Fabrizio del Wrongo writes:

I was in Atlanta recently for work. Thought I’d share some photos I took.

This ferris wheel was right outside the hotel at which I stayed. I guess urban ferris wheels are a thing now? If so, I’m not really sure what to make of that. A fun, colorful development? Or a sign of civic rot and mass infantilization? Whatever it means, it didn’t seem to be heavily patronized. Both times I walked past there was no one riding. I immediately flashed on images of small-town fairs and toothless carnies — things I don’t typically associate with bustling city centers.

CNN is headquartered right there in downtown Atlanta. I didn’t venture into the gift shop, though I’m normally not one to pass up a nice piece of Wolf Blitzer merchandise.

CNN’s offices are built on top of a food court. Yeah, like in a mall. Actually, I guess that’s what surrounds CNN — a shopping mall. It’s strangely appropriate somehow. Between Anderson Cooper’s hair-styling sessions, CNN drudges can walk down to the mall, buy some shitty food court food, take it back up to the office, and eat it while they make news. Don’t you love the escalator ascending into the center of the globe? I guess the idea is that CNN gives you access to the world in the same way the food court gives you access to diarrhea.

A shot from inside the food court, where you can sit and gaze up at the CNN’ners, who get their own private tables on the second story. I love the old guy sitting there staring at the screen as he waits for his wife to come back from Taco Bell. Or maybe he’s thinking of sneaking past those security guards, running up the stairs, and making mad, passionate (but still very respectful and politically forward-looking) love to Christiane Amanpour?

One last shot of this cathedral of commerce, trans fats, and infotainment.

According to Wikipedia, this space once housed an amusement park dedicated to the creations of Sid and Marty Krofft. Now that sounds like something I’d travel to Atlanta to see.

I walked around Atlanta for a while, but, truth be told, I didn’t feel too inspired to take photos. My favorite detail of downtown is this section of Peachtree Street, which features a lot of older low-rise buildings and lots and lots of trees. It’s rare that you see so many tall trees right in the middle of an urban area. They affect the vibe of the place in an interesting way. The street feels mysterious, welcoming, oasis-like.

Two entrances to this section of Peachtree Street. You can’t help but walk towards them.

Some additional shots. Unsurprisingly, when I got home I found that most of my snaps were of this area. Apparently, Margaret Mitchell died while she was crossing Peachtreet Street and was struck by a car. That’s the ’40s version of falling off the ferris wheel.

Naturally, as soon as you exit the charming urban oasis shown above you’re met by this monument to the art of cheese grating.

And this.

Actually, what do you reckon this is supposed to be? I didn’t dare get close enough to read the plaque — assuming there is one. It seems intended as a space for people to gather. But who aside from a victim in an Argento film would want to spend time here?

Does de Blasio know about this?

I took this shot as I walked back through Centennial Olympic Park, which has some kind of connection to the 1996 Olympics, an event I’ve utterly forgotten. It’s pretty ugly — a non-descript non-space the main function of which seems to be the advertisement of its donors, whose names are inscribed in the cobblestones carpeting much of its walkways. But magic hour can make anything look good. It was a nice evening. Kids were playing in the fountain. I went back to the hotel and got hammered on bourbon sours. (Is that a fucking haiku?)

I creepshot this girl while waiting for US Air to fix my broken flight. She was going through some kind of travel crisis of her own and was giving everyone quite a show as she stretched towards the airline people on the other side of the counter, as though her lost time and aggravation were nothing but opportunities to act out her sexiness. Bless her and her butt-hugging yoga pants. I texted the photo to my friend. We have a running joke about how airports are the best venues for girl watching. I think it’s true. Why is that?