Against all odds, I took it pretty easy last night. Nonetheless, I took up the neighborhood bar on its offer of "Hair of the Dog specials," and trompted a dozen feet or so to get some Bloody Marys, read, and watch a bit of Auburn-Nebraska on TV. It's a good thing I did, too, because I got to eavesdrop on the following conversation, which highlighted just how quiet my New Year's Eve really was:
Dipshitty guy, describing party that girl missed: "yeah, so-and-so pissed on his girlfriend."
Girl: "Oh my God! That's horrible!"
Words we can all live by, as we enter this new year. The bar provided some good people-watching -- while the booths were all populated by clean-cut, normal people enjoying a New Year's brunch, the bar itself was a testament to debauchery. The above characters were part of a group of bartenders, of that peculiarly Atlanta stripe that combine jockishness, metalheadism, redneckery, and all sorts of bad tattoos and sports goatees. Down the bar was an emaciated, likely-still-drunk Peyton Manning-lookalike who was hitting on an obvious lesbian. Another guy sported the wraparound shades, goatee and upturned polo shirt collar. In the midst was the quiet, vaguely brooding guy, reading. And being strikingly handsome, I'd like to think.
* * *
Filled with vim and vigor, as one often is on New Year's Day, I went out shooting a few photos early this morning. First I went down to see Scottdale, Georgia, a suburb so small it doesn't even appear on most printed maps. I'm not even sure it even technically exists -- it may actually be a part of Decatur. A friend suggested a while back I go to Scottdale to look for old buildings, but I had no clue. Eventually, though, I noticed this sign -- on a building that I've passed several hundred times while living in Atlanta:
So that's where it is.
The area -- and it seems to be more of a single street -- seems to be centered around that old steel mill. Not sure if it's still going -- while it's listed in the phone book, there were a bunch of signs up indicating that the lot was for sale. Because Atlanta needs more condos.
I drove around for a bit, quickly finding myself within the "Avondale Estates" (another little suburb) city limits, and then finding the road blocked off by some rather brusque police. Frankly, there wasn't a ton to see -- plenty of churches, plenty of repair lots. Next to the steel mill was something I don't see a whole ton -- an out-of-business church:
How does a church go out of business, anyhow?
Happy New Year!