the blur of week 13

This week was the blur of wrapping up work for 2022 and impending friend arrival.
Over the weekend I had coffee with a new friend, sharing our stories of mother-loss (hers 30 years ago and still fresh) and trading tornado scares (her Winn-Dixie had its roof blown off).
On Sunday I was walking in the neighborhood when a woman ran by with a stroller. I need to catch up to the second line, she yelled, so I followed her to a small, festive parade featuring 2 Christmas-themed floats and 2 brass bands, with folks dancing and other folks dragging coolers full of drinks. What a joyous moment.
On Wednesday my pals arrived to hugs and laughs and merriment, and we met up at Bratz Y'all for beers and pretzels and a divine black forest cake. They'd been up since 1am so we said goodnight.
Thursday we had pizza on a heated patio then enjoyed Kitten N Lou's living nativity, with silent-disco headphones, rum hot toddies and so much glittery drag cheer. It rained during the angel's solo but no one moved. Then a drink at Vaughn's, and a stroll by a few bars closer to home.
Friday we were up early for a very chilly breakfast at Elizabeth's, fried green tomatoes and good coffee and some shit-flipping from a sarcastic waiter, then a road trip to Avery Island to tour the Tabasco plant.
I enjoyed seeing the countryside, endless miles of bayou and swamp, and the chitter chatter in the car about life and I-tell-yew-what down-hominess. We were awed by the bottling line, the enormous vats and well-work work stools, then the bountiful gift shop. Back in town before dark and we all called it a night.
Saturday was Xmas eve so we strolled in the cold, sunny French Quarter, dined on pralines and beignets and coffee at Lorettas, oohed over the amazing art at Antieau Gallery, had Irish coffees and banjo jazz at Fritzels, a so-so slice of za, then disco naps and late-night partying at the Phoenix with lots of laughs about the FQ tiny cop cars.
Sunday, Christmas, wobbly and hungover, we nommed breakfast at St. Coffee, mercifully open and serving up toasty bagels with pumpkin seed pesto, delicious burritos and hot coffee. Our friends arrived that evening so we fed them Nola Po-boy fried treats, Bywater Bakery Xmas cookies, and vino verde.
More to come next week as friendcation continues.

patio time (theres a theme here)

Baldwin&Co

FrenchTruck

PeterNPaul

Rosalitas

StCoffee

week 12 and its cake every day

 

My sib and partner visited for five days and geez I’m tired!

They flew in Sunday on the heels of a drenching thunderstorm. I sloshed my way to the library and hopped the express bus to the airport. After dropping off luggage and a brief rest to charge phones, we got coffee at Bywater Bakery and rambled around town, visiting a vintage store and enjoying the post-storm afternoon. A stop at Mardi Gras Super Market netted beads, masks (including an exquisite rhinestone number) and a t-shirt. Dinner was Rosalita’s, then jazz in the FQ and on Frenchmen Street, ending with Treme Brass Band, all of us exhausted.

Monday, coffee and grits at St. Coffee. Everyone had work so we reconvened in the evening for Viet-Cajun cuisine at Bywater Brew Pub, including fried pickles and charred brussels, then over to the holiday market at Siberia (punk art!) and a thorough tour of Robert’s Grocery Store and all the Southern, Cajun, New Orleans special ingredients.

Tuesday we rambled in the increasing heat through the French Quarter in search of cake. Most bakeries were closed, so we made do at Cafe Beignet with their carrot cake, checked out the Backstreet Cultural Museum, tried in vain to buy vegetarian soul food (all venues were closed), then gave up and walked to the Quarter for Central Grocery muffaletta, another punk market, band-aids, and then to the museum for Da Truth Brass Band on the balcony. It was a pleasant evening with stiff drinks courtesy of Donny, an energetic brass band, and two young dancers who moved with joy. Then a quick trip to Goodwill, another vain search for veg-friendly soul food, and finally over to a chain for less than wonderful grits, mac-and-cheese and OK pecan pie.

Wednesday we noticed with the severe weather alerts, that schools were pre-emptively closing, then the museums. I walked my sib back to the Airbnb under lowering clouds and thickly humid heat with a stop for cake at the co-op. My landlord was frantic, insisting we not walk, giving me advice if there was a tornado. I got back home and settled in to watch a Christmas movie only to get an Imminent Danger alert around 3.45 to seek shelter. Shit. This was real. My sib was keeping an eye on the news and weather radar but I was too freaked out, so I followed orders and sheltered in the bathtub with a heavy quilt and some blankets and my charged-up phones. There was wind and drenching rain. The sky was dark, then lighter and green. It got loud, then quiet. Is this when to worry, I wondered. My sib called. There’s a tornado southeast and heading directly our way. Well fuck. We hung up. I pulled the comforter over my head and waited. My partner texted. A niece. A co-worker. By 4.30 the tornado had passed a few blocks to the east and I could finally step out of the tub but I was shaky. Was more coming? It rained hard for another hour. I watched the radar and the rest of my movie, fortified with whiskey egg nog. Later we had dinner at Cochon, my neighborhood empty and quiet, some fences blown over, the streets littered with palm tree branches and debris. Frenchmen Street was empty, all clubs except the Spotted Cat shuttered and dark. We browsed the bookstore and went home.

Blue skies Thursday, and cold. My family’s last day, so we hit the hot spots: Loretta’s for praline beignets, Bywater for chantilly cake, Elizabeth’s for fried green tomatoes and more charred brussels. Dr. Bob’s art estate, another vintage store, and then goodbyes. It was nice to have people here that know me. I say this to friends and they brush me off--well you meet people don’t you--but it’s not the same. Also, we lived through an ugly storm, huddled in our respective tubs, afraid and hoping for the best.

Today it’s back to work. I’ve got gifts to mail and Doreen Ketchens is playing tonight.

week 11 head down and werq

This is the week shit caught up with me.
Tired. Didn't feel great.
I went for some very long walks in the muggy mornings to sweat it out.
The panhandler outside District yelled at me when I didn't buy him donuts (the woman ahead of me in line
told me she'd gotten him coffee and 2 glazed).
I went to an art event but never found the person who invited me.
I bought a Creole cauliflower, creamy white with the most beautiful pale green leaves.
Croissant d'Or served up a rich slice of Italian cake.
I even had vegetarian poboys at Killer PoBoys.
Tomorrow family arrives and I'm excited.

week 10 a clarity

Up to double-digits now, and I’m both sad and eager. I’m enjoying my stay but I’m lonely. I miss people who love me and that I can be silly with. Talking to shopkeepers and co-working space people just isn’t the same.

Sunday last was more of the same tediousness but I was making progress so I got things going early on and walked up Esplanade in search of groceries and coffee on a cool, glorious morning. I don’t enjoy walking across four-lane highways and under interstates but otherwise it’s a pleasant walk. I found some mayhaw jelly (new to me and could be tarter but it’s good enough) and tried Cypress Cakes on my way back. Unfortunately the coffee was bitter and the pastries lackluster. A rare miss.

I reached out to my New Orleans acquaintance about meeting up but he never replied. However, a friend’s daughter was in town so we texted and agreed to meet up Monday. I took an afternoon break to walk through the JamNOLA Festival, then finished up work and headed home late.

Monday: nervous about letting my boss know the tedious project wasn’t quite finished, I was up early, got another batch going, and headed out in PNW-like fog for French Truck Coffee. It was a joy to see my friend’s daughter, who sounds like her Mom and patiently gave me an hour to hang out and talk. She isn’t a fan of New Orleans--it’s busy but slow, she said. As opposed to New York City, which is busy and fast. We also discussed how Southerners seem more closed off than Seattleites to adding new friends. I do wonder. (And the biscuit breakfast sammy from French Truck is surprisingly good: get the pimiento cheese, spicy and tangy, and don’t toss out the herbed strawberries.)

The day dragged as co-workers got snarly about some of their files and I had to stay late to work and then jump on a cousin Zoom and then a friend Zoom. I made it home by 9 pm, so tired I was in tears.

Tuesday I looked forward to ushering but that alas was canceled and my boss needed help with another tough project.

By Wednesday I was so tired it was all I could do to work and stagger home.

But Thursday! Most meetings canceled, I took a rare afternoon break and walked to Rouse’s, shot the shit with a guy complaining about cops rounding up homeless and vendors off Jackson Square to prepare for the Macrons’ visit, then strolled to Baldwin & Co to sit on the patio with hot tea and some reading.

Friday I took comp time and even though I felt headachey and sinus pressure, went for a long hike across town, checking out Honest Bakery (ok pastries, diffident service), and impulsively walking back through the Warehouse District. I stopped at Le Mieux Galleries and was amazed by the art (especially Kathryn Hunter’s witty embroidery).

On my way back along the river I walked through the shopping mall, gazed at the Mississippi, and lurked by Jackson Square hoping to see Macron and madame. A Dickie Brennan's waiter in sharp red lipstick poked her head out a French door. “What’s going on out here?” The French president, I said. She made a face--bah--and shut the door. This day I stopped at St. Coffee for more patio time, then Rosalita’s for a watermelon margarita.

By Saturday I felt better and got writing done before the big gala event. I got emotional walking there, with people in festive holiday headdresses and glittery clothes, hearing Vince Garibaldi playing, and literally no one I know to wander with. But, I went to my shift and worked for two hours, checking wristbands, giving directions, surviving one “don’t you know who I am,” and evicting one would-be party-crasher. I’m sure there were notables but I only recognized the football player guy from Southern Charm New Orleans. There were gowns and sequined coats, high heels and big hair, a seven-foot tall man in a kilt and top hat, two men in tuxes rolling a giant wooden cent around (“big money coming through!”), and of course jazz. A Spanish-themed quintet, a vibrant second line complete with Baby Dolls I’d met earlier, a free shot of whisky courtesy of a woman bartender I chatted up, plus an all-woman jazz band complete with washboard. Outside in the muggy night as tourists gawked and the beautiful people lounged and a horn played from the balcony, I felt a moment of gladness.

weeks 8 and 9

Let’s call week 8 a bye. I had business to take care of and it superseded everything else.

Week 9. A purportedly short week at work (3 days) with of course 5 days of meetings crammed in.

I took myself for long walks in the morning chill, stopping in at District Donuts for pumpkin cheesecake and lemon meringue donuts. On a whim I stopped by Loretta’s even though the website said they were closed, and a sidewalk sign out front proclaimed “Yes we’re open!” So I popped in for a pecan tartlet and a pumpkin tartlet.

Tuesday ran long so I took a quick break to call a friend, walk to Frenchmen Street, grab an Abita at the Spotted Cat, and hear a band play “St. James Infirmary.” It was 20 minutes but it was enough. I wanted to stay for Meschiya Lake and her band but I had a competing Zoom.

Wednesday work ran even longer (8am to 8pm) and when I took a break around 2pm to dash to the café around the corner for food, the café was closed, the streets clogged with camping chairs and families, and a brass band tootled on the corner in 70 degree warmth. Wonderful, but I was still hungry.

My Thanksgiving Day invitation evaporated and work remained horrific so I spent the holiday doing tedious, tedious tasks, but I have a lot of free time on my hands and hopefully the tediousness will pay off in the end. I cooked up some pasta with Cajun tomato sauce and vegetarian meatballs and a ton of Parmesan and after a family Zoom I settled in with tartlets and a nip of whiskey.

Friday I was signed up to volunteer for a couple of hours, but the venue was closed so I hopped back on the bus and went back to the tedious work.

Saturday:You guessed it. More tedious work! But I went for an early run before a storm rolls in, picked up Evan Williams nog and some breakfast and nearly got run down by a fleet of school buses. Walking back along Elysian I saw a girl in a spangled outfit. Then a marching band. And another. And horse trailers. It was the staging ground for the Bayou Classic. I watched for awhile as the bands tried to drown each other out, warming up, girls doing high kicks, parents and coaches looking stressed and excited. 3 cowboys rode up and down Elysian Fields as they waited. It was surreal and wonderful.

week 7: TCOB

After another no-internet weekend, getting back to work Monday felt almost like a relief. 

I said almost.

*
On my walk to the work space I pre-emptively grabbed 2 paperbacks from Little Libraries, then downloaded 6 books to Libby, and installed Hulu on my phone.
Just in case.
Monday and Tuesday were killer work days. Back to back meetings for 5 and 6 hours in a row, including one really stressful one where a co-worker lost their shit on me, telling me I have been going behind their back and undermining them for a long time now. I'd known things weren't perfect
but this was a blow. Shaken, I asked for time to reflect, and went to my next Zoom.
I didn't sleep much these two nights. Between ending my lease with the shitty landlord, and this interaction, I was feeling shaky.
During a brief break on Wednesday I ran over to the museum to see Charmaine Neville perform with her band. The room was packed so I had to sit in the lobby for a few minutes, waiting for people to leave. When I got the wave, I ran in. What an entertainer! She had the normally staid room doing
call-and-response, the piano player busted out an accordion, and by the end everyone was cheering and laughing. Her music truly restored me.
On Thursday I had a long talk with my supervisor about the co-worker situation. It went OK but I don't know what the outcome will be. My sibling advised documenting everything and going on record with HR. The internet was going down at the co-working space (of course!) so I packed up and got myself
over to the Sneaky Pickle for their tofu and buffalo cauliflower salad. The salad was good but the service was weird.
Friday, a day off for Veteran's Day! Both the New Orleanians I'd hoped to meet up with ghosted me, so I got myself up early, went over to the WWII Museum for a commemorative event, picked up takeout eggs, grits and a biscuit from Willa Jean, then jumped on a Zoom with a dear friend to catch up
for an hour. On my way back from Willa Jean I heard the silkiest clarinet of my life playing on Royal Street. I stopped to watch a 4-piece band playing on the corner outside Rouse's. The woman playing clarinet and singing was confident and just so so good. Doreen Ketchens. She's played the
Kennedy Center. Why she was outside a grocery store with a sousaphone player, a bassist and a drummer is anyone's guess but it was magical. Even the Rouse's security guard was dancing, his pistol banging against his thigh.

*
A quiet afternoon of cleaning, reading and writing, and preparing for what may be a tough week. Note to self, the Willa Jean's biscuit was not great. The grits though! And the coconut cake. Mmm.

week 6 setting myself free

It’s been a week of credits and debits, death marches and weird phone calls. And trying to let go.

Monday was Halloween, and the city was even more festive than usual. As I walked to my work space I passed an older man dressed as a wizard, carrying a sceptre topped with a skull. I’d hoped to have friends here to enjoy the holiday with but it was not to be, so I worked, walked the neighborhood checking out costumes and festivity, and then took myself home.

Tuesday: All Saint’s Day, and an unsettling one. I found out my landlord let himself into my house without permission (he insists it was a “miscommunication” but it cemented my feeling that it’s time to go, so I’m working on it). I started the day with a long run to check out a grocery store on Esplanade. Halfway there I came upon a car accident, two smashed, smoking vehicles, a trio of kids sitting on a curb shaken and crying, adults around making calls and looking anxious. I felt so helpless, bought juice at the store but by the time I made it back an ambulance was pulling away, and everyone had vanished.

Wednesday I volunteered at a local thrift store, took the bus both ways and hung up signs and cleaned and met some characters, including a Navy vet who proclaimed, “If you love New Orleans, New Orleans will love you back.” I hope so.

Thursday I had a rare quiet afternoon so I headed over to the New Orleans Jazz Museum, slipping in late and enjoying 30 minutes of a jazz pianist singing her heart out.

Friday -- knowing thunderstorms loomed on Saturday -- I took a long lunch break and hotfooted it to the Backstreet Cultural Museum, a compact but vibrant space in the Treme where the founder’s daughter gave a history of masking and Mardi Gras Indians. I lingered over the beautifully beaded creations, the photos of Allen Toussaint and Troy Andrews and Treme Brass Band members. Then picked up lunch from I-Tal Garden (a delicious mushroom po-boy and seasoned fries), walked through Congo Square where TanzaFest was setting up, and headed back to work.

Storms and wind moved in overnight Friday so Saturday is a writing day, coffee from the hipsters at Petite Clouet Cafe, hello to a new friend who teaches CPR, and settling in.

week five: shes cranky

A side note before I recap: people go on and on about how friendly Southerners are. Well miss me with that. I’ve been left on read by a couple folks here and it feels about the same as good ole chilly Seattle.

Anyway.

Week five has been quiet and sometimes lonely.

Monday the internet at home was futzy so I ran back and forth to the co-working space a few times. Tried to have a birthday call with the fam in the evening and gave up in tears after it froze for the third time. I texted my landlord and she was snippy about it. I heard her talking animatedly next door and felt so angry. Then I had an Incident in the kitchen with a possible rodent or big bug; I panicked, closed the door and got into bed, scared and tired. I didn’t sleep much. It was a really low point.

Tuesday I couldn’t sleep so got up and went for a walk in the heavy, muggy, gross morning. Saw a dead possum laying on the ground near my landlord’s trash cans, belly up and covered with flies. UGH. When I got back, I asked my landlord to come over and she did, with bug spray and news that her dog had dragged the possum inside and through her side of the house Monday night! That was the loud talking. Christ. I cleaned up and made it through a long day of meetings. Talked to a friend who may be coming to visit soon. May be. Maybe.

Wednesday and Thursday not much to report. I went for a couple of runs, bought roach traps at the hardware store, had delectable coconut cake from Bywater Bakery, tried the carrot bacon at Horn's (but felt discouraged by the neighborly chit-chat that skipped right over me), wrote, worked, missed my partner. I did meet a super nice woman who teaches CPR at my co-working space, we chit-chatted and she was so positive and encouraging when I said I was a writer. Got takeout from the Thai place on Royal but it wasn’t great,and got yelled at by a panhandler so I skipped a possible happy hour and went home.

Friday I worked and then got myself to a care facility on Elysian and assisted a documentary filmmaker with interviews with LGBTQ elders about the AIDS crisis in New Orleans. It was a privilege and also really fun to be on a set, arranging chairs, scouring the facility for pictures we could use for backgrounds, grabbing tissue when one subject wept, admiring another’s vintage diamond brooch. Afterward I helped move the gear to a storage area, got lost with the director on a rutted-out street, then relaxed and smoked a spliff. I’d thought we were going for a drink but the director was tired and distracted and the night was ebbing away so I unwisely walked in the dark down Franklin for home.

Saturday I’d hoped to museum hop but there were thunderstorms and a tornado warning all afternoon so I stayed in. Rain came down in buckets, and the wind picked up. The internet gave up the ghost at 1.30pm, not to return until 3pm Sunday. It was a long, quiet day. Friends had sent me a care package (heart eyes emoji) so I read a Neil Gaiman book and an old paperback and eventually went to bed around 9pm.
By Sunday morning, still no internets (ANGRY emoji) so I got dressed, messaged the landlord, and headed out. I walked in 70-degree sunshine to the Ogden Museum of Southern Art, passing Saints and Raiders fans decked out in gear, glitter, body paint, and costumes. A twinge, wishing I was part of the fun, but the museum was quiet and packed with amazing Southern art. Afterward I checked out some galleries along Royal, including my old favorite Antieau Gallery where I picked up 2 zines, and then Mortal Machine and their punk rock art.
Then over to Fritzel's for an incredible Irish coffee and a jazz trio, average age probably 70. (Livewire says Richard "Piano" Scott but it wasn't.)
Still no internets at home so I went grocery shopping (Community Coffee was half off so I got more chicory coffee) and then to the co-working space. Felt very down and discouraged. 
This week: hoping to volunteer at a thrift type store and pull myself together. Until then.

*

I’m trying to stay positive and not get discouraged. Most of the friends who promised to visit have gone very silent. So I’m guessing I’m alone until mid-December. It stings. I’m lonely and miss my partner and fellow-adventurer most of all. But, I’ve been finding volunteer opportunities--there’s a film festival next week and possibilities at Habitat--so I’ll do what I do which is figure shit out.

 

museum, rest, repeat

I neglected to write about some fun times in Virginia and DC in September, with some of my favorite people in the world. A dear one and I spent a day on the National Mall, checking out the mesmerizing if limited Kusama exhibit at the Hirschhorn, then browsing the other galleries. Next was coffee and a stroll to the Museum of African Art, its three floors packed full of captivating art and photography. A downpour caught us as we left, and I looked at the Capitol in the distance, imagining what it was like on J6. The traitorousness of that day still sickens me. We took refuge under an old bridge and finally made our very damp way to the Museum of the American Indian. The grounds are gorgeous and welcoming, and we spent another few hours learning and browsing.The exhibit on Native American imagery in logos was fascinating and infuriating.

Then, dinner time! Gypsy Kitchen offered up a busy sidewalk table, with lots of people watching (leather pants, crop tops, teetering boots) and delicious Mediterranean food.

The next day was an early one, throwing our suitcases in the car and heading back into DC to catch a bus to New York City. Traffic slowed us down but we arrived around 5pm into sunny afternoon madness at Madison Square Garden/Penn Station. A 20-minute rush across town to check in at our hotel, to find the room wasn’t ready. So, a change of clothes, dropping the bags off with the bellman, and out into the city. We wandered down Third Avenue and found pizza, warm cookies, and a thrift store, in that order; when the room was ready we checked in, rested a moment, then headed back out to the chaos of Times Square to soak up the city. On our walk back, my companion looked up and saw the lit-up Chrysler Building, as a pedicab circled blasting Jay Z’s “New York.” Corny, but iconic.

The next day we fortified ourselves with coffee and pastries from the nearby Daniel Boulud establishment, then headed to the Museum of Arts and Design https://madmuseum.org/exhibitions. What an amazing venue. We lingered over the Machine Dazzle costumes and the jewelry exhibit. Across the street though Magnolia Bakery beckoned, so we got banana pudding and a slice of red velvet cake and headed to Central Park to rest and enjoy a treat. Next was a dash through the American Folk Art museum https://folkartmuseum.org/ and its touching and clever Morris Hirschfield exhibit.

Another break for coffee, and my companion had a thought. She’d never visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Was I game? My feet said, Hell, no but my heart said Yes so we walked uptown, passing a line of thousands for a Global Citizen concert.

We spent about 3 hours in the galleries, not even close to enough, but my pal was happy and we finished the evening at a sidewalk Italian restaurant with (not great) pizza and a glass of bubbly. My partner flew in that night, sweaty and tired and minus a guitar.

The next day was good-bye, and we embraced tearfully at the newly remodeled Amtrak Station at Moynihan Hall, fortified with Blue Bottle coffee. Then my partner and I hopped Metro North to visit family for a few days. Not much to report other than a quick hop north to Burlington, Vermont, for the aforementioned apple cider donuts, tart apple cider, and wonderful heritage apples.

Then it was back to New York City where I checked out the FIT exhibits on Balenciaga/Dior, and shoes, https://www.fitnyc.edu/museum/exhibitions/index.php hit a couple more thrift stores, dined on margaritas and Mexican food with pals on the Lower East Side, then caught another Amtrak train.

some kind of normal: week three

Last Monday was a day of airport goodbyes, or at least see you later’s. Feeling wistful, I decided I’d try to figure out public transportation back to town, from the airport. I couldn’t find any public bus signs in baggage claim so I asked at the information desk, where a shrugging man pointed me out where the rental car buses pick up. I stood out there for awhile, not seeing any signs, so I consulted google again and it pointed me upstairs to departures. Finally I saw the familiar RTA sign, with 2 different stops marked. Hooray! I boarded 10 minutes later and quickly realized I was on the bus a lot of hospitality workers take into the city. This bus didn’t have accurate sign notifications so I looked as best I could out the window, trying to determine where we were. Finally I saw Canal Street, googled a passing address, and realized we were at my stop! I made a quick stop for organic produce (a waste of time but oh well), stopped for a fresh-baked sesame bagel at Flour Moon Bagels and started the hour walk home.
It was a quiet night, of acclimating myself to a mostly-empty space.

*

Tuesday was a tough work day and also my first day at the co-working space. I don’t love being near a kitchen and chatty people but the wifi is fast and there’s coffee and I can jump into a private pod if I need to. So, it will have to do. Work has been stressful and unforgiving so I spent most of the day revamping a struggling project. The walk home is pleasant and I chef’ed up dinner, listening to a podcast and feeling a little less haggard.

*
Wednesday: today was double shot day (covid + flu) so I tried to hydrate, did some work, and then headed out to Walgreen’s. Nothing happens fast here and this was no exception, but the technician was friendly and I grabbed Rosalita’s tostadas and an elote on the way home, in case I needed comfort food. I dialed into a super friends happy hour Zoom later on, to catch up on what my PNW pals have been up to.

*
Finally, on Thursday, my legs agreed it was time for a run. It was in the 50’s so I pulled on leggings and headed out to Rouse’s. A very drunk guy was proclaiming his love of Halloween and pumpkins (PUNKINS!), so I grabbed salad stuff and acknowledged that they were pretty great punkins, and headed back out, stopping at Ayu Bake House on my way home for a vegetarian muffaletta stick (major YUM) and an Ayu Bun for later. 

*
The weekend! With a Cox internet outage looming, I got coffee and a pillowy, cinnamony apple fritter at St. Coffee and sat on the pleasant patio enjoying the birds and the succulents. The owner came out to wipe tables and lamented how hot and dry summer had been; she’d watered and watered. It looked beautiful, I said, and walked myself to the co-working space. I spent hours pulling documentation together, tried to tune out the pizza party (ugh), figured out how to use the fancy coffee maker, then went home, changed shirts and hustled to my volunteer gig, with a pit stop at Louisiana Music Factory to pick up a fake book. The evening show was not well attended, despite a guest artist from Argentina (the attendees barely outnumbered the band), but I chatted with employees and a bitchy bartender, got a free whiskey drink, and made it home in time for a friendy-friend Zoom with pals.
This was my first museum weekend so I got up early, spent an hour at the very quiet co-working space doing some writing, grabbed iced coffee--strong and not acidic: win!--from Baldwin & Co, then walked up Esplanade to the New Orleans Museum of Art. I lingered a moment crossing Bayou St. John--I haven’t seen much water other than the Mississippi of course. I spent 90 happy minutes wandering the galleries, especially pleased by the exhibits showcasing Black photographers, and up-and-coming artists. The 91 bus did not materialize so I walked back down Esplanade in the heat, took a detour through Treme Fest, then, wilting a little, I trekked down to the Spotted Cat for Saturday afternoon jazz. I had thought the band Doro Wat might be Ethiopian but it was of course four white guys (le sigh). They were solid and good though, playing and singing the classics with panache, despite the lurchings of drunk tourists (five tipsy tanned girls in pink “NOLA 2022” ball caps, the usual bleating oldsters). I ordered a Miller Lite and grabbed a seat, only dropping in a tip and leaving when the old guy next to me wouldn’t quit humming. Then it was back to the co-working space, the soundtrack a band warming up for a wedding reception next door, then home for a hot shower and date night on Zoom, bittersweet but nice.

*
Today’s agenda: writing and resting, and plotting a road trip north.

so much music: week two

Tuesday, I did a volunteer shift and met some very bored college students. It was a HOT (85 degrees F plus 90% humidity) day so I walked in the shade as much as I could. Later on, had a video chat with family and a sweltering dinner in.

 

On Wednesday I found a cheaper grocery store (hooray), worked some, then toured a co-working space hoping to find a backup to this unstable wifi at my rental; the co-working space is amply furnished with beefy internet, luscious a/c and all you can drink coffee. Um, yes please. After a friend Zoom hh, we walked to Bacchanal to check out the Wednesday night wine situation. http://www.bacchanalwine.com/ 3 youngish white dudes were playing the most atonal jazz, so aggressively unmelodic that I’m pretty sure they were having a laugh on all of us. The courtyard is magical though, lit with solar fairy lights under the fragrant sky. To refresh ourselves, we stopped afterward at https://www.parleauxbeerlab.com/ Parleaux Beer Lab for a tasty drink on a nearly empty patio.

 

Thursday was horrendous work-wise, and also a day to go back to the pharmacy (no joy, they wouldn't refill my prescription for another day), then wander down Frenchmen to check out The Three Muses We perched at a bar table and enjoyed rootsy jazz played by a clarinetist and pianist, older gentlemen whom you might have taken for accountants. Also made a pit stop at Louisiana Music Factory to peruse the incredible collection of New Orleans and Louisiana music, as well as the instructional books. 

Friday. The weekend! I staggered through two stressful meetings amid bad moods and crashing wifi, went back to the pharmacy and this time successfully got my stuff, dropped by St. Roch Market for roti canai and a beer at Laksa NOLA — St. Roch Market (strochmarket.com), then down to Congo Square in the balmy evening to check out the Reggae Festival. Nola Reggae Fest (neworleans.com). While the music wasn't stellar--the sound guy spent at least 2 hours jumping on and off the stage, to the consternation of the very good local band--the passing scene was amazing, the crowd dressed to impress, vendors selling African-inspired goods, delicious food, cold beer, and a pleasant vibe all around.

Saturday we were determined, despite heavy heat and humidity, to get to the Crescent City BBQ and Blues Festival at Lafayette Square. Crescent City Blues & BBQ Festival - The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival and Foundation, Inc. (jazzandheritage.org) We pre-gamed with coffee and avocado sandwiches from Satsuma (both surprisingly meh), made a quick stop at the Pepper Palace to stock up on hot sauce, Pepper Palace - From Wild to Mild!, then made our way, already hot and tired, to a very crowded square, sipping on a vegan Vietnamese iced coffee from the Orange Couch.  The Orange Couch (theorangecouchcoffee.com) We spread out a blanket and waited as a fairly whiny white girl finished up a set (why did she say she was from California), then enjoyed Mem Shannon and the Membership. The food lines were too long to get barbecue, so we abandoned ship and walked toward home, stopping by the reggae festival (sound still not good), then by Loretta's for a praline and a warm bag of praline-stuffed beignets (OMG)Loretta's Authentic Pralines – Loretta's Authentic Pralines (lorettaspralines.com). At home I laid on an ice pack for awhile, feeling achy and overheated, facilitated a call for a conference, then summoned all my energy to go back to Lafayette Square for the evening. It was not my best night; tired, hot, cranky. I apologize again to my very patient partner. We got ourselves happy with beers and other libations and settled in to enjoy the confident, rich delta blues of harmonica-master Charlie Musselwhite.

Sunday was my partner's last day to party for awhile, so we fortified ourselves with bloody Marys at J & J's, went home to hydrate, waited out a blistering rainstorm, then headed out in the hot wet afternoon, up St. Claude to grab an umbrella, then bean and avocado tacos and a Mexican beer at Rosalita's Backyard Tacos (rosalitas-nola.com). It was a three band night and each one was a pleasure. (The Bourbon Street crowds, including a lot of drunk and happy Bengals fans, were not great.) First up, the Marla Dixon Band at Live jazz - Fritzel's Jazz Bar | Nightly live jazz performances (fritzelsjazz.com). Marla Dixon plays trumpet and belts out classic jazz songs like a pro, pausing and vibing when the Sunday night crowd of street-racer cars roll by outside on Bourbon Street.  After that was a quick hot slice of cheese pizza from Mango Mango (surprisingly tasty) and then Marty Peters and the Party Meters at 21^st Amendment, a tiny space which the 4-piece band good-naturedly filled with well-played jazz classics. Last stop of the night was d.b.a. for our beloved Treme Brass Band. Treme Brass Band | New Orleans LA | Facebook. As the first time I saw them years ago, founder and drummer Benny sat on a pew outside the bathrooms, patiently waiting for the set to start. I wished him a good evening and kept going. The band started quietly and patiently and built to full-throated jazz celebration, with a Sousaphone, a piano, and at least two guest horns sitting in. When the singer came to the barroom floor to pass the bucket and sing Basin Street Blues I felt teary and happy. 

My third week begins somewhat quietly and sadly. More to say in the days to come.

one time in New Orleans: week one

After a 10pm Saturday arrival and restless sleep in a new place, we put on shorts and walked in the balmy morning to Bywater Bakery | Breakfast, Lunch, Cakes, Coffee & More! | Restaurant for coffee and a heavenly apple fritter. This was stock-up day, so we trudged to the Dollar Store for soap and supplies, and to Robert’s for fairly expensive groceries. The Saints game was on the TV over the liquor department, and when Minnesota scored in the 4^th quarter, the entire store seemed to erupt in yells.

On our way back we again walked past the Bywater Bakery where a jazz duo was playing and singing, so we lingered on the corner to listen.

Later in the day we walked through the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. Even though it was barely four p.m. the day was festive, with a few day drinkers already overcome, and lots of tour groups and looky-lous.

Monday was also a shop and stock day, with another trip to the dollar store and one to Walgreen’s so I could buy calamine lotion for my legs which had broken out in an ugly red rash. Heat? I wondered. No more pants or shaving my legs for now. I talked to the volunteer coordinator at a local museum about volunteering there once a week. Around 4.30pm we wandered over to the Bywater Brew Pub - Brewery, Restaurant & Bar | New Orleans for happy hour at a pleasant sidewalk table, enjoying locally brewed pilsener and Marzen, fried pickles, cheesy fries and a tofu banh mi. The waiter said the cook had been in Portland for awhile but she was back to cook Vietnamese food.

Tuesday: back to work for me, unfortunately. A quiet day of cooking at home, getting to know the neighborhood and working. And, buying a fan, because: heat.

Wednesday: after I finished work we hotfooted it across the FQ to Home - The Bombay Club - The Bombay Club (bombayclubneworleans.com); I had a Manhattan and my partner had a martini, along with Bombay chips. A jazz pianist and a vocalist entertained at 8pm. Then we tried to go to Café Istanbul to see Kid Merv but like squares we got there too early and walked home.

Thursday: a jaunt to Rouse’s Grocery for coffee and vegetables, then a pit stop at the Spotted Cat to sit on the patio with overpriced Dos Equis beers and listen to a vigorous jazz quartet and chat with some retired folks and pet one man’s dog.

Friday: I took the day off, fed up with the bad Wi-Fi. After coffee and a sitdown at the park with my partner’s guitar, we walked ourselves to Magazine Street to stock up on a few thrift store items. It was a hot hot day and around 2.30pm we made a pit stop at San Antonio for 2-for-1 margaritas, chips and salsa and black beans, and bean nachos for me (including a luscious queso). We managed to squeeze aboard a very crowded street car to get back to the FQ, and slowly trudged our way to Port of Call - New Orleans' Best Hamburger (portofcallnola.com) for a beverage.

Saturday: my legs were worse so I got up early to make an urgent care appointment. The PA thinks it’s dermatitis (probably not scabies or ringworm, he said, comfortingly). ☹ A pal was in town so after I did some writing and a few errands we met the pal and his girlfriend at J&J’s nearby, for Abita beers and some good old west coast catch up time. Then we parted ways so I could pick up my prescriptions and then my partner and I could hop the 55 or 57 bus up Elysian Fields to Gentilly Fest (neworleans.com), where Big Sam's Funky Nation (bigsamsfunkynation.com was to play at 7pm. A man at the bus stop saw us running to make the bus and gave us a day pass; we rode in air conditioned luxury about 30 minutes north of the Bywater, to find ourselves at a bustling festival with vendor tents, a host of food options and excellent music. One man, Michael, stopped us near a booth selling bejeweled sunglasses. How did you find this? He asked, after we said we were from Seattle. He shook our hands and wished us well. The Big Sam show was amazing, so confident and soul pleasing. We nearly missed our bus back, confused by a road closed sign and absolutely no sidewalk. A merciful bus driver waited a few seconds so we could climb aboard and ride a nearly empty coach back to EF and St. Claude.

Sunday: up and out to see a klezmer band that was part of NOLAxNOLA (neworleans.com) at Bywater Bakery. A crush of people who left when they figured out what klezmer music is. We had coffee and an oatmeal cookie and enjoyed the weirdness. Then at 2pm I had reservations at StudioBE to see Brandan "BMIKE" Odums art, which was enormous in scale and ambition and impact. Then a jaywalk across town to try and buy bus passes (fail: the machine was broken), a pit stop for fresh hot beignets, a meltdown on my part when we missed the street car, then realization dawning as the streets immediately clogged with fans exiting the Super Dome post-Saints/Seahawks game. We started to walk towards our final Nola x Nola event at The Jazz Market — The New Orleans Jazz Orchestra / NOJO (thenojo.com), dodging cars stuck in traffic, passing the also-stuck street car, huge tailgate parties with smokers and grills and loudspeakers, one heckling the slowly moving cars; and then we were there, 30 minutes late but also right on time, as the band started about 10 minutes after we arrived. We were 2 of 5 attendees and it was intellectual, precise, heady jazz, in a deeply chilled perfect-acoustics auditorium. I sipped ice water and enjoyed. Afterward we still couldn’t find the street car and the neighborhood went from ok to burned-out-car very quickly, so we hurried back under the overpass and into the FQ. For dinner we wanted po boys, but Daisy Dukes was closed and Siberia no longer serves food; so SNEAKY PICKLE + BAR BRINE (yousneakypickle.com) it was, for a delightful dinner: martinis with garnish adventure, fried green tomatoes, okra seared and tossed in gochujang, fries in a tangy vegan ranch sauce, the most amazing pillowy gnocchi in a peanut sauce, and then a Snickers pie for dessert. AMAZING. 

Monday: Another week is already starting and neither of us slept well, so we took ourselves the six blocks to Home - Elizabeths Restaurant Nola for an 8am breakfast outside. As we sipped our first coffees, two men rolled up, bleary and laughing, just off work at a karaoke bar. They ordered breakfast-rita’s and full breakfasts and laughed it up with us for a bit. My partner enjoyed a duck hash/sweet potato waffle, while I had a classic eggs and hash brown brekkie, with a fluffy buttery biscuit and a bowl of the creamiest grits. The servers were kind and friendly. It was the only way to start the week.

apple-mania

Recent travels took bsp to the Northeast and I was excited about finding apple cider donuts. It took a couple of days, including a creepy Airbnb with a copy of The Amityville Horror prominently featured on a bookshelf, and a detour to the local airport to fetch lost luggage, but finally we made it to Shelburne Farms and its apple-centric farm stand. I bought Macintosh apples, which have a tart, winy taste that reminded me of being a kid, hot apple cider, also tart and crisp, and a half-dozen apple cider donuts, crisply fried, creamily apple-y and dusted with cinnamon sugar. It was one of those times when reality and memory happily coincide.

mine and only mine

I've dreaded writing about this because I've treasured this refuge for so long.
But: I'm giving up my writing space, for now.
Why?
Reasons. Money. Travel. Not wanting to become stale.
I'll find a new one in 2023 but for now I've been consolidating, moving things, making Goodwill runs.
Last weekend I painted, covered up some garish decor from the previous tenant, took down my ideas cork board, and painted over pencil sketches made by a friend and collaborator a few years ago.
It is satisfying work. But I'm sad. I've spent many hours at my desk here, thinking, writing, sleeping, stalling, drinking coffee, making lists and above all yes--WRITING. At least eight stories and part of a memoir were birthed and labored over here.
I hosted a few pre-funks here, ate vegan food with my boo, stared into Zoom meetings, wished the neighbors next door were quieter.
But mostly I've treasured this quiet, private space, the hours that were mine and only mine.

done? or done-done

 With writing, especially fiction writing, I never quite know when I'm done.
"Done." Done-done.
I'm better now at stages, the wild and creative and shaggy rough draft, the first rounds of edits, then letting it all rest for awhile, like a yeasted dough. Something has to ferment in the prose, or my brain, or both. Then the return, another round of edits, and feeling around for threads, that idea or theme that emerges, reveals itself, clarifies everything, making it easy to see what stays, and what is mercilessly (but not unemotionally) excised.
So: rough draft, edits, resting, threads, edits.
And then?
I like to tinker, adding lines, removing them, seeing how they feel and read.
I ask myself questions: did I go deep enough here? Does it all make sense? Have I found something new or meaningful to say or investigate or rage about? Is there a sense of longing, understanding, wanting more?
You know when bread's done, by the baking time and aromas.
With fiction, for me, it's still a guessing game.

smoketember is upon us

Years of hot summers and smoky forest fires usually mean leaden skies and terrible air by August.
This year the smoke held off until this weekend, but Smoketember is fully here.

A grass fire along highway 104 nearly deterred us yesterday from a cabin visit. Two yellow-suited firefighters stood watchfully by as we passed a thin smolder of smoke.

In the parking lot of a grocery store, the sky glowed ashy gray and neon reflected in the premature dusk. My phone blared with an "Imminent extreme alert" from a nearby county, regarding an evacuation order.

 

memetime

Also.

And:

@glautomotive Cant win at life can i?🤦🏻🤷🏻‍♂️ #MG #fyp ♬ original sound - GLautomotive

 

 

that was some weird shit

Last week a friend and colleague from college days organized a work-friends reunion.

I experienced that moment my grandpa always talked about, when he went to a VA reunion of his war buddies and walked up wondering, "Who are all these old guys?" I legit had that thought when one couple approached our patio table. Who are those old people. And then: crap!

It was fun but weird, most of us having lost touch other than the occasional social media stalking. Most of the friends I'm still connected with couldn't make it but I table-hopped and caught up with some fellow snarks and even met a couple new people. One guy with his arm in a sling regaled us with the story of how he broke the arm, which included a kiddie pool, a Wiffle bat, and a trip to Harborview. I also learned a former supervisor and Dave Matthews super-fan passed away last year.

I don't feel like the same person I was when we all worked together but it was good to remember a shared history, raise a glass, and then go the heck home.

what I'm watching (and wowza)

Movie time!

Yesterday I watched "Prey," a "Predator" prequel and a thrilling, economically told story. Watching Naru, a young Comanche woman, fight Predator of course, as well as French Canadian trappers and the scoffing of her brother and his warrior friends is a real treat. I had a writerly appreciation for the script, which sets up layers of detail and meaning that pay off later on in the movie without being too heavy handed. The overall theme--the impending eradication of native tribes--and the drum soundtrack are both haunting.

Other movies:

--"Plan B," about two young women in South Dakota trying to acquire Plan B within 48 hours of an oh-shit-sexual encounter, has a wry and funny vibe that reminded me of the Harold and Kumar movies. The story sags in the middle but mostly I enjoyed it, due to the strong female characters and sometimes sharp script.

--"Some Kind of Heaven," a documentary focused on several retirees at "The Villages," a community in Florida. Boomers gone wild in a way, with one old guy looking for a sugar mama, another getting caught with cocaine. Interesting and kind of sad.

--The new Dr. Strange. Don't waste your time. What a bloated mess. Ugh.

the heat

The heat this week was nearly too much.

We had a couple days in the 90's, which ain't great in the unairconditioned PNW, but the kicker was the two nights where the temps stayed in the 70's. Impossible to cool your living space, even with an ancient window unit. It felt like living in a stinky sock. By the end of day two, I felt distraught. Just sweaty and tired and breathless. Fortunately, Metro buses are air conditioned to the point of feeling like walk-in freezers, so I hopped aboard and cooled off briefly. 

Yesterday it rained and although it's still humid, I wept with relief.

laughing, yes

I needed a laugh today so here are some links that made me lol.

@brodywellmaker (mostly on Tiktok) doing a split screen checkout video.

Erotic Lizard Fanfiction

This is my new alarm. I am not kidding.

Also how did I not know about "The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo"??

why we're all tired (missed one)

why we're all tired

It's been a wild week in politics/news/life.

the dudes are back (to being really gross)

Now that we’re out and about again (sort of), the dudes are back to being really gross.

At a music event in Everett, a pleasant night on the waterfront listening to a funk band, an old guy in a stars-and-stripes hat grabbed my arm. Your coat looks like a muppet, he slurred. I backed away, just looking at him. He circled to my other side and took my other arm. A muppet, he repeated, in case I’d missed his brilliant witticism. I backed the other way, pulling free, wishing I could scream, Get your fucking hand off me you drunk asshole. But I said nothing and he wandered back to the beer garden. It didn’t seem worth the confrontation, so I just stood there, feeling like an object, the enjoyment drained from the evening.

*

Two nights later I sat in the back of a hot bus after a long day, four stops from home. Three guys hopped in through the rear doors, laughing, one carrying an open bottle of vodka and a trumpet. The first one saw me and moved to sit beside me, even though there were four empty rows of seats. Well hello, he said, as the two other men trooped in behind him.

I got up. My instinct in these situations is to get out immediately, or risk five minutes of painfully not responding, or responding politely and noncommittally even though I'm tired and just want to go home.

Where you going, the guy said, as I edged past them.

My stop is coming up. I’ll let you all have the back, I said.

What? You just assume I’m with them? I don’t know them! the first guy said, angry now.

My bad. Sorry, I said, and hurried to the front of the bus.

The three yelled insults from the back. She’ll let us have the back. Who does she think she is. Thank you soooo much. Stupid bitch.

I sat up front, staring resolutely out the front as they got nastier. No one else spoke and I got off the bus a stop early, at a busy intersection, in case the men followed me. I shouldn’t have sat in the back after dark, was my first thought. Not: how fucking dare they?