Atlanta Highlights – 1st 24 Hours

The first obvious pleasure of my trip to Atlanta was the 25 minutes of turbulence flying down from NYC that required the flight attendants to sit.  That is always a reassuring moment for someone who dislikes flying.  “We know you are nervous, but don’t worry – you are not alone because the trained professionals are uncomfortable as well.”

Arriving in Atlanta’s airport, which is apparently in the city next to Atlanta because it is a 4 hour journey to baggage claim, which looks like something organized by someone from the 3rd World afflicted with ADD. 

Sort of what Atlanta's 6 flights per baggage claim terminal looks like.

Got Wendy’s as my first meal in Atlanta’s airport and was asked by the woman if I would like a Coke to drink with my meal.  If Coca Cola were any more insecure they’d be Kobe Bryant’s daughters after Game 7 in front of the national media (one last shot before the off season).  Coca Cola – you are one of the most well known brands in the world and Atlanta is your home.  We get it.  You don’t have to force it on us like some athlete whose glory days were in high school, but still forces you to watch highlight tapes and look at his trophies fifteen years later.  Perhaps managers of restaurants in Atlanta are required to bitch slap employees who don’t properly pimp out Coca Cola.

I took the MARTA train, presumably named after the little blond girl in School of Rock and had only an 10 minute walk to the hotel.  Unfortunately Atlanta is very warm and that ten minute walk of dragging a suitcase in blue jeans transformed me into Patrick Ewing at the foul line by the time I arrived at check-in.

This is roughly what I looked like in terms of perspiration.

The first show at The Punchline was interesting. The emcee was half Jamaican, half white, from Canada.  Obviously, the crowd might have sensed some redundancy when a half-Haitian, half-white guy with a French name took the stage fifteen minutes later.  But I felt like I had a good set (B+), until the headliner Dale Jones got on stage and absolutely murdered.  So for the rest of the night I just kept repeating my mantra for Southern shows, “At least you are not getting booed at The Stardome, at least you are not getting booed at The Stardome.”

My favorite joke of the night, for the sole reason that it was the first time I’d told it was, “I’m 31 and HIV-negative, which means I have only a year left til I break Magic Johnson’s record.”

After the show was done I watched the rest of the Lakers-Celtics game a few people from the club, the result of which obviously pleased me to no end.

Aiming for two A performances tonight.  8 pm and 10 pm tonight.

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