

Yes. It's weird to come home. Everything tingles with familiarity, but nothing sparks with knowledge. I keep having these moments: "Ah, yes! I remember Dekalb Avenue... but I don't remember where it leads." Flickers of memory, but they're not connecting up yet. The city right now for me is like the star-filled night sky... I just can't work out the constellations.

I've been told that I am talking just a bit strangely, and my friends look at me funny when I call their pets "little mates."

And I've had an eventful week. It's hot here. Really hot. I got a cold because of the weather change, and I'm still not quite 100% yet.

My niece and nephew have been well-occupied in their summer vacation. Last Thursday, I witnessed my first ever swim meet. I've never been particularly athletic, and I certainly never got into swimming, because I'm afraid of water. I'll wait for you to stop laughing.

So, swim meets are new territory for me. Have you ever been to one of these things? They take ages. We sat in the stifling heat for hours watching kids race, or occasionally wander, through the water against the clock. My nephew (we call him Nanu) swam his little body to shreds, finishing second in his heat on the backstroke. And then, he won his first ever heat that night, too! Freestyle! It was super-exciting.

My niece, called Nanki, had a gymnastics camp last week, so I've been lucky enough to witness some gymnastics dance routines, as well. It feels really good to connect with the chickens again, with my own little mates. And hanging out with my family again, especially my dear sister, has been lovely. We never stop being amazed at how different we are, and how much we still like each other.

On Friday, I caught up with my pals Jeremy and Katie and Lemuel. Jeremy and Katie are the kind of young people who totally have their shit together and already own a giant a house with 3 bedrooms and two bathrooms and a back garden and a front porch and a shed. And an alarm system, because the only neighbourhood they could afford all that in was Grant Park, which is sometimes still a little bit rough. They also live with a giant Maine Coon cat named Terzaghi, after this guy. Jeremy is a civil engineer, with a slightly unnatural love of rocks and soil, if that goes any way toward explaining the cat's name. The cat is so big, he had to turn himself around about 5 times to fit in this box. Like he had to screw himself into it. But he likes being in boxes, so he was happy.

And Lemuel is the kind of young person who plays the drums with members of the B-52s and occasionally tambourines his own hands to pulp. 

We ate Mexican at Mi Barrio, a little hole filled with amazing Mexican food. You Sydneysiders have no idea. Mexican food here is so damn good. To finish the night, we bought some Sweetwater beer (note Terzaghi's box). That first sip of Sweet Georgia Brown Ale brought back so much that I love about the South, about Atlanta. I'd missed these guys a lot over the past two years, I had missed proper Mexican food and Sweetwater beer. It was lovely to see them all again.

Then on Saturday, I went to watch the World Cup USA v GHANA game at the Brick Store Pub with Lynn and Wayne (Boy Wonder's parents). I really missed this place, y'all. Back when I lived in Decatur, if the Javamonkey was my third place, then the Pub was my fourth. It was our local, and considering it's been rated the second-best beer bar in the world, you can see how it was a pretty amazing local to have. They ordinarily have no TVs, though they bring them in for World Cup, and they have a fabulous beer book. Over twenty beers on tap, and not a single Budweiser in the joint. Of Sydney bars, the Taphouse in Darlinghurst is most similar to the BSP, but it can't really compete.

It's surreal, being back in these places after so long. Some of the same people are working at the Pub as before I left. Craig was in a band called Gentleman Jesse and His Men, and Jesse was tending bar on Saturday, so I got to catch up with him. He's a lovely guy. A good sort.

What's more surreal, though, is being surrounded by people whose faces are painted with the American flag and who are screaming "USA! USA! USA!" I just haven't heard that in awhile. Lately, if anything, I've been hearing "Aussie! Aussie! Aussie! Oy! Oy! Oy!" which is Australia's oddly Jewish super-aggressive sporting event chant.

I drank my beer quietly and tried to look objective about the game, like I was just interested in good footwork and slide tackles, because secretly, I was pulling for Ghana. I've heard most expats get oddly patriotic, even if all they ever wanted was to move away from their home country. I guess I'm not like them. I still want the young, poor, underdog country to win. Every time. And I was happy when Ghana won, but I had to be careful who knew. Jesse quietly admitted that he was really enjoying seeing everyone's sad faces. Jesse has always had a highly-developed, nuanced sense of schadenfreude. Like a sommelier of other people's frustration.

That day at the bar, hanging out with Lynn and Wayne was beautiful. I really lucked out in the "pretty much in-laws" category. They've been telling everyone about me coming home. All their friends at the bar already knew my name and my plans and when Craig's getting here, and they all said, "I've heard a lot about you, and Lynn and Wayne-- they really love you." And we're all missing dear Craig in Atlanta, too. I stayed at Lynn and Wayne's that night, and got to see my Severine. She's fluffier (and a little chunkier) than she used to be, but she's taken well to living with her grandparents. She's happy. Or well, as happy as a peanut-brain can be, I guess. She purrs a lot.















On Sunday I caught up with Joe and Judith. We sat at the Pub (again) and talked for hours. In Australia, I missed these guys so much I sometimes ached for them. They run Love is Love Farm and are "good food" ambassadors to Atlanta. They've had a tough two years– the Atlanta storms last year flooded their farm and wiped out a lot of their soil. It was good to catch up with them, put the rough years behind us, and reconvene our friendship where we'd left it.

Yesterday, on Monday, I got to see Emma and Stefan-- we ate at some places I'd never been before, and chatted about news and the (sometime lack of ) quality thereof, because Emma works at CNN.

So, you can see I've had a busy week! On top of all that, I also got almost all my visa paperwork done– I'm just about to mail it in. I've still got loads of friends to catch up with and errands to finish, but for my first week, I reckon I've hit a good pace. My weather-change cold is almost gone, and the only big problem in my life now is that I miss my wonderful Sydney (and Wellington) friends and community.

And I am much, much too far from one very close friend in particular. Oh, mate. I miss you so.