smoke if you have them January 31, 2007
Yesterday morning I went to the corner store near my house that keeps changing its name. There were two women and a man in there wearing dark suits. They were fretting over what kind of cigar to buy for someone. I was waiting behind them. Gradually, I realized that they were on their way to a funeral at Lakelawn-Metairie and they were buying a cigar to put in the coffin and bury with a dead relative.
“Do you think he’ll like that? I wish I knew what kind he liked.”
The middle-eastern man behind the counter patiently waited until they chose one and paid for it. When they left, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I guess he should have some happiness.”
I smiled and nodded, but I was thinking, “I hope he already had some happiness, because now it is too fucking late.”
endangered pleasures January 29, 2007
I started my new job today and it was not too bad at all. It’s a friendly, diverse office. There was a good king cake on the table. The young attorney I’m working for seems very happy to have me there. He has a pile of work to do, and I was able to hit the ground running. I have to say that the things I learned as a paralegal have been invaluable. I’m very glad I learned my way around a law office before I went to law school.
I actually would have been very happy working as a paralegal, but it has intrinsic drawbacks that I couldn’t deal with. For one thing, even though a paralegal usually has a college degree and even a paralegal “certificate,” a legal secretary with no college degree usually makes more money. I think that will eventually change, but I didn’t have time to wait around.
We had our costume meeting for Mama Roux yesterday at Vivian’s. I made a pink tool belt and I beaded a blow-dryer and a curling iron. On Saturday night, when you see the hot pink-wearing residents of Mama Roux’s Beautician’s Village coming down the street behind the big pink Beauty Shop float, look for me. I’ll be wearing a pink cowboy hat and a ton of make-up.
Vivian sent me home with a project, decorating some giant Mardi Gras combs for gifts to give to the other captains at the KdV Captains’ Dinner. I dressed them all up with beads, feathers and king cake babies. I watched the first season of The Wire, loaned to me by fellow KdV member Ashley Morris, while I worked on the combs. Ashley, you were right, I’m hooked. I’ve got the next two seasons in my Netflix queue. That is a fantastic show to begin with, and then to watch it while I am learning more about urban crime than I ever wanted to know is just amazing. I must have thought to myself 50 times, “damn! I want some Real Police!” Ya’ll feel me?
As much as I hate about the times that we live in, there are some things that I just Pure-D love. One of them is the luxury of watching a whole season of a TV show (or even the whole run, if you have Netflix) at my own (fast) pace. I don’t like to get caught up in a TV storyline and have to wait to find out what happens. I hate being manipulated by cliffhangers. It’s great when you get to a cliffhanger, like when Kima goes to the drug buy with Orlando, and after the credits roll you can pop in another DVD and find out what happens.
I also hate commercials. Although they’re not a problem with HBO shows, they ruin most television for me. I’ve taken to waiting until the DVD comes out. I think commercials are evil, really. I sometimes wonder what television would be like if everyone just paid for what they want to watch and they didn’t watch anything else. I don’t think there would be so many idiotic, crass television shows if it was a true meritocracy of entertainment. It seems to me that there is a layer of “middle-men” (”middle-persons?”) who have no taste, and they are deciding what is going to sell soap. Someone absurd person is deciding that people want to watch Paris Hilton on TV. Do you know anyone who wants to watch Paris Hilton on TV? I didn’t think so.
I have been on a creative juggernaut. I haven’t felt like being around a lot of people, so it worked out well. I missed the dinner with Dave Coustan from Earthlink (sorry, Dave, but, you know I love you, don’t you, babe?) AND the Irma Thomas benefit birthday party for Grace House, for which I bought tickets. I just kept having idea after idea and I couldn’t stop. I kept thinking, “I have to go to Liuzza’s! I have to go to see Irma Thomas!” but I didn’t want to lose the feeling. That creative impulse has become more elusive and more appreciated since I decided to become a lawyer. I’m sorry to all the people I stood up, and I hope they’ll give me another chance when they see what I’ve been creating.
I finished my Krewe du Vieux costume, and I made two big “hair dryer” stands for the float. The hair dryer stands are to hide the “works” for the fabulous hair dryers under which our King and Queen, Roxanne and Ed Newman, will be ensconced. Since I went and got a job, I can’t help with the float assembly, which will take place, as is the Mama Roux tradition, on the day before the parade. I just hate to miss it, but duty calls. Besides, my new employer has been nice enough to give me the Friday before Mardi Gras off for Diva Day. Little does he know that I spend the whole year protecting his endangered pleasures.
In addition to the Krewe du Vieux kreations, I am damned near finished with my beaded bustier for the Divine Protectors of Endangered Pleasures (Divas), which will have its annual luncheon and promenade in the French Quarter on Feb. 16. I decided to go against type this year and dress up as an angel. A long time ago I bought a bag of milagros from Mexico and I’ve had them around, so I sewed them onto pieces of fabric and put them on the bustier as thought they are petitions to a saint. I know, I know, but without the whorey stockings and boots, it looks positively Victorian. I’m working on a halo made from a Christmas wreath and toilet paper rolls. Stop it, ya’ll. You just wait, it’s going to be heavenly!
Now that all that’s out of they way, my thoughts have naturally turned to plungers. I rode in Tucks for the first time last year (well, second time, because I was Celebrity Queen in 1990) and, in spite of that, they have asked me back. I love the Tucks plungers and I liked doing my own take on them last year. When inspiration hits, it hits everywhere, so I have been making some fabulous beaded plungers in between beading the bustier, beading the combs, beading the blow-dryer and beading everything else that will stand still. I will be riding on The Naughtyham float, don’t know what number or side yet. Those lucky enough to get my attention through the noise, the mask and the booze will get a very cool piece of dangerblondia for their decorated plunger collection.
Now that I’m so busy, it’s hard to read all my favorite blogs, but don’t worry, I do it in class. I have been following the Scooter Libby trial on Firedoglake. Who else tells you where Cathy Martin got her pearls? Editor B is blogging from the Katrina “hearings” at the Louisiana Supreme Court, and, except for Fox Mulder, I trust no one but Editor B to tell me what’s going on with that X-file. James Howard Kunstler has a blog called Clusterfuck Nation, and I think if James and I ever met it would be one of those things where you don’t even have to talk.
heating and cooling January 28, 2007
There has been a mini-drama going on around here in regard to my air conditioner. I wanted the two units moved up onto the roof, one of the units needed the compressor replaced, and I needed new electrical work and ducts to make all that stuff function and to tie in the new Dangerblond Sports Bar and Sleep Research Center to the climate controlls.
David loves to tell me “I better take care of this for you,” and I love to hear it. I didn’t want to worry my pretty little head about the finer points of freon evacuation, so I said “go for it.”
He went about it correctly, getting three companies over here to give bids, which were all over the map. We chose the guy with the lowest quote and David called him. And called him, and called him, and called him. He never showed up, and the next-lowest bidders were too high in David’s opinion. He and Michael went ahead and put in the new ducts in the Palace Wing so they could close up the ceiling, and we just put that headache on the back burner.
So, then I go out with my friends, minding my own business, and I meet this cute guy in a “hey, baby, what’s your sign”-type situation.
My sign is “soft shoulder.” We got to talking and I asked him what he did.
“Uh, I work for my cousin.”
“Doing what?”
“Uh, heating and cooling.”
“Oh my god, where have you been all my life?”
I got Cousin over to take a look and talk with David. I swear to god, they practically compared dicks.
“Yes, I know that, Dave. I’m trying to tell you I know what I’m doing so don’t worry about it. You don’t know it, but I’m smart.”
“Oh, you’re smart? Well, what does that make me?”
“That makes you a genius, man.”
Cousin had to inspect the ducts that David put in to make sure they were correct. David rolling his eyes and going “Pfft.”
The next day, there were guys crawling all over my house, hoisting the units, doing this and that, and for a price less than the lowest quote we got before. Cousin has an electrician on call, and he came over today. The new compressor comes in next week. David insisted on cutting the hole in the roof because, “they are going too fast.”
Now, David is one-quarter pleased that this work is getting done finally, and at a good price, by nice guys who appear to be trustworthy. And he’s three-quarters pissed off that I found them without his help and that Cousin and I have the ability to disturb each other’s electrons.
“David, he’s married. I need that like I need a hole in my head.”
“You know what? You remind me of the little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forrid. When she was good, she was very, very good. And when she was bad, she drove me right out of my fuckin’ god-damned mind.”
I’m telling you, if life was fair, and people were good and right, and women fell for the man who tried the hardest, worried the most and cared every day, I would be in love with David. But it ain’t and I’m not, and I’m beyond the time of my life where I told men what they wanted to hear.
Josh and Brian jokingly accused me of taking advantage of David and I had to set them straight. Don refinanced this house right before the hurricane so that I could get some work done here that was desperately overdue, I’m talking leaks, termites and holes in the walls. I had an architect and a contractor lined up, but no contracts signed, when the flood blew everything out of the water, so to speak. I spent a lot of money living in Houston (Thanks, Houston - For Nothing!), so I scaled back the project.
David is a designer, carpenter, plumber, one man band, and he told me that he wanted to help me with this because he wants to make my life easier. I have known from the beginning how David feels about me and I have not let him do one thing for me for free. I pay him from the house funds, and I pay him very well. I pay Michael more than what he’s actually worth, because David insists on that. Michael obliges by doing anything and everything I ask him to do.
Don, meanwhile, comes over here an inspects things periodically and he is more than happy with what is being done. Ecstatic is not too strong a word. Don has also hired David and Michael to do some desperately overdue projects at the Jazz and Heritage Foundation offices. No one is being taken advantage of, everybody’s happy, and, should there be another hurricane and this whole house blows down, the part that David has re-built ain’t going nowhere.
better late than never January 25, 2007
I haven’t been blogging very much since the first of the year because I’ve been busy as hell and much of that busyness involved stuff that I can’t write about. Well, I could have been writing about my search for a law clerk position, but that’s not very interesting, I don’t think. Just imagine the last time you went out job-hunting, but change the setting to a stressed-out city where everyone is repairing, cleaning up, going through their third or fourth reorganization and being very frank about the fact that they are not 100% sure what is going to be happening down the road. No problem. One thing I am these days is flexible.
I did get a job that I am very happy with, even though I went to the interview the day after the Saints lost to the Bears and I was so hungover I thought I was going to die. All those years of acting paid off - I just took some deep breaths and pulled it together. I told my friends that I could not believe I went in there with nausea and blood-shot eyes and interviewed with a 25-year lawyer. When I got the job, one of the smart-asses said that perhaps my new boss is looking for a drinking buddy. Ha! I only just met him, but I can tell that’s not the case.
The new job will be interesting, and I am very happy to be working again. I won’t be writing a thing about it, though, because I can’t chance accidently betraying someone’s confidence, no matter how innocuous. I still want to write about legal issues, of course, and I can muse in my unscholarly way about areas like criminal law, which have nothing to do with my job.
Meanwhile, I’ve been going to classes, which have become even more boring since my focus switched to getting a job. When I went back to school to get my BA in visual arts, I loved it. Now, not so much. Before the flood, going to school was OK. Since I’ve been back from Houston, I keep getting this feeling that I am wasting time, although I know objectively that I am not. I’m taking steps to achieve my goals, I got a late start on it, but I couldn’t help that. I guess I sometimes get a panic attack thinking that it’s already too late for me to make a difference in this life, or this city, or even in my zip code. But I’ll tell you something about myself - hopelessness has never kept me from trying before, and I’m not going to let it start now.
On another note, I opened the paper this morning and saw this bizarre story about my old Western Civ professor, Sam Hyde. Dude. Where is all this coming from? I think road rage has increased around here since the flood, probably more in Baton Rouge, where all the people live now.
I am happy to note that it is now possible to drive from one end of the inhabited zone of New Orleans to the other and encounter only working traffic signals and properly placed stop signs. One can even spot a speed-limit sign or three. I’m starting to relax a little bit after only 18 months of Russian Roulette driving. Now, if we could only get those street signs back up on their poles. Now that we know what we are working with, perhaps street identification should be our goal for the second anniversary.
doggy academy January 24, 2007
Last night I dreamed that someone asked me to keep her dog for a few days. I have no idea who this person was. The dog was a little yappy rat terrier that used to live on my block in Hammond, but the woman was not his mom. She told me that the “school bus” would drop the dog off at my house after school. I went outside to meet the bus at the appropriate time, and up drives a huge black stretch convertible limo with a chauffeur in a black uniform.
It was like a cartoon car with four rows of seats and a fancy top that was open. There were about six dogs in there, all black and brown, all sitting quietly in their seats, waiting to be driven home. The chauffeur got out and opened the door and the little dog got out and followed me into the house. While all this was happening, I was thinking, “wow, they have some really good schools for dogs now. I wish my dogs could have gone to that school.”
It was so real that I woke up this morning wondering how people can spend so much money on dogs.
if only the president knew history as well as my work crew January 23, 2007
After a long financially-induced hiatus, David and Michael are back to work on the Dangerblond Spa and Housing Development. I’ve been working on Krewe du Vieux stuff in the next room and listening to their hilarious conversation. Apparently, they watched Cleopatra the other night. Here is New York David explaining ancient history to New Orleans Michael:
Michael: I don’t get what they problem was. Ceasuh was jus’ down there with Cleapatra, and they was jus’ cordially fuckin’ each other’s brains out. Why da people back in Rome was so upset ovah a guy wantin’ to lay a lil’ pipe?
David: Well, he was doin’ a good job on that, but he had their ahmy. They said if ya wanna lay pipe, lay pipe, but do it witchure own fuckin’ ahmy.
Michael: Why can’t we jus’ all get along, man?
back to shoveling cinders January 22, 2007
I just hope Ashley Morris hasn’t killed himself.
I watched the game with Susan B. and a new friend, Laura. We went to Gordon-Biersch restaurant at the foot of Poydras. There were giant TVs everywhere, Baby Boy was performing and WDSU was filming there. Every single person in there was wearing a Saints jersey. Many were wearing their old jerseys, with names like “Manning” and “Turley” on the back. I had forgotten about Turley, what ever happened to him?
We thought we were pretty slick getting there two hours before the game to get a good table, but we found out that people had started arriving at 8:45 to grab tables. It was packen we got there, and the hosts laughed at us when asked for a table in the bar. My friend Donna Snellings from Abita Springs was one of those people who had been there all morning, and she had the best table in the bar. Her kids were getting restless and wanted to go, so at 1:00, they gave us their table. We couldn’t believe our luck, and we invited some folks we didn’t know to share the wealth with us because we had so many chairs. They were so grateful that they picked up our tab after the game.
The crowd was so excited as the game started and everyone went wild over Reggie Bush’s touchdown. One guy said it was so loud it sounded like being in the Dome. I doubt that, but it was a very enthusiastic crowd. When the game started going south, it got pretty miserable, but everyone still cheered the Saints. I got miserable just looking at all that snow. Yuck. When it was over, everyone switched gears immediately and started talking about next year.
Unlike New England’s fans and all the other teams that didn’t get to go to the Ball, we in New Orleans don’t have to go back to reality just yet because we’ve got Mardi Gras coming up. In fact, we’ve had a little mini-drama going on with Krewe du Vieux regarding our 2007 royalty. Chris Rose is our king this year, but if the Saints had gone to the Super Bowl Rose would be going to Miami with them and missing the parade. Krewe du Vieux is Feb. 3, the night before the Super Bowl.
go, saints! January 21, 2007
Fleur
Originally uploaded by dangerblond.
disturbing video saturday January 20, 2007
I saw this on Your Right Hand Thief, who saw it on First Draft. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I watched it.
Help is Coming, by Ben Mor
From the comments on First Draft, this looks like Mor’s inspiration:
WARNING: Language. Do not play at work or around the kiddiewinks. Unless you want your kiddiewinks going around singing, “George Bush ain’t no golddiggah, but he ain’t fuckin wit no broke niggahs.”
rubbing her nose in it
A reader sends me this link:
Brown: Party politics played role in Katrina response
Infuriating if true. I’m at the point where I’m not surprised by anything these people do. One question here, though, is that if Blanco knew about this, why is she waiting for Michael Brown to speak about it before she says something?
older posts »
