I rushed home from LaVita to brush my teeth and J was coming here to meet me. I had enough time to change my purse so I opted for my furry dachsund bag with the chain handle. When I got to the party – the dog Ansel – (a little too cute for a photographer’s dog name don’t you think?) – kind of smacks of an architect naming his dog Corbu – wait that did happen! – anyway Ansel couldn’t get over the bag and developed a love affair with it and followed me around gently grabbing the nose, a foot, whatever he could softly put his mouth around and he would gently tug trying to wrest the dog from my clutches. I finally had to put the dog up on the mantle when I was dancing because Ansel was – how shall I say – OBSESSED with my weiner dog.
Archive for March, 2007
A perfect Friday night – well make that the whole day – Lara gave me a masasge to end all massages kneading deep into the sides of my back that are so tweaked from crawfishing around on this foot. She is learning my body and her touch is other worldly – although when she accidentally grabbed my toe on my right foot (not remembering I had surgery on that one too) I almost hopped right off the planet.
Then I went to see the Tennessee Trio at Le Petit Theater in the Quarter, and just as I was rounding Chartres, with Laurie carping in my ear on the cellphone about our two landscaper choices, I come eye to eye with Richard Ford. Wow! I thought how cool is that? I’m reading Lay of the Land and his beautiful prose just sings to me and the man is walking right towards me looking into my eyes.
The three short plays were good but ended on a little bit of a dire note with the last play being about the absolute base morality that man can devolve into. Yet, what gave me pause was the second play that was so autobiographical it hurt – as Tennessee sits pondering the young boy he has paid to be his traveling companion, who won’t get in the bed with him, he says he hungers for the touch of fingertips on bare skin – it gave me chills.
I was going to head to Brobson’s house for a reception afterwards since that is where Tennessee lived when he was here, but I was hungry so I drove home and right when I walked in the door TL called and said “dinner?” and even though I was going to meet Jerri at 9:30, I figured I had an hour and a half so it was perfect.
We went to La Vita – and hail hail the gang was all there – Fatma, Musa, Bob, Yasar, Lanay, Deedu – shall I go on? – we sat inside after trying to sit in the light drizzle outside and had command central table where we could view the comings and goings of the restaurant – both inside and outside – Emma was our waitress again – a 22 year old pistol of a girl who has a penchant for retro large animal pendants – she had her large green owl on last night.
G had come to join us and then Y sat with us. I left at 9:30 and J and I drove to met G and E down Dumaine and went to M&M’s party where we twist the night away and met all sorts of people. How fun was that?
I crawled in bed at the wee hours still haunted by Tennessee’s words – his hunger for the touch of fingertips on bare skin.
My friend Lisa called me last night and left a message saying “well I know you’re not out dancing after just getting your stitches out” with a little laugh afterwards – ha – guess where I was? Out dancing. Went to a party in Coliseum Square with a fabulous diverse crowd and well, much as I did just get my stitches out – I have happy feet and have to dance – so when the dance music came on, I was out there.
Sitting next to E yesterday we both marvelled at how no one knows what is going on. We got started on a conversation about how there is no leadership, which led to some thoughts on how in local government no one person really has a complete understanding of what is going on and what we should do next, which led E to comment that it is the same in law and how he is surprised how no one really has a handle on what is going on in general much less enough to lead, and that led me to say I see the same thing in my industry (finance) and the industry I report on (media) where, for instance, I am now seeing a media paralysis that is causing everyone to just run in place. That led us to talk about the medical practice where it is readily apparent that the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing.
All of this not knowing leads me to a certain comfort level because if no one really knows what they are doing and there are no clear cut ways to proceed other than protocol established by those who don’t really know what is going on then the world is our oyster to be freely interpreted and invented/imagined/reinvented and tailored to a brand new view.
Now that is what I’m talking about.
Or more importantly will they get it? I ran into Ernie at the Historic Collection today and we both left wondering about Michael Lewis’ potential book on New Orleans and what that might be. How do you describe New Orleans in a way that makes the rest of the world understand why we choose to live here and why this place – redolent with indolence – resonates for us in such a way that we don’t have the ability to live elsewhere? I kept saying it’s because we’ve all come here with a likeness of mind and that the gathering supports the culture. Because I have heard New Orleans music while not in the city but it didn’t feel the same as hearing it here. I have eaten an oyster poboy in San Francisco and it didn’t taste like an oyster poboy here. Maybe it’s indescribable and maybe that is good because if you get it, you get it. But if you don’t, then you live in Los Angeles or Chicago or Salt Lake City.
Lewis said his favorite book is Confederacy of Dunces – I wholeheartedly agree – if you want to know New Orleans – read that book and laugh till your belly hurts. I’ve read it five times and intend to do so again soon.
I went to hear Michael Lewis speak this afternoon as one of many authors here for the Tennessee Williams Festival. He was being interviewed at the Historic New Orleans Collection on Royal Street in the French Quarter. Generally, I don’t care much about hearing authors I enjoy reading, talk, because in the past I’ve found I didn’t really want to know about the author personally, because it has colored my reading of their work afterwards. But I was more interested in what Lewis was going to say about New Orleans and about our state of the union as he saw it from a writer’s eye.
The one thing that came across loud and clear, as he is not one to mince words, is that New Orleans, out of all of the Gulf South that was affected by Katrina and Rita, is having the hardest time getting back on her feet. And it points to one huge problem – one big fucking problem – and that is Ray Nagin. I can’t believe he is still our mayor. I can’t believe I know people who elected him to that position. I can’t believe he has not had the presence of mind to abdicate his role. I can’t believe that everyone doesn’t rise up in arms – none of us, not me, not you, not this city deserve Ray Nagin as our mayor.
Ray Nagin must go
Ray Nagin must go
Ray Nagin must go
Ray Nagin must go
Ray Nagin must go
G called and wanted me to meet her at La Vita – Y was going to be there. I took a long hot shower and dressed the wounds on my feet and decided not to go anywhere. My mom was MIA, and my feet were hurting, and Arlene had run outside to puke and well, I just needed to be home. I heated up a can of Amy’s lentil soup and sat at my table and stared out the window at the bayou. The late afternoon walkers and joggers were out in spades – the weather right now is sooooooo very nice – and I just felt so grateful for every last drop of my life.
My sister called and began speaking that weird affected way she does with her RSDS and her flair for drama and I told her I couldn’t understand her. She said it was because her lip doesn’t move and she has some missing teeth from the trauma. I thought well that doesn’t explain why you are not using verbs – she was saying stuff like “describe house” – “lip no move” – and it was bugging me. I told her I thought she should see a speech therapist and she got mad and hung up the phone.
But I digress – I am particularly grateful for my health – having spent the last two weeks incapacitated because of my feet I understand the blessing of health. I’m grateful for my house – having spent the last sixteen years with an architect and having been hurt by another – it’s nice to know that architecture has and will continue to have such a prominent place in my life. I’m grateful for my mother, who even though she’s eccentric, well because she’s eccentric. And I’m grateful for my friends – the new ones who pass and wave, the old ones who take care of me and the Bean, and everyone in between. I’m grateful for my job that let’s me do work that I feel passionate about and let’s me do it from my home (the LaLa and New Orleans).
Like Tony Montana said – I want the world, Carlo, and everything in it.
Great balls of fire – I’m thankful for my world.
Mom said they had a speaker from nursing home administration come talk to the nurses yesterday. The guy got up and basically gave a speech with the heading – How nurses are failing. Mom said it was horrible, everyone felt horrible, and everything he said was horrible.
What kind of asshole makes a presentation to a group of nurses who get up every morning and go tend to our grandparents so we don’t have to – who clean 80 year-old flabby skin asses, spoon feed toothless, wheel-chair bound geriatrics who don’t want to stay put and are constantly endangering themselves, who humor and touch our elderly to keep them connected to the world – and tells them they are making an F on their report card?
A real asshole is the answer.
F and M were at Swirl and so was another M, who I haven’t seen in a while, speculating he has been MIA because he doesn’t want to run into a special someone there. After the tasting, we all went over to La Vita and sat outside for another stellar night on the avenue. It was Murat’s 33rd birthday and he arrived with Ziggy in tow and there was a gigantic cake from Sav-A-Center – that kind of birthday cake cake that L, man of mystery, loves – we had opened a Bodega El Nido Clic – a Spanish mourvedre with about a third cab and then moved to a barbera. G was hoping Y would show up, but we both couldn’t stay up late enough to wait for that to happen. B&K came over after they closed Swirl and sat down to eat with us.
Fatma is so beautiful – that Turkish nose and eyes and she was wearing a peasant blouse that in and of itself is the harbinger for the warm weather that is upon us. D, a gorgeous girl, with big ringlet black thick hair and again those big Turkish eyes was dressed in a cute summer shift. G looked pretty in her orange print summer skirt.
It’s all good.
A friend called to confess to a one-night stand and ask my opinion. Mine? I’m the social arbiter now? I said, as long as you have one, or two, one-night stands then I don’t see any issues, it’s when you are having serial one-night stands that it is a problem.