night-life shelf-life...

I was informed the other day that Tongue & Groove, the Buckhead nightclub which many would consider an Atlanta institution, closed its doors after some fifteen years of late night action. This specific club holds a special place in my heart as it was the site of my first foray into Atlanta nightlife (albeit illegally) and how those bouncers and bartenders believed my fifteen-year-old baby face to be of legal age is beyond me.
Given that the life-span of most nightspots is pegged by most to be between 2 and 3 years, the longevity that Tongue & Groove displayed is impressive.
This changing of the guard got me thinking about the 'science' of club success and what exactly is the ingredient that separates a flavor-of-the-month from a venerable hot-spot. Flashy decor, cutting-edge music and tasty libations are hardly revolutionary and stunts and novelties will only carry a place so far.
Restaurants often face a lot of the same challenges as nightclubs but hold the upper hand of having an actual tangible product to rely on. A club's product is nothing more substantial than image, and the hook of image is fleeting. Much like a wannabe celebrity milking their fifteen minutes, the only way to grab a long-term piece of the pie is through the art of such mainstays as Madonna and Cher: reinvention.
Yes, just when the crowd starts to cool, a slick image makeover or new gimmick can often snatch a floundering spot from the jaws of bankruptcy. The past her prime Tongue & Groove has latched onto this trend by opening a new location in the space that used to be Lotus Lounge and while I haven't had the opportunity to peruse the new digs yet, early reports have not been favorable.
I'm not one to let other opinions speak for my own, so hopefully I'll be able to drop in for a visit if only out of respect for the name. Much like the comeback tour of many a faded songstress, the ticket price is worth it for the nostalgia alone. Nostalgia counts for something right? If not where would Liza, Barbara, Bette and Celine be today?
So congratulations Tongue & Groove on over a decade and a half of holding your own in the Atlanta club scene and best luck with your current endeavor. Even should your new incarnation flop, your mark will have still been made...

Soundtrack: Barry Manilow- Copacabana

better living through chemistry...

After a recent trip to the pharmacy to pick up refills for my ever-growing collection of pharmaceuticals, I thought I would take a few minutes to go through the large brown paper shopping bag that my pill bottles call home to see if I could make some organizational sense of the mess.
Let me just say it has been years since I've taken this particular bag and emptied the whole of its contents for inspection. I might as well have opened up one of my old high school yearbooks. Being the pack rat that I am, not a bottle nor an expired pill has been thrown away since the late nineties and instead have collected in a mountain of translucent orange plastic that resides under the bathroom sink of wherever I'm currently inhabiting.
Gazing at this collection I found myself taking a surreal walk down memory lane, each prescription indicative of a specific era, a specific event. The glossy, bulbous, red migraine pills conjured images of Patty Duke and Sharon Tate chasing their 'dolls' with a tumbler of scotch while flailing around in their best sixtie's Pucci.
The little round Antabuse and Revia tablets, my first stab at sobriety, that led to many episodes of frat party bush vomiting. The tiny white Trazadones, which when mistaken for aspirin had caused a very hazy Spring Break day in a wheelchair at the Magic Kingdom.
I saw the empty prescriptions of painkillers from my broken ankle surgery. Lortab, Vicodin and Darvocet: the opium triplets. There was the laundry list of anti-depressants, some that worked and some that left me crumpled up in a ball whining and cramping like a pre-menstrual cheerleader.
And of course I couldn't forget the Buspar bars that my college friends had fought over like they were mother's milk or the Lithium that kept me balanced but moving with the swiftness of a pre-TrimSpa Anna Nicole. Good lord what a mess...
I take only two prescriptions now for my bipolar disorder, and I take them as prescribed, yet I still can't bring myself to throw away the remnants of days past. Those tiny capsules and tablets are little reminders of good times but more often bad times, my scars to look at and remember the insanity.
The only leftover from my severely manic days is my uncontrollable almost compulsive desire to spend money. FDA, you on that one? Meanwhile though, I'm mellowed now with the help of medication but by no means have I fallen into the anti-depressant duldroms. I've always been a little too much, now I'm just enough...

Soundtrack: Erin McKeown- Cosmopolitans