Most of the people I speak with are guys like the one in this picture.  Double click for a real close look.

Think about what he's thinking about.

Or this one.

The branch in his hand makes him invisible...just part of the landscape.

Or this one.

He's praying, not sleeping.

Or her.

Alone in a city with five million people.

Or her.

Just thinking about the way things used to be.

You get the picture.

You don’t have to feed or clothe them.  It’s not your responsibility to fix them.  Just remember that they’re somebody’s son or daughter.  They were children at one time.  Maybe you rode bikes with them.  Maybe, just maybe, there’s a connection.

Here’s all I want you to do.  Just say “good morning.”  Just acknowledge their existence.  Smile.  Remember they’re human.  Help them have at least one moment in their day that makes their day suck just a little bit less.

Your comments are always welcome and appreciated, as are your donations.  Please share this post.

Cheers!

Jim

The purpose was to spend some time being with some of our homeless neighbors, share some cake, some coffee and just treat them like human beings that matter.  I frequently do this on my own.  I give out socks and granola bars whenever I can.

I asked Pastor Andy Odle what would make this morning a success.  “If you make a connection that’s meaningful.” he replied.  I set out to do just that.

Pastor Andy Odle Presiding Over His Parish

A mess of a man walked up the sidewalk.  He was wearing red sweat pants, a wife-beater t-shirt, a dirty winter coat, no socks and his aroma arrived before he did.  He was extremely shy.  I introduced myself, offered him a fresh pair of socks, some cake, some coffee and most importantly, a real conversation.  His name was Matthew.

Matthew’s story, like so many others, was tragic beyond comprehension to those of us that reside in the safe, insulated and curtained ‘burbs.  I didn’t care what his story was.  I cared that he was a human being and was hurting.  We shared stories and became friends.

I introduced him to a friend of mine, Gary Tucker–Director of Retreat from the Street.    Gary offered Matthew some prayer and some tough love.  Matthew was ready to receive both.

GaryTucker-His Brother's Keeper and Finder of Lost Children

I got a phone call from Gary this morning that literally brought me to tears.  Matthew has been visiting Retreat From the Street every day since Saturday.  He’s been clothed and fed. This morning Matthew was admitted to a drug rehab program with the help of the Gateway Center. After Matthew completes his rehab, he is eligible for residency in a half-way house and job-training.

Matthew is on his way to being off the streets and out of your backyard!

This happened because we treated Matthew like a whole human-being whose life mattered.  We offered friendship–not judgment.  If we had not been in the park Saturday, today Matthew would be continuing to struggle with a life that was spiraling down hill.  He’d still be living on the streets fighting to survive in conditions that most of us can’t imagine.

I’m no bible-thumper and I don’t attend church.  I keep my beliefs close to my vest, but sometimes, events are obvious.  This doesn’t feel like an accident or a coincidence.

Enter God.

The program that made this possible for Matthew could use a couple of your dollars.  Let’s start with $1.  You can spare a buck.  If you can’t, let me know and I’ll give you one of mine.  Hit this link for Church on the Street and/or this link for the Gateway Center–both really important and worthy organizations that need our help.  Hit the donate button on their web page.  Don’t even think about it.  Do it.  Right now.

There’s something else I need you to do.  Please forward this post to your friends–better yet, post on your facebook.

Your comments are always appreciated.

Cheers!

Jim

It was an stirring, emotional performance, completely hypnotic and seductive. Mr. Cohen is a man who knows what it’s like to love a woman from the bottom of his soul.  The video is from last nights program and includes two of my favorite artistic expressions.  The first is “I’m Your Man.” This is a will-full, submissive surrender and declaration of love.   Just beautiful.  The bonus is after he sings “I’m Your Man” he recites the most beautiful love poem ever written–”A Thousand Kisses.”

Take the time to watch this.  I consider this the same as sharing one of my best recipes–a gift because I care about you.

If this doesn’t stir your soul, then nothing will.  “Who but you would take me in a thousand kisses deep?”

Cool personified. Class, elegance and the man can write like no other.

I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.   I’d love to hear your comments.

Cheers,

Jim

Chia-Obama

It comes in 2 models–”Determined Obama”  shown here, or “Happy Obama” shown on the side of the box.  I think this is creepy and he looks like a stoned greeter for Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, or possibly OZ.

You can pick one of these up here.  This is being sold as a “symbol of Liberty…and makes the statement I’m proud to be an American.”

I’m ordering mine today.  These are sure to be collectible classics.

Cheers!

Jim

Here are my 5 in chronological order.

1.  Where the Wild Things Are. Maurice Sendaks’ timeless fantasy bed-time story that reads well any time of day, no matter the readers age.  Instantly recognizable illustrations, both terrifying and comforting–a decidedly tough task.  Hollywood is making it into a film.  I’m sure they’ll screw it up.

2. Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas.  Hunter S. Thompson at the height of his pharmaceutical madness.  I remember sitting in the Atlanta Airport reading this and laughing hysterically out loud.  I wanted to hang out with Hunter.  His influence on me made me tap out my first book on an impossibly old Royal type-writer in my boxer shorts, wearing a fedora and smoking a cigarette using a cigarette holder.  Poser.

“The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we’d get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.”

3.  Tao Te Ching. I was a student at Georgia State University looking for the meaning of life.  This gave me comfort for a while.  I found this far more intriguing and meaningful than the bullshit slung by my philosophy professors.

4.  Ninety-two in the Shade. A crazed road-trip through the lunatic fringe of Key West.  A dirty trick goes awry and a deadly promise on a life is realized.  This book made me want to be a writer, and it made me nervous.  Thomas McGuane just blew me away.  Still does.   

5.  The Theory & Practice of Rivers and New Poems. Jim Harrison–one eyed wonder from upstate Michigan can write.  Here he waxes nostalgic about life and romance.  Sure he wrote Legends of the Fall, but his lesser know work is his best.  I loved Creatures That God Forgot to Invent.  The Theory & Practice of Rivers and New Poems was given to me by my camera-man when I was a television director.  Jim Harrison made me want to write well.

“One day standing in a river with my flyrod I’ll have the courage to admit my life. And you my loves, few as there have been, let’s lie and say it could never have been otherwise.  So that:  we may glide off in peace, not howling like orphans in this endless century of war.”

Good stuff.

What are the five books that would be on your list?

Cheers!

Jim

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

There you have it.

Cheers!

Jim

A stimulus package indeed!

Cheers!

Jim

Sweetwater served, Bud advertised

My 17 year old daughter wasn’t interested in the game.  She actually stopped texting when she saw these in the nosebleed section.

Naked teen boys

The seats were fantastic.  We had waiters and ordered from these.

Real menu's with half-assed decent food

We got to watch Chipper Jones do this a lot, after all, his batting average is a whopping .500. If I were him I’d have retired last night with the highest batting average in history, but he’s not a quitter, he’s a hitter.

chipper doing his thing

Here’s a special moment. A batter is about to pummel an umpire for calling a third strike.  You don’t see this everyday.  This is a abeerforbreakfast exclusive! Double click, then double click again on the second image for a closer look. (you can do this on all my pics)

I'm gonna beat your ass ump!

That made me want a beer.  I asked the ridiculously hot Mrs. Abeerforbreakfast to get me a beer, and this is what it looked like by the time she made it back.

What's left of my brand new $7 beer. Thanks a lot Lucy!

Around the 4th inning or so, the Jolly Green Giant decided to share my seat.  39, 817 fans and he has to sit here.

Can't wait to sit next to him on a plane!

Things start getting a little weird around the 7th inning and I see Chipper Jones with a wig, makeup and earrings wandering through the stands.

Chipper, what the hell are you wearing?

Found out the the “wave” still lives at the Ted.

Travel back in time and do the wave!

Okay, I admit it.  Doing the wave was fun.

Braves won.  We went to the preferred Diamond Member Valet Parking area of the Green lot…yes, I said valet parking, and went home.

For three hours I forgot about the economy, the stupidity of most of the people that govern our country, whether or not Michael Jackson had drugs in his system at the time of his death, and the ever rising price of gas.  I gotta tell you.  Baseball, America’s favorite pass-time is also America’s Great Escape.

Thanks for the tickets Jonathan!  BTW.  You do not want to miss my posts for July 4th.  Gonna be smoking 40lbs of pork butt, playing with fireworks and shooting guns at my Old Brown Father in Law’s house in Muscella, GA. (It’s featured here.)   A big giant rednecky time is guaranteed!  Pics will be of the not to be missed variety!

Cheers,

Jim

Bar Capital Corner of Atlanta

In no particular order, here are my favorite artists.  Click on their names to visit their web-sites, and double click on the pictures posted here for a bigger, better look.  Double click on the new image and an even bigger one without the side bars will appear.  This is really the only way to take this tour.  Double click.  Wait a second.  Double click again.

Karen Cohen. She is an artiste. I wanted to burn my own paint brushes after seeing her work.  It’s not often that you see something totally original. Here’s your chance.

Art you can look at for hours

She has an original voice on canvas and she’s really passionate about her work.  “My art represents events and times in my life,” she said with a great big smile.

She'll hate this picture, but check out the painting behind her. Go ahead. Double click.

You absolutely must check out her web site and see this stuff.  She is the real deal and if you’re fortunate enough to be able to hang a piece of her art in your living room, then consider yourself blessed. Truly unique.  She and her art blew me away.

Send his stuff straight to the gallery

Athlone Clarke. Don’t let the grim face fool you.  Athlone is one of the most spiritual humans I’ve ever had the pleasure to shake hands with.  He is arguably one of Folk Arts’ best artists.  I am priviledged enough to have an original piece of his in my living room. Serious, seriously, serious art.

Elaine is human art!

Elaine Rader attacked me with her smile. I don’t usually do the jewelry thing, but she invited me to take a look and it was time well spent.  I didn’t realize until I was writing this post that there was a ribbon hanging behind her head, and I don’t think it’s for wrapping presents.  She gets my vote as Artist That Looks Most Like Her Booth. What a pleasure.

Hide your kids dolls from her!

Tiffany Yownbey. Next time you want a cute paper mache doll holding a handgun…Tiffany’s your girl.    “What’s the story behind this?” I asked as I pointed to a piece with a tiny, tiny dolls head and a giant distorted paper mache body, “I found the head and had to put it on something,” she laughed.  I tried everything but a chain hooked up to a truck to get a good photo of her, but nothing doing.  “All artists hide behind their art don’t they?”  Yep.  Especially when it’s as good and original as this.  Do hide your toys if you invite her over.

Time for one of these. Harp Lager...a standard bearer lager and sister of Guiness Stout

I portook a pint of Harp and continued my journey.  I ignore every booth that involved pets and their cute names, pottery with poultry images and digitally altered photographs.  Real artists use film…unless you’re me, and you’re not.

Look out boys...this girl can blow!

Deborah Martin. Didjeridoo Queen of the World.  She was one of my favorite artists.  This self-proclaimed hippy told me of a recent journey to Australia that involved a hitch-hiker, a bon-fire and some acid. You need a didjeridoo in your house.  Admit you’ve always wanted one.  Buy it from Deborah.  Great people still exist.  I loved my time with her.

Peace out! Deborah being Deborah.

I wasn’t quite ready for the acid trip story, but I was damn glad she told it to me.  Made me immediately get another…

Yummy for my Tummy!

Lou is a serial exhibitor.  I saw her at Inman Park Festival with the Fulton County Master Gardeners.  I saw her again with the Tree People.  Lou likes plants and she knows how to keep them alive.  Look her up.  She’s easy to find.   Today she’s with…

Lou loves green stuff

Trees Atlanta. They’re the ones that plant trees all over the city.  They need volunteers.  You’re obviously not busy, so stop reading this and help them plant trees.

You're kidding, right?

There were two ass-hats that posted “No Photos” signs in their booths.  One of them claimed, “Intellectual Property.”  He made suns out of metal.  Not intellectual, not original…who cares.  I’m taking pictures anyway.  It’s a festival.  Lighten up.

What's that in your hand?

Paul Pearman. Rhymes with crazy mutha.  We hit it off immediately.  Within 30 seconds of arriving at his booth, Paul was pouring me a gigantic plastic cup of Sangria. Paul makes some of the coolest hand made belt buckles on this planet. He had a great story.  “A few years back at a show, this 12 foot Norwegian woman came into my booth.  A few days later she flew me and my wife out to L.A. to do a trunk show…on f#$%ing Rodeo Drive.”

Need some cool? I've got extra!

Damn near every celebrity in CA now owns one of Paul’s belt buckles.  Couldn’t possibly have happened to a cooler guy.  He can drink my beer any day.  Check out his web-site and wear a real piece of art…not some crap you bought at Mark Shale’s.

Look what I did with my Ga Tech Degree!

Got a little extra time on your hands?  Then by all means you need to meet Emily Ayers. I’m not usually a fan of quilts or the whole Batik thing, but her stuff is totally original art that you need to have hanging in your home.  “When you sew through your thumbs, it’s probably time to take a break for a while.”  She said it’s happened several times.  I want a quilt with some blood on it.

Nine finger Emily

This is her current favorite piece.  It’s called Robin.  Next time you are thinking about buying some meaningless wall mounting from Kirkland’s, give Emily a call instead.  She’s got great stuff, reasonably priced and it comes with a story….or two….or three…Emily likes to talk. Smiles Emily.  Emily desperately needs help with her web-site, so if you know anyone, maybe you can work a trade.

Another one? Who's counting?

That’s it.  That’s my tour of Summerfest, and for what it’s worth, I met all but one of these artists for the first time at the festival.  None of them gave me a dime to be on here.

Local artists are some of the most important members of our community.  Support them.  Make the effort.  Make a friend.  I enjoyed each and every one of them, and these were the best the festival had to offer.  Click on any of their names and get a better look at their stuff, double click a few times on the pics to get a better look at my stuff.

I’m a local artist too.  Maybe you need some photos or a real wryter.  I use the “day in the life” and “papparazzi” approach.  No posing. Real photos of real people. No grinning allowed. Feel free to support me if you need what I can do.

Write.  Take photos.  Repeat.

I have to take a leak.

Cheers,

Jim

Do they still party like it's 1979?

Yesterday, I was on my way to Summerfest–an arts festival in Atlanta, when I got stuck in some very nasty traffic. I sat in my car for about 10 minutes without moving an inch. I heard some faint music…rhythmic, minimal instruments, lots of drums and tambourines. I looked to my left and there they were. Right out in the street for everyone to see. Krishna’s. And they were having a party. I chose to opt out of traffic and crash the Krishna-fest.

I found a back-street and parked my car. I was greeted by my first Krishna of the day. Just what I expected. A man wearing a dress, with one of those funny pony-tails and some clay on his face.

Mayapura Dhama Das--my first Krishna of the day, and my tour guide

His name was Mayapura Dhama Das. He joined the Krishna’s at the height of their party days back in ’76. He’s some kind of priest.  He offered his service as my tour guide. Here’s what I didn’t expect. He was a down to earth, kind of normal, really happy guy. Just look at him!

Turns out this wasn’t just a regular party I was crashing. This was a three day Festival of India. He invited me to check it out and allowed me unfettered access to take photos of anything. Cool. At first glance, it looked like any other festival, only this one had a decidedly India theme.

A Festival with booths....go figure!

There was face painting.  The Krishna’s call this “tilaka” and they mark all the sacred parts of the body.

Spiritual Face Painting

There were children.

Krishna kiddies

There was even a princess or two.  Krishna’s called her a “Mataji.”

Mataji

This was beginning to look awfully normal to me.  Where’s all the weird stuff?  How come nobody’s trying to recruit me and get me to sell my stuff and shun my family?  That’s when Mayapura Dhama Das took me inside the Krishna Temple.  Okay, here it comes.  I remove my shoes, bow to who knows what when I went in the door, and I was allowed to witness a very special ceremony.

Alter inside the Krishna

His Grace Jayapataka Maha Raj, was leading a ceremony where a couple was formally receiving their Krishna names.  His Grace is considered a “Great King” or “Swami.”

Couple receiving the Krishna names

Okay, not too weird.  I’ve been to Baptisms and I’ve been to a briss or two.  So far, this just seems religious.  No group sex, no hooka smoking and people were definitely not being forced to do anything.  I’m baffled.  This is not what I expected from the Krishna’s.

The parade was a big part of the day, as it is at most festivals worth their salt.  This one had a float, sort of.

Krisha Parade Float

Okay, it’s really more of a chariot than a float and they only had one.  But theirs has diety’s of God, and his wife and a eerily realistic, life-size figure of Swami Prabhupada…the founder of Krishna, or Krsna.

His Divine Grace...Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada

This is no motorized float.  The Krishna pull this float with ropes.  In fact, pulling the rope is a very big deal.  I’ll try to get this right.  They believe that if you pull the rope, then you will not have to experience birth again, except a spiritual birth.  I guess this is the Christian equivalent of salvation.  You better believe I pulled that rope!

Pull that rope!

They chanted, sang, played percussion instruments and danced while the chariot made its’ way through the already traffic plagued streets of Atlanta.

Dancing in the Streets!

All of this made Mayapura Dhama Das very happy.  He seemed to know everyone there, and there were several hundred people there.  “This is a big family reunion,” he said, “These are all my family, my friends.”

Openly happy all day long!

Hmmmm.  I don’t have 500 friends.

Throughout my couple of hour visit Mayapura Dhama Das did his best to enlighten me about his purpose and the purpose of Krishna.  He told me that all are servant and only by blessing can one attain spiritual advancement.  He said that Krishna is about the “entire science of self-realization.”  I’ve got pages of notes that I took, but I’m not here to evangalize for the Krishnas.  If you want to know more about them you can go to www.krsna.com.

This was an unexpected experience.  I spent a few hours with people that were happy, friendly and openly welcoming.  They didn’t try to recruit me and they no longer hang out in airports.  In fact, most of what they practice is preached and happening in Christian Church’s all over the world.  No sex outside of marriage, they’re vegetarians, and they practice yoga.

With the exception of the clothes, these people were alot like me.

Cheers,

Jim

Here are a few pearls I can share with you.  A truly great beer brewed by Oskar Blues...Gordon’s, worthy of an effort to experience…I’m tossing in  a really great song with profound lyrics that are more relevant today than they were in the 80′s,… these pearls are yours for the taking.

Here’s the tune for the day. Listen to it as you read this. Go ahead, hit the button.  I think you’ll enjoy it.  The band is the the.  (not a typo.)

And here’s the beer you should drink with it.  Click on the picture to go the their web-site.  Great story.

Damned Good Canned Beer

Don’t let the can fool you.  Oskar Blues was one of the first to recognize the value of sealing their hand-crafted brew in a tin vault as opposed to a porous bottle.  This is a fine ale.  You can get it at Brickstore Pub, The Porter Beer Bar and sometimes at the Vortex Bar and Grill, and any liquor store worth its’ salt with at least a half-assed selection of brew.

Cheers,

Jim

The fallen

I heartily recommend starting your day off with a red, white and blue can of ….

Pabst Blue Ribbon!

Enjoy your day, and when you see…

Old Glory

…remember those that fell for us and know that it’s still okay to be patriotic.

cheers!

Jim

Appalachian Trial Marker

I start out thinking that I’ll just walk a few hundred yards, take some artsy fartsy nature pics and be done with it.  Besides, I’m not dressed for hiking.  I’m wearing long jeans, a t-shirt and biker boots.

I saw a real hiker in the parking lot. Back-pack…all the goodies.  He was looking at a map.  Me, I just started walking up the path to see what it leads to.  I won’t be long.  That was until I saw this.

Indian Grave Gap...Only 2.7 Miles!

Dammit!  2.7 miles.  I really was in no mood to hike 2.7 miles up a mountain, over rough, muddy terrain, but I needed to see what Indian Grave Gap was all about.  I’m in shape, and I’m a trail runner.  Challenge accepted!

I hiked up the steep trails and took artsy fartsy nature pictures.

Mountainous Trail...Very Woodsy!

I came across some weird looking vines.

Weird Vines

…and a mountain stream!

A real mountain stream...brought to you by Mama Nature!

Nature dictates your actions. I stopped taking pictures and tried to make some time.   I smelled rain coming.   2.7 miles is really deep into a forest and it takes a while to cover it when it’s all uphill.

Mother Nature provided me with a walking stick. I never once thought of it as a weapon.   Someone took some time to carve a nice stick and leaned it against a tree by the stream.  I picked it up and took it with me.  A walking stick provides comfort and connection to the earth on a hike.

Walking Stick by Mother Nature or possibly her Father

I was into this hike about an hour or so and I figure I’m about 500 yards to my destination.  That’s when it started to drizzle.  I’m dangling a thousand dollar digital Nikon from my shoulder that I can’t afford to replace right now if I ruin it.  Hike’s over.  Sorry Indian Grave Gap.  I’ll come back another day.  I promise.

I start back down the trail at double the pace I used going up. All I could think about was the rain and how far I had to go.  That’s when I saw the hiker from the parking lot and that’s when this hike took a major dump.

We passed each other as we crossed a little feeder stream that ran through the path.

Feeder Stream

It was about 10 feet across and the footing was really slippery.  We made eye contact and the exchange went exactly like this.

“Did you see it?” he said.

“Indian Grave Gap?  No.  It started to rain and I want to keep this camera dry.”  I said.

“Yeah, I dont’ blame you.  Nice camera.” he said.  Can I see it?” he said.

I walked backward as we spoke and was about 10 yards from him at this point.

“Not today.  I need to get out of this rain.” I said.  “Have a great hike.”  I nodded my head the way real Southerners do when they greet and say goodbye, turned and started walking really fast down the trail.

I heard something drop.  His backpack. Then I heard something else I really didn’t want to hear. He was running straight at me like a football player about to tackle a tackling dummy.  Without hesitation I swung the walking stick as hard as I possibly could and struck him on the side of the face with all my might.  I knocked him over, he lost his footing and slammed his head face-first into a tree.

He fell hard.  I knew he was either unconscious or dead. He didn’t move.  Shit!!!

I did what any smart person would do in this situation.  I ran as fast as I could possibly run down that trail.  I had a long way to go…at least a half an hour.  I’ve watched enough outdoor horror films to know that he was probably going to get back up.

The trail downhill

Three things went through my mind. Was he faster than me?  No.  I’m a runner.  He’ll never catch me.  Did he know the trails better than me and possibly a shortcut to the bottom?  Likely.  He looked at the map before he came up.  And finally, was he Freddy Kruger, or worse, another Gary Hilton–Meredith Hope Emerson’s murderer?

Here's Freddy

Gotta keep moving.  Can’t fall down.  Get to the bottom.  Gotta survive this.  Is he dead? Is he behind me? What’s that noise?

The adrenaline was so strong that I completely lost my peripheral vision.  My heart beat in my eardrums like bricks crashing against the walls of my brain. I could hear my blood.

Never stop moving.  I was getting closer to the bottom of the trail.  I could hear cars.

I could also hear him. The unmistakable sound of something large powering their way through the brush.  Too big to be a squirrel, too clumsy to be a deer….decidedly human and decidedly dangerous.  I am prey.  Oh my God this sucks.  This could end any second.

He found a shortcut and was close to cutting me off at the pass.

Sprint.  Sprint.  Go! Go! Go!  I couldn’t feel my legs move.  They just did.

Too late. I can not only hear him, I can see him.  Not good.

“I’m gonna kill you!” he screamed.  I had to stop to get my bearings on his location.  He was about 30 yards up the hill from where I was at.  I saw him.  Blood streamed down his face and his shirt.  He was muddy and he had something in his hand.

Run, run, run!  God help me run.

I thought for a split-second about just turning around, walking up there and finishing the job.  I could easily kick his ass.  He was already hurt.  Then I remembered something horrible.  I’m not bullet-proof. What if that’s a gun in his hand?

“No gun.  No gun.  Please no gun.”

I never stopped moving.  I see the parking lot below.  Another couple of hundred yards.  I heard him running…thrashing through the brush.  Breathing hard.

I was terrified and literally running for my life.  I”m not safe until I’m out of the woods.  C’mon, c’mon.  Run faster, faster, faster.

“I’m gonna kill you!  You’re dead!” he shouted.

A rock hit a tree in front of me.  He threw rocks at me.  Rocks.  I was relieved.  If he had a gun he’d be shooting at me.  I was within yards of the parking lot and could see my car.  He stopped chasing me and disappeared into the forest.  He missed his chance.  He was silent now.

Who’s next?  Are they as strong as me?  As fast?  As ready to engage in combat?  As capable?  He met his opponent today….but, tomorrow?

I left the walking stick next to the sign.  Maybe someone else needs it.  It saved my life.

Please return after use

Without getting too preachy here, there’s a lesson to be learned that has to be tempered with reason and a reasonable amount of caution.  If you’re going to hike, don’t go it alone…especially if you’re going deep in.  Me?  I’m taking a side-arm next time, and I’m not going to get chatty with any other hikers, but I’ll never, ever quit the trails!

I’m a decent sized guy.  I work out a lot and I was wearing this t-shirt.  I generally don’t pick fights with guys wearing Martial Arts T’s…that’s just me though.

Martial Arts T-shirt

So, if some nut-bag is going to attack me, then you’re game too.  Accept that you might be vulnerable, that you might be a target.  Watch your back and don’t talk to strangers.  Be smart.  Be prepared.

Walk softly and carry a big stick. I’m convinced God put that stick there for me today.  We don’t all get that lucky.

Please share this post with someone you care about that enjoys the outdoors.

Cheers,

Jim

I proudly dedicate this post to the memory of Meredith Hope Emerson

Off to the airport!

It was around 10:00PM last night and I was at ATL Airport picking up the outrageousely hot– Mrs. Abeerforbreakfast.  I’m a pro at the whole airport thing.  In my previous corporate suck-the-life-out-of-me position, I traveled 45 weeks of the year and logged nearly 100,000 air miles.  I traveled so much that I never noticed what was going on at the airport.  Airports are the most bi-polar places on earth!

Which do you prefer, happy or sad?  Let’s start with sad.  Go to the South Terminal and find a place to sit near the Security Gates that lead to All Terminals.  Here you’ll witness medium sadness to gut-wrenchingly sad scenes as goodbyes are exchanged.  Mothers kissing husbands going off to business.  Parents kissing kids going off to college.  Mothers, Fathers and young wives, sisters, brothers and friends kissing young men going off to war.

The classic goodbye embrace

Here’s unfiltered, raw emotion.  Outpourings of love.  Tears flowing, snotty runny noses and long hard hugs right there in the airport right in front of everybody.  You’re witnessing the temporary loss of a loved one and the pain associated with it.  The long embrace, the outstretched hand…eye contact until they pass through security and disappear down the escalator into the crowd.

The outstretched hand

A loved one gone.  The long, lonely walk back to the car.  The emptier house.  Yes, next to a funeral home, the airport is the saddest place.  Mass sadness on display 24/7.

Happy, happy, happy!

Happy!   Yes sirreee Bob!  You didn’t really think I’d leave you with that downer did you?  For happy, go to Arriving Flights Waiting Area.

Your loved one here

There you’ll see the hard core happiness seekers.  I’m not talking about curb-side love.  These are the die-hards that really missed someone.  They parked, made their way inside, navigated through mostly unfamiliar territory and braved the crowds to greet someone they love as soon as they possibly could.  Parents greeting their kids coming home from college, wives greeting their husbands coming home from a business trip and Fathers, Mothers, sisters, brothers and young wives greeting their soldier coming home from war.

So glad you're home!

Some bring signs, some bring flowers and some just have their hugs, kisses and love.  The loved ones wait eager to show just exactly how much their loved one was missed. Tears, hard hugs, snotty-runny noses and smiles are delivered right there in the airport in front of everybody.   Yes, this is the happiest place in the world.  This is the place where I effortlessly sorted through thousands of faces and found the one I care about most–the impossibly hot Mrs. Abeerforbreakfast.  We hugged, smiled and teared up when we saw each other.  Unbridled happiness for all the world to see.

These extreme bipolar emotions take place within 50 yards of one another at the airport.  Extreme sadness and extreme happiness, caused by the absence of someone we love.

Given that air travel is the safest mode of travel, it makes me pause to reflect on something a little more ordinary.  Maybe we should show this same outpouring of love and affection whenever someone leaves our house or arrives home safely after traveling in a car.

An unexpected post that rates

Cheers,

Jim

Yes, that's a kazoo in his mouth

and try to sell you stuff.  I like that stuff and I like to drink beer in front of cops.  Here’s all you needed to see at the Inman Park Festival.  The nude pictures are on the last page, so be patient.

If you’ve read this blog, you know I support shopping locally.  This is where your local festival comes in.  Here’s how you do this.  When you’re at a festival, take the time to meet the people in the booths.  If you like what they have and can’t buy it that day…get their card. They have web-sites.  Visit often.  Figure out a way to get these people in your life.  You’ll be so glad you did.

I did the vetting and here is the best that the festival had to offer in 10 minutes or less.  Sorry if I missed any must-include vendors… the damn festival takes up two counties.

My first stop was Smack Yo Mama barbecue sauce.  You need this sauce.  They have a nice basic sauce and a hotter sauce that’ll Rooter Rooter your throat with a tasty hotter’n'hell back bite.

Mama smacking good!

Next stop was August Miller Design.  She designs jewelry, and there was plenty of jewelry there, but hers is really unique.  She names her jewelry like they’re her children.  This is beautiful stuff you can wear that has some back-story.  Forget the jewelry department at Macy’s.  This is how to do it for about the same price.

August Miller--Jewelry Diva

Next up…Manami Lingerfelt.  She paints what I can only describe as “healing art for your soul.”  She was breast-feeding when I visited her booth and for some reason was a little camera shy.

Art for your soul

All this artsy fartsy crap was making me thirsty, but trust me I just saved you from browsing through forty booths of crap to find these for you.  Excuse me, I have to do something.

I love this stuff.

After a nice cool beer, I stumble upon Erin Smith, whose stuff I really like.  She has these mildly disturbing images with smarmy, witty text.  It’s mixed media with a twisted message.

Erin and her odd art

My wife’s out of town this weekend, so I’m freely looking at all the nice butts strutting around.  I finish my beer in front of a cop and notice a guy beating on painted fire extinguishers that he’s converted into bells.  Yep, that’s none other than Don Foos, aka der Salvage Meister selling the world’s sturdiest wind chimes.

Bang a gong...bring it on

Okay, if you’ve been guilty of buying stuff for your house at Kirkland’s, Target or any other big box….here’s what you’ve been missing.  My next visit was with a super cool guy, Kenny Hoff, aka The Tin Man.  He goes around the country and salvages tin ceiling tiles from buildings that are about to be demolished, colors them and sells them to you.  Here’s the really cool part about buying local.  Each of the tiles has a history.  He can tell you what building they came from, when they were made…all kinds of stuff that just doesn’t come with some crappy wall hanging you get from Kirkland’s.  Stop buying that crap!

The Tin Man

Now, I’m normally not one for painted animal knick-knacky stuff but I met this artist Linda who hand paints some amazing stuff.

Hand painted lacquerware

I absolutely love hippies!  I met Mavis Stevens, resident Atlanta hippy and boy was she happy.  Mavis makes fabric art.  She loves peace signs and guess what?  Yep, this weekend is the 50th anniversary of the peace sign!  Yessiree.  Who knew?  Mavis knew and a substantial portion of her work is…you guessed it…peace signs!

Mavis and her fabric art peace signs!

All this happiness has made me long for another….

Number 2

He’s not selling anything but his soul.  I listened to Jake the Guitar player while I enjoyed my beer.  I asked him if he had a last name and he asked me if I was a cop.

Jake the guitar player

Some guys really, really enjoy what they do.  Take Tim Boyd for example.  He describes his work as “low-brow whimsical.”  I agree with him and enjoyed taking a look.

Tim and his art

I tried to put a link, but I couldn’t find his site.  Google him.  It’s worth the effort.

Craig Bennet was next on the list.  His art is Halloween themed and is really cool.  I didn’t find jack on his web-site, but he’s definitely worth a call.  If you like Halloween and you want out of the ordinary decs, then he is your man.  I absolutely love his stuff, plus he’s a really nice guy.

Halloween 24/7/365 HQ

I’m nearly finished my second beer and am entering maintenance mode.  I’ll make one more stop before cup number three appears in my hand.  And the winner is….Odessa Brown!  Odessa’s medium is mixed media.  It’s inspired and meaningful.  I’d really recommend taking a look at her web-site to get a better feel for this.  I enjoyed her work thoroughly.  She was also really sweet and great to talk with.

Odessa and her work

Time for …..

Number 3!!!

I’m not sure if the art’s getting better or if the beer’s kicking in, but I’m liking this way more than usual.  My next stop was really cool.  Atlanta has a AM radio station that plays mostly roots music.  AM 1690 aka the Voice of the Arts.  It’s nostalgic to listen to old Dylan et al on an AM station that fades in and out and is rife with static on my old AM radio.  They promise crystal clear reception with a late model car.  What a find!

AM 1690

Next up, weird heads.  Kind of like shrunken heads that are disturblingly real.  Yep, that’s what I found in Kimberly Dean’s booth.  Visit her site.  This stuff is not to be missed!

Kimberly Dean

Pete the Cat!‘s been an Atlanta favorite for 10 years.  There’s lot’s of Pete the Cat! art, not to mention books, cards, etc.  Word on the street is the Pete the Cat!’s about to land a publishing deal with a major house.  Good luck James!

James Dean and Pete the Cat!

Onto Linc Bennett.  This guy is the real deal.  Oil, fabric and prints.  He’s leaning towards modern folk art–if there is such a thing–with a decidely African American slant.  I stared at his work for 10 minutes before speaking with him.

LInc Bennett

Yes.  It’s time for a Porta Potty break and then…..

Number 4!!!!

I didn’t know how many more miles this endless festival had to offer, but I was definitely on my last leg, and you were going to have to have an impressive offering for me to take one more note or one more picture.

That’s when I ran into Richard Sussman and Ann Becia of the Central Fulton Master Gardeners. Now here’s some folks who have knowledge I don’t.  Answers to questions like, “How come everthing I plant dies?” or “When is the best time to really put my tomatoes in the ground?” “Fescue or Bermuda?”  These were really patient people that didn’t seem to mind my early slurring stage.

Real Good at Gardening

Andrea North of Care gave me a pen.  Then she said “I am powerful.”  I wanted to know why.  Her organization is dedicated to “empowering women to help themselves out of poverty worldwide.”  Shit.  That’s more than I do.  I found my cause for the day.  Click.  Donate.  Be for something.

She really cares....she cares a lot!

Next I run into a charming advocate for left wing feminists at the Charis Books and More booth.  That’s where Olly Howington bitched openly about getting smothered by giants like Amazon.com.  This is a non-profit organization and you can purchase any published book from them.  I’m not a feminist, but I support their cause.  Olly believes in something.  She had amazing enthusiam for what she stood for.

Olly the Amazing Feminista Footsoldier!

Two more stops and I’m done.  I can’t possibly pass a hot sauce booth with the name Hotlanta Hot Sauce.  I’m a long time spice and heat guy and I have to check this out.  I was damn glad I did.  Go to their site and buy this sauce.  It’s a medium heat with a loooooooong finish.  This would be great on wings.  I shot the breeze with co-counder Tom Wessels and while he sat on his ass and drank a beer, we watched his partner David Paul work his ass off and feed the crowds samples.  This sauce should take off.

Hotlanta Hot Sauce's Tom Wessel takes is easy while his partner works

Four beers down and it’s time to go home.  Shit.  One more booth calls my name.  It’s Triple C Southern Jelly.  I would not have stopped had I not heard that the owner, Christopher Coffman of Monoe, grows all of the ingredients in his jelly.  Talk about local!

Triple C Southern Jelly was triple good!

It does not get any more local than that.  He’s got more varieties of jelly than you can shake a stick at, and let me tell you….this is the next addition for all of the biscuit houses out there….really good, local jelly.  Nice job Christoper.

That’s it.  I have to get rid of this beer.  This was a really enjoyable afternoon.  I’d suggest you give it a try soon.

This post took me

Number 4!!!!

Cheers!

Jim