trees in love April 30, 2007
I took my grandson to the Jazz Fest today. I knew it was a bad idea before I even left the ‘hood. The kids across the street had a plastic pool and a slip-and-slide, and he really wanted to go over there and get wet. But, Grandma said, “no, you have to go out in a million-degree heat and listen to music.”
He loved the wonderful kids’ area, and he hung on the police barricade for The Revealers, but it was tough the rest of the time because he wanted to be carried. I told Amy and Laurence to take off and have fun. If you’re with a two-year-old, then it’s all about the two-year-old. Grandma’s arms finally gave out during Jerry Lee Lewis and we went home, where he passed out for two hours. He was beet-red when I got him home (although slathered in sun-screen), but when he woke up, he was not sunburned. I collapsed with a big glass of water in the garden, where it was about 15 degrees cooler than at the Fairgrounds. I, unlike Jackson, was sunburned and nauseous when I came to.
I’m awake at 2:00 a.m. because there is a bird going totally wild outside my house. Talk about spring fever. The birds are doing it, the bees are doing it, and, at Dangerblond’s, the trees do it. No kidding - I have two Yaupon trees in my back yard, which have been there for many years. I noticed that one was looking kind of shaggy, so I investigated. The shaggy tree has broken out in fuzzy, pollen-packed projectiles, and the non-shaggy tree has little berries all over. I’m thinking those two have been makin’ berries. Who knew that shaggy tree was a guy? Not me, and I live here. They sure kept that quiet all these years.
the community property fountain April 28, 2007
Yesterday morning I took my first exam. Don brought me Jazz Fest tickets for this weekend, but I didn’t want to go yesterday and I don’t want to go today. I have an exam this afternoon and another one on Monday, and I’m afraid to get sun-stroked and dehydrated. I love the sun, but it doesn’t love me. Look out next weekend, though.
I gave the tickets to Amy, Laurence and their friends and I’ll probably take Jackson for a few hours on Sunday. Today it’s Rod Stewart, who, although a natural blond, does not interest me. Don thinks it’s going to be packed. The weather is beyond beautiful, but it’s hot. “Hot” does not stop New Orleans people, in fact it encourages them, so I’m sure the Fairgrounds will be jamming and jammed.
After my exam yesterday, I drove to a house Uptown where a woman was giving away aloe plants on Freecycle New Orleans. On my way home, I passed through Hollygrove. I saw a pile of red paving stones and a busted-up concrete walkway on the side of the street, where a flooded house has been demolished.
I was supposed to go home and study for community property, so naturally I drove over to Home Depot and picked up a big tub ($29.00) and a water pump ($40.00, plus hose) so I could build a fountain in my back yard. I brought the tub and pump home, then I grabbed my gloves and drove back over to the demolished house. I loaded about a ton of filthy paving stones and masonry debris into the newly-cleaned Exploder, which leaned over like a clown car, and brought it home. This kind of stuff is why I need Eddie, the detail man, in my life.
I piled all the paving stones and debris around the sides of the tub loosely so that I can keep playing with it, then I filled it with water and plugged in the pump! Voila - the Community Property Fountain. The sound of the splashing water is not quite loud enough to cover the sound of the neighbor’s air conditioners, but it’s getting there. I have noticed, incidently, that the noise level in New Orleans is much greater than it was a year ago. A dubious sign of progress, but a sign nonetheless. You can’t have a city without noise.
Just as I was getting finished, and was completely covered with dirt, sweat and scratches, up drives William Marshall and his beautiful girlfriend, Emery. I just happened to be wearing my Princeton t-shirt, and they are both Princeton graduates, so they didn’t notice that I looked like a lunatic.
William hasn’t seen the garden since its beginnings last fall, and he loved it. It’s turning into quite a collection of road-side flood souvenirs in addition to the wildly blooming plants. I’ve picked up windows removed from houses and thrown on the garbage heap, metal doo-dads and flower pots all over town. Now I’ve made a fountain out of someone’s entire frickin’ slab. When will it stop? Not any time soon, I’m going back over there for more junk after the exam.
just another thursday in new orleans April 26, 2007
I went to work this afternoon to find that one of the ladies was treating everyone to a delicious lunch of chicken salad and croissants, followed by brownies. All but the croissants were homemade, and the croissants were fresh from a local bakery, whose name I can’t recall as I’m writing.
After that, I settled down into my corner to work. About an hour later, I heard a brass band. At first, I thought it was the woman I share my office with, uncharacteristically playing music on her computer.
“Is that you?”
“No, it’s a parade coming down Canal Street.”
Sure enough, there was a jazz funeral with a brass band coming down the street, headed for the cemetery. There was no hearse, just a small convertible, so I imagine the honoree was cremated. I and another woman went outside to watch and listen. She mentioned that there is going to be a jazz funeral for Ed Bradley during Jazz Fest. That’s a very appropriate send off for Bradley, who came to Jazz Fest every year and loved New Orleans. I don’t know whose funeral it was today, it didn’t seem polite to ask for some reason.
About a week ago, I was outside at dusk watering the garden and a raccoon suddenly jumped from behind the bar-b-que grill and up on the brick fence. It looked at me for a second, and then jumped down into the neighbor’s yard. I don’t know if it was the same raccoon that I saw last fall, it looked thinner. Tonight, I was outside watering the new plants and I saw it again, as it jumped up on the brick fence. I wonder if the raccoon is hanging out in my garden, or if I’m just another one of his nightly stops? Our giant new garbage cans have got to be making it tough for the raccoon population.
the truth is out there
I watched the Bill Moyers show “Buying the War” on PBS last night. It was truly amazing to listen to the big names in the media admit that they just transcribed what the administration told them about Iraq in 2002 and 2003 and didn’t check any of it out. Moyers demonstrates that no matter which Bush administration source the stories of Saddam Hussein’s WMD and Al Qaeda connections came from, they all originated with the same people - Ahmed Chalabi and the Iraqi National Congress. And all the stories have turned out to be untrue.
This same circular information wind tunnel occurred when the media was covering the story of what happened in New Orleans. The exaggerated stories by Eddie Compass of murders and children being raped in the Superdome were repeated by other people in the Nagin administration, so there you go - two sources. Never mind that they are all getting their stories from the same source, so we’re back to one source. And of course all that stuff turned out to be untrue, not that the real story wasn’t tragic enough.
When you look at the number of scare stories about Iraq that were planted by Chalabi’s people and spread throughout the media, it’s no wonder everyone is so confused. I’ve never been able to stand the sight of George W. Bush for one minute, but even I thought, “well they must know something we don’t know or they wouldn’t be doing this.” I just could not believe that the president of the United States would send young Americans to be shot at, and take the chance of destabilizing the entire Middle East, without a damned good reason. Well, that’s the last time I’ll ever be that gullible.
Unfortunately, plenty of people are. I’ve decided that I’m not going to discuss the disastrous Iraq War with anyone unless they’ve seen “Buying the War” and “Why We Fight.” It’s essential for people to understand that our lives and our children’s lives, not to mention the lives of other people’s children, are more important than the pursuit of our country’s military misadventures. Americans are basically decent people and I believe most would be shocked at what goes on in their name if they knew the truth.
kick your apple out from under that tree April 25, 2007
Yesterday was Don’s birthday and when I called him he seemed surprised, so I think he forgot. Don is 57 now, which is hard to believe. He is a member of the Lucky Gene Club, so he looks and feels great.
I took him for a delicious dinner at Vega Tapas and then we came back here and sat in the garden drinking wine. It was a perfectly delightful evening, with a nice cool breeze and no bugs. He loved the big Angel’s Trumpet “tree” that I planted on Sunday. I think my next project out there will be a fountain that makes enough noise to cover the sound of the neighbors’ air conditioning units going on and off.
A couple of days ago, my neighbor, Steve, stopped me and told me how much he loves my garden. He said he had peeked in a couple of times and, “that party you had looked really great.” I felt awful for not inviting them. I invited my neighbors on the other side, who I see more of, but they didn’t come because it was during the run-up to Passover. I feel like having another party just to make it up to them. I don’t really “hang out” with my neighbors because they have young children and my interests no longer include schools and such. But back when I had little kids I would have loved being invited over by the grown up neighbors.
Don is in full pre-Jazz Fest mode, running around doing this and that. He said there will be a story in Sunday’s paper about the Jazz and Heritage Foundation. They have made a lot of progress in re-building and re-funding their programs. Many people don’t know it, but the Foundation has for many years helped musicians buy homes, paid for police protection at Mardi Gras Indian events, bought instruments for school children and helped musicians gain access to health care, among other things. One of Don’s tasks when he started working there was to get these programs back on track and he has done a fantastic job of it.
We managed to have a nice, positive conversation throughout the evening. The last time I saw him it ended badly because I accused Don of turning into his mother. He had come over here bringing a very big black cloud with him, complaining about demands that no one has placed on him except himself. I told him he was bringing me down. “Put a wig and a dress on that and it’s Naomi Marshall back from the dead. No one needs that, especially not me.” Frankly, it gave me the urge to run screaming down the street.
The next day, he sent me an e-mail apologizing for being a downer and telling me “next time I’ll check my wig at the door.”
I’d really rather wrap the wig in chains and toss it out to sea, but what can you do? It seems to me as I get older and know people longer, there is a weird urge for most people to turn into their parents. Some people I know are happily doing things that their parents did that drove them crazy in younger days. Sliding into the same familiar ruts, I guess.
I think being so thoroughly therapized, analyzed and anti-depressed has enabled me to avoid slipping into certain negative behaviors just because they are comfortingly familiar. I’ve had to reinvent myself out of necessity, not just because I felt like it. Turning into my parents is not an option for me because it’s an unworkable and undesirable model. There is certainly a feeling of flying an airplane without any piloting experience, but on the other hand, I feel a definite freedom to go where I want and to be what I want. I highly recommend it.
“i’m going to the copier. cover me.” April 24, 2007
Since the Virginia Tech shootings, I’ve naturally been wondering what the chances are of some crazed gunman or gunwoman busting into our law office or a Loyola classroom and mowing us all down. People generally hate lawyers and god knows some of them deserve it. It stands to reason that a percentage of the people who hate lawyers are going to be deranged gun nuts.
Last week when we went to Ruth’s Chris, I rode in a co-worker’s car with two other women. When we got to the restaurant, the driver said, “ya’ll, I can’t valet park. You want me to drop you off or what?”
“Why can’t you valet park?”
“Because I have my gun in here and I forgot the valet key.”
Dangerblond: “You have a gun in here?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I work in the jungle!”
By “jungle,” she meant New Orleans.
I had to wonder if the gun wouldn’t be more useful in her desk drawer than in her car.
We keep our office very locked up and to get from one end to the other requires opening a couple of locked doors. All of us carry keys around all day. I don’t think the doors are any match for today’s Glock-carrying psychopathic killing machines, though.
But, I know what is. I think that particular co-worker keeps her gun in her car, but there are others who don’t. I suddenly realized that I am perfectly safe at my office because there are men and women there who are packing heat every day, and if you fuck with that door they will be more than happy to blow your head off.
I think I’m safe at work whether or not my bodyguards are armed, though. Any killer would have to have a suicidal personal grudge against someone who works there, and that probably wouldn’t be me. I’ve noticed that when these psychos get their killing jones on, they don’t go shooting at people who are likely to shoot back. They look for a bunch of unarmed school children, or they attack their own wife and kids. You rarely hear of some asshole shooting his way into a police station or military base. Try that at Harrah’s Casino and you would be shot full of holes before you could get one round off.
I think that’s the magic at work in the average law office - where’s the fun in shooting up a bunch of innocent people if they shoot you first?
jazz fest v. exams April 23, 2007
I’ve been spending a lot of time this past week with the gang from the office. One of our attorneys left to take a job with another local firm (in another area of law) and his last day was Friday. The boss shut the office down at 12:30 and took all of us to lunch at Ruth’s Chris in Metairie. We went back to the office and pretended to work for a few more hours, then went out for drinks. When I left, the party was still going on.
All of the lawyers at the office are men and the staff is all women. Since I’m a law clerk, I’m supposed to gravitate socially toward the lawyers. But they’re all men, and younger than me. I like them just fine, but we have nothing in common outside of work. The women, however, are closer to my age (with two being older), and we have a lot of similarities such as children. None of the lawyers have ever been married, much less been parents.
One great thing the women at the office turned me on to was Eddie. He’s a guy who comes around periodically and “details” everyone’s cars. I got him to clean my car and it’s spotless, inside and out. Next month, he’s going to take it in and get the tires rotated. Having someone to keep up with your car is the next best thing to having a husband. I’m kidding, it’s the next best thing to having a maid.
I spent most of the day Sunday, Earth Day, digging and planting a new garden bed in the back. Exams are coming up, so gardening is a major component of my Study Procrastination Program. Loyola has craftily scheduled exams this weekend, so I can’t go to the first weekend of Jazz Fest.
Amy and Laurence are coming on Sunday and I’m planning to keep Jackson so they can go to Jazz Fest with their friends. Judging from last time I was with him, he won’t like it. When I was at their house in Lafayette, Amy went to get some things for the garden and I kept Jackson. He threw a huge fit as she drove off and refused to budge from the door. He gave me the silent treatment as I tried to coax him to come back to the garden and “play with Grandma.” I said over and over, “I love you, Jackson. Grandma loves you.”
There was no response until about the 50th time I said it, then he looked me in the eye and said, “I love MOMMY.”
Well, OK then.
He eventually jollied up again, but something tells me he won’t like being left with Grandma any better by this Sunday.
is that a skyscraper in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me? April 21, 2007
I saw this on Rising Hegemon. Holy crap! What kind of batteries does that thing take?
photo | little drummer boy April 20, 2007
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Originally uploaded by dangerblond.
This picture is the best representation of Jackson from last weekend. The first thing he said to me when I arrived Saturday night was, “let’s play drums!”
He had been the ring-bearer in a wedding the weekend before, and apparently he had a great time. When the band took a break at the reception, suddenly the sound of drums was heard and it turned out that Jackson went up on the bandstand and started banging on the drums. Since then, he’s been banging on things like this plastic Easter basket, which his mother designated as a “drum.”
While we were working in the garden and drawing pictures on the patio, Amy had the Lafayette “soft rock” station playing on the radio - “songs from the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and NOW, guaranteed family-friendly.” This is a picture of Jackson playing the drums to “She Works Hard For the Money,” by Donna Summer. Doesn’t he look frighteningly like uncle Ashley Morris? I mean, look at the bent knees, the tongue lolling out, the crossed eyes.
I told my son that if Jackson is this interested in playing drums, maybe I should buy him a drum set.
“Don’t you DARE, mom.”
I said, “well, we’ll see.” I’m sure Laurence and Amy don’t want to stand in the way of percussionistic genius.
In addition to playing the drums, he’s also obsessed with the movie Happy Feet. I was there for less than 48 hours, and I watched Happy Feet three times. Jackson calls it “The Penguins.”
On our second viewing, late Saturday night, I was nodding off on the couch.
“Grandma. Watch The Pengiuns.”
“O.K.”
I nodded off again and had a disturbing dream about Diana Ross.
“Grandma? Are you watching The Penguins?”
“Um Hmmm.”
He’s going through a phase where he wants to be the last person in the house to go to sleep. He wants to make sure everyone else is tucked in for the night. Since he’s only two, everyone else is trying to wait him out as well. To me, it was hilarious to watch him refuse to go to sleep until he absolutely passed out. I think, though, that Laurence and Amy are over it.
He doesn’t want his mother out of his sight, so he throws a bit of a fit if she goes shopping or whatever. I enjoyed watching her confidently deal with him. She knows much more about children than I did at her age.
One thing I like about being a grandmother is that I am free to ignore everything and everyone and just watch and listen to Jackson. His parents enjoy getting a break from the huge responsibility of an active child, and their friends are nice enough to chat with me or not, whichever I prefer. When my children were little, I was always worried about losing my “personhood” and turning into someone who could not communicate with adults. When I’m with Jackson, I don’t care if people think I am a babbling idiot.
This age in children, almost three, is a very funny time. They repeat things in funny ways, string words together hilariously, surprise you with what they’ve noticed or remembered. Jackson, for instance, told me that he wants to get on an airplane and go see Leicester “in New York.” He has no idea what that means, but Grandma’s going to book the tickets.
Another fun thing about having a grandson is the way my son acts. Laurence is just delighted by everything Jackson does. Unless he’s throwing a fit or destroying something, Laurence and I both just giggle at everything the kid does.
get new administrators while you’re at it April 19, 2007
Isn’t that nice that the Recovery School District is going to offer $17,000 in bonuses for teachers who move here from out-of-state? Won’t that be fun for the old teachers who were fired after the flood, had to re-apply for their jobs, got moved to different schools, and are trying to fix up their houses? They’ll be able to work alongside new teachers who are getting all these bonuses while they’re not! Cool. They can show the new teachers how to keep plugging along, like they’ve been doing, buying all the school supplies for the kids, bringing their own toilet paper and stuff.
How stupid of them to think they can trick teachers into moving here for chump change, then refuse to pay or treat them like professionals. Why does everything have to be run like it’s a casino? Why not use all the money that will be spent on the bonuses to start an endowment fund that would provide bonuses for all outstanding teachers, or even fund a raise for all of them? Or maybe the money would be better spent offering bonuses to out-of-state school administrators to replace the ones we have now.
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