dangerblond spies a handsome lad; the big daddy state July 1, 2006
On Thursday, after getting milady packed and off to her early flight, I walked down to the Chicago Art Institute and had lunch and spent the afternoon. They have a fantastic impressionist and post-impressionist collection there. Among the many masterpieces are Van Gogh’s “Bedroom,” “Drinkers,” and self-portrait, Renoir’s “Two Sisters,” and “The Rowers’ Lunch,” the enormous “Paris Street; Rainy Day,” by Gustave Caillebotte, numerous Cezannes, including a version of “The Bathers,” Toulouse-Lautrec’s painting with the green face on the right, and Seurat’s huge “La Grande Jatte,” which is unfortunately behind glass. Of the earlier work, there was an incredible portrait by Fragonard that looks nothing like what I associated with Fragonard.
Their modern collection is vast and I even saw some Chagalls that I liked. Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks” is there, as is “American Gothic,” which was originally exhibited there. It’s also behind glass, unfortunately. The thing I love about impressionist and modern painting is the brush strokes, and you can’t really see them with glass over them. There were also many paintings by one of my favorites, Marsden Hartley. There are several paintings by an artist named Ivan Allbright, whom I never heard of. They were really affecting. And, curiously, he was commissioned to to paint the aging portrait of Dorian Gray in the 1940s movie. The portrait is on exhibit. Dangerblond has a thing for art that has been in a movie, so that was cool. I was reminded again of how much I love John Singer Sargent and how totally creeped out I am by the paintings of the artist Balthus.
I had plenty of time, so I was able to revisit one of my favorite things - the Thorne Collection of Miniature Rooms. This is a section of the Art Institute that is in the basement. It consists of 68 one-inch-to-one-foot scale minature rooms that represent different “periods.” They were commissioned by a Mrs. Thorne who was married to the heir of Montgomery Wards. She researched the periods and styles, but they are very idealized and romanticized. She had a huge workshop and employed minature makers to carry out her designs. They are very detailed and the installation and lighting add to the fun. There were two little girls in there ooohing and aaahing over each one.
I went back to the House of Blues and was picked up by a driver, Andrew, who was very curious about New Orleans. I told him some of my impressions on the way to the airport. He was shocked that “it hasn’t been taken care of down there yet.” He was under the impression that things were much farther along here than we all know them to be. He certainly didn’t think New Orleans should be abandoned. We also talked about Chicago. It is a thriving city, but a couple of days of reading the Tribune showed me that their “leadership” is every bit as corrupt as ours. Probably more, since there is a lot more money to kick around up there.
When I got to the airport, there was another of the curiously common situation involving a security check-point with 200 people lined up like cattle and then another security check-point steps further down with no one in line at all. This is a travel tip from dangerblond: ALWAYS go down to the second security check-point, there is no one in line there.
At the appropriate gate, there was already a crowd. I looked around for empty chairs and my eyes fell on an attractive man wearing glasses and reading a book. Hmm. May as well sit in his row as anywhere else. I sat a few chairs down from him, put on my glasses and got The Sun Also Rises out. When I decided to turn my head and check him out, he was checking me out. Excellent. I also saw the title of his book. The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs. That sounds like something dangerblond would like to read. I continued reading my book, occasionally glancing sideways. I saw him get up and walk to the restroom. He was about six feet tall, the towering dangerblond’s minimum height threshold for males. When he came back from the restroom, he sat down across from me. Bingo. Heterosexual; dangerblond’s non-negotiable sexual preference requirement.
He was so friendly I thought I knew him from somewhere, especially when he told me he had directed and acted in plays. Our paths don’t seem to have crossed before though, but we know some of the same people. In fact, when he sat across from me I realized that he was quite younger than me. He was very quick and very funny. Under polite questioning, he revealed that he lives in New York but is a New Orleans native. He works in the corporate world, but on the more creative end of the spectrum. We boarded the plane and there was an empty aisle seat next to me. It stayed empty until, sure enough, he came and sat next to me. The flirting commenced on both sides and he made a reference to David Lee Roth’s “Hot for Teacher.” I took that to mean that he considers the age difference an asset rather than a liability, so I am proceeding accordingly. My goodness, what an enlightened fellow he turns out to be.
So, yeah, dangerblond’s got a little thing going on with a young man whom we’ll call Tadpole for now. It’s very enjoyable. He has a very positive attitude and is basically happy. He’s apprehensive about the future of New Orleans, but not at all gloom and doom. He doesn’t hate his job, hate his life or hate his family. It seems to be a pretty hate-free zone. I think his stage experience has left him with the ability to know where to leave the drama, which I very much appreciate.
Since I have been getting all this attention from Tadpole, It has been almost impossible for me to work up any righteous indignation about the doings of our state government. Almost, but not quite. I see that Blanco has signed the smoking ban. I hope all my fellow blogofascists are happy. I am not at all with the current zeitgeist on this one. I have a practical and a philosophical problem with this idea of the government, rather than a property owner, banning things that are not illegal. I also wonder what the hell Rob Marionneaux is up to.
Marionneaux says that he proposed this law because of a desire to protect people from the heath effects of smoking and because studies have shown that business in restaurants goes up after smoking bans are enforced. As for protecting people’s health, which Governor Blanco used as her justification for signing the law, am I the only person who thinks this is a bad precedent? After all, if we want to get serious about protecting health, why don’t we ban drinking? If you think there are no “second-hand” effects from drinking, talk to some of the people who have lost their loved ones to drunk drivers. If we are so worried about the health of restaurant workers, why don’t we mandate insurance coverage so they can get free pap tests and prostate cancer screenings?
Also, let me ask you to think about this: as the new law now provides, a bar or restaurant can allow smoking in the areas where gambling is allowed. We can call this the Video Poker Machine Sales and Marketing Provision. Here is an illustration: My favorite haunt is the Delachaise on St. Charles Avenue. It’s a wine bar that serves good food until 1:00 a.m., very rare to find these days. They currently allow smoking and the people who go there are the kind of people who don’t give a crap if you smoke and if they do they will go somewhere else. There are no video poker machines. As a result, they will have to disallow smoking starting January 1. Unless they install some video poker machines. So, the patrons of the Delachaise, who like to eat, drink and smoke, will now have to forego their smoke unless they want to play a few hands of video poker.
As for Marionneaux’s contention that business has been proven to increase after smoking bans were enacted, why is it that he is aware of this brilliant business strategy but the professional restauranteurs of New Orleans are not? If the market supports smoke free restaurants and bars, then why does the market need the state legislature to mandate it for them? I am particularly irked by the list of places where the new law allows us to still smoke. “Private Homes” are one of the places enumerated where the law does not reach. Well, thanks, guys. I appreciate your not micro-managing the goings-on in my home. I just can’t figure where you get the idea that it’s OK for you to obstruct legal activities in my neighbor’s place of business.
On the same page of the newspaper, I see where there is going to be a new law that doubles the waiting period for obtaining a divorce. Women in this state have been scared half to death, run out of their homes and have had to do whatever it takes to take care of themselves and their children, but our morally repellent state government has passed laws that will affect women’s rights. The government is going to decide whether or not to carry a pregnancy to term. The government is going to tell you when you can obtain a divorce. I am very disappointed that the men and women of Louisiana are putting up with this shit. The ridiculous buffoons in Baton Rouge like Ben Nevers didn’t do a damned thing for you when you were dragging your kids all over creation and putting them in school in Texas. Now you are going to let them even think for one delusional minute that they can control your body or your decision to end your marriage? You know, I am having trouble deciding whether or not to get a hysterectomy. It would be a lot easier if the government mandated them for women at a certain age. If they are willing to do all the thinking for us, what’s stopping them?
Louisiana is kind of like the canary in the coal mine of right-wing hegemony. If you want to know what it’s like when a state welcomes polluters and gives them tax incentives while it cuts budgets for health care and education, check out Louisiana. If you want to know what it’s like to never be free from the influence of one, and only one, religion, move to the Bayou State. If you want to know what it’s like to live in not a “Nanny State,” but in a state fully infused with patriarchy, the “Big Daddy State,” if you will, come on down to the Sportman’s Paradise. If you want to know what it feels like to have a hypocritical state government that preaches keeping government out of your lives while it cynically sticks its nose into your very bedroom, become a citizen of Louisiana before it washes away.
thank you for loving the blues June 29, 2006
After my beauty sleep, Shannon and I stopped off at Brasserie Jo and had steak tartare and champagne. Remember when I said I was going to stop eating out so much? Well, I lied. After that, we went to Michigan Avenue and scorched our credit cards. Shannon needed to buy some shoes, so we went to Nordstroms. While she tried on normal-looking shoes, I walked around and looked at the selection. Having been in New Orleans for so long with no desire to shop, it looked like the most enormous showroom of shoes in the world. When I looked closer at them, I thought I must be getting old. The new style is very high heels and ankle-straps, kind of a 1930s look but with painfully high heels. I swear, I couldn’t imagine anyone wearing these shoes except a hooker. I even took a few photos because they were so bizarre-looking. I forgot to pack the USB cable for my camera, so the photos will have to wait for a day when I feel like shoe-blogging. I have to admit that I have pretty sedate taste in shoes. I am very tall and I wear a size 10. If I wear colorful, busy, tacky shoes it looks I am walking around on two Mardi Gras floats. And I am not one for very high heels since I am no longer with the very tall ex-Mr. Dangerblond. I think I stuck with that marriage for way too long partly because I could wear high heels when we went out. We also visited Sephora, Benetton and Kenneth Cole, all of which benefitted from these two New Orleans would-be fashion victims.
Our dinner at Kevin was incredible. Shannon called the food “Japanese fusion.” Whatever. It was creative, complex and delicious. And after seeing the erosion of restaurant service in New Orleans since the flood, we felt like royalty in the hands of our server, Victoria Vanourek. This woman should open a school for waiters. She is certified master sommelier, having actually passed an exam for that purpose. Kevin has an extensive wine list that impressed even Shannon and Victoria was on top of every wine on it. We had a Chateau Neuf du Pape with dinner. I had tuna tartare (when I like something, I do it to death) and then Yukon king salmon with risotto. Shannon had morel mushrooms and blue-fin tuna. Everything was exquisitely prepared, but Kevin does not use salt. The incredibly discreet Victoria sneaked up next to Shannon and asked, “is everything seasoned to your taste?” Well, no, we wanted just a speck of salt. It appeared in a tiny white saki cup with a silver spoon. After all that food, we decided to drink our dessert. There was eiswein, which is very rare, for $11 a glass, so I had that. It was better than a nectar cream snoball. To my utter amazement, Shannon asked Victoria to just choose a dessert wine for her. She never trusts waiters to choose wine. Our girl came back with Sineann late harvest gewurztraminer, which was not only delicious, but “Sineann” is the Irish spelling of Shannon’s name, something unknown to Victoria. I’m not saying that I expect waiters to have extra-sensory perception, but it certainly makes for a wonderful evening when they do. We tried our best to recruit Victoria to move to New Orleans, but she was too smart for that. She has heard tales of how some of the biggest names in New Orleans restaurants simply abandoned their employees to fend for themselves after Katrina, and she is looking for more of a committment than that. We couldn’t blame her.
After dinner, we went for a smoke in the hotel bar and were happy to discover that there was a fantastic blues band playing in there. Shannon relaxed in one of the plush over-stuffed chairs and I sat on the banquette. A waitress served cocktails. Shannon and I are in agreement that going to the House of Blues club in New Orleans can be as much of a pain in the ass as it is fun because you simply cannot sit down anywhere and you have to fight your way to the bar to get a drink. The band played some great songs and even their own version of “Sweet Home Alabama.” The lyrics went something like: “Sweet home Jamaica, where the weed grows so high. Sweet home Jamaica, ’scuse me while I kiss the sky.” Sitting in a comfortable incense-perfumed environment with the band playing and the waitress serving, it was like the House of Blues had read our comment cards and changed everything to make it more to our liking. The band was hot and the guitar player even hotter, so after a while I suggested we sit at the bar so we could be closer to them.
We were immediately set upon by three very muscular-looking guys. They had just come from the David Lee Roth concert. They bought us drinks and the one named Mark, a plumber, proposed marriage to me while massaging my shoulders with huge hands. While I was thinking it over, the one named Larry got on his knees and put his head in Shannon’s lap. It was Thierry’s worst nightmare come true. I told him to quit it, but he couldn’t keep his hands off Shannon. Seeing the look on Shannon’s face, I broke off my engagement with Mark and we came up to our room without finishing our drinks. I am still mad at that pushy Larry, but it’s nice to know that an old grandma can still attract a horny drunk plumber. If he lived in New Orleans, I would have a few projects in mind for him at Chateau le Maison Dangerblond.
you must spit June 28, 2006
Shannon says it’s crucial to spit wine out when you go to a tasting. She says that even when you spit, your body still absorbs 4% of the alcohol. I just can’t stand spitting. That was one of the things that drove me crazy about Don, he was always clearing his throat and then spitting. Yuck. So, we had oysters for lunch and then went to the afternoon wine tasting where I practiced spitting. I almost spit wine all over Shannon, but I managed to keep it pretty clean. It is much easier to spit when you are in a room full of very refined-looking people who are doing the same thing. There was a very tall guy there and Shannon gave me the “do not flirt” look, so I was behaving. All of the wines at this tasting were Australian. I’m not a huge fan of shiraz, but the cabernets were delicious. There is a fad now for sparkling shiraz, which tastes like the Cold Duck that was popular in the 1970s.
I cracked Shannon up with a story about my grandmother and her sister who once went to Hawaii to visit my uncle when he lived there. It was their first airplane ride. They went with my aunt’s mother, now passed away, who everyone called “Arbie.” My uncle bought them first-class plane tickets. After they were in the air, the flight attendant came around asking everyone if they would prefer champagne or Cold Duck. “Well, I’ll have champagne,” said Arbie. “I never did like duck, much less cold.”
Staying here at this hotel, ordering room service and eating oysters for lunch unfortunately has me thinking about my trip to San Francisco with Steve, who turned out to be completely full of shit. I’m sure he is somewhere now obsessing over his self-obsessed cheating wife. Good luck with all that, dude.
bacon of the month
Shannon’s official reason for being in Chicago has to do with The Grateful Palate. The Grateful Palate is a wine import company, but they are most famous for their Bacon of the Month Club, where you can have “artisan bacon” delivered to your house every month. That’s a habit I’m not sure I want to develop, lest I have to change my name to “dangerhog.” Yesterday, a “welcome basket” was delivered which contained two pig glasses, a plastic pig-nose mask, a pig pen (for writing, not for containing your pigs), several tiny miniature pigs (which will very soon find themselves attached to one of dangerblond’s decorated plungers), a bacon-scented “air freshener,” and a very unappetizing-looking bag of “bacon brittle.” I’ll bet they have a lot of that lying around!
Last night, I went down to the bar to meet Shannon. While I waited, I eavesdropped on the conversation of three guys at the end of the bar. One guy owns property in New Orleans and is looking to buy more. One of the others said, “but don’t you think it’s just a matter of time in that place?” I introduced myself and told them I lived in New Orleans. They were surprised when I told them about the American Library Association convention going on in New Orleans right now. Shannon came in and got interested in the conversation. The one guy who was being very negative about New Orleans started really trashing the NOPD. I thought he was over-doing it, but I can’t defend the New Orleans police after they made themselves look like a bunch of venal cowards on national television. Because of that bad reputation, it appears that people in other places are assuming the National Guard was called back in because the NOPD are incompetent idiots or criminals. Then, this same guy asked us if we carried firearms. No. He looked incredulous and asked if we didn’t think we needed to get some firearms. No. This guy would have fit right in with the clueless Northshore Republican contingent.
Asking us about guns reminded me of a long time ago after my apartment in the Bywater was burglarized. My mother’s current husband bought me a gun, a small .32 caliber pistol. I was still kind of freaked out about the burglary, so I accepted the gun and he taught me how to load and shoot it. I brought it back to the house where I had moved on Prytania Street and I stuck it as far underneath the mattress as I could get my arm. Then, I totally forgot about it. Much later, I moved to Don’s house and an artist friend moved into my former place. When he moved again, I told him he could have my old bed. He called me on moving day and said, “Um, Kim, I was taking the bed apart and, um, I found a gun! And I think it’s loaded!” At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, then I remembered putting the gun under the mattress. “oh, my god! I forgot about that! Be careful, it IS loaded!” I asked if he wanted it and, being a guy, he said, “oh, hell yeah! Cool!” I still feel responsible for that gun, and every time I think about it I hope to god no one has used it to kill another person.
After that, we left and went to join the winos in the wine bar. Shannon had been up since 4:30 a.m. because she had an early flight, so we didn’t hang for very long. The next book club selection, chosen by Meredith, is The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway. I had picked up copies for Shannon and me before I left New Orleans and I read a couple of chapters on the plane. I have never read anything by Hemingway except The Old Man and the Sea, which I found to be a dead bore. I’ve always thought I must be missing something when it comes to Hemingway because I’ve never felt like reading another of his novels. I have thought of Hemingway as a “guy thing” and Fitzgerald as a “girl thing.” Well, even though Shannon and I were tipsy and sleepy when we got back to our room, I had to read some more because I am totally hooked on the book. I couldn’t put it down. I ended up reading for about two hours before I went to sleep. Don’t tell me how it ends!
This morning, poor Shannon has to go to a wine tasting. I really can’t imagine tasting wine first thing in the morning, but it goes with Shannon’s territory and she loves it. She put on her sterling silver pig pin and left me here to blog, drink coffee (which tastes like Louisiana coffee - one more excellent feature of the House of Blues Hotel), read the Chicago Tribune and look out the window where it’s raining and about 79 degrees outside. When she finishes with that, we are going to lunch and shop until the next wine-tasting. By that time I will be ready for the taste of wine so I am joining her for that one. Shannon reported that the dinner last night, which was at the Blue Water Grill, was delightful. She had scallops and squab, then they brought out lamb. By that time, she was sated, so she didn’t even taste the lamb. She met one of the hottest new chefs in town, Kevin Shikami, and arranged for us to have dinner tonight at his restaurant, called, appropriately enough, “Kevin.”
I was checking all my usual blogs this morning and Shannon and I were excited to discover that her husband, Thierry, has been written up by Ernie the Attorney! Ernie is a big fan of the Delachaise. Shannon called Thierry and told him. She asked if he wanted to read it. and he said, “no. I already know myself, why should I read about myself?” Then, they reviewed yesterday’s World Cup game and complained about the officials. Thierry is the only person I know who wouldn’t immediately download Ernie the Attorney and read about himself. Maybe it’s a French thing.
toddlin’ town June 27, 2006
I had a very pleasant flight, partly because I was upgraded to First Class, but mostly because the weather was perfect and it was an up-and-down straight shot from New Orleans to Chicago. First Class still has lunch! I sat next to Lee, a very attractive and nice man who is, tragically, married. I told him about my blog and he told me about his internet radio show. He had been in town for the American Library Association convention and was returning to his home in Connecticut. He told me that he had a wonderful time in New Orleans. He had seen a jazz funeral and ended up on Frenchmen Street, which he loved. He had even checked out prices on condos in the Quarter. He said it was impossible to tell that anything bad had happened until he got out of the downtown area. Yep.
My cab driver told me that the House of Blues Hotel is “always full of celebrities.” I wouldn’t recognize most celebrities if they came up and smooched me, so the place could be crawling with them for all I know, but I haven’t spotted any. When you walk into the lobby it smells of incense, which is sold in the gift shop along with t-shirts and folky art. Being from New Orleans, I am kind of used to the folk-art look, but it’s still a pretty cool hotel. David Lee Roth is playing at the House of Blues Club next door, but I have no interest in him at all. The Go Gos, in whom I am very interested, are playing after I leave.
When I knocked on the door, Shannon ran to open it, and yelled, “come on in, they’re winning!” She was sitting in the bed eating a room service lunch and screaming at the television. Futbol. Right after I got here, France scored their third point and beat Spain, which puts them in the quarterfinals. Shannon screamed and jumped around the room for a while, then she called Thierry and e-mailed Katherine in Vienna. Katherine immediately e-mailed back that she had watched the game with a bunch of French boys and they were all going crazy. I warned Shannon to take it easy because she needs to start training for the quarterfinals. They can’t beat Brazil without Shannon. Shannon said Thierry is “mad” because she and I are in Chicago having fun. Heh Heh.
The House of Blues has a great wine bar attached to it, Bin 36. Shannon and I had a glass of sparkling wine there and then she left to go to a business dinner. She said it would be more business than dinner, and I saw her leave with a group of serious-looking guys in suits. Not dangerblond’s scene. We are going out later tonight with the fun group. While I finished my wine a young man came and sat in the chair next to me. He was wearing a very nice white shirt with monogrammed French cuffs, a tie and the whole nine. He was an attorney from Los Angeles. We started talking and, to my amazement and great enjoyment, he let loose with a profane tirade against Bush and Cheney. I am used to that from my blue-jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing friends, but to see this very buttoned-down fellow light into the Preznit was hilarious.
Then I walked around a little and discovered that the hotel is right in the middle of things. It’s right next to the river and next to those two round towers that the locals call “the corncobs,” where Steve McQueen drove the car into the river in “Bullitt.” It’s windy, but the wind is very warm. I walked down to the Frontera Grill and sat at the bar. A young guy from Seattle sat next to me. I was still thinking about Bush and Cheney, so I made some remark and he said, “you know, we’re not all like that.” Right up until that moment, I thought he was cute.
