Yes, you're back on New Orleans

Best supermarket free sample table ever: champagne. Unnattended, mind
you.

Saturday Night

Saturday nights, generally, are when I do nothing at all. There just seems never to be anything happening on Saturday. This seems to me to be one of the odd aspects of New Orleans, or of my New Orleans. So Saturday tends to be the day I don't do anything at all. Today was one of those. It became decisively so as I felt worse and worse through the day. My head and neck hurt a lot and I don't really know why, but it's kept me from doing anything.

The one thing I did do was convert my new Big Ship record to MP3. It's cool that they put out their album on vinyl, but a pain in the ass. I also looked for songs for Sarah. I don't know what she's looking for.

It's been a little stange and not so great to be back after Thanksgiving. I was the least happy I've ever been to get back into town, but I think that's mainly because I was so tired. I left Pennsylvania around 3 in the afternoon and drove straight through to arrive in New Orleans aroudn 8:30 the next morning. Then I had to unload and return the car. It hadn't even occured to me that I would have to get back from the rental place, so I got a bike ride out of it too. It actually felt really good to be on the bike. Strangely so-- especially as I was so tired. The trip was so long. It rained a lot, and snowed just a little in Virginia. The minivan I was driving was pretty miserable. I have a Mazda 5 minivan-like-thing as my work car, and getting into that I felt like I was in a sports car by comparison. I'll spare you my rant on the placement and configuration of windshield wiper controls, though. (They should be on the right, and don't give my anything on the stalk that I have to twist.) I also had a revelation about dashboard lighting that probably no one cares about.

It was strange to be back in PA. I wasn't there for long, but it felt like I was away from here for a long time. I didn't really do anything while I was there. Thanksgiving was strange, partly because I didn't really seem to have anything to say. I ended up peppering everyone with songs to listen to and videos to watch, but didn't really know what to talk about.

It was a long and pointless week at work, mainly involving a lot of pointless training. I also really didn't get out to do anything. I hardly saw Sarah, and Shani didn't get back until Wednesday. Friday was a bad day. On Thursday, Shani and I got talking and she showed me a lot of video clips of dancers she knows. The Sarah appeared and we all got talking. The only thing I remember specifically was a lot of talk of Meschiya and the Marbles, and what a shame it is that she's not with them anymore. Sarah wondered whether Mush knows just how much she's appreciated and the effect she has on people. I hope so. We all miss her.

Anyway, we were up talking until 3, which meant I was terrifically late for work on Friday. I don't think anyone actually noticed, but it's not good. I was out in the field for awhile, then I got back to the office to find that my boss had already left for the day, which didn't make me happy because I felt I should check in with her. There was a very annoyed email from her, though, about how I had left a document open on my computer that she needed, preventing her from opening it. I finally left just in time to get to Chance's class, which completed what felt like an off week.

I got there any almost no one was there. It started a half hour late and there were still only about 15 people instead of the usual 50-60. In a way that was good, but not so good for Chance and Nathalie and the band. It was also a reminder of why I sometimes skip it-- It's open to anyone, and it can be fun, but you have to be in the mood to help beginners. Sometimes that's fun, sometimes not. I was pleased to see Werndy show up because I know she's good. She came around to me when we were working on swingouts and said something really self-deprecating. I thought that was weird, because I'd done other workshops with her, and she's quite good. But not last night. I don't know what got into her, but she was really goofy. Finally, at the end of the night, I got to dance with Shani, and it was like a revelation. It was utterly unlike any other dance I had that night. She's so good, and swingouts with her remind me why one would want to do a swingout-- especially after a night of no good ones. The only problem was that the song ended up being a marathon. I was desperate for it to end, I was so exhausted. It turned out to be the last song anyway.

It's time for sleep now, but there's plenty to say about the city if I can remember what I was thinking. Later.

Thanksgiving Eve Souvenir

Philadelphia. I had no excitement to come here. It’s hard to believe that the place where I lived for eight years could seem so foreign. It’s really just a reminder of how I never felt at home here.

I arrived with kind of a bad attitude toward the place, so it’s probably partly my fault, but I haven’t felt anything joyful or welcoming. There seems to be nothing I miss. The airport was vaguely unpleasant, and Septa immediately pissed me off by charging $7 for a 10 minute train ride. A number of landmarks are missing now, notably the grain elevator by the airport. And it’s cold. So, after hemming and hawing, I decided to kill some time at Bucks County Coffee. Not because it’s good, but because it’s in a nice spot. Except it’s gone. I thought about going to the library, but I don’t have a Penn ID anymore. So I ended up at Cosi. I hate Cosi. And their wireless doesn’t work.

I’m having trouble understanding that there is no jazz or blues or anything otherwise funky playing in here. David Gray? U2? Who the fuck listens to that? Oh, right, the rest of the world. No brass band to welcome me at the airport, either. And people look different. Laughably trendy, too too made up, or just kind of effete. It actually seems hard to imagine a city so damn big where I could wander around all day and not run into anyone I know. Probably not have a conversation with anyone for that matter.

It’s not that New Orleans has one identity; it has many, depending who you are talking to. But Philadelphia doesn’t really have any. What is Philadelphia? Cheesesteaks? The Liberty Bell? Well, I guess being the birthplace of the constitution is not that different from being the birthplace of jazz, but you can’t dance to the constitution.

I wandered though the Penn campus on my way over here, right past the Fine Arts library and the building where I had all my classes. I wondered whether there might be anyone I know in studio. Doubtful. It really didn’t bring back a great rush of memories and feelings. Little ones here and there, disjointed. It’s experiences like that that make me realize that my feelings for New Orleans are not something that I’ve constructed, not something to fill a vacuum. It’s amazing that I could have so few feelings for this place, and proof that I never did fit in here the way that I do there.

The Marbles have been my defense along the way. They usually are when I leave New Orleans. I would never think of listening to my ipod when walking around there, but here it’s like a necessary defense. Anyway, the Marbles have been helping a lot. But also reminding me how sad it is that Meschiya is not with them anymore. That combination was so perfect. And I love the duets between her and Kiowa.

At a loss as to what to do in Philly for a couple of hours, it occurred to me that Riff Raff is coming here. I started hatching a plan to leave a surprise for them at the venue, thinking they would be here next week. They actually were here two days ago. Oh well.

When I opened up my computer, I saw on the NOLA.com page that the red streetcars are back. Among all the bad news, that seemed cheery, so I clicked on it. Of course there were a string of comments heavy on the racism, dwelling on the crime and danger of the city, and generally making it out to be the worst, most backwards place imaginable. Fuck y’all. Do something about it or shut up.

I guess I should be off now. It’s cold out there.

misc.

You know you're a New Orleanian when the bell on the toaster oven rings and you think not "my toast is done!" but "Where is Washboard Chaz?"

I thought I would have the house to myself tonight, which would have been nice, but it's band practice instead. Which is also nice. And which seems like a good excuse to write something.

I bought my ticket to Pennsylvania today for Thanksgiving. I'm oddly kind of stressed out about it. I guess because it's a short time to go a long way.

It's somehow been a long week, and it's not over yet. Shani has brought an extra layer of civilized living to the house, and we've begun looking for other places, which is daunting. I've been doing a lot of photography for work, and it's discouraging, largely because I know that we're not really doing it right. The standards we have don't really address the things that are going to make a big difference in quality. And we really should be taking all the shots on overcast days. Except... there are none. There are just no clouds this time of year, as opposed to August when it pours every afternoon.

I also experienced a setback when my camera fell apart. When JR saw that I had a Canon 5D, he asked if the mirror had fallen out yet. I had never heard of this, but he said it happened to all of them in humid places like New Orleans. Yesterday it happened. Canon insisted that there is no problem with this model, and I didn't feel like paying $200 or more to have them fix it, especially given my last experience with their repair center. So, today I steeled my nerves and attacked a very expensive camera with a pair of rubber gloves and some super glue. Seems fine, but I'm still annoyed.

I'm still feeling off kilter in a lot of ways. I haven't been going out much, and have hardly danced at all since our trip to Showdown. There are a lot of reasons for that, but one of them has something to do with confidence, and with looking at people who are very good and getting discouraged. Being rusty now makes it worse. Lack of good partners is a perpetual problem here, too.

In the meantime, I've been thinking a lot about my future and that makes me think about the city. I really don't know what I will be doing in a year. I'm fairly sure I will have a new job, but I don't know what it will be or how easy it will be to get by. (And on a barely related note, please stop calling it the big easy. Just don't. Call it the crescent city if you must.)

But it's not just my future that i wonder about. It seems to become harder for me to envision the future of this city, not easier. I don't know whether that's because I'm forming a fuller picture of it, or for other reasons. I do continue to be frustrated with peoples' attitudes about the place. Everyone talks about how dangerous it is in general, and how bad certain neighborhoods are in particular. I won't argue with the idea that it's easier to find yourself in trouble in certain places, but my experience in central city the other day seemed so telling. Central City was the area that our surveyors were most worried about, where they took all sorts of extra precautions for their safety. I was there the other day, not for the first time. I got out of the car and started wandering around with a bunch of cameras, first up and down the street and then through the tall weeds and into the abandoned building. When I was almost done, a guy came up and asked what I was doing. I told him I was photographing the building because it was going to be demolished. He said what a shame that was, how it was a good building, how it could be fixed up, how whatever came in its place would be shoddy and ugly. I agreed, and we had a nice little comversation. A couple of minutes later a much sketchier-looking guy came up and asked me what I was doing. We had more or less the same conversation. This is practically the only kind of encounter I've ever had; with reasonable people who care about their neighborhoods. Once in awhile someone asks me where they can find work. It just makes me wonder what happens to other people out there and why. Is it just luck?

I don't know. More later.

Where was I?

I'm going to stop worrying about writing the right post, and just write one.

Chevelle doesn't like Edith Piaf, apparently.

I'm still not getting out much, relative to my what I would like, but Sarah is my new roommate, and she had been having practice at the house with a lot of great musicians. This doesn't always work well with the dogs, though. More on a related theme next week, I expect.

I've been sick a lot lately, and it's been hard enough just to get to work, so I haven't been doing a lot. I've still been getting out to see music, but I haven't been dancing, and that's been frustrating. I know I'm forgetting things, backsliding when I could be progressing. The whole situation is rather depressing, and it becomes a multi-faceted viscious cycle.

Work itself is not the most unlifting thing. It never feels to me like I'm really doing anaything meaningful. I'm certainly not saving the world like I thought I would when I decided to do preservation. There's also always the question of when we will all be let go-- not if. This is now tangled up with my new-found role as arts patron. I'm happy to be able to give Sarah a place to stay and work while she splits her time between here and Abita Springs. Shani also needs a place. This makes home a much more pleasant and lively place to be, though I had come to kind of like living alone. The trick is that when my job ends, I will have to vacate my palatial apartment. Even with roommates it would be too much. I think it will be tricky to find a place as good, and I don't know what my budget will be-- probably small.

Work is also surreal, as the remaining sense of adult supervision fades. I've been realizing that if I spent my day just following my own whims and not actually showing up for work, it might take them a while to even notice. Everyone would just assume I was working somewhere else.

It has been harder to do as I get to know the city better. I see more and more holes in the city, and most of those holes are now ones that I know individually, since I had to survey the buildings before they disappeared. I watched a demolition yesterday and even though there was nothing really noteworthy about the building and no question at all that it had to be demolished, it was still affecting. The building had already largely collapsed and was beyond help. Removing it really was a help for the neighborhood. Yet, it was still not a positive thing to watch it come down-- It's hard to explain what I mean. It was not an intellectual reaction. There was just something about the dumb violence of the excavator tearing it apart that made one feel stressed, unhappy, unhealthy. And there was something of a battle. The building was far past the point where it could put up much resistence, so it tried trickery instead. Despite the operator's best efforts to bring it down neatly and carefully, walls and porches went leaping off in directions of their own choosing. It was lucky that the building next door was also listed for demolition, because it got hit hard a couple of times by pirouetting walls.

I think I'm having some sort of quiet philosophical crisis about what it means to live in New Orleans. Nothing too serious, but maybe a sign that the newness and excitement has work off. It is being replaced with more knowledge of the place and maybe a different kind of comfort. It's been interesting to talk to Sarah, who is a native. She has a lot to say about the changes and about all the new arrivals.

I've had some great meetings out doing fieldwork, too. There was the guy who saw me taking pictures and told me about a tree with some fungus growing out of it that would make a cool picture. There were some sad men in the ninth ward worried about what was becoming of the nieghborhood and the world. And last week there was Miss Hannah.

I was surveying in Broadmoor, and Miss Hannah came out asking about-- actually, I don't even remember. She wanted to show me the mysterious life form growing in a crack in the FEMA trailer that she was waiting to have taken away. Then she told me all about the neighborhood-- about the man who had a farm there when there was nothing, and about the house he built a little later. she showed me where "1929" was scratched into the concrete on that house where a column was missing, and told me about how people came in to build houses after than and make some money. I wish I could remember half of what she said. She told me about the only other people on the block and how they were no good and were staying there illegally. She told me about how her relatives used her address to make claims with FEMA, so that she couldn't get any FEMA money. (I've heard this a lot...) She told me about the guy who watched houses to see that they are truly abandoned, then fixes them up a little bit and rents them out... all over the neighborhood, apparently. She just couldn't believe that, but it's a good scam, I say. She said he was also trying to sell the house from 1929, though it's not his. That seems less feasible.

No matter the madness here, though, it seems less crazy than the world at large. I've been reading the endless articles of how the rich and the overextended middle class are changing their behavior in the face of the looming depressing. Meanwhile, there's some complication about thanksgiving because my uncle is renovating his 20 year old house. Again. Here, on the other hand, the coolest thing seems to be living and looking like you just stepped off a WPA work site in 1935.

Amazing

I was standing in line this morning in the little cafe in the lobby of our office building, waiting to get coffee, when the radio started playing "dueling banjos."  I'm not kidding.  Before that it had been playing your average inoffensive rock, and when the first banjo notes came out, I was like "no...  that can't be what I think it is."  Time did not diminish my disbelief.  In fact, my disbelief only intensified as the song did.

But much more amazing is Barack Obama.  I was so anxious in the weeks leading to the election that I dared not get my hopes up.  I intended to go to an election party at Tatiana's, but I felt too sick.  I ended up watching quietly at home.  I regret not being out to celebrate, but I was feeling awful.  I wish I knew what scenes had been playing out in town that night.  My block was silent and empty.

I swear I'll get around to posting about showdown one of these days, but I see now that so much time has passed that there are a number of things to post about that have happened since then, including visits and weddings.  For now, I am starting on my second cold in a month and tired of being sick.  And tired.  But damn, America, maybe things are going to be alright after all.

Off...

To Minnesota. I got talked into going to Showdown. Should be fun. But intimidating.

Hopefully I can stop in Owatonna.

The blog will likely be quiet while I'm gone, but it's been quiet anyhow.