1603 Katrina

Yes, you're back on New Orleans

2008-12-30T15:31:00.001-08:00

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

Saturday Night

2008-12-06T23:27:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-06T23:25:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-20T18:40:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-11-15T19:19:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-06T14:58:00.001-08:00

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...

2008-10-08T14:44:00.000-07:00

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.

up and down

2008-10-06T13:02:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Where to start? I really don’t know. It’s been a long couple of weeks. The week before last was pretty good, as far as I can recall. Last week I was in a real funk.

Work has been strange. After Gustav, the mayor suspended the city’s historic review of demolitions, citing the urgent need to demolish Gustav-damaged buildings. Except that the city has the power to do emergency demolitions in any case. And Gustav-damaged buildings were few. So everyone wondered what he was really up to, and the preservation community was up in arms. What this has meant for me is very little work. The city committees still have not been meeting, and preservationists have been successful in preventing the demolition of anything that was not reviewed, so nothing is happening. That’s a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it’s hard to fill the work day. (It’s really hard on the crews, who just aren’t getting paid.) On the other hand, I’m getting tired of watching houses disappear. Many of them will never get fixed and are in amazingly bad shape. Some are in fine shape and should not be demolished. Either way, it’s weird to be getting to know the city well enough to spot all the new holes.

I’ve had a number of conversations about my work and the city and its recovery lately, all of which have reinforced a few things: there are such huge and interesting issues to be dealt with here, I’m not thinking about them at all or paying attention, and my lack of attention is mostly because my job is pretty dispiriting. It’s hard to see the side of the recovery that I see all the time, so at the end of the day I tend to just forget it and go out looking for music and companionship. I really realized this the other day. I was looking at squandered heritage, and there was a link to a site about preservation issues in St Louis. It turned out to be the site created by Rob, who stayed with me last year. I had looked at it before, but looking again I was so impressed by his passion and dedication, and it made me wonder why I am not doing anything remotely like that here. I think fatigue is the answer. One thing I have learned about myself is that when I make my passion my job, I get burned out and the passions wanes, though it doesn’t disappear.

It’s so hard to know where this city is headed. It has so much potential, but it’s hard to know whether it will ever realize half of it. And there’s the possibility that if it did, it could be a victim of its own success. (That problem is a long way off…) Anyway, I have these periodic sort of existential crises. Many times, I feel like I am truly in the right place and participating in something really special. Other times I feel like I am not really doing anything at all, and wonder why I am not doing anything meaningful. Last week felt pretty bleak. The root of it was silly and kind of irrelevant, but the feeling metastasized. This weekend was taken up with a workshop which was long and hard and frustrating, but at least I was doing something… By the end of it, I felt pretty good. Or, rather, was too tired to feel bad about anything. The workshop was with Reuel, who I had met in Memphis. He lives in Nashville now, but he is from New Orleans. It’s interesting to see how much his movement has in common with Chance’s. They’re not the same by any means, but they’re more similar to each other than they are to anyone else I have seen.

After that, I would probably have gone straight to sleep, except that Tatiana had invited me to dinner. I had never been to a fabled Tatiana Sunday dinner, and I was really excited. It was wonderful. There were a lot of people there, about half of whom I knew. The food was great, and it was very comfortable and great to talk to people. There were a couple of people there who were new to New Orleans, and we all spent some time talking, with amazement, about how easy it is to fall into the place and how easy it is to meet people and make connections here. In fact, hearing others’ stories, I feel like it took me a ridiculously long time to start knowing people.

The place itself was a bohemian preservationist’s fantasy. It was ridiculously huge and beautiful, and such a pleasure to stand on the balcony looking out on Royal Street. I always wondered how she ended up in such an unbelievable place, and the story turned out to be an interesting one. Her grandfather had bought a lot of properties in the 50s, when things were really in a slump. She talked about her ongoing discovery of who her grandfather was and of how he is remembered. That led us to ponder whether people like us can or should be compared to the people who made the French Quarter what it was in the 50s and 60s. She said that generation seems to spend a lot of time lamenting something lost, but we all, it turns out, feel as if it may be happening again. I was happy to hear her, a native, say that she feels it is, and that imports like me are helping it. I told her about my idea that we come here with a naïve idea of what the place should be and, since we don’t know any better, we do things to make it that… She seemed to see some truth and hope in that, and thought that the same thing may have happened in previous cycles.

I think the big revelation of the evening for me was that the Loose Marbles, as I know them, are a lot newer than I thought. I’m still a little confused about the chronology of who arrived in New Orleans when, but it did surprise me to realize that they hadn’t really been around that long before I found them. I guess that also explains their relative obscurity even in New Orleans.

Last week feels almost like a lost week. I spent a lot of time fretting and feeling kind of foul. The rest was classes and work. I’m taking three of Nathalie’s classes right now, and it’s a lot. It’s hard for it to be fun when it’s that much, but I felt like it would be best to cram in a lot at once now. I think I work in cycles where I acquire new things and then try to perfect them and learn to use them. So the next couple months will be a lot of acquisition, after which I can relax a bit and try to sort it all out. It’s also good to be obligated to work on it for at least those three hours a week in a focused way, and it allows more opportunity for corrections from Nathalie. Work was mostly photography, which was kind of trying. It’s hard to do alone, and potentially dangerous. On the other hand, I really didn’t feel like working with anyone. It was largely a task of managing my own impatience and lack of motivation.

The previous week was, as far as I can remember, a lot more fun. I was tired, and didn’t go out nearly as much as some weeks, but it was still good. Chance’s class on Friday was on breakaway Charleston, which was really difficult but a lot of fun once we started to get it. It was a particularly good night at the Spotted Cat afterwards, with a really good crowd out. There were also more people returning. Walt is back, and it’s been great to see him around, and Aurora reappeared on that Friday, though she left again. It’s so hard to keep track of who is where. Jesse is gone again, and I don’t know where most of the Marbles are. Linnzi Zaorski may or may not be moving to California—none of us can figure it out. Shani has made up her mind to return to California. I understand why, but we’re all sad about it.

In the meantime, I’m waiting for the world to end. Or, at least, for the second Great Depression. I see that stock markets around the world continue to crash today, and I am under no illusion that anyone knows how to fix this. I didn’t get a great feeling from last week’s debate, either. Palin was not the stammering wreck that she was in interviews, but she was not competent, either. Her answers sounded confidant, but she wasn’t actually answering the questions that were asked, just regurgitating various talking points. And even then, her syntax was still mangled. When I hear people whose subjects and verbs don’t agree, who are speaking in disconnected fragments strung together into shapeless run-ons, it makes me cring to think they could be running the country. This is not grammatical nitpicking. The way that you put a sentence together is, I think, a reflection of how your thinking works. That kind of collage of memorized phrases reveals no thinking at all. And debates and speeches are not the time to show how folksy and informal you can be. I’m all for informality, but I also want to know that you can speak and conduct yourself properly, and that you know which occasions call for which. I don’t really care how personable my leaders are or how well I can relate to them. I’m never going to hang out with them. What I want to know is that they are smart and serious. (And a few other things, but I shouldn’t get started…. ) How could anyone seriously be thinking of voting for her and McCain, who keeps showing himself more clearly to be erratic, desperate, and possibly senile? For from being a man of convictions and principles, he seems willing to do or say anything that will get him elected.

(See Get Your War On...)

I don’t think this ride is going to be fun or end anytime soon. I think this country will be startled to see where it stands at the end. But, if the world is ending, I might as well be here, where there’s already been a preview and we know how to have a good time and take care of each other while things fall apart.

Bits and pieces

2008-09-20T18:20:00.001-07:00

I've started any number of blog posts this week, and none of them have gone anywhere. But I'm feeling like I have to post something. It's been a strange week.

Right now I'm in the strange position of being really angry and hurt by something a friend did, but which had no effect on me, or, really, on anyone important to me. It's kind of abstract, at least for me, and I'm a little surprised how bent out of shape I am about it. I'll get over it, given some time, but... it resonates. It also seems like everyone around me is having a tough time right now in one way or another.

It's been strange weather here. The week started out freakishly cool, at least relative to what had come before. It was such a relief it seemed to good to be true. The last few days, it's gotten hot again and it's been raining a lot. It's rained pretty much all day today, and I'm afraid it may ruin my last chance to see Meschiya sing before she leaves.

Tuesday night was a really big deal in terms of things feeling normal, but it's not simple to explain. First was Nathalie's first class since spring, and that will be a nice routine to be back in. Then was Meschiya's show. Her only one while she is here, since last week's was cancelled. It's hard to explain how right it felt and how reassuring it was. I saw so many people who I hadn't seen in weeks or months, and it felt so comfortable. Really, it was absurd how many people I knew there. I've never known so many people anywhere else. The band was great and there is nothing that makes me happier than seeing Meschiya. Bart from Vavavoom was playing accordion, and he sang the first song of each set, which gave me a chance to dance with Meschiya. I was really surprised by how good she has gotten. She's better than a lot of the regular dancers, and I don't remember her having been that good before. It really made me happy that she was so good. I'm sure I would have fallen into this whole scene at some point, but the way that I did find my way into it was through Meschiya. I remember being startled by how generous and welcoming she was, and I still am.

That was the first night in awhile that really felt like the New Orleans that I fell in love with. It was comfortable and beautiful, and I was so happy. I was sorry that a lot of my friends couldn't be there, particularly Shani. She is struggling with whether New Orleans is really the right place for her, and she deserved to have a night like that-- the sort of night that I think made her move here in the first place.

Chance is also back, which is great. But... I forgot how nervous he makes me sometimes. I had a class with him last night, which was great and welcome, but I have such respect for what he does that I do get nervous around him and start to make mistakes, and just generally have a hard time relating. We need him though. Nathalie is a brilliant teacher, and we are so lucky to have her, but we need Chance to bring a sort of authenticity and feel to the dancing that is really hard to find. I personally need to be taught each thing by both of them before it makes sense.

I ran into someone else I hadn't seen in a long time last Friday. She had moved away a few months ago, and then there she was at the Spotted Cat. She said she glimpsed me and decided that if she waited there, she would see me before long. It was bittersweet. I didn't know her that well, but it's sad that she felt she had to leave. I couldn't judge how well she's liking her new home. We did end up talking about her dislike for Linnzi Zaorski, and that made me sad. I like Linnzi, and she has always seemed really sweet, but my friend felt otherwise. I do miss Linnzi. Sundays are kind of empty without her shows.

The exciting news of today regards Hurray for the Riff Raff. I saw an ad today for Voodoo, the big fall music festival here. It's largely rock, lots of big acts, and I didn't think there would be anyone playing that I would want to see, but I went to check the lineup. And Riff Raff is playing! I'm really proud of them, and they deserve it so much. They are SO GOOD, and Alynda and Walt are such wonderful people. They've also been incredibly welcoming and have really made this a place where I want to be. (I was also pleased to see that the photo on the Voodoo webpage was one of mine...)

I've also been back at work this week, which I guess means that things are getting back to normal now for real. For better and worse. The grocery store still has a lot of empty shelves, but the traffic lights are all back on, although a lot of them are lying on the ground. I was in the field early in the week while everyone else moved into the new building. That's just as well. There is still a lot of moving happening anyway. Everyone is very busy figuring out how to get to work as well. There no easy parking solution. I tried biking, and it was ok, but I need a better route. The motorcycle is good, but I'll try to stick with the bicycle. Whether by car or by bike, there's a lot of debate about routes. The new building is more centrally located, but not exactly convenient. I miss out old view too, and the pond with the annoying ducks and the non-annoying cranes and herons. Now we have a view of an empty Hyatt and the Superdome, and, in the distance, the Huey P Long bridge. Actually, the "H" is missing from the top of the Hyatt tower, so it says YATT, which is pretty funny.

The new building is also just the kind of urbanity that I hate. I love the weird small town feel of New Orleans. I'm not so fond of real cities, and our new building is everything that annoying about city life. It's too fancy and simultaneously sterile. It's centrally-located, yet isolated. There is very little to eat close by, and everything right around it closes at 2, leaving it a ghost town. It's also impossible to get in outside of regular business hours, which are my hours. And you can't use the stairs, since all the doors are locked. They are for escape only. I'm not sure I'd be up for climbing 14 stories on a regular basis, but I'd give it a shot. I'm sure I'd get used to it. In the old building, we were on the fifth floor, and I used the stairs always.

I've been kind of preoccupied with the economy in the last week. I've been thinking for awhile that we might just be sliding toward another great depression, and this week certainly looked like it. I just can't believe the kind of trouble people get themselves in, and that we allow them to do it on such a scale that it can endanger a whole society. Meanwhile, part of me is curious what it would actually be like. I have this half-formed belief that I would survive better than most, but there's no basis for that. It's really just wishful thinking. I guess what really makes em curious is the question of what kind of country would emerge on the other side. I find the New Deal really inspiring and hopeful, almost utopian, and I lament that we have moved so far from that. If I were feeling better and more energetic, I could rant endlessly about this crisis and about greed and irresponsibility and the value of real work versus large-scale gambling. Be glad I don't have it in me right now. I heard someone at work the other day say that he was kind of rooting for another great depression. I don't know abou that, but...

In personal financial news, I was sure I had lost my wallet on Monday, so I cancelled all my cards. This means that though I do have money, it is entirely theoretical. I can get any of it. It also contributed to a somwhat ruined night. I was supposed to dj our little swing night at Ernst cafe, and I was really looking forward to dancing to music that I love. It was still fun to watch people getting into my music, and I was pleasantly surprised by what they responded to and how well they responded... In addition to favorite old music of mine, I made sure to play Meschiya and Loose Marbles and Riff Raff-- it's such a shame that so few know what incredible stuff is happening in their own town. I'm always surprised that dancers here don't know the Marbles, when dance scenes around the country consider it such a score when they can get the Loose Marbles to their city. Anyway, I was glad to see people responding, but I was not in the mood to join in, and that was sad. And my favorite follows didn't show up.

I did find myself rooting for hurricane Ike. I don't know why. It was really perverse. It did hit Texas pretty hard, but not as hard as I thought it might, thankfully. I am truly amazed by how many people did not evacuate Galveston. Ike has had an interesting side effect here. I've complained many times about the comments on the Times-Picayune website, and how much they take away my hope for this city and my faith in people in general. They are so negative, racist, defeatist, and filled with trolls. Well, they have been transformed since Houston lost electricity. Right after Ike hit, all those posts disappeared, and the ones that remain are, by and large, thoughtful and constructive, and show real concern about the city and a spirit of striving for a better city, even if they don't always express a lot of hope. I'm not the only one to notice this. Texas, I'm really sorry you got hit so hard by Ike, and I sincerely wish you a quick recovery. But... stay the hell in Texas and leave us alone. We've got enough to deal with without your remote harrasment.

One big topic of conversation the other day was Gustav. We were all outraged that no one has paid any attention to it. It's as though it didn't hit anywhere, just because it didn't hit New Orleans. Well, as I've said before, it did hot somewhere, and that somewhere is all the more forgotten now that Texas is the big story. Ike actually did a lot of damage in Louisiana too. It didn't bring much wind damage, but it brought flooding to the entire Louisiana coast. There was even some serious flooding east of New Orleans. There was really catastrophic flooding on the Louisiana side of the Texas border. The storm surge from Ike was huge in terms of the area that it affected. This doesn't seem to have gotten much attention.

On a different note, it's also apparently tiny lizard season. Chameleons are everywhere in New Orleans, but l don't usually find them in the house. Lately I've been finding tiny little ones in the house. I don't think they'd survive inside, so I've been catching them and transporting them outside. Last night, Shani was telling me that one night they were in the kitchen and saw a giant roach and a mouse. Shani killed the roach, then they sort of ran from the mouse, which disappeared under something. As this was happening, a giant moth appeared on the scene, which prompted to appearance of a chameleon, which ate it. I love this story. It seems very New Orleans. Other places have roach infestations, which is repulsive. We have whole ecosystems.

2008-09-10T17:08:00.000-07:00

You hit it on the head, Eric. Two weeks without pay kind of sucks for me, but it's much worse for people who are just getting by in the first place. They are making emergency food stamps available here, and they're certainly needed. A couple of people I know are going to try to get them. It been a huge disruption. I've noticed that it took a lot of big chains a long time to open. Starbucks and Walmart took so long that I stopped paying attention. Meanwhile, all the local coffee places were open as soon as they had power. I saw people sitting outside of one place when I came back on Wednesday night, when the city was still officially closed and there was a curfew in place.

And Seriously, I forgot to thank you. I got home in Wednesday to no power. I had flashlights, but I didn't want to use up the batteries. I knew there were some candles around, but I realized I had no means of producing fire. Then I remembered you trying to tell me about Slavoj Zizek at the Spotted Cat. (That makes it sound like he was performing there, which is pretty funny.) Anyway, I easily located the Slavoj Zizek Spotted Cat matches. Who says Slovene philosophy isn't good for anything? Must... resist... urge.. to make joke..... about... enlightenment.

Ok, are you all bored yet? Are you still reading? I've stopped checking whether this thing gets any hits. Well, anyway, more relatively inconsequential news:

I was so thrilled the Meschiya was going to perform last night. I wanted her to have a good turnout, and invited everyone I knew, and had someone send out a mass email to the swing dance list here. It would, I was determined, be different from the Marbles show on super bowl day where about 3 people showed up and I was able to joke that I had brought everyone in town that I knew. Which was no one, at the time.

So, just before I got ready to leave, I checked Myspace and found that the show had been cancelled. Something about renovations at Mimi's. Instead, I set out with Jody to the Spotted Cat, feeling like the boy who cried wolf. I was really disappointed about Mush, but looking froward to the Bug Stompers. When we got there, it was obvious that it was not the Bug Stompers. It was, instead, the Feral Cats, a new band made of a couple of Bug Stompers, Dominic Grillo, and... others that I know but not well. They were good, but not what I wanted. I don't know why I am so stuck on smoothness as the root of my problems this week, but they were too smooth. Eventually, Shani showed up with news that Meschiya was playing outside the supermarket on Royal Street. There was no doubt in my mind about what to do, and soon Shani and Jayna and Jody and I were on our way.

She was there with Chris on banjo and Dan on baritone sax, and a drummer I didn't know. It was pretty damn good. Later, Andy (Dr. Bone) joined her on trombone. I'd never heard him play. He was good, and knew all the tunes by heart. It was funny that we were essentially her entire audience, but it was great to see her. It turned out that I was too tired to really dance, though I made an exception toward the end when Meschiya asked. That was great fun.

It was bittersweet, though... It's sad to know she's leaving soon, and it was sad to hear why. I mean, I already knew everything she said, but it was sad to hear it from her. She says New Orleans will always be home, so I hope she can and will come back and really feel at home here. In the meantime, though, it's good to know that she is doing great things somewhere else. I'll miss her. It's impossible to explain the spirit she has. I don't know anyone else who makes music for a living and still looks so pleased at the end of every song, grinning and hopping and clapping in joy at what just happened. Well, ok, not every song, and not at all on some days, but often enough to be really endearing and give me some kind of undefinable faith and hope and happiness.

That was not the only thing... Shani is having trouble with New Orleans, too. It's no surprise. She loves this place and the music so much, but she obviously wants to keep developing her dancing, and she can't do that here. There is no one here for her to work with, and it must feel very lonlely compared to L.A.-- at least as far as dancing. So it was kind of a hard night for a lot of people. That was hard to remember when Mush had us all sing "I'll Fly Away" as the last song, though. What was easy to remember this morning was how badly I cut my hand trying to open beers without a bottle opener. I could have picked something that didn't require one, but I thought I remembered Mush liking Pilsner Urquell. I wasn't wrong, at least.

Today was back to work. Sort of. Since we still don't have an office (more on that in a nimute), we met at Gail's house. I had never been there. It was really lovely. In honor of our being the Demo/Debris team, she got us debris poboys from Mother's. Oh wait, I never got any pie! I also passed up my chance at some of Mush's birthday pie. What's wroung with me?

Anyway... After the meeting, everyone went to retrieve boxes of artifacts from the old office and bring them to Gail's for safekeeping, since we can't take them to the new office yet. We also need to start working so the city can do emergency demolitions, and there were some spreadsheets we needed, so I was sent to Harahan to try to get them. Oddly, there was no technical problem like I expected. The IT guy just needed to know where we had put them, and he got them easily. I also expected I might have to prove who I was and that I was authorized to not only access the stuff, but to put it on my flash drive and walk out with it. No. No, the problem was the guy at the help desk. He had a helpful sign up with rules that you had to read before asking him for anything. Rules like:

Don't ask me for a pen to fill out the ticket
DOn't ask me the date.
Don't ask me for supplies, that's over there.
Don't ask me what column you sit in, go look at the map.

I'm not the type to read signs made by assholes, and I thought my problem might be a little unique so I walked up and explained that I needed to get copies of file from the Algiers servers, and asked whether that would be possible. He said yes, so I filled out a ticket. He looked at it and saw that I had put down NA for floor and column. "Where do you sit?" he asked.

I said "I don't sit anywhere. I'm from Algiers and our office is destroyed."
He still wanted to know where I sat. I reiterated that we have no office and I therefore do not sit anywhere. How, he asked, would he find me?
"I'm going to stand right here," I said.
"But.. where is your computer set up?" he asked.
I tried to patiently explain that I had no idea whatsoever where my computer was. He then directed my to the property officer to look for it. It was not in the room full of computers, so I guess it's in Baton Rouge or something.

So it was back to useless guy to explain again that I needed files, not a computer they were never on. He was mystified at best.
"Do you have access to the ALgiers server?" I asked.
"yes..."

Finally, he told me to go talk to the guy over there. The guy over there was quite helpful, and got me what I needed in about 10 seconds. Well, ok, he found it in ten seconds. It took an hour to copy. So, to useless IT guy, and all those like, him: go die. I'm sorry you don't like your job. It may feel quite pointless. You may think it's below you. It is, however, a fuck of a lot better than a lot of jobs out there, and you may have noticed that a lot of people come to you needing help. Perhaps they are total idiots. This may make you crazy, but it only proves that they in fact need help. That is your job. Doing this job may result in the positive feelings that most of us associate with helping people. Seriously, people who use their little bit of power to smugly abuse people who need thier help are a waste. If you can't get over your fucking attitude, please go where no one will ever have to deal with you again. Or just go away entirely.

Now, the question arises: what the hell do I do now? I don't know, but I'm going to go try to find something edifying. It's harder on Wednesday and Thursday since Vavavoom ceased to exist.

Normal?

2008-09-09T17:28:00.000-07:00

Back to? I'm not sure. Closer. I went to the grocery store today and they had everything except all the things that they never have. I also went to the office the retrieve my stuff. Luckily, I had not left much of anything there, as my desk was very, very wet and stinky. But the important stuff that we packed up survived. And then I got the news that we will not be starting work again tomorrow, but Monday. Great. Two weeks with no pay.

After all that, I went to see the Jazz Vipers at the Southern Food and Beverage Museum. Well, I tried to. The museum is apparently invisible, or hidden in some underground bunker, and it was guarded by hundreds of National Guard troops (really), and I gave up.

The big news has been Meschiya. It's so great to have her back. Last night was swing night at Ernst Cafe and... well, it was ok, but... I'm tired of smooth music and smooth dancing. I'm on Balboa strike this week. So, I was happy to leave for the Spotted Cat to see Shani and Tatiana and Sarah for the first time since evacuating, and Meschiya for the first time since spring. It was also nice to See Carrie Anne (or however she spells it) and Dante.

It was Mush's birthday, and she was a little goofy, but charmingly so. Then we all had birthday shots and were all goofy. There was a scene there that I can hardly describe. The band was joined by some locals, including the trombone player whose name I still don't know, who was belting out St James Infirmary. Somehow, this became a tribute to Mush, and some random dude in a Saints shirt was sort of dancing with her, and then she took over the vocals, and everyone who didn't know her was astonished. I was thrilled to hear that she has a show tonight at Mimi's, and sad to hear that it's one of only two shows she will do before returning to Germany. I really missed her.

It was really good to talk to Shani, too. I think I've been feeling stuck in a little bubble the last couple of weeks. It's been a nice bubble, but time to get out. She sort of validated a lot of things that I had been feeling but didn't quite have words for. It'll be great when the Marbles and Chance and Amy get back. I think I will feel a lot happier with that scene going again. Since last night I've been thinking a lot about why I haven't been having a lot of fun lately. I guess I just started out on the hard stuff-- the Marbles and Chance and Amy have such power and spirit and humor. They're irresistably joyful and energetic, and there's no substitute. It's interesting to learn the smooth subtleties of balboa, and there's a place for smooth, subtle music, but it's not what amimates me. I need the crazy intensity of the marbles to get me to where other people probably start out, joy and energy-wise.

So, anyway, it was great to get out and see the Jazz Vipers last night and hop and kick like idiots until we were all exhausted by what felt like a Charleston marathon. I also got in a pretty good dance with Shani. The music and the people reminded me of why I started doing this, and I felt so much better. It was all a reminder of what New Orleans is to me and what it means to me. Meschiya disappeared after the second set, and we all followed suit.
Meanwhile, Ike appears as if it will miss us. Sorry, Texas, but... uh, well, who cares? No really, sorry Texas. You can take it, though. It's really eerie to still hear NOTHING about Gustav in the media. It didn't hit us, but it seriously hurt some people west of here, and you'd never know it. Unless you read THIS or THIS. Cuba and Haiti must be suffering unimginably, too. Where do they evacuate to?

The strangest thing about Gustav was probably the timing. Last year, the Katrina commemorations were so inescapable and protracted and moving. This year, we were all busy evacuating, and there was almost nothing, except everyone's quiet fear that it might all be happening again. It's a shame, because Katrina still lingers in such obvious ways, and there needs to be a day to stop and talk and think about it.

In other news, Banksy has been here. I saw a piece of totally brilliant graffitti one day while i was out surveying, and it was his. He did amazing and beautiful pieces all over town, and it really felt like a gift. Fred Radtke, the idiot whose personal anti-graffitti mission drives him to paint everything in town grey, has already destroyed some of them. It makes me so angry. There's plenty of graffitti that adds nothing and makes a place feel a little threatening, but Fred, the grey ghost, has also made it his mission to destroy things that are positive and valuable. The biggest example previous to Banksy was the work of NOLA Rising, which was meant to bring humor and beauty to a ruined city, and which employed signs which were removable and non-destructive. So Fred destroyed them. Go fucking die, Fred.

See the Banksy stuff HERE. AND HERE. There are some others, too... I'll be really sad to see them get covered up. Particularly the girl with the umbrella. I've heard the brass band is already gone.

Ike?

2008-09-07T20:53:00.000-07:00

Ike better not fucking come here. One is enough.

It's been a strange few days. Not remarkably strange, but... I've been feeling strange. I was so happy to get back and then there was nothing to do, really. Friday I went back to work as ordered. Except that there was nothing for us do and all of our stuff was... somewhere. I don't know. So I left. Later I got a call that said "sorry you went in, that was a mistake, we'll go back on Wednesday." Ok.

In the meantime I've been generally failing to amuse myself. We went out to see the Jazz Vipers on Friday, and it was alright, but... I don't know. Objectively, it was excellent. Tom was there with his bass saxophone, which I haven't seeen since Novemeber. Saturday the Sherrys hosted a welcome back party... it was good, but the music was not what I wanted, and they had a birthday jam for me which left me feeling a little incompetent. I got stuck in Charleston mode. The only redeeming factor is that few around here can match my Charleston. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm a roackstar, only that no one else really does it. I have to confess i'm getting tired of Balboa all the time. Tonight we went out to see Linnzi Zaorski one last time before she leaves town, but it turned out to be another false alarm. Linnzi was looking a little deflated. She said her air conditioning was broken.

In the meantime, I've become acutely aware of how hard the evacuation was on a lot of people. It kind of sucked for us, but it wasn't really bad, and we tried to make it fun. A lot of other people have horror stories and are swearing that they will not evacuate again. The unifying theme of these stories seems to be rage at the mayor for panicking us and sick cats.

Anyway, I don't want to do it again. Memphis awaits us, and would be happy to entertain us again, but I don't feel like going anywhere. I just want to get back to something like normal. And two evacutations in a month would really be a blow to the city. The whole southeast is vulnerable to hurricanes, and it going to be dirupted once in awhile. But if people get the idea that New Orleans is going to have to shut down for a month every year, we're going to be in real trouble. THe obvious cost is the money we all spend evacuating, but there's also a huge effect from all of us being out of work for a week. And the the larger effect of all the businesses being closed. And ultimately, the cost to the whole region of businesses that might not choose to locate here because of the risk of disruption.

It's still pretty disrupted. A lot of businesses are still closed, many buildings are still boarded up (why take the boards down when Ike might be coming?), and there's a curfew. Yeah, that's right. A dusk-to-dawn curfew. In my neighborhood and the quarter and the Marigny it's only 2-6 am, but it's still disturbing. Never mind the fact that it seems to be completely unenforced.

For so many reasons, we need Ike to miss us. The way this place feels right now is just one more. Everybody is so tired, edgy, and stressed. I've heard of a few people who decided not to come back from their evacutation becuase they were tired of worrying. And there are so many people who ran out of money the first time and can't afford to do it again. The worst thing about Hurricanes is how slowly they happen. You have at least a week to watch the damn thing and wonder whether it will hit you. It was unbearable being in Memphis and watching the thing and becoming more and more sure that we would not escape it, and yet still have wonder whether it would really hit us and whether the levees would hold.

In the meantime, I realize how bad it is for me to have neither a routine nor a schedule. I don't really want to go back to work, but this is kind of unbearable. Not a vacation, just a void. It's hard, for some reason, to make anything of it. And I could use a paycheck, too.

Home!

2008-09-04T11:56:00.000-07:00

I got back to New Orleans last night. I had no power, so it was a hot night, but it's back on now. The city does not look bad at all. There are a few trees down, but you have to look pretty hard to find damage. Other parts of Louisiana are a different story entirely, and I'm sorry to say that they don't seem to be getting any attention. I don't have too much sense of how bad it was in the western parishes, but it was bad, and you'd never know it from the national media. We're all glad New Orleans did so well, but New Orleans is not the center of the universe, despite what I might think.

The other thing that I'm starting to see looking at blogs and papers is a lot of bitterness about the evacuation. My evacuation was not bad at all. We called it a hurrication and made the best of it. We left early enough that traffic was not terrible. It should take 6-7 hours to get to Memphis and it took us about 11. On the way back it took about 8. We also had friends to stay with and the means to get out in relative comfort and have fun once we got there. A lot of people didn't. Staying in a hotel or motel with nothing to do would be expensive and miserable. A shelter would be even worse.

Evacuating was not bad for us, but it was a little nerve-wracking. I packed the car, and then unpacked some things when I realized that both Susan and JR would be going. The dogs made the ride much longer, and hairier and stinkier. I know JR was not enthused about that part. Sitting in the hot sun in the car was rough until we started moving. But we didn't have it bad at all. I expected we night end up sitting in traffic running out of food and water and gas and broiling like some people apparently did. In fact, we would have had a lot more room had I not packed so much food and water as a precaution.

Memphis felt very foriegn, but it was good, and everyone was very good to us. On Sunday we had a big dance party with the Memphis swing dance crowd. It was good, but they played a lot of slow blues. That seems to be their specialty there, and I don't know how to dance to that. They didn't seem prepared to dance to the fast stuff that we're used to here. By the time the party started, I was feeling like NOLA would probably be ok, but I was still worried. Jayna's worry get to me, and it was a pretty emotional evening. It wasn't until Monday afternoon that we really felt that the levees would hold and started to relax.

On Monday night we went out to Beale Street looking for some music. We found a good blues band, but it was underwhelming. We did see Dominic Grillo, and New Orleans musician, hanging out at a bar nearby. He told us to come see him in New Orleans Thursday. Tuesday was our tourist day. We went to the Sun Records studio, which was a lot of fun. The studio and tour was cool, and when the tour was over we asked the guide if she could play "Great Balls of Fire" again so we could dance in the studio where it was made. It was fun, and she saw us dance she asked if we knew the Loose Marbles. It turned out she had seen them in New Orleans, and also knew the girlfriend of the guy we were staying with. Everywhere we went, people were thrilled to have evacuees, but our next stop-- the Stax Museum-- went one better by letting us in for free. It was something of a pilgrimage for me, but dissapointing. I knew that the orignial Stax studios had been demolished in the 1980s and that the building now there is a replica. The museum itself was not that compelling.

At the Stax Museum, we ran into some more New Orleanians, one of whom I had apparently met at a party at Liz's, but I had forgotten. I felt bad about that.

Susan left for Chicago and ultimately France on Sunday, and before she did, she wondered what Jesse had done. So did I. When we last saw him, he wasn't sure whether he would stay or go. As we sat down for dinner on Sunday I checked the Times-Picayune website, and my question was answered. He stayed:

I also had been wondering about Meschiya, since she had just gotten back in town. I was relieved to hear from her that she was in Atlanta and having a good time.

Nathalie was determined to leave on Tuesday night. Everyone tried to talk her out of it. Everyone except me and Jody-- we knew it was futile. I thought it was crazy to go not knowing whether she could get in, but I also knew that I would be able to refuse her, and I agreed with her that driving on probably-empty roads in the middle of the night before the rush started was the way to do it. She managed to sneak home and got power the next day. It was so nice to have Nathalie around. She is just such a wonderful presence, and I've never gotten to spend time with her before.

JR was also in a hurry to leave, so he and I left yesterday, against the urging of everyone else. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go or not, but when I offered him a ride, he made it clear he wanted to come back at the first opportunity and I assured him that I did, too. I didn't feel I could go back on that. He knew he had power, but I wasn't sure. We stopped in Mississippi to buy groveries, figuring we wouldn't be able to get anything when we got back. I wasn't sure what to get since I wasn't sure whether I would have power. I also had no gas when I left, so I wasn't sure if I could heat anything.

When I got here last night, I kind of regretted it. It was hot and dark. My neighbor had my back door key so I couldn't let the dogs out in the yard. She also had the car key, so I coudldn't move the car off the sidewalk where she had put it in case of high water. I started to wonder why I didn't just hang out and enjoy Memphis. This morning I got a call that I had to go back to work tomorrow and then I was very glad that I had come back early and had time to settle in. Having power helped, too. I don't really feel like going back to work, but I do need to get paid. Unfortunately, our office in Algiers was damaged and we will be moving to Harrahan.

I decided to take a little tour of the city today and see how things looked. They look good. I checked Jason's and Gail's houses for them, and everytihng looks fine. I also found Jesse. He was busy cleaning up his yard, and seemed happy to have stayed. He said the lead-up to the storm was scary, but he had a good time once it became clear that it wouldn't be that bad, and he's glad he stayed.

I should start cleaning up the debris outside. More later, not only about Gustav, but about the truncated Katrina commemorations, and... I don't know, other things.

Relief

2008-09-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure you've all seen, Gustav was not anywhere near as bad as we all expected. We are debating when to go back.

Memphis has been good to us, but we haven't gotten to do a whole lot. We had a big dance on Sunday night. Nathalie spent the whole night telling us that it would be ok, and it was not looking like a big deal and we didn't even need to leave. I hoped she was right, and loved her optimism. It was true that the radar images we kept seeing didn't look like much. Jayna, on the other hand kept asking me where I would go, sure that we wouldn't be able to go back. That was more than I could take. By Monday morning, things were looking pretty good, and by Monday afternoon we stopped complusively checking and began to relax.

Anyway, more later, but I thought I should post some sort of antidote to the drama of my last post. The city looks good, and now we're just worried about Ike.

2008-08-31T14:17:00.000-07:00

We're in Memphis now. We got in around 11 last night, and I went right to sleep. Our numbers are growing. The Sherrys are here with their daughter, and Nathalie, my first dance teacher, is here. More are coming, apparently. I woke up to a message from Alynda, which was so sweet. I have missed her (and Walt and Aurora) a lot and it was so great to hear from her. It did make me cry, but what doesn't today?

I hope she won't mind me quoting, and I want to post news about anyone I know because we are all trying to keep tabs on each other.

Alynda says:
i am writing you from leitrium ireland, out in the middle of nowhere with two ex new orleanians, walt, aurora and pauly and i are flying back to the states on tuesday. we are getting more and more worried and depressed about the state of our home. tatiana has taken alot of walts instruments so they should be safe..(he lives out in the lower ninth) as for mine im not sure, i feel similiarily to you, i just want there to be a city to go back to. and i want there to be no more suffering for a people who have already been beaten down so many times. is there any hope left? we'll see, there always is down there, anyways. i've been travelling for two months and i miss home so intensely, it doesnt help we've been playing trad jazz out here every day, it only makes me want it more.

---
I really like that playing trad jazz makes her miss home. Whenever I leave, I listen to all my favorite New Orleans bands incessantly because I miss it so much. I was listening to the Marbles today as I drove, and it was almost too much to take, but also so necessary.

I wish I'd known about the instruments-- I live on high ground and my house should be ok.

It's already hard to keep track of where everyone is. I talked to Marygoround today, and she's safe in Vermont. Kiyoko is out of the city, but i don't know where. Shani and Tati were on their way to Atlanta. I'm worried about Jesse. When I left, he hadn't decided whether to stay or go, and he doesn't have a phone. I'm also thinking of Cheryl, from the Spotted Cat. She said she was going to stay to keep the bar open. "They need us," she said, "it's like church." I love that, but jesus, just get out.

Tom, who is here, is worried that the damage has already been done. He feels that the mere fact that this is happening again is doing huge damage to the city. He is imagining how much more hesistant people will be to come back or invest. He's got a point. On the other hand, if the levees hold and the city comes through well, it may give people more faith.

Being in Memphis is strange, but it's not because of anything about Memphis. I was driving around today, and thinking how strange it looked. I was trying to find words for it, and I realized: it looks like America. Parts of it remind me of Pennsylvania where I grew up. New Orleans does not look like anything except New Orleans. It certainly doesn't look like America.

It's impossible to explain New Orleans and the way that it gets in you. I've tried before, and others have as well. I don't think any of us here right now are natives, but we just can't imagine not being able to go back. It's a place where people who can't figure out how to survive elsewhere find a home, and where people who could be elsewhere find something they can't have anywhere else. And it's not something you can necessarily understand by visiting. It's a different rhythm to life, and a way of caring for each other and relating. And, though I hate to say it, hurricanes must have something to do with that. Everyone knows New Orleans as a wild and crazy anything-goes place. That is true, although maybe not in the way that you think. But there's something else-- a determination and a willingness to live without what the rest of the country considers to be the marks of a civilized and successful life, and a simultaneous understanding of how important it is to really live life and care for each other.

Leaving was so bizarre. Our office shut down early on Friday, and I went home and packed. It was hard to decide what to take and what to leave, but it's just stuff. I got the car packed, and waited for it to get late so I could go out. I went out to Frenchmen Street around 10. Perhaps it seems crazy, but it really seemed like that was the most important thing to do. If it does seem crazy to you, then we're getting down to what makes New Orleans different and special. The Jazz Vipers took their time setting up, but I think they knew they had an important job to do. I was watching them when I saw Jesse outside. I ran out to talk to him and ask the question that has come to replace greetings: "What are you doing for the storm?"

With Jesse was Susan. WIthin a minute of meeting her, she asked me to take her to Memphis with me. She has a plane to catch in Chicago on Monday. She was only in New Orleans for three weeks, and got the whole experience condensed: she got to meet a lot of musicians and make some music, she interviewed a lot of Katrina survivors and musicians, and then she got to evacuate.

Anyway, we went in to watch the vipers, and then Shani showed up. I didn't think she would want to dance, but at one point when we were standing outside she announced to me that we needed to go in and dance and see if Anderson Cooper would notice. His presence did not make me feel better, really. He was surrounded by a group of very determined guys and did not notice, but we had a good time. Susan turned out to be a very quick learner, and got balboa right away. It was a good night, and nice because it was all locals and regulars. It was exactly what I needed. I and do mean _needed_. During the break, the vipers talked about the last storm and how much they had all lost. Except Robert, who talked about controlling the weather.

I wasn't sure what to tell Susan, since JR said he might ride with me. It sounded like he probably wouldn't, though. So I gave him a call, and it turned out that he was coming. I told Susan she probably didn't want to squeeze in with me and JR and my two big furry dogs, but she said she didn't mind. So, when the Vipers were done, we said our goodbyes and rode over to the Bywater to get all of her stuff. Then we rode back to my place, and I realized I should have warned her it would be a fairly long bike ride. She set a fairly fast pace, but I was in no hurry. I wanted to savor the ride, and the sights. I was worried about getting enough sleep for the drive, so I set her up in the front bedroom and tried to get to sleep, but it was hopeless. I hardly slept at all.

In the morning, we walked up Magazine Street looking for coffee, but every place was closed, and a lot of places were already boarded up. So we went back and made some coffee and ate some of the cheese and bread that I bought for the trip. It turned out to be perfect, and apparently was the first good coffee she had in the US. By which she meant the first really strong coffee; it was nothing special.

We finally left around noon. Traffic getting out of New Orleans was hopeless, as I knew it would be, but it wasn't too bad after we passed the airport. Occasionally, it got slow, but it wasn't the disaster that I expected. We got to Memphis in about 11 hours, instead of the 6 or 7 that it would normally take. EVERYONE we saw when we stopped along the way for gas or food was from New Orleans. The beginning of the trip had all of us very edgy and easily irritated, but everyone did their best to be patient. It was fun to see the things that struck Susan as so novel-- big american school buses, big american cars, big american roads...

It was so strange to see the city so empty as we left. Especially on such a beautiful day. My neighbor was having a yard sale, which was great for its absurdity. The most striking thing was the arrival of the National Guard. I started seeing them on Friday, and by the time we left on Saturday they were out in force. It was reassuring, though now we're hearing that anyone who is still there and is found outside their house will be arrested. That seems a little draconian. I don't know.

We took highway 61 out of the city, and it was cool to drive along the bayou rather than over it as one usually does on the interstate. In Mississippi we were startled by our first hill. And here we are in Memphis. If you're a New Orleanian out there reading this, post a comment and let us know where you are. I'm happy to be here with a big group of people I love and who get it. I was talking to one of my hosts, and there was such a gulf-- she couldn't possibly have grasped what this storm means and what New Orleans means. Tonight we're going to have a big dance party, and I only wish that it was in the street with a great band.

There were a lot of things that I meant to post in the last week or so, and they're all gone now, but maybe I will remember. Stay tuned.

Evacuation

2008-08-30T18:19:00.001-07:00

I'm almost in Memphis. The traffic has not been as terrible as I
expected. There are no hotel rooms anywhere, but someone in Memphis
invited any nola swing dancers up. It's pretty funny that that is the
reason I have a place to go.

So off we went this morning. In the orher car, Jody and Jayna. In my
car JR, who I barely know, a french tourist I met on Fremchmen street
last night, and the dogs.

Gustav looks very very bad. All of us are ready to lose everything we
left behind, and that's ok. I think I can speak for everyone when I
say that I just want there to be a New Orleans to go back to, with all
the people that make it what it is. I can't think about it without
crying.

I went out last night and it was wonderful and necessary, and I rode
slowly there and back hoping it wouldn't be the last time. It's insane
for New Orleans to exist, but so necessary, I swear.

2008-08-16T16:46:00.000-07:00

Well, it's a cool grey day in New Orleans-- really a relief for August. Unfortunately, I feel like there's an axe stuck in my head, so I'm not out doing anything. It's the second day in a row I've had a migraine. I think that's a first for frequency. Today I had fewer of the associted weird neurological symptoms that make up the "aura". Yesterday, I had a strong dose of aphasia that intterupted a conversation with Carrie. I couldn't really say anything. The trick was that I also needed to eat something, which meant I had to order it. While I waited, I listened to the news on the radio. It didn't make very much sense, but it was something about Russia. The Russian names hurt. Literally, they were painful. It was a bizzarre kind of kinaesthesia.

So, nothing in particular to report today, except for reminders like these: it's really cool to be able to SEE. And speak and understand language. Also cool? Being able to feel your extemities. And face. Knowing where the various parts of your body are in space and in relation to each other is also just really top-shelf. I hope this is now over for a few months. The worst, and yet most interesting, part may be after it's more or less over, but I'm just slow. As in, really not very smart. Have to think about everything really hard, and words don't process easily coming in or going out.

Anyway, it helped last night not be very much fun. A bunch of us went out to Frenchmen Street, but as always, there were too many good leads and not enough follows. And it was hot. Really. It was hot outside, but bearable. As you approached the doorway of the Spotted Cat, an incredible wave of heat hit you. The floor was so sticky that Jody's heel came off, and then later it was incredibly slick, which just made him more bitter that his shoes were full of sticky gunk. Mainly because of the heat, everyone ended up leaving early. I was glad to have gotten out a bit, but still feeing a post-migraine malaise.

It was a weird crowd, too-- an unexpectedly high number of tourists for the middle of August, and not as crowded as usual in the cat. The nicest thing might have been a visitor from Australia, who knew the Jazz Vipers, and was so thrilled to see them on their home turf. She kept saying how charming it was that we called them the Jazz Vipers and not "The New Orleans Jazz Vipers." I just call them the Vipers.

AH! Late breaking news! The city demolished someone's house by mistake. It had been neglected since Katrina, but had recently been bought, and they were fixing it up. I'm actually slightly surprised; I thought they had put enough double-checks in place to keep this from happening again. And yet, it's no news at all the the cities records and process are all screwed up. I'm sure I'll hear all about the details next week.

I started into a whole discussing about risk and reward here, trying to tie a lot of things together and it wasn't working. I'll try to come back to it.

Oh, and I'm glad you get a laugh out of being called Seriously, Seriously. It amuses me, too. If you ever get back down here (and you should), I'll be tempted to introduce you to people that way.

I don't think I know any other adverbs, but there was an Altercation here for awhile... I think she left town.

Algiers Update

2008-08-15T08:45:00.000-07:00

So, my boss, Gail, has a house in Algiers, the little section of New Orleans on the west bank of the river. The Katrina damage to the house is more or less fixed up, but at great cost. So she is trying to recover some of the cost through one of the many post-Katrina recovery programs, all of which are byzantine and unpredictable. She was sure that she was about to get money from the Road Home program, but it turns out she doesn't own her house. At least according to Road Home. Somehow, her name was left off the records at some point. So according to them, she "donated" the house to her husband some years ago. And since she, and not he, applied for the Road Home, she's out of luck.

(There's also some story about a postcard-- they sent her a postcard to confirm that they were processing her application, but she didn't save the postcard, and now it's the only way for her to prove... uh, something. Even if I remembered the whole deal it wouldn't make any sense, ok, so... just fill in whatever you like here.)

Anyway, she lives in Algiers in a house that she donated to her husband without realizing it. And they've got a car whose fate has been debated lately. They use it, but don't necessarily need it, and it's had a clutch problem lately, so they thought about selling it. So when Gail got home the other day and saw a tow truck driver hooking up to it, she figured her husband Barry had taken care of it. She went inside and said something to the effect of "that's great that you got the car taken care of." This was met with total mystification. He had done no such thing.

Outside she went to see why the car was being towed away. Turns out the tow truck driver was picking it up to take it to be scrapped, on the orders of... that guy over there. Their neighbor had called to have it picked up, had pocketed the hundred dollars the scrapyard was willing to give for it, and was now explaining that Gail's husband was his brother-in-law and said it was ok. It was quickly confirmed by Barry that all of this was exactly as true as it sounded.

The neighbor guy has to be commended for his moxie. Well, no, not moxie, though I couldn't resist the chance to type it.... Chutzpah. He took the plates off in preparation, and provided the driver copies of his and his wife's licenses in lieu of the title and registration, which he couldn't find. (Yeah, guess not...)

At this point the police were called, but I hardly need say that they were busy, and during the wait, neighbor guy declared that he had to go. The tow truck driver moved the truck to block his car in. So he kind of bounced his car off the corner of the truck and managed to squeeze past. So add hit and run to the little scenario.

The cops showed up about 8 hours later, which is to say about 3 in the morning. Apparently they spent a lot of time saying things like:

"Your neighbor tried to sell your car?"
"Yes"
"For scrap..."
"Yes"
"Your neighbor."
"Yes"
"Your neighbor tried to sell YOUR car.... for scrap?"
"Yes"
"Wait, so... YOUR neighbor... tried to sell your car..."
"Yes"
"For scrap."
"Yes"
"And he gave a copy of his license."
"Yes"
"His real one."
"Yes."
".... Uh... So... Your neighbor tried to sell you car for scrap?"
"Yes."
"Uh...."

In the middle of this scintillating early morning exchange, Gail had to interrupt the cop:

"Uh, excuse me, but it is legal for those kids to be shooting guns off in the field over there? Right now?"
"WHAT?!"

And then the cops were busy again.

I can tell Gail is stressed out by all this, but, characteristically, she is taking it with good humor. It's clear that some part of her just loves it for the absurdity of it, another "only in New Orleans" moment. So I guess the debate we could have here is whether that's good or bad. Is the tendency to laugh stuff like this off and go stage a big wheel race or something (you think I'm kidding?) what makes this place great? Or what keeps it from being great? Or both?

(See also: running of the bulls, where you will not be gored, but if you're lucky you will be beaten by a rollergirl with a wiffle ball bat.)

Meanwhile, I remain uselessly preoccupied with the Jessica Hawk thing. I just really want to know what happened. And it's really heartbreaking to read the comments posted by friends and family in Ohio. By and large, their comments are a lot more thoughtful and sane than a lot of the local ones, or ex-pat ones...

But I've had a friend murdered for no reason at all, and I can imagine what they're going through. The difference was that when it happened to my friend, I was 1/4 mile away. I think dealing with it at such a remove must be even harder. And it's frustrating to know that this will be the main thing they associate with New Orleans. I hope they can understand why and how much Jessica apparently loved the place. What really gets to me is the way that, if you read the comments left by locals and ex-locals, you get the impression that killing each other is all we do here, that if you live here, you're certain to get killed.

In reality, it's only slightly more likely than having your neighbor sell your car for $100.

Anniversaries

2008-08-14T12:48:00.001-07:00

Well, the big one, of course, is Katrina. Already we are getting more attention here as the anniversary approaches, and we've got anniversary-related events scheduled at work. One of the first signs of the attention we will get was this survey. It's interesting, and disheartening. Also disheartening is the degree to which New Orleans and Katrina have been forgotten by the rest of the country. The New York Times is a notable exception. They run a story about New Orleans almost every day. NPR does ok.

But I've been anniversary-minded anyway.

I made a rare (for me) trip to Rock N Bowl last night to celebrate the 6 month anniversary of my first swing dance lesson. I'm pleased-- something has crystallized in the last couple weeks and I don't suck like I used to. I'm not an interesting lead, but I'm becoming a solid one. I'm no longer intimidated by good follows, even when it's very fast or slow. (Actually, I like very fast.) I still have a long way to go, but that's what makes it interesting. Let me say also that that was the best New Year's resolution ever. It was a good night. It was Saint Louis Slim, who sucks far less than many of the bands there. Doesn't suck at all really, just not my favorite genre. At least in his swing version, which is good, but... It's great when he does stripped-down blues.

I missed the exact 10-year anniversary of my shoes. It was in June or something. I think this shows both a laudable tendency to make things last and not consume too much, and a profound lack of style. (I did recently buy some new ones, which may negate the former, but nothing will cure the latter.)

It's also just a few days until the one year anniversary of my arrival here. I never expected to be here at all, and when I came I really never expected to be here a year later. But this place gets to you, and fast. The place itself got under my skin right away, and as I started to meet people, I really became hooked. A year later, I feel very much at home, and I'm so thankful for all of the people I have met here, and for the life I can have here. This place really is the antidote to so much that I found alienating or deadening about other places.

This is all leading to something, about which I have been ruminating, but it's not there yet. But I've been looking at how I've changed and not changed in the last year. And thinking about some sharp turns my life took before that. Stay tuned.

I should mention here that I have been banished to Baton Rouge for work. It's temporary, and well, theoretical, kind of. I mean, I go there and have a desk, but I can't stay away from here.

I'm feeling unfocused today. I thought I had more to add to my rant yesterday, but I don't know what. I had a whole bag of assorted lagniappe that I thought about appending to it, and it's all sort of slipped away. Anyway, bits and pieces:

First, no news about Jessica Hawk. But links. Humid City has several good posts. And, as seen in the comments on my last post, someone has established a blog.

I really want to know more about this. Basically, what I want to know is whether it was random or not, a robbery gone wrong or a straight-up murder.

Next, comments. Jeremy, when I said my thinking wasn't clear I meant it. It still isn't. I think a good ride is infinitely better than a pizza in terms of you getting out and feeling alive and making the most of you time here. But I was also thinking about ways to affect those around you and to bring something to the place you live. Going for a ride doesn't do much of anything for that. And, forgive me, Eric, I don't mean to keep busting on your pizza. I should say that I don't claim that I am some great example of realizing these goals. But I'll try.

Yesterday was a pretty funny day at work. It was raining like crazy, and everyone got talking about hurricanes. Elizabeth seemed very concerned with having a good and correct evacuation plan and seemed a little panicky. We talked for awhile about the details of how and when to clean out your refrigerator and such. Then Chris and Gail got to teasing her, to hilarious effect, and then earnestly tried to explain that all you really need is beer and a canoe. Failing that, beer. Actually, this seems to be the point that is most widely agreed upon: hurricanes require beer. One recommended strategy was to just sit in your canoe with the beer until it begins to float. Chris favored just hanging around outside with friends and family drinking the beer until the flying debris gets big and numerous enough to not be fun anymore. There was a lot of discussion of looting, and I get the impression that a lot of people will be weighing the safety of evacuation against the prospect of losing everything to looters when the next one comes.

Lastly, I mentioned Roy Blount last week. I was looking for a mnemonic for French Quarter streets and found this. The one for the long streets is relatively useful, and easy to remember if you know the Dixie Cups, Rock N Bowl, and Ruth the duck lady... which everyone here does. Or should. The one for the short streets is nearly useless, and therein lies its hilarity. In the introduction, he has some things to say about tourists versus natives that I'll get to later. I guess getting to things later is today's theme.

Sorry.

Well, fuck

2008-08-13T17:03:00.001-07:00

Ok, comments first:

Seriously, can I stop pretending that I don't know who you are? The motorcycle was utilized on a few nights to save wear and tear on my ankle. But that's only relative to bicycling; it's my left ankle, which of course does the shifting, and which is the foot I put down when I stop. I can't bring myself to drive when I go out, and besides, I'm going to be abusing my ankle anyway, so what's the point? The biggest mistake was probably driving stick with a very heavy clutch and then riding my bicycle to dinner hours after I got hurt.

Erik, no, a pizza doesn't count. Get out and experience your city, and do what you can to bring life to it and make it the place that you wish it was. We recently had the national night out against crime here. Well, that's all very nice, but wouldn't it work better if we did it every night?

Jeremy, uh… Well, I don't know. Does 200 miles count? For what? I'm a little unclear in my thoughts lately.

But that hasn't stopped my from ranting yet today, so hold on tight, kids.

I did go out last night, but Shani didn't make it, so I sat and thought about murders and the city and felt generally unhappy. It didn't feel like much of a show of resistance, and I certainly didn't feel like I was enlivening anything. The Spotted Cat was sedate. As the band took a break, Bruce the clarinet player came around with the tip bucket and remarked that I wasn't dancing. No one to dance with, I explained, and felt sad that there was no one to help me wake the place up a little.

Except that wasn't strictly true. I had seen Liz ride by and then she had returned with a couple of friends, but it was one of those slightly difficult evenings when everyone was a little tired and unfocused and not quite on the same program. Liz is a reasonably good dancer, and she danced for a minute with Misha, and watching them kind of told me I shouldn't even try. She didn't seem to be in the mood.

So I went home, tried to sleep, had some really weird dreams, and woke up still thinking about all of the things I thought about so much yesterday. I guess these issues have been nagging at me anyway, but they were really brought to the fore by this murder. I knew practically nothing about Jessica Hawk, but from what I did know and what has come out in the news I can judge that she was just the kind of person New Orleans needs. She was here because she loved the place, not because of chance or family ties. She was apparently not well-known or conspicuous, but she was a bright young person here by choice, with a passion for the place. At first I was shocked how little attention her death seemed to get and how few people said they knew her. I still am, a little. I couldn't help wondering what sort of comments and reaction would result if it was me.

I think I've mentioned how reading the comments on any article in the times-picayune makes me want to go live in a cave somewhere. This has been no exception. There are the usual posts about grammar, angry responses about why anyone is nitpicking, racial arguments, and a whole lot of posts about what a disaster this city is and how stupid anyone is to live here. These come from residents, former residents, and people whose ties here are not clear.

(The comments on this one are even worse, by the way.)

To those not living here who feel the need to post about what a horrible place it is: shut the fuck up. You apparently don't care to do anything about it, so why are you even reading the paper? If you want to make it better, the one thing you could do is LIVE HERE. To those posting similar comments who do live here: get the fuck out if it's so bad. And then shut the fuck up.

In my year here, I've had zero bad experiences. I've never felt threatened, and the only crime that has impacted me was when someone walked off with my motorcycle helmet. That was annoying, but I did leave it sitting unsecured on the bike at 3 in the morning. But the biggest topic of conversation at large is crime. (Closely followed by corruption.) There is no doubt that crime is hindering the recovery and growth of the city. It may be the primary thing hindering it. I may be ridiculously naïve to not feel unsafe here. I do know a couple who moved here and had their car stolen the first week. Then they saw workers at the house across the street get assaulted. I see how much business looters do when we go to houses and find everything already gone, and I see the cotton and sooty spoons left behind by junkies. But somehow I feel safer here than in Philadlephia. It lacks that edge of aggression I always felt there. One of the things that pisses me off is this attitude that New Orleans is unique in its problems. I would propose that it's unique in its virtues and in the spirit that remains in spite of the problems. But it's not unique in its poverty, corruption, and violence. Maybe it's an aberration regionally, but take a tour of Detroit or Baltimore or even Philadelphia or Chicago and tell me how unique our problems are.

I guess my attitude has been that people who get killed here tend to get killed for a reason. It's mostly a cycle of revenge, and it stays confined to a certain group of people. That's not to say it's ok, but at least it's a problem with known parameters which maybe could be dealt with. Random muggings are scarier, but I can't say I spend a lot of time thinking about that. Home invasions, on the other hand—that is truly scary, and I'd been thinking about that anyway when I saw the paper yesterday. A few weeks ago I went to survey a trailer in Slidell. The owner told me he would like to demolish it, but he couldn't because it was a crime scene. Last week I saw an article about a conviction in St Tammany, and learned the rest of the story. Four kids decided to go rob someone. They picked the trailer because they knew that illegal aliens lived there. They tend to have cash and they tend not to call the police, so they are favorite targets. It went wrong and they shot and killed the guy.

One of the stories yesterday was of exactly the same scenario here in New Orleans. Three guys intercepted an alien as he left for work, made him go back in the house, and shot him. It's unclear what they got. And then there was Jessica Hawk. My instincts tell me that she was killed not in a robbery attempt, but by someone who knew her. A lot of commenters seem to share that opinion. Or maybe it is just a hope—that's less scary than if it were just random.

There are a lot of issues that bother me that are related to this. First is that I feel like a hypocrite. I profess my love for this place and tell everyone they should come here, but my experience is a very particular one. I have the means to insulate myself from a lot of what goes on. I'm not as insulated as people who live in the suburbs and occasionally come into town for an event, but I'm not exactly in the thick of it either. True, I get out into the very worst neighborhoods, frequently by myself, and go wandering into abandoned houses hoping there's no one in them. That's my job. But I also live in a rich white neighborhood with a private quasi-police force. As for where I hang out, I stick to some pretty safe areas. At least, I think I do; I don't think I push the boundaries, but according to some of these commentors, I do.

But that's the flip side. I am troubled often by the idea that I'm living above all the trouble because I have the means, and just ignoring what's really happening out there. But then I read what these people have to say. They're afraid to hang out in the quarter! The French Quarter is fucking Disneyland, people! If you're afraid of the "sketchy characters" that are supposedly so threatening in the quarter, you really do need to get the fuck out of here! I don't even know where to suggest you go. Fuck, in y'all's mind I am probably one of the sketchy characters. I mean, I must ride a bicycle at night because I can't get a real job and buy a car, right? And sitting on the curb with a beer and watching a band must mean I'm trouble. Not to mention the dirty freaks I'm seen with.

Awhile ago, I recounted a conversation I had with Chris, about his assertion that New Orleanians have a culture based on complaining and a sense of entitlement. About his claim that success just makes you a pariah. I don't know how true that is, but I do think that a large percentage of New Orleanians gave up a long time ago. They have little vision of what the place could be, they don't like change, and they have little or no hope that it will get better. They may hope that they could do a little better, but there seems to be little collective hope for the city. It's a very tight-knit city, but it often feels less like the kind of community that's tight knit because there are exciting things happening; it feels more like people huddling in a foxhole. It certainly is a place whose greatness is in the past.

This is the dichotomy that I struggle with: I feel at home here and excited about the place because of what I see happening around me, the magic I see people making, and the love of the place and community. But almost none of those people are from here. That community is made up mostly of people from somewhere else, who came here for various reasons and who are creating their own New Orleans according to their own fantasies about what it should be. It's a tourist mindset, in a way, but we're permanent tourists, trying to make our romantic ideal real.

There are some natives who share in this, and there are some natives who are a little more grounded in reality but are still passionate about the place and working hard to make it great. But so many of the natives are resigned at best, maybe a bit wistful, and defeated and cynical at worst. And it can be contagious. I feel guilty for being such an escapist. I am not truly involved in the community, I can count on one hand the number of native New Orleanians I know, and I pay relatively little attention to the politics here and the details of recovery and crime. If I did, I might be one the hopeless miserable bastards. That's one of the reasons I have so little tolerance for them—I don't want to be infected with their attitude. I don't want this place ruined for me. On the other hand, if I participate only in the hipster scene of permanent tourists, am I really doing anything for the place? I don't know. I think that the people I know here add immeasurably to the life and liveliness of the city, and some of them are really dedicated to helping their non-hipster neighborhoods. I'd like to think that this could draw a critical mass of people to the place who could transform it and realize its potential, or help inspire the people who are here through our visible love for the place and our commitment to making it lively and beautiful.

On the other hand, a lot of people here may want things to be better, but they don't want them to change. That's a hopeless contradiction. And apart from the general dislike for change, I'm also acutely aware that people may not understand or like what the outsiders are bringing, despite how great I may think it is. And that there must be plenty of resentment towards people who arrive her with the talent or the means to do things most residents will never get to do.

The New York Times had an article today about Karen Gadbois that is relevant here. Karen is a tireless activist, and a really wonderful person. And not from here. Chris complains a lot about all of the outsiders, but it's the outsiders that have the zeal of converts when it comes to saving this place. Ashley Morris was another example. Chris, for his part, is ready to leave, discouraged that the place isn't what it was or what it could be and that all of his peers have moved away, and guiltily wondering why he shouldn't move away and take advantage of the opportunities that exist for him elsewhere. The statistics say that most young people from here want to get out, and that those who are able do so. My experience says that a disproportionate number of talented young people who visit get hooked and want to stay. There's good and bad in all of this, and I'm not sure what it means for the future of the city.

Ok, that's all I've got in me right now, and probably more than any of you have the patience for. All I know is I still love it here, but I'm less sure than ever just why. I think a lot of us are fueled by our knowledge of a culture that is largely gone. I can't point to what it is exactly that's still here that makes the place magic. But it's enough to draw the kind of people here who are capable of making their own magic. I'm struggling with what that says about us (if I may be so presumptious as to include myself), or what it means for the city.

I'm going out tonight

2008-08-12T12:29:00.001-07:00

Last night was Shani's birthday, so a bunch of us celebrated with her with a dance at the Spotted Cat.

She asked me if I was coming out tonight for the Palmetto Bug Stompers. I said she should call me and I would come out, but really, I was thinking I probably wouldn't.

So I got up today feeling stressed out and unhappy about work and such, and at some point I checked the local paper. I clicked on an article about a woman who had been murdered. I think the only reason I did was that it said it was in the Bywater. I immediately recognized her name. I exchanged a few emails with her about a year ago when I first got here. We were supposed to go for a walk with the dogs and get a drink, but she got cold feet and I never did meet her. She was found stabbed to death in her home on Monday.

I have such a mix of feelings about this-- she was not a total stranger, but I didn't know her either. Not a stranger enough to not feel anything, and yet I really didn't know her, so I can't miss her. I could hardly tell you anything about her. The article is totally unenlightening about whether it was a random break-in type thing, or whether it might have been someone who knew her.

So I'm going out tonight. You should too.

Ah, New Orleans

2008-08-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

Two guys probably in their thirties. One a black guy, not flashy, but
fashionable in a vaguely thuggy way, wearing a wifebeater. He's
perched on the handlebars of a bicycle piloted by a white guy with
greying hair looking somewhat lumberjackish with a giant long beard.

The black guy is yelling/singing something largely untelligible:

Blah blah blah wild man! (pause)

During the pauses the white guy is saying, just audibly and totally
deadpan, "wild man."

I love this place.

Pardon the interruption

2008-08-09T20:40:00.000-07:00

Can extended silence be considered an interruption? I'm noticing that I've appartently forgotten how to type, as well.

Anyway, it's been awhile, and no doubt many things happened that might have merited a mention here, but there's been little in the way of significant news, and, well, it's been summer. What that means is not only unrelenting heat and humidity, but also a general lack of activity. The heat, I think, is overstated. Yeah, it's hot. No, it's not really any worse than Philadelphia. More consistent, maybe. But it is an excuse for a mass exodus. A lot of my freinds and aquaintances left at the beginning of the summer, and those who didn't are leaving now.

I guess the biggest news of the summer has been the oil spill. A barge full of heavy fuel oil cut in front of a large tanker on the Misssissippi and was basically cut in half. It released most of the oil, which stank for days. The response was pretty underwhelming. The river was shut down to shipping, but it seems as though little was done to contain the spill, which was quickly carried down to the mouth of the river. Now the barge is being removed from the river bottom. The only good news is that more oil than expected remained in the barge. Meanwhile, there is still some mystery regarding why the barge was there in the first place. A deckhand was operating it illegally and was not responding to radioed warnings.

Work has been relatively depressing. I've been doing a lot of field work, which is a nice change from office work, but it can be hard. I surveyed a lot of properties for demoltion, and that's always depressing. I thought I had seen the state of all parts of the city, but this round of surveys took me to a couple of neighborhoods which were just unvelievable. They were so empty, so devastated, with debris piled everywhere, and jungle-like vegetation hiding the endless abandoned houses. These nieghborhoods are kind of cut off by interstates and railroads. Google streetview became available for New Orleans this week, which is really exciting, but I see that they skipped these areas.

What else? Actually, one of the biggest changes for me has been the arrival of my bicycle. I never bought one here because I already had one that I was fond of. It took me awhile to get it down here, but it's been really great to have it. It's a whole different way to see and experience the city, and since everyone I know here gets around by bike, it feels more sociable. It's also just good to get out and be active. I'm realizing that the less I move around, the worse I feel.

That has been hindered a bit by my ankle lately... About a week and a half ago, I fell through a floor in an abandoned house. It didn't feel good, but I figured it would be alright. Until it happened again 5 minutes later. I think it's ok, though. It was feeling bad yesterday during the day, but when I went out it was fine. Which is good, because I found a new dancer, and really wanted to dance with her. It was a good night. It can't quite figure out how we met and started talking about dancing, and I'm mystified that she wasn't already part of the scene.

I've been in New Orleans for almost a year now. That's hard to believe. (And brings a serious annoyance which we can talk about later. Actually, no, we can't.) It's gone pretty quickly, and I've been thinking again lately about how I ended up here, how little I would ever have expected it, how right it has felt, and how much I have changed. And not changed. There's always a danger of it losing its novelty and excitement, of being jaded or blind to what makes it special. But then, there are reminders, and the most powerful reminder is always the excitement of newcomers. I stumbled recently upon a Roy Blount book about New Orleans, and that waas a strong reminder.

Carrie was another. She spent two weeks here, and it was interesting to have her here. She didn't get to do a whole lot of exploring, and I did not show her the sights in any conventional sense. But she did tag along with my on my regular routine, and I hope that it was entertaining and gave a sense of why I love this place. It was kind of funny in that so many people are gone right now, so I seemed to spend a lot of time explaining what it would be like if they were here.

Well, perhaps this is an anticlimactic return to blogging, but I really just needed to force myself to start again. Coming soon: more about the last two months, more thoughts about New Orleans and my one year anniversary here, and... I don't know, surprises.

Oh, yeah...

2008-07-15T12:08:00.001-07:00

The blog....

Yes, I'm still here. I fell behind, and further behind, and then there seemed too much to catch up on. And then I decided to just blame it on summer. And it didn't help that I have had very spotty internet access.

I don't really know where to start back in on this. It's been a funny few weeks. No real news to report, and it's pretty quiet around here. So many people are out of town.

And I have very little to report as far as what is really happening with the city/rebuilding. As I think I've explained before, by the time I'm done with my work day, I don't really want to think about it, so I have very little idea about the larger picture/issues. Just the micro scale that I work at.

So when was the last post? Five weeks ago? Let's see, what's happened? 4th of July. Running of the Bulls. (with rollergirls. With wiffleball bats.) Tom Waits. A good deal of dancing. The return of some Marbles. The imminent departure of the Marbles.

I'll get to it, but maybe not right now, for multiple reasons. But if you desire more-nearly-instant gratification, I'm taking requests.

Interlude

2008-06-03T20:08:00.000-07:00

Ok, there's plenty more catching up to do, but... but...

Later.

I got a call today, not totally out of the blue, but surprising nonethelsss, from someone that I really hadn't talked to in... 10 years? Wow. I'm normally not very careful about protecting the identities of folks in this blog, figuring that I'm not saying anything negative about them, but this is a special case, which is kind of amusing. So, my mysterious friend and I talked for awhile, and I found myself getting to a lot of things that I've been meaning to get to here.

There's one that I was thinking about earlier, and which is really striking to me. Conspicuity/invisibility.

I really noticed it while I was travelling. I was invisible. I couldn't get people to wait on me, and while I was in the airport in Miami, six people cut in front of me at Sturbucks, one of them over my loud objections. I literally felt invisible. I came back and went to Mimi's, where the bartender waved to me through a crowd as I walked in and remembered what I had ordered last time. I coudn't even remember meeting her. I only know that there was only one time I ordered Abita there instead of Chimay, and therefore I must have met her almost a month ago. I was there to see Linnzi Zaorski, who summoned me forward to an unoccupied seat with some people she know when she saw me standing. I should note that I've never met her before. I did see her a couple of days later and she remembered my name. Admittedly, for her this is just good business, and she does seem to make it a point to talk to everyone who comes to her shows. But still... this has happened to me a lot here. I meet people once and am so surpised when they remember my, my name, what I was doing, what I was drinking... Or I don't meet them, but when I do, the remember seeing me, etc.

In part, it must have to do with the number of people here. It feels like a small place, and someone new must be pretty obvious. But it also must be a matter of status and conformity. Now, I am not particularly non-conforming; I certainly don't look too exceptional. But, just as I have never felt the desire to advertise my views or lifestyle through my appearance, I also can't be bothered to advertise status and I don't particularly care about whether I look like whatever people are supposed to look like this year. My goals are basically not to look like a slob or a fool. Anyway, is this why I seem to be invisible in a place like Miami? (And if so, it just reinforces my prejudice against Miami.)

The flip side of this was my discomfort with what apparently is the average american. The crop of guys with fauxhawks was particularly disturbing to me. People actually do that? Admittedly, the people I know here fit a few types, but at least they don't all look the same, and there's the DIY aspect to it.

The cognitive dissonance of feeling ill at ease among all the all-american types was pretty interesting though. They seemed to exude some sort of entitlement and had a value set that seem largely informed by watching Tila Tequila or palying Grand Theft Auto. I am endlessly amused to contrast this with the girl I met at Mimi's who was so happy to find someone to dance. She was talking about how eveyone should know how, about how so many more people used to know how, and how it used to be how one met people, how it was such a great social thing that deserved to be brought back. Quaintly conservative statements coming from anyone, but really wonderful coming from this skinny 5'11 girl with super-long half-wild/half-braided hair wearing a corset and tiny skirt and covered in tattoos. I was surprised, but pleased-- it all made some kind of sense.

It's a relief to be back.

Catch up, part 1

2008-06-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

Ok, I haven't forgotten this blog, or disappeared... Well, no, I did
disappear, but I"m back. I see that my last post was on the 13th. What
happened since then?

More goodbyes...

To New Orleans, Alynda, Walt, Aurora....

Hmm. I believe the13th was Hurray for the Riff Raff and Why Are We Building
Such A Big Ship at St Roch tavern. I would have gone regardless, but Alynda
had asked me to take photos (here), so I rushed to get there, only to find that I
was an hour early. Which means, this being New Orleans, that I was two
hours early. The show was good, the odd part being the band that came in between. It was a rock band, and all that amplified noise was a shock to my system. Which would not have been the case a short time ago.

That was Tuesday. I was doing field work on Wednesday and
Thursday, and by the end of the day on Thursday, there was no doubt I was
getting a cold. So I uncharacteristally stayed home on Friday, and tried
desperately to get better in time for the big trip.... More about that in a
minute.

The field work was a nice break from the office, but also depressing. I surveyed an Orleans demo list, and there's all kinds of reasons to be depressed about that. The good news was that I got it done in a day. I'm not actually sure how-- it was a big list for one day, and I had no help, so I was doing the photography and GPS points and photo logs by myslef. Very annoying. The fucking GPS units are maddening. The screens are fucking tiny for all the data that's on them, and it's impossibly slow to enter all the info. And they're windows-based, so no Grafitti, which would make things go a lot faster. There is some kind of writing recognition option for text entry, but it's not graffiti, and I can't figure it out. It seems much more error-prone than grafitti. Which apparently I don't know how to spell.

The next day was our first selective recoupment property since fall. This is a program to salvage elements from historic houses that are bring demolished and get them to people who can re-use them. It was really sad to see this house getting rady to be demolished, and everyone who came that day (which was a lot of people) was heartbroken at the fact that all of the bargeboard was going to end up in a lnadfill. The crew did a pretty good job, but they did damage the windows pretty badly tryng to remove them. It wasn't entirely their fault. We've been encountering some windows that were cheaply made and they have a big tendency to break when removed. I tried to warn them about what was going to happen if they weren't careful. Maybe next time they'll get it right. The other thing that really got everybody was our Sanborn map. One of out archaeologists gave us a copy of an 1886 map of the block, and everyone was kind of amazed to see our little house on it. The nieghbors were really into it, picking out whose house had been there at that time and whose hadn't.

I think the only other thing I did that weekend was go see Big Ship again.
I got an invitation from Alynda to a backyard party. I didn't stay long,
but I wanted to see Big Ship. I also learned that people find a hat hanging
from a tree more amusing than you might think. It never seemed to get old.

Monday was my last night in town, and was happily kept from being sensibly
productive by another invitation from Alynda: Sweet Nothings and Riff Raff
at Mimi's. She's getting good at this thing of actually telling people when
they're playing. The Marbles could learn from her. First, though, there
was swing practice. It was frustrating. I've been feeling as if I've
been getting worse and worse the last few weeks. I left early in my
discouragement. But before I did, I had an interesting conversation about
the music that was being played. It was a night focused on local music, and someone remarked that it was kind of odd to do that, since we could just go out and hear it live. He had a point, but it was also the first time that I had really heard anything there that made me want to dance, and I told him that that was the music that made me want to do it. I tried to explain that I wasn't looking for swing music, so much as "pre-swing." He seemed mystified, and I tried to clarify that I was looking for small-group, spontaneous, un-arranged music, particulalry stuff from the 20's and 30's. He remarked on how hard that would be to find. Who plays that, he asked? What about the Marbles? He siad he had only seen them once, but that they were really tight. I was just amazed, and yet not... so many people don't know them. But more than that, I could have pointed to the Jazz Vipers or Hot Club of New Orleans, or the Palmetto Bug Stompers-- the very stuff that was being played. It was so odd, and a real reminder of why I don't fit into their swing scene.

Mimi's was really amusing for a couple of reasons. The show itself was great. It started with Sweet Nothings, which really made me wish there were some dancers there, but there weren't. Finally, at the end, some girl got up and was dancing. She clearly didn't know what she was doing, but I didn't care, and got up to dance with her. After we were done, some other girl came up to me telling me all about how she had been looking all night for someone who could swing dance, and had been so frustrated that there was no one. I told her I had been doing the same. It was a shame we did't figure this out earlier. Riff Raff was up next. She had never heard them, which surprised me, and I had to tell her that it probably wasn't going to work for swing danceing. But "Drinking Days" actually was perfect, so we got one in. I left after that in acknowledgement of the fact that I had to be ready to leave the next day. In retrospect, I should have stayed for the show, sleep be damned; then I might have been tired enough to sleep on the plane. Also, I would have gotten to say goodbye to Alynda.

Tuesday morning was my last little bit of time in town before leaving for
France for a week, and was mostly crammed with last minute preparations...
except that I kind of decided I didn't care that much about everything I
had thought I needed to do, so found myself with a little extra time. Just
before I left, Jesse came over. It was a funny worlds-colliding thing. It was the first time I've had anyone at my apartment, and it really must have been odd to Jesse. I mean, it is odd, there's no doubt about it. It's ludicrous that I live here by myself, and the whole thing of it being furnished makes it stranger still. It's so strange to live in a place full of stuff that is not yours, that has nothing to do with you.

France was mostly good, interesting, crazy... I missed music so much
though. I really wanted so badly all week to find some, but we were out in
the country and it was futile. I found myself listening to all my favorite
New Orleans music in the car, and explaining it and pointing things out to
my family and it was surprising how much it affected me. I felt a little
self-conscious about my fixation, thhough. What was at least as odd, and
far more uncomfortable, was being in a very civilized milieu.

Thanks to the trickery of time zones, I spent more than 24 hours traveling
on Monday. I got home just before midnight, and was happy to see that the
dogs were fine, and went to bed. The rest of the week has felt a little
like catch-up, and a little off kilter. Being away and then coming back has
reinforced the feeling of how little is going on here right now. Well, more than that,
there is even less going on than when I left. I hardly know whhat to do
with myself. I went to rock n bowl on wednesday, and it was largely a
lesson in just how specific my tastes are. It was also the occasion of an
extremely sweet gesture from Jean-Francois, which really was the bright spot
in the week.

Well, I've been sitting on this for days, so time to post it, in acknowledgement of the fact that I will never "finish" it. So, more later, when I'm more uh, what's the word?

2008-06-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

So, the deli down the street is excellent, and has a great selection
of beers. But I noticed a sign when I was there the other day
explaining that beer is for carry out only and cannot be drunk on the
premises or at the tables outside. So, I've found the only place in
New Orleans where you're not allowed to drink. Who would have thought
it would be a restaurant. One that sells beer.

Actual news about where I've been the last three weeks is coming.
Really.

2008-05-13T15:49:00.001-07:00

It's been a really long time hasn't it?

Where to start? Well, I had a view, that was exciting. I guess I sort of still do. Our office got moved, so rather than being in a totally windowless interior room, I am now next to a giant window with a view of the river and the city and the bridge and trees and a pond with cranes. Except we reshuffled this morning, so now the window is a little behind me instead of right next to me. I will confess that I'm scheming to somehow rearrange things so that I can be next to it again. I really liked watching the cranes. Uh, the kind that fly and eat fish, not the other kind.

Speaking of which, I heard a traffic report on the radio this morning that mentioned that "a couple of cars are forming near the tolls." I couldn't stop laughing. Yes, I suppose that the rubbernecking from that could cause delays. Not to mention the hazard of cars just materializing in the road. First I pictured them sort of assembling themselves from parts. Then I though maybe it was like a star trek transporter type thing. Then I thought maybe they were sort of growing like mushrooms.

In other minor yet exciting news, I have a computer that actually works now. What this means to you is that I will soon be able to post a lot more photos and, once I get a monitor calibrator, I can actually edit them properly. What it means to me is that I don't have to fight with windows anymore. My 2.5 years with a windows machine were miserable. And I can actually see my videos now. My old computer couldn't even play them, so I had to watch them on youtube in all its blocky fuzziness. (It's quite a trick to be blocky and fuzzy at the same time.) Now that I can actually play the originals, I see that they're not so bad. It's pretty exciting to see this stuff.

It's been a long couple of weeks here. It's been sad with no Marbles. Meschiya left last week and won't be back until August. Ben is gone until sometime in June. Kiowa is also missing at the moment. Erika is gone. Alynda has been gone for the last few weeks, and will be leaving again. Jesse is leaving. And it's not just Marbles. Walt and Aurora will be gone, Sarah and Ian left… It's been quiet. I did see the Marbles with Jack Fine the other night, but it wasn't really them. It was Michael and Barnabus and Jack from the marbles, plus Tom McDermott and a really great banjo player who I don't know. It reinforced my opinion that Ben really makes the Marbles. I think he's easily overlooked—he's not a flashy player. But he does take charge, and things never come together the same way without him. His percussion really is such a special part of the sound, too.

I needed to slow down a little and get some things done, but it's also been making me a little crazy to have so little going on. I really need to get out and see music to keep me going. There's been no dancing, either, which had been a drag. The Marbles were in Arkansas the weekend before last and when Chance came back, his usual Monday night thing didn't really happen. A few of us got out on Tuesday, which was alright. Friday was very frustrating. A lot of the dancers in town showed up at the Spotted Cat, but there was no room, and it was really tough competition for a partner. It's frustrating to be where I am now—bored with real beginners, but boring for anyone experienced. They talked about heading to Mimi's for Vavavoom and more room, and I told them it wasn't Vavavoom. It was Walt and Alynda and Neti, but I wasn't sure what they were playing. I eventually went over to find out, and what I found out was that they were done. Walt said they had been playing trad jazz, so it would have been perfect.

I've also been noticing a little more friction between different groups, which is interesting. One night the Marbles were playing on the sidewalk and some guy walking through said "that's why this should be illegal." I'm sorry, what is? There was no "that." Nothing happened, except he had to step around people having more fun than him. The other night at the Spotted Cat, when a lot of people were dancing outside, I heard someone walking by say "that's what the dance floor is for." Well, tell that to the people in suits and fancy dresses standing there and taking up what little room there is. There were a lot of complaints about them from the dancers. In a really amazing "you're not from here are you" moment, I saw an old guy in the Spotted Cat get up and ask someone to move because they were blocking the view. How much did you pay for that seat? Nothing, because you're in a bar. So shut up. He was sitting in the back. Then he took the chance to complain about how rude she was and remarked on how she left shortly afterward anyway— Yeah, I'm sure that had nothing to do with your rude demand putting a damper on her mood.

I suspect that guy was Jazzfester, but the complainers on Friday were locals. Jazzfest was strange. Between rain and expensive tickets and work, I ended up not going. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have enjoyed it. I don't like giant shows anyway, and watching people leaving, I got the impression that it was a pretty annoying crowd. Of course, that was right after Jimmy Buffet, so go figure. I fucking hate Jimmy Buffet. Sorry, Carrie.

Anyway, I was watching Jazzfest exodus because Big Ship was playing. There's a record store that had shows after Jazzfest every night because it was in a good location to catch people leaving. It was remarkable how few of them stopped. The one guy who stopped and was really enthused was… Uh, really enthused. He kept saying how he was going to start a label and wanted to sign them, and they had to call him. Uh, yeah. I did hear a few people say that they were better than anything they had seen at Jazzfest. It's generally pretty annoying to be here during the big events, and Jazzfest is no exception. The place just gets so overrun, and so much of the crowd is drunk and obnoxious.

I did take a ride out to see the Bonnet Carre Spillway before it got closed. It was built in response to the flood of 1927. Previously, the policy had been to control the river entirely through levees. In 1927 there was disastrous flooding, though the city of New Orleans escaped unscathed. Plaquemines and St Bernard didn't, as levees were dynamited to help save the city. After that, the spillway was built to allow river water to be drained into Lake Pontchartrain. It consist of a concrete structure a little more than a mile long which interrupts the river levee and contains wooden "needles" which can be removed to allow water to spill out. The water is then guided between two levees to the lake. It's really striking to see water actually flowing anywhere around here. It's usually pretty placid. It's even more striking to see it flowing through stands of trees and over a big swath of normally-dry land. I missed the peak of it, but it was still quite a sight. I also rode along the river for awhile, which is always interesting, but not like it sounds. Here, riding along the river actually means riding along the tall grassy hill. The only hill around.

It was also stunning to see the river so high. It stayed just below 17 feet, which is officially flood level. The levees are 20 feet. It was full of tree limbs and debris, by which you could see just how fast it was moving. It's been 10 years since the spillway way opened, and it's only the 7th time it's been opened since it was completed in 1931, so that gives some indication of how exceptional this was. On the other hand, only part of it was opened; a few times in the past it has been opened entirely.

I'm waiting for it to go down far enough for the batture to be dry so that I don't end up with a stinky muddy dog every time I take them to the levee, which is the unofficial dog park.

As I sit here, I've been listening to the next-newest Marbles cd. It was recorded without Meschiya or Kiowa, so it's very different. What's great to hear is Alynda's vocals and banjo. It's startling to hear Ben and Michael to keep developing, too. Although it sounds like Michael had a brush with Sousa on the day this was recorded. A lot of trilling. It was interesting to see him playing with Jack Fine the other night. It was the least eccentric performance I have ever seen from him, a really different side of his playing. It's been a real treat to see Jack playing bass lately instead of tuba. He's a damn good bass player, and the when he plays slap bass it really adds to the Marbles sound. It's really fun to hear them all yell out on the Tiger Rag, because I can recognize them all, and because it's sounds like who they really are. Now I'm listening to Big Ship, and still shocked how brilliant it is. Ben remarked that Walt may be the new David Byrne. Well, no, but, yeah.

I really want my view back.

Surprisingly little to report

2008-05-02T16:01:00.001-07:00

It's been a slow week. Well, let me rephrase that. It's been the longest week ever. Just totally endless. There hasn't been much going on at work, and I haven't gone out since Monday. And some of the things I have had to do have just been so absurd, and made me think so much about waste. There have been a lot of prosaic annoyances, and little fun.

I've also been thinking and ranting to myself about hipsters, pretension, irony versus sincerity, fashion, and why I love this city and hate other ones. I'll spare you. At least for now.

I did get a call from Liz on Wednesday telling me that the Marbles were playing, but they would have been nearly done by the time I got there. The other highlights of the week have occured while I was at work: Randy Newman yesterday and Stevie Wonder... uh, right now. And Spearhead right now, too. Who knew they still existed? I'm currently pondering what one does on a weekend without Marbles. They are in Arkansas. They'll be back next week, but the Meschiya will be gone for the summer, so it won't be the same.

Perhaps the most suprising part of the week has been my conversations with Chris. He and I don't have a whole lot in common, and don't generally talk much. But last week he showed some interest in the Marbles for the first time, and that was intriguing. This week he and I were the only ones in the office a lot of the time, and we talked a little but more. I was kind of startled when he did finally show interest in the Marbles. It started with his standard question about why Marigny people have to be smelly. He seemed to think I should answer this, and I could only answer that I didn't think anyone I knew stank. Then he said he had a friend who might be into the Marbles, and what could he send her. He spent some time perusing youtube and seemed really impressed with them. This was a startling thing; he's always been really vocally critical of street musicians and all the grungy kids that he sees coming here from other places. I'd love it if he would realize how much life they're bringing to this place, and that so many of them are here because they know and love the history of the place through its music.

He talked a lot about the city, and a lot of what he said was really depressing. He said that there was always a culture of being bad off-- that complaining is what you did, and that as soon as your circumstances improved, you were a pariah. Success was not something to strive for; it just made you an outcast. He said there was always a core of people who were positive and fun and strove to make things better, and that they were the ones to seek out, but that the culture as a whole rejected that and prefered to wallow in its circumstances. I wonder how much that's true. We also talked about uptown people. I find it so strange that they don't do anything on the other side of town. The side where everything is happening, that is. He said there's an uptown triangle and people who live there tend not to leave it. I think that's true, but I can't believe what they're missing out on.

He also reinforced my thoughts about the city versus the american sprawl it is surrounded by. He said that people who live in the city really avoid ever leaving it, which is what I thought. But he also said that people who don't live in New Orleans often won't even stop here. They will drive around it. If, for example you live in St Bernard, you might take the interstate over the city to Metarie to do some shopping, and the go back... But you'd never stop in the city. This sounds like it's largely due to the city's reputation for crime, but also for cultural reasons. This doesn't seem like much of a city to me, doesn't seem terribly dangerous or decayed, but that is by northeastern standards. I suppose that by southern standards, the crime and decay here must just be astonishing.

I had some other interesting conversations this week. Jeremy and I talked about a lot, and a lot of it came back to this place and the people and music and why it is so special. Shaye's message touched on that too; she didn't really need to say it, but it was kind of reassuring to hear it from her. Pam seemed kind of confounded by it. She is in DC, and keeps saying that we apparently have ended up in perfectly opposite places. That's just about true. I do wish that she would come down and actually experience this opposite, though.

I was also thinking a lot about this blog today. The way it has veered makes me wonder whether it means anything at all to someone just coming across it. I think I've been writing for those who have followed it from the start. That's one reason why I don't go back and make corrections... My misconceptions and mistakes stand as a record of getting to know this place and of my changing perceptions. But maybe these posts need to be more universal and less specific. On the other hand, if you have been following it or have been here, it must be nice to hear specifics about people. In fact, I'd like to say even more, but apart from making it unreadable for a general audience, I would also feel like I was violating peoples' privacy. Hmm.

I wonder what tonight will bring. Hopefully the rain will hold off and something will happen on Frenchmen Street.

2008-04-29T19:53:00.000-07:00

I think I'm pretty good about not taking my bad moods out on people, but I always thought it was fair to give some warning. I'm in a bad mood. Not as bad as an hour ago, but not good. I can't work 55 hours a week anymore. I just can't. I tried so hard today to be good and productive, and I just watched fucking ArcMap crash 10 million times. Really, I am not kidding when I say that I spent more time today watching it freeze up and slowly crash and then waiting for it to restart than I did actually working in it. And... and, I don't know, a million things. I'm in this difficult state of hating my job and desperately wanting it to last.

Despite how awful my mood has been today, I don't feel bleak. I still feel pretty happy here. Happier than anywhere else. I'm starting to finally have friends, and it's awfully nice. I got a really lovely message from Shaye yesterday. She's anxious, as I am, about how long the wonderfulness here can last, especially because she has left it behind for the summer. A lot of people are leaving for the summer. Yesterday was Nomi's goodbye party...

It was a funny night. Right when I got to Ray's for Chance's lesson, I got a message from him that he couldn't make it. He was recuited for a movie-- they needed dancers-- and he had just gotten out of the shoot. So I met Liz and helped her shop for the party. It was a weird little gathering. Very low-key, and oddly bifurcated. A funny assortment of people too. Liz was hoping to get some Marbles to play, but only Ben was there. He seemed to be in an extra-special smartass mood, but it managed to be entertaining rather than grating.

It was odd for me since I barely know Nomi, but I was sorry to see her go. Towards the end, I got a surprisingly heartfelt goodbye from her, which was somewhat comfusing and made me even more sorry to see her go. I'm embarrased to say that I never got to hear her sing. I listened to her stuff on Myspace today and I was really impressed. I also never really talked to her. What the fuck? I mainly knew her as a dance partner, and she was a lot of fun. I think she was a little self-conscious and she did a lot of apologizing, but she was a lot of fun and was picking it up fast. I don't know if she's planning to come back, but I think she'll find it hard to stay away. I actually feel a little sad that she didn't get a grander sendoff.

The exciting part of the night was getting pulled over on my way home. Lacking registration and insurance. The cop was not pleased. It was really stressful, and he seemed suspicious at first, but he ultimately just let me go, after establishing the my registration was valid and there were no violations on my license. It was really lucky.

I guess the other thing that's getting to me is the prospect of how little is happening this week. No Chance yesterday, no class wednesday, no rock-and-bowl on wednesday, and the Marbles will be gone from thursday on, so Friday is looking bleak.

I can't believe that April is over. And I can't believe that it's time to sleep. Where did the day go? Oh, right, work.

Sorry for such an awful post. I thought there was more to say and that some if it was entertaining. Maybe it will come back. Uh... Charlie Christian makes me happy, how's that? Coming next time: great insights, including some about architecture and recovery and this city, which is what this was supposed to be about, right?

Just a reminder

2008-04-29T10:11:00.001-07:00

There is only one permissible version of "Sweet Jane." It is by the Velvet Underground. It does mention Jack in his corset and Jane in her vest. It does not mention white roses.

That is all for now.

Wow

2008-04-27T19:52:00.000-07:00

I did nothing this weekend. Either I suck, or I really needed a break.

Thursday was Marbles at Donna's I only caught the second set and it was weird. The boys seemed a little tired, Mush seemed really tired, and the place was absolutely packed. I can tell you all about the how the woman next to me stopped in Greenburg on her way down, but I can't tell you much about the show since I couldn't hear it. This is one reason why it's really nice to see bands on the street. You can actually hear them better than in a packed club where everyone is mainly interested in themselves.

I hadn't seem Mush in awhile, and not with the Marbles, so I stopped to say hello. I told her she sounded great and she said she didn't. And it's true, she didn't sound nearly as great as usual. But everyone around me was talking about her and wondering if she was on the cd. I hope she knows that even on her worst night, she just blows people away.

Friday was dueling marbles, sort of. There were some Marbles at Mimi's but also a lot of loud people. It was a shame because Mush was sounding great. So I left after the first set for Frenchmen street where I knew there would be some other Marbles getting started. Unfortunately, they only played a few songs and then stopped for an endless break, waiting for Ben to come over from Mimi's. The transformation with Ben's arrival was startling. He really seems to be the glue that holds everything together. It was a good night, with a lot of good people around. There was also some girl who was taking entirely too many pictures of me. That would be more than zero. I also learned just how easily impressed people are by rudimentary swing dancing.

Since then I seem to have done nothing. It was JazzFest this weekend, but there were only a few acts that I wanted to see, and it poured a lot of the time. I didn't really want to pay $50 to stand in the rain and see someone far away on a huge stage. I don't know... there were some things I wanted to see, but I hate big shows. I'm so used to seeing people from 10 feet away now, and before that I worked in a theatre, and could just stand on the side of the stage.

It's a strange time to be here with all the jazzfest crowd. On the other hand, I took the dogs to the levee today, and it was deserted. Not only that, everything between here and there was deserted. There's usually a lot of traffic on the way, especially on a Sunday. The river is still incredibly high, and full of debris, which showed how fast it's moving. It's stunning. They've opened the spillway to the lake to lower it, for the first time in 10 years. The side effect of this is a really stinky dog. There's a little area of batture separated from the river where the dogs like to splash around and chase each other, and it's really kind of gross.

I think I needed to do nothing for a little bit and sort of reset myself. But not too much nothing. I found myself slipping into totally pointless time-wasting behaviors from my old life. Like endless pointless web surfing. More going-away party tomorrow, though... So that should be good.

Worlds colliding

2008-04-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

I thankfully remembered last night that I had a performance review today.
Even the name of it is odd. Anyway, I was at least moderately prepared and
moderately respectable looking, but I had no idea what to expect. The thing
is that I work for a company in Virginia. I've never been there and had
very, very little contact with anyone from there. When I left for New
Orleans to start this job, I had not had an interview or anything, and
really had no idea what the company did or who they were. This is an overly
detailed way of saying that I would be being reviewed by someone I talked to
once briefly on the phone while I was standing next to a busy highway. It's
fair to say that he doesn't know a whole lot about my work habits. Which
increasingly seem deplorable to me. It's getting to me.

Anyway, it went fine, and he said he had heard good things about me. So
that's good. But it was so bizarre. He asked if it was my first disaster,
and he alluded to what my role might be in future disasters, and talked
about picking up and moving to the next one, and… well, all kinds of things
that showed his strong assumption that I was here for the job, and would be
following the job where it took me. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I probably would have taken the job if it hadn't brought me here, but I
probably wouldn't still be at it. If I didn't find myself in New Orleans at
the end of every work day, this job would have broken me long ago. And at
this point, I can't imagine leaving here. There will come a time, I'm sure,
when I'm ready to go, but it's not here yet.

(And I love the way they talk about disasters…. "Is this your first
disaster?" Uh, do relationships count?)

But no, I won't be making a career out of this. In fact, it's hard for me to
think in terms of careers. I will stay with this job as long as I can.
There's some slim possibility that it could drag out long enough for me to
be debt-free, or very close to it. That would be stunning and would
literally change the rest of my life. But this is not something I'm just
going to keep doing.

It was a strange cultural moment, too. He was very much more of a business
type than me. Not an aggressive type-a business type, but a careful,
responsible business type… He talked about how I will never have another job
where we are so much like family, spend so much time together, have to take
care of each other. He was very concerned with finding ways to make sure
that we are appreciated and don't feel forgotten by our distant company. It
was very genuine and sweet, but so strange. His ideas of how to show
appreciation were so alien to me, but when I think of my uncles and cousins
in business, I think it would make perfect sense to them, and they would
really appreciate it. That part of the conversation reminded me of looking
around their houses at their mementos and listening to their stories and
just being kind of mystified by their world.

And no, I don't think it's true that I will never feel more like a family
with my co-workers. And I've felt it more in the past. In fact, the idea
that I could feel it less is really unnerving. In response to some question
of his I talked about how I had found such great people and community here
and I decided not to worry about the fact that he and I were talking about
two completely different things. The whole thing was just such a strange
glimpse of a world that I've never really known, but which I have felt
surrounded by and which I am glad to escape here. I say that as if I haven't
spent my whole life escaping it, but when I think about it, I have. I've
always sort of got one foot in it, but I don't live there.

It's hard to define what this world is that I'm talking about or what is so
worrisome to me about it, but it's the world that most white-collar folk
live in, and I'm pretty certain now that I can't. And it's nice to just know
that and not bother trying.

At any rate, though, he was a very nice guy.

After that, I went back to… well not being a mindless bureaucrat exactly… a
technocrat, I guess. Checking mismatched data until I was melting off my
chair and my eyes were crossing. What does it all have to do with anything?
Well, honestly, it's hard to say. It's quite likely that I will be the only
one to look at some of this stuff. Ever.

Meanwhile, I've been taunted from a distance by spring. People I know in the
Northeast are positively demented, and Phillyskyline has been featuring a
lot of pictures of spring. Oh, I miss it. There's no such thing here,
really. I tried to explain spring to Christa once, and she didn't get it.
When you're from some place that doesn't really have winter or spring, there
is no explaining the transition from one to the other. There's no explaining
how hard and endless winter can be, and how badly you need spring. There's
no explaining the effects of crocuses to people who require an explanation
of what crocuses are. The pictures from Philly right now are like nothing
here, with seemingly everything blooming wildly. I get utterly manic in the
spring, and I kind of miss that feeling.

(I'm remembering a story about the woman who founded my college. It was a
beautiful campus and apparently a local reporter once asked her for a quote
about spring there. She replied "Well, it's spring, and they'll be fucking
like bunnies." Yes. Yes, they will. Sorry… she was a pretty funny lady,
though.)

I was also pondering the lack of spring in L. A. No, really, this is related
to something. I got a message from Shani about how much she can't wait to be
"home" in NOLA. Funny how fast it becomes home. She says that her body is
rejecting Orange County. My first reaction was "of course it is." Then I
thought about how I don't really know what that means, having never been
there. Then did some bored googling and realized I have been there. It had
some virtues, I suppose, but I was good and ready to leave it behind after a
few days. Jesus, of course she's ready to escape. In my memory, it's only a
small step up from Houston, which is too boring to be hell, but might be
purgatory.

Meanwhile, Carrie has also succumbed, from a distance. She was here for
approximately 24 hours, and… well, ok, it wasn't the being here that did it,
it was probably my account of it. She is planning to run away to here and
just immerse herself in it and be a bum for awhile. I have tried to warn her
that she will not be able to go back… Really, I think this is a very
dangerous idea, but it's not really my job to tell her not to. Well, more
than that, how could I? If she wants to experience this so badly, how could
I possibly discourage it? There are all kinds of reasons that maybe I
should, but I won't.

I had another strange moment checking my class's blog last night. My class
was pretty chummy, and someone started a blog so we could all keep treack of
each other. It doesn't get many posts, once in awhile there's some bit of
news. The last one says that a few of them were on vacation together in the
Virgin Islands and feeling like they were experiencing some kind of academic
atrophy and they're starting a preservation book club together, where they
will have weighty technical and theoretical discussions. I don't even know
where to start on this. First, something about the idea of that vacation
rubs me the wrong way. I can't explain it, and it's probably petty and
uncalled for, so let's leave that behind. But the book club… There's no
doubt that I was not as serious a student as I would like to have been. I
made some attempt to do some real reading and research when I got here, and
there are some things I would like to pursue, but… It's all out of mind for
now. Partly, it has to do with why I have never tried to make a living at
photography. Making something my job takes the fun out of iut for me. But
it's also this place. I can't be studious here. And I can't imagine
combining career and a passionate sort of academic pursuit like that. I'm a
little jealous of it, of that kind of passion and dedication and focus. I'm
always all over the place.

Maybe it's symbolic that this place is literally walled in. It's like an
asylum. Or, if you prefer, like a nature reserve for some odd species that
can't quite make it outside. And people come and look at them in this little
vestige of their vanished habitat and watch their novel behavior. I won't
make the inside-out asylum comparison that would require me to dive deep
into a literary allusion that I am always kind of loath to make.

Oh, and Cordelia's Dad rocks. I forget sometimes.

Go, go:
http://www.myspace.com/cordeliasdad

Picture Time

2008-04-22T08:07:00.000-07:00

Random images that I never got around to...

St Patrick's parade detritus outside my window:

Easter on Frenchmen Street with G String Orchestra:

followed by the Loose Marbles:

The wheel of genres, on the highly decorated piano:

Shaye with tuba:

And, yes, I did take some pictures at the full moon party, though it really pushed my camera past its limits-- it was SO dark. See them HERE.

And video. Herringbone Orchestra at the full moon party.

Did I post this? Magnolia Beacon. And MORE.

Loose Marbles at Preservation Hall. See more here.

Shani dancing on Royal Street.

Finally, Ben...
I'd be happy if I could play trumpet OR piano.

Big long update

2008-04-21T13:24:00.001-07:00

I am a zombie today. On Friday, our boss took us each aside and gently explained that we needed to start coming in on time. We all knew it was coming, as our schedules slipped one and then 2 and then three hours behind the "official" office hours. So I was here at 8 today. Only a half-hour late and the first one in, and not caring that my jeans are filthy, probably from climbing that tree.

Last night was just a beautiful thing, and I couldn't tear myself away, so I didn't get home until 3. It was a full moon party, but also a birthday and goodbye party. I thought I would stop by, but when I realized it was Shaye's last night in town I was loath to leave until it wound down. It's been so good to have her around. I loved her playing and her presence from the first time I saw her on Frenchmen Street. She's not new here, of course, but she seemed new to me. She'll be back in the fall, though. And it was a perfect sendoff for her, I thought. The party was in the exceptionally large side yard/garden/forest of a house in the Bywater, and it was beautiful. It was very, very dark, with light mainly from the firepit and a few torches, and very sheltered under the trees. In the corner was a little stage, where Herringbone Orchestra, Magnolia Beacon, and the Cyclowns played. Then a sort of version of the Loose Marbles materialized, as it would have to to see Shaye off.

(Oh, and now I know how to spell her name correctly.)

It was also goodbye to Shani, but probably not for long. She is a friend of Chance, and had been in town since French Quarter Fest. She fell hard for New Orleans and intends to move here soon. It made me really happy to see her reaction to the place and to the scene and to see her excitement about moving here. It's like my own, but accelerated; as a friend of Chance she got thrown right in. It'll be nice to have her here, especially if she continues to humor my incompetent beginner dancing.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe I should do this in order once, instead of going backwards, which seems to be my way with everything.

Friday was a pretty awful day. I was in a bad mood from the beginning, probably. In the morning, for some reason, I idly picked up my little video camera, and was greeted with the image of myself which my co-worker shot. I don't like seeing myself, and it put me in a bad mood. That seems pretty petty, and I hate to mention it, but it's true. Later in the day one of my friends pointed out that the URL for one of my recent posts turns out to say "well-seriously-i-think-i-am-pretty." Very apropos. If only it were true.

Anyway, I was looking forward very much to getting out and having some fun, yet I was not feeling fun, and I was not optimistic that anything would be happening. I don't know why. Partly because of the rain. I was supposed to meet some people at DBA, but they weren't there. So I went to the Spotted Cat to see Panorama, but Aurora was missing. And I knew that Marbles and Big Ship were playing a party, but I didn't know where or if it was private. So I stopped to see Liz at work. I ran into Sarah and Ian outside, and then Kiowa inside, so that was nice. I've never really talked to Kiowa for some reason, and it was really nice to finally do so. I think the funniest part was when he was talking about touring this summer. He was explaining that the band has actual dates, so he'll have to travel in a way he's not used to: by air rather than freight train. He seemed sort of startled by that prospect, yet resigned.

So, it wasn't a terrible evening, but after that I just went home, not feeling great.

Saturday got off to a slow start, with a few hours at work. At some point I looked at Big Ship's myspace and saw the info about the party I had missed. So I guess I could have gone. On the way home I heard about a fundraiser in the Bywater. It was for the owner of a wine store there who was recently injured in a car crash. I figured on catching the Marbles first and then going over there to see Big Ship. I did find the Marbles, and asked Alynda when Big Ship was supposed to play. She said 4:30, but that was so soon I thought I must have misunderstood. So I missed it. She also said that she wanted to take me up on photography lessons. So I spent a lot of Sunday trying to find a time to get started on that before she left. That didn't happen.

I did stop at the fundraiser and caught Black Sox Orchestra with Blu and the Cyclowns, who have been a presernce the last few weeks. It was really nice to hear Blu as the frontman, and the songs were great. He's an extremely prolific songwriter. The setting was wonderful too. It was in a warehouse right next to the industrial canal and the Claiborne Avenue Bridge. Sometihng about the setting was perfect, and the warehouse was beautiful. It had clearly had a fire at some point, but the building was merely charred, not really damaged, and nicely repaired. It was oddly pleasing inside. The crowd was really nice, though they were all strangers to me. A different slice of the Bywater, I guess. Slightly older, I think. Like, my age. When did I get old?

After that, I left to get to Nathalie's swing dance uptown. It was weird scene. There was this strange assortment of older locals, serious younger dancers, and Tulane students. Everyone was either far more advanced than me or didn't yet know Lindy hop, which made it not much fun. There was one girl form Tulane who had a strong dance background, to the point that I didn't realize she didn't know Lindy Hop until she asked what we were doing. She got it instantly. She also picked up Balboa more or less instantly. Jean-Francoise was there and had some pointers for me but said that I looked generally good, and that was nice. But overall, it was lame. They played a lot of Stax and Motown and contemporary music, which doesn't excite me in that context. And why have a DJ anyway when there is so much good music in town? It's more fun with a band, and the musicians like it and deserve our support. I don't know… there was something very old-fashioned about the whole thing, which was charming initially, but wore thin.

Afterwards, I went back to the warehouse, where Quintron was setting up. I didn't have the patience for that so I decided to go by Frenchmen and see if Alynda was there to set a time for our little lesson. I waited around and Alynda did show up, and eventually so did a great assortment of other people—Shaye, Kiowa, Raffe and Channing of the Cyclowns, Ben, and Dan on baritone sax. That made me particularly happy. I love bari sax, and he is so good. Were there others? Maybe, I don't remember. It was a great show, but an odd night. They didn't start until well after midnight, and the crowd was strange. Chance was tired, so Shani was dancing by herself, and being continually accosted by several creepy guys. One was quite drunk and left before long. The other two stayed for the whole show. And they were both named Laurence. And they were both just sort of uncomfortably socially incompetent. People, do not name your sons Laurence. They might come out ok, but in my experience the chances are not good. The rest of the crowd was better, and very appreciative. It was a great show. It was so good to hear Dan. He took one endless solo—probably 3 choruses in a row—that was just brilliant. Kiowa sang Dyin' Blues, which he said was his favorite, and Alynda sang "Graveyard Blues," which I love, but I had only heard on Deadman Street Orchestra's myspace page.

(When I left the house, I reassured myself that I wasn't going to see anything remarkable and therefore didn't need the video camera, so this event was sadly not preserved in any way. I will learn...)

I don't know what time I got home. 4:00? But when I did, I thought of you, Erik, and your question about me being busy. Or perhaps just using my time badly. One thing I didn't really do on Saturday was eat, and my dinner of a bagel with some petrified cheese and absinthe attests to how thoroughly I've neglected grocery shopping. Needless to say, those things wouldn't have gone together had they not been the only food in the house. Soon I'll need dog food, though, so I can't neglect it much longer.

Sunday started, not surprisingly, with me sleeping very late. I ended up being late for Nathalie's workshop, which I regretted going to. It was difficult and kind of uninteresting material, and it was super hot in the studio. I couldn't wait for it to be over. And when it was, I noticed a long gouge leading up to my kickstand as I approached my bike. Then I noticed the note that said "sorry I hit your bike." At least he left a note. The damage is a cracked fender (no big deal) and slightly twisted forks (easy enough to fix, but annoying for now.)

After that I sat and felt exhausted and discouraged for a little bit and then got my cameras and went looking for Alynda/the Marbles. They were out, and it was a funny scene. Kiowa was sitting on milk crates, and they had loaned a chair to an old guy in Marine Corps regalia. He had some friends with him, and before they left they thanked the Marbles endlessly and told them all about their service in World War II. One of them had been a clarinet player in the Marines, so Michael was singled out for special attention. It was really sweet.

Then there was a wedding. The couple showed up with someone to perform the marriage and a violin player and did it on the stairs across from where the Marbles were set up. Afterward, the Marbles spontaneously became the wedding band, playing for the first dance, and collaborating with the violin player and taking a few requests.

After that, a woman came up and declared that she was 71, but that she wouldn't let that stop her from dancing with Chance. It was really endearing, and Shani and I got talking about how much old folks love the marbles. It's unsurprising that they love the music and dances that they remember, but most of the time that they see it, it's being done by people of their generation. They get really excited to see people who could be their grandchildren carrying it on and loving it and genuinely having a great time. It's really touching to see.

As a counterpoint, as the Marbles were packing up, a crazy ranting lady took a perch on the steps and started harassing them. When she could be understood, she was screaming about how they were pimping dead folks and stealing her culture, and telling them they should take the money they made and give it to the homeless on Claiborne Avenue. It was really an unpleasant surprise to such a nice scene. Someone, I think it was Chance, said "if we weren't pimping these dead guys, they would just stay dead." It almost didn't need to be said—that's so obviously the idea of it. It brings up interesting issues, though. Why is this black music so overwhelmingly being carried on by white kids?

And then it was party time. I've already said a lot about that… It was just so good. The setting was amazing, and it was hard to believe we were in the city at all. The crowd was as perfect as any big party can be, with people definitely having fun, but no one being obnoxious or getting annoyingly crazy. There were quiet corners, do-it-yourself music around the fire, and a real show on the stage, and a swing, and a big tree that I was not the only one to climb.

Oh, I forgot about the random Hungarians. (Well, they live in Berkeley…) I stopped at a coffeeshop and I heard this couple ask the girl who was working whether there was anything cool going on. She gave them directions to the party. They showed up and recognized me and we started talking. They were just here for the weekend, and they had decided to take a walk and see what was beyond the French Quarter. I can't imagine just suddenly finding myself in that scene. It must have been totally astonishing to them, and I know they had a great time. And a good deal of what Herringbone Orchestra played was familiar to them or reminded them of Hungary, so they were excited about that. It was even better than the guy who walked up behind me on Frenchmen Street the night before and listened and watched and said "this doesn't happen in Philly." No, it doesn't. Does it happen anywhere else? I don't know.

It made me really happy to just watch them take it all in, and even more so to watch Shani's reactions. This place got into her so fast and so thoroughly, and how could it not? She had the same kind of reverence for it and blissfulness in it that I feel, and she's so excited. She talked about how the first time she heard the Marbles it completely changed her dancing and completely changed what she wanted to dance to and that now nothing else will do. And I know exactly what she means. I'm so mystified about why anyone would go out to these events with djs when we have the Marbles and the Jazz Vipers and Hot Club and Palmetto Bug Stompers. But especially the Marbles. We talked about careers, about the irony of her moving to New Orleans after her family spending generations trying to get away from the place, about prospects for living cheaply and the feeling that living without a lot of things would not be a hardship, would barely be noticeable, as long as you can be around this music and this community and the life and liveliness of it. I don't know what the word is for my reaction to her… comfort? Excitement? Reinforcement? I'm not sure, but it was great to see someone having the same reaction that I did to all of this.

I do wonder how long it all will last. And, of course, if it gets too big, that could kill it, and as both a newcomer and a real outsider I'm conscious of my possible role in that. Oh, and the blogging makes me feel a little guilty in that respect, too. I don't want to ruin this thing that's happening here, but I do think it's important to document it and to share the lessons that I see in it.

It will be interesting to see what summer is like, with so many people leaving. Not that many, perhaps, and not permanently, but it will be a change. Last night was probably the last chance for even more people than I realize to all see each other before they go on their summer adventures. And, yes, it's getting hot here, as if you need a reminder of why people leave for the summer.

In contrast to the weekend, today has been a reminder of how deadly the office is. Apart from the work, it's just so awful to sit in a sealed windowless room all day in a glass cube on a highway. Why do we do this to ourselves? I was imagining to other day how different it would feel if everything were the same except for the building. I think I would feel entirely different in an old factory with wood floors and the giant windows that are characteristic of those places. Why do we build buildings like this? And why is there a central atrium so that when I do step out of my office I could easily hurl myself five stories to my death? Don't think I haven't thought of it.

P.S. I can't add links right now, so check back later. Or google Cyclown Circus and Deadman Street Orchestra. Photos to come.

2008-04-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

Ok, apologies for the "update" post. I see now that in my annoyance it's full of errors and sentences which only half express what I meant. Yesterday was a weird day in general. I coudn't get out of bed and got to work stunningly late. Then towards the end of the day, the big boss came down and needed a map immediately. But there was no one around to make it. The bigger problem was that we needed to make determinations on about 250 buildings for the map. I knew enough about GIS and our database to get that going, and by the time we got all through reviweing the buildings, my boss was back to make the map. They were all very thankful that I was ablt to help, and I can only hope it escaped notice that I came in so late... and then sheepishly had to be the first one to leave to get to class.

Which was weird. Nathalie was tired, and it ended up basically being review. And having done eight count stuff all week, it was really hard to go back to six count. Which is lame, anyway.

The other strange feature of this week has been tv. I've had it on because The Colbert Report is being done in the theatre where I used to be a stagehand. It was always strange to do tv there-- you'd walk offstage and look at the tv, and it was hard to believe it was the same place on the screen. The Colbert Report makes it look particularly alien, with very elaborate sets and lighting. I can't make out much, except that the have both lifts up to make a thrust stage. And there are a lot of extra lighting trusses over the house. And there's a weird camera angle. Is it from the 3rd catwalk? 4th? I don't think it's the second. That would suck for the operator. Maybe just on the balcony. I see also that there are new railings in the aisles. That must make hauling sound equipment through the house more of a pain in the ass than ever.

Holy hell, though, there is some scary shit on tv. Kim Jong Il vs Tila Tequila? Tila Tequila is more evil, no doubt. Now that I think about it, it would be a beautiful thing to banish her to North Korea. That would make me happy.

When I was writing the last post, I had a note that said "seriously." I don't remember what I was supposed to say to you, though. Hmm. I know there were other things I didn't get to/lost.

Ah, but there are comments to get to. I like this responding to comments thing. Has New Orleans made me more reflective? No, I don't think so, but it gave me an excuse to start a blog, instead of just thinking this stuff or inflicting it on friends in emails. It feels strange to be sharing some of this stuff. Partly because it's strange to reveal some of these feelings, and partly because I'm afraid of offending the people I know by blogging about them.

I, too, often feel empty/shallow. I always seem to be surrounded by people who are more accomplished and inteelctual, and I feel like a dilettante. Less so here, but here it's just a different kind of accomplishment. Instead of having fantastic careers and resumes and degrees, these people just have amazing stories and talent and abilities arrived at by endless hard work. I feel a little more confortable with them, I think... Which means, with my fancy education, that I fail to fit into either group. Oh well.

As for time... It's crazy. But having a lot of extra time is a good way for me to feel miserable. It's good to have it filled. By a lot of stuff falls by the wayside. Like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, and therefore eating. And taxes. And, I don't know, the list is endless. But I'm really focused right now on learning and doing new things that I wish I had done a long time ago. This re-prioritization has a lot to do with new life/old life and the regrets I have about the old one. I'm determined not to keep making the same mistakes, which were mainly mistakes of hesitancy, or of concluding that I couldn't do things.

I can't wait until they cut back on our hours, though. If they do. There are always rumors. On the other hand, that will mean less money, and that's why I'm doing this job. The fact that it brought me here is about the best thing ever, but the job is pretty deadly. Sitting in an office all day pretty much makes me want to die.

But before I leave this subject, thank you-- I take your comment as a complement. Sometimes I feel like this endless cataloging of what I've been up to is totally pointless and self-indulgent.

On an unrelated point, I found videos of Friday on youtube. Unfortunately, you can't see anything at all, but they confirm my memory that it was loose and crazy and a total celebration. I've been remembering Sunday, too. It took awhile for all the marbles to get there and set up, and then when they did... Within about 1 minute, it was a giant party, with a huge crowd having so much fun. It was really kind of amazing.

Ooh, ooh! Colbert Report is finished in Philly. Which means... Guess what i'm not doing right now! I'm not coiling miles of cable, or taking apart those trusses, or putting anything in road boxes, or pushing boxes to the elevator. On the other hand, I would have been paid to nap and watch movies all week between load-in and load-out.

2008-04-16T21:31:00.000-07:00

I'm fucking furious. I just spent hours typing and my fikcing post is gone. I'll choose to blame it on fucking scientologists since it got lost when my computer decided to connect earthlink. Fuck google blooger, too, though.

2008-04-15T20:51:00.000-07:00

Alright. It's a night for catching up, so, I'll try here, too...

My week off got off to a slow and kind of sad start. On Tuesday I took a ride as far down the river as one can go, which turned out to be totally anti-climactic. On wednesday I thought the Marbles might be playing again after their trip to Minnesota, and decided that I would look for them. I found them, and it made me feel a little better. Sitting there on the curb, I looked over and saw someone that seemed familiar. Twyleth? It was. I think she was surprised that I remembered her. She said she had literally just arrived from Panama. What better welcome than the Marbles?

It turned out to be a day for startling connections. Later I went out to Frenchmen Street, and there was nothing happening, so I watched Vavavoom through the window, not feeling like going into the crowded Spotted Cat. And then Twyleth arrived. And then Liz, with her dog. She was going down to the river, so we tagged along. On the way, we ran into someone Liz had worked with right after the storm, who was leaving town the next day, and was looking for Liz. Then Liz decided we should take a ferry. The river was extraordinarily high. It was about 17 feet, officially flood stage. The levees are 20 feet. Liz turned out to know all the guys who work on the ferry, and one of them was from Panama. So there was another connection. Then it turned out that Twyleth went to the Bard High School which is based on Simon's Rock, where I went to college, which was startling. More startling, she had been to Simon's Rock. We kept discovering more people we knew in common, and then Twyleth realized that Liz was someone she had been directed to look for. Then Twyleth told us about coming here for the first time with no place to stay and knowing no one and discovering Rocket, who she grew up with. The web of connections was remarkable, yet seemed typical for this place. Twyleth also kept talking about how well this place seems to take care of her.

Thursday I indulged Liz's desire for a motorcycle ride. We went to the north shore, which made for a boring ride, but we had a great time anyway. Straight lines are boring on a bike, and the route to the north shore is a perfectly straight 26 mile bridge. It was cool to watch pelicans flying along next to us, though. We went to Abita, and experienced the UCM Museum. That wasn't the plan, just how it worked out. It was a stunning display of one man's eccentricty, and I eventually realized it is the same man who makes the "Be Nice Or Leave" signs that are in every business in the city. After I dropped her off, I went to see the Marbles on Royal Street. Then I went to see the Marbles at Donna's. Then I went to see the Marbles at Mimi's. Partway through, Twyleth showed up and Zack and I gave her a swing dance crash course. The other highlight of that show was when they were trying to decide what to play next and Kiowa suggested "Just a Closer Walk" but asked Meschiya to substitute satan for jesus.

So, it was a late night. I was late for the Marbles' performance Friday at Preservation Hall. I managed to squeeze into the edge of a doorway in the hall, and I've already told a lot of the rest of that story. I'm so glad I saw that.

After that, I found that I just couldn't focus on anything. I walked around French Quarter Fest for awhile, and then went home and took a nap. The one thing that really struck me at FQF was a german jazz band. They were playing the same songs that the Marbles play, and they were quite good. Their love of the music came through, and it was a lot of fun. And it made me think about the history of jazz in Germany. Jazz took off pretty quickly once it got to Germany after world war I. There were some remarkable acts. But when the Nazis took power, they banned it as degenerate music. I think it's so exciting and meaningful for young people in this country to be reclaiming and refashioning jazz and swing dance, but to be doing it in Germany is loaded with even more meaning. I was really touched and happy thinking about it.

After my nap, I went out to Frenchmen Street, where I ran into Jean-Francois and Tonya. They were hoping the Marbles would play. I told them that someone was playing but I was sure if it would be the Marbles, exactly. While we sat, Jean-Francois expounded about swing dance technique and teachers and learning. It was helpful, but a little discouraging. I waited and waited and eventually Blu and Mary and Alynda showed up. Then EVERYBODY showed up. It was quite a group, and quite a celebration. The oddest aspect was the older guy who started talking to me. But he was there early, waiting. And when I gave Blu beer money and told him to consider it an advance tip, the older guy threw $40 in the hat. He started telling me how loves the Marbles and RIff Raff and Big Ship, and it was so surprising. Later I say him at the Big Ship show. He seemed a real conservative all-american type and he was older.

There was a real first when someone had to be dragged away. People were trying to manage him, but he couldn't be managed. He was really fucked up. Finally Barnabus put down his trombone and started pushing th guy away. I was surprised it was Barnabus that did it. In the end it took four people to drag the guy off and convince him to leave. It was also a first to see Shea play tuba. It was cute and funny, but she sounded really good.

Meanwhile, a lot of Chance's freinds were there and they were dancing up a storm. Literally. But they didn't seem to care about the rain. They were all too good for me, and I was annoyed not to have a dance partner, and then Liz rode by... She claimed to need to get home, but ended up staying. She didn't want to dance, though. Eventually I got her to do one song. Later she said she was glad I made her and that she won't hesitate again. Then Twyleth showed up, and she was totally game. I don't know how long the band played, but it was a long time. It was anarchic and wonderful, less of a show than usual, and more a celebration among friends. At one point I had a little revelation. I think there are a lot of reasons that the Marbles are so committed to playing in the street, but one reason has to be the idea of getting this music to people who would never hear it otherwise. Chance and Amy do the same for the dances. I hear a lot of people asking questions about the dancing, and they're always so shocked that it's still being done, and being done by young people.

All night, people in cars were stopping to watch and listen and honking and giving thumbs up. Toward the end of the night Twyleth and I were facing into the street doing the Charleston and a cab stopped, and I watched them watching. It was so satisfying to see thier reaction, and seeing thier joy increased ours. It made me want even more to really get good.

Afterwards we went down the street to a bar, where we were all about to leave when it started storming like crazy. Just before the storm, Liz showed up looking for her bag. When we left, my helmet was gone. When I got home, it was 5:00.

Saturday was a funny day. It was a day without Marbles. I went to WAWBSABS and it was kind of awful. The crowd was terrible, perhaps because they were there to see the Zydepunks. I went to Frenchmen afterward, and G String was playing, but I was tired and gave up and went home.

On sunday I slept super-late, and then got out of bed and headed for the quarter, where I immediately ran into Ben and Shea, who said that they too had just woken up. I wandered around and listened but nothing was really compelling to me. I found myself really moved by the dancers, though. Watching them was literally bringing tears to my eyes. I can't quite explain why.

Eventually I ran into Alynda, who said the Marbles were going to play. They did one set and turned into G String. Afterwards, I followed them to Donna's. There, they were guests of Jack Fine, which made it a very different show. It's really nice to see them being invited to play with people like Tom McDermott (whi joined them at Preservation Hall) and Jack Fine. It reinforces my opinion of how damn good they are. Jack kept saying things like "you be hearing a lot about them." And his crowd of fans seemed never to have heard of them and to be schocked by their youth. Jack is a real old-timer.

And then on Monday it was home and back to work, which was pretty sad. Or it would have been if I had been awake enough to think about it. Afterwards was a lesson with Chance. This time I think I got something more from it. Afterwards, Kiyoko and Nomi stuck around to practice, and both of them expressed shock at how far I had come, and it was really flattering. I still have a long way to go, but that felt really good to hear. I'm jealous of Kiyoko though-- she's such a natural, and had such a beautiful way of moving that even when she doesn't know what to do, it looks great. When we got to our post-lesson practive spot, though, it was a Motown marathon. I'm sure I can speak for all of us when I say I love Motown, but it was really aggravating. It was uninspring. It was really funny to see all these older folks dancing to motown and to 20- (and 30-) somethings badgering the dj for some old jazz so they could dance.

Well, that's as much as I can salvage of my lost post. I'll try to piece together the rest tomorrow, if I can remember what it said. I was a damn long post. Let's pretend that it ended with some brilliant insight that tied all this random detail together. I have to sleep.

Really

2008-04-15T11:35:00.001-07:00

Would somebody just fucking kill fucking Rush fucking Limbaugh so that I don't fucking have to? Motherfucker.

One more reason not to use the car.

2008-04-14T21:43:00.000-07:00

Well, Seriously, I think I am pretty reverent about the way the people around me act, and I guess I do have less fiath or hope than you. It is a big contrast to what I now think of as "my old life." It's not that people in my old life didn't care about each other, but... There was a lot less community and a lot more isolation. I'm sure as I get to know people here better I will see that it's not all as rosy as it seems, but they seem to have a much better thing than what I saw in my old life. And I think that my old life was much more typical of the American experience. I had house and a car and only knew one of my niehgbors. We might have all cared about each other if we knew each other, but we didn't. And there was no way to solve problems, since we did't know each other. And we certainly weren't there to help or support each other, since we wouldn't know it was needed.

Peopl at work were nice enough, but... there was always also ugly stuff under the surface. Apart from that, there was nothing. I had no community. I autocrossed, but not enough to know people. I met some good folks through motorcycling, but left soon after. There didn't seem to be anything to really bring people together. On top of that, there was the way we all spent time. In solitary pursuits, or as solitary couples. Watch tv, or ensconce yourself in your "home theatre" if you have one. Listen to recorded music. I loved working in my darkroom and gardening and making things, but those are all solitary pursuits.

The contrast here couldn't be greater. I go out all the time. Really, it seems odd to be at home. And when I'm out, I'm not in some exclusive place, or even in walls at all; I'm often on the street. And so is everyone else, it seeems. And there's music and life, and people talk. I'm still learning to just talk to people. And I think about what people used to do. We used to be a nation of joiners. The Elks, The Odd Fellows, The Masons, The Rotary... whatever you may think about these organizations, the did knit people together. And every week you went to the movies. You didn't have a TV. I lived in a town of 10,000 where the old movie theater had 2,000 seats. Think about that for a minute. And you went dancing. Houses were small. Think about what people do make old houses "livable." It usually involves doubling their size. That's partly because we all have more stuff now, but also because we all think we have to have every kind of amusement and home instead of, god forbid, going out for it.

Now, if you've always lived in cities, maybe you don't feel the way I do, but I haven't. I've lived in small towns, suburbs, and the middle of nowhere. I think they all have virtues. (Well, suburbs we can debate...) But they rarely have a lively sense of community.

Beyond that, I think there really is something extra-special about this place and the people I have found here. There's an excitement to the place, and a common bond formed just by being here. And there's such excitement and life to the community, such caring and creativity and spirit. It really is inspiring and comforting.

And yes, I think that a lot of America lives and dies without feeling anything like that. I think about the relatives, and people I grew up with. Most of them live within a couple of miles of their parents. They went to college locally, got jobs and got married immediately after, and had kids immediately after that. And some of them are truly happy. Many of them are not, and seem a little mystified. They're unhappy in a quiet way, mostly, but you can sort of seee them wondering what's wrong. They're successful, they did everything that's supposed to make you a good person with a good life, but... Or maybe they're not successful, even on their own terms. That's a different story.

I think about so many people I know who were desperately unhappy, just empty, and tried to fill that void. Mostly they tried to fill it with stuff. Sometimes with hobbies. But it never worked. It only made big credit card bills and trapped them even more in jobs they hated.

And as if that's all not enough, there's this competitive streak. I think that's what made me so uncomfortable. It was expressed most clearly in business people, who are such big proportion of the people I would meet, and of my extended family. It found plentiful expression in sports, too. And a million other places. And no matter how much genuine caring there was or how much humor the competitiveness was wrapped up in, it never felt ok to me. I don't feel that here.

I spent far to much time in that life, and I feel like I lost a huge chunk of time to it. And now I feel like I'm a little late here. I a little older than everyone, and trying to make up for lost time. They seem to accept me though, or more than I would have thought. And I think my slight desperation to make up for all I've missed is the kick my complacent ass needs.

So yeah, I'm pretty reverent of the people around me and their dreams and their caring and the community they have built for themselves. And I'm pretty amazed at any place that can have shy uptight me dancing in the street in the rain with some girl I just met. I feel like this place has freed up a lot of good things that were always repressed in me. Really, we all know the songs, but where have any of us actually seen dancing in the street? Whereas this place always seems right on the edge of turning into that scene from the Blues Brothers with Ray Charles.

Lessons learned from the crumbling of my old life helped too, I guess.

Well, more about all this tomorrow. Today was my first day back at work, which was pretty sad, and then it was lesson night with Chance and now it's late and I'm exhausted. But last week was incredible and there's a lot to say.

Yes, actually

2008-04-12T22:35:00.000-07:00

kids hop trains. I can't be much more articulate than that right now because I'm exhausted. So much so that I actually decided to give up, come home, and go to sleep. Some amalgamation of Marbles and Ramblers played last night on Frenchmen street until.. uh, late. All I know is that I got home at 5 AM.

So, much more later, but for now, this:
http://www.jamesheil.com/rxr/
http://www.time.com/time/photoessays/2007/hobo_band/

Waking up Preservation Hall

2008-04-11T15:34:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a week. I'll get to all that at some point, but first: Loose Marbles at Preservation Hall. It's French Quarter Fest, and as part of that, the Marbles were booked at Preservation Hall. I wasn't sure whether Preservation Hall was a big deal to them, but it seemed like a big deal to me. Yesterday was full of Marbles, first in the street, then at Donna's, then at Mimi's, and I started to sense that they were pretty excited about it.

It really was so great to see them there in the sort of official home of traditional jazz. And to see the crowd totally wowed by them. I also had been looking forward to it because Preservation Hall can be kind of an ascetic place where people come and sit quietly and pay reverent attention to the show. And the shows can be a little careful. I knew the Marbles would shake things up a bit. They didn't dissapoint. The engaged the crowd so much and so well, and it was just beautiful to see a performance there with so much genuine life and joy.

And all through it, I was thinking about how they all got there. Hopping trains and playing music, just playing and playing and playing and playing. I was so happy to see Alynda and Barnabus and Shea there; they aren't part of the real core of the Marbles, but they're certainly part, and they certainly deserved it. In particular, I kept thinking of Shea. She's been playing with them for the shortest time, has only played trumpet for a few years (though she played piano before that), and... well, just a couple of months ago, the last time she was in town, she wasn't playing with the Marbles. She was playing with the Muskrat Ramblers, busking every night, and I thought she was so good. And I kept trying to imagine what it must be like for her to be playing with the Marbles and then suddenly find herself in Preservation Hall. It seemed so incredible and unexpected and I was so happy for her.

Toward the end of the show, Amy and Chance finally got up and danced, and that really made me happy. They're part of the Marbles, too, after all. But more than that, it was such a needed dose of life for Preservation Hall. This is such joyous music, and it's made for dancing, and to preserve it in a hall where everyone sits and listens carefully kinds of misses the point. It's important to listen, very important, and maybe there was a time where this music seemed so outmmoded and hokey that it needed that sort of presentation to make people take it seriously again. But I think we're past that now, and we're in danger of preserving it as an artifact and not as a living thing. And having Chance and Amy there seemed like an antidote to that. I mean, the place it called "Preservation Hall." It's a needed thing, but we have to be careful about what preservation means. We can't let the life go out of it, and part of making it live is to get up and respond to it and let it get in you; this music is not just an object of quiet or careful study.

I got there a little late, and I stupidly did not being a camera. I was in a really tough spot for photos anyway. But I did have a little video camera and I was trying to get to a place where I could shoot. Then I saw Tatiana and she asked if I was shooting, and I realized it would probably be really important to them if I did. So I pushed my way in and started. At some point, the staff told me I had to stop, and I convinced them that it was for the band and they let me go. I'm glad they did, because I don't think they have anything else. Ben was talking afterward about how he saw some people shooting with some serious cameras, and I think he regretted that they didn't have photos.

Afterwards, Shea came out literally crying tears of joy. She was as blown away as I thought she must be by suddenly finding herself there. Alynda said she started to tear up while they were playing, and that when Meschiya cued her to sing part of "Make me a Pallet" she wasn't sure she could do it, her voice was wavering so much. She talked about how just a few years ago they were picking their way through whatever songs they could figure out on the street and they were thrilled if they made a couple of dollars each.

At some point, it was decided to memorialize the occasion with a group photo in front of the hall, and I was so happy to run out in the middle of the street with their cameras and see them all lined up there. I'm so proud of them, and I feel so lucky to have been able to share the experience with them in some little way.

Afterwards, Alynda and I were talking about community and music and the way everyone here takes care of each other, and the contrast of that to the way most people live. That's a subject for later maybe. Oh, and then she invited me to hop a train with them next week. The idea is tantalizing, but that kind of trip would not have and end point, and I can just imagine that I would end up losing my job. And that maybe I wouldn't care at that point. I have to hold onto this job, though. But I do have a rule about never refusing an invitation.

2008-04-05T21:20:00.000-07:00

Ok, what's up here? The river is still rising. The population is still in dispute. The mayor is still missing. And now we have that fat fuck Rush Limbaugh. Every time I've been in the car in the last week, the radio had scanned over the the all-my-city-was-gone-all-the-time-station. Apparently in honor of the arrival of Rush to our city we are being treated to an endless loop of the guitar solo from that song. I like the Pretenders, and that song in particular, but it's bizarre, and its association with Rush sickens me. Now, I have to confess that I've never listened to that miserable piece of shit, so when I heard him pontificating today I thought I should take a little time to know my enemy. Good thing I did. I didn't realize that global warming is a myth promoted by libeerals with the goal of increasing the size of government. Because that's what we like to do. All we care about is that the government is as large as possible. I mean, who can't see the innate appeal of that, right?

And speaking of miserable fat fucks, I realize that I am surrounded by none of them. Perhaps that is because no one I know here owns a car. I think I've said before how much I like the way that the people I know here make their own fun, with so little consumption. And I realize that I hate driving more every year that goes by. I like cars, and I like driving interesting ones, but I hate driving as a daily task. I hate when it's a necessity, and I dealing with other people who are either paying no attention or hating it themselves. I think it's a recipe for miserable people.

Anyway, this lack of consumption I see and the DIY/make your own fun attitude gives me some faith about my generation and the one after it. But I realize that this is probably an anomaly. What does that have to do with anything? NOthing. Just a segue from Rush to... good people.

Who were plentiful at the Herringbone Orchestra CD release. It was a crazy show, and I only wish I could have stayed until the end. It started super-late in New Orleans fashion. Hurray for the Riff Raff opened, and were great as always. It was odd to see them up on a big stage. Well, a stage. Next up was Magnolia Beacon. Then a somwhat inexplicable puppet show, and finally Herringbone. I left around 1:45 because I had to work the next day, and I was sorry to know that I was missing out on the trapeze act. Walt said there was quite a buildup to it, and it sounded like the thing must have gone until at least 3:00. Well, at least I got the CD. I also ran into a work aquaintance, and it was nice to find out that there is someone in my little work world who knows all these folks and appreciates the music. Unfortunately, I think I alienated her when Magnolia Beacon started and I bolted for the stage. I have not yet learned to socialize when music is playing, and I can see how my tendency to simply disappear when it starts is a problem.

That, I'm afraid, was the big event of the week. Last night kind of sucked, actually. I was so looking forward to a great Friday on Frenchmen street, and it wasn't. Panorama was good, but afterwards there was nothing. The Jazz Vipers are out of town, as are the Loose Marbles. I hoped that some version of the Muskrat Ramblers would show up in the Marbles' absence, but they didn't. So I went to Mimi's to see Vavavoom. But it didn't occur to me that there is no piano at Mimi's, so Bart wasn't there. And the crowd was uninteresting to me, at best. The fill-in for the Vipers was pretty sad. When they started setting up a weirdly elaborate sound system, I started to lose hope. There's no reason for that in such a tiny place. I really lost hope watching the sax player set up. He had a soprano, an alto, and a tenor, all matching and all very, very expensive. I'm always suspicious of a lot of expensive instruments. And besides, if you're going to have a lot of saxophones, one of them should be a baritone or a bass. I love bass saxophone. Then he got out the flute and I really lost hope. They weren't terrible, but they certainly weren't good. This reinforces my belief about the best musicians using the simplest setups and often playing the most beat up old instruments. I think there's the basis for a rule in there somewhere.

(Oh, speaking of which, I saw a guy who was a perfect example of my pink shirt rule. Not only was it pink, it was a polo shirt, so two strikes there, AND he had a sweater tied around his neck. And aviator sunglasses. It was all I could do not to pull over and hit him with something. And more evidence that I really should move.)

I also was getting to a point where I couldn't take work anymore. I'm really tired of it, and I'm particularly tired of just being in an office. It feels so deadly. Chance's little lesson this week was the only thing that felt like a break from that. It went a little better, with more people, and with everyone more or less figuring out the swingout. Afterwards I got some balboa practice. This was frustrating for its own reasons; one partner told me that my basic step was perfect and was startled that I had only just learned it. The next seemed to think that I was a total disaster. Anyway, this is the start of much-needed week off for me. I just hope that I can make the most of it.

One of the big news items this week has been the Salvaggio Family. On my way home one day I passed a house that I had never noticed before. My attention must have been drawn to it by stuff being moved and piled up in front, and what I saw was a beautiful but run down old house. I assumed that, like so many other houses on Magazine Street, it was finally getting some attention and would be fixed up. The next day there was a big article in the paper about its demolition. Apparently the family had been cited for code violations since 1999, but all of them were mentally ill or disabled in some way, and it kept going downhill. So this week it was demolished. The comments on the newspaper story have been endless and disheatening, and the discussion has spilled onto Craigslist. It really is a failure. It's mainly a failure to find a way to take care of a family that really needs some help. Secondarily, it's really sad to see a building like that go. No one knows what will happen to the family now. Really, though, the comments on any story in the Times-Picayune are always more discouraging that the news. These people make feel like the world will be coming to an end imminently, and that will not be such a bad thing since it is apparently full of these people.

I'm thinking a lot about how small a place this really is. It seems to me like there is always so much going on, until a night like last night, when I realize that when a few people are missing, suddenly there's nothing. Which brings us to population figures. The prevailing claim has been that the city is back up to about 400,000. The most recent official estimate is much lower-- closer to 250,000. If that's true, it's pretty startling. This city certainly needs more people if it's to recover. And yet, I kind of like it the way it is. It's a little bit quiet and uncrowded... obviously. Even with the full population back, I'm not sure how much this would feel like a real city to me, though. So much of it feels a little suburban, or like a small town. Really, it has vastly more a small town feel to it than a real city feel. Oh, but speaking of people coming back, Aaron Neville has moved back. To Covington, on the north shore. I'm reminded of Chris whose motto is "the north shore is for quitters." I have no particular beef with Aaron, but it's disappointing to know that his idea of comign back is to move to a place where he claims he can drive to the city in just over an hour.

I do notice that I'm falling into this thing where if it's not in Orleans Parish, it doesn't count. I never leave, and the idea of going to someplace like Metarie for any reason is horrifying to me. But it really is a world apart. This place really has an identity, and it's a unique identity. It's a unique place. Cross the parish line in any direction, and you find yourself in all-american early 21st century sterilized sprawl. That's what people who fall in love with this city are trying to escape, so I guess it's not surprising that there's such an insular mentality. Combine that with how pre-storm residents feel abandoned by their country and government, and you get quite an us-versus-them mentality. Most of the time they are still very welcoming to newcomers, though. Not always, but much more than might be expected.

Well, the rain has cleared out, the river is down .01 foot, though expected to rise two more feet, and it's time for bed.

2008-03-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

Well, this is becoming infreqent isn't it?

I seem to be very busy lately, even though I haven't been going out as much. Overall, that's a good thing. Although not going out as much is a little sad. Last time, I said I was going to get out and enjoy a beautiful Saturday. If I did, I have no memory of it. Easter Sunday was wonderful and surreal, though. I had this idea that I was going to stay home and do all the things I needed to do. At some point, I had an impulse to go look for the Marbles. When I got to Royal Street, I found an expanded version of the G String Orchestra, with Ben on trumpet and Shea on piano. It was great to hear Ben play something so different. Before long, there was a switchover to Loose Marbles, again in an augmented version. I couldn't have been happier when Tom McDermott came along to man the piano. I don't know whether that was pre-arranged or if he was just walking past.

What I had forgotten was that it was, indeed, Easter. There was a stream of people passing by in their Easter finery, and it made the scene more surreal and charming that usual. Then there was a gay Easter parade. Why I don't know, but at least it happened during the Marbles' break. After the break, Tom was gone, Jason took over on piano, and sounded great. Apparently he was boycotting tuba for the day. Then he switched with Shea, which is when I found out that she's played piano longer than trumpet. On top of it all, Meschiya was sounding great. Ben was using a metal cashew can as a mute which was brilliant. It sounded great, and I loved the spirit of using some discarded thing. During the whole thing, the Marbles were being harrased and treated to drinks by a family of old men with funny hats and ornate canes and younger men with slightly less funny hats and no canes. So it was a great show, but what came after seemed very New Orleans. Usually, the Marbles disappear pretty quickly when the street gets re-opened, but that night they didn't.

Instead, they just hung out and played music for themselves. Passersby stopped to listen and tipped, and seemed a little mystified that the band was paying no attention to them. What was really surprising was that the police didn't care. There is a police station on the next block, so a lot of them came past, and didn't seem to care that there was a party in the now-open street, complete with piano. Eventually, the piano got moved to the sidewalk, but the music went on.

Monday was Lindy lessons with Chance. He had mentioned it to a lot of people, but in the end only four of us showed up. Which was fine, since we all needed a lot of help. Most of us had never done lindy before. It was a great night, and the first time that I have really felt part of something here. I did meet someone who introduced himself by saying he was a writer whose job was making FEMA look bad. So we had an interesting conversation. I mean that without any sarcasm. It was good to talk to him, and I think he enjoyed meeting me. Except for class on Wednesday night, it was a quiet week. I didn't go out at all. So, by Friday I couldn't wait to go see some music.

Thursday was an interesting day for other reasons. One of the archaeologists asked if I could go with him out to Saint Bernard parish and look at a building with him. Well, there was nothing historic on interesting about the building, but we already knew that. There were also no historic buildings nearby that might be affected by its demolition. That's what I had to look at. There was nothing to it, but it was nice to get out there. I hadn't been that far out in St. Bernard before. There were some really picturesque farms with spooky, gnarled live oaks draped in Spanish moss. On the way back I looked at a few other buidings that I had seen a lot of pictures of but hadn't gotten to see. The LeBeau plantation house was the big one. It's actually kind of strange that it's going to be restored; there is nothing left on the site except the main house, so no context, and I doubt there is much detail left inside. I think there was a fire at one point. The outside looks quite bad. I'm all for it being preserved and restored, but I think it would be odd to fully restore it to original condition. It would seem to require so much new work that it would be somehow dishonest. I think it might make more sense to restore parts of it and leave the rest stabilized or partly restored. I worked at Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia, and their goal it to present a "stabilized ruin." It's an interesting idea that I think others should consider. Then again, I can attest to how difficult it is. Once you start working, it's easy for stabilization to become restoration.

As I said, by the time Friday came around, I couldn't wait to get out. I didn't get out as early as I would have liked, but I did get to see a good portion of Panorama Jazz Band. I told Aurora about the strange dream I had about her and saxophones. I allowed as how it wasn't nearly as odd as the dream I had where Little Richard was trying to kill me with a shotgun. She thought for a second and said that she had one where Abraham Lincoln was trying to drown her. For potential weird symbolism, that's got Little Richard with a gun beat.

After Panorama, I ran into Jean-Francois and Tonya, two of my favorite swing dancers. They were hoping for the Loose Marbles to show up and give them something to dance to. I told them that I had seen a few people who were going to play, but it wouldn't be the Marbles. What it was tuned out to be odd and great. It was part Loose Marbles, part Muskrat Ramblers, and lots of others, including Walt on accordion and Aurora on sax. It was a great show. Not polished or virtuousic, but a lot of fun, and really interesting to see if you know all the players. It's so interesting to see different combinations and see them reacting to and accomodating each other. The crowd was big, too.

Saturday was the much-awaited Hurray for the Riff Raff CD release. A stripped-down version of Magnolia Beacon opened up. Riff Raff was great as always, probably happy to be home, but polished after touring for the last week or two. It's nice to finally have the cd instead of just a few songs on MySpace. The opening was at Sidearm Gallery, a little space tacked onto the side of a shotgun in the Bywater. It was a perfect setting, really, and a great scene. There was such a feeling of community and camraderie, I thought. After Riff Raff was Vermillion Lies. I didn't know they were playing, and I didn't know who they were.

They were sisters from California, wonderful singers and multi-instrumentalists... Their songs were funny and thoughful, and their whole show was very clever and well thought out. And yet... I liked them, but I started to wonder when it would be over. It was a little too much. I used to work with a lot of groups like that,and I liked them, and this was a particularly good example, but... I really prefer the simplicity of the bands that I see here. Just serious music, without a lot of complex presentation. The props and business of Vermillion Lies were well done, but... Maybe I just wasn't in the mood. There was a lot of audience participation involved as well, which I also wasn't in the mood for. Meschiya was sitting next to me and she didn't seem interested in that either. I was relieved that it wasn't just me.

The big news here this week has been the death of Al Copeland, the founder of Popeyes chicken. I guess we're still waiting for all that midwestern flooding to make its way here. It'll be the first test of the river levees in awhile, but those are not any of the ones that broke. Besides, it can be diverted into the lake upriver of the city, and into the Atchafalaya even before that, so there isn't any flooding expected, just a very high river. It's also spring here. It's subtle though. There isn't the kind of crazy sense of excitement and release that spring in the north brings. The change in the plants is subtle, too. The oaks are getting bright new leaves which look very strange against the dark gnarled limbs and trunks. The magnolias are done blooming, and the crepe myrtles are just starting to get leaves. The oaks are also dropping an amazing amount of pollen and... uh... I don't know the word. Hmm. I guess stinging caterpillar season is up next.

Tonight I am exhausted, and I guess I should clean up a little and sleep. Today was a balboa workshop. Nathalie was showing us a lot and we were all overwhelmed. She must have realized at one point and said "Sorry, I'm going New York speed, not New Orleans speed." It was kind of a random remark, but fitting. It made me wonder how it would be in New York. Probably more fraught and less fun. I mentioned to Shea last night that one of my friends was thinking of moving down here suddenly after spending a week here. It happens, she said, in the knowing way that everyone here talks about how easy it is to get sucked in here. She should know. I'm really glad I ended up here. It makes some kind of sense. That's something to talk more about.

In the meantime, video of my weekend. I'll get some pictures of various things up at some point. Oh, and some of the things that you people are typing into Google to find this page are very disturbing.

2008-03-22T15:34:00.000-07:00

It's been a long week. Pardon the lack of updates. I do worry about this blog becoming self-indulgently irrelevant. I mean, does the world really need to know what bands I have seen? So, after my last couple of posts, I guess I felt that I was not exactly full of the most compelling content. And I've been kind of busy/tired/etc.

Anyway, last post, I alluded to Saint Patrick's day. And, sure enough, when I got home the parade was in full swing in front of my house. The appeal of these float-based parades sort of escapes me, but I walked around a bit to check it out, and it was a good time. The parade itself was an endless series of giant floats full of people throwing beads, toys, stuffed animals, plastic cups, carrots, and cabbages. And all blasting music that had nothing in particular to do with St Patrick's day. Afterward, the whole neighborhood was littered with cabbage leaves in addtion to the usual trash. But it's only partly about the parade. It's at least as much about the shrimp and crawfish boils that take place in the front yard, and about just hanging out and visiting with friends. Anyway, it was fun, but not compelling, so I went inside and sort of forgot about it. If I did anything that night, I don't remember.

Sunday was Super Sunday, the day that the Mardi Gras Indians follow a fixed route to give everyone a chance to see them. I was supposed to meet some co-workers to watch, but they were still sleeping off their Saturday night, so I went out on my own. I didn't see any activity at the spot where we were supposed to meet, so I kept going. Eventually I found a big crowd and a few people I knew, so I stopped there. It turned out to be the beginning of a second line parade. I followed it to the end, where I found myself close to home, far from my bike, and wondering what to do next. It was a great thing, though. the Hot 8 Brass band was at the front, and Rebirth was at the back, and it was a beautiful day. It was my kind of parade-- not a parade that was really _about_ something, but great a occasion for the neighborhood to come together, and a reason for people from all over the city to come out and walk around for a couple of hours and hear great music. Following a parade makes a lot more sense to me than just watching it go by. And you don't have to settle for following. The whole is to just jump in and be the parade. It was an incredibly friendly atmosphere, and I was amused by all the folks selling drinks. I bought a beer from a guy following Rebirth with some coolers on a cart. Near the beginning there were a lot of people with rows of bottles lined up on the cabs of their pickups, and you could get both beer and hard liquor from them. Wanna sell alcohol on the street without a license? Alright. Only in New Orleans. It seems to me that in most cities, a mob of people following a band through the streets of a rough neighborhood on a hot day and drinking all the while would be a recipe for trouble. I saw no hint of trouble, though. It was really nice to see the old folks sitting on their porches get a little dose of the music and festivity. And funny to see people in their cars stuck and mystified. And for a parade uptown, far from where anyone I know usually hangs out, I couldn't believe how many people I saw that I knew. And I got a tip that Magnolia Beacon was playing that night.

After the second line, I tried to see some Indians and meet up with my co-workers, but I couldn't find my co-workers and the Indians weren't doing much where I saw them. Maybe I missed the good bits. So I went home to meet my visitors. I couldn't persuade them to see Magnollia Beacon, so I was off on my own. It was a good show, though it was at DBA, which is not a place I'm very fond of. They sounded really good, and I managed to introduce a few new people to them. I ran into Tonya and Jean-Francois, two favorite sing dancers of mine and told them to come. I know that Jean-Francois loves Meshiya's singing. I managed to get a few co-workers to come for the end, and they were really impressed. That was satisfying, since they have seemed mystified and uninterested in all the great music I have been telling them about. Toward the end Aurora showed up and I was surprised when she got up there and pulled out an accordion.

I am reminded by the SEPTA transfer sitting on my desk of what last March 16 was like. It was a Friday, which was always the occasion for happy hour at Penn. After happy hour, I went out to dinner with Annie, which was great. But we hadn't figured on the whether. When we left it was sleeting, and there was no question that the motorcycle had to stay in the garage and be retrieved the next day. So I got on the subway. But the subway was only running to 40th street and then there was a shuttle bus. I missed that and ended up at 46th steet where I waited for about 45 minutes and got what I thought was the shuttle bus. It wasn't and took me to a really rough spot, which was the end of the line. My cell phone was dead, so there was noone I could call, since, in these days of cell phones, I no longer memorize phone numbers. So I called the only one I could: my recently-ex girlfriend. She said she didn't want to drive in the snow. So I walked a long way back to Penn in a really shady neighborhood in the sleet, and slept on the sofa at school. The next afternoon, when I got home, my ex was mystified as to why I was in a bad mood. Anyway, I found the unused transfer from that night in my jacket a few weeks ago, and here it's been sitting as a reminder of that miserable night and the probably much-needed revelation that it brought.

Monday was another field day. It was an easy day, but a little frustrating. I spent a lot of time waiting for people, and ended up just doing a few houses by myself. The highlight of the day was a carpenter we ran into. He was working on a house next door to one that we were looking at, and he was quite a talker, so we hung around for awhile and heard all kinds of stories. He told us about the kind of joinery he had done and was very proud of his work and very passionate about the architectural stock of New Orleans and the qualityt of old wood. He told us he was from England, but his accent told a more complicated story that slowly came out. He was Scottish, but was born in Zimbabwe when it was Rhodesia. He told us wistfully aboout what a wondeful place Rhodesia had been, what a tragedy befell it and other African counties after World War II, and what a tragedy it continues to be. He'd been in New Orleans for quite a long time, though. The tangents of this conversation were many and entertaining. He told us about how much healthier and tastier grass-fed beef was and, as evidence, explained how, when the British were pulling out of Rhodesia, he and his comrades would fill planes with steaks and fly them to New York and LA where they could sell them for a small fortune and buy weapons to take back to Rhodesia.

When lunch time came around, I was very close to home, so I went home for lunch. I live almost in the Irish Channel neighborhood, so it was ground zero for Saint Patrick's day. At the end of my block was the edge of a giant all-day block party. It seemed really obnoxious and not much fun, with mobs of people drunk on green beer and nothing that seemed to particularly recomment it. Saint Patrick's day is always so obnoxious.

Having gotten the important business of job interviews out of the way, and with only one day left in town, my guests were finally ready to get out and see some music on Tuesday. We saw Kermit Ruffins, which was as uneven as always, and a little disappointing. But the crowd and setting continues to be one of my favorites, and real New Orleans. We went looking for the Palmetto Bug Stompers after that. They were uncharacteristically late in starting, so I took them across the street where some of my favorites were busking: Shea (pocket trumpet), Luke (guitar), Blu (tuba), Mary (accordion) and Chance (tap dancing). They sounded great, and it was so good to see them. Shea was playing with a mute, which was a rare treat.

When the Bug Stompers started they turned out to be lacking Washboard Chaz, which was a shame, but it was still good to see them. The crowd was kind of odd, but not terrible. It was a little crowded though, no doubt owing to spring break. After a few songs we set of to catch Rebirth, which was a huge mistake. It was so crowded that it was literally hard to breathe, impossible to navigate, and difficult to stay on your feet when someone decided to puch through the crowd. I hadn't counted on it being a spring break destination, but I should have known better. It was awful. We left when they took a break.

Wednesday and Thursday are all but absent from my memory. I do know that I spent most of Thursday after work sleeping. Wednesday night was windy and the dogs were anxious and I was up very late as a result, and I had to be in early on Thursday. I woke up just a little late to get to the Marbles show at Mimi's, which had been my plan. I thought hard and went to sleep for real. I was sorry to miss it, but lack of sleep and what feels like an emerging cold left little doubt that I should skip it. And they had recently posted news that they would be at Donna's the next night.

The Donna's show was weird. I have no doubt that Mimi's was the place to see them this week. Donna's is never empty but never crowded either, and the crowd is usally older locals, pretty reserved, but also careful listeners. So, I was very surprised when I got there and it was packed, with a mob of people waiting to go in. I couldn't tell what they were waiting for, exactly. I wondered if I should wait until the previous band was done packing up, but decided I should get in and look for a seat. It was a good decision. A few minutes later I saw Kiyoko come in, and when she saw the only empty seat in the place with someone familiar next to it, she headed right for me. So it was nice to have some company and finally actually talk a little bit.

She did remark that the Marbles had been playing all day and they must be tired. And it seemed she was quite right. They were playing a little slow and a little less exuberantly than usual, and Meschiya was sounding really rough, and not getting her usual volume at all. The crowd didn't seem to know or care, though, they cheered every time she finished a chorus. I don't know who they were or where the hell they came from though. I think a lot of them were German tourists. Lter there were some British tourists. Then an older guy who I know to be a great fan of the Marbles showed up. Kiyoko said he hired the Marbles to play at his place in Virginia, and that last night at Donna's was the occasion for a big family reunion. During the break a lot of the crowd disappeared, mainly the Germans, I think. They were replaced by a mob of law students from New York City, who were every bit as annoying as that would imply. It got really loud after that, and I eventually went up and stood next to the piano in hopes of being able to actually hear. That didn't even really help. I did end up standing next to Harry Shearer, who left before I could ask him whether he was aware of the Marbles and their greatness. The sweetest thing was when some people finally got up to dance. They were watching Meschiya and trying to figure out what she was doing, and she hopped down of the stage to give them a little dance lesson. It was such a great little scene and such a typically sweet and enthusiastic thing for her to do.

Right now, it's another beautiful Saturday, and I feel I should get out and enjoy it. I swear I will get to profound thoughts about planning and architecture and politics and cities.... soon.

BEWARE!

2008-03-15T14:07:00.001-07:00

Alright... Still no internet at home. And it's a weird day. My morning started with a lot of hooting as people staked out spots in front of my house for the St. Patrick's day parade. I always forget how little I like St. Patrick's day.

Music updates: Herringbone Orchestra on Thursday. I was feeling sick and didn't stay for the whole thing, but it was great to see them again. I love hearing music like this live. It was a slightly reduced lineup as Barnabus (trombone) was in Houston and Hassan (cello)... well, I don't know, but he wasn't there. I tried to take a picture, but it didn't turn out. I would have made my point about this nexus of unpopular instruments though: Euphonium, baritone horn, harp, bass clarinet, and accorgan (a super-cool yet somehow unholy cross between an accordion and an electronic organ.) Oh, and drums. I love their sound, the sometimes driving sometimes plodding rhythms, the unusual instrumentation, and the interplay, the sometimes drunken-sounding and usually dark harmonies... And they're great fun to watch. I have to confess to being particularly amused by watching Luke constantly flipping all the little levers on his harp that make accidentals. I'm amazed that he can keep up with it, but he seems to do quite nicely.

Last night I stopped in to see Panorama and found that they were recording. It was a little odd to see them all miked up. Very thoroughly so, in fact. Then a version of the Loose Marbles appeared, with Blu on tuba in place of Jason, and also lacking Kiowa. Alynda (Hurray for the Riff Raff) was there on banjo, though. Everything was packed and a little strange last night as it is spring break time, and the Marbles ended up with a larger crowd than I have ever seen. I would guess there were over 100 people there, packed in on the sidewalk, spilling into and down the street, sitting on cars, etc... The crowd was very enthusiastic, and people seemed to stick around longer than is often the case. The band ended up playing a very long set for them, and sold a number of CDs, but they didn't seem to make very much. Not as much as it seemed they should have. Most of the crowd was far, far away from the tip box. I confess that I didn't tip, but I did spend a fortune on beer for them. I didn't want to miss anything, so I went for the closest beer, and paid quite a premium.

The spring break crowd was surprisingly civililized, though. They were not wild at all, and none of them were obviously drunk. Very few were wearing beads, the mark of a tourist, and none of them were carrying hand grenades, the mark of a complete tool. I guess Bourbon street would have been a different story, but the ones on Frenchmen Street were quite nice, remarkable only for their sheer numbers. I hate to think what Bourbon street was like, but that goes for any and all times. I just avoid it.

I have noticed that drivers have been both more clueless and more aggressive in the last few days. I wonder what that means.

And the mayor here continues to make the news for remarks so absurd that I couldn't bear knowing what they actually were. I saw the headline, had a long moment of indecision, and decided that it might just be too much. I was reeling as it was from recent doses of the chimp's combination of utter cluelessness, ineffectualness, and evil piled on top of the whole Eliot Spitzer thing. That made me glad not to live right over the border from Albany anymore. I wonder what Alan Chartock, New York political guru, is making out of all this. I don't wonder enough to find out, though.

What I really need to do right now is some serious cleaning and laundry, but I'm not at all sure that I'll be able to park anywhere near my house. Well, actually, there should be a spot, but I don't know if I can get there in the first place. In general, I'm not in a great state of mind. Tired, feeling overworked, and pondering a vacation... I've been debating whether to actually go somewhere, or just take a week off. There are so many things here that I've never seen or experienced because I'm always at work. I guess I'm also feeling a little isolated. It's very reassuring to see the same people all the time, but I don't feel I can really call them friends yet. Maybe I just need to be less shy. It's funny though-- most everyone I know here is part of this very tight-knit group of musicians. Most of them have known each other for a long time and a lot of them met either busking or hopping freight trains. There are a couple of people like me who have had much more conventional lives that seem to be part of this little group, but I always feel as if I may be invading on the scene they have made for themselves. The people I meet outside this scene seem... uninteresting. And I am so excited by all this music that when someone shows no interest in it, I guess I lose interest in them. It's amazing to me that so few people seem to know that this stuff is happening.

Getting back to the original question, I'm leaning toward a vacation in place, as it were.

Tomorrow will be super Sunday-- the day that the Mardi Gras indians parade on a set route so that everyone can have a chance to see them. That should be good. I never did find them on Mardi Gras day. I wonder if it will be as hot tomorrow as it is today. I thought it was supposed to rain, but it's sunny and 80.

Apologies again for not being very engaged in issues of rebuilding, which is what this was all supposed to be about. I think I'm too burned out to pursue that these days, and too busy trying to figure out where I fit in here.

Tomorrow I will have visitors-- A schoolmate who I vaguely know is looking for jobs here. It should be interesting. I always like to get someone else's perpective on the place, to watch them seeing it for the first time, and their questions always make me think a little more deeply and clarify my thoughts. Now I'm going to see if I can get home. Maybe it's not too late to catch a cabbage.

Again?

2008-03-13T18:29:00.001-07:00

Is there a word for the condition of having forgotten what it was that you wanted to say?

If there is, the pause in my blog posts is only partly due to that. It’s also due to the fact that I haven’t had any internet access at home this week. Unless you count my phone, and I won’t be posting any of these from it.

Anyway, comments first this time. The book is the 1171 page one… I left Philadelphia before I could finish it. Not that staying would have guaranteed me finishing. As for NOLA as a place for refugees… It’s hard to point to a strict pattern, but a lot of people seem to have a tale of woe and came here to escape or just ended up here and decided to stay. And no matter how tragic your tale is, revealing it only seems to garner a reaction of “you’re in the right place, welcome…” That said, it’s not a place that spends a whole lot of time complaining. Except about the mayor. Maybe it attracts a sort of person who decides to deal with whatever their own tragedy is by letting to good times roll. And yet, that even is overstating it. It’s more like… the tragedy is over there where I left it, and I’m here.

I think that this goes hand in hand with living in a doomed place. This city has been destroyed so many times by fire, water, wind, and disease, and it’s a certainty that it will happen again. I don’t think the psychological effect of this should be underestimated. It leads to this constant underlying current of… well, not gallows humor, exactly, though there is some of that… But there is a penchant for twisting tragedy into humor, and I think that people who find a need and tendency to do that with their own lives find it a comfortable place.

Like the t shirts that say “We put the FUN in funeral.’ And indeed, they did.

It certainly is a place where people “end up.” The aimless and itinerant seem to get here eventually, and a good number of them seem to end up calling it home. It’s a place that sucks you in. Everyone I see around has been asking me lately if I live here now—I guess they’ve realized that I’m always around and don’t seem to be going away. Further discussion always leads to what my future plans might be, and my lack of a plan to leave leads to knowing remarks about my having been sucked in by the place. It’s got quite a reputation for that.

As an aside, a complete digression, in fact, I am realizing right now that it has been 4 days since I saw any live music. Oddly enough, I am not yet tired of the Marbles. In fact, I’ve been listening to their CDs a lot. It really is startling how good each one of them is. I’ve raved about Meschiya already, but the band is great too. Michael’s clarinet is so unique—wandering around relatively independent of whatever else is going on, crying and laughing with swooping glissandos and huge vibrato. Ben is an understated trumpet player, but just right-on. Not flashy, but always solid, with thoughtful, lovely solos. I don’t like flashy playing anyway. And his cymbal and wood block percussion is perfectly stereotypical, fun and clever, and adds so much. Kiowa is great and kind of wild. His rhythm guitar is both solid and exuberant, quite a trick, and his solos are thrilling, though a bit modern in contrast to everything else—I don’t mind that, though. And it’s remarkable how he can even make himself heard without a resonator. Part of his sound is that he has to play so damn hard. For reference, see the hole he has worn through the top of his guitar. And his singing is perfect. Not technically, but just a perfect fit for the band and the material. I totally buy it when he sings this stuff, and that’s no small accomplishment. Jason has a really unique tuba style. He’s a great bass player, and that comes through in the solid basslines, but he also has a great melodic sense which you hear both in the bass lines and in his solos. And power and finesse that you really hear in the solos. I haven’t gotten to see much of Patrick, but the mere inclusion of his accordion is a testament to his playing. Accordion doesn’t traditionally have much place in this music, but his adds immeasurably to the mix. The fact that he plays a button accordion instead of one with a keyboard must help him make the fast runs and modulations that he does.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Marbles as I listen to their recordings. Two of the songs were recorded mechanically to a phonograph disc, as they might have been in the beginning of the 20th century. They sound so authentic. But then you listen to something that is actually from that period, and there is a big difference. It’s hard to say what it is, exactly, but there is no escaping our modern influences and sensibilities. I sort of wish I could say what the difference is. The Marbles do a remarkable job at recapturing an old sound but, as I have said before, they do not recreate it. And if they did, why bother listening? Why not just play an old record? No, they are creating something subtly original and their own. There are other better-known bands in town doing the same thing with the same material, but the Marbles bring something special to it. Some impossible combination of looseness and precision, and an energy and enthusiasm that no one else has. And that was a hallmark of this music when it was new. It wasn’t terribly polished, and it was full of energy.

In other news, I have decided to try not to start paragraphs with “In other news,” “anyway,” “So,” or “At any rate.” Sentence fragments, of which I have recently become fond, will remain for now. As will parenthetical phrases. One problem at a time. I’m now at a loss as to how to start the next paragraph.

I hesitate to get into it, but I had some couchsurfers here last week. I was not in the mood for it, and was not going to say yes, but they asked twice, and seemed desperate. They were model guests by any objective measure, but I was so happy to see them go. I couldn’t quite understand why they were here. Their first priority upon arrival was to watch tv. I’m happy to say that I haven’t watched any since I moved it for them. They were older and I didn’t expect them to be out late all the time like me, or with me, but I was startled that they saw no music whatsoever while they were here. They talked about all the great music they saw in Argentina, but they seemed utterly mystified by my affection for the Loose Marbles and their ilk. Their reaction was as if they had never heard that type of jazz. I know they listen to A Prairie Home Companion; the Shoe Band should be adequate introduction. They were incredulous that anyone would want to listen to the Washboard Chaz Blues Trio, since, of course, it features a washboard. They seemed to think that was something halfway between a parlor trick and torture. And yet the confessed a love of Zydeco. Zydeco washboard is much more of an assault than Chaz, with much less subtlety.

What really got me though, was the husband’s complaints about the city. It’s so negelected, the houses are falling down, the streets are all bad…. Why don’t they repave the streets, he asked. I suggested that perhaps THERE IS NO FUCKING MONEY. Bullshit, he said, just raise property taxes. Promptly demolish any vacant buildings, just like we do in Minneapolis. I was somehow unable to explain that raising property taxes is A) not the solution to everything and B) politically impossible just about anywhere. He insisted that people in Minnesota like to have their taxes raised, ask for it, in fact, knowing that it will bring them things they need. Regardless of how likely that is to be true, this sure ain’t Minnesota.

And jesus, if you applied the sort of blight rules he claimed exist in Minneapolis, the whole place would be gone.

It was stunning to me that he couldn’t or wouldn’t grasp the problem. Like so many other cities, the population here peaked in the 60s. There is no way to support the city that was built then with a smaller population. Not to mention the loss of industry and the changes in the political climate, including attitudes toward taxation and government involvement. I tried to point out that so many other cities look a lot like this, and are similarly unable to tax their way out: Philadelphia, Baltimore, Detroit, just to start…

When I finally inquired why they had a South Dakota license plate, they said it was because they travel constantly and therefore “don’t live anywhere,” and there is no income tax in South Dakota. Never mind that they own a house in Minneapolis.

So, yeah, I was happy to see them go. And to everyone else out there, if you’re going to come here and complain about the crappy roads and general air of decay, just stay home. What the fuck did you expect from a city which has always been known as a poor, corrupt, and picturesquely ramshackle place, and which recently spent a few weeks underwater?

Monday, as I mentioned, was another day of field work. It was less remarkable, less weird, but there were a couple of noteworthy things. We were looking at one house and the neighbor came out started telling us how it had collapsed into his house. He had a really nice, well-maintained place that his family had owned for 81 years. The neglected house next door had collapsed into the back of his house and pieces of it were literally falling into his back room. He said his family had been trying to buy the now-collapsing house since 1991, to keep it from becoming a blight. There were some other really lovely houses on his block, but he said he was the only resident there now. This was in Treme, not far from the trendy Marigny, or, for that matter, the French Quarter.

The end of the day saw us going to a bunch of houses with, essentially, nothing wrong with them. Some were lived in, some were being renovated, and some looked like perhaps they were being renovated. One had a two year old judgement tacked to it suggesting that it had been repossessed and was owned by a real estate company. It’s terrible to see these beautiful homes with essentially nothing wrong with them on a demolition list. This is not the way to fight blight or renew a city. And it speaks to how dysfunctional this place is that no one is trying to buy or otherwise take possession of these places. They just sit there empty with the front door open.

I realize that I promised thoughts on architecture and planning some time ago. I’ll get to it at some point, but not now. I’ve been feeling incredibly tired for no good reason, and I am pretty sure now that I’m getting another cold. I can’t remember the last time I had so many colds that lasted so long. In the past few years I had had very few. I don’t know what it is, but I know I’m not alone. It’s miserable.

New, smaller fragments

2008-03-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

So, yeah. It's been awhile. A quick musical recap first:

Wednesday was a second day of field work. Warmer, but less interesting, and we were all so tired. I was tired because I had been out to see Hurray for the Riff Raff on Tuesday. It was good, but not as good as the last time. I think that had something to do with the venue and the crowd. There was a little fight at one point-- unprecedented. The highlight may have been that I ran into Shea, fresh from Chicago. I missed a really interesting show on Wednesday because I was so tired. I had a really hard time in class as it was.

Thursday was a great night with Loose Marbles Plus... the core bunch plus Shea (pocket trumpet) and Alynda (Hooray for the Riff Raff) and Jesse (bass drum) and Barnabus (trombone). It was great to see Shea play trumpet with Ben, the Marbles' trumpet player. I always thought she was good, but only saw her on the street with the somewhat ragtag Muskrat Ramblers. She really held her own against Ben. Friday, Magnolia Beacon in a strangely civilized setting, followed by a surprise Tom McDermott plus Loose Marbles, filling in at the last minute for someone else. Saturday, Washboard Chaz, Vavavoom back with both guitarists, and an unexpected appearance of Muskrat Ramblers plus Meschiya, Ben, and Chance from the Loose Marbles.

I'm sad to know that most of these folks are going out of town for various periods soon. I won't know what to do with myself.

It's been a long week. I was anxious all week knowing that there was a reorganization going on. I was fairly sure I would be unaffected, but anoxious anyway. Friday a lot of people got laid off.

I've also had some couchsurfers here. I wasn't up for it, and was going to say no, but they seemed a little desperate. It's been interesting. They been very good guests, but I've been feeling a little aggravated about them for various reasons. More about that later.

Getting to your comments... there is some kind of equilibrium here, because I noticed tonight that one wifi-providing coffeeshop is gone. Utterly. Good riddance. It was not a good one. So I guess that balances the new sushi place.

As for malaise, and the fit/misfit between people and places... This really does sound like a great project. There are so many books I could recommend that might be relevant, but I will urge you even more now to look at A Pattern Language. It might be of interest because it tries to prove its assertions by reference to various social/societal/psychological studies and statistics. It's too bad it's such an expensive book.

Oh, and how often do we get out and do field work? Not very often. And yes, it is very dispiriting, but so is being in the office. And anyway, I do feel like i need to be reminded. I have an easy life here, and I don't want to forget so many peoples' lives were so destroyed.

Lastly, reinforcement... I was talking to Ben last night, and he mentioned how New Orleans had taught him how to just hang out in the street. I was talking to Alynda, and she mentioned how everyone here seemed to have had their ass kicked in one way or another in a non-literal but life-shattering way before they finally ended up here. I've been saying both those things for awhile, and it was reassuring to hear them from others.

Field work again tomorrow, so I should sleep. We were all a little surprised last night when it went from 1:59 to 3:00.

Field day

2008-03-04T19:07:00.000-08:00

Ok, first let me say that 50 in New Orleans is not like any 50 that I've ever felt. It was fucking freezing today. This is coming from someone who spent winters in New England where there was snow on the ground continually for 5 months and giant killer icicles and frost would form all around the exterior doors. I was a year-round motorcycle commuter in Philly, riding on 10 degree mornings when the bike needed so much choke that the plugs would foul at every red light and bus drivers would open their doors to tell me what balls I had to be out. So why does 50 here feel so cold? It reminds me of Mark Twain's remark that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.

Oh, and my day started with an NPR story about the New Orleans water system. Really interesting, though not news to me. The thing that they may not have mentioned in the story is how many houses are just pourring out water since the storm. The house shifts or collapses, and pipes break... We go to so many houses where you can hear it running as soon as you walk up, and its been pouring out in such volume for so long that the house is totally rotten all around it.

Anyway, it was a field day. And a satisfyingly bizarre one. To recap, we look at buildings which are historic and are slated for demolition to see if there are any elements that can be salvaged and reused to repair other homes. It was not a great day for finding good stuff. A lot of the houses were just so far gone that there was little worth taking. The other side of that is that I don't feel any qualms about them being demolished when they are that bad.

I really enjoy these days, though. It's an incredible way to get to know the city. You go places that you never would otherwise. And you go wandering into house after house... You learn a lot about the typical buildings here, and you see strange and moving evidence of lives interrupted. Everything is still there, as it was before the storm. Ok, no. It's not. It's scrambled up by the floodwaters, and further by looters, and sometimes by squatters. But, a lot of it isn't.

It's amazing how much of this city is abandoned, and how much is collapsing or collapsed.

Today was especially full of odd things. One house had an almost indescribably huge orchid greenhouse out back, now totally covered in vines and therefore dark. There was the utterly mystifying blue house full of dirt (like a foot of dirt...) that turned out to be an art installation. There was the house next door that was an installation in progress. Sorry I didn't take more pictures. It was so cool. There was the fish on a fence. It was the empty skin of a real, giant fish. I don't know why. It was in an otherwise ordinary but totally bombed out neighborhood in Treme.

Anyway, some pictures...

http://picasaweb.google.com/furnessy/FieldDay34

Hurray for the Riff Raff! As in, I'll be off now to go see them. I hope they go first, but I bet they won't. I need some sleep.

2008-03-03T19:02:00.000-08:00

So I came out to the car, and there it was-- a sushi menu. Someone really needs to do something about all the vacant buildings in this neighborhood. I mean, if you've ever lived in a neighborhood with a bunch of abandoned buildings, you know what happens. One day you go by and it a sushi place or a gelateria.

Really. The rest of the city is worried about abandoned buildings harboring rats or squatters who will end up burning then down, and every empty building here ends up being a sushi or gelato place. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. I think I must be in the wrong place. Tomorrow will be a field day and I will see the other side.

I'm interested in the idea of quantifying malaise. But I don't know that identifying it or measuring it is really the problem. I suppose if you could really do it, you could get closer to fixing it, but... it seems easier to say what malaise is than what it isn't. There's been so much written about sprawl and the ills of out suburban society, but fixing it is a different thing because, fundamentally, no one wants to give up what they have. And if we want our mcmansions and cars and big lawns and big box stores, we can't fix it. And apparently we do want those things.

But, if you haven't yet, check out "A Timeless Way of Building" and "A Pattern Language." Both are really interesting books, but difficult. Timeless way is readable but difficult because it is all about the quality which can't be named. A pattern language is very structured and tried to be very concrete, but it's very concrete about very abstract things. I'd love to think that there werew answers in there, but I'm not sure.

Good food for thought, in any case. What's interesting is the way that Timeless Way overlaps with another favorite of mine: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which is largely about this same malaise. And which also ends up being concerned with "quality" as the answer. Both, of course, are basically interpretations of Taoism, about which I know essentially nothing, so... So I guess this part of the elaboration is over.

Well, I'm going to go look for my favorite pocket trumpet player, fresh from Chicago, but this is a good reminder to get to some things about architecture and planning one of these days.

Ok, seriously

2008-03-02T20:56:00.000-08:00

You've done it now. Seriously. When I first read your comment, I thought it said "sharp shooters," and I thought it was pretty funny. Then I saw it said school shooters, and that didn't seem so funny. And, somehow or another, it seems like the time to try to say all these things that have been crystallizing. Except, they're not ready yet. And I'm not sure that they're really related to each other, or to your comment. That's ok. I'm going to throw them together, see what connections come up, whether the tangents are interesting, and trust that no one will be checking this for rigorous logic.

Your comment set me to thinking because I was a little bit ahead of the curve on school shootings. I dropped out of high school to attend a weird little college in the middle of nowhere whose purpose is to get bored kids out of high school early. It was an interesting mix of overachievers, total fuck-ups, and kids like me who couldn't quite manage either. I was smart and bored, which fit their profile, but once I got there I didn't do much of anything. This was nothing new, and maybe it wasn't going to change in any case (it finally changed in grad school...), but any chance for change didn't survive the first semester.

It was tough to show up with very high expectations, bound to be disappointed, and it was a little tricky to find my place and my friends. There was one friend-in-the-making that I really looked up to-- Galen. I worked with him a lot in the theatre. Just before the end of the semester, he left me to run a show on my own for the first time so he could finish a project. He said he would be in the barn next door.   Well, he ended up in the library, and another student walked from the road up toward the library with an assault rifle, and we became one of the early school shootings.  You know, before it was so trendy. No one seems to remember because there were "only" two fatalities. One was Galen, who was in the process of running outside to see what was happening. My school career was helped not at all by my refusal to enter the library for a couple of years.

So what does that have to do with anything? Well, not much, but you got me thinking. The shooter was not from the suburbs, and our school certainly wasn't suburban. But I do accept your general point about suburban malaise and alienation. It certainly was true that it was the same people all the time. The school at that time had about 300 students, and the nearby town was something like 3000. (Population numbers tend to lump in surrounding towns...) So you really knew everybody. And that, it seems, was a big part of the problem. Wayne, the shooter, did not feel accepted there, and I can imagine that he was right. I think we all thought of ourselves as misfits, and we were happy to be in a place full of other misfits. Not that we all liked each other-- there were cliques to be sure, but Wayne may have been among the very few that couldn't find thiers.

And I guess the atmosphere here reminds me of that school a little. There are a few sub-crowds among the crowd that I see all the time, but I'm guessing that we all have one thing in common-- the experience of always being a little off-kilter. I've been surprised how welcoming everyone has been, and how civil and kind they seem to be to each other. I really think that this must be something learned by constantly being on the wrong end of judgement and exclusion. I certainly don't look like the folks I've been meeting, and have had a hugely different life, but they don't seem to mind. (They are making me rethink my crushingly expensive education. Was that such a great idea? Not the expense part.)

This city seems to enjoy some of that attitude in a more general way. It seems to have a lower level of pettiness and judgementalness that most. It certainly has less hostility and aggression that I am used to seeing around me. I think some of that may be because it has always, apparently, been a place where you end up after things fall apart somewhere else. Right now, it's also a place that is threatened, and where people have just been through some incredible trauma. I've heard a lot of stories of how edgy people were after the storm, how hair-trigger they could be, or how vacant and disconnected, a whole city with PTSD. I've seen some of that, but not too much. I think that the more noticeable lingering effect of the trauma is willingness to ignore small problems or offenses.

I can't speak for this city, since I don't know what it was before, but the feeling I get from the city and from this crowd without a name is reminiscent of the feel of a campus that had recently been shattered by a shooting spree. Some never came back. Some came back, hardly knowing why. Some, like me, came back in defiance, with a feeling that we would not let the place be changed by the tragedy, determined to reclaim the feeling and spirit of the place, and hoping to re-infuse it with the particular spirit of those who had been taken away.

My year prior to New Orleans was pretty traumatic, too, with the life that I had been building since I was 20 seemingly evaporating. Except for the feeling of having lost 10 or 12 years, that turns out not to be such a bad thing. I feel as if I had become very concerned with conventional things, with a sort of conformity and definitions of success that didn't fit me. I haven't exactly figured things out now, but the people I am meeting here are inspiring. The conventional ones are around, and they're the ones who so often seem rude, mean, or agressive. But they're a lot easier to ignore here. In fact, I don't see much of them. I think that's a sort of self-selecting thing, and that gets me to something I promised a few weeks ago. Different ideas of fun.

I don't know when I started listening to old jazz, but I know it was a long time ago. I remember combing the college library for Benny Goodman, James P Johnson, Charlie Christian and Fletcher Henderson. And it seemed not antique and hokey, but like real fun. I didn't know anyone else who thought so, though. When the brief swing revival of the late 90s arrived, I was excited, but it didn't reach that far back. So when I discovered a whole crowd of people a little younger than me here playing stuff from the 20s and 30s I was thrilled. And they mean it. They genuinely love it, there's no irony. I love that. I love seeing people dancing to this stuff and really enjoying it, knowing the songs, and knowing the dances.

I started really thinking about this a few weeks ago when I went to see the Marbles. I was on the phone with a friend when they started, so I let her hear a song before I hung up. I don't know if she was prepared for how exuberant they would be, right from the start. They're irresistable. And even if you're mystified by the music, which I can see that some people are when the play on the street, Meschiya is absolutely stunning. There is no I can think of whose voice moves me like hers. I would have expected that to lessen now that I know her a little, but it hasn't. When she's not singing she's just a great person to have around, positive and low-key. When she sings, I can hardly believe that it's really happening right in front of me. I can hardly explain why it's so moving and cathartic to me, but I feel so lucky to hear her all the time. It's some combination of her voice, her gestures, her spirit, and of the chance to hear these songs really live like I never thought I would.

(Ok, how did it get so late? I need to wrap this up.)

Anyway, that's one of the things that is so great about this little scene. I love that people are genuinely having so much fun with it. It's a relief to see people actually having fun without having to be wild or "extreme," which often looks like a lot of trying to have fun with questionable success. And I feel like I've finally found my kind of fun. And I love the unspoken question: "This was fun 80 years ago, why can't it be fun now?" But what's interesting is that it seems like pretty innocent fun now, and it definitely was not then. It was thoroughly wild and disreputable. I think the idea that it was that is appealing to us now, but it's hard to feel it. It doesn't feel dangerous.

But anyway, back to self selection; I've mentioned the epidemic of unpopular instruments around me.
And they are employed in all kinds of music, some old, some new
but traditional, and some really innovative. None of it mainstream, but all of it startlingly good. But they don't attract a huge cross-section of people. The people they do attract are generally as out of the mainstream as the music. And, somehow, that's very reassuring to me.
It is supposed to be an unconventional city, so this also
satisfies my preconceptions of the place.  Never mind
that we're all from somewhere else.  We can talk about
feeling like a carpetbagger some other time.

So what does this have to do with Wayne? I'm not sure, but it has plenty to do with suburbs. When I was home for the holidays, I was just so struck by how sterile it was. Those endless suburbs with no identity and nothing going on. Little meaning, little fun, very little community. The things that people do for fun, to each other, and to themselves there are so discouraging. Much has been written about the dystopia we have created for ourselves, and I don't think I have any great insights, but I can tell you that it's what I'm running away from, and that this is a pretty good place to escape. It still reaches in, but it's easy to look the other way when it does.

So, yeah, I see the same people all the time, but I like it.

So there you have it. Lots of fragments. Good luck
putting them together. Oh, that reminds me, I need
to get some glue.  Oh, hey, and the first time
I saw the marbles (finally) was on the anniversary
of the shootings.  So, there you have it, full circle.

(I can't explain why I'm so affected by the music, but it literally brings tears to my eyes. I don't like the phrase "tears of joy" but its more ecstatic than sad.)

Example A:

A week?

2008-03-01T18:45:00.000-08:00

Where did I stop? A week ago? Where did it go? Ok... let's see...

On sunday Amila and Sean arrived, and Boogie, their cat. They're on their way from Philadelphia to Los Angeles and they're taking the scenic route. It was really nice to see them. They're just to good. I only wish they could have stayed longer.

Musical highlights of this week: Monday was Hurray for the Riff Raff and Zydepunks. Unfortunately, at the same time. Riff Raff was so good. I had been listening to thier songs on myspace, and was not disappointed. I really love Alynda's voice, and she has a very reassuring presence to me. This is the first time I saw her not on the street and for more than a few songs. It was a great show, but in the interest of variety for visitors, we left early to see the Zydepunks. We only saw a few songs. I do like the Zydepunks, but it kind of all sounded the same. I guess I just wasn't in the mood. And I'm not so wild about amplified music anymore. I hate leaving a show with my ears ringing. Well, ringing more than they do all the time anyway. Thursday was Marbles at Donna's. Little did I know I was missing Riff Raff. That would have been a tough choice. I could see as soon as she walked in that Meschiya was feeling a lot better. It was great to see her acting and sounding like herself again. She said it's been allergies getting to her. Anyway, it was a great show. No Amy, but Chance was there and managed to get people dancing, which is not usual for Donnas. And I think I finally got some decent pictures of Mush. It's hard to capture the gestures that are so a part of her style.

Friday contained an unexpected musical interlude. We were summoned outside from the office for a black history month event. It turned out to be the Big Chief and Second Chief of the Yellow Pocahontas tribe of Mardi Gras indians. I am still annoyed at having missed the indians on Mardi Gras. This was no substitute, but it was still really cool. They told us a lot about the traditions and what it's like and what it means to be an indian, and they sang a a few of the songs. I love those songs. And they are such a part of the New Orleans brand of R & B which I love so much, but which may be dead. And you can hear the beginning of funk in it all. It was kind of funny to hear just two people singing these songs, but the elemental quality of it was great, and it sounded so good. And it's amazing how two people with tambourines can get people dancing like some bands can't manage.

Tonight, for a change, I am not out. I've been feeling strange all day and kind of irritable. I was going to go catch Washboard Chaz, but gave up. I do have a lot of sleep to catch up on. And I've been enjoying a little solitude, though that will wear off very soon.

It seems to be spring here. The magnolias are blooming wildly and other trees are full of new, light green leaves. The crepe myrtles don't seem to be doing anything yet. It seems spring here is a little more spread out than I'm used to, and certainly less of an event. In the North, it's so desperately needed after an endless dead winter. It will be crocus time there soon, one of my favorite things. Here, it's apparently mosquito time. I do not look forward to stinging caterpillar time.

I'm still not at all sure what even the near future holds for me, but I am settling in here-- enough so that perhaps I should change the subtitle of this blog, which has turned into something else, the way so many blogs do. I still don't have any actual friends here, which is tough, but I suddenly have a lot of aquaintances. It's comforting. It's a small town in general, but the way I've been seeing music makes it seem very small. The same people are in so many bands, and the same people are at so many shows. I suppose that could be a bad thing, but it doesn't feel that way yet. It's really nice to just run into people all the time and they are all so welcoming. And I think I've mentioned how much I appreciate how little this place seems to care about fashion. And it occurs to me that I've never done this before. I 've never moved by myself to a place where I know no one. (College doesn't count.)

Ah, and I remembered what made me decide that civilization was ending. It was the ad on craigslist for the motorized coolers for $500. I'm amused by the concept, and I'd think it was cool if you did it yourself (and cheaply), but $500 makes it lame and... um, kind of wrong.

I wish I had had more time also to see how Sean and Amila were reacting to the city and what they were looking at. They went to the lower ninth on their way out of town, so I didn't get to hear their reaction. While they were here, they did check out the French Quarter, and felt underwhelmed, and also saw at least one of the cemeteries, at which a lot of our professors had worked.

I've been thinking about how things have changed even since I arrived here. It's hard to say, of course-- one doesn't notice change when it happens gradually. But I don think that there is more traffic here. There are still an awful lot of street signs missing, but the signals are broken less often. And, of course, the streetcar is running. Well, running more. It does seem a little more normal just since August, I think.

2008-02-27T19:40:00.000-08:00

Ok—sorry it’s been awhile. I have a friend here, and thus haven’t had much time for blogging. It’s been interesting. Our mission has been music, in case you couldn’t have guessed. I managed, from afar, to make him as much of a Loose Marbles fan as I am, so he has sought them out every day. It’s a little much, but if I were only going to be here for a week, I would do the same. I have to admit that his appreciation may be even more rabid than mine, but I would like to think that my appreciation is subtler, deeper, more perceptive and multi-faceted… I’m not saying it is, I’d just like to think that. Thursday we got to see them with Tom McDermott, which was really a treat. He is a great pianist, and it was a perfect combination. Jack Fine also sat in on cornet, and it was great to hear him trade solos with Ben, the Marbles’ trumpeter. Meschiya, sadly, was losing her voice, but even so, I’d still rather listen to her than… Anyone I can think of. Friday night was a good night with Marbles and a bunch of dancers on Frenchmen street. No Meschiya, but Barnabus (trombone) was there. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him with them, and I missed him.

Saturday night was Herringbone Orchestra and Why Are We Building Such a Big Ship. I’d seen Herringbone before and really liked them. I had never seen WAWBSABS. Herringbone did not disappoint. It was interesting to have a friend along who heard things in Herringbone that I never would have thought of—a matter of having a different set of musical tastes with which to form comparisons.

WAWBSABS was interesting because, unlike everything else I have seen here, I had already been listening to their music. And yet, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. It was a really wonderful group—it so satisfying to hear music like this made live and seemingly effortlessly, rather than by overdubbing. And very satisfying to see the people behind the sound. As always, I was so impressed with Aurora. I never imagined I would prefer soprano sax over alto in any context, but I’m surprised to say that I’m always a little disappointed when she shows up with the alto. In the context of WAWBSABS, the soprano was really effective at cutting through and being heard separate from the rest of the horns. It was great to finally see Walt, too, instead
of him being a mysterious voice on headphones.
Alynda is a favorite of mine as well, but she played
bass drum most of the time, so I'll have to wait for
Hurray for the Riff Raff.

What I was unprepared for was how moving the show would be. There was a dedication, which went somewhat over my head, but the sentiment was clear. And after that, the performance seemed to take on a new weight. They closed with “Don’t Cry” and they looked and sounded like they really meant it. It was startlingly affecting. I wasn’t sure if they were about to cry, but I was. I obeyed the commandment of the title, though.

The whole show made me think more than ever that I must have missed something when I moved here. Is there a station on the way in where they distribute unpopular instruments? Wherever it is, it seems like they have a surplus of oddball horns, but no shortage of accordions or banjos. Maybe it’s only when you move into certain neighborhoods. Certainly, it’s remarkable how many tuba players this city can sustain.

It’s been interesting to see the city through someone else’s eyes. He has seemed to get annoyed far more easily than I do—particularly with knuckleheads in traffic. And with idiot drunks. And, to some small degree, with the busker crowd. And with my dogs. I guess they are not your average dogs, to be fair. They’re pretty excitable.

What was interesting was that he seemed to be taking little notice of the aftermath of disaster. Maybe that’s a combination of the fact that there is so little visible evidence of it in the areas we have frequented and the fact that he had already heard a lot about it from me. Last night, there was no music on the agenda, so we took a little drive around the lower ninth ward. That seemed to change things. It’s hard not to be affected by block after block of nothing but concrete slabs where houses used to stand.

One thing that seemed to be a shock was my explanation of how a lot of people got NO insurance money for their houses. I guess I thought that everyone had heard this story. It got a good deal of attention, but in case you missed it… Homeowner’s insurance does not cover flood damage. If you didn’t have flood insurance, you’re out of luck. But it’s worse than that. The insurance companies claimed, with some justification, that the damage was due to flooding, as distinct from storm damage. This is the distinction you may have heard about between flood waters and wind-driven water. Wind-driven water would be due to the storm and would be covered. Flood waters are not. This became a big problem when the flood insurance (federal, by the way) said, “no, this is not a flood, it’s a hurricane. Hurricanes are covered by homeowner’s insurance, not flood insurance.” Never mind that the flood was due to the failure of federal levees. I guess the argument is that that failure was due to a hurricane. Anyway, the end result of all this is that a lot of people got nothing.

Well, there's a lot more to say about the last week, and many things that I have been pondering for even longer which are trying to take shape, but that's all right now.

2008-02-19T20:36:00.000-08:00

Arrrrr.

No, it's not talk like a pirate day. If it were, I'm sure someone I know would have sent me an email about it. No it's I have guests coming, the house is a mess, and I now realize how unbelievably tired and irritable I am day. I'm not sure why I feel like that. It may have something do with work, where I have been spending a lot of my time on a 10,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. Except each piece actually has two parts. And many of the pieces are not here yet. Others should be but are missing one or both parts. Other parts... Ok, I don't have the dedication to carry this metaphor out. It's two databases that have to eventually match up, and they don't, and I have to figure out which data is missing in which database, which is difficult when they don't match up right and when data is still being collected... and then there's the drudgery of looking at every point and trying to make sure it is on the right place on the map.

It's the kind of task I can really get into sometimes in a compulsive way, but it's also just so boring and tiring.

And yes, Seriously, video poker at the Spotted Cat. It's horrifying. On the other hand, they got a new piano. It's not great but Bart from Vavavoom no longer has to tune while playing. Which was charming, but it's nice to hear him on a nearly-in-tune piano... Although I can't say I love the sound of the piano itself. I kind of got used to the old funky one.

Chris had some interesting things to say about Saint Bernard today. He's always shown a lot of pride in it, but it turns out that his family had been thinking of moving from there. And now, as much as he makes fun of the quitters who move to Saint Tammany, he is pretty eager to get away. That's paritally because it's so impossible these days to get back and forth from there, but also because of what he sees happening. As I mentioned, most of what is left in Saint Bernard is slated for demolition. Meanwhile, a lot of the people who are fixing places up have already settled in Saint Tammany, and are planning to rent their old places. Chris thinks that the reason demolitions are being pushed is to prevent there being any places to rent.

He told us about a woman who fixed up a house and was going to rent it out. The neighbors objected, and tried to block her from renting, but there was nothing they could do. The next day the house burned down. There were plenty of neighbors home, but no one called the fire company. When they finally arrived, there was nothing left to put out. He says that everyone will tell you it's not about race, it's about not wanting renters in the neighborhood. It's probably a dubious distinction. He's expecting to see a lot more fires. Meanwhile, none of us could imagine where all of these prospective renters would come from.

Alright, that's all that's in me tonight.

Oh, except this: there is a reality tv show about the Philadelphia Parking Authority. A stunning combination of utterly uninteresting and irritating. Especially if you've ever lived in Philadelphia, where the only task the city can manage is to give you parking tickets. They can make change so you ccan take the subway, but the ticketing is stunningly efficient.

There was something else I decided was a sign that civilization was ending. What was it?

2008-02-18T19:41:00.000-08:00

I didn't realize it at the time, but it was kind of a bad weekend. My
Saturday annoyance has already been documented.  Sunday didn't
work out much better.  I wanted to catch the Loose Marbles in
daylight and shoot some pictures, but no luck.  I saw a few of them
around, but they weren't playing.  So I wandered around the quarter
for awhile.  Then did some chores.

There was an intriguing show with three bands I had never heard, but some of whose members I know, so I went out to see... And it went badly. Two out of three bands apparently weren't playing, though I saw them standing outside. The one that did play might have been good if I could have heard them, but the crowd was super-obnoxious. The most obnoxious ones seemed to be freinds of the band, but they were so different from anyone else there that it didn't make sense to me. I sat around hoping that I had misunderstood and that perhaps some of the others would come in and play, and then I gave up. When I left, there was such a crowd at the door that it was hard to get out, and they were ignoring my efforts pretty hard. And there was another huge crowd sitting on the neutral ground. Why? I saw this once when the Marbles played-- When I left, there was this huge gathering on the neutral ground. Preusmably, they were waiting for their friends to play after the other bands, but why not go inside? It's free and you're missing a great band.

Anyway, I had to grudgingly see some part of Chris's point. I stand by my general defense of them, but last night was aggravating. Detours were no less so. I finally got to Canal, which I have to cross to get home, and it was uncrossable. The cross street was open on both sides, but there were barriers in the middle of canal. So I made a right. Well, I had no choice.... But there were barriers all along the middle of Canal, so I couldn't make a left or a u-turn anywhere. So I went between the barriers and hoped not to get pulled over. Ok, that's a start, but the right lane is closed off for... for exclusive use by buses and taxis? I don't know, but that's what it seemed like. So how do I make a right? At that point I didn't care anymore, and just did it. I've never seen anything like this.

And as if the billboard trucks weren't bad enough, there were also box trucks with giant tvs installed in the side, just cruisung around. It seriously makes me want to kill.

Today was a long and boring day, and I'm surprised to realize how tired I am, but there were a few interesting things that came my way. One was an architecture article. I think that will have to wait until I'm more coherent. The other was a very short article in the New York Times about subsidence on the Gulf coast. There has been some debate about the mechanism responsible for it. It has now been found that it is due to the compaction of peat in the soil. There are various ramifications, but the immediate one is that coastal restoration efforts are going to be harder than previously estimated. The other is that drained areas, like most of this city, are likely to keep sinking.

I can hardly keep my eyes open, so I'll leave it at that for now. But I'm curious... I was talking to a friend who is quite excited by the turn this blog has taken. Meanwhile, I keep trying to get back to what the subject was originally supposed to have been... What do y'all think? More about buildings and disasters and place, or more about music and subculture? Yes, all six or so of you that still read regularly....

Oh, and I added some pictures. I didn't take these, they are things I came across. No grand point, sort of a grab bag. The captions are all I have to say about them right now.

Leftovers

2008-02-16T22:18:00.000-08:00

Ok, I wrote this the other night, but didn't publish it. It didn't seem to be headed anywhere good. See it as an artifact.
---------------------------

Urg.

Why did I forget about all-star traffic. Long day. Lots of sleep helped me feel better. When I did wake up I went to work for awhile. I tried to get a WAWBSABS cd on my way home, but they're all out... And then I stopped to shoot a house I had wanted to shoot for awhile. But there's a debris pile in front now that made it pretty impossible... and I didn't have any film in the camera case. So that was that.

There was a lack of really interesting music tonight, but Washboard Chaz was playing, so I went out. The band was great as always. At their best, they sound like a train. But it was really annoying. Some guy who I've given my seat to before stole it on behalf of his friend, though my jacket was there. And the Spotted Cat has video poker now. That really makes me sad. I think that means they can no longer have a sign that says "Be classy, please."

I saw a bunch of people I recognize pass by, and wondered where they were going, but I didn't get to talk to any of them. So I came home. Which was a trial. Seriously, I can't adequately explain how utterly fucked up the street closures are. And wherever there are 3 lanes in each directionk, there is a row of comes seperating the right lane. What does that mean? Can I use it? I assumed not, but then people were using it for turning, and some cop told me to keep going and not try to turn... There's no way to get across the quarter without taking some weird unmarked zigzag detour.

Anyway, that was utterly maddening, but there was something else. The all-star crowd was everywhere, and so was the advertising. I can't believe how much advertising came along with it. Projections and banners on every blank building wall, and those fucking billboard trucks, which make me want to kill. You're making traffic worse and burning oil to hopefully distract drivers with an ad for vitamin water? And cars wrapped with ads, and skytrackers, and on and on... And this is why I am not in theatre anymore. I was a good lighting person, but I started to get discouraged about the waste... It takes so much to put on even a modest show. And I did a lot of special event work, which eats up an incomprehensible amount of resources. And there's all the decor and props, which all gets thrown away at the end of the night. I couldn't stand it. Anyway, the whole all-star event, and the crowd that came here for it, is all about conspicuous consumption, and it makes me angry.

I guess that all the time I spent in that job also explains why I love the kind of music I see here, where the musicians can just walk in and start playing.

I guess that's a digression, but... Not entirely. I hated that kind of stuff before, but it's even more offensive here. This place is right at the top of the list of places doomed by global warming and the rampant consumption that contributes to it.

Ok, sorry for the outburst. There are other annoyances behind it, as well.

2008-02-15T18:54:00.000-08:00

Alright...

I'm home tonight because, apparently, I'm dying again. It's no doubt due to not sleeping. I started to feel it last night, but I really wanted to see Herringbone Orchestra, and it was a good thing I went because Meschiya's new band, Magnolia Beacon, was playing. It was incredibly good. So tonight I'm home. I ventured out a little, but there wasn't much going on. The Marbles said the were playing later, but I reluctantly decided I better rest.

The other thing is that the NBA all-star game is here, which is making a mess of everything. New Orleans loves to shut down streets in utterly inexplicable and unpredictable ways. It's such a mess. The only solution is to not go anywhere near the Central Business District or the quarter.

Anyway, I talked more to Chris today. It's hard for me to believe, but he says that there were far fewer buskers before the storm. And his basic objection seems to be that all these folks are from somewhere else and that they are changing the city.

He's worried in general about people moving here and displacing natives. And yet, each time that one of us new arrivals shows any sign of staying, he is excited that there will be one more person here.

But the point he kept coming back to was how the feel of the city has changed. He kept saying that everything felt contrived, and he saw the buskers as a symptom of that. He felt that a certain ease and unplanned casualness had gone from the city. He also feels that the crowds are much worse in places like the French Quarter.

Interestingly, he said the same thing about Mardi Gras. He talked about how it used to be a much more personal thing. The parades, he said, were always boring, and you expected to be bored by that part. What it really was was a reason to spend the whole day walking across town and visiting with all the people you knew along the way. That's different since so many people are gone. But he also said that, outside of the parades, the whole thing seemed more contrived and less relaxed. It sounds like the thing that drove me so crazy about Mardi Gras was a change from the past, one that he objects to as well.

But above all, what bothers him is change itself. He did point out that this is a city familiar with disaster, and that it seems to become a different city after each disaster. The one thing he was certain of was that it would remain weird. But he mourns for the city he knew, and he sees the buskers and the crowd that they're part of as a sign of the change. He says that it seems so different to him that it makes it easier for him to think about moving away, since what he knew is gone.

It's hard to overstate how much this place doesn't like change.

I do fear for the old culture of this place. I think a lot is in danger, including the musical traditions of the city. Some of the music I love most seems as if it already died some time ago. For now, there is still the brass band tradition, but I wonder whether that can survive the loss of neighborhood populations. The jazz scene is a funny thing. There's not a lot of innovation. There are a lot of great players and great bands, but a lot of them are from somewhere else, and they all seem to have intersected here to recreate something that was lost. It's wonderful, but sort of retrograde. (To be clear though, I'm not looking for cutting-edge jazz, and this is a kind of retrograde I'm happy to support every night.)

Where there is a lot of innovation and really exciting work is among this crop of newcomers that Chris sees as such a bad sign. And I suppose he's right-- it is a bad sign if you don't want anything to change. But it's going to be really interesting to see how the newcomers get incorporated and influence the old traditions. And in the meantime, they seem to thrive on the old traditions, and they add so much vitality to the city. Well, they do if you stop and listen. Apparently few do.

And in any case, I'm even more of a newcomer, so I guess it's fitting that I defend newcomer-ness.

2008-02-13T18:53:00.000-08:00

It's been a long couple of days. Yesterday was a day of what the newspaper reffered to as "bizarre" storms. Including at least one tornaso, which didn't touch down, but picked up and killed on person. a couple buildings in the city lost facades and roofs. And when I got home, only one dog came out... Chevelle had hidden under the bed and wsa stuck.   Tucker seemed ok, but at bedtime he got so worried about the wind that he kept pacing around and kept me up until 4 in the morning when I finally got him to calm down.

So that made for a great day today.

This is supposed to a blog about New Orleans and the recovery, though, and it doesn't escape me that it hasn't been that lately. Frankly, I don't get much of a real idea from the office of what's going on out there.   And when I'm not in the office, I'm looking for distraction.

But, there is a new list of demolitions in Saint Bernard. 3610. Yes, 3,610 homes. Being from Saint Bernard, Chris is not happy about it. It's hard to imagine.

I also had an interesting conversation with Chris as I was leaving. It left me with a lot of questions. I was excited that the Loose Marbles and Aurora had used my photos. He said something slightly disparaging, and then asked who these people were anyway... He said he had seem me on the street listening to some band and wanted to know if it was them. I said that that didn't narrow it down that much. He kept wanting to know if they were those dirty street kids, and what did they do for money? And, the unspoken question, if they're any good, why do they play on the street.

I jsut thought it was so interesting that he seemed so offended by people playing on the street. He seemed particularly upset that there were so many grungy white street kids. I was and remain mystified about what is so offensive about them. He did mention that there were a lot of gutter punks a few years ago that had a reputation for beating people up... but the crowd that I see seem not only utterly harmless, but very friendly and positive. I've always been happy to see them around.  He seemed to object on several points.  He kept
mentioning that they're not from here. Fair enough.  He also objected
to the idea that they would be moving in and displacing long time
residents and causing gentrification.  Gentrification is a very hard
subject, but I don't think that these kids are a great force of
gentrification.  Finally, he just seemed so offended that they were
on the street and that they look grungy.  He seemed alternately
offended that they might actually be poor and dirty or that they
might be putting on an act.  I didn't know what to say.  If you can't
be a freak in New Orleans, where can you?

I think this gets to something that's been bothering me though.
All of New Orleans, Chris included, uses Mardi Gras as an occasion
to be freakish.  They get totally wild and then put that away again
until the next occasion.  Well, no, not entirely...  they may still be
wild on the weekends, but they are wild in a conventional sort of way.
Costumes and cross-dressing, or undressing, or whatever are saved for
Mardi Gras.  The rest of the time, proper behavior must, apparently,
be observed.  Frankly, I don't appreciate either. The proper is too proper,
and the wild is way too wild. The crowd that he seems so offended by
never gets wild like that. They are not the ones that made the city so
unbearable for a week, and they're never the ones that you have to
rouse from the gutter or whose crazy weaving you have to dodge.
They don't holler and they're not rude.

The crusties, or bike kids, or gypsy kids, or whatever you feel like calling them are a great contrast to the mainstream population.  But I fail to see what is so
offensive about them.  They seem to me to be very kind, sort of
self-policing, and altogether a positive presence. They pretty much
keep to themselves, and certainly don't bother anyone. They seem
to me the embodiment of the sign that appears in every business in
the city:"BE NICE OR LEAVE."

I've always liked that. Not "be nice or there will be consequences"...
no enforcement. Just be nice or leave. And it seems to work. It seems
to actually be an ethos that has sunken in here and keeps things civil.

I don't know... I want to understand where he's coming from, since he's from here. It seems important. But I still think he's wrong. And I guess I'm shocked that he doesn't know any of these bands... I'm not talking about buskers, I'm talking about bands that have been around for years and have regular gigs, like Panorama and Vavavoom. The music scene here is so good and so friendly, it's such a shame to overlook it. And the little-known bands like Loose Marbles and Why Are We Building Such A Big Ship are startlingly good.

Maybe I'll delve tomorrow.

Anyway, here are the pictures in question. Panorama Jazz Band at the Spotted Cat, followed by some of the Loose Marbles on Frenchmen Street. Not exactly a grungy-looking bunch. And some serious swing dancers, an indication of a good band.

More later on different versions of wild/fun.

And I'm sorry that the text issues are back. I have no idea why.

2008-02-10T17:19:00.000-08:00

Alright... and up and down weekend. Largely down.

Thursday was good-- Tom McDermott was great as always, and Meschiya showed up. But as soon as she said Hi I knew she was sick. I hope she didn't have what I did, but if so, it explains why I haven't seen her since then. After the break, they called her up and she sang a couple songs. She seemed upset that she had trouble finding the key for I Found a New Baby, but once she did, it was wonderful and the crowd loved it. Any flaws were utterly forgotten. It also turned out that half the audience played trumpet, so there were suddenly four trumpet players up there.

Friday was a perfect night on Frenchmen Street. Panorama was great, and afterwards, the Loose Marbles showed up, minus Meschiya. They had a good audience, and there were a bunch of great dancers there. There was also the most bizarre and amusing street fight ever. It started when a guy walking by spanked his girlfriend, which was met with vocal condemnation from the crowd. It ended with him spanking the main condemnor, and then whipping him with his belt. The condemnor then whipped the spanker with his belt, only much, much, much harder. And that was it. He walked off trying to look cool, and we laughed our asses off.

Saturday I looked for the Marbles, found them, but they only played for a little while. I then found the muskrat ramblers, and decided to watch them... but I had the dogs with me, and someone's jack russel terrier came and attached itself to Tucker's face. Tucker seemed unimpressed, and I thought that the wound might be minor enough to heal on its own, so I cleaned it up, and then hung around awhile. This morning it was clear that it was not going to be ok on its own, so it was off to the vet. Except, of course, it's Sunday, and there is no emergency vet in the city of New Orleans. So it was off to Metairie.

I wasn't sure how long it would take, and I felt too anxious to go home and actually do anything, so I hung around Metairie all day. Awful. Except for a little survey work, I haven't left the city since New Year's. Metairie is the land of spawl. Endless big box stores, huge roads and traffic to match, and... well, that's it, really. Some office parks maybe.

It was a shock, and a reminder of what I am so happy to have gotten away from. It was in reaction to all of that that I got into preservation. But it's more than the buildings. It's the whole experience, the culture. There's literally nothing to do out there but shop, so I did. I can't describe how unappealing that felt to me, and how sad it made me to look at all the shoppers around me. They either looked miserable, or they were really enjoying the shopping experience itself, and I'm not sure which was worse. And an hour or so in a mall or store universally makes me feel like I'm going to die. Literally and physically. I start to feel sleepy and irritated and groggy and grumpy. I don't know why, but I don't consider it a problem. If my body wants me to stay out of malls, that's fine. As soon as I step outside I feel fine.

I guess I'm also annoyed that I found nothing I needed or wanted. Despite the New York Times' article about the trend toward emaciated male models, there is nothing in stores for me. I guess I have to look in cooler stores for skinny clothes. Seriously, there was one display of shirts that came in large, x-large, and xx-large.

And there's something about the way everyone looks. I mean, the look the same as a lot of people I see anywhere, but it's the proximity to the stores... They look like they were made in those stores. I find it more shocking and unnatural than grungy dreadlocked folks covered in tatoos. I'm not sure when I made that transition.

So I'm very relieved to be back in the city. It makes a lot more sense to me. And it's a lot more interesting... visually, spatially, culturally, you name it. It's funny, though-- I've overheard so many conversations recently about Metairie, and how that's where "everything" is. Usually with an acknowledgement that it's not a place you really want to go, but sometimes you need to... Well, yes, sometimes you do need to, but it's surprising how seldom. At least, it's suprising if you used to live amongst and frewuent places like that. My ex loved to shop. I think she actually considered it a hobby, and I always seemed to need something for some project, so there was always shopping going on. People, shopping is not a hobby.

It's amazing how much you don't need. And get ourside, people! I've been thinking a lot about my lifestyle here... I am always the oldest person by far among those sitting on the curb with a beer and listening to the band. And I have a suspicion that I should be doing something more grown-up. But I also feel that I spent all of my 20s trying that, and it was deadly. I'm glad I got shaken out of it instead of continuing on that way forever.

Anyway...

We're home now. Poor Tucker looked awful after the vet. They said he was very upset after he woke up, and that they gave him something for anxiety. I'm sure he was upset. He is utterly dependent on Chevelle's presence to keep him calm. He just can't be alone, ever. Apparently they tried putting him in a crate at first, and quickly figured out that he needed to be out and have some company. He's doing pretty well now.

Picture time.

Tom McDermott, Evan Christopher, Meschiya, and many random trumpeters:

I didn't get to talk to these folks, but they were there with the Muskrat Ramblers, and Chevelle was all too happy to play soccer with them:

Loose Marbles on Frenchmen, with some dancers:

2008-02-07T17:47:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling pretty reasonable since Sunday, but I'm still sick, and it's tiring. But not like Friday, when I was amazed to find that the human body can apparently produce more than its own weight and volume in mucus over a 24 hour period. But at least I'm not on a ventilator. Kevin, it turns out, has legionairre's disease.

I'm feeling slightly incoherent today, so disconnected bits and pieces that have fallen by the wayside in the last week. Vignettes.
----------
I was stuck in Mardi Gras traffic, and lane-splitting-- cutting between the lanes of stopped traffic. Not a great idea, or legal, but I did a lot of it this week. I normally never do. At any rate, I stopped at one point to wait for things in front of me to sort themselves out, and some guy yelled to me from the car next to me. I was afraid I had made myself an enemy, but I turned to see what he wanted.

"Can I borrow your bottle opener?"

What? Oh, wait... I do have a bottle opener on my keychain. Which was dangling from my belt loop. And this guy had spotted it. So I passed it over, and he opened his beer and one for each person in the back seat. The driver wisely declined. There is no open container law here, so this is all perfectly legal.
----------
I stopped at the Spotted Cat on Tuesday night (the fat one), to have a beer and see if the band was any good. There was a masked, costumed woman sitting next to me, and trying to get my attention. I was steadfatly ignoring her. She offered up her hand wordlessly, and I wasn't exactly sure how to respond, so I shook my head. Then she slumped, and later started lightly kicking the guy in front of her.

Really, honey, the last girl who hit on me in a bar was sober enough to talk, successfully borrow my phone, and kind of dance, and she was still too drunk. Even the desperate will probable require that you be able to stand and utter something, however slurred.

That was right after the 5th person who tried managed to rouse the dapper man who was lying mostly in the street. It was good to see that he could stand and move, but the whole thing was so unproductive for him that he may have been better off sleeping it off on the street.
-----------
I went to see the Loose Marble on Sunday. During Mardi Gras AND during the superbowl. There were about 8 people there. Then there were 3, including me. The band outnumber us, but at least they got paid. Meschiya was feeling a little rough, and they gave up after one set. It was nice, though. We got a sort of opening act from Patrick on accordion, and after they stopped, my cheese plate attracted Meschiya, and it was good to... well, I didn't do much talking, but but it was good to be peripherally involved in the conversation. Somewhere around the last song, a man with a very realistic horse mask walked in, and it turned out to be Tom Mcdermott. Apparently, his experience with couchsurfing.com has been less positive than mine-- he got a little, uh, infestation out of it.
-----------
After the Loose Marbles I went to see the Loose Marbles. They were playing with the Haferflocken Swingers and the Muskrat Ramblers. I now regret not sticking around long enough to see the Muskrat Ramblers, since they seem to be scattering. But the Marbles were great, there were more than 8 people, and the Haferflocker Swingers were really quite good, and strangely endearing.

The bar tvs were showing a particularly weird episode of "House" before the music started, and it was so disturbing without sound.
-----------
Monday was Panorama Jazz band at Mimis. It was great. And what I loved was that in this town, it's perfectly normal for all the hipsters to go out dancing to kelzmer-influenced brass band music. Without Irony. In other cities I know, the cool kids might go, but in between rock shows and things more avant garde, and with a heavy dose of irony in case someone think it uncool.

I see little or no irony here, just genuine enthusiasm and enjoyment, and it's very refreshing.

On the way home, I stopped to see the Zydepunks. As above...

The had a free jazz klezmer band opening. Works better than you'd think.
-----------
Saturday I had attempted to see Why Are We Building Such A Big Ship. It was stunningly dark in the Dragon's Den, which has something of an opium den atmosphere. They got set up and introduced themselves as WAWBSABS, but there was no singer and no Aurora. Hmm. They were good though.

And then there were three singers in giant skirts. And then there was a shadow puppet show inside the skirts.

And at that point I noticed something up near the ceiling. It was Aurora, standing on a half-wall. Why wasn't she playing?

Then, the Haferflocken Swingers. They were ok, but very disorganized, and there was a little too much performance art and too little music. I was dying, so I left after a few songs.

I got home and stumbled on the Herringbone Orchestra's myspace page, and it seems that that it was I saw. So what about WAWBSABS? I don't know. It'll all make sense at some point.
------------
I saw a guy riding past my house toward the parade route on a cooler. Wearing a jester's hat. The cooler had handlebars to steer, and a little plate with lights and switches, and I had to wonder how much room was left for ice and beer with the battery and motor that must be in there.
------------
"If we play that I've got to switch from washboard to accordion."
"Yeah, you'll have to exchange one dorky instrument for another."

Referring to the fact that washboard is not an ideal solo instrument:
"I call this one 'scratch-scratch, cymbal on 4.'"
------------
I had another couchsurfer, who, as I mentioned, was sicker of Mardi Gras even sooner than me.

And she seemed, well, particularly ill-suited for NOLA. She was cool and had done a lot of remarkable things, but seemed unable to get into the NOLA vibe. I think it was a problem of slowing down. At first I thought it was just a shame, but by the end of the week, having heard of her travails here, and having had a few of my own, I had a lot of sympathy.

She also seemed mystified by my musical obsession. Or maybe my existence in general. I don't know. Thanks for humouring me, Mariah. And for tolerating the increasing household disorder this week.
-------------
And in case you needed some interpretation, that video clip was Dr John AND Professor Longhair AND the Meters playing "Big Chief."

Well, Meschiya is singing with Tom McDermott tonight, so I'm off... wait, maybe it's next week. No, I think it's tonight.

2008-02-06T23:08:00.000-08:00

It's amusing to me that google blogger lists my posts' times as if I was in the pacific time zone, thus making it appear that I am a person of more reasonable and moderate habit than is actually the case.

Anyway, more about that outburst yesterday. I think I kept waiting to discover what Mardi Gras is about. It turns out that it's about dressing up, drinking, and "throw me something mister." It's the kind of thing, I think, that you need to be in the right mindset for. And I wasn't. It's indescrible how massive and prolonged it is, as a result of the fact that everyone wants to be a participant. And that's great, but the downside is that there is only one parade like Krewe Du Vieux, where it's human-scale and just irreverent fun. The rest are these giant floats, and not enough bands, and... I don't know. I just didn't get it. And I feel either woefully ignorant or snobbish because of that. I tried, but...

Last night was a real downer, and it sums up my Mardi Gras expectations versus reality. I was on Frenchman street, but it wasn't the scene I know and love, it was just craziness. I took refuge with the kids playing gypsy music, and that was great. But nearby was a sort of cart playing recorded music, and it made it hard to hear. It was playing a lot of Mardi Gras songs. And then I wandered down to the corner, and there was a truck pumping out terrible terrible dance music. And I thought "I'm in the most culturally unique, musical city in America, and we're partying to the same processed crap that you would hear anywhere, and that would be lame anywhere?"

I don't know what I thought Mardi Gras would be, but to me that was the biggest dissapointment. There was so little music. The genre of Mardi Gras music is full of such great songs, and I love the versions that I know so well through Dr John and Professor Longhair. And I never heard anyone do them. There were bands in the parades, but few and far between (except for Krewe Du Vieux- they had a lot.) But there was no chance to hear all these great songs, except on the radio. I went to see the Zulu parade at Basin and Claiborne, and there was a big stage there, and they were playing all the great songs... recordings of them. It just seemed a shame. They had a big stage, but there was nothing happening on it.

My other great sorrow is that I didn't get to see any Mardi Gras indians. I think that would have been great, and out of everything, I think that would have been the thing that satisfied my expectations.

I can't explain why I wasn't excited about catching things.

Anyway, it's over. I went to Frenchman Street tonight and it was sad in a different way than last night. There was no one there at all. I walked up and down, and finally ran into Mary, the accodion player from Muskrat Ramblers, and Shea, the trumpet player. Then Blu, the tuba player, showed up. They weren't playing, but it was nice to see them and talk to them finally. Apparently Shea is headed away to Chicago, which is sad. So I'm glad I saw them a million times, because it was all very temporary.

Mary mentioned that a whole list of great bands were playing tonight at the Balcony, including Meschiya's band, which I am so curious about. I wanted to go, but I had the dogs with me because they were so desperately wanting to get out, and I knew if I went home I wouldn't go back. Besides, I should be sleeping.

Wow, I really should be sleeping.

Ok. more later.

Mardi Gras is over

2008-02-05T20:23:00.000-08:00

Well, soon... Fucking Mardi Gras will be fucking over. More later about why I am surprisingly ready to see it go. Suffice it to say that I don't get it. And it's been an incredible pain in the ass to get around, even with going between lanes of stopped traffic and portaging the motorcycle over the sidewalk where roads were closed. And... well, when you start treating streets and clubs as your living room, mobs of drunken revelers that you've never seen before are unwelcome. Where are you every other night of the year? I know you're never here, because I am.

I tried, I really did. I tried to enjoy it, and failed. And today found me in a bad mood, worsened tonight by bad and ridiculously unfair news about a friend, and in response I felt that I needed to go out and hear some great music and do some serious drinking. But there was no music, and I wanted to do a more peaceful kind of drinking, so neither happened.

Well, wait, there were the kids playing gypsy music. They're always good. And I was so happy to see them because they were the only thing I found that represented the wonderfulness of a normal night in New Orleans.

And I did get something out of Zulu. I was shooting some pictures with my ancient 4x5 camera, and I attracted the attention of a guy with a Leica. We started talking and, since the parade wasn't actually going anywhere, we talked for a long time. It was really nice. Sadly, he was visiting from Arizona, but it was a bright spot in a bad day. And I got to help him free a jammed film cartridge from the Leica.

So there you have it, my attempt to feel good about Mardi Gras. I should say that i have a couchsurfer here who came to work on a photo project documenting Mardi Gras, and she's been feeling the same way. She beat me to it, actually. By a lot.

Anyway, stay tuned.

Oh, and the little finishing touch was a lot of pops as I was opening my front door. A lot. Followed by screams and siren.

"no that ain't no cherry bomb
4th of july's all done
just some fool playin' that second line
from the barrel of a pretty blue gun

no that ain't no cherry bomb
4th of july's all done
got some fool playin' that second line
from the barrel of a pretty blue gun."

ow.

2008-01-31T17:29:00.000-08:00

Everything hurts. A lot. It started out as a cold, and now it's just amazingly painful. And I'm feeling somewhat delerious, so forgive any sense I don't make.

It doesn't make me feel any better to know about Kevin. Kevin is someone I knew only vaguely from an email list, and the list got word this week that he is in the hospital. He was feeling "under the weather" and then better, and then he was in the hospital with pneumonia. Then on a ventilator and dialysis with sepsis and kidney failure. What the fuck? How does that happen? One thing is for sure, the universe wants me to remember that life is short and behave accordingly. I'm getting better about it.

I'm sure nothing was helped by yesterday.  It was the second day of field work and it was
astonishingly cold.  The fact that reh thermometer disagreed with that assessment didn't
really help. It was building assessment time in Orleans, looking for things that could be salvaged and re-used. This means visiting abandoned houses in every part of the city and, if they are open, going inside for a look around. It is astonishing how many abondoned houses there are, and a good number of them are open. Some are gutted and empty, but most still contain all the belongings of their former residents. Said belongings are universally stewn and piled everywhere, sometimes by water, more usually by whoever was there before us. I can't really express how strange it is to just walk into house after house like this. And to imagine who was there before. I wonder what they found and made off with.

I'm always so saddened to find people's pictures left behind. I think someone should collect them all. I'm a little overwhelmed by it, and it's also been made very clear that we are to take NOTHING from these places... I also used to have a compulsion to rescue lost stuffed animals, but you have to give that up here. It's sad to see them everywhere.

There is also frequently evidence of squatters, but it never looks recent. It's amazing the places you could squat in this city, and amazing to me that we never find anyone actually doing so. Especially when there is an honest-to-god Hooverville right in the middle of town.

It's always sobering to get out there. It's hard to imagine what the city will look like after all the demolition. And yet, a lot of these bulidings really need it. Some don't, and that is frustrating. But... the neighbors would rather have a weedy lot than a negelcted building that will attract squatters who may cause a fire.

It's also tough to go to these places because the waterline still shows on many of them. It's mostly been erased, but not on the backs and sides of these abandoned buildings. I was standing on Tulane Avenue yesterday in mid-city and looking at it, right around six feet, and just trying to imagine. And also trying to imagine what was in the water for it to have left such an idelible, disgusting black mark.

And speaking of disgusting, going into these houses can be... some are merely cluttered or full of trash. Some are wet, moldy, filled with rusted cans in the kitchen, rotted food now petrified...   I guess it could be worse. We haven't found any bodies, human or animal, and not much waste. But everything just seems dirty and potentially dangerous. No rats, mice, maggots or other critters.... except termites. There are plenty of those. And it is a miracle and a blessing that poison ivy apparently doesn't exist here. Seriously, if this were Pennsylvania, all these places would be covered in it. I've literally never seen any here. They are covered in cat's claw, which is destructive and very fast-growing, but at least you can touch it without worry.

We also find a lot of theft of the very building elements we're looking for. That's not surprising, but there was something yesterday that was. We found two houses without floors. Not because they were rotten and collapsing, which is common, but because they were... Stolen? Apparently. The floors were gone, and the big old 2x12 floor joists were cut clean through at the ends and also gone. Were they stealing the floor or the joists? Is that worth it? Is it really theft or is something else going on? It's so strange. And it's so strange to walk up to the front door and look inside and just see dirt.

It's the kind of day that makes you want to drink.

In the meantime, I've made another pleasant musical discovery: Why Are We Building Such a Big Ship? I had heard their name, but never checked them out, and now I wonder if it was them I saw at Mimi's. I saw a girl who I had seen sing a really nice version of Tishimingo Blues with basically the Muskrat Ramblers, and I complimented her on it. She turns out to be Alynda, and is in any number of bands with Aurora, including Why Are We Building Such A Big Ship. Also, Sweet Nothings, who I meant to see on Monday and forgot about.  I also missed Zydepunks and Panorama last night.

Anyway, I'm pretty excited about WAWBSABS.  They're somewhat
Waitsian, something you might like if you like the Deemberists...
Like Arcade Fire if Arcade Fire had come from somewhere funky
and without electricity to aid noise-making.   It's all pleasantly
drunken-sounding, with loose, off-kilter horns, and a sort of post
apocolyptic feel in the way that Delicatessen was a post-apocolyptic
movie. I haven't really gotten to see them or hear their cd yet, so
I'm hoping there's enough humor in there to steer them clear of
the terrible danger of too-seriousness. I'm optimistic.

More about field work later. I'll have some pictures. And more about people who need to relax. And in the intervening time perhaps I will find the "W" "9" and... uh, some other key at the top of the keyboard that my dogs knocked off. And maybe I will become less delirious and stop pondering how I never noticed before how "elephant" and "telephone" sound similar. I want to play in a band and call it elephant telephone. Normally, pyjamas make me think of elephants. How an elephant got in my pajamas I don't know.

That's right folks

2008-01-27T16:44:00.000-08:00

step right up, two for the price of one, today only!

Well, I set out thinking I would look for the Loose Marbles. My backup plan was to go take pictures in Plaquemines. Even cutting through traffic on a motorcycle, it took me over an hour to get to the French Quarter and park as close as I could get to the Marbles' spot, which was not close, because of parade craziness. The big parades made it tough enough, but then when I got to Royal street, it was crazy there, too. Turns out I had stumbled onto Krewe of Barkus, which was charmingly low-key. I mean, really low key. Like, not so much a parade as a mass dog walking. What it lacked was bands.

But eventually I made my way over to their spot, and there they were. It was a laid-back show, but they played for a long time... off and on. And the trumpet player was there along with his low-boy(like a hi-hat) and wood block. And the accordion player and his washboard, cymbal and cowbell. Sorry, I didn't think to ask their names. It was the first time I had seen those two. It was a funny scene, with lots of nicely-dressed tourists on probably the classiest street in the French Quarter, and then a bunch of scruffy, bearded, pierced friends of the band sitting on the curb. I can't say I fit with the latter, but I do prefer them. I think that being a respectable grownup has totally fallen off my list of goals. I did talk to the girl sitting next to me wearing butterfly wings, and was happy to find she's a local. Seriously, it's easy to start to believe that no one in the city is actually from here, so it's nice to meet someone who is. And it's so seldom that I hear a real New Orleans accent. I think the last one was the guy at the car rental place. (Think Brooklyn, not southern.) I also saw the fairy girl riding home with her wings on, and wondered whether I would recognize her without her makeup... and then realized that I saw her the other night at Mimi's. So the answer is yes.

Anyway, it was wonderful, but cold and, well... Uh, I don't love the French Quarter. I do sometimes, but it's just too crowded and, well, respectable, I guess. Or utterly not respectable. Depends on the street. At any rate, the police came around and re-opened the street, and that was the end. While I was sitting there, one of my co-workers walked by, waved at me, but utterly failed to notice the best band in the city. I don't think I'll try to enlighten him.

Ok, so I promised some things the other day. Virtuosic but white. I went to see Tom McDermott the other night. He is an incredible pianist, fluent in such a variety of styles. He was playing with Even Christopher, an unbelievable clarinet player. They are both just amazing players, and they play a really interesting assortment of things, from Jellyroll Morton to Brazilian choros. But... It was just too polished and clean. And, well, too white. Too much like a careful showing of these museum pieces of songs. This, perhaps, is why I love the Loose Marbles so much more than the Jazz Vipers, and why I loved the fake Panorama more than the real Panorama-- They're younger and less polished and you can hear their excitement in experimenting and discovering the music and its possibilities. I'll take that energy over mature perfection. Perhaps the best thing in memory, and a great example of this, was Aurora and another saxophonist trading licks in a joyous battle to top each other.

On the other hand, I didn't have this impression of Tom McDermott and Evan Christopher the first time I saw them. And perhaps the other side of this is their talent at showing the complexity and sophistication of early jazz and ragtime. It's easy to think of it as simple and quaint, and the best of it was never either of those things.

Wonderful names: Meschiya, Kiowa, Aurora, Barnabus, Tatiana, Twyleth. I've been meeting people with such great names.  Twyleth was great.
I said I had only met one Twyla and that was Twyla
Tharp and she was named after a pig.  Twyleth
corrected me: Twyleth, not Twyla...  "so you've
still only met one Twyla."  And she was named
after a fairy.  I felt that was much better than a
pig, but she wasn't so sure.

I also met an Ivor, but that just reminded me of Ivor Cutler.

The people you meet: Well, actually, I can't remember what that was supposed to be. And actually, I'm finding that meeting people is a real weakness of mine. I have trouble talking to people I don't know. I'm working on it. That brings us toward the self-flagellation.

The moral of all of this may be that New Orleans is a great place to visit, but it's a better place to live. I don't remember what I was reading recently that talked so much about living life in public-- it may have been Dan Baum's New Orleans blog for the New Yorker... But that's what New Orleans is all about. It's about life on the street and interaction. It's about being more comfortable on the street than in your living room, or about the street being your living room.  And this is something that I'm not sure you can enjoy on a visit. It takes time to grasp it, and to slow down and feel at home. When you go somewhere for a trip, you tend to feel that you need to pack in as much as possible, and it's hard to slow down enough to enjoy what I think makes this place special.  Really, it's all about slowing down, being willing
not just to stop on the street and see a band play a song, but to
sit down on the curb and watch a whole set, not just to say hi to
a stranger, but to stand and listen to their life story and get
introduced to their friends who wander past. And the comfort
takes time...   I don't really know anyone here yet, but I do
recognize people every time I go out, and it makes me feel
comfortable.

Kiowa said something funny today that I can't quite remember. He was urging folks to buy Loose Marbles cds, and said something like "you can't be a loose marble, but you can take a cd home and pretend. You've got a street, right?" I'm sure everyone watching had a street, but I bet not many of them spend much time there.

2008-01-27T11:14:00.001-08:00

It's parade time again. Or still. Or something. I still lack the urge to got to parades. I can't be a real New Orleanian yet. It is making it challenging to get around.

The sun has finally come out, and that's a relief. It was a grey, rainy week, but luckily we didn't get rained on while surveying. Friday was Plaquemines parish, and it was interesting. It's a unigue place. It's a tiny strip of land on either side of the river, and there's not a whole lot there. Well, there's especially little there now. The culture was unique before the storm and is now regarded as endangered. Some people lived in places accessile on ly by water, and the school year was scheduled differently to take shrimping into account. According to Wikipedia, it is 67% water by area. Surprisingly, most of the population is back.

Plaquemines is where Katrina made landfall, and the destruction was thorough, with high winds and a storm surge of over 20 feet of water. Considering this, it's surpising how good things look. Yes, there are a lot of abandoned homes, many of which were washed off their foundations. At this point there are also a lot trailers and modular homes which replaced those which were destroyed.

Plaquemines also has more cows that any other place I have been in the New Orleans area. That was a surprise to me. It is well-known for its citrus industry,too, mainly growing satsumas, a local favorite. There are, needless to say, a lot of marine industries, and a number of heliports to serve the offshore oil platforms.

All in all, though, my impression of the place was that it would be a really hard place to live. There are basically two roads-- one on either side of the river, and no bridges, only ferries. The southernmost supermarket and restaurant are about halfway down. (Actually, you can hardly call it a restaurant, though we did have some great poboys there.) Any other sort of shopping is near the Orleans parish line, and services are few and far between. I don't know if this is true generally, or if it was due to the particular properties we were surveying, but I also got an impression of temporariness. Almost all of the buildings we surveyed were cheap, somewhat temporary, and not very old. Given the vulnerability of the place, that makes sense.

Sorry, no pictures... I will have to go back specifically for that purpose. It wasn't a good day for that. When I do go back, I'll have to ask where the voodoo cemetery is. The other survey team stopped there and took some pictures, but we didn't get to go. It looks quite surreal.

After the day of surveying, which turned out to be diffucult for reasons essentially unrelated to the work, I was exhausted, but also very ready to get out and see some music. It was a pretty good night for it, but in the end I was left feeling odd being out by myself and not really knowing anyone, though I saw a few people I recognized. I saw some of the real Panorama Jazz band, and they were great... and yet I have mixed feelings. I love how they incorporate klezmer and other traditions, yet most times I really want more tradional songs. As always, Aurora was fantastic. In addition to her fantastic technique, she also has such humor. I'm not sure any other insrument can deliver a punchline like a saxophone, but players who expolit that are few and far between. Her plaing is just so full of joy and humor, and I love it. What surprised me was that, after talking to her only once, she greeted me by name on her way out and invited me to come see Panorama Brass band...

I stuck around for the Jazz Vipers for awhile, but it wasn't a great night for them. They've been lacking a lot of horns lately. In particular, I haven't seen the bass saxophonist in a long time. So I went across the street to see the Zydepunks.  But, they took a
break as soon as I arrived, so I left with nothing to show for it but
a fleur de lis stamped on my wrist. And then, it was off to see Panorama Brass Band.  When I got there, I was carded at the door
and discovered that I have lost my driver's license.  THat's a problem.

Anyway, the two panoramas are similarly wonderful, but once again, though I appreciated the unusual influences they brought to brass band music, I really was in the mood for more traditional songs. I was overjoyed when they played "Didn't He Ramble," but that was the last somg of the set and I was falling asleep, so that was it for me. I don't know who opened for them, but it was an interesting group... I also saw a few Muskrat Ramblers and a couple of Loose Marbles hanging out.

Last night was the Washboard Chaz Blues trio, and they were even better than usual. Washboard Chaz seems to be the only guy locally who plays an actual washboard (for washing) with thimbles, and I don't know why no one else does-- The sound is so much better and more varied than spoons on the big corrugated washboards like everyone else uses. But really, the guitar and harmonica players are the stars. After that I spent far too long watching the Muskrat Ramblers. I felt self conscious that I am always there, and decided to introduce myself to some of them... I asked how long they've been playing together and they said about three weeks... So I've pretty much seen them EVERY time. I do like them, but I guess it was a little odd how long I watched them last night. I have to confess though, that I was there largely because I was hoping to run into one of their other fans.

It was a particularly interesting night to be standing on that corner though-- there were a lot of people wandering around in costume, and it was pretty hilarious and surreal. Well, I'm off now to, uh... Well, I don't know, really, but it's beautiful out, so...

Quickly

2008-01-24T22:07:00.000-08:00

A brief update, because I have to be at work very soon now.

I saw the folks I had considered to be a subsidiary of the Loose Marbles last night, and this time they had cds and a name. The Muskrat Ramblers. I have the impression that the name is anything but settled, but it makes all the difference in that it makes them Not The Loose Marbles.

So, that clears that up. It's been a frustrating couple of nights, for different reasons. And a long and frustrating day at work. But what's new?

Coming soon: virtuosic but too white, the people you meet, news from Plaquemines, wonderful names, and just a little but of self-flagellation.

Hey there

2008-01-23T18:15:00.000-08:00

Once again, apologies for the silence.

Where to start? Ok, first of all, I take it all back about Panorama. I rushed out of work on Friday to see them and when I got there, they weren't them. Or, rather, they were. And they were good, but not what I was looking for. This was the actual Panorama, as evidenced by their web page. But they were not what I saw that was supposed to have been Panorama. So what did I see, and where can I see it again? I saw Aurora, the fantastic saxophonist who was part of what I thought was Panorama the other night on Frenchman Street, and I asked.... uh...  this sentence is too far gone.

a la Hemingway:
Aurora plays saxophone.  She is fantastic.  She was part of the band I thought was Panorama. I saw her on Frenchmen street the other night. I asked her who she had been playing with that was not Panorama. After some confusion, she told me it was fake-Panorama, filling in for Panorama when they couldn't make it. Were they something else? No, just a pick-up band to fill in. So I can't see them again? No.

Don't get me wrong, the real Panorama is great, but the fake Panorama were just having so much fun playing together, and it was such a joy to see them. And they were all damn good players.

There were also a lot of Loose Marbles on the street, and Meschiya had a guitar with her. I became horrified by the idea that I might have missed them, and asked if they had played or were playing that night. No. She listed a bunch of times that they were playing on Royal Street, but always during the day when I'm at work. The next day I checked their myspace, and found I had missed them twice at Mimi's in the last week. I'm so sure that those dates were listed after they happened. I check their page all the time. I don't think my grasp on reality is that tenuous, is it? Anyway, my rabidness as a Loose Marbles fan is due partly to the fact that they make it so difficult to be a fan. I don't want to constanly be asking them when they are playing, that feels kind of stalker-weird.

So, I went back in to the Spotted Cat to see the Jazz Vipers, and was overjoyed that Mike from Loose Marbles came in to sit in with his clarinet. And hoped that Aurora would come in, too. She did, and they eventually asked her up to play, but it all went to hell when Uncle Lionel took control. (This is his better known appelation, apparently.) He got up there to sing, but couldn't really be heard, and he took to handing out soloing priveleges, but he was cutting all the solos down to about half the usual number of bars. Aurora was particularly left out.

The next night he showed up for Kermit Ruffins and Kermit got him up there to sing, but didn't let him take over.

I also saw a lot of great swing dancing this week at various shows, though it went rather wrong on Sunday. There was a big group of dancers out for Palmetto Bug Stompers at DBA, but eventually the older more usual DBA crowd got inspired by them, and it kind of ruined it. You could see the annoyance develop slowly toward these folks that were suddenly crowding the floor, and then the serious dancers all gave up.

Continuing more or less backwards, Saturday was Krewe du Vieux. Some of my co-workers live right on the parade route, so they had a party. It was nice, with the requisite endless oysters, and the parade was great. Lots of brass bands, small traditional mule-drawn floats, and overwhelmingly bawdy and satirical. I have to confess, though, that by the time it started I was in a pretty bad mood. So I didn't feel like screaming and competing for throws. I decided instead to just work on getting some pictures, but that didn't go well, so then I just stood there trying and basically failing to have fun. Not a great first Mardi Gras experience. I have to admit that I just don't love a parade. I mean, these parades are certainly in a league of their own, but I still lack some basic parade-appreciating facility.

Today was spent in St. Tammany parish. We had surveying to do. It was a good day from an experiential point of view, but not real productive. We found all of our properties, but most of them did not belong on a demolition list, and will undoubtedly come off, so... it felt a little pointless. But, oh, the iphone! To have aerial photos and the ability to type in coordinates! The parish often gives us bad addresses, and no mapping program can put you at a precise
address-- only on the right block if the data is good, which it sometimes istn't.
  And nothing will help you
find an address that was just plain wrong to begin with....
But they also give us coordinates that they take with their gps units when they survey, and those got us there every time. And the google aerials were invaluable. Anyway, searching by coordinate was perfect, despite all I have heard about how bad the parishes' gps units are and how wrong their coordinates always are.

Anyway, it was interesting to see St. Tammany. It was a very different landscape from any that I've seen before. Scrubby pines, sprawling live oaks, big magnolias, the ubiquitous drainage ditches in the flat areas, and some areas that were not flat! Not flat is something I hardly know anymore. It was a collision of a very country place with a stunning amount of brand new development. Actually, at times it reminded me a lot of parts of New Jersey.

The beginning and end of the trip were interesting. The beginning was the causeway-- a 23 mile bridge across the lake. The end was a strangely grand neighborhood with lake on one side and... some other body of water on the other. Picturesque, very seashore feel, everything shiny and new after having been erased two years ago... And then a drive past New Orleans east, which is still so devastated. Scott told me how, after the storm, the Vietnamese places there were the only place to eat. The crews were having to stock up on food elsewhere and import it into the city and they were shocked to find that the Vietnamese community had returned to one of the most devastated parts of the city and had somehow cleaned up and gotten things working again.

It sounded as though walking into a restaurant and ordering food was just an incomprehensibly wondrous thing. Something that I could do right now, but I think I may forgo dinner and just be on my way... Vavavoom starts soon.

2008-01-16T18:56:00.000-08:00

Ok, where was I? Does it matter?

Last night was interesting. I had some couchsurfers coming, but they ended up staying in a hotel instead. But they were still interested in going out, so we did the Tuesday triumvirate of Kermit Ruffins, Palmetto Bug Stompers, and Rebirth Brass band. All three were great as usual, and Kermit had an even more veried and numerous bunch of guests than usual. And we were treated to a long diatribe from one of the regulars about why New Orleans is the greatest city in the world.

I was also amused that when my guests asked a cabbie to take them to meet me at Kermit's gig ,
he said "Are you sure you want to go there?  That's the 'hood."

What made it really interesting, though, was answering all the usual questions about New Orleans and Katrina. It always makes me see things in a slightly new way. And one of them was a preservationist with some really good and interesting arguments about New Orleans and the economics of preservation. The others were all city planners. They were all here to volunteer, and they were finding it very discouraging. They felt that the work they were doing could have been done by anyone and that they were therefore just taking work away from locals. (Though perhaps not paying work.) Basically, they seemed to feel that the only ones they were helping were themselves, by being able to say that they had volunteered, and they didn't feel good about that.

I also learned the identity of the old guy I keep seeing at the Spotted Cat. He is Lionel Batiste, bass drummer for the Treme Brass Band. We saw him on the street last night and he stopped to talk.  He was very friendly and sporting
a totally unique sort of bling.  The things you learn in the presence of a cute, friendly girl...

In work news, we are out of money for surveyors, but we still have surveying to do, so next week we get to do it ourselves. We have one list in St Tammany parish and one in Plaquemines. It should be interesting. Particularly Plaquemines. It was a unique place to begin with and now its... uh, mostly gone. Literally. A lot of the land you see on maps is not there anymore. And the buildings were hit incredibly hard, not only by flooding from breached levees, but also by wind and a huge storm surge.

Well, it's stopped raining, so, even though physically I feel awful, I'm headed out to Vavavoom, which will head off other possible bad feelings.

Unprintable

2008-01-13T21:14:00.000-08:00

My ipod surprised me the other day with an old folk song that
turned out to be unbashedly obscene, and when I went to look
up said song, I found a book entitled "Unprintable Ozark
Folksongs and Folklore." Which I thought pretty funny on many
levels. Well, I've just had a largely unprintable weekend. It's
not as though I am not equipped with the sorts of powerful and moving obscenities for which Mark Twain so praised the English language, but I'm not sure I have any for what I've just finished. I was trying to do some work which was not even my own, but I nonetheless got invested in it and just couldn't believe what a mess it all was. And I began to feel I was more focused than the owner of said work, and... and all kinds of things. Really. All kinds. I don't think this is the forum.

(And yes, there are seemingly endless songs on my ipod that I have never heard...)

Anyway...

I did go out on Friday, and decided that the Panorama Jazz Band is the second most underrated thing here. And saw something Loose Marbly, but it was just good, not great. No Meschiya, or Kiowa, or Mike. The Jazz Vipers were not the Jazz Vipers. Most of them were out of town, so it was an interesting almagam, including Washboard Chaz and the trumpet player from Vavavoom.

But really, Panorama was so damn good. They're really young, and I'm finding that actually makes things better. And the drummer was more proof of my personal rule that the best drummers always use the fewest drums: snare, kick, hi hat, one cymbal. (And there is no such thing as too much cilantro, and guys who wear pink shirts are always bad news. And no man with two legs should drive an automatic. I met someone with interesting rules of her own a while ago. She had a prohibition on convertibles for straight men. Anyway, I digress... like a... uh, digressing champion of some sort.) No youtube this time, since the videos I'm finding there have zero players in common with the group I saw the other night.

I'm starting to get fascinated with the fluidity of the music scene here. You start to recognize individuals more than groups, because you never know who will be in any group on any given night. And you never know who will just wander in and play. It feels to me like a challenge-- to get to know all these folks and understand how it all fits together. I had an interesting reminder this weekend that I have a complete ignorance of truly popular music of the last 15 years, though.

I was also reminded how very little I have experienced even of my own neighborhood, let alone the city-- but when you have no one to go out with, you don't try places the way you would with companions.

I can't believe I have to go back to work tomorrow. This weekend was not a break in any way. And because of that, there's not much news. But there are some things I never got to. Like the Mardi Gras decorations. I just am so amused by the elaborateness of them around the office. And the way they sprung up so fast and without any comment or fanfare. And the fact that they basically celebrate a celebration-- there is not hint in them of what Mardi Gras might be about. They are, I would say, more elaborate than the Christmas decorations were.

The first big event is next weekend-- Krewe du Vieux. Some of the archaeologists live right on the parade route, so they are throwing a big parade party. That should be good. And Chris will be in the parade, so that will make it even more amusing. He's been agonizing over his costume for weeks. It has to involve sperm and the Beatles, and he has professed that he is utterly ignorant about the Beatles. He's not happy with the theme. I'm just mystified.

It's interesting to think back to August when I first got the lead on this job. I had no idea what kind of shape this place was in, and whether it was even really functioning. It seems to me that word is getting out a little more now that it is... Just from articles I have seen in the New York Times and such. And in some ways things are still barely functioning, but it's all a matter of money. If you have some, you never have to notice a lot of the things that are wrong. I don't like to have to say that, but it's always true, and very true here.

It's just really interesting to see how normal and even carefree life is for me here, when 6 months ago, I didn't even know whether this place was sustaining normal life. I think that's a great failure of the press and of our attention spans. At the same time, I see little coverage or awareness that there is still a recovery happening and that things are not at all back to normal for so many. And that there are a lot of ways in which things probably will never come back. It's too early to say that this place survived Katrina. If enough residents do not return to the neighborhoods, vital aspects of the culture may die and, more than any other place I have been, that's what matters.

Alright, I can hardly keep my eyes open. More tomorrow. Maybe some mosaic pictures. Maybe I'll have some bizarre dreams in the meantime.

2008-01-11T18:31:00.000-08:00

Ok, so where was I? Talking about the

LOOSE MARBLES

I’m sure. What else do I talk about?

They were unbelievably fantastic last night. I saw a version of them on the street on Wednesday, but it was sort of the second string. Not as polished or virtuosic, but still good and a lot of fun. The cornet player, who I hadn’t seen before, was really good. But it wasn’t really Loose Marbles… in fact, they did not call themselves that. It was loosely Marbly, and Meschiya (singer) and Barnabus (trombone) were there. There were some really annoying tourists, though. The one guy was complaining that the bartender at the Spotted Cat was mean to him. Being that she’s about the nicest person in the world, I could only wonder where he had gone wrong. Daughter put a dollar in the hat. For 9 people. Daddy with $10,000 worth of cameras on him gave nothing. Too-drunk girl invaded everyone’s personal space and almost smashed a dobro. They also didn’t get the hint when the band was like “we’d really like some drinks too…” I only regret that I didn’t get there earlier when Meschiya was apparently sitting in with Vavavoom. That must have been great.

Thursday they were at Mimi’s. It was the core group and it was refreshing to hear them indoors. (Well, ok, I don’t know what the core group really is, but… It was what seems like the core group.) I really like seeing them on the street, but I honestly didn’t realize how fucking good they are until last night. In particular, I don’t think I realized how great a guitarist Kiowa is. It was a lot easier to hear him inside. Actually, I was really surprised how much more sound he seemed get out of his guitar than the Jazz Vipers’ guitarist. I heard them lamenting the sparse turnout, though. There were not a lot of people to begin with, and by the time they ended, the place was essentially empty. It’s really a shame that no one seems to know of them. I really think they are the best thing around. As much as I love the Jazz Vipers and the Palmetto Bug Stompers, I have to give it to the Loose Marbles. They are just so unique. The other groups are a more faithful recreation of a historic sound. The Marbles are sort of recreating a sound that never existed, but seems like it should have. It’s close to the sound of a lot of old recordings, but a little off-kilter, particularly with Mike’s ghostly, eccentric clarinet. It’s gorgeous and special and the whole experience manages to come off as authentically scratchy and archival, even if it’s not actually true to the past. Or because it’s not? Perhaps by being less faithful to the past it is truer to our ideas of what that past was, or what we want it to have been.

(Anyway, don’t think for a moment that scratchy and archival and fun are mutually exclusive.)

I think the setting really led to a different kind of show too. They seemed more relaxed without having to worry about drunks falling into dobros and such. And you could hear it. “Up a Lazy River” was particularly… well, lazy. I’ve heard them do it pretty exuberantly, and it was great to hear such a relaxed and thoughtful version of it. CC Rider was slowed down and sadder, too, and all the better for it. On the other hand, it’s really charming to see them on the street, and it’s great to see them try songs for the first time, which is more a street thing. My only complaint about last night is that they didn’t do “Some of These Days.” I’m listening to their cd right now, and I’m so impressed. It’s well-recorded, too—very simple though. Sounds like two mics for stereo, but the instruments do not sound like they’re individually miked, so you get the sound of the room, and a truer recreation of how it is to actually see them, without the sound that close miking gives. That’s a sound we’re all used to now, but it’s not the sound you hear from live acoustic music. It’s great also because it is reminiscent of the sound of an old recording, yet with better quality generally.

I also saw Kermit Ruffins for the first time since before Christmas. It was disappointing, honestly. I was not in the greatest mood, and I was alone, and that had a lot to do with it. Then they took a break, and after about forever I got tired of waiting for them to come back. I’m very fond of Kermit, and yet... If Loose Marbles are the most underrated thing in the city, he is the most overrated. He’s good. He’s just not as good as his reputation would suggest.

Anyway, I got tired of waiting and went to see the Palmetto Bug Stompers. They were excellent as always, but the most special part of the night was the tiny old man who is often there. He sometimes dances a little, but he put on a real show that night. He sang a song with them, and it was so sweet. Then he picked a girl out of the crowd, handed his cane off to someone, and got her up to dance. It was just the most charming thing.

Ok, enough of that, I didn’t mean for this to be a music review site. What else was there? Oh,

KING CAKE.

The other big feature of the week has been king cake. I haven’t had to buy breakfast all week. Mardi Gras started on Sunday, and someone brought in a king cake on Monday accordingly. There’s a baby hidden in each cake, and whoever gets the baby has to bring the next one. There’s more to the lore of it than that, but that’s the important part for this discussion. For weeks I’ve been hearing about how Jason is obsessed with king cake. A lot of people have complained that he wants king cake everyday, whereas the rest of the world seems to think once a week is about right. Well, he has not disappointed with his mania. The other day I had to buy and I got one with two figurines (a house and Sally from Peanuts, actually). But when I got here someone else had already brought one. This led to a dangerous situation in which there were three king cake obligations floating out there. Jason has been disappointed every day since that there have not been three king cakes. It’s hilariously and endearingly unreasonable of him. Apart from king cake,

WORK

has been stressful and full of drama by proxy. So, that’s much better than if it was actually my own stress, but I’m taking on some of it…. Christa is pretty sure that she’s being let go, and she’s got an impossible deadline to meet in the meantime. Not really my problem, except that she’s my only friend in town. And it brings up the thoughts of me being let go. I mean, it’s inevitable. This is a temporary job, after all. But there’s no telling when. It’s not that the job is irreplaceably wonderful, but I have little faith that I will find anything else that will pay well enough for me to keep living here. And then there was the

MOSAIC.

I have finally started to do some work that is not demolition-related. It’s a relief. But my first task turned out to be not nearly so simple as it seemed. It was a project for repairs on a 60’s building. The building is very unlikely to be National Register eligible, but the proposal was written as if it was, to avoid having preservation concerns slow it down. I looked at it and saw that there was nothing that would keep it from being approved, but my supervisor suggested that I do a determination of eligibility instead of approving it. The thought was that it would surely be ineligible, and once it is found ineligible, we are done and they can do whatever they want. This keeps it from coming back to us every time they make a change to the project, and allows them more flexibility and probably time and cost savings. Well, actually we pay for it in the end, so….

Anyway, it turned out to be the building across the street from the office, so no exciting trips for me. It was a really crappy uninteresting-looking building, and looked like it would be an easy decision. When I got over there, it started to look a little more interesting, but still nothing exceptional. But then… there’s a big mosaic on the front. I looked up the name on the mosaic, and he was a pretty significant artist. And it ground to a halt. None of us really felt qualified to say how significant the artist or this particular work was, and no one was really sure whether that was enough to make the building itself eligible. It was really a little mystifying why the mosaic was there in the first place, and it makes me think I need to find out who the architect was. And yet, that’s still not relevant—the work will have no impact on the exterior, so it’s probably better to skirt the whole issue and just move it along.

It’s also time for

RESOLUTIONS.

I had thought a lot last year about using Tucker as a therapy dog. I thought he would make a really good one, and I really liked the thought of making life less miserable for people in hospitals. So that was one of my New Years resolutions. I found a group here that does it, and it turns out that they are not taking new participants until June. This is very annoying to me. So far, they seem to be the only game in town. Speaking of games in town, the other big feature of the week was the BCS

FOOTBALL

game here on Monday. It was crazy, and just a hint of what this place will be like in a few weeks. The traffic was amazing and the out-of-town revelers reveling like… well, like only people who are in New Orleans for a couple of days do. I mostly just stayed out of their way. I guess it just strikes me as so odd that you would come to such a unique place with so much to offer just to get drunk on bourbon street and buy t shirts. That’s missing everything that’s great here. It’s great that people are coming and spending money, but there’s more than the French Quarter, folks.

It has been interesting to see how each of these big games has resulted in a wave of national press coverage of the post-flood city, though. The coverage I’ve seen has been pretty good, and anything that reminds the rest of the country that there is still a recovery going on is good. At the same time, it’s good to let people know that there’s still something to visit and no reason not to.

So, pictures. The old guy at the Spotted Cat:

Loose Marbles at Mimi's:

Office Mardi Gras:

Oh, hello.

2008-01-10T18:34:00.000-08:00

Ok, sorry it's been a week. I'm still here. And feeling a good deal better. But I can't figure out what happened to the last week. There was a lot of work involved. There was dinner with co-workers. There was some music. There was a lot of king cake. And plenty of office drama, but not my own.

I'm afraid the real update will have to wait, but tonight I confirmed the Loose Marbles are the best thing ever, and the most overlooked band in NOLA. And that border collies DO NOT tolerate dancing.

2008-01-03T22:11:00.001-08:00

A expiriment in mobile blogging tonight since it continues to be true
that the band stops whenever I arrive. The spotted cat is crowded and
slightly annoying tonight but not as bad as last night. Last night it
was packed with swing dancers and at least one leftover Hawaiian. And
some seriously annoying frat boy types. Guess what, boys, we're here
for music, not to hear your booming conversation, so if you want to
talk, don't stand two feet from the band. That space is for dancers.
And Hawaiians, leave your logo hats at home. On the mainland we dont
care where you went to high school, brah. Last night was also the
first time I ever saw the door closed here, in deference to the cold.

Now, you may well ask why I am out every night instead of really
useful things like sleeping... And the resultant ability to get to
work on time. Well, it turns out that I can choose between possibly
killing myself or listening to music. Really, I came here last night
out of desperation, and was shocked to find myself actually smiling
and thinking life was good.

So apparently I have to stay in New Orleans.

But I promised you life in a fortress. In the ninth ward. One of my
coworkers was complaining yesterday that he had found a bag of weed
under his car. I understood his dismay when he described how large a
bag. It was obviously a drop off. His wife threw it away and now he is
worried about reprisal. We started asking him what sorts of protection
he had for the house. Yes, lights. Yes, fence. Yes dogs. Yes, alarm.
No gun, but a sword and a machete by each door. He's considering a
gun. This is what happens when your dense neighborhood disappears from
around you. He's the only one on the block now. And all the police are
on the other side of the canal and they never come across the bridge--
especially now that no one lives there.

This is the case all over the city. So many blocks with a handful of
inhabited houses. Or one. Or none.

Well, more later. When I have a keyboard.

Rough

2008-01-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

First day back at work. It was a long boring day that I was in no way ready for. And that was only the beginning. The housekeeper came by and I thought she was sniffling from a cold. Turns out she had been crying. My co-worker was dispatched to find out why since no one else spoke Spanish. Turns out she was sick and was out of sick days, as her baby had been in the hospital and she used them all up. The story just got more and more heartbreaking. Anyway, he finally found a free clinic and persuaded her to accept a ride and his help translating. Turns out that she was on blood pressure medication before she came to the US, and has been off it since. How many years? They gave her a prescription and told her that it will only be $4 a month if she goes to Walmart, and told her to come back next week. While he was there, Chris ended up taking phone calls because there was no one at the clinic who spoke Spanish. But the clinic was about to close for the day and doesn't open up again until Saturday, so he just ended up sadder and more frustrated having to tell everyone they had to wait. It was sobering for everyone.

Right in the middle of it, I went to get lunch and was unexpectedly attacked by The Writer's Almanac for today. I think I'm glad to have heard it, but it was way too close to home.

Likewise the conversation I surreptitously, and thus brokenly, had with a friend.

I also checked Squandered Heritage and it made me feel very frustrated about what I do. FEMA does not choose properties for demolition, and can't stop demolitions (the most it can do is not pay for them). I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. One the one hand, I don't have to feel responsible-- it's the city's side of this that's a mess. On the other hand, I do think that if FEMA were doing this, it would be better. Go ahead, laugh, but I do. I know what our records of demo lists are like, what our error rate is... and I know what kind of stuff we get from the city and what their error rate is. I also know that we follow rules. The city does not even follow their own rules, apparently.

Anyway, there was something about Philly and Furness, no?

Oh, the south/tradition. Well, I've been assured that the south ends 50 miles north of here, and as such I've never really spent any time in the south. I guess I can only say that, in my experience, reverence for tradition does not necessarily mean preservation of buildings. I think it's pretty common to find communities that place great value on continuity of tradition in various ways, yet have a newer-is-better attitude toward the built environment. People take a lot of pride in the growth and success that new buildings represent. Also, I'd argue with whether the south is more focused on tradition than, say, New England... or even parts of Pennsylvania, Maryland... uh, are we calling Virginia "south" or "mid-atlantic"?

There are certainly southern cities that are well-known for their preservation practices, but I'll take your word on the rush to growth. That's my impression of it. I think this is partly reflective of the migration into region, and partly reflects the "New South" mentality. See above about the pride people take in growth. And if you're billing your region as the new anything, well, you've gotta have new stuff.

On Furness... His buildings are just the clearest example of how Philadelphia has chosen one thing at the expense of all others. For decades, it has encouraged just the sort of checklist patriotic tourism you describe, much the city's detriment. There is so much more, a much more interesting story to tell, and it's harder to tell it now. The Academy of Fine Arts was one of Furness's best, and we're so lucky it was preserved. By Hy Myers, who I mentioned the other day as supporting the demolition of the buildings across the street. The only sad part about PAFA is that the original free-standing stair was damaged by the digging for the subway, and is now propped up with a giant mass of concrete. And that there are plans underway to dig a stupid pedestrian tunnel to the building across the street. I have no idea why. Don't ruin PAFA. People can go outside. It's not that cold/hot, and it's a small quiet street to cross to the North. Furness's other great remaining work is the Fine Arts Library at Penn. This was restored/rescued/slighly butchered by Robert Venturi, and it's glorious. The restoration really was good and undid a lot of awful alterations to bring back a stunning space. The only reason I can find to like Venturi. But as a measure of how deeply unfashionable Furness's work was for about 75 years, Venturi says that when he was a student he attended a meeting where they talked about demolishing the building, and he was too embarrassed to speak up on its behalf. It was just too uncool to like such a building, apparently.

You can see the beginnings of Sullivan's ornament in Furness, but there's a big difference. Furness's ornament was simpler, and more 3 dimensional. Sullivan's is incomprehensibly complicated and flat by comparison. Likewise, Sullivan's forms were quieter and more restrained, whereas Furness's was often eccentic, and sometimes bizarre. In some cases, it was hard to decide what was form and what was ornament, as in the case of those banks, which were made outrageously strange as a form of advertising. Furness really was a master, and it's a shame that people were so eager to demolish his buildings. We've lost a lot of Sullivan, too, but not like Furness. The power and audacity of Furness's buildings apparently is a real measure of the architect, too-- he was famous for his constant and spectacular profanity, claiming he couldn't draw without swearing. He swaggered. He kept a stuffed moose head in the office. And shot at it occasionally.

Oh, and to tie this all together, along with the fact that maybe I should go see some music, Memphis offers a weird and interesting example of preservation: The Stax studio. The Stax sound is less famous than the Motown sound, but only in name. You've heard it, you just don't know it. Stax was a stunning force in the formation of a new kind of music. It was the label of Otis Redding, Al Green, Isaac Hayes, Sam and Dave, and a lot of people maybe you don't know: Rufus Thomas, Albert King, Eddie Floyd, it goes on and on... The house band, who backed all of these folks, was the Legendary Booker T and the MGs, and if you've seen the blues brothers, you've seen half of that band.

Anyway, it all fell apart in the 70s, and in the 80s the former movie theatre that was the Stax studio was demolished. A shame for many reasons, among them that the particular dimensions of the theatre ended up, unexpectedly, being a key part of the Stax sound. And now you can go visit the Stax museum, a shiny new replica of the old studio. I've never been to Memphis, so I'll leave interpretation of this to someone else, but it says something about changing attitudes.

Well, there you go. A whole collection of digression for you today. And I didn't even get to "life in a fortress." Tomorrow.

New Year.

2008-01-01T10:58:00.000-08:00

Let's get that out of the way first. It wasn't what I had in mind. I wanted to go see the christmas tree bonfire on the neutal ground, but no one else was into it. I should have just gone, and met up with friends later, but everyone was worried about the impossibility of parking, so I told Christa I would pick her up on the bike and we'd meet her friends. I did stop by the bonfire first-- before it was lit-- and it was insane. Blocks of mass party spilling out into the street, merging with porches and living rooms, things exploding everywhere... Drinking in the street, fine. Giant illegal bonfire, fine. But who thought it was a good idea for everyone to have real, professional-type aerial fireworks.? As I approached, there were roman candles going off more or less horizontally across the street and I was glad to be wearing a helmet. At least they were only roman candles and not the big aerials. It looked like a very friendly scene, though, and I was suprised how young and white the crowd was. And if you've ever thrown old christmas tree bits in the fire... well, I can only imagine what happens when you light a 25x15 foot pile of them. Forget kindling, they go up like sparklers.  Here's someone else's picture.

The night was almost worth it, though, when the green fireworks brought out the comment, perfectly matter-of-fact yet pleased, that they looked like absinthe fairies. Ok, I guess you had to be there. And which is odder-- that my supermarket sells Veuve Cliquot, or that it sold out?

Anyway, what we got a night full of other people's arguing, and the New Year came as we were trying to get to the river to see the fireworks. As expected, traffic and parking were insane. Sugar Bowl attendees, New Years tourists, and... the other thing... I forget.

Oh, and I realized after asking for comments that comments were not enabled for this blog. That's fixed, if anyone is listening.

But, to answer reallyboring's comment...

I think there is a very different preservation mindset here than in Philadelphia. In general, I think people are much more willing to keep and maintain what is here, and I think a larger portion of the population appreciates the uniqueness and importance of the architecture. But even if they don't, there is a basic dislike of change that I have heard desribed by many New Orleanians as a real identifying trait of the place, and that probably keeps more old buildings here than any conscious preservation policy or mindset.

Philadelphia has strong preservation policies, and was really the first place in the country to have preservation laws. But, as you say about Chicago, those laws are easily bent or skirted when enough money is involved, or a case is made for "economic development." Forget the fact that preservation has been shown over and over again to provide more economic development bang for the buck, and that the benefits are local and non-exportable, unlike a lot of new building dollars.

I think the real difference is the identification of what is worth preservation, though. Both cities overlook the "recent past" modern buildings. Both cities largely overlook the interwar period-- in fact, Philadelphia can't seem to get rid of art deco buildings fast enough. But New Orleans seems so very aware of the architectural heritage that makes it unique, from the
French Quarter to the Garden District's mansions, to the
endless, endless expanses of shotguns and creole cottages.
Even the great numbers of craftsman-style homes from the
20's seem to get a lot of respect-- more than I would have expected.  Philadelphia's problem is that
people in general seem to have a narrower perception of what is
historic, and this problem has been, if anything, strongest
among those in power.

Philadelphia has lost an unbelivable assortment of unique and important buildings, and it's largely due to people like Ed Bacon, who had a very myopic view of what constituted history or worthy architecture. The 50's and 60's in Philadelphia were a time when great focus was placed on the preservation and interpretation of Independence Hall and other colonial/revolutionary sites. The decision was made to recreate a time that never existed by opening up the great grassy wasteland which is now Independence National historical park. This involved the demolition of about 600 buildings, which constituted a really interesting and historic neighborhood. The most notable losses were a number of Frank Furness banks. LIKE THIS. AND THIS. AND THIS. With the possible exception of Lou Kahn, Frank Furness was truly Philadelphia's greatest and most unique architect, but it seems to have taken until the 1970's for anyone in Philadelphia to realize this. Philadelphia is also full of recreations. The sites of interesting 19th-century buildings and streetscapes are now occupied by fake 18th century historic sites. This is not preservation, and it cheapens those colonial buildings that remain-- I personally can't keep straight which are real and which are fake, and I begin to resent them all.

So, getting back to New Orleans... I'm not sure if the civic culture here is necessarily more favorable towards or enlightened about preservation (it may be), but the attitude toward old bulidings is different-- that's an important distinction. Here, it may be less that people care or think about preservation, and more that they care and think about tradition. One of my professors was very fond of a quote that stated that preservation is a moment. Not an action or a practice, but a moment when something is recognized as worthy of special consideration and treatment.  Implicit
in this is that there is a threat that the object needs to be
protected from, and that threat usually comes because the
original use has died.  In cases where the original use continues
and a living tradition ensures maintainence, there is no use for
"preservation."  This is more the case here than in many places.
It should also be pointed out that lack of money can be a great
preserver.  It does nothing to preserve physical fabric in good
condition, but it certainly helps preserve patterns of development
and, in lucky cases, the years of neglect can be reversed.  In
very lucky cases, this can result in a rehabilitated building or
neighborhood that is much truer to its original state than one
which was maintained and upgraded through the years.  This
is a force that is certainly at work here in New Orleans.

And

2007-12-30T12:52:00.000-08:00

Let me apologize for the text-wrapping problem I am having. This blog is readable with Internet Explorer, but still has problems. With Opera (my favorite browser), it's a disaster. I'm not sure why. Maybe I have to stop making posts using Opera.

I have this problem with gmail, too-- another Google product.