Dangermond.org

My affirmation today:

This day I declare that I am a spiritual magnet that attracts to me all of the good of God that I can receive. 

Parker opened another Jazzy’s on Earhart right by Carrollton where the old funky daiquiri shop used to be. His prices are cheap cheap cheap – but that is not why you need to go – the roast beef poboy is simply the best thing you will put in your mouth. The last two months have been difficult as he gets used to this new location, off the beaten path. It wasn’t a charmer for the daiquiri place because it isn’t a place you are passing. BUT IT IS WORTH GOING – simply the most delicious roast beef poboy. 

When I go to Swirl on Tuesday or Friday nights, I like to get all dolled up. Why the hell not? I work at home, most of the time in my workout clothes because I’m either exercising or at my computer, so it’s nice to comb my hair, put a little color on my lips and eyes, and don a cute outfit from my closet and wear high heels. Laurie called me a princess the other night. “Hey Princess,” she said. “That’s Queen to you,” I told her drolly. 

To each her own is what I say. Clothes are accessories, they are not who we are. Sometimes I’m a slob, and sometimes I look cute depending on my mood and what is my priority. When I’m working at my desk it’s comfort – when I’m running errands, it depends. But to go out at night to have cocktails and see people, I like a little something something going on with myself. How we view each other and judge each other should be through tolerance – a young black boy wants to wear his pants midway down the crack of his butt – go for it. You want to live in your sweat pants – it’s a free country.  

A media source and I were chatting back and forth on IM today about the state of the union in Media. Seems two big bulge bracket firms just let go of a lot of media analysts covering traditional media. He made a reference to the star bellies and we got going on that and Dr. Seuss and punk rock. I told him the Dead Kennedy’s used Sneetches in their lyrics to Holiday in Cambodia – the Sneetches star bellies became an insignia for being different – for looking different – and for who is in and who is not: 

“Holiday In Cambodia”

So you been to school
For a year or two
And you know you’ve seen it all
In daddy’s car
Thinkin’ you’ll go far
Back east your type don’t crawl 

Play ethnicky jazz
To parade your snazz
On your five grand stereo
Braggin’ that you know
How the niggers feel cold
And the slums got so much soul 

It’s time to taste what you most fear
Right Guard will not help you here
Brace yourself, my dear: 

It’s a holiday in Cambodia
It’s tough, kid, but it’s life
It’s a holiday in Cambodia
Don’t forget to pack a wife 

You’re a star-belly sneetch
You suck like a leach
You want everyone to act like you
Kiss ass while you bitch
So you can get rich
But your boss gets richer off you 

Well you’ll work harder
With a gun in your back
For a bowl of rice a day
Slave for soldiers
Till you starve
Then your head is skewered on a stake 

Now you can go where people are one
Now you can go where they get things done
What you need, my son:. 

Is a holiday in Cambodia
Where people dress in black
A holiday in Cambodia
Where you’ll kiss ass or crack 

Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot, [etc]

And it’s a holiday in Cambodia
Where you’ll do what you’re told
A holiday in Cambodia
Where the slums got so much soul

WWOZ sent me a CD for my donation I gave at the end of the year – there is a song on it that is called “Be Easy” and it is a cautionary tale to young men that if they want to get the girl, they need to be easy and she in turn will come to you real easy. Be Easy it keeps saying – hold a little space, a little mystery – for the woman to come to you. 

All this space and mystery and advice works so well in a perfect world where everyone is coming into the game with the same intentions – but I’m here to say I doubt that is what is going on in 99% of the cases. Some people can’t shake their handicaps even though they want to badly. Some people say they want love but really they don’t. All of love’s a game – you either win or lose. You can say it’s timing, you can say it’s meant to be, but you can’t say it’s because you did this one thing wrong – because when you got it bad for someone and they got it bad for you – you can’t do no wrong. 

When it’s right, it’s right. It’s easy – just like Sunday morning. 

I’m going to be a red angel, Ivette will be a black angel, Jerri will be a white angel and Fatma will be a pink angel. That’s the plan for Mardi Gras. Tomorrow night I’ll be a PussyCat, Thursday night a Geisha, Endymion – who knows – maybe just a Mardi Gras sprite. You gotta love a costume. Or at least a wig. 

I was reading this blog because it has something to do with work and a couple of the entries struck a chord with me. I always claim to the world that I was a love baby, the youngest of six, bounced on some knee (a father, mother, uncle, aunt, brother, grandmother) for most of my childhood years. I was the only child breast fed of the six. And when everyone asks me how I came from this dysfunctional family and wound up so (god forbid) well adjusted, I just connect the dots to the love fest that was my life. 

Now, ahem, let’s balance the scale a little by saying that my family definitely put the fun in dysfunction – I’ve had my nose broken by my father, all sorts of incestual whatnots from here and yon, a mother who was keen on role reversal so I play mom and she played bad daughter, not to mention everything else that goes along with family craziness. BUT I do feel well-adjusted and I do feel that I deserve to be loved.

The whole reading started getting me down a little bit because of something someone told me recently – their inability to understand why they are loved – and I started wondering if the proper amount of oxytocin wasn’t delivered as a child, and wasn’t reinforced in the child rearing stage, then it might not be learned so easily or excuse me for being in a hurry, so quickly.

Makes me want to go hug babies and kiss all over them. Made me smile to remember my grandma Mae Domenace – in her later years she went to the hospital and rocked newborns. It’s why yesterday at the parade I took little A off of his mother’s hands, and held his four and half month body close to mine and fed him his bottle while the parade was going on — when his mom came over to get him afterwards, she thanked me for giving her a break and I said, “my pleasure.” [Perhaps some oxtocin released my way too!]

The rest of the world is in a somnambulist haze and here in the Gulf South, in New Orleans, Mardi Gras is in full swing. Aside from all the float parades that rolled yesterday, there was Barkus, where the dogs get to come out and shine. Although truth be had, some of those dogs didn’t look too happy – especially those little shaky ones. That’s why it’s best to bring your fake dog out for Barkus – I brought Evita, the dachsund purse, she is a crowd pleaser no matter what the occasion – and she looks real to boot – can you tell the real from the fake?




Evita doesn’t get scared by any of the loud parade noises and she gets a lot of treats since she’s so cute. Here are a couple of my favorite pics from the parade:







And home in the comfort of their sofa at the LaLa were the two dogs that really steal the show [even though we are saying prayers for Taylor – whose cancer is getting the best of him – we pray he goes peacefully on his own so his mistress doesn’t have to make the horrible decision]:

The neighbors all came over this morning for some breakfast. R&A brought the mimosas and when we sat down and said a prayer – Happy Mardi Gras! and thank you for the food. Some of the simple routines in my life like having breakfast with my neighbors and looking out at the bayou and watching Lucky & Loca tear up two stuffed animals in five minutes and arguing about Hillary and Obama – just make my life special – what can I say?

We are NOT taking the dogs to Barkus as Loca almost pulled the fingers off my left hand chasing a squirrel this morning and Lucky is too much to handle in a dog parade and Arlene just isn’t going to budge from the twenty paces in front of the LaLa. So we dressed them up and toured them around the neighborhood for their own little parade this morning – Arlene went as a Black Bean, Loca has her “What Happens on the Sidewalk Stays on the Sidewalk” tee on, and Lucky was an angel: