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To be honest, I don’t usually spend too much time in Decatur. It’s not that I don’t like it—Decatur is clean and beautiful—I am just lazy, stubborn, and don’t live very close. However, one of the places that has been drawing me in lately is Twain’s. This past Saturday Twain’s threw it’s annual Springfest, a benefit for the Atlanta Community Food Bank. The Food Bank, founded in 1979, currently distributes nearly 2 million pounds of food and other donated grocery items each month to more than 700 nonprofit partner agencies in 38 counties in Metro Atlanta and North Georgia.
When I arrived at the gate I was kindly greeted and given a bracelet, and a press pass which I quickly shoved into my pocket instead of putting around my neck. Later on, I wore it for a minute because Winston said it would help me pick up chicks, but I took it off because I realized he was joking and it really just made me look kinda like a douche. Anyway, when I walked into the parking lot there was an elaborate stage built, and a band named Balloonaut was playing a song about unicorns in hell, which is a pretty fanciful way to start a Saturday afternoon.
Inside sat a raffle table with brown paper bags that held all sorts of goodies. There was also a strange man in a grey suit walking around and staring at everybody, which made him look slightly out of place. This man was apparently a “thought reader”, although he obviously wasn’t very good because every time he stared at me I thought to myself, “What the fuck is this guy staring at? Do I look like I got some candy?” Maybe he was just trying to mindfuck me. His fliers littered every table in the room. As I nursed a beer, a second band began to play on the stage inside.
Everybody there seemed to be working their asses off, running back and forth and managing to keep a smile all at the same time as they ran around with beer and the plates of barbecue they were serving up. It wasn’t just the staff working either, the community turned out lots of volunteers geared for the cause, and Bang! Entertainment who helped promote the event, brought a crew to help the live music flow smoothly.
The cover was only ten bucks, and as I sat under the entrance tent I watched people who weren’t expecting to pay come up to the tent and roll their eyes, even after the staff very kindly made sure that they knew it was a benefit for the Food Bank. I can’t believe how cheap some people are. Most people were good sports about it though, and as the day grew dim, they began the raffle. Myself, and pretty much everyone around me who worked a Twain’s, awaited to see who would win the tattoo raffle. Alas it was none of us, and as we all hung our heads in bitter defeat the band Telegram stepped on stage and rocked it out.
After Telegram finished their set with a pretty rad cover of Voodoo Child—it sounds lame but hearing that song played with a sax, upright bass, electric guitar and drums is pretty awesome—I noticed that the crowd was beginning to thin out a lot. As I went inside, I noticed that the area around the stage was packed as people anxiously awaited Uncle Daddy and the Kissin Cousins, who were fucking amazing. They’re a hillbilly jug band who got everybody dancing—I hadn’t seen anybody dance up until that point and I had been walking around since 3 p.m.
As the band finished up, I realized that I had been drinking beer nonstop all day long and hadn’t even thought about being anywhere else—everyone who worked the festival was cool as shit, the music was great, and I was good and liquored up and still had plenty of smokes. I sat down in a booth and decided to check my notes. All they said were, “Unicorns in Hell/Dropped an F bomb with tons of little kids around. A band played/ 2 owners from The Earl/ They’re all wearing sunglasses?/I’m drunk/ A man in safari gear smokes a pipe in earnest.”
The word on the street is that this year’s Springfest was a huge success, raising more money than last year, and as you can see from the pictures it was one hell of a time. You know, a wise man once said, “Never refuse to do a kindness unless the act would work great injury to yourself, and never refuse to take a drink—under any circumstances.”
Photo Credit: Jason Travis & Tim Song
Modern dance, skeleton costumes, screaming artists, honking horns, fists in the air, face paint and people angry at Sonny Perdue–yeah, a whole lot of people angry at Sonny Perdue–were all on the steps of the capitol today.
For those of you who need a little information on the pasty, pudgy fuck named Sonny Perdue, all you really need to know is that he’s the first Republican to become governor in Georgia since the reconstruction in the 1870s and let me tell you he’s done a bang up job–Georgia faces a $1 billion deficit, school funding is being cut, teachers are being fired and state employees are being furloughed–and now the arts face the same fate.
People seemed to know full well whom they were dealing with at the arts march today though. However, the signs were a bit too tame for my taste. I would’ve like to have seen some signs that said something along the lines of, “If you cut funding for the arts, we’ll cut your balls off and shove them down your throat.” Not really sure how much good that would have done but it would’ve been nice to see some more people on that level.
However, people came out in droves and it was nice to see folks from all walks of life–educators, artists, college students, the old and young alike–all rallying to support the Georgia Council for the Arts.
Although there was a great turnout, I’m a little bit cynical and in reality I don’t think that marching to the capitol, screaming for a while and dancing around a bit will make the least bit of difference. One thing that the organizers forgot to bring was a megaphone so it was pretty fucking hard to hear what they were saying–except for this dude, who was screaming his face off.
I think that the only way for Georgia citizens to get anything done is to write your district congress members and fucking vote. As much as it sucks to have to vote for the lesser of two evils in Georgia–which is always the case–it must be done.
This is a situation where your vote will actually make a difference–change in government begins at the local level–so all you art kids out there who think you’re too cool to vote because it won’t matter, there’s an election coming up and actions speak louder than words.
In November let’s tell this Re-pube-lican shithead to pack his bags and pray for rain, which he actually did on the steps of the capitol in 2007. What a fucking twat.
Update on April 20th, 2010: The Senate Appropriations Committee restored funding to the Georgia Council for the Arts today in their version of the state budget. However, the Senate budget now has to be reconciled with the House. Just wanted to say that maybe I should stop being such a goddamn pessimist–all you modern dancers, skeleton costumes and screaming artists proved me wrong and I’m very glad. It’s not over yet though so let’s keep the fire lit under dat ass…
Photo Credit: Tim Song
There I stood…naked…alone…amidst a horde of bloodthirsty pillow-wielding maniacs.
I was surrounded by them. Through the dust I saw men, women, children, even the elderly—none of them were spared from fate. White feathers littered the ground and floated through the air, as if the stampeding crowd were calling out to them and urging them to dance.
Really though I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t naked; I just felt like I was standing there with my dick in my hand because I was probably one of the only assholes in Freedom Park on International Pillow Fight day without a pillow.
At first, I was hesitant to get too close for fear of being noticed as an imposter, promptly bludgeoned to death, and left on the ground with a mouthful of feathers. But as I edged ever so slowly, closer to the churning mob, a strange thing began to happen: people were smiling. And every once in a while one of these kind souls would notice me and say, “Don’t you have a pillow?” and I’d hang my head in shame and tell them no. Then they’d offer me their pillow, smile, and nod toward the battle.“Go ahead,” they’d say. “Go use that pillow to hit someone, because it can’t kill, because I want you to use it, to have fun,” and I did—boy did I ever use that pillow to have fun.
Isn’t it amazing how nice people can be about such a silly thing? Even if you go to the pillow fight without a pillow, people will make you feel more like a human being, and less like a turtle on his back with his dick out. That’s why I love Atlanta.
My friends Kombo Chapfika and Lear Bunda made a pretty fancy video, The Gettysburg Address 2010, all about the pillow fight in Freedom Park and the beautiful battle that was fought that day.
The Gettysburg Address 2010 from Lear Bunda on Vimeo.
Photo Credit: Screen grab from Kombo Chapfika & Lear Bunda
Furries can trace their origins back to a 1980s science fiction convention in which some supernerd started a discussion about anthropomorphic characters in sci-fi novels. Basically, furry fandom morphed into a beast, and now there’s over 2000 little critters who like to get dressed up and pretend they’re animals; many even believe they’re animals stuck inside human bodies.
In some ways though furries have caught a bad rap—their portrayal in mainstream media is less than flattering and much of the media focuses on the sexual aspects of the fandom; if anything, sex is just a very small part of the furry lifestyle.
On the first floor of the Hilton furries were everywhere—wolves, bears, chipmunks. That’s where I met Dax the Dancing Wolf, a friendly furry from California who said that when he was younger he was really into cartoons and furry fandom was just the next logical step.
“What’s being a furry all about?” I asked.
“It’s just a way to have fun and dress up. You don’t have to worry about what people think of you,” Dax said.
All of the furries there seemed to be having a great time and if they were doing any freaky shit it remained—to my chagrin—behind closed doors. All in all, the Atlanta Furry Weekend seemed to be a total success and as I left that night I thought to myself, “Who cares if some people like to get dressed up as animals, grind each other on the dance floor, and occasionally get their rocks off too…What’s the big fucking deal? I mean I’d rather see two cuddly furries getting dirty on the floor than a bunch of sweaty drunken meatheads and fat sorority girls.”
The bottom line is furries aren’t criminals, rapists or overzealous freaks—they’re quiet people in expensive, usually handmade costumes, and until they actually fuck an animal they’ve done nothing illegal.
All night long I kept hoping that a beautiful doe eyed princess would place her furry hand in mine and lead me to a dark corner and rock my world. But alas, it was not to be—maybe next time. In the meantime my friend April and I are about to get started on my outfit for the convention next year. I will be going as a white tiger named Bolo, which is short for Bolo Yeung, the martial arts expert who starred in many of Bruce Lee’s films, most notably Enter the Dragon. Nuff Said…
-bolo yeung
Top Photo Credit: Tim Song