Tag: essay
My life in takeout
Ordering food is a way to relive old restaurant memories—and to, somehow, strangely form new ones.
Taking walks forced me to slow down—and better appreciate Atlanta
In Atlanta, we can be spread out without forfeiting the existential balm of seeing a variety of other people. But nothing makes the details shine like just walking around.
The gym helped me cope. Now that I need it more than ever, it’s gone.
The blistering-hot yoga class I took every Friday? It helped me take my mind off negative messages. With the studio shuttered, I was required to face some of my worst thoughts—the world is in trouble, your family is in danger, you might get fired, there is no end to this in sight—without my most reliable coping tool at my disposal.
No, we won’t be “opening up” the floor plan in our historic Grant Park home
No, we won’t be “opening up” the floor plan in our historic Grant Park home
The last good day
A sunny Saturday in mid-March, the day before my 26th birthday, is one I have come to think of in the weeks since as “the last good day.”
What does it mean to be a food critic without restaurants?
COVID-19 is a direct attack on the thing that made my life not just exceptional but livable.
Corona-Angst on two continents: Watching coronavirus panic unfold at home while abroad in Austria
Former Atlanta magazine editor Rebecca Burns, on vacation in Austria last week as COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, describes what it was like to watch the disaster response unfold in two countries at once.
Yes, Atlanta needed to ban smoking in bars. But . . .
There are two certainties in a bar that allows smoking: 1) The drinks are cheap, and 2) The bar has history. Those are two precious commodities these days, especially in a city that, like many cities, is morphing into one giant luxury apartment building with a generic name.
As a farm boy in a glitzy Peachtree condo, bulbs were my saving grace
The thing about living in the sky is that you can lose your grounding. Instead of freeing me, the high-rise life had unmoored me.
It’s the best time to be an Atlantan. It might also be the worst.
In the city's constant compulsion to reinvent itself, it lost an important part of itself instead.