Goettee has two main styles, relatively straightforward landscapes and cactus pictures, and the other, fun loving western pop art pieces that usually have clever puns for titles. He describes his acrylic canvases as “southwestern with a salted rim and a twist of lime.”

When asked what has been the most help in establishing his new career direction, Goettee had an interesting answer, “My favorite book in the whole world, Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway, by Susan Jeffers. I just said I’m going to do this. My whole life there has been some good excuse not to do this and, this time, I’m just going to ignore them. That’s how people do it. They just ignore the reasons they shouldn’t and they dive in.”

Two years ago Goettee was faced with losing his graphic design income. He had some money saved up and decided it was time to make the leap and not look for another client. He did have some passed gallery experience but that was many years ago.

Goettee says his artistic ability was apparent from an early age but that it was never taken seriously. Even when a high school art teacher saw his work and approached him about taking classes, he didn’t accept the offer because “art” just wasn’t worth spending time on.

He pursued a college degree in Advertising, only to discover that it was far more about psychology and business than presentation. He said even though he new early that it was a mistake, he couldn’t quit the program without risking being drafted into the Vietnam war.

After he graduated, Goettee joined the navy anyway. During that time, some friends saw some of his paintings and told him he was wasting his life if he didn’t seriously pursue his artwork. After he was discharged, he went back to school on a GI scholarship and studied graphic design, while also taking as many fine art classes as he could.

After graduating he went to work for a newspaper, but continued to paint and a friend introduced him to the owners of Stanley and Shenck gallery, who offered him his first show. His first piece sold to the Columbia Museum of Art but “Even with that I didn’t have the nerve to leave the day job and pursue art full time,” Goettee said.

Now that he has, Goettee once again followed a friend’s recommendation which led him to the Taylor Kinzel Gallery in Roswell. Networking and establishing relationships with the people that can make good suggestions and offer advice have been a key aspect of Goettee’s path to success. He also made sure he had press kits with business cards, postcards, and CDs of his work to pass out to gallery owners or prospective buyers.

Goettee’s sales are expanding rapidly. He has been offered a show at another small gallery in Decatur and has had a piece accepted for the Biennale Show at the Booth Western Art Museum in Cartersville, GA. He says his next intuitive direction is finding a gallery in Austin, Texas. “In her book Jeffers says that you don’t have to know every step to take towards a goal. Those things will present themselves as you need them. No matter what you do you will be afraid so would rather be afraid and not have what you want, or do it in spite of  the fear and possibly succeed.” Said Goettee, “Every time I’ve lost my nerve I remember that and move forward with it.”

He does admit that when he began learning how to hammer iron and steel into objects of beauty and purpose, that the craft was almost dead. That was about 40 years ago and he and a handful of other young men learned all they could from the few remaining men who still carried on the craft. They started the Artist-Blacksmith’s Association of North America and the 1970’s brought a resurgence in popularity for all the crafts.

People all over the U.S. were suddenly interested in everything handmade and folksy. Bailey got a good start for himself in those years but he credits the Christian Brothers Monastic Order and his college art teacher, along with a working class upbringing for giving him a level head and practical approach to living and his craft.

Between high school and college, Bailey spent two years as a Christian Brothers novice. He thought he might want to become a monk. Fortunately for him, he says the Christian Brothers were more interested in helping others be the best people they could be, not just indoctrinating them into a particular dogma. His advisor at the monastery pointed out to him that he was not happy with the monastic life, and suggested that he should be an artist instead.

Bailey studied jewelry making and partly put himself through school making simple wedding rings. A chance trip to see a blacksmithing workshop by Alex W. Bealer inspired a change in mediums and the discovery of a vocation. He would end up traveling to Aachen, Germany to do graduate work. His teacher in Germany, Frits Ulrich, told him to always use the techniques he enjoyed working with and that he would always have a market if he made things “that ladies can understand.”

The reality is that blacksmithing is hot dirty work. One side of the tractor barn is covered with wide metal doors that roll up, while the other is punctuated with large windows. Even with occasional welcome breezes blowing through and a large fan stirring the air, when the forge, against one wall, is burning the space quickly heats up to a stifling temperature.

A large power hammer dominates the middle of the room. The motor bounces a large steel head onto a matching anvil reducing the equivalent of dozens of hammer blows to a few taps. Protective earmuffs are necessary, though, to dampen the noise. Bailey, a fairly slim man, now 65 years old, says that he could have never entered the profession without the innovation of the power hammer and treadle hammer. In the old days only barrel-chested men with considerable upper body strength had the power and stamina to swing a hammer all day by hand and beat the barely malleable metal into shape.

Steel rods and bars are heated in a pile of burning coke up to several thousand degrees Fahrenheit. At that temperature the metal can be worked, but still has the consistency of cold taffy. Bailey makes the process look deceptively simple. Applying well-placed blows with selections of the dozens of hammers and chisels hanging on the walls, alternating with return trips to the forge for reheating, the hot metal is quickly transformed into any shape desired.

Bailey has developed his own style of rustically formed natural elements: vegetation, birds, frogs, turtles, etc. Bailey searches for the balance where shapes are readily identifiable and his creatures take on a certain personality, while never losing the rough-hewn hammer marked character of beaten metal.

He is more than willing to turn his hand to whatever his clients desire, from doorknobs and kitchen implements to furniture, gates, and fences. These days the folk arts are not as popular as they were 40 years ago, so the gates and fences make up a large part of his business because those are things that people still expect to see made from wrought iron.

He does refuse to do scroll work, though. His gates and fences are delicate networks of branches, or reeds and grasses, scattered with charming carefully crafted examples of wildlife. He says that there are thick catalogues today with hundreds of mass produced decorative elements available for lazy metalworkers but his are made individually by hand.

Unfortunately, many craftsmen do little actual forging themselves and mostly just weld together these commercial pieces. Bailey says that each piece will almost unavoidably turn out slightly different when made by hand and that should be considered part of the charm. If you examine a piece and any repeated elements are exactly the same it’s a telltale sign of prefab work.

Asked about the future of his craft, Bailey seems stoically philosophical. He believes he came along near the end of the time when it was realistic for a working class kid with no resources to put himself through school and graduate with no debts. He thinks that, today, only upper class kids have the luxury of studying the arts and few of them are interested in a difficult craft with little chance of any great profit, like Blacksmithing.

Perhaps, though, as Bailey and his friends did in the late 60’s, another generation will rediscover the beauty, and yes, romance, of the alchemical craft of bringing metal, hammer, and the heat of the forge together, blessing it with sweat from a Master’s brow, and rendering objects of grace and artistry to be admired for generations to come.

Ivan Bailey’s work is on view at the Rose Squared Gallery in Decatur. He also welcomes visitors to his home and smithy in Monticello, GA. Call 404.874.7674 for an appointment or visit his website at http://artmetal-ivanbailey.com.

Robbie, a hapless gay man and his alleged girlfriend, Lulu, are owned by a bisexual Master, Mark, whose drug addiction has driven him to the edge of sanity and into rehab. The lack of Mark’s financial support drives Robbie and Lulu into the clutches of Brian, a psychotic drug dealer, while Mark turns to Gary, an under age rent boy for sexual relief without co-dependent emotional attachment.

The play is constructed of a series of short scenes that remind one of some perverse blend of Haiku poetry, Sufi ­­­­proverbs, and epigrams on a bathroom wall. While there is a plot, the play is not driven by the unfolding action, as much as by brief spotlights thrown onto symbolic, and often enigmatic, significant moments in their intertwining lives.

Director Dewayne Morgan says, “Its fun, it’s shocking, but it also makes you think. It’s the first play I’ve done in a long time that leaves you walking away thinking ‘What just happened?’”

The first half drags a bit, mostly because the viewer is thrown into the action with little understanding of who these people are and what is happening. The very short scenes are disconcerting at first, but quickly develop their own rhythm as the characters are revealed. In the second half, the scenes seem to stretch out longer, even as the pace of the plot speeds up.

These characters exist in a desperate purgatory where money and sex are virtually interchangeable exchanges of human contact and love is, by turns, desired and feared, but seemingly always out of reach. Near the end of the play Brian screams “Civilization is money! Money is civilization!” For these characters, life is a continual process of consuming, and being consumed by, those around them.

The cast is excellent; they bring believable life to a bizarre world that could easily slip into ludicrous mayhem. They also consistently maintain credible British accents throughout the play. The accents seem unnecessary as the action could take place almost anywhere but Morgan pointed out that there is a lot of British slang that would be out of place without a British context.

Mark Ravenhill is one of the leading playwrights in what is known as the “In-Yer-Face” theater movement of Britain from the 1990’s. This style of theater is known for its consciously shocking, emotionally aggressive presentation. Shopping and Fucking was Ravenhill’s first full-length play, first produced in 1996, and was an immediate hit. The emotional dysfunctions of its characters, their hopeless lives, and the play’s sharp social critique of materialism and superficiality, are all hallmarks of the In-Yer- Face philosophy.

The play obviously contains bawdy language. There is also drug use, nudity, and simulated sex acts that include the semi-rape of a 14-year-old boy. The first scene opens with Mark vomiting on the stage. It is not a show for the easily offended, or politically correct, however, the prurient elements in the plot are necessary and justified in telling the story.

I left the theater both feeling like I needed a hot shower with a stiff bristle brush, but also wanting to see it several more times to pick up more of the subtle philosophical nuances that flash past as Ravenhill’s script unfolds in a kaleidoscopic swirl of social symbols sliding against each other like cards in the hands of a Blackjack dealer.

The evening began with a local down pour that was tame compared to the fierce thunderstorms raging across the city earlier in the afternoon. There were quite a few empty seats at Chastain, though, and one can only wonder how many people were kept away by the weather. However, the rain stopped and, just before the Dap Kings came out, a perfect rainbow arched over the band shell for about 5 minutes, seemingly foretelling a night of excellent music.

The first half of Cyndi’s portion of the concert was devoted to half a dozen numbers from her new album Memphis Blues, which was going into its seventh straight week at the top of the Billboard Blues Chart. While this music is a sharp break in genres from her earlier work, Memphis Blues showcases the strength of Cyndi’s voice in a way that her earlier releases did not, and reveals her personal inspiration going all the way back to hits like “Time After Time” and “Girls Just Want To Have Fun.”

There was certainly clapping going on but the audience was noticeably sedate. Comments overheard after the concert was finished indicated that many of her fans, having not kept a close watch on her career lately were unaware of her new album. As good as her performance on the album is, blues is a long way from the Techno Pop that made her famous.

A perennial question for musicians whose careers span decades is how to balance personal artistic growth with the desires of fans that are happy just to hear their old favorites. That question becomes even more acute for a singer like Cyndi, who is more than capable of crossing genres and applying her talents to a wide variety of subjects.

Much of the audience literally leapt to their feet when Cyndi finally broke into “Money Changes Everything,” putting them back on familiar ground. There was, perhaps, an unintended irony in that choice. While Memphis Blues may be quite successful and gain Cyndi a whole new group of fans, it was clear that her hits from the 80s were what brought in the money for the evening’s tickets.

For Cyndi’s second number, “Girl’s Just Want to Have Fun,” Sharon Jones, who had joined her earlier in the first half for a duet of “Rollin and Tumblin,” came back out. While Cyndi has always performed solo, if she ever wanted a duet partner, Sharon Jones should be at the top of her list. The two women’s voices compliment each other beautifully and the energy they have on stage together is palpable and infectious.

Sharon left the stage, as Cyndi launched into “Time after Time” and any disappointment the audience had over the first half of show was forgotten. After almost 30 years on stage, her voice is as clear and soulful as ever. You could close your eyes and it was 1984, again.

After a rendition of “She Bop,” Cyndi returned to the blues with a beautiful performance of “Mother Earth.” Of course, the concert ended with “True Colors” and the audience sang along. If she hadn’t sung it, the audience might well have rushed the stage to keep her from leaving until she did.

There were no encores and the crowd wandered into the night, under a starry sky, tired and mostly satisfied. While some people muttered complaints, this often unexpected new side to Cyndi’s talent left others impressed. I think her fans would be unanimous in wanting her to do whatever is necessary to stay committed to the passion and sincerity that has radiated from everything she sings, for the past three decades. While I’ll eagerly anticipate almost anything Cyndi chooses to record next, I must confess, I wont be disappointed if she returns to her Pop roots, either.

A number of prominent Blues artists join her on the album including Alan Toussaint and Charlie Musselwhite. “This is the album I’ve wanted to make for years,” Cyndi says, “All of these beautiful songs, and all of the great players on the album, were carefully chosen because I’ve admired them my entire life.”

While rowdy numbers like “Early in the Morning” and “Don’t Cry No More” will set your feet to tapping, the wailing horns and swaying rhythm of “Romance in the Dark” makes a body beg for another body to slow dance close to and that hunger is about as “blue” as the Blues can get.

There has been a subtle strain of Blues influence running through much of Cyndi’s work. While this is the first time she has made a traditional Blues album, she has broken away from her Techno-pop roots with several recent albums, like her 2005 album, The Body Acoustic, in which she re recorded many of her past hit songs with new, striped down, purely acoustic instrumentation.

Cyndi has an incredible voice that has not been displayed in its full splendor by her pop music efforts, as noteworthy and entertaining as those are. Her 2003 album, At Last, featured a selection of 20^th Century classics. Her performance of La Vie En Rose, on that album, stands proud beside Edith Piaf’s quintessential rendition of the song. Memphis Blues continues that trend by revealing yet another facet of Cyndi’s talent.

While I look forward to more original pop music in the vein of Sisters of Avalon, 2003, Memphis Blues deserves to be a welcome addition to any collection of Cyndi’s works, as well as the Blues genre, as a whole, which she honors with style and sincerity.

While the quality of Cyndi’s music is first rate, she has also been a good friend and ardent supporter of the LGBT Community. Her True Colors Foundation and the Give A Damn Campaign have earned her the 2010 Inspiration Award from the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN), as well as honors from Human Rights Campaign (HRC), and Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG).

Cyndi Lauper’s Memphis Blues Tour, Cyndi Lauper with Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings, will be coming to the Chastain Park Amphitheater on Friday, Aug 6, 2010 at 8:00 PM. Advance tickets available through TicketMaster.

The novel was published in 1947, as a near future senario and the movie is set in a current near future of 2016. The central plot concerns the building and running of a rail road and the producers cleverly make that relevant by setting gas prices at $37 a gallon, thus making railroad transportation essential to the national economy. Never mind that the railroad heiress, Dagny Taggart rides everywhere in the back of a stretch limousine. Maybe it’s a hybrid limo.

The real core of the novel is the mystery of disappearing corporate titans. It seems the “good men” are disappearing one after another, while leaving cryptic notes indicating that it was a conscious decision on their part to do so. Then there is that odd phrase that keeps popping up, “Who is John Galt?” There is no reason to spoil the fun, if you can call this movie fun, by answering that question here.

Ayn Rand was born in St. Petersburg, Russia in 1905. During the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 her fathers Pharmacy business was nationalized, leading to great hardship for the family. During her college years she witnessed the oppression of intellectual life under the socialist state and upon graduation she got permission to visit relatives in the United States and fled the USSR, never to return.

Her experiences with communism form the bitter foundation of her writing and thus the movie. She called her personal philosophy Objectivism. It can be summed up as “Making money is good and poor people are evil parasites.” The plot of Atlas shrugged concerns the struggles of noble Titans of Industry trying to make America successful in spite of the efforts of “looters” (i.e. the poor, government regulators, Unions, etc.) to steal their money and ideas and oppress them into a common level of mediocrity.

As far as judging Ayn Rand, it is only fair to look at her work and philosophy in its own time. She was forming her ideas just after World War 2. European industry was decimated and the Untied States as the only intact developed nation was supplying the world everything. Our economy was growing at an astonishing pace and building the largest middle class in human history as a result.

Difficult questions about dangerous products, pollution and environmental degradation were largely beyond imagining. New advances in technology were happening every year, if not every month. The future was a breath taking sight. The visionary corporate leaders in their sharply pressed gray flannel suits were giants in the mind of the masses. Over all of this optimism and goodness hung the specter of communism plotting to take it all away and replace it with the dull plodding life of hunger and want, behind the iron curtain.

The problem with Atlas shrugged is that Rand’s fears and beliefs have not worn well over time. Recent events have tarnished, even corroded, the shining image of the Industrialists. We no longer look at the Fortune 500 as a cadre of Horns of Plenty pouring out largess from sea to shining sea. They are more commonly rapacious beasts raping the land, pouring pollution into our waterways and crushing local communities under their big box monotony.

In the world of Atlas Shrugged, all the Industrialist want is enough room to be Great and run their businesses Well, without interference from looters. John Rearden of Rearden Steal is told that he can’t make his new metal alloy because it’s too much better than the regular steel other companies make. The central problem with the movie is that it’s difficult to see anyone having a problem with that.

This scenario barely holds up as a straw man to knock down for the sake of ideological grandstanding. As the premise for a dramatic movie plot it comes across as irritating. It leaves the characters with unbelievable lines that the actors struggle, and often fail, to say with conviction. While the soaring aerial shots of the Colorado wilderness are breath taking, and the over all art direction is impeccable, I don’t think the producer needs to worry about looters complaining that his movie is too good to compete with others at the cinema.

 I saw it last week and was not impressed. I do feel that I should hold my disappointment at arms length. There were several mitigating factors. One was my, perhaps, too enthusiastic expectation, built up over so many months. The other was the extraneous, studio mandated 3D effect, which was superfluous at best.

 I thought Avatar was ground breaking and I said as much. “Alice” proves that 3D is not an automatic enhancement to every film. The 3D effects in Avatar brought that world to life, with vertigo inducing reality. The same effects in “Alice” reminded me of those tacky plastic coated post cards from a Florida souvenir shop. Part of the problem may have been that Avatar was conceived from the start as a 3D project, while “Alice” was morphed for the sake of marketing. Another difference was that Avatar presented a realistic world, while the art direction of “Alice” was obviously cartoonish.

 I don’t fault Tim Burton’s aesthetic choices in his design of Wonderland. It is an imaginary place already fully rendered in our collective mind’s eye. Burton was somewhat constrained by our cultural expectations of what it would look like. In certain instances, the playing card soldiers, the Cheshire Cat, or the Hatter’s make up, his rendering of these classic images was brilliant. However, there is no particular point in trying to make something that is patently not real, look real by forcing false depth with a pair of 3D glasses.

 While I don’t hold the 3D effects against Burton, and the movie is available in traditional format, he is responsible for the plot. Setting “Alice” in a future 10 years beyond that of the books could have been a clever plot device opening up any number of possibilities. Unfortunately, I felt that, had I tried, I could have accurately guessed most of the plot after the first ten minutes. Perhaps Burton felt trapped by the conventions of such a well known story, or maybe he was so impressed with Lewis Carol’s visual vocabulary that he didn’t think he needed to add more, but the film was lacking in the wonderful quirky perspective of Edward Scissor Hands, or the Nightmare Before Christmas.

 Alice makes an obligatory tour of all the expected Wonderland plot points like a tourist on a three day package trip to Paris. The movie ends with a historically dissonant, and actually rather banal, note of feminist emancipation. I have no problem with women’s equality, but I was disappointed with Burton’s shopworn retreat into such an obvious conclusion.

 Offering the weakest performance, Anne Hathaway, as the White Queen, was not bad, merely lackluster. To give her some slack, it is much easier to play an off the chain mad woman, or the surreal creatures of wonderland, than a sickeningly sweet good girl. I’m not certain whether she felt limited by her script, or just suffered a lack of vision in the role. The rest of the cast was excellent, though. There is much to like about “Alice In Wonderland.” I’ll probably get “Alice” on video simply for the wonderful art direction. It is worth seeing on a big screen, as well. However, it’s certainly not Tim Burton’s best effort and I don’t recommend paying extra for the 3D glasses this time.

 I’m surprised I had never heard of the Booth. It is a beautiful light airy modern building with an extensive collection of art with an Old West/Cowboy theme. The collection includes numerous life sized bronze statues, and art dating from the early 1800’s to the present. They have a number of significant artist represented, among them Albert Bierstadt and several Andy Warhol screen prints. Other exhibits include a gallery of movie posters and paintings done as book covers with the final print versions along side them and a Hall of Presidents with photographs and signatures of each of the Presidents of the United States from George Washington to George Bush. President Obamma is included in the display but not with a signature, yet.

 The museum admission is free the first Thursday of every month from 4-7p.m. we arrived several hours early because I had not been to Catersville since I was a child and wanted to look around. They have a wonderfully preserved historic district, with the museum off to one side. Historic Cartersville is a gracious small southern town of red brick buildings. A gold domed court house shines proudly on a hill with the shops clustered on several streets on both sides of the railroad tracks. Do watch for trains as the tracks are still in use. A freight train came through while we were there. There is a generous parking lot along the railroad tracks although it is still off season and I’m sure it fills up quick on Saturday afternoons in good weather.

 I have to say I have rarely ever met so many friendly people in one place. It was a beautiful early spring day with just a slight nip in the air and we virtually had the town to ourselves. Everywhere we went we were met with genuine smiles and a willingness to chat. Soon after we arrived, we met the gentleman who owns the resale clothing shop, on the side walk. He begged up to come in but we said we wanted lunch first. He helpfully pointed us towards the Swheat Market, a natural food café.

Th swheat Market is in a corner building and seems to have been made by knocking at least two original spaces together; perhaps three. It has high ceilings wood floors and loads of vintage charm. They have a menu consisting mostly of sandwiches and sides. I had the daily special- grilled country ham, apples, and cheddar cheese with honey mustard sauce. It was made with bakery white bread and generous fillings, grilled buttery golden brown. I haven’t had any pannini in town that was as good and considered $5.99 to be more than a reasonable price. The iced tea was pleasantly sweet without being syrup and served from an urn on a side board. JR had grilled Havarti cheese with fresh basil garlic dressing and said he would be making it at home in the future. He also ordered fries and got a huge mound of peals-on potatoes sliced shoe string thin and fried to crispy goodness. I stole quite a few and almost wished I had ordered my own.

 After lunch we walked around, and in and out of a number of antique stores mostly window shopping. The owners were unfailingly charming and hospitable. We stopped by the Akar Bakery for a little dessert. JR couldn’t resist the sugar cookie bears with rainbow icing, which he dubbed Gay Pride bears. A photo of the tray full now serves as wallpaper on his I-phone.  I got a few Greek wedding cookies which I always have a weakness for. Fifty cents a piece for them was not a great deal but they were worth it- crumbly, nutty, buttery good perfection, generously dusted with powdered sugar but with little excess to ruin my shirt front.

 I was trying not to spend much money, thus, going on “free day” at the museum, but temptation got the best of me. I picked up a set of three vintage copper measuring scoops with brass handles and a brass rack to hang them on at B & B Anitques. I had been looking for scoops for ages and $10 was a steal. Considering the touristy nature of the area, the antique shops have very fair prices. JR and I felt like we should stop by the clothing shop and thank the owner for his lunch recommendation. His shop is a mix of second hand clothes on consignment and low end bric-brac. He had a pair of Ralph Lauren Polo pants in gray wool for $11, another good buy, but I talked myself out of it.

 The Etowah Valley Historical Society operates a small museum in one store front. The gift shop is very nice but we didn’t feel like spending $3 admission to see what seemed to be a small, if very nicely displayed collection. They are supposed to move into the old courthouse soon and perhaps will have a larger display.

 We arrived at the museum a little before four, but the lady at the desk offered to let us go in early. She recommended we watch the video presentation that plays every fifteen minutes. We looked around the gift shop while waiting for the next show. It was a typical museum gift shop but certainly equal in quality to any other. The movie clip was certainly worth watching.

 The Booth Western Art Museum, founded in 2003, is the second largest museum in Georgia. It is named after Sam Booth, on behalf of an anonymous family of western art collectors who wished to share their collection with the public. The 120,000 square foot space was designed by Frank Bergman who describes it as a modern pueblo, constructed of Bulgarian limestone. It is an impressive, yet thoroughly pleasant setting for the collection it houses. The Booth is also an Affiliate of the Smithsonian Institution, an honor it certainly deserves.

 In addition to the regular galleries, the museum also has a Sagebrush children’s gallery which was closed when we were there. Children can also ask for a “Saddle Bag” full of interactive games that help explain the exhibits and make the tour more interesting for them. The museum hosts a full calendar of special events, lectures, and guests that can be found on their website.

 JR and I headed back south toward town very satisfied by a wonderfully entertaining afternoon. There are many other things to do in the area- the Tellus Science museum, Barnsley Gardens, the Etowah Indian Mounds, and Rose Lawn House Museum, among others. Just an hour north of Atlanta, off of I 75, Cartersville is absolutely worth a visit…or two, or three.

While this was the perfect excursion and exactly the excuse for a drive in the country with the sunroof open, I approached it with a bit of trepidation. Your Sophisticate is many things, but a man with willpower is not one of them. I was not sure my small bank balance could stand the temptation of “over 500 dealers” at “Georgia’s largest, and the World’s nicest, Flea Market.” Visions of antiques, collectables, and irresistible pieces of trivia and bric-brac filled my head as the car zoomed into north Georgia.

Pulling into the parking lot, I found a space well positioned not too far from the entrance and took it. As I got out of the car, I had my first inkling that this was not my grandmother’s flea market. On the grass island in front of me stood a coral of temporary metal fencing holding a pair of Shetland ponies “for sale.” Next to them, under a canopy, were six other ponies tethered to metal poles, in a living Merry-go-Round.

There used to be one of those at Six Flags Over Georgia, when I was a kid, called the Spinning Jenny. This one didn’t have a name, just a simple sign saying rides were four dollars. The smiles and giggles radiating from the six kids riding on ponies slowly plodding around the ring seemed to indicate that their parents money was well spent. That is, until the ride was over and they began the inevitable, “Can we take one home Daddy? Huh?! Huh?! He can eat the grass in the back yard, Daddy! You know you hate to cut it.”

I didn’t wait around for that. The large red barn like entrance beckoned. I did notice a sign explaining that cars for sale should be placed in the car sales lot, with space rental payable at the front office. The front entrance appeared much like any large flea market with a makeshift lobby area and isles leading off in several directions. I headed right, and the first vendor I came to was selling fresh cooked mini doughnuts, with a choice of powdered sugar, cinnamon and table sugar, or chocolate.

I fell in love with these doughnuts in Central New York, where every flea market, farmers market, or similar occasion always has a doughnut booth. Here a double handful of at least a dozen doughnuts, I was too busy eating them to count, was a reasonable $2.50. They were hot out of the fryer and just greasy enough to be a guilty pleasure. If only the rest of the flea market could have lived up to their exquisite, if low brow, perfection.

Being truly sophisticated also means being able to enjoy the pleasures of going slumming on occasion. A person who is entirely unable to breath outside of the rarified ozone of high culture is just a mere snob. I even wore blue jeans. Ok, they were black denim, but they were jeans. It was a good thing, too. I was nearly over dressed.

There are times when one finds an appreciation of common pleasure, and others when one remembers why one lives in a metropolitan city and rarely watches network TV. I’m sure there were 500 vendors. I didn’t count them. There were lots of them. High ceilinged, low slung, wing after aluminum shed wing stretched out in all directions from the main building. No antiques. No collectables to speak of, although I must have missed a dealer somewhere with “limited edition Dale Ernhardt memorabilia. No beguiling bits of vintage flotsam begging for a new home. Pendergrass is capitalistic materialism gone horribly wrong.

I can’t paint a full picture without saying that the patrons were about 40% redneck, 40% Mexican immigrants, and perhaps 20% tourists from the city. This wasn’t a problem but the decidedly Latin flavor did add to the over all surreal experience. Pendergrass isn’t a flea market as much as the very lowest rung of low rent shopping malls. If it’s cheaply made, tacky looking, and, generally, cheap to buy, someone sells it here.

The amazing thing about Pendergrass is that you can get anything. They have cowboy boots, faux designer jeans, and wedding dresses. There is jewelry, fresh produce, and any instrument you need to play in a Mariachi band. You can get your hair cut, your eyebrows threaded, and your fortune told (seriously!) You can pick up a washing machine, produce for dinner, and a new sofa. Under an out door awning at the end of one long barn, they sell a dozen different breeds of puppy mill dogs, hamsters, and live birds. I don’t think I ever even saw a live quail before that moment and I certainly couldn’t have told someone where to buy a live turkey. They had toms and hens, if you are interested. I didn’t ask the price.

The very low point in this Dante-esque shopping inferno was the row of gold grandfather clocks; antiqued gold gilt plastic grandfather clocks. Full sized. It had caryatids, putti, and enough floral encrustation to make Louis IV, himself cringe and say “too much!” However, all that wasn’t enough for this clock. There was a graduated row of scallop shells down the front of it and an internal pump to create a cascade of water down to the base. But wait there’s more! Yes, there really is. The bottom reservoir also has a micro-mist nozzle to create glamorous tendrils of fog spilling out across your living room floor. And it chimes.

I do have to confess that in addition to doughnuts I did buy something at Pendergrass. At one of the many booths stocked with assorted Dollar Store ephemera, I found the wire mesh drain trap I needed for my sink.

I actually recommend going to the Pendergrass Flea Market. There are some things everybody really should do once. It boarders on being the Ripley’s Believe It-Or Not of shopping experiences. There are also a number of other attractions near by to make the trip worthwhile. Between Atlanta and the market, you will pass Discover Mills and Mall of Georgia, as well as Châteaux Elan Winery, and the Tanager Factory Outlet complex, in Commerce, GA, is just a few miles further up the road. I also saw a sign for the Crawford W. Long Museum at the same exit as Pendergrass. The museum documents the career of Long who pioneered the use of ether as anesthetic in 1842. It is a small, three building, house museum located in the historic village of Jefferson, and has just reopened after a major renovation. The next time I need a road trip, that may be on my list.

 I had the pleasure of riding along on the first of these excursions. The tour is an approximately four hour trip around the city with stops at two restaurants, a dessert café, and a chocolatier. In between stops the tour guide offers commentary on the various neighborhoods you traverse, along with trivia regarding the history and production of chocolate.

  The tour leaves at 11am every Saturday and Sunday morning in February from the Atlanta Tourist Bureau on Lucky Street, above Underground Atlanta. While it’s possible to purchase tickets on arrival, advance reservations are recommended. Tours may sell out, or be rescheduled if there are insufficient reservations.  Our tour was, unfortunately, about twenty minutes late in leaving the station apparently due to the trolley driver having misplaced the keys to the trolley.

 Our tour guide used the time lag to take us on an impromptu mini-tour of Underground Atlanta. Despite the unplanned nature of this side trip, he was quite well informed and I almost wished we had more time down there to hear his stories. The trolley arrived, however, and we headed back upstairs to depart.

 The first stop on the tour was Nona Mia Café & Pizzeria in midtown, an Italian restaurant on Piedmont Road, near the intersection of 10^th Street. We were greeted warmly and our chocolate experience started off with Chocolate Martinis, along with sweet bread sticks and warm chocolate ganache. The martinis, a simple mix of vodka shaken with chocolate syrup and served in a syrup garnished cocktail glass, were amazingly tasty. The breadsticks and ganache were decadently good.

 Cocktails were followed by an appetizer of chocolate gelato on a garlic brioche, the plates garnished with fresh chocolate dipped strawberries. We were told this variation on an ice cream sandwich is a popular lunch treat for housewives in certain parts of Italy. The garlic and chocolate blended surprisingly well. I don’t care for cake mixed with ice cream so, after sampling a few bites, I ate the gelato and left the rest of the brioche. I was also realizing we were going to be quite full by the end of our trip.

Upon leaving Nona Mia, we rode over to Cacao Atlanta, just off of Highland Avenue on the edge of Inman Park. Cacao is one of a small handful of Chocolatiers in the United States. We learned that confectioners make candy from ready prepared chocolate, while chocolatiers actually roast the beans, grind them, and process the chocolate liquor into their own unique recipe of chocolate. The assistant manager and apprentice gave us a tour of their “laboratory” and explained the beans to candy process. We all left with sample bags of their product.

 Cacao Atlanta chocolates sell for $85 a pound; a steep price, but an unquestionably unique product. The owner of Cacao personally travels to South America and buys beans from a particular plantation before processing them according to a recipe she has developed. I can say it is nothing like any chocolate available through the usual commercial outlets. For myself it was, like single malt scotch, a rarified expensive taste sensation that I simply don’t appreciate. All of my fellow guests seemed to agree that we probably didn’t understand it but, at that price, probably wouldn’t be going back to develop a taste for it. Having said that, it was certainly an interesting and educational part of the tour, and one that I appreciated having.

 Next, we headed back through Downtown to the Castleberry Hill District on the west side to visit No Mas! Cantina. This Mexican restaurant, with an excellent reputation around town, is on Walker Street in the Castleberry Hill art gallery enclave. At No Mas! We were served an entrée of Chicken Mole on Spanish Rice. There were two types of mole, one with a strong peanut flavor, the other without. Mole is a Mexican word for “sauce” or “mixture.” There are many types of Mole but the dark red version usually served in the U.S. is Mole Poblano. It is composed of close to a dozen different spices and ingredients and each cook has their own recipe for concocting it, however, one essential ingredient is cocoa.

 The mole at No Mas! was very good and the chicken, grilled on skewers was tender and juicy. The Spanish rice was not memorable, but an entirely adequate foundation for the rich sauce. This was followed by large cups of Chocolate Azteca, hot chocolate made with dark chocolate, cinnamon, and chili de arbol. Once again, we were offered a new dimension on an old favorite. This spicy chocolate is actually much closer than the usual western hot chocolate to the frothy drink for which cocoa beans were originally harvested by South American natives for thousands of years before Spanish explorers brought it back to Europe. The hot chocolate was pleasant with the chili de arbol leaving a distinct tingle on the back of the tongue. I found the serving to be a bit generous and grew tired of the spicy after-taste before I finished it. The chocolate was served with a house-made chocolate truffle.

 Our last stop of the day was back in Midtown at Chocolate Pink Café. Located on Juniper Street, Executive Pastry Chef Christian Balbierer, creates exquisite desserts, cup cakes, and chocolate candies. We were given the choice of a dessert, two cupcakes, or two chocolates. I chose the Petunia Mouse Cake, an elegant and thoroughly delicious construction of brown sugar caramelized bananas, chocolate buttermilk cake, Nutella ganache, and hazelnut mouse, with a joconde boarder. I was told by my fellow guests that the cupcakes were equally good. The desserts at Chocolate Pink are as artfully presented as any in the city and the taste more than lives up to their first impression.

 Everyone on the tour took their desserts in boxes to go. Other than a few people who nibbled on cupcakes on the return trip downtown, we were all too full to want them right away. Tickets on the Chocolate Tour are $80 per person. While this is not an affordable splurge, I think it was thoroughly satisfying. Both the number of stops made and the amount of food served left most of us feeling well satisfied, but not overwhelmed. As far as entertainment value, it would be very easy to spend far more than $80 at many of Atlanta’s finer restaurants without having near as much fun or learning anything at all. If the Chocolate Tour fits your budget, I think you will find it a satisfactory return on your investment, and a fun way to spend Saturday morning.

Note: I regret that this week the Atlanta Trolley Tour Company will announce that they are no longer in business. They are yet another casualty of the slow economy and a credit crunch that has made it impossible for small businesses to get short term financing.