Earlier this week I received an email from Sean Bonner, the Metroblogging guru, who informed me that I had passed the necessary muster in order to start posting on his Atlanta site. Flattered though I may be, I can’t help but wonder if this is merely an indication as to how low Metroblogging’s standards go. In my mind there’s a stereotype that metroblogging bloggers should ring true to and in all honesty, I ain’t it. Am I hip? No. A jetsetter? No. Bohemian? Barely. I can find Reynoldstown on a map, but I no more belong there than I do on West Paces Ferry. Regardless, I’ve been given the go-ahead to spout off provided I obey the cardinal rule: Write about Atlanta. Here goes.

I have always viewed Atlanta as a place shrouded in intrigue, mystery and excitement. Growing up Georgian Atlanta was where I went to see musicals, visit The High or pick up my birth certificate. New experiences would introduce me to other parts of the city. I’d sit and stare out a salon window as my mother got her hair done at Ansley Mall. A teenage interest in astrology would take me to the new age shops in Little Five. As a student at Georgia State with a poor sense of direction I would oftentimes get lost and wind up in areas like Midtown, Downtown and other parts of the city my parents might have referred to simply as “lock your doors.” I tutored in Inman Park and Tuxedo Park and a real estate career took me everywhere from Highlands to the West End. I’ve seen the childhood neighborhoods of both Martin Luther King and Wayne Williams. With a strong flair for international travel, Hartsfield serves as my gateway to the rest of the planet.

The mention of certain events brings sharp images to my mind. Rodney King makes me think of what Underground looked like days after it was ramshackled. Jazz Fest makes me think of the skyline view from Piedmont Park. For hotdogs I think of the Varsity but for burgers I think of The Vortex. I like going to Woodruff Arts Center or the Lefont theaters. I miss the latex-clad dancers at The Chamber. I’ve seen San Francisco and New York, Paris and Prague, but Atlanta bustles in a way those cities do not. Even among other Southern cities like Birmingham or Nashville, Atlanta has its own unique flavor.

Speaking of flavor, I know there’s a great big world out there, but I’d like to buy the world a Coke.