The universe really threw me a curveball back in 2005 when Hurricane Katrina destroyed both my apartment and my place of employment. I knew it would be a long time before New Orleans recovered, so I hit the road for Atlanta with only a duffle bag full of clothes and my faithful mini-dachshund, Pea. The trip was a leap of faith. I didn’t know anyone in Atlanta, and had no idea what the future would hold for us. But Pea was optimistic. Due to our limited resources I began looking for a job on the very day I arrived.

I will never forget the first time I walked into The Vortex on Peachtree Street. My attention was quickly captured by two hot girls dancing in a go-go cage. They were helping raise money for victims of the hurricane. And when they flashed their titties, I was pretty sure that I’d found my new home. I instantly filled-out an application and left it with the bartender. Before I was even one block away, I got a phone call from the manager. I turned around, went back in for an interview, and was hired on the spot. I think the go-go girls may have put in a good word for me.

In my mind it seems like that all happened yesterday, but the truth is I recently celebrated my 13th anniversary at The Vortex. Many anniversaries have come and gone over the years without me giving them much thought. But for some reason this one gave me pause. The reality is very few people stay at any job for 13 years these days, especially in the service industry. So what is it about this place and these people that is so special? I recall a conversation I had with one of the owners about why he and his siblings originally opened the bar. He said, “We wanted to create a fun place for people to hang out with their friends and family. What we didn’t anticipate is that our staff, and our regulars, would literally become an extended family – even if a slightly dysfunctional one.”

Working in a bar is not always glamorous. In fact, it’s often made up of long stretches on your feet with no breaks. But I’m not complaining, because I know just how much I have to be thankful for. The Vortex has given me the freedom, and the means, to create an amazing life for myself. Over the years, I’ve partied like a rockstar, attended countless concerts, met celebrities and traveled to all sorts of exotic places. I’ve been involved in photo-shoots, co-hosted a podcast and even helped film a pilot for a reality TV show. I’ve been able to buy a house, cars and a condo, and most importantly, I’ve been able to keep all my dogs living the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed.

In addition to those wonderful opportunities, I remain mindful of the fact that many of the people I’ve met along the way are a big part of what has made my life so sweet. I’ve been to countless weddings, funerals, back yard barbecues and holiday celebrations with these fine folks. I have even collected a bunch of surrogate nieces and nephews over the years. I have received so much love in my life from this band of misfits that I can say without a doubt, they have truly become my extended family, even when they get scattered around the world.

With my lengthy employment, the sad fact is that sometimes these people leave us. On the night before my 13th anniversary I had a very vivid dream. I was working behind the bar and there was Barney, a longtime regular of mine who had passed away about the same time last year. He was sitting at his usual spot, drinking his usual Budweiser and giving me a great big shit-eating grin, as if to say, “yeah, I may be gone, but we both know this is where I really belong.” Damn right you do, Barney. And the same goes for me and all of my Vortex family.

When exactly did the entire world become “family-friendly?” I guess I missed that meeting. When I was growing up it was common knowledge that NOT every place was appropriate for children. That’s why babysitters became a thing. When my siblings and I were kids (about a million years ago), on the rare occasions we did go out with our parents it was always treated as a lesson on being well-behaved in public. At some point between then and now, the parental populous has started dragging the kiddies with them everywhere they go. And today, restaurants have largely become just another playground. Maybe I’m an old crank, but when I’m plunking down some serious scratch to enjoy a nice meal, I really don’t want a shrieking little hell-demon squawking in my ear hole.

When Georgia passed the “Smoke-Free Air Act of 2005,” they forced every restaurant in the state to choose between eliminating either smoking or children. Since The Vortex operated primarily as a “bar,” the choice was easy. But even though this change was initiated by a government mandate, our “over 21” policy was still met with a certain amount of outrage. How dare we discriminate against children. How dare we turn away families. How dare we!

Recently, I’ve been reading articles about other restaurants that have made the business decision to restrict children without any type of governmental decree at all. I’m always amazed at how polarizing this decision can be. The comment sections are absolutely brutal. People who appreciate these policies are called “child-haters.” People who complain about these policies are called “out-of-touch petty tyrants.” The bottom line is these restaurant operators are just trying to please their specific target market. It’s amazing how outraged people can become over, well, basically nothing.

I don’t have anything against children. Heck, I used to be (a particularly adorable) one myself. And I don’t think it would be right to blame the runny-nosed moppets for a lack of parental supervision. But lately, I seem to encounter more and more oblivious moms and dads every time I go out. You know the type – they let their little booger-eaters run wild in restaurants without any consideration for others. No one’s saying parenting is easy, but just because you don’t feel like keeping an eye on your own spawn, restaurant employees do not automatically become the babysitter– no matter how many cocktails you’ve had.

This issue should not be divisive. There are a lot of folks who appreciate the option to patronize places designed for grown-ups. And many of those same people have kids of their own. In fact, quite a lot of them do. So I’m proud to offer a spot where parents and non-parents alike can get together for some good, old-fashioned “adults-only” fun. Sometimes it’s good to be bad. At The Vortex, we’re here to help. So you’d better call the babysitter, ‘cause you’re probably gonna be late.

When did people get so confused about restaurants? Restaurants are simple. They are businesses. They are designed to offer a specific concept, theme or style of food to the public. Potential customers can then decide whether or not to patronize a specific restaurant if what is being offered suits their personal tastes. Simple, right? Not anymore it isn’t. Entitlement is strong in the 21st century.

These days, certain people choose to ignore what a restaurant is actually offering, and instead will just go in and start barking orders. Most operators do their best to accommodate reasonable requests, but “reasonable” has become a highly subjective term. Many people now seem to think that “reasonable” means whatever random, idiotic thought pops into their head. And if their arbitrary demands are not met, then threats of posting bad reviews on social media will ensue. To be clear, these demanding customers are ignorant pricks, but sadly they seem to be growing in number.

The Vortex is an age-restricted bar, but we encounter people demanding that their toddlers be allowed in all the time. And they get mad, really mad when they’re denied access. From time to time, someone will even come in demanding that we prepare a strictly vegan meal – at our burger joint. That’s like going to a vegetarian restaurant and demanding a steak. But I’m sure people do that, too. Irrational demands like these are selfish and tactless, yet restaurant operators are forced to deal with them every day.

I’m not talking about corporate chain operations that sell food-like products to the masses in generic settings. Their goal has always been to appease the lowest common denominator. I’m talking about independent, small-businesses that operate on slim profit margins to offer truly unique dining experiences. Anyone who wants these places to keep existing in the world should not expect them to spend time and money trying to please every single person on the planet. It can’t be done.

Naive new operators will often try to please everyone, especially the self-entitled jerks who bark the loudest. But by doing so they may be diminishing the authenticity of the experience for people who appreciate what they actually ARE offering. I know it can be difficult to stand by your convictions with a serious investment on the line. But staying true to yourself is a major component of becoming successful. So be strong, and ignore the disgruntled bullies. Nowadays most people realize that “one-star” reviews are a treasure trove of idiocy written by pathetic whiners and crybabies. So ultimately, my advice to young entrepreneurs is simple: If you are passionate about your creative vision, don’t let the bastards ruin it.

Several years ago, a good customer of The Vortex ​presented us with a carved wooden phallus, slightly over a foot tall, that he had purchased in Thailand. He explained that if we displayed it near our front door​ it would help “attract money and bring success.” We thanked him for his thoughtfulness and immediately placed it among the liquor bottles behind our bar. Soon after, we were contacted by the Travel Channel, and featured on “Man vs. Food.” That television exposure undeniably helped our business. So, was this whole chain of events purely coincidental? I didn’t think so.

In fact, I was so convinced of the power contained in this wooden wang, I made it a personal mission to help spread the good fortune to our loyal patrons. I contacted an old artist friend, and commissioned a bigger, better version of the magical phallus. On Easter Sunday of 2014, the new 3-foot high piece of sculpted mahogany splendor known as the #DickOfDestiny was installed in the Midtown Vortex. Since that time, hundreds (maybe thousands) of customers have given our big wooden dick a good rub, and made a wish or said a little personal prayer. Does it work? Many people swear that it does.

Imagery of the phallus has been prevalent and widespread throughout the world since the beginning of recorded history. Found within the art and religious practices of many cultures, the phallus is symbolic of strength, fertility, good fortune, prosperity, and protection. So next time you visit the Midtown Vortex, just stroke our big dick and see what happens. The universe is a mystery. What have you got to lose?

A million years ago when I was a kid, my siblings and I gave our parents a fancy barbecue grill for Christmas. While skeptical at first, my father grew to love cooking on it. Our memories of him in the backyard cheerfully cooking thick, juicy burgers over an open flame must have been resonating in our collective consciousness when we opened The Vortex​. Back in those days there just weren’t many places to get great burgers in Atlanta, so we decided that serving a flame-grilled burger, just like the ones our dad used to make for us, would be a good move. As it turns out, we were right.

Now twenty-three years later there seems to be an over-abundance of burger offerings in our city. Many of the new places use a flat-top griddle (or frying pan) as their chosen cooking method. It’s easy to understand why. it’s faster and easier, and picking a “cooking temperature” is generally not allowed. It streamlines the process. Both flame-grilling and pan-frying rely on the “Maillard Effect” for creating much of the flavor. This is a complex series of reactions between amino acids and reducing sugars in the meat, in which hundreds of different compounds are created. While technical, it is a very tasty effect. But the addition of that distinctly “charred” flavor-profile can only be attained through the use of fire.

As an experiment, we took a Vortex burger patty and slapped it on our flat-top griddle. Then we tasted it side-by-side with a second Vortex burger patty cooked over an open flame on our chargrill. The difference in flavor created by these two cooking methods was more subtle than I would have imagined, but it was still apparent. I can’t say one is better than the other, because of course they’re both good, just somehow different. Since we are the Godfather of Atlanta’s burger culture, and because we’ve always tried to provide our fans with a variety of tasty options, we decided to add a couple of these griddled “Old-School” burgers to our menu.

Beginning today, you can now order our “Retro Diner Burger” and “Ultimate Patty Melt.” They’re both really good, and a fun departure from our staple flame-grilled Vortex burgers. We have always believed that variety is a good thing. Some people might think that serving a pan-fried burger at The Vortex is some sort of burger-blasphemy. But if my dear pops were around today I have no doubt he’d be happy to give one a try, and I know he’d approve. After all, a tasty burger is a tasty burger regardless of how you get there.

In 1997, when we decided to relocate The Vortex from West Peachtree to Peachtree Street, people did not hesitate to tell us we were crazy. And maybe we were. After all, the stretch of Peachtree we moved to was pretty sketchy. None of today’s soaring modern condo towers or fancy shops existed. Far from it. The area had more of a post-apocalyptic, urban wasteland feel to it in those days.

For instance, just one block south of our new location, the Atlanta Cabana Hotel had represented the pinnacle of mid-century modern design when it originally opened in 1958. But as people began abandoning the city for the suburbs in the late ‘60s and ‘70s, it fell into disrepair. During one of its final incarnations as a Quality Inn, it was routinely rented out to a variety of unorthodox groups. A girlfriend of mine once had her nipples pierced at a “Sex Toy” convention held there. Well, actually only one nipple. She couldn’t take the pain. Anyway, by the time we had moved to the neighborhood, the hotel had been permanently shuttered, and sat decaying behind a rusty chain link fence.

The soviet-style brick building that we actually moved into was originally built in 1950. It served as offices for the U.S. Department of Agriculture, and later the Georgia Department of Human Resources. The government eventually abandoned the site in the early ‘90s, as the area became increasingly seedy. The building remained boarded-up and blighted until it was acquired by local developer, Jim Borders. His idea was to redevelop the property into apartments with retail spaces on the bottom floor, and open in time for the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games. I’m sure a lot of people thought he was crazy too.

Directly behind us, Cypress Street literally had a world-wide reputation as the place to pick-up male prostitutes. The scene reminded me of the Native American legend that described a time when a warrior could walk from horizon to horizon on the backs of the buffalo without stepping on the ground. Sure, there were a lot of buffalo on the great plains, but I’m guessing there were actually more hustlers behind The Vortex. In fact, you couldn’t drive your car down the street without nudging them out of the way. If you did manage to squeeze through, these young men would openly display their sizeable packages for your inspection, day or night. They were just remarkably friendly, in a terrifying sort of way.

Directly across the street was a Citco gas station that we lovingly referred to as the “Crack-co,” because drug dealers openly sold crack in the parking lot. Catty-corner was a boarded-up Krystal, and just beyond that was the notorious Backstreet nightclub. Originally opened in 1975, this was one of a handful of Atlanta clubs that operated 24/7. They featured a long-running drag show which was immensely popular with both a gay and straight clientele. This place was actually pretty awesome. I’m not ashamed to admit that I stumbled out of its dark depths into the morning sunshine on more than one occasion. But eight years after we moved in to our new location, the forces of politics and gentrification finally caught up with Backstreet, and it too was replaced with a shiny new condo high-rise.

Sometimes the nostalgic side of me yearns for a $3 pitcher of beer at the Stein Club, the smoky dive bar that served as refuge from the trendy Buckhead bar scene of the day. Or a bowl of seafood etouffee from the little French Quarter Food Shop, served-up by Missy, the diminutive owner with the mouth of a sailor. But sadly, those spots were also demolished to make room for more redevelopment. To some it may seem that The Vortex was part of the first wave of urban-pioneers willing to invest in a questionable part of Atlanta. But in hindsight, what I have come to realize, is that The Vortex is actually one of the last remaining links to the “good ol’ days” of drinking and debauchery in this town. So if anyone wants to join me in a toast to those times, you’ll find me sitting at my bar. Come on in. Everyone is still welcome here.

An incident occurred recently at The Vortex that has become a topic of conversation on social media. To help avoid any misinformation, the following is our official statement.

On July 6, 2017, we received a complaint, via email, from a customer named Kristina. In her email she conveyed a story about receiving poor service on the previous day, from a server named Gaven. She felt that Gaven’s negative attitude may have reflected a racist attitude on his part. She further explained, that due to her dissatisfaction with his service, instead of adding a tip in the tip line of her credit card slip, she wrote “Treat everyone the same.” She further reported that after she had left The Vortex, apparently Gaven had shared the note on Kristina’s charge slip with his boyfriend Patrick, who happened to be dining in Gaven’s section at the same time. After reading Kristina’s message, it seems that Patrick took it upon himself to find Kristina on Facebook and proceeded to send her hostile and ignorant messages, which were saved in screen shots.

At this point I think it’s important to clarify that Gaven had only been employed at The Vortex for a matter of weeks. And Patrick has never been employed by us at all. At The Vortex, we have developed a detailed set of training materials regarding proper service and acceptable employee behavior. Of course, none of Gaven’s behavior was acceptable, or condoned by us.

We rely on our loyal patrons to make us aware of any bad behavior they may witness on the part of our staff. This gives us the opportunity to investigate these situations, and take whatever corrective action is appropriate. Being attentive to the concerns of our customers has helped us maintain a quality experience for all of our guests over the past 25 years. Below is the email reply, sent out on the same day (7/6/17) by one of The Vortex co-owners:

“Kristina,
We sincerely appreciate you bringing this issue to our attention. Our goal has always been to foster an atmosphere of fun and mutual respect at The Vortex. We completely agree with the sentiment “treat everyone the same” and strictly demand it of our staff, with no exceptions. It seems as though we did not deliver on that promise during your recent visit. Gaven is a new employee who apparently does not understand our mission. In no event will we ever tolerate our patrons being bullied or harassed by anyone, including friends or family of our staff. We take this matter very seriously and will be taking swift corrective action. Rest assured, Gaven and Patrick will not be allowed to return to The Vortex. We hope this will not deter you from patronizing The Vortex again in the future. We would be happy to provide you with a Vortex Gift Certificate in an attempt to apologize for this unfortunate experience.”

The General Manager then followed-up with a phone call to Kristina, to make sure that she had received the owner’s reply, and to get a mailing address for the Gift Certificate, which was sent out immediately. In an attempt to avoid the chance of allowing Gaven the opportunity to upset any more customers, the General Manager then called him in on his day off to serve him with a separation notice. His employment was terminated for gross misconduct, with the understanding that he is not welcome to return to the premises. Because Patrick is not an employee, we had our attorney draft a notice of criminal trespass, which was sent to Patrick explaining that he is also no longer allowed on our property.

Unfortunately, some people are just awful. So, all we can do is just keep trying to be good to one another.

CUSTOMER UPDATE (7/27/17):
The customer that had notified us of the poor service she received posted a follow-up comment on her Facebook page about this matter on July 26, 2017. The pertinent quote is as follows: “Since sharing this story and hearing from another patron that also had a terrible experience with the same waiter, I determined The Vortex incident was more of a customer service issue rather than a race issue.”

My friend Ashley is an angel. When it comes to canines, anyway. She’s been rescuing homeless pups for as long as I’ve known her. Bully breeds in particular. She even founded the Atlanta ResponsiBully Coalition to help advocate for these often misunderstood dogs. Her dedication is inspiring. So it was not unusual for my wife and I to meet a different foster dog every time we’d go to Ashley’s house. But we never considered adopting one. It just wouldn’t be practical. We were both way too busy running our restaurants. And besides, we lived in a condo. But as I learned, common sense doesn’t apply when it comes to matters of the heart. Any thought of practicality flew right out the window the day my wife met Jezebel.

I’ll admit it. There was something special about this sweet white pup who looked like Petey from the Little Rascals. But she was scrappy, to say the least. Just skin and bones, with teets that dragged on the ground. And of course, she was heartworm positive. All the signs of irresponsible dog ownership were there. Ashley told us that she had been locked in a foreclosed house with no food or water, and left to die. Probably used as a breeder, and abandoned when she was no longer useful to her owner. So when Jezebel walked over to my wife, placed her warm puppy head in my wife’s hands, and stared up with soulful eyes that said, “My life has been hard. Will you take care of me?” – that was all it took. This dog was coming home with us. Nothing I could possibly say would change this fact. Absolutely nothing.

This poor mistreated little dog had every reason to be skeptical of people, but she was willing to give herself over to us with joy and enthusiasm. That is the magic of dogs. She created a special place for herself in our home and in our hearts. She’s even gone on to become the official spokespup of my wife’s restaurant, Bone Garden Cantina. Jezebel’s portrait hangs on the wall above the host stand, and she appears on coasters and postcards that celebrate her adorableness (and love of tacos and fiestas). And even though she has been a part of our lives for six years now, every time she welcomes us home with her happy snorts and a wiggly butt, she reminds us what it feels like to be completely accepted and unconditionally loved. It’s pretty remarkable. Anyone who has ever loved a dog knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Men are allowed to walk around barechested in public. All men. All the time. They can just whip off their shirts whenever they feel the urge, even if they’re sporting an impressive set of double-D manboobs. Women do not generally enjoy the same right. And in the few places where it’s legal for women to go topless (like New York City), they still run the risk of being arrested for indecency. Total bullshit, right? I’m not the only one who thinks so. An actual movement has grown up around this issue. It’s called, “Topfreedom.” Once a movement has a name you know it’s official.

In 2014, filmmaker Lina Esco released a movie called “Free The Nipple.” It received a rare NC-17 rating because there was a lot of chick nip in it. Why is the female nipple still taboo when gratuitous violence and bountiful man nipple are perfectly acceptable in movies? It’s not even the exposure of boobs that’s the problem. Cleavage, side-boob, under-boob, even entirely exposed breasts with pasties covering the areolas are all perfectly legal. It’s just that pernicious little lady nipple causing all the trouble.

At this point, you may be asking yourself, “So what do aliens think about this situation?” Well, the spiritual leader of the Raëlian movement believes, among other things, that the human race was created thousand of years ago by scientists from outer space, and we continue to be visited by UFO’s to this day. He also thinks women face unjust censorship with regard to their upper lady bits, so he founded “GoTopless.org.” Due to the fact that American women earned the right to vote on August 26, 1920, GoTopless.org now holds their annual demonstrations across the country on the Sunday closest to this date.

So mark your calendars, defenders of freedom. This year, the official “Go Topless Day” will fall on Sunday, August 23rd. The demonstration in Atlanta will be held at 2:00 pm in Woodruff Park, downtown. According to the “Boob Map” posted on the group’s website, Atlanta city officials intend to arrest any woman who protests topless. Well, sometimes you’ve just got to take a stand for what is right, without concern for the consequences. So I’ll be there, doing my part to help free the nipple. And if I happen to end up in a jail cell full of topless women who believe in UFO’s, I will gladly accept my fate. Some things are worth fighting for.

I often do things on a whim. Like my new year’s resolution. I decided not to shave, or cut my hair, for all of 2015. Why? Mostly because I’ve never done it, and I was curious to see just how long my beard would get. Besides, it seems like a fairly low-maintenance option. I like low-maintenance. It’s also kind of ridiculous. And I like ridiculous even more. But that’s it. That’s all the thought I put into this hairy scheme. I’m just surprised how many people want to share their opinions about it with me, especially since I didn’t ask. And I don’t really care what people think. Ever. About anything.

Of course my friend Hollis has been very vocal with her opinion. She claims my ever-increasing facial hair basically amounts to self-inflicted “chick repellant.” Since I’m married to the most awesome woman in the universe, this wouldn’t matter to me, even if it were true. But I countered with the observation that I’ve received quite a few compliments from young ladies who work at The Vortex. “Of course they’re going to compliment you!” Hollis snapped back. “You sign their damn paychecks, you retard!” I suppose she could be right, although I thought sucking-up to the boss had become a lost art. 

Taking her harassment a step further (as she often does), she posted a picture of me, on my own damn Facebook page, along with the following query, “FEMALES: Michael thinks his new look is rockin’ with the chicks. I think he looks like Randy Quaid and should shave his adorable face. What do you think?” She followed-up by posting additional photos of Randy Quaid, Saddam Hussein and an obviously insane Howard Hughs wearing a diaper. The replies she got (from her followers) were the expected comparisons to Santa, Hobbits, Snow White’s dwarves, a demented Papa Smurf, Charles Manson’s happy brother and Sasquatch, along with a nice assortment of comments about me looking old, dirty, smelly and homeless.

Being a gentleman, I will not comment on the physical attributes of any of these negative posters. But I’d like to point out that a recent study conducted by the University of Western Australia unequivocally concluded that beards enhance male sexual attractiveness to females. Sure, the study was conducted mostly with monkeys, but that’s beside the point. The matter at hand is a much simpler one. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. So on New Year’s Eve, I’ll be deciding what to do with my (then) one-year-old beard. But since my plans for retirement include starting a cult, and all the best cult leaders have awesome beards, don’t be surprised to find this hairy persona sticking around for awhile.