Crib Notes

There is a legend in this town. Its name stretches across the collective Atlanta consciousness, clustered and manifested in the cognitive abyss of the mind of every girl and boy. It lines the seedy, pallid underbelly where it is the unquestioned master of all it sees, king of a realm of twisted morality.

It is the Clermont Lounge. And I can’t get in. Shit.

And if the fact that I’m not allowed in is a slap in the face, then the fact I can’t go to the Black Lips show at the Clermont Lounge Aug. 16 is a kick in the balls.

I don’t really care to say the number of times elders of the previous generations, mentors with infinite knowledge and rubber tongues, have informed me that I am so very fortunate to be the age I am, that they would give millions to simply live in my shoes for but a few days. Well, that’s all well and good, but after spending the summer in Atlanta interning at CL, bearing the sun on my Chicago shoulders and looking at music listings that simply make me cringe, I think that I’d give the same just to be a bit older.

Why, you may ask? Well, permit me to elaborate a bit: Being three months short of 21 is really, contrary to scientific fact, just somewhere between the seventh and eighth circles of hell, especially in Atlanta where 21 is the new 18.

Over the last few months I’ve perused the calendars of various sources and have found that there are upward of five shows that I will not/have not been able to attend because the owners of the venues will not allow individuals under 21 into their bars. Jackasses. I think it’s probably because at one point or another, they decided they wanted to lose a lot of business (along with their genitals). Or maybe it was around the point they failed to understand that some of the bands they were taking in were more popular with a 21 audience.

Oh, they may say, “Well, what about those kids that are going to try to drink at the bar, or pay old, fat guys not watching the band to buy them drinks?” Well, that is in fact a worthy complaint, no doubt an issue that may result in a devastating legal trauma.

But permit me to let you in on a secret: *SHUSH,* the people who want to drink, well, they’re going to drink one way or another (fake identifications, ahem). And the people you’re trying to keep out, well, they’re already in there. *SHUSH!*

The reason behind this outpouring is two-fold. First of all, it’s to get it off my chest before I turn 21, because much like Peter Pan and Neverland, once you leave, you don’t really give a shit anymore – so, what better time to write it than when I’m underage and irate, rather than jaded and senile/older. Second of all, well, damn it, I just missed Bishop Allen last Tuesday.

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Tags: Clermont-Lounge, Underage.