Crib Notes

Snoozin' and losin' in Henry County

It ain’t as easy as it looks. This foolishness can be taken for granted, these reckless acts overlooked. But these Dangerous Moves require a fierce cunning veiled under ignorant bliss. It’s craftiness, deceit, deception and stupidity all thrown into a high-ball glass.

Yes, I’m being a bit theatrical. It’s basically me and some other clowns getting wasted, and then me trying to piece together scribble on cocktail napkins to meet a loose deadline — all while trying to come off half-intelligent. The trickery is the difficult part. And mostly it seems all for naught.

Many of my ideas for Dangerous Moves sizzle like firecrackers when jotted down on paper, but a wrong turn here, a miscalculation there, and the sparkle never materializes — a fizzle of follies. In a one-word analogy, there have been some bombs. Between the alcohol-tasting and messy note-taking, most of these things never pan out. So if you thought the ones that made the cut were bad …

South Side Snooze

I’d been trying to put this one together for months. It seemed like an absolute homerun sitting pretty on the south side of town. I’ve got the local knowledge in my back pocket, I thought. With my home field advantage, there’s no way it could let me down.

Wrong.

Atlanta radio and redneck legend Southside Steve (The Regular Guy) opened up a bar/dance club/biker hang out in an old barbecue restaurant 20 minutes south of town. The plan was to take a brown person (Indian or Asian), a Jew, and a gay and make some Moves in McDonough. To blend with our surroundings, we’d stop at one of the nine Super Walmarts in Henry County to get fitted head-to-toe in knock-off Ed Hardy apparel. I figured it would be called “Ted Hardley” or something. We’d then hit the neighborhood bar and grill, Applebee’s, to get sauced up with the OTP retards before we tear the club up.

The brown guy backed out, I couldn’t find a gay ferocious enough to travel that far away from 10th and Piedmont, and was left with only Team Dangerous’ Hebrew hammer of an attorney, Panther Dan.

The hometown homerun basically amounted to Panther Dan and I pounding Jagerbombs in a half-empty, cheese ball dance club with a rough-and-tumble Mickey Mouse biker theme. After the $60 cab ride home, the joke was on us.

Although, highlights did include a DJ with about 20 CD books scattered about on a card table with a few of those NOW That’s What I Call Club Hits CDs containing just the right 10-year-old Ludacris song, followed by the appropriate Monster Ballads compilation CD.

And outside the entrance to the door there was a little policeman statue with cute little racist rules to the club. Rules like: “No Plain White Tees,” “No Sagging Pants,” and “Hats on Straight.”

And the cute little 1930s policeman is pointing his finger with a “No Colored People” sort of smirk. Adorable. Although, I don’t think any black folks would have felt too welcomed by the old state flag with the Confederate stars and bars greeting them just inside the door. Sonny lied! And so did Southside Steve, because this place kind of sucks.

But I must say, the good citizens of Henry County were quite friendly. I lost my wallet at one point and a birthday girl who’d just turned cougar wandered the bar until she found me. That’s pretty genuine. And I did get to do a shot with a real-life midget, or little person, or whatever. I was just glad to not be the shortest dude in the club.

Team Dangerous Diversity traveled below the perimeter to rattle the OTP cage and all I got was a hangover and $60 cab ride. White people, you really let me down.

Paranoid Activity

Right or wrong, stereotypes are funny. And black people in movie theaters are even funnier. It was near Halloween, and a scary movie in a scary place was the idea. South DeKalb Mall, here we come!

Jon Slay, Panther Dan and I pick a cool, fall night and head to a place we figure will be full of Friday night youth. We were sad to learn that the Magic Johnson Theater at Greenbriar had recently been shut down, so we go where we imagine the wild things are. We decide to take in Paranormal Activity at the Funplex 12 on Candler Road. We don’t have a curfew or a knife, this should get dangerous.

Wrong.

From the beginning, things were a horrible disaster. In Dangerous terms, things were going way too civilized. We pop into Fletcher’s for some pre-flick liquid courage. It’s a local bar attached to the mall that’s more or less a bunk Bennigan’s. The place is packed and we are immediately greeted and groped by a table of BBWs (Big Black Women). Slay turns to me while he’s in the grips of passion, “Somebody call Bravo, these are the Real Housewives of Atlanta.”

After a few friendly drinks and casual sports talk with the regulars at the bar, we bounce to the theater. I’m tingly with anticipation. A Friday night. A scary movie. Black people! I can’t help but picture the scene from Gremlins where they take over the theater, or the beginning of Scream 3. This should be bonkers, right?

Not even.

The Funplex wasn’t that busy, the scary movie we picked was indeed scary, but not that well attended. And sadly, everything was quite composed. Although during the previews one girl did walk in with a full plate of chicken wings — that’s something I’ve never witnessed. But I must say, I was easily the loudest, most obnoxious person in the room. Which can be said for most rooms I’m in.

The highlight of the evening came near the climax of the film when lil’ shawty behind me yells at the screen, “Awww HEELLLLL to da NAWWW!”

Black people, you really let me down. Aw, hell to the naw.

‘Do black people movies start on time?’

Stereotypes are funny. Just not necessarily correct. Or else they would be called truths. But they’re fun and yes, sometimes dangerous to play into. Straight into the teeth, these things aren’t as easy as they look. It has to teeter between self-indulgence and self-deprecation. Know the joke and let the joke be on you. I let myself down.

I’m self-indulgent and slightly delusional, but I’m having a blast. I’ve crowd-surfed a guerilla warehouse party, bar-crawled Buford Highway with coked up Mexicans, partied with a Smith, had Diplo play my 6 a.m. request at a house party, kissed Big Boi, thrown a hotel party at the Clermont, survived 20 Jagerbombs with a douche from “Real World,” and gotten high off ecstasy purchased from a total stranger. At a pizza place. On a Tuesday.

Yes, black people’s movies start on time, and I might be a dip shit, but I’m trying my best to go where the wild things are. Trying my best to live every week like Shark Week. Making Dangerous Moves. Aww, hell to the naw.

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Tags: Atlanta-nightlife, Dangerous Moves, Mayor of Ponce, South Dekalb Mall Funplex, Southside Steve, stereotypes, Team Dangerous, the Regular Guy.