I broke up with my girlfriend two months ago and I’m in two bands and sometimes I want to quit them both and sometimes I don’t like my friends and I want to move to Australia and not have a single relationship with anyone but my pistol and my rifle.
My facebook profile doesn’t reflect any of that. I would definitely bring a laptop with that satellite internet connection if I did go to Australia. I’d sell all my furniture and have a party for all the people I’m tired of and I’d give them my books and my cds and most of my clothes and I have a bunch of plants in the house and my roommate Matty won’t remember to water them so I’ll find homes for them before I pack my bag and say “Later Dude” to the good ol’ USA.
I would pretend I was Asian so all the white people in Australia wouldn’t talk to me and I’d rent a bicycle and just start riding till I found the outback. I’d do something symbolic with my bike. Not much of it would burn so no sense lighting it on fire. The symbolic thing would be an apology for always seeing things racially.
This is one of those times when I don’t like anyone. That’s what the outback is for. I might try Nevada if I don’t get much for my furniture.
A lot of people like people. They are the ones who talk about community. Locally owned. Know your farmer. The guy in the neighborhood who sharpens your knives and your scissors in his garage. Borrowing your neighbors ladder. Saying, “Oh, whatever, I know them.” They like people. They forgive. Are tolerant. People who love people are the happiest people.
What good would it do to fly over all that ocean and get to Australia just because I was kinda cranky and didn’t want to talk? That would have been stupid! So stupid. I’ve had stronger urges to join the Marines than to move to a desert. And there would be a lot of people around, if I signed up. It’s good to talk these things through.
Most towns on a river put all the fancy restaurants with decks right on its edge. But in New Orleans the Mississippi is hidden by a twelve foot levee so you never see water, just the house or the stack of a passing tanker. Four decks up a pilot steers towards the ocean and you are sitting in Jackson Square eating a beignet and your eyes meet. It is the only reason you can believe a mighty river is just behind that concrete.
A character by the name of the gray ghost goes through town covering any graffiti he sees. Actually it’s a rebel crew and sometimes they cover up murals that have been paid for and properly permitted with the city. Such a thorough job is done that I saw no street art in the city. People feel a sense of uselessness and don’t even try.
I’m not a fan of most graffiti. It’s like peeing on someone’s property, trying to claim the corner as yours. That’s boring. In New Orleans the effect has trickled up and you see no hand painted signs anywhere. Almost every business had a sign made at a sign shop. Computer graphics. Glossy banners. Vinyl letters.
In most California towns you’ll find a muffler shop with a hand painted mock up of a guy installing the catalytic converter. The name of the papuseria will be blocked out with an untrained hand. A sense of paint and brush and bonding the name to the building is all around. In New Orleans just untie the banner and the building is nothing again. With paint the memory lingers after the eviction.
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think about that. it’s midnight. sweet dreams.
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There’s been a riff in my head since high school and a lyric that matches it. “holy shit I’m sad”. That line has been in my head twenty years and tonite the rest came. Maybe not all of it, but I finally figured out what I was sad about.
Holy shit I’m sad
Baby Jesus knew
He was the son of God
But Joseph was his dad
And that’s a broken home
So there’s only one verse and no chorus, but that won’t stop me from recording it tomorrow. Has anyone heard discussion about that? By getting Mary pregnant without Joseph, God made Jesus an outcast in that society. God prevented Joseph from being a father in the fullest sense of the word. I wonder what effect that had on the “father” son relationship?
photo posted from my iPhone
Mitch works at the New Orleans Historic Collection, and took the time to show me some unique items. This is one of many small books in the collection of brothel guides, known as blue books. There was a part of town known as Storeyville that was set aside as a red light district. If you wouldn’t mind correcting any misinformation, Mitch, I’d appreciate it.
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I can’t wait to get home and water the plants. Got to the airport at 7:30 this morning and I’ll be in SF at 9 tonite. That’s too much airport. I’ll be hard pressed to keep out of the stall in men’s room tapping my feet like a senator. Something about airports make me horny. Lot’s of pretty ladies dressed nice and other gals in uniforms…nothing to do but sit and watch how those hips make the skirt move. High heels and open toes. They ought to sell saltpeter at the magazine kiosk.
But enough about my inner turmoil. It’s boring you. Let’s talk about this last week. I got a handful of change and one nickel was the color of the Mississippi – aka old muddy.
“You got a Katrina coin!” Lesley yelled, like I won something from the top row at a fair booth.
“The coin star machines all had signs on them after the flood, ‘No Katrina Money’. It messed them up.”
We never got me to a drive through daqiuri bar, where they give you an alcoholic drink in a styrofoam cup with a lid. If you don’t put the straw in then you don’t have an open container. The local treat is a snowball – shaved ice with flavored syrup poured over. It’s an institution down here, like roadside ice cream stands up north.
“I’m going to heaven” was the straightforward claim on the bumpersticker Mitch’s neighbor stuck on his door.
Lesley and her friends were in the photobooth at the bar the nite of the election, drunk, laughing and yelling. They came out to a silent bar trying to listen to a historic acceptance speech. I wonder who else out there was acting a fool that moment? Who was lighting their fart with a match when man first landed on the moon? Why were you stealing tomatoes from your neighbors garden when Kennedy was shot?
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photo posted from my iPhonetook a drive through the 9th ward, things were looking good. Some lots were completely bare, houses just demolished, but the piles of waste were gone, no cars in the trees, no rubble. Lesley and I asked the girls at the stop light where the dinner was they were advertising on the signs. “That house right on the corner. Go on inside, my momma’s there.” And so we pulled around and parked in front with a large canoe tied to the truck. A few women sat in the shade of the little porch. She brought us in and Gramma was inside at the kitchen table. I got the fried chicken Lesley got the ribs. “My daughter passed Halloween night, she didn’t have no insurance so we raisin’ money for the funeral.” I wanted to ask some questions but that sure wasn’t the right time.
photo posted from my iPhone
Lesley is taking me to the swamp now to paddle around in her canoe.
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I’ve been through a southern election that elected a black man. I asked a guy, “how come the south is so full of blacks but that’s the only region that voted McCain?” “They all headed to Detroit” he answered. I’m in a racially divided town during the most momentous election in my lifetime. (there is no return on this computer, the gal spilled wine all over the keyboard so we don’t get paragraphs today) I was at a mixed race bar the night of the election. People were excited but there wasn’t any craziness. But every time I touched a black person and said, “Congratulations,” they broke out into a big smile. I felt the same way when the red sox finally won. It was an underdog victory. We elect symbolic representatives. And this was a major symbol to the world. I was so excited. I bought champagne and tried to make out with girls. What a great night. McCain gave an impressive speech, and then Obama gave an amazing speech and I thought to myself, “this bar is crowded, I’ll go next store and get a drink.” That’s what’s amazing about New Orleans. You can buy a beer and tell them not to open it, walk outside with it and go into a different bar. Or stand on the corner and drink it. This country is not running at full efficiency. I realize that. We could be a lot looser. Is Obama gonna bring me that? I don’t know. All’s I know is those big Black girls went off the chain when Michelle came out. She was so black up there! And looking so good! This morning when I went to the donut shop to get coffee, this black guy says to the black woman behind the counter, “How’s it feel to be a first lady?” and she answered, “I been a first lady for a long time.” That’s when it all sunk in. The majority of Americans have gotten over judging people by skin color. I’ve met people here this week that hate “niggers”. That’s true. But most americans have finally understood that whole thing about content of character. And that’s what makes me proud, finally, to be american. even if my parents voted for McCain.
photo posted from my iPhone
i was hoping new orleans would look like this all over. Desolated deteriorated crooked with rust. Is it a superiority complex? I want to feel healthier than a city? Or does it help me accept old age to know that things live on past their usefulness and aren’t immediately discarded? Or does it help me confront death to know that all things crumble into dust? From what I’ve seen of this city, most of it doesn’t look like this. It looks like people have replaced the windows, put on a new roof and painted the pillars on the front porch and are back to living.
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photo posted from my iPhone
The stock boy was smoking a cigarette as he broke down boxes behind the deli.
