The Case Against Free Public Art

Last week, I suffered through the opening of Mi Casa, Your Casa at the High Museum. I hate art openings. It all feels pretentious, people standing around wearing monocles and sipping Miller High Life out of plastic champagne flutes chortling to one another while a bunch of unemployable twenty-somethings give a modern interpretive dance performance set to a Philip Glass knockoff's piano score. This was the opening for Mi Casa but with more babies and dudes wearing Braves caps.

The artist was actually raised in a barn.

This house barely survived Hurricane Uggla and was FedEx'ed to the High Museum the night before the opening.

Following the herd to watch a really drawn out and geographically overreaching dance piece by GloATL.

Mi Casa, Your Casa @ The High Museum of Art

The exhibit is a bunch of A-frame houses bolted together and painted bright red like a weird IKEA/Target mash-up. Most of these houses have oversized but uncomfortable hammocks hung across them because the artist figured--correctly--Atlantans are oversized and like to lounge. There was a noticeable lack of A/C units.

Some of the casas that had actual art inside of them. I'm sure when the directors of the High Museum saw these being installed, they breathed a collective sigh of relief--the artists' grant hadn't been entirely wasted on heroin and American Apparel lolitas.

They may have gotten their money's worth. There was a house with a chair. I demanded a self-portrait. In a few years, J and I will sell that to the High Museum.

Then he shows you his butterfly collection, including the killing jar.

Originally, this door featured the Death Head's moth from Silence of the Lambs but someone stickered over it.

Mi Casa, Your Casa is on display in the Sifly Piazza just outside the main entrance to the High Museum of Art. I would say briefly look at the Hurricane Uggla house pictured above and then tear through the boring hammocked A-frames on your way to check out the High Museum's Dream Cars exhibit. Does the public deserve free public art? No. The artists, Hector Esrawe and Ignacio Cadena, should have bought more drugs and booze and come up with something more horrifying than a representation of American home life. If the artists ever read this blog, here's a free idea: Cthulhu at Home & The Private Lives of the Other Elder Gods. You're welcome.

NOTE: I was informed the Hurricane Uggla house is a permanent installation at the High Museum by famed pop artist Roy Lichtenstein III. I need to pay more attention and/or stop by the High Museum more often.

Grindhouse Killer Burgers Kills It

I am an American and love hamburgers. Any rumors you have heard about me being vegan are untrue. From Vortex to Ann's Snack Bar, I've eaten me some cow. Grindhouse Killer Burgers is my current favorite, go-to burger place.

I forgot to snap a burger selfie before I ate the whole thing...

Grindhouse Killer Burgers

J and I started going here right after we first met. She knew the burger beast that was inside of me and insisted that I had to try it. It had 'killer' in its name so I figured I'd at least be amused.

With two convenient locations and two not-quite convenient locations, Grindhouse serves up delicious dead cow, killed turkeys and veggie burgers. You'll find the usual fries and onion rings as side items, but they also have fried pickles and Chomp & Stomp award-winning chili. I know, it must sound like it truly sucks, but I truly love Grindhouse. 

We always visit the Piedmont Avenue location. It looks like a converted gas station with a patio where the pumps were located. Dark wood paneling and lots of tile and chrome. Oooh! Sexy burger pin-up girl art everywhere and a projection of old sci-fi on the wall nearest the bathrooms. And while it is difficult to stay focused and scarf down juicy meat pleasures with all these distractions, I was determined to do it. Because these burgers are delicious. 

Pictured: The hallway to the toilets.

The Piedmont Ave. location has dogs. At least one.

I was a Grindhouse-addict after one bite.

The Grindhouse Menu can be a little intimidating if you're trying to find the perfect customization options (Choose a meat/non-meat patty, single or double and then add a lot of stuff to it). The number of possible combinations is... a lot. Let me suggest that you stick to their house burger styles. This way you n00bs don't hold up the line for the rest of us. 

I started with the Dixie style burger because I've lived in the South long enough to develop an unhealthy obsession with pimiento cheese and sometimes, when I'm really drunk, may start singing If Heaven Ain't A Lot Like Dixie, because...why not? Anyways, you can read about the ingredients on the menu but it was...well, imagine a mashup of Burt Reynolds from Deliverance (before he breaks his leg) and Clint Eastwood from all of his movies mixed in with Burt Reynolds from All Dogs Go To Heaven. I devoured it in seconds. Sipped on J's boozy banana cream shake, took the seasoned crinkle-cut fries to task and then got super depressed that I had already finished the burger. 

The burger is quite majestic in its natural habitat.

After several visits, I've gone down the list of the house burger styles. The only one I'm on the fence about is the Apache style. When I ordered it, the green chiles were rubbery and undercooked. Maybe overcooked. I don't know, I'm not Apache. Either way, everything else I've had at this Grindhouse place has been amazing so I'm willing to give it another chance. Plus, I've got about 400 points to Belly my way to a free t-shirt so... I've got that going for me which is nice.

Do yourself a favor and hit up Grindhouse soon. Monday nights around 8pm it's BOGO1/2OFF burger time, which is a perfect opportunity to give this place a go.