tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45409518236607543492012-01-17T20:13:03.491-05:00MUSINGS OF A MILLENNIAL LIVING SOUTH OF THE MASON-DIXON LINEJackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.comBlogger821100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-64188001566914375212011-09-14T18:15:00.000-04:002011-09-14T18:18:36.169-04:00

When I was a kid (arguably, at twenty-five, I still am, but for argument's sake, let's presume I'm no longer one), I used to turn to He's Just Not That Into You for post-breakup advice. It wasn't as if I ever considered its simple solutions and reductive romantic reasoning to be complete or insightful. However, there was something reassuring about its rote rules. It was easier as a late-teenager

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-41010426742256604152011-07-04T14:58:00.000-04:002011-07-04T14:58:56.555-04:00

Well, it's three o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm working. On the Fourth of July. Of course. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I've spent this holiday working. When I was in high school, I bused tables at a diner; when I was in college, I delivered pizzas or worked late on summer school or internships. Two years ago, I finally got out and did something—everything there was to do in

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-56297748358173385132011-07-03T21:26:00.000-04:002011-07-03T21:26:33.217-04:00

Well, I'm all over teh net at this point. There's this, my personal blog. Plus: I've got a website, another blog (about literature), another one (about the media industry), a personal Tumblr, another Tumblr for the two other blogs that I just mentioned, a Twitter (for when I only have 140-characters worth of thought), a Facebook (I remember when this was something personal and not some

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-40754158742106772052011-07-03T20:24:00.000-04:002011-07-03T20:24:35.615-04:00

I'm turning twenty-five in less than a week. I'm kind of freaking out about it. Cue my quarter-life crisis. These crises, if I'm understanding them correctly, mainly concern a fear that one's life isn't where one hopes it will be at a given time. More or less, things are where I'd like them to be: I have a great job, a great apartment, and a solid group of friends. And it's that last area that

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-34831259619765056952011-07-03T19:00:00.000-04:002011-07-03T19:00:33.576-04:00

I was a media studies major in college with minors in English and philosophy. English taught me how to write, philosophy taught me how to think, and media studies taught me how the world (now) works. Lately, the focus on education has been not on the end result but on the after result. Not the intellect gained, but rather the job acquired. As a result, I've heard a lot of arguments for more

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-76249844331942225712011-07-03T18:15:00.000-04:002011-07-03T18:15:39.526-04:00

During my tenure as style editor for the print magazine at Atlanta, I never once watched The Devil Wears Prada. Because I felt so inferior when it came to my personal style—that I wasn't worthy of the fashion industry and its touchstone movie. So all those wonderful quips about that being all, and the nuances of color, and the responsibilities surrounding the book? Never used 'em once during my

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-89105944270333547722011-07-02T22:21:00.000-04:002011-07-02T22:21:27.897-04:00

I'm a sap, and I'm overly sentimental. As a result of this demeanor, I cry at movies. Not all movies. I'm selective. But if a movie can craft a perfect burst of catharsis, I'm a goner. Here are some movies that have never failed to leave me balling, some of which make less sense being on this list than others: BeachesThis is kind of an obvious one. Cuing "Wind Beneath My Wings" cues my tear ducts

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-32987650780383060912011-07-02T22:12:00.000-04:002011-07-02T22:12:27.169-04:00

These are the characters whom I adore even though they probably shouldn't be adored.Amanda Woodward from Melrose Place: I never understood how she was supposed to be the villain. She's the only moral one of the bunch. I think she was just misunderstood. Her Kantian ethics were just viewed as absolutist and therefore evil by the wishy-washy moral relativists around her. She was the one-eyed

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-77694591575858127702011-07-02T21:40:00.000-04:002011-07-02T21:40:30.917-04:00

Lost: Thought it was a reality show. When it first went on air, I didn't have TV, so my only exposure to it was through magazine ads and word of mouth, all of which just made it seem like a Survivor rip-off hosted by a desperate-for-a-comeback-at-any-cost Matthew Fox. Modern Family: Thought it was something else in the vein of Married ... With Children. Sorry, but Al Bundy's involvement can't

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-20993881142120474022011-07-02T21:35:00.000-04:002011-07-02T21:35:33.716-04:00

Herewith, a list of my favorite things: Movie: American Psycho (although I usually tell people American Beauty instead) Song: "6 Underground" by Sneaker Pimps Book: Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence (have yet to finish it, but I can already tell it's my favorite) TV show: Mad Men ... or Melrose Place Style: skinny/fitted everything (I admit, I'm ripping that off a bit from our July Head to Toe

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-36386626692682290752011-07-02T21:24:00.000-04:002011-07-02T21:24:31.006-04:00

I love Sneaker Pimps' "6 Underground" (Nellee Hooper remix, of course). I've loved it since discovering it in fall 2009. Beyond it's hypnotic, trancey beats, I love that the song works for every possible situation. It could easily work as the soundtrack to my life. It's sultry, suggestive lyrics can work for both a casual fling or a serious relationship. They're indifference makes it work for

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-46101482525765638302011-07-02T20:52:00.000-04:002011-07-02T20:52:25.625-04:00

It annoys me when people attempt to argue that we shouldn't be monogamous. Now, I get the biological argument: We're animals, and there isn't really anything in our genes that cries out for permanent one-on-one pairings, just that we procreate. However, we're better than mere animals. I also get the moral argument: Don't force your conservative worldview down our throats. Well, I'm not. I'm a

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-24007163081007714292011-07-02T20:27:00.000-04:002011-07-02T20:27:04.786-04:00

Things I found while going through the stuff in my parents' house: a silver rattle and spoon that I had when I was a child. As an adolescent, I just figured that everyone had these sorts of things as a kid, but as I've grown up, I've discovered that not everyone was literally born with a silver spoon in his or her mouth. Well, I was, apparently. And I totally have the demeanor of someone who did.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-55640278194981624892011-07-02T20:24:00.000-04:002011-07-02T20:24:30.017-04:00

I know it's cliche because the fifties are all the rage right now, but I just want to be a fifties housewife. Not in the oppressed sort of way, but rather in my oversimplified conception of the decade sort of way. I just want to be pretty and secure. And that's essentially what the Eisenhower era was all about. Well, that, and McCarthyism, but I'm less enamored with the scapegoating aspect of

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-27422490380161892322011-07-02T19:56:00.001-04:002011-07-02T19:59:05.925-04:00

During the final week of college, Vassar coordinated a bunch of random events to cultivate a sense of class pride in the graduating seniors. One such event was the booze cruise. A grand ol' tradition. We rode up and down the Hudson while plying ourselves with alcohol for the better part of the evening. The event itself was more or less okay, but my high point came during the bus ride back to

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-2943149321406805742011-07-02T19:33:00.000-04:002011-07-02T19:33:52.793-04:00

As a child, I didn't have many friends. I was shy. I was an introvert. To compensate, I made up stories. And I studied people. As a result, when it came time to choose a career to chase, I chose writing. It seemed to combine two skills I had cultivated since my youth, and it promised a way to achieve the one thing I never had as a child: popularity. Yes, I'm vain. I like writing because I like

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-49333972429005668942011-07-02T19:27:00.000-04:002011-07-02T19:27:27.417-04:00

This is a post that I began back in February. The goal has taken even longer to initiate than it has to articulate. It all started back in the fall of 2009. I had just finished my summer internship at Atlanta magazine, which supposed to be my last hurrah in the journalism world. I had enjoyed that summer, both professionally and socially. I hung out with friends and went out to clubs every

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-7218241356800928282011-07-02T19:03:00.002-04:002011-07-03T20:01:15.530-04:00

Time may be my archnemesis, derailing my love life at just the perfect moments, but were it not for its specific machinations, I wouldn't be where I am today. When I graduated college in spring 2009, the economy was in the toilet. It seemed like the worst possible time to graduate. Leading up to my entrance to the real world, I had a decision to make: Intern at Boston  magazine in the North (and

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-32780512951657787952011-04-17T22:42:00.000-04:002011-04-17T22:42:23.403-04:00

Apple products are great. Up until the day they aren't. And that day will come. When I was a junior in college, my computer crashed, and I lost everything. I now no longer keep data on my computer. It's all on a cloud. Unfortunately, that cloud is an Apple cloud, and a few months ago, my contacts started acting wonky. For one thing, they weren't syncing. Information added on a browser wouldn't

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-53012544889935053642011-04-06T23:46:00.001-04:002011-04-17T13:09:04.742-04:00

When I was twenty, I spent my summer in Manhattan. It was 2006. I had never had a fake ID. They seemed silly. What was the appeal of going to clubs? Everything that I wanted from them I could get through other means. Cheaper means. Plus, I was only one year away from being legal, and with each new year, it made less and less sense to invest in a fake. Besides, I was lame. I didn't go out much.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-3439142567490374812011-04-06T23:13:00.001-04:002011-04-17T13:08:58.999-04:00

My family is from the North. I may have been born and raised in metro Atlanta, but my roots are in Massachusetts. Growing up, I never had an accent (as I explained when I went to college, "I'm from a city, and all cities are exempt from regional dialects"), and Sandy Springs was so undefined that I had no real sense of Southernness pounded into my very being day in and day out of my childhood. As

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-32966027630247060452011-04-06T19:57:00.002-04:002011-04-17T13:08:52.770-04:00

I'm an editor at Atlanta magazine, and we're currently wrapping up our fiftieth anniversary issue, which makes us one of the (if not the) oldest city/regional pubs in the country. We predate New York mag. We're kind of awesome, and so is this issue. It'll hit newsstands in May, and it features the fifty most influential Atlantans from the past half century. The ones who made our fair city what it

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-36711700811668193702011-03-16T00:19:00.001-04:002011-04-17T13:08:46.196-04:00

Remember the movie Clueless? (If you don't, you need to either educate yourself immediately or just leave this blog.) Remember the scene when Brittany Murphy's character gets emotional when she hears Coolio's "Rollin' with My Homies" come on? And she explains it's because they're playing the song she shared with a fleeting romantic interest? Well, I have my own such song. I cannot listen to Ying

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-16886862080330468832011-03-15T23:30:00.001-04:002011-04-17T13:08:36.684-04:00

When I started my editorial internship at Atlanta magazine back in summer 2009, I started looking for ways to make myself more knowledgeable of my hometown. Because I didn't know a whole lot about it at the time, unfortunately. Growing up in the Sandy Springs suburbs, I wasn't raised to know anything about the city, other than that it was dangerous. And mostly that Downtown wasn't worth any time

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-53893555583176460422011-03-15T22:55:00.000-04:002011-03-15T22:55:41.553-04:00

Have you seen the Microsoft commercials that come up with Hulu ads from time to time? One of them is about a group of kids who write a poem and use Microsoft's programs to improve it. (Make the text larger! Exciting!) Beyond the whole "oh, Microsoft, you'll never be Adobe" aspect of it, I'm annoyed by the simplicity of the poem. When I was a kid in first grade (around the age of the stars of the

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-31351191547024953852011-03-15T22:50:00.000-04:002011-03-15T22:50:40.295-04:00

Anne Rivers Siddons began her career as writer at Atlanta magazine, a magazine at which I happen to currently work. She started out working the society beat (me, too!—essentially), and through perseverance, she gradually worked her way up to a position as an editor (likewise!). And after serving as an editor with the city pub, she went on to pen a slew of commercially successful (and very

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-68619872848560339482011-03-15T22:38:00.000-04:002011-03-15T22:38:09.750-04:00

When I was but a young lad of ten or so, I started reading Gone with the Wind. I was mainly attracted to it because of its girth. It was the biggest book I could find, and I knew I could take the biggest. It was part of some weird "If I can handle the biggest book around, I can be the best" adolescent mantra. Or something. (The book's relation to my hometown of Atlanta didn't really occur to me.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-24136314553880788722011-02-17T11:45:00.003-05:002011-02-17T18:48:44.105-05:00

Just got a new broken windshield while driving up 400 to do some research for an upcoming article for the magazine. A rock flew up from the road, after ricocheting off another car, and hit the window. Awesome. (Humorous side note: When my insurance asked me what state I was in when the accident happened, I responded, "Um... sober?" Silly ambiguity.) Since moving back to Georgia, I have had: 3

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-57921438647637101672011-02-14T15:41:00.001-05:002011-02-14T15:42:53.271-05:00

This afternoon, the art department and I had the following discussion: Art1: It's been a few weeks since I went to the gym. I feel disgusting. Me: I have yet to go to the gym this year. Art2: It's been a while for me, too. Me: Have you been in February? Art2: Oh, yeah, definitely. Me: You still win! The moral of this aside: I need to start working out more. Especially after this afternoon's

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-40639490410333986302011-02-14T11:12:00.000-05:002011-02-14T11:12:45.494-05:00

Yesterday, I wrote that I only had one near-Valentine experience. Well, this morning, I remembered that I had another one. One of my close friends in college has a birthday near Valentine's, so she ended up throwing a big party that weekend to celebrate. At which point, I met up with SS, this guy I'd had a crush on since freshman orientation week. We got all flirtatious, and ended up taking our

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-83865051792931510412011-02-13T17:22:00.004-05:002011-04-06T21:43:03.045-04:00

These are the cities that I have never so much as visited that, for various reasons, I simply must see at one point or another: Chicago: Batman (at least according to Nolan)! Seattle: The rainy city. St. Louis: Meet Me in St. Louis! Athens: I live in Atlanta, yet I have never even visited. Unacceptable. Charleston: It's Atlanta's competition. Houston, Austin, Dallas: All the big cities of Texas.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-20396064535960565512011-02-13T17:19:00.000-05:002011-02-13T17:19:56.091-05:00

I know this sounds premature, particularly since I still look as if I'm eighteen, but I'm getting old. Whenever I see a strand of hair on my pillow, I feel as if I'm in a David Cronenberg film. It's creepy. I don't like it. Can't we all just be young and beautiful forever? Ever since turning twenty-four this past year, it seems as if my body is in a rapid state of deterioration. Receding

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-74816174915900642712011-02-13T15:56:00.000-05:002011-02-13T15:56:27.469-05:00

Well, Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Yay! Now, I'm single, but I've never been one of those singles to get weirdly bitter about V-Day. If couples want a concocted day to celebrate their love, then great! Have at it. I realize that I'm a bit of an anomaly in this regard. (I'm also the guy who doesn't get depressed at the thought of being single around Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Year's Eve—c'mon

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-69034942056880084962011-01-14T11:38:00.000-05:002011-01-14T11:38:03.307-05:00

I did a write-up of Vetted, Atlanta's new April Wilkins–owned boutique, for our January issue. I wrote it in a few hours at the eleventh hour at the beginning of proofs week. Out of all the articles that I've written for the magazine, this one has received the most positive response. And not just from April Wilkins, et al. From fellow editors. They thought it required the least amount of editing

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-67444770620317680592011-01-10T16:32:00.001-05:002011-01-10T16:33:32.920-05:00

I already have a slew of online outlets. However, I'm always brainstorming new ways to waste my time. One is a Tumblr that would showcase horrible fashions, to be called Mancini Designs. It would focus on all fashion in general, but '90s fashion in particular, and specifically Melrose Place fashion, and even more specifically, Jane Mancini atrocities. Another is a Tumblr filled with great

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-75918194016989875342010-12-31T15:39:00.002-05:002011-04-06T21:41:03.118-04:00

It's that time of year! My goals for 2011: Workout every day. Specifically, cardio. Go out every weekend. Socialize with people. Make friends. Make special nighttime friends. Eat well. As in, shop at Whole Foods more. As in, enjoy my fruits and vegetables. Watch Scream 4 the night it comes out. Blog regularly. Like every day. Excel at work. Dress every day as if I were in the opening title

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-54565615657808503772010-12-06T16:14:00.001-05:002011-01-10T16:25:35.947-05:00

Some things that I learned about my native city while putting together the shopping portion of Atlanta magazine's annual Best Of package (and contributing to other sections): There is at least one good reason to go to Johns Creek. Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams can do no wrong. We have a surprisingly large number of stores dedicated to eco fashion and furnishings. Bloomingdale's doesn't have a good

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-28361899273506749622010-12-06T14:33:00.000-05:002010-12-06T14:33:56.548-05:00

As I watched the season finale of The Walking Dead and its explosive conclusion, I thought to myself, Does the CDC actually have some sort of self-destruct mechanism in the event of a terrorist attack? And if so, would the resultant fireball take out all of Emory as well? Of course, the scene was actually shot at Cobb Energy, far north of anything that matters in Atlanta, but still, the thought

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-90649209683255644282010-12-03T14:48:00.000-05:002010-12-03T14:48:05.457-05:00

Last night, Deerhunter was on Conan. This group has been circling around me in terms of buzz since I was in college. Every pretentious hipster at Vassar loved them, if I recall. As a result, I rebelled, and ignored them. Now that I know they're from Atlanta, however, I think I might have to start tuning in. And, of course, now this forces me to reevaluate all of my previous music choices.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-58784364675975426152010-12-02T14:39:00.000-05:002010-12-02T14:39:42.158-05:00

After watching Cee Lo's music video for "It's OK," I briefly considered doing a blog post about how I would color-code my own love life. The post would essentially entail my deciding both my three most significant exes and assigning colors to them based on our history (I'm guess red would be whomever I had the most sex with OR whomever I fought with the most, while blue would be the one who made

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-86988948873389421282010-11-23T13:42:00.008-05:002010-11-29T21:45:07.686-05:00

I was born and raised in Sandy Springs, a suburb just north of the City of Atlanta. It was a small, quaint town with very little activity and very little of merit. Much different from Atlanta. However, growing up, I thought, without reserve, that Sandy Springs and Atlanta were one and the same. I thought Buckhead was the city's cultural epicenter, and I insisted Roswell Road was the main

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-81828722720709235222010-11-19T14:44:00.003-05:002010-11-29T21:44:48.545-05:00

I always thought I was a dancer. I mean, I'm thin and flexible. How does that not add up to being a good dancer? Well, in college, I received a rude awakening when I auditioned for my school's dance troupe. I got in, but about a week into it, I discovered I had neither the skill nor the physical strength to cut it in ballet (or modern, for that matter). However, ever since then, I've always had a

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-88198494995608253052010-11-19T09:43:00.003-05:002010-11-29T21:44:14.618-05:00

I'm a neat freak. As a result, I have a certain fondness for soaps. However, I rarely ever indulge in the high-end ones. Not a single pink, rose-shaped option to be found in my bathroom. (Of course, if I had fancy soap, as anyone who knows me can tell you, it would be blue and probably in the shape of a whale.) I guess I'm a liquid Dial kind of guy. However, I do have an intense love for

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-32639640258816166892010-11-11T14:17:00.005-05:002010-11-29T21:42:37.190-05:00

As a Sandy Springs native, I've always had a strained relationship with Marietta. For those unfamiliar with Atlanta's metro area, here's what you need to know: Sandy Springs is in Fulton County, south and east of Chattahoochee River, while Marietta is in Cobb, north and west of the Chattahoochee. They're technically separate cities (at this point, much to my chagrin) in separate counties, divided

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-91129871172559043722010-11-03T12:15:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:41:23.399-05:00

After we had to put down the family dog earlier this year, I was kind of off pets. But, just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in. While working on our pets issue, I searched high and low to find the most pampered pet in Atlanta. (I also searched high and low for a Where Are They Now? Pets Edition piece about catching up with animals that had been in the news, but that one didn't end up

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-82648060368665325502010-10-29T14:13:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:38:58.700-05:00

Well, it's finally here: Halloween weekend. Last Halloween, I went to a house party in Midtown, then hopped over to the W for some upscale bar fun, then slid over to Blake's for some last-minute partying, and then enjoyed a surprisingly eventful trip to Brookhaven. This year, I have a few ideas but nothing set in stone. A friend is throwing a house party in Piedmont Heights tonight; there's a

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-35425406775484601182010-10-28T14:46:00.006-04:002010-11-29T21:38:36.917-05:00

For our October issue, I wanted to explore Atlanta's gay scene. You see, October is when we (now) have Pride (thanks, lack of investors and poor economy), and this year, The Advocate voted Atlanta the gayest city in the nation. My approach was two-fold: On the one hand, go to a bunch of gay clubs and write about the experiences. On the other hand, interview a few people who have both been around

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-49116411467336392752010-10-28T14:30:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:38:10.259-05:00

Yesterday, different parts of the Atlanta area had various tornado warnings. And it rained cats and dogs. During this insanity, I had to attend Wes Gordon's fashion show at Saks and Switch's monthly lecture series. I somehow managed to do both, but traffic led to some fashionable lateness. Of course, first I tried taking 400 from Midtown to Buckhead. Which was idiotic during rush hour. Then I

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-48949214276799959892010-10-25T16:24:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:37:11.425-05:00

When I was an arts reporter for my college newspaper, I previewed a Girl Talk concert. Of course, me being me, I decided to turn a possibly simple preview into overly elaborate article about mash-ups. To do this, I interviewed student fans of the DJ, a music critic in the English department who loathed the artist, and a music professor who knew a thing or two about the history of the form. She

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-41596696409204452792010-10-25T14:40:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:35:16.442-05:00

I think I am the only person who saw Baz Luhrmann's 2001 musical epic Moulin Rouge! and thought, Blerg! Which is surprising since I like movies, musicals, love stories, pastiches, and remediations. I just always found it hackneyed and cloying. As a result, it didn't surprise me too much that I left Atlanta Ballet's recent production of Moulin Rouge (a ballet version) feeling underwhelmed.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-58809906177151172382010-10-22T11:59:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:34:14.484-05:00

30 Rock riffed on Atlanta's DeKalb County on last night's episode with a joke that in part implied the county successfully seceded from the U.S. and in an even more subtle part implied that it was a third world country. DeKalb has never held a strong place in my heart (I'm a Fulton boy, through and through), so I'm not as up in arms about the joke as some of our other residents are. DeKalb, to me

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-5735659631793462912010-10-22T10:46:00.006-04:002010-11-29T21:32:55.906-05:00

I attended NV-U Boutique's Midtown location's grand opening party last night. The store is nice, though not necessarily a rival to far trendier Fab'rik. More importantly, I had quite the adventure trying to get there, which forced me to deal with some issues that I have with Midtown Atlanta. Now, let me get this out the way: I live in Midtown. Right behind the High, on West Peachtree between

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-75368351269628771482010-10-21T14:15:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:32:26.835-05:00

I interviewed Ann Mashburn, wife of the notorious Sid, for this piece back in early July, just days after my twenty-fourth birthday. Incidentally, I had also just had a run-in with an ex, so I was feeling pretty contemplative at the time. And anxious to use said contemplative demeanor in a way that did not focus on my romantic predicament. As it turned out, Ann was perfect for that. She's a

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-9860666544368912132010-10-15T15:16:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:31:31.423-05:00

This past weekend was Pride. As one can imagine from my previous blog post, I'm tuckered out. I have to catch up on work this weekend. Like, a lot of work. (October is a pretty hellish month for the magazine where I work, since we're putting together our annual Best Of issue. Translation: I do a lot of running around the city like a chicken with its head cut off, practically killing myself to

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-17142735495966084162010-10-11T20:11:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:31:46.299-05:00

I went to my first Atlanta Pride this past weekend. Overall, I'm going to rule the festivities a success. A few additional things of note: There was a nude mime. I tried to take a twenty-one-year-old home with me on Friday night whom I later ran into at a parade after-party on Sunday while he was wearing a tag that read "big ol' bottom." Usually, I can tell who these people are. I consider this

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-27203315330197961442010-10-11T16:57:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:30:11.008-05:00

Normally, fall devours my schedule during the week thanks to all the fundraisers and galas that every PR person decides must occur in this particular season. However, this past week involved a slight tweak: My work week was comparatively tame, but my weekend was swamped. (I know: My life is so crazy and topsy-turvy.) Among the many things I did was attend Serpas for the first time. Delicious, if

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-82014089116509771292010-09-12T14:20:00.005-04:002010-11-29T21:28:27.399-05:00

Well, it's been nearly a year, but I'm back. Hopefully on a somewhat regular basis. I've been busy this past year, but I realized that no matter how busy I am, I kind of want to have a blog. Blog good. So prepare for posts on hopefully weekly frequency (horrible home Internet connection not withstanding). What I've been up to: Got an apartment with a view, got a full-time job in journalism, and

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-40204674682148197252009-10-30T23:41:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:27:54.569-05:00

Now that I'm no longer in college, I find myself with myriad ways to annotate the world around me, but none of which are particularly appealing, or productive, or organized. I used to always comment on things by scribbling in the margins. Now, my commentary is largely dispersed across various platforms, from Twitter updates to Blogger posts to Facebook statuses to personal e-mails to text

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-37024915821138249392009-10-18T20:55:00.002-04:002010-11-29T21:26:15.140-05:00

Now that I'm looking at apartments with a vengeance, I've rediscovered my hatred towards beige. It's everywhere. Every living room and bedroom that I've seen is covered in beige. I don't know why builders in the '70s and '80s thought this beyond off-white color would look good for all seasons. Does it just weather sun exposure particularly well? I'm now legitimately interested in the history of

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-86924681310971044722009-10-18T20:34:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:25:08.721-05:00

Whenever I can't access Facebook, or Twitter, or Blogger, or any other page, I search "i hate the internet." The results help me to diffuse the tension. Most are from the mid-'90s and rather hilarious. Check out this 1995 rant.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-71799187007565189412009-10-06T00:19:00.008-04:002010-11-29T21:20:17.361-05:00

Growing up, I never developed the appreciation for classical music. As a child, my aural environment erred more toward Raffi than Rachmaninov. Though my audio cassette collection, as I later learned when I was cataloguing it last year, contained a tape of Wagner classics, recordings by artists such as John Denver and Kenny G far outweighed those by nineteenth-century composers. (My mother

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-86322932854378598352009-09-30T23:01:00.006-04:002010-11-29T21:17:35.580-05:00

I think my new nickname is Jack. Ever since moving back to Atlanta this past summer, people have been calling me Jack. Some confuse it for my actually name, which is odd since "Jackson" as a first name is a fairly Southern practice and no one in the North seemed to have that problem. Others just think it's a logical nickname, like Lizzy for Elizabeth or Jon for Jonathan. From a linguistic point

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-32956506584370711662009-09-28T19:03:00.002-04:002010-11-29T21:16:39.926-05:00

I go through phases when it comes to my viewing habits. Back in my junior year of college, I was in an intense Veronica Mars phase. After finishing my thesis, I marathoned Arrested Development. This summer, I plowed through all my Simpsons and Office DVDs. Nowadays, I'm into screening American Psycho ad nauseam. That might sound weird — and sociopathic — but there's a fairly simple justification

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-79754147467167635632009-09-28T18:23:00.005-04:002010-11-29T21:16:07.269-05:00

I hate the USPS. Here is my odyssey with them so far: My parents spend half of the year at their other house. (Yes, I have parents who actually own another house. And it's in Cape Cod. It used to be a "beach house" or a "summer house," but now it is just the pleasantly less glamorous "other house." What can I say? They have money.) Because all of their bills normally come to their Atlanta

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-16892928701745689992009-09-28T17:36:00.002-04:002010-11-29T21:15:21.780-05:00

My philosophy on my wardrobe is so simple that it can be completely summarized with just two words: classy minimalism. That first word could easily be replaced with "expensive." To elaborate, I like having nice things, but I don't like having a lot of them. I've never been one to accessorize, and as an extension of that, I've never been one to don a procession of different elaborate outfits. All

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-54013658585050028032009-09-28T09:37:00.002-04:002010-11-29T21:14:37.192-05:00

I was born destined to have mouth drama. To unnecessarily paraphrase Star Wars: My father has it, my mother has it, my brother has it . . . and, now, I have it. I may have been the luckiest out of everyone in my family in my younger years (all of them, including my younger brother, have had to have oral surgery), but my oral fate has finally caught up to me, along with my unhealthy eating habits.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-65698805726884298542009-09-26T20:45:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:13:42.639-05:00

So, I'm a guy. I have had the same pairs of underwear and undershirts for the past five years. I know. I may purchase absurd amounts of clothes throughout the year (I am, after all, a gay guy), as evidenced by my last post, but when it comes to necessities like underwear, I like to ride them out until they can't be ridden anymore. Sure, I only wear these Fruit of the Loom underwear and 

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-42027261815894189162009-09-26T20:33:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:12:30.784-05:00

I fought it for a long time. Why wear skinny jeans. Few people, if any, look good in them. If anything, they make you look like a tool. And "tool" just isn't a good look for me. (I've tried it before. I wore faux snakeskin pants. It didn't work to such a degree.) But then I realized that if one wore skinny jeans without the rest of the hipster apparel, they look rather good. Or, to be more

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-52063777380093858952009-09-15T00:05:00.004-04:002010-11-29T21:11:17.176-05:00

Every night when I go to bed, I kind of toss and turn thinking back on the day's events and becoming filled with trepidation about the next day's challenges. Stupid worries constantly cross my mind during this period. From the basics: Did I get enough done today? Did I do it well? Will I be able to make up for today's shortcomings tomorrow? To the more complex: Will all of the things that I'm

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-11529172111224220502009-09-09T11:46:00.005-04:002010-11-29T21:10:10.930-05:00

Growing up, I kind of hated books. My parents loved reading; I was rebellious. I've also always been a bit of a slow reader, which I was taught meant that I wasn't very good at reading. (If you're a good reader, then you read as if you were on crack, obviously.) Of course, I read slowly because I'm meticulous, and I want to cherish every detail. My teachers began to appreciate that. However,

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-47692952990362897282009-08-31T18:13:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:09:13.965-05:00

It's official: I'm anxious. Whenever my insecurities start to mount, I begin to binge-eat incredibly unhealthy baked goods. Food becomes my only comfort, the only thing that can quell my discontent. My problems may pile, but as long as I've got something sweet, I'm fine (or, at least, I can ignore the problems for some time). A temporary sugar coma is my only source of satisfaction and only

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-38557432314423155862009-08-31T17:55:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:08:24.984-05:00

I really hate this whole not-having-a-job thing. I'm seriously considering applying for unemployment. (The only thing that's stopping me isn't the minor moral issue that I'm a member of the bourgeoisie and therefore don't need unemployment benefits, but rather the vain notion that at any moment I may — nay, will — get a job and therefore need to go through the whole process of canceling the

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-33783759571722549662009-08-31T13:14:00.003-04:002010-11-29T21:02:08.513-05:00

Every since moving back to my parents' house after graduating college, I've been cursed by the black cat of unemployment. Literally, since the very moment that I sped back to Georgia from Massachusetts in a record-breaking 17 hours, there's been a black cat stalking the house. I've started calling it the black cat of unemployment because it seems to have a simple, work-based message for me each

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-65912892958240874992009-08-28T00:46:00.004-04:002010-11-29T20:59:16.844-05:00

No one in my generation should openly admit to having a crush on someone whose last name is the same as every '90s kid's favorite purple dinosaur. Particularly if he or she has never even met the person in question. But, by god, I have a crush on Matthew Barney. What can I say? Avant-garde films that use metaphors to analyze getting hard get me hard. Ever since watching The Cremaster Cycle my

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-2227226072273035262009-08-16T23:56:00.005-04:002010-11-29T20:58:23.175-05:00

Now, I have a part-time job: I recently became the Atlanta contemporary art examiner at Examiner. Now, I can write, journalize, analyze, and examine. Be sure to check out my page for all things current in Dixie's capital's fine art world. I recently wrote about Hagedorn Foundation Gallery's current exhibits.

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-20479292146761930252009-07-30T23:17:00.006-04:002010-11-29T20:57:54.045-05:00

Back in April, a little movie staring Beyoncé Knowles came out. It was about a woman whose husband did not at all cheat on her with his secretary and her difficult quest trying to cope with that fact. At least, I think that's what it was about. It may have also been about a character played by Ali Larter, that chameleon of an actress, who obsessed with said husband. All I know is that out of

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-90039664992896647082009-07-30T23:15:00.004-04:002010-11-29T20:57:07.765-05:00

Usually, I complain about the area in which I grew up. Sandy Springs is filled with the über-rich who like to pretend that they aren't (unlike the residents of Buckhead or East Cobb, who are more than happy to admit that they are). Sandy Springs may be beautiful, but it's mostly just been a nice place with a few nice things when it comes to my opinion. I think the thing that I like best about

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-89749502351359897732009-07-30T19:23:00.005-04:002010-11-29T21:02:55.398-05:00

My brother and I have never been incredibly close. I don't know how the distance began. I thought it was just natural (I insist that my friend Sara and her brother Matt's bond is anomalous). But although we may have fought when we were younger, we're more than civil with one another nowadays—we're just not that close. I decided a trip to a slaughterhouse could help aid in our bonding. Abattoir,

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-22607971955110249062009-07-07T22:24:00.007-04:002010-11-29T20:55:19.869-05:00

For every summer since I started high school, I have spent July Fourth working. Busing tables, serving hamburgers, delivering pizzas, writing screenplays, doing market analysis, researching interview subjects—the list goes on. I never got to celebrate, chow down on some simple grub, relax on the beach or in the park, or—worst of all—see the fireworks. The closest I ever came to watching the

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-17019741613467350892009-06-19T20:13:00.003-04:002010-11-29T20:52:26.191-05:00

So, I rarely go out. For me, the hierarchy was always kind of: personal life, then professional life (though sometimes that's made the top of the list), then social life, always right at the bottom. I'm the sort of person who would only go out once a week in college, if even. 'Cause, you know, I had to study and work and read and do laundry and clean and shower and eat and watch old Disney movies

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-54076926243804090452009-05-31T19:07:00.005-04:002011-04-02T17:07:34.576-04:00

To preemptively explain, I know that the title of this blog is overly eerily familiar. "Doesn't Emily Gould have a blog with a similar title?" Yes, she does. "Is that why you chose this title for your blog?" Somewhat. I'm not trying to copy Emily or be some alternative version of her. Not that I think there's anything wrong with the former Gawker editor, but I think one "Emily" is enough, and I'd

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540951823660754349.post-78822087717709716392009-05-31T18:55:00.009-04:002010-11-29T20:44:00.115-05:00

My name is Jackson Reeves, and this is my blog. A little about me: I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia. I went to Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, for my higher education, which I completed just earlier this month. I studied French post-structuralist theorists from the '70s and philosophies of reality, only to realize that I wanted to do more with my life than prognosticate ad

Jackson Reeveshttps://profiles.google.com/111924752158731369515noreply@blogger.com0