Chamblee54

This is a repost from 2017. Java Monkey was destroyed by a fire in November 2018. The poetry series “Java Speaks” is unhoused for live shows. A virtual version continues Every Sunday Night. … Java Monkey Speaks finished with a bit of snark last night. “Gabriel,” had been sitting next to a loudmouth. The loudmouth was boasting about how enlightened he was, by talking over poets. The fact that it was a warm evening, and the patio was open, made it worse.
“Gabriel” did not get to hear the performers. He was not pleased, and did what poets do. He wrote about the man who would not shut up.
Performance … on stage, or in the audience … is a tiny percentage of the JMS experience. Most of your time is spent listening to other performers. When one person speaks, the other people listen. Many of the poets are terrific, and if you don’t listen, you miss out. We don’t need to talk more. We need to listen more. This is true for the rest of the world.
One problem is that listening is seen as passive, while speech is active. Our culture values action. Even if you make the situation worse by speaking, many people cannot keep their mouth shut. The patio dude did not seem to get this. The fact that there is a room next door, designed for conversation, did not seem to occur to this man.
Last summer, PG went to JMS. It was the sunday after Philando Castile, and Alton Sterling, died. PG had a conversation with “Gabriel” after this evening. “One of the other white men felt the same way. He opened his poem by saying that it was not his struggle, and it was not appropriate for him to speak. (Those were not the exact words.) PG spoke to him at intermission. He said to think about this… what if you were a black person, coming to read on a night with much black pain. You looked in the audience, and there were no white people to listen?”
Read your smutty poem is one result of that evening. java monkey speaks black white mix, americas bad week two black men, shot dead by police best thing for , white man to do is be there listen, not your struggle not appropriate, read your smutty poem shut up.
One issue is the limited amount of time available for speakers. JMS has an 11 pm curfew. Towards the end of the evening, performers should go up, read their piece, and sit down. When you are on stage, you are not aware of how long you are up there. PG was a couple of spots before “Gabriel,” and was wondering if he would get to perform. “Gabriel” wrote his poem in anger, after the patio performance. The poem will be better with editing.
At the end of the night, things seemed to work out. PG and “Gabriel” got to speak before 11pm. There will be other times where not everyone will get to speak, because someone else did not know how to listen. (And not just at Java Monkey.) The white savior complex is alive, well, and annoying. It is not known whether the patio dude impressed the lady. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.

Lost Atlanta is a coffee table book. The content is the buildings, and institutions, that no longer exist. Atlanta has a long love affair with the wrecking ball. General Sherman was a minor player. Pictures for your Wednesday morning entertainment are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library.” This is a repost.
PG is a native, and knows a few things about the city. While looking through LA, he began to take notes of things he did not know. The names behind the Ferry Roads is one. Plantation owner James Power established Power’s Ferry in 1835. Hardy Pace established his ferry in the 1850s. The fare was 62 cents for a full wagon, 50 cents for an empty wagon, 12 cents for a man and a horse, and 4 cents per head of cattle. The last ferry to cease operations was the Campbellton Ferry, in south Fulton county. The Campbellton Ferry ceased operations in 1958.
Wheat Street Baptist Church is a prominent Atlanta institution. If you look for Wheat Street on google, all you see is Old Wheat Street. It turns out that Wheat Street was renamed Auburn Avenue. “Originally called Wheat Street, the road was renamed in 1893 at the request of white petitioners who believed Auburn Avenue had a more cosmopolitan sound.”
Bald Hill, aka Leggett’s Hill, was leveled in 1958 to make way for the East Expressway, later known as I-20. On July 22, 1864, the Battle of Atlanta was fought there. After the unpleasantness, Frederick Koch bought farm land on the site. His house was at 382 Moreland Avenue. The house was demolished in 1953. South of I-20, 1400 McPherson Avenue has a monument. Maj. Gen. James B. McPherson was killed at that location.
The outfield wall at Ponce De Leon park was covered with advertising. One sign was for Southern Bread. The picture had a “Southern Colonel”… apparently the only type of officer in the CSA … saying “I’d even go North for Southern Bread.” This ad was also painted on the side of a building on Tenth Street, just off Peachtree. The late Jim Henson produced a tv ad for Southern Bread.
Jacobs Drug Store was a prominent chain at one time. It was founded by Joseph Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs had a store in the Norcross building, on Peachtree Street at Marietta Street. In 1886, the soda fountain mixed John Pemberton’s patent medicine with carbonated soda water. The rest is history.
There are a few notes, which do not justify a paragraph. The Governor’s Mansion was at 250 The Prado, in Ansley Park, until a new GM was built on West Paces Ferry road. The Henry Grady hotel did not have a thirteenth floor, but went from 12 to 14. This did not stop the building from being demolished, to make way for the Peachtree Plaza hotel.
When Laurent DeGive built his grand opera house at Peachtree and Houston (Now JW Dobbs,) people were horrified. The central business district was south of five points. The area north, where the opera house went up, was residential. In 1932, the opera house was renovated, and opened as the Loew’s Grand. In 1939, it hosted the world premiere of “Gone With The Wind.” On the other side of Houston Street was the Paramount Theater, and across Peachtree was the Coca Cola sign. The GP building occupies the site today.

This is a repost from 2022. In just two years, stories about “getting the jab” feel like ancient history. … It started out as another slack sunday. Only problem is, things never did pick up. After a while, all I wanted to go was lie down. After a few hours of this, I took my temperature. It was 102.4. Getting tested for covid was one thing to do. As soon as I made the appointment, I began to feel better.
There was a long night of tossing, and turning, but never getting REM sleep. I called the periodontist, to cancel my appointment, and went to the testing site. I was done in under fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, my temperature was going down, and I had considerably more energy.
The email from the test-folks came at 11:35 am, Tuesday. I was negative. I was thinking how I would have felt if I had been poz, but had not had the booster. While I have numerous doubts regarding the efficiency of the pfizervax, it would be better for PR purposes to have had it. It is a game.
Today’s announcement on monoclonal antibodies is typical. The FDA is pulling a EUA on two MA treatments. When I asked google to find me that link, one of the results was this: “…COVID-19 patients … receive a monoclonal antibody treatment, which has been shown to reduce COVID-19-related hospitalization or deaths … However, UC Davis Health infectious disease experts are warning patients that the monoclonal antibody treatment is not a replacement for the COVID-19 vaccine.” I thought a vaccine was something you got when before you were infected. A vaccine is not a post-infection treatment, regardless of the medical advice available on twitter.
I find a Walgreens near me. The next appointment is in a half hour. The WG website wants you to set up an account for your reservation. When the registerbot asks me my race, I reply unknown. Non-compliance is often meaningless, but it helps me feel less ovine.
The book I am taking with me to WG is Hollywood, by Charles Bukowski. Hank Chinaski was a drunken rebel in his day, which ended in 1994. He would be 102 today. When you google his name, one of the suggested searches: “Was Charles Bukowski a nihilist?”
I get to WG, and my appointment is not on the list. A nice young man finds it in a computer. I return to my seat and my book. CB is negotiating a movie deal. He goes to a screening of somebody’s movie, and Werner Herzog is sitting at the bar. The fly on the wall got drunk from the fumes.
After a few minutes, I am called into a small room. The same helpful young man, who found my appointment in a computer, was to administer the dose. No, we do not aspirate. There is very little chance of the shot going into the blood stream. I did not taste anything metallic after the shot, so I suppose it went into the muscle, and not a vein.
After you get the shot, you are requested to sit down for fifteen minutes. It is bad manners to die on site. There is a sign on the pharmacy counter, “Select Narcotics in the Time Delay Safe.” Being a well-trained consumer, I look at all that merchandise, begging me to take it home. When I got the first two shots, it was in a sci-fi office building. They did not have merchandise to tempt you.
My supply of an OTC substance is running low. I find it at WG, but the price seems a bit steep. I decide to forego convenience, and make a trip to Walmart. The commodity was $20 cheaper at Walmart. Pictures today are from “The Georgia State University Library.”

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One day in the eighth grade, PG had a sore spot in his eye. They called it a stye. One afternoon, he got out of school, walked to Lenox Square, saw a doctor, and got some eye drops.
When he left the doctor’s office, there was a man, standing in front of Rich’s on the sidewalk, selling a newspaper. He had blond hair down past his shoulders. PG asked what the newspaper was. Mostly politics, he said. PG gave him fifteen cents for a copy of “The Great Speckled Bird”.
The Bird was an underground newspaper. It was so bad, it needed to be buried. If you are under fifty, you have probably never seen one. These papers flourished for a while. The Bird was published from 1968 to 1976. v. 1 no. 4 (April 26, 1968) was what PG bought that day.
The GSU Library has a digital collection. Included in it are copies of The Great Speckled Bird. Included in this collection is edition number four. PG went looking for that first copy. He needed to be patient, for the GSU server took it’s time. Finally, the copy he asked for came up. It was mostly politics.
When PG saw page four, he knew it was the edition from 1968. “Sergeant Pepper’s Vietnam Report” was the story of a young man sent to Nam. It had a paragraph that impressed young PG, and is reproduced here. The rest of the article is not that great, which is typical of most underground newspaper writing.
A couple of years later, PG spent the summer working at the Lenox Square Theater. The number two screen was a long skinny room. If you stood in the right place, you could hear the electric door openers of the Colonial Grocery store upstairs. The Bird salesmen were a feature at the mall that summer, which not everyone appreciated. This was the year of the second, and last, Atlanta Pop Festival. PG was not quite hip enough to make it. He was back in the city, taking tickets for “Fellini Satyricon”. The Bird was printing 26 pages an issue, with lots of ads, pictures, and the distinctive graphics of the era.

Vol.3 no 26 June 29, 1970 was especially memorable. On page 17, there was a bit of eyeroll inducing polemic. PG was easy to impress. The first paragraph is the one that matters. “What is Gay Liberation? It is people telling the truth; it is me telling you the truth NOW, homosexuality is the CAPACITY to love someone of the same sex. For­get all the crap about causes (no one knows and we don’t care), “cures” (there aren’t any, thank god), and “prob­lems.” The only problem is society’s anti-homosexual pro­paganda and the oppression it has produced.”
Stories about hippies, and the Bird, can be found at The Strip Project. This repost has pictures from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.