New Orleans: You Complete Me

Dear Mrs. Easy - or should I call you Mrs. Big? Mrs. Crescent? The Big Crescent, or, perhaps The Big Croissant as an homage to your French heritage. Speaking of French; fries sound really good right about now. Thank you French people for your freedom potatoes and wine and women with hair 'neath their arms. I appreciate it all except for your snooty Maitre'D with the shiny pointy black shoes. He can go to hell. And why do your women like to smoke so much?

That French girl in Inglorious Basterds is hot.

...but what's with the smoking, lady?
Her name is Melanie Laurent and that in itself is sexy.

I like her hat. In fact, I liked the hats that the women in New Orleans were wearing, it reminded me of when I was in France as a young man, searching for love in art galleries and clinging to the notion of having a romantic rendezvous at the top of the awful tower. The really amazing thing about that life changing experience in France is that it never happened because I've never actually been to Europe because I hate Euros -- not the people, the currency. It looks stupid.

faire tomber la pluie
"make it rain"

Honestly, I started this post on July 21st and it's now August 9th. I forgot where I was going with this and what I intended to write about. I have noticed that this is my 4th post about New Orleans and I should probably move on to a new subject. I'd endeavored to give a blow by blow recap of my trip to the birthplace of American music but an adequate use of language to describe what an impact this city had on me is elusive at best.

Ned Sublette is far more eloquent and, uh, published. Read this book:

Musician, musicologist and longtime New York resident, Sublette revisits his Southern roots and recounts a 2004–2005 pre-Katrina research sojourn in New Orleans in this blunt, eloquently humane and musically astute memoir—a worthy companion to his acclaimed The World That Made New Orleans, a music-laden cultural history of the city to 1819. Sublette delves into some quintessential dynamics of modern American popular culture—including racism and poverty as well as restive imagination and invention—through the prism of his childhood in virulently segregated, early rock 'n' rolling Natchitoches, La., and the fraught but idiosyncratic culture he finds in pre-flood New Orleans. If discussions of Elvis, early rock 'n' roll and hip-hop millionaires straight out of New Orleans's projects inevitably rehearse familiar narratives, Sublette carefully marks them out as part of a larger personal and social landscape. Sublette's sensitivity to the precariousness of a system that collapsed completely after he returned to New York is more than mere hindsight; his worldview dovetails movingly with his turbulent and alluring subject and its dogged rebirth.

Think the American Government has the best interests of it's constituents in mind when a national disaster strikes? Love or hate George Dubious Bush? Watch this:

Want an audio escape to the city from anyplace in the world:

http://www.wwoz.org/

Want to know what it's like to happen upon a brass band on Frenchman street? (Hint: An epic dance party erupts in the middle of a busy intersection)


A few random highlights of the trip:

• Walking down Frenchman street (akin to 6th st in Austin, TX; cultural epicenter of concentrated music venues in NOLA) hearing brass and drums pour out of every third door
• Noticing fliers posted for upcoming drum clinics by both Billy Martin and Stanton Moore (with Johnny Vidocavich)
  
  
  
  
• Bumping into Billy Martin (MMW) after watching Mike Clark & The Headhunters perform at The Maison
  

• Meeting Adam Deitch at Billy Martins excellent Drum Clinicli>

• Taking the ferry from Algiers to The Quarter and chatting with Stanton Moore who was on his way to do an interview with WWOZ, an instore performance with Galactic at the incredible Louisiana Music Factory, the drum clinic with Vidocavich, play with his trio at Jazz Fest and a late night show with Will Bernard and Robert Walter. I think he said he had 31 gigs in 7 days
  
  
• Seeing The Roots (with John Legend), Dirty Dozen Brass Band, The Decemberists (surprisingly awesome), Dr. John (best performance of the day) and Tom Jones at Jazz Fest
  
• Eating Beignets and drinking fresh squeezed orange juice at Cafe Du Monde the morning before flying home
  
  
  PAY THE HONOR BOX!
  
  

Go To New Orleans!
Thank you.

Where would you go?

My married friends are jealous. So are those experiencing domestic bliss with the joy of little fockers running wild -- as are those of you that are tied to a mortgage, car payment, a great job with no vacation time or a lousy job with a ton of vacation time. Maybe you hate your job and your wife -- I mean wife. Shit, I meant LIFE.

Are your AmEx cards maxed? Discover? College loans not paid off? Have you ever wanted to make $500,000 a year from home? Follow these simple steps:

Find some bananas and vanilla ice-cream. Or yogurt if you are lactose intolerant. Get a blueberry or two and some RED Gatorade -- the flavor doesn't matter.

*Fruit Punch
*Fierce Berry
*Xtremo Tropical Intenso
*Berry Citrus
*ESPN The Flavor
*X-Factor Fruit Punch + Berry
*Super Bowl Berry
*Cherry Rain
*Cherry Rush
*All-Stars Strawberry
*Cran-Raspberry A.M.

Some fresh basil, mint, and a pinch of grape Big League Chew for good measure. A few Mike & Ike's - lime and strawberry only, unless you prefer Hot Tamales.

-PORK sausage
-Boxed Wine
-Quail Egg
-Packet of Harry Potter Taco Bell Taco Seasoning.

Cue up Knight Rider season 3, episode 5, K.I.T.T. vs K.A.R.R.
Here is the synopisis for those of you that are stupid:


K.I.T.T.'s bad tempered prototype K.A.R.R. is found buried in the sand by mechanic John Stanton and his girlfriend Mandy. K.A.R.R. convinces Stanton to replace his damaged parts and give him a new look. Then he sets out to take his revenge on K.I.T.T. and Michael Knight. After turbo boosting into the Foundation's semi, John and K.A.R.R. take possession of an improved laser Bonnie was preparing for K.I.T.T. to use against his evil twin.




Proceed to get so drunk that you black-0ut. In the process, write a bunch of notes to yourself that you just won $500,000 in the lottery.

Back-up. Before this all occurs, DVR the lotto drawing from the previous week. Fill out all the winning numbers and take it to 7-13 (I don't want to get sued by using 7-11's name in the blog post).






Forward-down. Resume blacking out drinking. Realizing that you are watching a epic 1984 episode of Knight Rider in Dutch, you decide to grab something to eat from de kueken. Post the above recipe on your fridge and spend 14 minutes cleverly arranging Dirty Fridge Magnets in a clean fashion whilst commencing chewing of the Big League. Make smoothie. Throw Hawaiian Sea Salt over your left ear lobe and drink the ENTIRE box of wine. Sprinkle a bit of the taco seasoning on the quail egg and throw it out a third floor window.


YOU MUST THEN WASH YOUR HANDS. I do NOT promote poor hygiene.

Done. Easy. I won't even charge you.

Do you want to travel? I want to travel? I've always wanted to travel and I've not gotten my fix. I moved a lot as a child -- always finding a new way in a new school with new friends, or no friends. I was ahead of the fashion curve and behind the education curve. Sometimes vice-versa. I was the popular kid and I was painfully shy and insecure. I went to elementary school in the Colorado mountains with hippie teachers and hippie offspring. I endured earthquake drills and boiling asphalt lunch breaks in the Los Angeles public school system. I was befriended by the most unpopular kid in school my first day in Hood River, Oregon because I was a skater/snowboarder in this "hick" town that was yet to embrace Xtreme sports. In 7th grade, I got into a fight with my soon to be best friend because I beat him in a race in track and field. I was tormented as a freshman in a yet another new town, a bustling, wealthy suburb of Portland, OR. I completed secondary school in Boulder, Colorado, never quite figuring it out.

On to a few different colleges, a quarter life relationship, a trip to South America, a two month solo road trip and a few nation wide tours with a rock-n-roll band; yet here I sit, the burden of freedom heavy on my shoulders and the wide-open universe waiting to embrace my nomadic desires.

"If I were in your position, I'd be gone already"
"I wish I had that freedom!"
"Now is the time -- do it -- see the world!"

I made those quotes up. My friend didn't really say those things but they said something relatively close. There may have been an fuck or ass thrown around for color but that's essentially what I've encountered while pondering this decision, this life; my life.

They all say that, but they all might be in a position where jobs are plentiful and so are resources. I have chosen to be an artist. Art doesn't really pay unless you die or do drugs or are super hot and young with a great stylist and fake boobs or ass implants. In order to keep my freedom to travel, I need to not be obligated with silly things such as regular work or relationships. I've been reading Jack Keroac's "On The Road" as of late and as appealing as it sounds to hop in the car with Babe, Carlo, Dean and Betty to traverse our great nation stealing gas or hopping box-cars along the way, I'm not sure my 30-something gang of friends is able to set off on a grand ole caper of riotous carousing at 70mph on rickety wheels and good spirit.

I possess a remarkable enthusiasm for new stimuli, born of my migratory days as a youngster. I need to be in new places, meeting new faces. I am parched as my thirst for cultural knowledge overwhelms my ability to swill enough to satisfy a curious mind. New experience informs my soul as I adapt and assimilate, choosing small pieces off the ENORMOUS Avatar life tree that I will soon make sweet, sweet love to/with. I digress. That was getting too deep -- that verbal diarrhea was making me ill.

I'm going to finish up this stream of consciousness blog post with this:

Tomorrow morning, you wake up and your life as you know it is put on infinite pause. You must leave for a month and can return within 3 years. Everything as you know it will resume when you get back. You have $173.62 in the bank and your car is not road-trip appropriate without some serious AAA black card coverage. What do you do?

This is a pretty cool website: http://b2b.meetplango.com/