masterlink to view these works: http://www.an-mag.com/author/han-vance/
~American culture reporter Han Vance explores our country’s art, music and culture from coast-to-coast on assignment for Art Nouveau Magazine.
A Dozen Journalistic Assignments for an Art Magazine
Han Vance spoken word feature poetry, in support of ATL Fire (releasing autumn 2014, Silver Stone Press)
May 2014 ~ Rosemary Beach, FL ~ Amavida Coffeehouse and Gallery
August 2013 ~ Blue Mt. Beach, FL ~ Redd’s Fueling Station (formerly Buddha Lounge)
Spoken Word feature performance in Rosemary Beach, FL:
(Photo by: Han Vance)
My hair was overgrown, so I took out my peanut and shaved the sides up – way up. I looked a bit like Crispin Glover as I made a deposit in my bank and quickly walked the rest of the way down Ponce to get my haircut. I wanted to make sure the sides were right, and the line was perfect. I trusted only myself. I had the rest done relatively short and usually left it product-mussed. I broke out my dad’s old cover sunglasses, as huge as any they wore in Manchester and Miami. I started wearing bright tight shirts everyday, which almost fit me, as I’d recently lost ten pounds. I longboarded as much as I could and strutted to the transit station or took cabs everywhere else, except on the weekend mornings when my curvy fiancee’ drove me to work at the Euro-cafe’ in Midtown. Those mornings, I would finish a can of Coors Light in the bath to rally. Then we would sit in her car and make out while I swayed about to the space age Athens weirdness of Of Montreal. Then I would walk inside and make myself a double espresso. I was drunk in bars with thirty-somethings, with twenty-somethings to the point of belligerent incoherence and laughed and talked too loudly. I proudly peacocked amongst fellow urbanists whom would never have my flair for extravagantly varied fashions or my honed way with words. I worked a final lunch shift, had a huge late lunch, walked back to the cafe’ and had my free birthday shot, a Strega. Shared a toast with the definitely-old-enough-to-know-how-to-live-way-better-but-still-clinging-to-it-for-some-reason bartender, had a drink with the actor Paul Walker as we discussed Hawaii and my California book and my afternoon pool party planned for the next day. Walked away and had a few drinks in various haunts with a career student. Met my love in our suite. Went out by taxi for sushi and for wine by candlelight. The city glowed around and for me, as we stumbled to the disco lounge without panic or pretense. An off night in the Southern sprawl of summer ATL, but an on one for me, I suppose. My last as a hipster. As she and I had done so many times in the old loft where we deeply fell, we sat perched atop our city as midnight neared. I counted it down like it was New Year’s Eve. Five-four-three-two-one. Suddenly, I was 40. And I went to bed.
(Photo by: Han Vance, Hotel Oceana)
We each came to understand that we wanted to be together forever, well before we dared to utter. Then we did, eventually, and it was just letting the truth out more than it was any sort of a revelation. And considering I was still in rewrite and final edit of my Cali travel adventure memoir at the time, we – I – postponed. It was untoward to move forward while clinging back like I was. And a memoir is nothing if not a cling back, especially when one of the strong themes of said memoir is divorce.
Speaking of divorce, she’d been through it, too. More recently, so her wounds were fresher. Mine were deeper, as I’d made grave mistakes last time around and though we all fall – I’d really fallen and failed. And I have two children; she has none.
Of note: we were married in the same facility in Atlanta, just not to the final spouse. This is final. This is real. This is forever. Forever – ever…
Her mom’s in poor health and shouldn’t travel. We’ve both done the whole big wedding thing before. We both know everybody and would have to offend or invite everybody. So, elopement was an obvious choice.
We traveled to Augusta and being a Southern gentleman I asked her dad, the Colonel’s permission, and he gave consent.
Dreaming of getting married in a beautiful out of country location like on a beach in Mexico or in the rainforest in Vancouver. Means legally nothing in the United States of America. You have to do it again, and we are trying not to do too much. So, USA.
The Texas hill country spawned me and is one of the least known-for-its-beauty, breathtakingly beautiful spots in America. It’s far enough – Charleston is not, Rosemary Beach is not – but Austin is not a beach. Hawaii is something we did last year to great expense and exhausted elation; we want a relaxation vacation. Since I’ve traveled Cali extensively, Jami said pick a place that’s not LA yet in Cali, maybe. So, Santa Barbara, the American Riviera.
And the Spanish-tiled Santa Barbara County Courthouse is noted as the prettiest government building in America. So, there.
This is a planned elopement. Dinner at Bouchon. Hotel on the beach. The dress. The rings. Thoughtful this and that. And here I’d like to mention my guys at JFL Corp. in Atlanta’s Apparel Mart. I’ve bought suits from Jerry and his dad for over 15 years now, and I recommend you fellas do the same. Selection, prompt onsite tailoring, and the unrivaled eye of Jerry Junior are reason enough to go. There prices are unbeatable, too. By appointment only: (404) 523-2498 or 1 (800) 767-2498, http://www.jflcorp.com. My new suit is midnight blue and totally crushin’ it. My tie and shirt are a gorgeous, regal lavender, and Jerry picked that out too.
Anyway, I came to realize there are four types of elopement:
1. Planned Elopement – as detailed above
2. Secret Elopement – hiding out from family, friends, ex-spouses, maybe the IRS
3. Emergency Elopement – bump of a bun in the oven and her dad has a big shotgun
4. Spontaneous Elopement – VEGAS, baby, VEGAS
I used to be a super-sharp dressing and fast-talking parking and transportation regional operations manager, planner and staff writer. Did that relatively obscure mess for eight long years, until I suddenly walked the F out and then wandered Cali for half a summer and wrote a book about it.
I came to know and love trains in that former line of business and had always envisioned myself as this New York-San Francisco-type urbanist, who had never lived outside of the Southern United States of America and lived periodically in suburbs, country, small cities. I’d always liked the notion of not driving everywhere, never drove until I was around 25, and don’t drive now again and am simply much happier and calmer because of it. I guess you could say that I dance to the beat of a different drummer than most of y’all around here, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I moved to the Classic City of Athens, GA for school in 1990, I finally found a society where I could fully thrive without getting rides. I walked or rode my bike everywhere I went, and I was constantly on the go and in the know, you know. I managed the Tate Student Center Set-Up Crew, threw epic parties, played basketball everyday, ate at T-stand, lived off campus, watched the Dawgs, met a few cute girls and Michael Stipe, made some new friends I’d always cherish, even studied some. More than anything, I had fun.
At age 40, I’ve finally seen my ATL gain some ground on the rest of the world in terms of becoming a bike-able city. I recently purchased a new-used bike myself, and on my first free Friday in, like, years, I joined up with my dear buddies Angel Poventud and Jason Jarrett and a cast of hundreds at Downtown’s Woodruff Park for my first ever Critical Mass.
My bike’s back wheel didn’t hold up as well as my rickety-old-still-an-athlete body did, as we rode long and far and saw nearly every neighborhood this urbanity has to offer. Beautiful homes, rundown shacks, smiling faces, confused stares, honks, children greeting us warmly and feeling a part of something big while watching from their yards. Happy Friday is the call and the response is universally pretty good, though some people did want us out of their always SUV automobilized wrong of way. Even that’s okay; they are getting an education at least. We are here. We care. We ride. Happy Friday, indeed.
If you run around Atlanta at all these days, you are bound to run into a New Yorker. Atlanta is becoming the southernmost borough for the creative class. Tired of the staid duality of youth and middle age spent in the chill and grind of New York City and old age spent in the melting heat and oft-selfishness of south Florida, creative New Yorkers now choose Atlanta in ever-increasing numbers. And not as a retirement destination. We get the best and brightest.
The Centennial Olympics, Turner, CNN, Cox, Coke, Home Depot and hip-hop pushed new Atlanta to the forefront of consciousness on the East Coast. Pre-recession ATL had the best new skyline, best growth economy, best weather, best residential real estate. Our residents were the most innovative in business conception and, more importantly, actual monetization fulfillment. Not to mention our national destination status for sporting events and conventions. Atlanta is on record as being the fastest growing civilization in the history of mankind. To quote my super-smart friend Brian Leary (new BeltLine CEO/President): “That’s not insignificant.”
NYC surely didn’t become the capital of the world because of the weather, or simply based on port location. They hustle. They are smart. They invent. They make things. They sell things. They build. They connect. They create. And they thrive on new and existing culture.
Land-locked, old-fashioned, “Dirty South,” we didn’t let any of that stop our new Atlanta from continuing to rise from the ashes. Propelled by both our unwavering Southern charm and our true grit, rocket ships for buildings suggest what we are: a great city ascending. The recession of our minds is now over, and the economy follows.
I gravitate to that hot, pulsing New York energy here (and there), because it drives the American spirit of freedom and the world economy. Land of the free, indeed.
So, if I’m working on a new project with the sharp Brooklyn guys at VINNIE’S Styles fly fashion house in L5P, or if I’m skanking to the sweet sounds of an ATL-Yorker like Aviva, of Aviva and the Flying Penguins, I’m simply feeling two coalescing into one more unified East Coast. Together we can make a difference through our love and belief in One America.
To New York’s new far southern creative class: “WELCOME TO ATLANTA.”
1.Southern Girls (and other friendly folks)
2.ATL’s ROCKET SHIP Architecture
3.College Football, y’all
4.N’awlins’ Food
5.Charleston Flavor
6.”30 A” Beaches of the Florida Panhandle – especially Rosemary Beach
7.The Smoky Mountains in autumn
8.Sweet Tea, Grits, Biscuits, BBQ
9.America’s Teams: (the Dallas Cowboys and the Atlanta Braves)
10.Southern Literary Tradition: William Faulkner, Tom Wolfe, Gone with the Wind, the Decatur Book Festival, Grisham, urban ATL poetry scene, me
11.ELVIS (Memphis, Tupelo)
12.The BeltLine (Atlanta)
13.ATL and Athens Music Scenes – from Outkast to Mastodon to Rhianna to REM to SVA to Of Montreal to the B-52s, from the Tabernacle to Chastain to the 40watt club to TI to Music Hates You, from Pylon to Black Lips to “Superman those hos.”
14.Twilight Criterium (Athens)
15.Lowtide at Tybee Island (GA)
16.The Live Music Capital of the World (Keep Austin Weird)
17.Mommas
18.Vulcan (Birmingham)
19.Deepdene Park -of the Olmstead Linear Parks (Atlanta)
20.Taco Stand (Athens)
Han Vance 