Scene & Herd - My Ty
Skating through the season
Last Monday, one of Atlanta's up-and-coming public figures finally got to meet and hang out with the city's biggest sex symbol. You guessed it — Ty Pennington of the wildly popular show "Trading Spaces" finally got to meet me. Talk about luck. It may have been his last chance for a while since he's moving to Los Angeles in a few weeks to start a new TV show.
The premise for this meeting was an auction sponsored by Peach 94.9 and Kahlua. High bidders, all women, won a meet-and-greet dinner with the "Trading Spaces'" star at The Palm in Buckhead. I think that Ty must have been a little shy about meeting me because he pretty much ignored me while he busied himself chatting with the female auction winners. Sensing his bashfulness, I took the first step. I walked up and introduced myself. We exchanged small talk about music (he was curious to know if I saw The Strokes perform the night before) and he complimented my shoes. I tried to put him at ease by mentioning that I'd seen him before at The Earl, but pretty soon he was back talking to the women again. Boys are so cute when they're shy.
Ty keeping occupied with the auction winners gave me a chance to chat with his girlfriend/manager, Dre. She was very kind and didn't act at all jealous about the obvious special bond between Ty and me. She told me that the two of them were headed to L.A. soon where Ty would begin taping a new reality TV show — something about making people do disgusting or uncomfortable things for money.
With Pennington in L.A., I guess that just leaves me and Elton.
I also feel inclined to mention that Dre is a very, very, very beautiful woman. If she and Ty ever started a show called "Trading Spouses," I'd so audition.
Gastrointestinal Blues: As an entertainment columnist in a Southern city, I feel inclined, nay, duty bound, to mention Elvis Presley as often as possible. Unlike Chuck D., he does mean a shit to me. Several in fact. So even though I went to the Star Bar last Wednesday ostensibly to see musicians like Slim Chance (who played a good song that mentioned something about marshmallow valentines stuck on a shirt) and Blake from Young Antiques (great shoes, I'm serious), I inevitably spent the bulk of my Star Bar time in the Gracevault, an old bank vault turned shrine to the King. As far as I can tell, the shrine is exactly the same as it was last time I was there, right down to the gold toilet underneath a portrait of Gladys Love Presley, Elvis' mom. But just because it's the same, doesn't mean I shouldn't mention it again, right?
Love on the rocks: Last week I tried ice skating again for the first time in at least 15 years. The occasion was the ice rink that's part of Centennial Olympic Park's sprucing up for the holidays. It's a small rink and the ice is tended by a miniature version of the Zamboni machines you see at hockey games (unless you're a blind hockey fan, in which case you've probably heard them). I'm not sure what the name of the rink is. I think it might be called Your Own Risk because there was a sign in the rink that said "Skate At Your Own Risk."
Rental ice skates have improved quite a bit since last time I skated. They're like hockey skates now. Back in the day, the rentals were more like figure skates, complete with those little grindy things on the toe for all the pirouetting I liked to do. And, if I remember correctly, when I was a kid it was uphill both to and from the skate rink.
At least four things are the same though. First of all, the music hasn't changed. Walking into the facility, the first song I heard was Bon Jovi's hit, "Livin' on a Prayer," an '80s smash and a rather unnerving title to hear before gliding across slippery ice. Secondly, the prices aren't that much more than they used to be. Adults skate for $7 (just $5 if you bring your own skates and $14 if you're one of those freakish four-legged adults). Third, teenage boys still like to gather around the ice to point and laugh at people if they fall. Jerks. And finally, ice skating is a great place to take a date. If you like your date, you can hold hands and admire how her cheeks have gone all rosy from the cold. If you don't, you can "accidentally" fall into and knock down your date or, better yet, shove her over the wall.
Ngo Dinh Diem: After doing this job for a while, I figured out that writing about instrumental music shows is one of the hardest things to do. "And then they played the song in 3/4 time and there was this cool key change." The only reason I went to Apres Diem for its Wednesday night jazz show was because my intended event, karaoke at My Sister's Room didn't draw a crowd (it was the night before Thanksgiving). It's really too bad because putting "karaoke" and "lesbian bar" in the same sentence is pretty much a guaranteed juvenile chuckle.
Anyway, Apres Diem hosts jazz on Wednesdays. Musicians cluster into one of the restaurant's dark corners and take turns trading licks. So small is the space that one of the sax players would go in the next room while the other sax player would solo. I was told by an enthused onlooker that, even though the musicians play together each week, it's a loose conglomeration and they don't even have a name. I mean, the people have names, but the group doesn't.