And Ringo was his name-o

After a week of lying low and dealing with getting things put together in the new place, I went out last night to host Ringo at the Lantern. Ringo is Bingo but apparently the Catholic church in Louisiana has copyrighted the term Bingo, so no one can use the name for a game that is not affiliated with them. Lance typically hosts the weekly game as Sister Mary Isawhore, donning a habit and eye makeup and ever-changing pairs of outrageous glasses. As the good Sister is currently out of the country, I was asked to host this week's game and had a delightful time.

I've always enjoyed a good round of Sissy Bingo. We used to play every week in San Francisco (where one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence was the hostess), and from time to time the St. Pete Single Ladies Card Club would venture out to partake in a round in Florida. In my youth I was a Bingo caller for a company that provided carnival-style entertainment for corporation's employee picnics, so I'm no stranger to picking up the mic and spinning the cage.

While I did not employ a festive outfit for last night's game, I did manage to impress the crowd with a fantastic pair of oversized cat-eye glasses that Peaches had given me several months ago. Pictures to follow. It took a game for me to get warmed up, but everyone seemed to have a lot of fun, and as the night continued and the liquor flowed, things get rowdier and raunchier. Just the break I needed on a Thursday.

So Now I'm a Statistic

I awoke this morning to a gorgeous fall day with a heavy heart; I was robbed at gunpoint last night on my way home. Not even two houses away from my home I was forced to the ground with a gun put to my head while my assailant got away with my phone, the backpack containing my work shoes, and a wallet containing a dollar. Yes, a dollar...

Fortunately I was able to go to Brandon's house to call the police and NOPD responded reasonably fast. I couldn't really give a vivid description of the attacker; as horrible as it sounds he was a typical dreadlocked black guy that roams around this city.

This is not the first time I've been involved in a random act of violence. I was bashed in Boston almost 20 years ago and attacked in Florida in the mid-90's. I am grateful that last night ended with nothing more than a sore foot and a couple of bruises, but I'm confounded by the randomness that accompanies these acts. Was this guy so desperate that this was his only way to get ahead? Is he lazy and does this sort of thing instead of working for money? Do I give the appearance of an easy mark?

So now I have to deal with replacing ID's, getting another phone and all of the bullshit that comes with getting back on track after an event like this occurs. I'm angry but know that this could happen to anyone, anywhere. I can't blame this on New Orleans, and will continue to explore the city and look for the good in the people and places here.

Keys to the Kingdom

I am happy to report that I picked up the keys for my new place yesterday. I'm about to head out to gather some cleaning supplies (the last tenant's idea of "move-in ready" and mine differ quite a bit) and scrub everything down before emptying out the storage unit tomorrow. I'm very excited to have a space of my own and very, very grateful to Peaches for the limitless hospitality that's been shown since my arrival in New Orleans.

The streets were packed with costumed revelers last night for Halloween, but I opted out of the festivities because of work. By the time I left the hotel, the party was in full force, but I was not in the mood to join the drunken masses in the Quarter. Came home and watched "Elizabeth" instead--with my recent introduction to the wonderful series "The Tudors", the Anglophile in me has been reawakened with a vengeance. I fantasized about applying white makeup and a starched collar to announce my debut as the Virgin Queen, but realized that nobody would believe me...

Not much else to report. I will post some pictures of the new place over the next few days.

A Place to Hang My Hat

Ah, the pleasure of a quiet Sunday morning with coffee. I've managed to catch up on all my email, peruse all the blogs I like to frequent and prepare for a productive evening at work.

Since my last post, I've had the great fortune of finding a charming apartment. Deposit has been paid, and I can begin moving in next week. I will be living in the Treme, just around the corner from Peaches on Esplanade Avenue--close enough to walk down in my housedress to borrow a cup of sugar, or to stumble home after a night of music and revelry. The place has everything I was looking for--gated access to keep out the crazies, a porch of my own, onsite laundry and a gorgeous courtyard to enjoy. The space is a one bedroom that was originally the dining room of a very grand 19th century structure, and features the shuttered windows and high ceilings that embody New Orleans architecture. I'm excited to finally occupy a space of my own. For the past 2-3 years I've essentially lived out of a suitcase, so it's nice to know I can finally settle in one location for a while. There's plenty of room to accommodate guests, so once I get some furniture, all are welcome to visit. Did I mention there's a pool?

As a followup to my last post, I also had the privilege of talking with Irma Thomas on Friday, who was at the hotel to participate in a live radio broadcast that was used to promote the show she performed last night. I thought it was a kick to actually thank an artist for a wonderful concert, and she was very gracious and down to earth. Now I can say that I've met a Grammy winner.

Not much else to report today. Enjoy your Sunday!

Sunday in the Park with Irma

I suppose Mother Nature must read my blog because after last week's rant on the never-ending heat and humidity in New Orleans, we were treated to a break in the weather over the weekend. The rain finally stopped, the temperatures plummeted about 25 degrees, and it actually feels like autumn now. The windows have been flung open, and everyone's been digging out pants and long-sleeved shirts to venture outside.

I finally had a day off on Sunday after a laborious stint at the hotel, and was delighted to see the abundance of festivals and activities taking place in the City to enjoy. I settled on an afternoon in Lafayette Square to partake in the Crescent City Blues and Barbecue Festival. This is one of many festivals sponsored by the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival and Foundation, and it was truly a delightful afternoon. The festival featured barbecue by several local restaurants, arts and crafts vendors and two stages for musical performances by a host of local favorites. I saw Tribe 13 (fronted by Cyril Neville), Sonny Landreth, T-Model Ford and Irma Thomas. All of the acts were good, but Irma Thomas was absolutely fantastic--of course when your moniker is the Soul Queen of New Orleans how could you be anything less? I got to spend some time with my friends Zak and Angelique and everyone in the park was in a very festive mood since the Saints kicked the Giants' ass at the Superdome during the festival (not that I care a lot about football, but apparently the local team is having a great season so far).

So all in all, a perfect Sunday afternoon. This was definitely an event that strengthened my affection for New Orleans--I'm still not in love with the city, but charming events like the festival add to my growing warmth for the place I currently call home.

Steamy Days on the Delta

Ah, the pleasure of a dinner shift! After a couple of weeks of early morning obligations with work, I'm finally schedule for an evening shift, and have been enjoying a morning of coffee and contemplation while catching up on unread email and other communications. Those of you who know me personally know that I am not a morning person, and successive days of rising at 4:15 in the morning to make it to work have taken a toll. In a city like New Orleans, it's very difficult to enjoy the revelry and decadence when you have to rise before the sun comes up...

So we're in the middle of October, and it is still hot and sticky in the Crescent City. I am accustomed to the humidity of Florida, which arrives unannounced one day in April and departs just as quickly sometime around late September. We have had an inordinate amount of rain in the past few days, and the heat does not want to dissipate, making any outdoor activity a sticky, sweaty affair. While we were treated to a couple of autumnal days a couple of weeks ago, the forecast calls for more rain and hot temperatures for the rest of the week.

As I mentioned in my last post, I attended my 20th high school reunion this past weekend in North Carolina. The trip was a surgical strike that provided me with the appropriate amount of time to spend with my family and to see how the people I grew up have fared since I left the state in 1989. Overall the reunion was a pleasant experience--no huge revelations or shenanigans. More than half of the class attended (about 80 out of 135 graduates) and I learned that about a dozen of us left the state in our adult lives. In fact, most of the alumni continue to reside in and around Clayton, which is a testament to the hold small town living has for some many people. I did not win any of the awards that were presented, so I'm not the one who's changed the most or the least, lives the farthest away or had the most children--only in Johnston County can someone get a certificate for their ability to breed...

Hope that everyone is enjoying October, and preparing for a festive Halloween. My gracious host and I decided to set out as the Beals of Grey Gardens this year, but it appears that both of us will be working Halloween night, so I will probably just go out to see what the masses present for costumes. It's not like the citizens here need an official day to get dressed up and take to the streets, but my understanding is that Halloween is another big party in the land that lives for Laissez les bons temps rouler.

Sunday's Second Line

While I'm a bit weary from another run of early morning restaurant shifts (which I've been told end this week), I felt compelled to post about a sight I witnessed yesterday afternoon--a Second Line that paraded by the house.

I had just arrived home from work yesterday afternoon and watched Brandon leave for his shift at Fins when my phone rang. "There's a huge Second Line coming up North Rampart, and they're turning up Esplanade. You should be able to see it from the front door". No sooner had I opened the door and stepped out on the stoop, there it was--a glorious, six minute parade of about 300 people, complete with a shoe-shaped float containing matrons waving to the crowd assembled on the neutral ground (the divide between opposing flows of traffic)and the banquettes (sidewalks here in New Orleans), a brass band, and a sea of dancers and steppers marching along. I have no idea what they were representing, but that's never the point. Second Lines are a common occurence here.

New Orleans is a city built on a colorful history that is represented by an overwhelming number of festivals, displays, costumes and parades. I've quickly learned in my short time here that any excuse will do for people to don costumes and take to the streets. The Second Lines appear frequently. The origin of the Second Line, as I understand it, was to celebrate the life of a recently deceased after the burial had taken place. Those Second Lines still occur here, but the parades now mark any occasion--I witnessed a Second Line for a local church go by the door at 10am on a Sunday morning in August. Many locals will have a second line as part of their wedding, and we even had one run through the hotel a couple of weeks ago that had all of the restaurant patrons up out of their chairs, waving and twirling their napkins as the parade passed through the lobby.

The spirit of the Second Line is infectious, and you'll see people move from watching along the periphery to the middle of the moving throng, waving handkerchiefs or parasols as they step and undulate to the music. It's a wonderful mix of people--race and social status don't seem to matter; as long as you're moving and keeping with the music they'll let you in. I've never witnessed anything like it anywhere else I've lived, and I think it's a wonderful practice that makes New Orleans such a unique place in the world.

We'll talk about yats and accents another day...