Friday, August 03, 2007
The rather bleak photo above is my first Atlanta apartment. It was at the esteemed Buckhead Crossing on Sidney Marcus Boulevard. According to another former CNN VJ I know, the best part about Buckhead Crossing was that due to it's proximity to The Gold Club, plenty of strippers lived there. She claims they would all lounge around the pool all day, leaving a sheen of body oil on the water. I can't vouch for the veracity of this statement, as I never once used the pool. I spent all my freetime shopping at the Marshalls around the corner.
Also, if you click on this photo to enlarge it, you'll find a pair of purple men's underwear hanging from that diseased looking tree. Those belonged to the guy I was dating at the time. While he was in the shower, I saw those underpants crumpled in a corner; looking over-washed, ripped, saggy and well...purple. So I threw them off the balcony. They hung there for a couple of weeks.
I actually went looking for this photo after a discussion about Post Apartments. Of course if you click on that link, don't be fooled by the fancy apartments they show you first. To get the full effect of the Post Apartment era/style I'm talking about, head straight for Post Lindburgh, which is located directly behind the Lindburgh MARTA Sation. In addition, I'd like to point out the "Benefits of Living at Post", where you'll find that they are now offering "Urban Vegetable Gardens". (I don't know why, but that makes me laugh.)
While Buckhead Crossing isn't technically a jewel in the Post crown, it's pretty similar. And everyone I knew back then had some experience with the Post housing institution, whether you lived in one or attended some shitty VJ party at one of them. (And by "party" I mean a bag of picked over Doritos, a couple of cans of Bud and a few people standing around listening to the Dave Matthews Band.) They were cookie-cutter (they all had the same grey or beige carpet with the same stains in the same places) and impersonal enough that it might take you months to discover that a co-worker lived in the same complex.
Case in point:
Several years after moving out of Buckhead Crossing, I learned that a co-worker of mine used to cheat on his girlfriend in the apartment right next to mine. But the fact that I never saw him is nothing compared to the fact that I never heard the thumping, moaning sounds of illicit love through those shoddy walls...