NOLA, Part Deux

Okay, shopping and food in New Orleans. Not that anybody cares anything about those two little ol’ things, fragile, petite doves that we are.

On the shopping front, I found a lot of high, a lot of low, and not much on the in betweens. If you like trashy t-shirts (in both senses of the word), New Orleans has you covered. And Mardi Gras throws aplenty. Though $2 for a string of beads that you’d buy in bulk back home seems a bit silly.

On the other side of the coin, I saw a lot of really nice antiques. I mean really nice. And they think very highly of their very nice antiques too, if you go by the price tags. I did a lot of window shopping for those stores, but I don’t think I could even afford to breathe the air inside. There was one boutique that had these 50s-influenced, proper lady dresses, with these STUNNING hats. I didn’t want to shop in that store. I wanted to BE that store. And someday when my lottery numbers hit, I will be.

But until then, I like to buy in the middle range and get something unique to the area when I’m shopping. Down in the French Market, I found a man who was hand making colorful jewelry that I thought was right down my nieces’ street, and a woman who was selling homemade candles in “local flavor” scents. Both very reasonably priced. And of course, I got a box of pralines for my parents. Who doesn’t love a praline? Communists.

And as a “if you go” sort of tip, don’t make yourself crazy about packing toiletries. I found 4 drugstores and 3 markets within walking distance of my hotel. If you forget your toothbrush, you’ll be fine.

Now food. Yeah, I made you wait for it. I found lots of good food, even though I didn’t go to any fancy restaurants. The Gumbo House had to-die-for traditional gumbo. And I’m saying this even though I hate boiled okra. Down at the Central Market I had the original muffaletta. A symphony of deli meat, cheese, olives and bread. If you get one, take a friend. I only got a half, and I shouldn’t have eaten all of it. I did. But I shouldn’t have. Oh, my tummy.

And of course, Café Du Monde. I went there twice. If you haven’t had a beignet, don’t believe the press that it’s like a doughnut. Kinda. But not really. I found the texture to be more reminiscent of Indian fry bread or funnel cake. Dense on the inside, crispy on the outside, hot as $2 pistols. And pure heaven. The chicory-laced café au lait was the perfect accompaniment. You can eat inside or on the patio (listening to a local musician if you hit the right time of day), but one morning I took mine over to Jackson Square to eat by the fountain, and the other I walked over to the river to watch the boats go by.

I think the only “bad” meal that I got was the just okay jambalaya from Café Maspero. Frankly, my jambalaya is way better. I could have that tummy space to better use with more room for beignets.

And on that morning note, I know New Orleans is known for its nightlife, but I’d have to say the morning was my favorite time. The light has this special quality, gentle but brilliant. It’s easy to see why artists are attracted to this town. In the early hours, most of the hard partiers are asleep. The streets are quiet and empty. It’s really just you and the locals. And a bag of beignets and a cup of café au lait.

NOLA, Part 1

Well, a few things about New Orleans. First, yes there is a city here. No, you won't be standing in 3 feet of mold and mud in any of the tourist areas (unless you chose to go on one of the "devastation tours" - I didn't; my heart couldn't take that). There are a sad number of "for sale" signs in the French Quarter and the Wharehouse and CBD areas. But really, it's mainly people in shops, bars and restaurants who are looking around and wondering why you just don't come down for a visit. They'd be more than happy to find you a table or a flashy souvenir.

And I'm going to have to put New Orleans in my top position of friendliest tourist cities. In many places that exist on out-of-towner business, there's a certain amount of locals only behavior that goes on. Your more than welcome to spend your money, but you're never going to be one of us. I didn't get any of that here. In fact, I've had more conversations struck up here on the streets than I have anywhere. And far more just plain "Hello, how are you this morning?" calls than anywhere.

Of course, the sanitation is a little iffy. And I don't think that had anything to do with Katrina. Bourbon St. is by far the worst smelling street I've ever been in. Internationally, the worst smelling street that I've ever been in. But it didn't really seem to be stopping anyone. And the Quarter has a sanitation patrol that goes around sweeping up and hosing down this and that. Brave and hearty souls every one.

And the crime problem is real. Wander out of the tourist areas and you could find yourself having a problem. There was a 4-year old girl shot in the streets this last weekend. Sweet little angelic face, and somebody shot into a crowd and hit her. She's still in critical condition. Unfortunately, this is a crime that could have happened in any one of many major US cities.

But inside the French Quarter and the other areas I prowled on foot, I never once felt uncomfortable. It's a very pedestrian friendly area. I saw just about everything I wanted to without ever resorting to a cab. I take that back. I saw everything my brain could handle in 3 days, without ever taking a cab.

Okay, that's the overview. I think tomorrow I'll get into food and shopping.

Siblings

When I was a kid, I was hyper-verbal (shocker). My Dad taught me to talk early, and swears he’s regretted it every since. I was a mile-a-minute jabber jaw in pigtails. My brother on the other hand, didn’t talk until late. I’ve always said it was because he didn’t really need to. There was a big sister who was perfectly delighted to have an excuse to talk even more as she had someone else to express every thought and need for. I refer to this as the “Justin wants a cookie” factor.

I’ve always looked at this as a big factor in the fact that my brother is one taciturn son-of-a-gun. And he is. Takes a stick of dynamite to get him talking.

But recently I realized it probably did something to me too. The only way you can say “Justin wants a cookie” is to know that Justin wants a cookie. To sense someone else’s needs, unvoiced, possibly even before they realize them themselves. To feel a ripple in the fabric of the universe, a disturbance in the Force – when somebody wants a cookie.

Had we been a little closer in age, I would have been still figuring out when I wanted a cookie when Justin came along. Had we been a little further apart, I’d have been off doing my own thing. But he came along at just the right time to warp my little brain just perfect. I occasionally have this strange compulsion to make sure everybody has their cookies. You covered? You alright? Everybody has theirs? You don’t want a cookie? How about a brownie?

Sibling sh## is a bone-deep thing. It will rise up from some psychic nook you didn’t even know you had and you’ll find yourself doing things you barely understand for reasons that are so ingrained that they don’t even seem like choices any more. That’s just the way it is.

A poem about rain and hubris

You know why it rained today?

Because the weatherman said it would.

And I said, that's what you've been saying for

THE LAST 4 DAYS so

suck it

I'mnotcarryinganumbrellatodayandyoucan'tmakeme

And that's why it rained today.

Scene it, seen it

Okay, I’m probably not going to see 9 (animated dolls = creepy case of the willies; Elijah Wood as an animated doll = sleep with the lights on for the rest of my life). But I do respect that it is trying to do something at least a little different. There are so many concepts that I’m so over that I won’t even consider going to see them. Here’s the short list of movie elements I currently find unacceptable:

Rom-Coms: And here I’m talking the straight up rom-com. I’ll accept the rom-com hybrid (R-C/musical; R-C/mystery; R-C/sci-fi). If it’s just the standard meet cute between cute and cuter, I’ve seen it. Don’t need to see it again. And I don’t care if it stars Hugh Jackman and a clone of Hugh Jackman.

Movies involving the following professions: lawyers, politicians, doctors, real estate agents, fashion designers, architects, writers, mafia assasins and wedding planners. Professions that are weak, but still marginally acceptable: cops, code crackers, artists, chefs, dog walkers, journalists, comedians, socialites, fire fighters and the clergy.

Talking animals: Actually, this was never acceptable. Just stop doing it.

Apocalypse: Anything where a landmark is destroyed (i.e., the White House, the Statue of Liberty, Mount Rushmore, the Christ of the Andes, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, etc.). Frankly, it’s just not that shocking any more. Yawn. Though let me draw a distinction here – apocalypse, no; post-apocalypse, yes. It’s a fine distinction, but one I’m willing to draw.

Jason Statham: Unless he’s going to be playing an accountant from Tulsa who just wants to dance on Broadway. Then maybe. But if he's just going to be kicking someone's ass again . . . it's just lost it's charm.

Psycho-killers: They haven’t come up with a new way to kill people in years. So all they’re doing is making it more disgusting. And here’s a clue, more disgusting is not more interesting. It just makes me wish I hadn’t had all that popcorn.

And of course, I’m not saying that these will never be acceptable again. I’m just saying give it a rest already. And when you pull it out of the mothballs, it will all seem new and fresh. How can I miss you if you won’t go away?