Scene & Herd - Pirates of Duluth
Rice, Vice and sexy robots
It was probably my most derelict dereliction of duty since I started writing for CL. In last week’s Scene & Herd, I failed to cover Talk Like A Pirate Day (known to most land-dwellers as Sept. 19).
Avast, I’m making it up to ye now by reporting on me Sun., Sept. 26, sail to treacherous Gwinnettia for an afternoon at Pirate’s Cove, the state’s premier, and probably only, pirate-themed miniature golf course.
The cove itself is a small, man-made body of dyed-green water between Gwinnett Place mall and I-85. Its entrance is marked clearly by a smiling pirate. Within the cove sits a mighty pirate’s ship — the only pirate’s ship I’ve even seen that’s equipped with a Dish Network satellite receiver on its upper deck.
Below deck, the ship’s crew, who unfortunately neither dress nor talk like pirates, give out putters and golf balls to customers after collecting the admission charge — I mean admission booty. The cove has two courses, the Original Captain Kidd and the Blackbeard. Based on the booty-taker’s recommendation, my crew and I tried our luck with Blackbeard. Oh, and just so you know, Pirate’s Cove is not a restricted course. One of the members of me crew is Jewish.
The course peaks pretty early. The first nine holes are a lot harder than the last nine. One of me crew wondered aloud if someone cut the budget midway through construction. The entertainment is nevertheless well paced. Wherever you go, you’re within earshot of a radio station playing poppy reggae such as Peter Tosh’s cover of “Johnny B. Goode.” Around hole 14 or so, golfers on Blackbeard encounter the water-borne skeleton called One-Eyed Pete (not to be confused with Peg Leg Pete, whose grave decorates the Cove’s Captain Kidd course). In an effort to fight off “scurvy lovers,” Pete “fires cannonballs” that “land” near golfers and make a big splash. Like many violent conflicts, the root of Pete’s dispute with the scurvy lovers is money. Throughout his violent tirade, he keeps yelling, “You’ll never get me gold!”
No bull: There’s no Creative Loafing award for Best Press Release, but if there was such an award, I’d nominate the press release I recently received from the American Angus Association titled “Local Angus Breeder Recognized for Owning Bulls in 2004 Fall Sire Evaluation Report.” How I got on their mailing list, I don’t know. But because I am, I now know that Atlanta-area Twin Hills Farm owns “one bull” listed in the 2004 Fall Sire Evaluation Report. It’s also noteworthy as the only press release I’ve ever received that includes the phrase “scrotal circumference.”
Fembots, take note: On Saturday night, me, myself and I went to the Earl for Creative Loafing’s Best of Atlanta Concert. There wasn’t a huge crowd on hand (or off-hand), which is unfortunate because it was an excellent show. The highlight for me was I Almost Saw God In The Metro, perhaps because they’re the only band I watched all the way through. The three-man band mixes guitar and drums with drum machines, keyboards, a theremin, and lyrics centered around weird declarative statements to create the sort of music that hot, fashion-conscious robot chicks would really be into if there was such a thing as hot, fashion-conscious robot chicks. The song that’s been stuck in my head for the past few days is called “No One Says Super Anymore.” It’s based on a line of dialogue from the film Saturday Night Fever. I only know where the line comes from because the song samples the movie.
Tokyo storm warning: Last weekend, Stone Mountain hosted JapanFest 2004, a celebration of Japanese music, crafts, gadgetry, traditions and food. I arrived early Saturday afternoon not having eaten breakfast, so after paying I immediately headed for the food. The tofu and fish cakes from Umezono/Tomato were super delicious and included the hottest wasabi I’ve ever tasted. If you saw a bald man in a green T-shirt sitting in front of the taiko drummers with tears in his eyes, that was me and my wasabi.
After eating, crying and listening to drumming, I walked around to look at some of the booths. The toy booths had some of the best stuff, including fantastic masks and wind-up walking sushi. That area was really crowded, though, so instead of lingering, I walked on until I eventually came across the gadget of the millennium. It’s called the Washlet. It’s manufactured by a company called Toto. The Washlet is a computerized toilet seat with a built-in heater, deodorizer and washer and dryer. The washer doesn’t wash and dry the toilet, mind you. It washes the person sitting on the seat. “So it’s got a built-in bidet?” I asked the Japanese Toto rep. “Yes, only it’s not just for women,” he replied. Figure that out.
Crockett and Tubbs: On Saturday night, the artists in the B-Complex in southwest Atlanta threw a party, open to the public, dedicated to the pursuit of vices. Appropriately, the event was called Vice.
Decorating the room were dozens of theme-appropriate paintings, photos and sculptures. The most popular vice themes depicted in the art were sexual. My favorite was Lauren Hudson’s nude photo of a woman with a bar code on the small of her back titled “Buy Sexual.” I’m a sucker for puns, sorry.
Party activities included strip poker (confined to a tent, for privacy) and sex-themed carnival games such as Penis Toss and the Wheel of Fetish. I nearly earned myself a spank with my Wheel of Fetish spin, but instead had to settle for prize tickets. I only earned enough for a lollipop.