Life as a Quarter Rat

Locked in a room down in New Orleans

2012-03-01T00:44:00.001-06:00

The Doobie Brothers - Toulouse Street

the scrap bin

2012-02-27T13:39:00.000-06:00

I have been showing you the artwork for the proposed animation project. We have been doing an equal part writing that you haven't seen yet. Each script runs about 23 minutes. So far we have a solid dozen 1/2 hour scripts written with another season's worth bouncing around in my noodle. This idea for an episode came from my constant chronic viewing on line of news and YOUTUBE videos. A 2012 end of the world type of story line. Dark and macabre to say the least.

You won't be getting an animated series of Star Wars parodies or constant references to pop culture with our show. How would one work the end of the world into a season? It struck me, make it the very first episode. The second episode would start of "THREE YEARS EARLIER."

 LAST EPISODE FIRST

Binge walks up Bourbon St towards Polly's Pub. 
Cut to inside. A customer is flailing about holding
his one hand and screaming in pain.
Brutal is shaking a heavy beer mug motioning towards the door. 

BRUTAL
GO ON! If you come back here with da cops I'll break your other nine in front of them you ASSHOLE!

The crying customer staggers out the door as Binge
comes whistling in the other. Binge sits down.
Brutal calmly speaks as if nothing had happened.

BRUTAL
Ah Binge, thank you.

BINGE
What for?

BRUTAL
You just upped my averages up for the Night.

BINGE
Howso?

BRUTAL
Now it's TWO assholes per hour. What can I getchya?

BINGE
Just a shot of the usual.

BRUTAL
Ya knows da rule for you. Pay up first, then I pour da shot.

BINGE
Brutal, I am deeply offended my friend, hurt.
Why such unfounded paranoia in the quality of my understood personality , my character?

BRUTAL
You are an Asshole.

BINGE
Ouch, that hurt a lot. Which is what I had to say to Athena last night.
Want to hear what happened the other night at her place?

BRUTAL
Yea? Sure...

As Binge goes into the following monologue
Brutal starts absently minded reaches for a
bottle and slowly looking at Binge banter on with his story.

BINGE
So as soon as I get over there, I know there is some big drama going on. She found a gun in her bedroom and she knows it's not hers. What she going to do? Call every guy she ever slept with in the past  two weeks who carried a gun? That could take days and tip off some big gang war or something. I'm like hey? Why is this my problem? She takes off her robe and promises me that if I help her she will hump my brains out. A guy who looks like me will say what the hell, I'm in. So I asked where is it? She says the bedroom, and she keeps it so damn dark all the time, except when she filming something. "It's in there" It's dark, everything she has in that room looks like a stinking weapon. I ask "Can you be a little more specific?" She yells "Between the ATM machine and the soiled condom bucket!" AS I put on my rubber gloves I think to myself "And yet, I love her.....

With that note, Binge downs the poured shot and smiles.

BINGE
Thanks a lot Brutal, see ya tomorrow.

Binge starts to exits

BRUTAL
BINGE! 

Binge stops, thinks he's busted.

BRUTAL
Binge, whatcha do with the gun?

A relieved Binge continues.

BINGE
So I figured the best thing to do is just ditch it
 This thing could be hotter than hell. I decided to take the ferry to the West Bank
and drop it in the middle of the river. Can I get another shot? Remember the news last week?

BRUTAL
You mean the terrorist attack on the Algiers Ferry that triggered World War Three?
 I think I heard about something like that on the news. 
That and the Saints won again. You was there?

BINGE
Dude, I caused it.

Cut to Binge on deck of Algiers ferry. Nice day, decks are packed with cars.
Binge tries to causally pull gun from his waistband to drop the weapon
over the rail. Out of no where a Pelican swoops into him causing him to
drop the gun. It hits metal deck and goes off striking a car.

Before the first shot is fired cut to the back of ferry where a
nerdy liberal is boasting about his eco-friendly car.

LIBERAL
Mine is more Eco Friendly that yours. Mine runs on Hydrogen Gas.

Just then his car gets struck triggers a massive explosion.
Cut to ferry going up like the movie DeJa View.

Fireball rip across ferry, Binge dives on deck.
Everyone else hits the decks.
Binge lies face down on the deck as shrapnel
ricochets about him.

He looks up and see the gun he dropped lying in front of him.
Binge stares ta his gun, flings his arm striking the pistol.
It slides towards the edge of the deck, but doesn't fall into the water.
Binge grimaces. Then another car explodes, knocking the pistol,
knocking it into the water.

As Binge is exiting the ferry, police, fireman, and EMT workers, feds
are waiting. Binge pushes past the emergency workers, his back is on flames..

BINGE
No, thank you. I'm fine, really. No I don't want to go to the hospital.
No, I'm fine, I was already on fire when I got aboard in Algiers. Thanks anyway.

Cut back to Polly's

BRUTAL
Wait, you said she has a soiled condom bucket in her bedroom next to an ATM machine?

BINGE
Huh? Yea, one condom bucket in the bedroom and another bucket with ducks on it in the bathroom.
I know because it's somehow my job to empty them twice a week.
Can I get another shot? Thanks. You interrupted my story.

Mesmerized, Brutal pours the third shot.
Binge downs it, darts for the door.

Brutal is grinning thinking about Binge's story.
He suddenly comes to the realization that Binge didn't pay.
Grin turns into a grimace.

(ONE WEEK EARLIER)

Lance and Jody's house.
They are just chilling in the living room, stoned and
munching out in front of the TV. Local news interrupts
with helicopter footage of smoldering ferry.
News caster is reporting in a hurried voice. 

SUPER HOT NEWS ANCHOR
Details are still coming in. Possible Iranian terrorist strike on a passenger ferry in New Orleans.
Our government has placed us in a state of emergency at the highest possible levels.
The president is scheduled to speak momentarily. The latest account is...

With that Binge bursts in smoldering.
He instantly grabs the remote and clicks off the TV.

BINGE
Hey guys, let's play cards.


JODY
Oh, my god! Were you there?

BINGE (not really knowing the news.)
Well, yea kind of. But it was not entirely my fault, ya see there was this Pelican that
came out no where after I found the gun in the soiled condom bucket at Athena's.

Confused, Lance reaches for the Remote.
Clicks on the Television.
A panicked trying to remain calm anchor continues.

SUPER HOT NEWS ANCHOR
...the first waves of Israel fighters and bombers have reached their target.
Their president keeping his vows of defending Israels allies. We now go to  our corespondent in the middle east.

LANCE
AW DUDE! You fucked up big time.

JODY
Niiiiiiiice. You wanted to bang the Whore of Babylon, and the whole world has to suffer Armageddon.
Nice going asshole.

BINGE
But, it was the Pelican. There's one mentioned in the book of Revelations, Google it.

LANCE
I can't believe you triggered world war three.
What were you thinking?

BINGE
I was trying to get laid. You're a guy, you understand...

JODY
Lance, don't you ever dare to rag on MY FRIENDS again..

Cut to several days later.
All three sitting in same spots.

Empty food containers and snack bags surround them.

SUPER HOT NEWS ANCHOR (very somber)
So far that has brought the number of Nuclear detonation to a total of four.
We have been reporting for the last twenty four hours of mass suicides amongst cult members from around the world.
There has just been another in Norway of fourteen thousand who jumped into a Fjord.
Authorities in Norway announce a spiral light...

HOLD ON, we have another incoming report coming in of a
possible nuclear detonation that would bring the total of five in
what is being named "the shot that ended the world. "

JODY
Well, was she worth it?

Binge looks to Lance and grins ear to ear.
Nods. Lance looks back, stoned and laughs.

Jody Huffs

BINGE
Look, there was a pelican I told you...

JODY
Which one of the Four Pelicans of the Apocalypse was this?
LO! In the end times there shall be a pelican and a stripper
walking downeth Bourbon Street. They shall encounter the town idiot...

LANCE
That would be you dude.

I stopped writing it there, I figured no way would it ever make it past the producers. Some funny bits in it, so rather than to never have it heard I thought I would post it in this blog.

Don't worry, the other episodes are a little more up beat.

So much talent.....

2012-02-25T16:22:00.000-06:00

New Orleans can boast of having excess in so many ways, humidity, beads, calories... and talent. Down here talent is the rule, not the exception. I have met and made friends with folks who are just overwhelming with creativity. Painters, musicians, writers and actors. I have hung out on a couch with friends channel surfing and stopped mid click to say "Hey look. There's my friend Robert playing a cop." I get to go out for a beer with the artist Peter O'Neill and we hardly talk about art, just politics.

My friend Chris over in the Marigny turned me onto the music of Canadian born Lindi Ortega. She has a voice that I could best describe as "haunting." Talented guitar player, writer and singer who is not hard to look at either. Chris showed me her video for "Black Fly" that was very well done and shot down in the swamps here in Louisiana. The song had my attention from the opening chords, her voice had me hooked. I dig old fashion dysfunctional love songs. As we watched the video on YOUTUBE, it suddenly struck me that my friend Chris was playing the drunk asshole boyfriend in the video. Again, in New Orleans you get accustomed to people you know personally popping up in TV commercials, on stage or in background of films. Chris is an extremly talented classical guitar player and actor. Although having hung out with him on Frenchman, I'm not too sure how much "acting" he did in this video.

Here are some links to Lindi Ortega, check out more of her work.
lindiortega.com

Throw me some asprin mister!

2012-02-24T02:48:00.002-06:00

Well, it's over. I got to experience Mardi Gras at ground zero. I worked as a doorman at Molly's, tossed beads from a balcony, drank a little too much and got a lap dance from a 70 year old woman. I really didn't take in any parades to speak of, a little too chilly out for me. Besides it's a crowd thing that I can't cope with.

Fats Domino - Mardi Gras To New Orleans

Most of my friends in the Quarter had to work through out the past week. Otis would finish his graveyard shift at 6 am and take his 2 year old daughter out to parades during the day. Most of the Quarter Rats I spoke to said that this was one of the slowest carnival seasons that they could remember. All said they made much better money on New Years Eve.

Things were so slow this year, when you threw beads, women only flashed one boob.

The streets were still packed with revelers in costumes. I wandered down Royal Street for my daily exercise. Ok, for smokes and energy drinks. I loved the costumes. This city always has a surreal atmosphere, but during this season costumes seem the norm. Simple errands become adventures.

This guy in the Dallas cheerleader costume I saw all weekend long when I worked at Molly's. He always made me chuckle, more than the midget in a Superman costume being pushed around in a shopping cart. When this guy walked by the balcony on Fat Tuesday I had to ask him to stop for a photo.

In another two months the FEMA float will be here.

What? Do you mean that you don't pass couples like this on the way to the supermarket in your town? I guess living here takes some of the magic out of it for me. When I first got down here I had roomamtes who spoke of this as some sort of religious / magical event. Perhaps they over sold it, To be honest, I think it's over rated and the city places too much of it's identity in the event. I understand it's business, the tourist buck pumping up our economy before the slump of summer.

The real magic of the French Quarter is here year round. There is so much that this city can boast about besides being a Mecca for the annual pilgrimage of alcoholics. Mardi Gras does bring this city closer together. When Ash Wednesday finally gets here, front end loaders are used to scoop up tons upon tons of garbage, fire trucks are used to hose the vomit from the streets and sidewalks. Everyone sighs collectively.

Guess what I did last night...

2012-02-21T16:45:00.002-06:00

I worked. My editor Otis asked if I would be interested working as the door guy at Molly's on Toulouse for a couple of nights during Mardi Gras. Having no social life to speak of (by choice) I said sure if for no other reason than the chance to say I had done it. The only vocational experience I had to draw from was driving cab at night on the Jersey Shore, this was a lot easier and safer. Safer because I had other staff and all of the local regulars to cover me if any shit went down. Driving cab alone with one or more belligerent drunks sitting behind you can hang your ass out to dry.

Fortunately both nights were pretty mellow, no trouble to speak of. I had made my mind up that any if any shit went down that I would dive in. I'm not sure how much help a 170 pounds of arthritis would be in a bar fight, but we are Quarter Rats. We look after our own. Being so skinny, I can't really stop a bullet but I might be able to slow it down.

Molly's was one of the first bars I ever went to in the French Quarter and I even ended up living across the street from it when I finally settled in the Quarter. A cool local haunt with plenty of characters that is a stones throw from Bourbon Street. Knowing a few of the bartenders made it easier on the new job and a few of the regulars came over with their drinks to keep me company and give me some pointers. I stood in the doorway from 10 PM to 3 AM watching the mass of madness swirl past down on Bourbon. Small groups would splinter off heading towards me on Toulouse. I immediately tried to figure if they should show I.D. or not, if they were just looking for a bathroom or were too drunk to be allowed in.

Protecting our bathroom was my primary duty. Across the street next to the Tropical Island the city set up a couple of port o johns. At one point I looked over and some guy was standing next to one, pissing on the outside of it. All night long women in their late teens were coming up to me with thighs clenched and bodies jiggling.

"You gots a bafroom?"

"Must be twenty one, one drink minimum."

"Just to use your bafroom?"

"Yes, customers only. Look , there's port o johns across the street."

"I don't wanna use dem, there's a line and deys nasty."

"So you you want us to open up our restrooms to the non paying public so ours become as equally congested and unsanitary?"

"Uh, yea..."

"Must be twenty one, one drink minimum."

"Yo a asshole."

"That's what my ex says too, have a goodnight."

I met a lot of cool folks, some where Molly regulars, others were visitors from around the country. Two very young attractive ladies wearing bustiers, boots and fishnets walked up to the door. I asked for ID's, and by their reactions I could tell they were regulars who worked as shotgirls on Bourbon. They were polite realizing that I was new and just doing my job. The one dumped out her boot containing her cell phone, rolling papers and driver's license. They sat by the door and we chatted about the craziness. The two shotgirls would come into Molly's every couple of hours to escape the insanity of the front line. Upon their last exit, one turns and hands me a few singles. "Wait, young, attractive women in fishnets are handing ME singles? I like this job."

The five and six hours shifts flew by as I stood on the stoop watching the real Mardi Gras parade pass by. Ridiculous hats, costumes and tourists with so many strings of beads around their necks that it just added to the power of gravity trying to pull them down to the vomit slick payment. A constant stream of young slutty dressed women flowed in and out of the Dungeon next door, "Oh, that's where they come from."

Before my shift I went up Royal to Unique Groceries for three $.99 Rip It energy drinks and a pack of smokes for my shift. My first night at Mollys I worked my whole shift just having just energy drinks. A few drinks were offered during the night, but I declined. As much as I feel at home in this city, as much as I feel like I belong in the French Quarter, the one way that I feel like an outsider is that I don't enjoy drinking. It's kind of like joining the Navy when you don't enjoy the water.

My second night I was a bit more relaxed so I said yes to everything offered. Two Spanish dudes from Texas bought me a shot of Tequila because they thought I was "Cool as hell." I always had a good rapport with drunk Mexicans when I drove cab. I'll take three drunk Mexicans over one drunk Italian any day. Drunk Australians are hit or miss as tourists. I had a couple bad experiences with them while driving cab. I met one last night that improved their grade curve.

While driving cab, I always had to be on the look out for drunkards trying to sneak drinks into my cab. Weekends in the summer that was a constant aggravation. Arguments like: "I won't spill it" "I can drink in a limo" "It's only water" "You need to lighten up" "No tip for you asshole" Last night gave me flashbacks. I was amazed how many people thought that they could bring full drinks into a crowded bar. Try to bring a plate of food into a restaurant and reply when stopped, "Oh we're going to buy dessert here." And those GODDAMN Green Handgrenades drinks. Walking up to a doorman while holding one of those is like wearing a T-Shirt that says "I'm a fucking idiot."

The view out my office window, a costumed midget in a shopping cart.

Twice the bartenders came over and reminded me to keep an eye open on people bringing drinks in. I couldn't understand how they got past me. I made it a point to look at the hands of everyone coming in. It's tough to give a once over look to revelers wearing sequin alligator hats and with so many beads that it looks like they're wearing a gay life preserver. Strands of beads dangling with throw cups, coconuts, dildoes and blinking lights on them. I ain't no TSA agent. Then I figure how the sneaky bastards were doing it. A group would come up, I'd be checking ages in the doorway as the ones outside were handing the drinks to the ones inside through the open window. You muthafuckas.

I saw them coming up Toulouse. A snotty, whorish dressed rich girl texting on a smarter than her phone. Her frat boy companion who you could tell the only thought bouncing around in his alcohol soaked brain was "YES! I'm going to get laid tonight!" Both had three quarter full cups of beer. She looked like she down the rest of hers in one gulp. This girl made Snookie look like Mary Tyler Moore. They came up to Mollys and looked in, and both knew that it was probably the least crowded and most reasonably priced place this close to Bourbon Street. As I check the ID's I mention that they can't bring in outside drinks.

She snaps in that spoiled bitch tone. "WHAT? Are you for real?"

"No. I am a hologram telling you that you can't bring in outside drinks."

"You're an ASSHOLE."

They hang out front sipping their beers, she is texting on her phone as he's rubbing her lower back staring at her 22 year old boobs. They spin around and slam thier half full cups of beer into the large garbage can outside of our door splattering me with slop from the can. I imeadiatly step to my left blocking the very narrow doorway.

"Sorry, you can't come in."

Her expression was like I just kicked her in the twat.

"WHAT?! We got rid of our drinks like you asked!"

"You called me an asshole. I don't have to let in anyone who calls a staff member an asshole."

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes realizing they just tossed $6 in beer and I am putting her in such a lousy mood he probably won't be getting any from her all night. He had to restrain her from slugging me.

"OH! You're a FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

"Yep, that's what my ex says too. Goodnight."

Louie Louie

2012-02-13T12:00:00.000-06:00

Friday night the Quarter Rat delivered the lattest issue (#26) to all of the finer drinking establishments in the French Quarter. Like the previous times the copies were dropped off by topless girls with their breasts painted in festive Mardi Gras themes. We started out with ten lovelies, I think only three managed to finish the route. One didn't even make it out of the first bar. Rather than writing about the night in my blog like I usually do, we videotaped the entire adventure. I know we should be able to edit it down to at least 30 minutes of non stop debauchery, nudity, stupidity and fun.

The Kingsmen - Louie Louie

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As Otis and I were unloading cases of the magazines from his car, I looked up across the street and famed street mime "Uncle Louie" was walking by with his bucket from working all day on Royal Street. It just turned out that Uncle Louie made the cover of this month's Quarter Rat. I grabbed a handful of copies for him and went over to hand them to him. I'll admit that I couldn't wait to see his reaction. Anyone who has visited the French Quarter has seen Louie in his pristine white suit posing on Royal, anyone who lives in the Quarter has shaken his hand and probably had a drink or two with him. A real cool man who is a staple to the French Quarter.

We had to videotape the evening because I really don't think anyone outside of the Quarter believes the stuff I write about. We couldn't get our buddy Zan and his pedicar to help deliver the boxes this time around. Zan said that he had a wheel fall off or something. (Personally, we think his wife got tired of him peddling up and down Bourbon Street with topless young women. We're not sayin, just sayin.) So I dressed up like a homeless guy and pushed a shopping cart around the Quarter loaded with cases of magazines. At one point on Lower Decatur Street I passed an actual homeless guy with a shopping cart loaded with personal belongings. Awkward at first, I had to comment to him about his cart "Nice model, what year is it?"

Towards the end of the night we had to meet up with the remaining girls and the rest of our krewe at the Ginger Lime Japanese restaurant at 200 Decatur. They treated us great with fantastic food. I vaguely remember eating sushi off of a couple of the women. We had a few block to travel to get there so we broke up into small groups and hopped into Pedicabs for the journey. I however was stuck with a shopping cart loaded with magazines and almost had to walk. Otis yelled "Styles! Sit on your cart and hang on to the back of the Pedicab and he'll tow you." So, dressed like a homeless guy I was towed behind one of the bikes down several blocks of Royal Street. All night I had been rolling ontop of the shopping cart. It was like "Jackass on Bourbon Street" I did take a spill when the front wheels of the cart dug into a pothole. You'll have to wait for the video.

Don't let the parade pass you by

2012-02-05T18:09:00.000-06:00

Last night was the first big parade of the season, Krewe du View. It jumps starts the carnival season winding through the French Quarter. I had friends with bottles of liquor wandering the Quarter calling me for my location so I could help lighten the load of the bottle. Sorry, I have some work to do. Quarter Rat deadline was more important. Most Quarter Rats have to work the holidays. It's the fact of life when you work the service industries. Man, these folk create their own holidays on their days off.

I listened to the parade pass by a hundred feet or so away as I finished up this month's cover. No loss, I don't do crowds well. Especially down here, a few gun shots and you find yourself caught in a stampede of stomping alcoholics. If the crowd doesn't crush you, the response of mounted cops will finish you off with 3,000 pounds of horse.

I went out briefly after the parade and my work was done. Kind of how you go out and inspect the neighborhood after a severe tropical storm. I brought my pastels to offer my services as a "Police Chalk Outline Artist." I'll get a navy blue windbreaker with PCOA on the back in big yellow letters. The scary part about going out last night, I didn't see anything unusual. By French Quarter standards of "usual."

Here is a cool site, www.mardigrasneworleans.com. You can find schedules and parade routes as well as history and backgrounds on the different Krewes.

Hey, I know that place....

2012-01-30T22:23:00.001-06:00

Here is some background art to the animation that I am working on. Originally I was just going to do just a minute or so of very rough animation to demonstrate the look of the show. Of course it soon evolved into a four minute cartoon of continuous sight gags. Since we are still somewhat up in the air as far as the voice actors and sound production, we had to deliver on the visuals. The cartoon kind of plays out like the Old "Pink Panther" cartoons. Our protangonist just trying to walk from one end of Bourbon Street to the other.

As you can tell, we are trying to put as much local flavor and characters into the show. Not just for those who live here, but so somewhere one of the tens of millions visitors who have spent time in the French Quarter will point to the screen and say "I've seen that."

I have a greater appreciation for the labor involved in animation. One scene Otis and I included needed a galloping police horse complete with a mounted cop firing his weapon. Just the horse and gallop took me about 6 - 8 hours to complete. If that wasn't enough we added a swinging brass band, a running Baron Somalia, SWAT teams, gun battles and a huge chaotic finale. John Landis would find this final scene a challenge to direct.

I am limited with the software that I have at my disposal. Photoshop and I-Movie is about all that I have to work with right now. The purpose of this short is to create interest for future funding of the 23 minute pilot. We have at least a dozen scripts written, and when Otis and I team up with the proper motivation, plots and punch lines come faster than we can write them down.

Here is one of the locations in the story line, a Bourbon Street strip club named "Barely Sane." The romantic interest of the lead character works there. Athena DeCruelle, B-movie actress turn fetish model, turned dancer and dominatrix. Don't expect a dumb bimbo type of lady. Athena is a shrewd, manipulative and brilliant woman of Bourbon Street. Granted, she's sleeping around with about half of the men in the French Quarter, but only one man truly loves her, this is his story. I won't make any promises on a delivery date for the finished product, I won't debut it until it's ready. Someday I may have to face deadlines, hopefully by then we'll have a budget and a staff to yell at.

I changed my mind, I don't like football after all...

2012-01-24T07:17:00.003-06:00

I have written in previous posts that I never got into the sport of football. Never played it, never followed it and never even watched a game until I moved to Who Dat turf. I kind of appreciated the sense of community and how it brings this city into harmony. Recent events have made me reconsider that perhaps my first disdain for the sport was correct.

I can't get the whole college football fanatisism unless you ACTUALLY attended the college. I was talking about LSU fans with the security guard down at the Pontalba building. I mentioned being originally from New Jersey, I never imagined that an entire state of non-alumni would give two shits about the college team. Back in Jersey no one but a Rutgers graduate would even watch a Crimson Knights game. I don't even know the name of Princeton's team, as many times as have been in Princeton NJ. The guard chuckled about how big college football is in the south. "We're big on all football down here. Mississip, Bama, Texans are the worst. Your Ivy leages don't turn out football players, they turn out millionaires."

For those of you outside of the Big Easy, you may or may not have heard about an incident that took place here in the French Quarter the night of a rival game between Alabama and LSU. Alabama fans flooded into the Quarter to watch the game, I listened all night to cheers and hoots from Bourbon Street fifty feet away from my balcony. Alabama won the game, so the LSU fans who out numbered the rivals 10 to 1 in the Quarter drank themselves stupid. I sincerely expected some form of violence that night. LSU fans down here take their team more seriously than careers or families., I believe a small percentage of the team's fans couldn't spell L-S-U. I could drive you around New Orleans and point out houses painted the purple and gold team colors. During the day of the game, several vintage cars painted LSU colors cruised through the Quarter.

So following the LSU loss, Alabama (I was surprised to hear that they had a college) rejoiced and celebrated through out the Quarter as Tiger fans drank themselves unconscious. This is the story of one of them. Synopsis of what happened: A LSU fan passed out at the Krystal Burger in the 100 block of Bourbon. That block is by far the most notorious and usually the most dangerous. Most of the high profile shootings took place in front of the Krystal Burger joint. The chalk outlines of the fallen are washed away by urine with in hours. The Krystal is like a 24 hour White Castle style place with counters at the windows that overlook Hustler Hollywood's storefront. As you dine on sliders, you can gaze upon mannequins dressed in S&M garb with each other on leashes. I'm not exaggerating any of this.

The LSU fan passed out at the window counter after one too many Handgrenades. First of all, he was an idiot with lousy friends. To get passed out drunk on Bourbon with no one trustworthy enough to watch your back is asking for trouble. He's lucky that he didn't wander down to Burgundy to pass out. If he had, he may not have woken up, or if he did wake up he probably would have been naked and covered with excrement of the homeless. Instead, he was discovered by Alabama fans exiting the Krystal. Garbage was left on him, water dumped on him, what you might expect from individuals who follow the careers of football players more than their own career advances.

One of the Alabama fans, Brian Downing, 32, evidently the closet homosexual of the group decides to whip out his junk and start to simulate sex with the unconscious LSU fan's ear by climbing up on a nearby chair. Yea, when I'm out drinking with my buddies, we are always trying to see who's penis is small enough to fit in another man's ear. Due to the lack of motor skills and judgment, the ear rapist Mr Downing slips making full facial contact with the man in the purple and gold. After he finished rubbing his male genitals on the face of an unwilling victim, Downing stood in the middle of the restaurant with penis still exposed as his friends cheered.

Mr. Downing, understandably growing up in Alabama has forced you to feel the need to remain in the closet about your homosexuality. There were better ways to out yourself. If you were so drunk that you felt able to express yourself in front of your friends, then you should have gone down a few blocks to St Ann Street. There you could have found dozens of WILLING partners who would have been more than happy to allow you to rub your penis all over them, and they would have precipitated to teabagging on your face. Perhaps your future cellmate will be a LSU fan who will help you discover yourself in a healthier fashion.

Ironically, in High School I was bullied by the jocks who called me a fagot because I never played sports and liked art. I never tried to penetrate the ear of a rival artist with my penis.

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2012-01-20T17:40:00.000-06:00

Here's a short video that I started and won't finish. I was working on for 2011. My editor called mid way through this and stressed the urgency for a short color "trailer" demonstrate what we are capable of doing. We are in the process of finding funding for the pilot episode, so a slick short demo of show was in order. Until an angel drops a warm wad of cash in our laps, I am challenged as to what kind of animation I can do with my limited resources. Working only with Photoshop and Imovie, this really stretches and tests my creative abilities.

This video is a parody of Frank Miller's SIN CITY. I love his work and wanted to see what my characters and backgrounds would look like borrowing his style. My editor loved it, and we may work the style sparingly into our project. The 4 minute color trailer that I am now working on will be more in the vein of a Pink Panther story line.

Drunk Stripper Storage

2012-01-14T13:28:00.004-06:00

My front door is about one hundred feet from the infamous Bourbon Street. A short stagger, or on some nights crawl home for when I am so inclined. It has it's advantages and a few disadvantages. Often on the weekends there is a constant dull roar of the crowds, brass bands, police sirens and loud cheers during football games being watched on a thousand or so televisions with in earshot. It's like living next door to a football stadium. I don't mind it.

One night while working on my computer, I heard a couple of pops and several hundred people scream followed by the thunder of the same several hundred stampeading. Followed by sirens. People wonder why I don't have a television in my apartment, why would I even need one. I live the life of a background actor in the middle of the most entertaining city in the world. Just when you wake up in the morning you pray today will be a comedy, not a tragedy. You never really know until you go to bed each night.

Sometimes you can tell when you first wake up in the morning. My first impression of my new landlady was she is not one to fuck around with. She seemed strict and I did not want to piss her off. Shortly after I moved in, I received a phone call from a good friend who bar tended the graveyard shift at a Bourbon Street strip club. My buddy the bartender figured he was doing me a favor by offering my couch to crash on to a very intoxicated and somewhat wasted dancer. I never in my life thought that I would ever turn down such a delivery. I had to Tarantino on his ass.

"Mmmm! Goddamn, Styles! This is some serious gourmet shit! Me and Twinkles would be happy with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice right, but he springs this serious GOURMET shit on us! Is this Cafe DuMonde?"

"Knock it off Otis, I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who walks down to the French Market and buys it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It AIN'T the Chicory in my coffee, it's the drunk stripper in my stairwell. When you came walking up here on Toulouse, did you notice a sign out in front of my apartment that said "Drunk Stripper Storage"? Did you notice a sign out in front of my apartment that said "Drunk Stripper Storage"? You know WHY you didn't see that sign on Toulouse? 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing drunk strippers ain't my fucking business, that's why!

Now don't you understand that if my landlady comes in and finds a drunk stripper in her stairwell, I'm gonna get evicted. No letter of complaint, no increased security deposit – fuckin' EVICTED. And I don't wanna get fuckin' evicted. Now I wanna help ya out Otis, I really do. But I ain't gonna lose my apartment doin' it. There's nothin' you can say that's gonna make me want to be homeless, IS THERE? My landlady will be coming by in about an hour and a half. You have to call some cab companies? I suggest you start."

I got one complaint....

2012-01-12T19:41:00.003-06:00

I have been praising New Orleans ever since I set foot down here. The culture, the music and the people. Let me get this off my chest, what's with the frickin attitude like the State of Louisiana owes you? Every time I turn around someone is trying to figure out a new way to scam the state, city or a corporation out of money. A couple of days ago I mentioned to someone that money was tight and I had to go food shopping. "Don't you have a food stamp card?" they asked. "No, I earn too much." "Does your boss pay you with a check or cash?" "Not that it's any of your business, but cash." DUUUUUUUH! Lie on the application." That exemplifies the mentality down here.

Not too long ago I was standing in line at a check out behind a young guy who had an armful of candy and soda. The clerk rings up about $9 worth of crap, he whips out his Louisiana Purchase card to pay for the Twizzlers. I know we have the technology with bar codes to limit what can be purchased by a card. Make it so recipients can buy potatoes, not potato chips, no frozen pizza, no t-bone steaks. Rice, beans, vegetables and milk, that's it. You want to buy $10 worth of Fritoes, get a goddamn job. I have a two jobs and can't be wasting my money on $9 worth of candy.

I heard a bit of an uproar over the suggestion of making welfare recipients take drug tests in order to be eligible for any state assistance. "Oh! That's unconstitutional, that's discriminatory, that's invasion of privacy..." Wait, some folks have to pass drug tests in order to WORK for a PAYCHECK, but it's not fair that you have to pass one in order to be GIVEN money? Don't get me wrong, I am an advocate for the legalization of some recreational drugs, but only if you WORK for your dope. Some people believe they are entitled to sit at home and get high, while the taxpayers foot the bill? What are you? High? Don't answer that...

I knew a local and he called himself a "filmmaker" even though he couldn't direct a funeral down a one way street. He was convinced that he could finagle a few million out of the state for an idea he had. Why? The state had money, he didn't, he was entitled to it. "Do you have a script?" "No, but I have an idea for one. Actually, it's an idea based on a film I saw a few months ago. Styles, I need you to re-write that script to that film so I can submit it as mine for funding..." So, you have no creativity of your own and lack the ambition to even steal an idea? But you're entitled to millions from the state film board? Sure, I'll get on that right away for you pal.

My friend Robert and I are both from New Jersey, we thought the attitude up there was bad. We joke that at least up in Jersey if you were lazy and didn't want to work while the state paid you, you went out and got a union job like everyone else.

Dining Review

2012-01-09T20:27:00.002-06:00

When I first moved down to New Orleans I was set back by gas stations selling fried chicken. Back in Jersey, if you wanted fried chicken you went to the standard KFC or the recently opened Popeye's. As much as I love fried chicken, I thought the joints were were over rated and over priced. Dropping eight bucks on a couple of pieces of chicken was a luxury by my meager income. While working as a day laborer digging up sewer pipes of St Bernard parish a co-worker introduced me to Brother's Chicken. It's a chain of gas station / convenience stores down here that are are clean, reasonably priced and very good.

I was hooked. Excellent chicken, always hot, always consistently good and very reasonably priced. Now I live in the French Quarter, considered by many as the heart of the best southern cuisine, I could find a dozen places touting "Best fried chicken." It may be good, but I would be paying a day's wage for the location and name. Brothers is great fried chicken at the best price. It's the only reason I have to leave the Quarter, by one block.

Tonight was pay day, I dropped about $15 on 12 pieces of white meat. With a decent buzz going I had the doors of my balcony open listening to the roar of LSU fans on Bourbon street as I dined on the chicken and plain white rice that I cooked up while listening to WWOZ. I thought how much I wished my friends from Seattle were here. This is how Quarter Rats dine fine.

French Quarter Undercover

2012-01-08T01:37:00.002-06:00

New Orleans, the music is hot, but this part of town is even hotter. They call it the French Quarter, a place with no rules except live for today and forget about tomorrow. Two men call the French Quarter their home, their beat, their job is to keep it from exploding. And they do it the only way they know how....with pure guts. This is the French Quarter, where they never let the tourists see what's really going on. Where people can do anything they want, as long as they don't do it to anybody else.

I'm re-posting this Youtube video of a trailer of the 1985 film, FRENCH QUARTER UNDERCOVER. Looks like a hokey Miami Vice rip off action cop buddy type of film that was big back in the 80's. The two T-shirt clad undercover detectives are played by Michael Parks and Billie Holiday. I'd like to find a copy of it, but apparently it's only available on Betamax.

A place where pleasure is a way of life, and death is often the only way out of town.

"New Orleans undercover cops Andre and R.J., partners for 17 years and in danger of being suspended for their recklessness, are enlisted by the F.B.I. to track down a terrorist who plans on poisoning the water supply of the city, gaining access through the World's Fair."

Two tough cops whose job was to tame the hustlers, the prostitutes and the petty crooks in the French Quarter now have the assignment of their lives. Stop the terror.

Hey God....

2012-01-05T00:23:00.000-06:00

Hey God, if I haven't thanked you in a while, let me touch base with you. For the past couple of days I have woken up in a warm bed. I've walked to a job that I actually can tolerate and most of the time enjoy. Spent the day working with people I like and enjoy being around while listening to people that you blessed with the gift of music. I return home to warmth and fill my stomach. For the past two nights I have spent my time with brilliant creative company at my elbow. Folks that I consider myself fortunate to call friends.

Tomorrow, I hope to rise to the challenges that you set before me, I doubt you will give me anymore than I can handle. Look after those I love. Help me to treat others as I would want to be treated. Thanks, you've been good to me.

Resolution

2012-01-01T23:39:00.002-06:00

We at the Quarter Rat really have to get cracking on this animation project if we ever hope to get it into production. Otis and myself have day jobs, well his day job is at night. Plus he has a family to look after. So I decided from here on out to devote at least two hours a night to making this a reality. Here is the first part of many many steps to our ultimate goal. I'll periodically post anything new as it comes along.

Dumb shit tourists say....

2011-12-30T00:01:00.001-06:00

Quarter Rats are stuck in a dysfunctional relationship. They have to put up with abuse and bullshit to survive. We in the Quarter must tolerate and amuse the ten million or so tourists every year. Tourists are the life giving blood to the French Quarter, and also the most intolerable part of living here. It doesn't take long of living in the Quarter before you stop seeing them, or even noticing their presence. Like not seeing the flies when you work in a barn until you find one swimming in your cup of coffee.

The other day while walking to work along my usual route of Royal Street on a beautiful morning, one scolded me. I was looking down at my cell phone to see if my employer had called yet to ask where in the hell am I with the keys to the apartment that we were painting, when I heard a shrill annoying voice bark in exasperation "That idiot in the white ruined my shot." Hm, what a coincidence, I'm wearing white I thought. I half turned to my left to see some chubby housewife from the midwest holding a camera in one hand and a Bloody Mary in the other giving me the stink eye while facing a building that I just walked by. Fuck you bitch, people live here I mumbled.

Once while having a smoke break on a bench in front of the Upper Pontalba, a tourist stopped, pointed a camera directly at me and snapped a photo. They then walked away without so much as a thank you. How rude I thought. What if I hung out in the parking lot of where you worked and snapped your picture as you were getting out of your car to go inside to work. You probably would find it a little creepy and tell me to go fuck myself.

Today Jackson Square was mobbed. As I tried to carry buckets of paint and ladders from one apartment to another, I had to walk at a snail's pace behind thick packs of tourists. Groups that all of a sudden stop dead in front of you, or park in front of a window blathering about how expensive everything is. Forcing everyone else to walk an additional ten feet around them, only to be obstructed by someone's brat chasing pigeons with a balloon animal. Daily. You deal with it, it's part of life here.

On the corner of St Peter and Chartres I passed a loud group of four discussing lunch plans. I couldn't help but to over hear yet another irritating woman with a drink in her hand and a voice that caused dogs to bark. "WHAT do the locals eat?" she loudly questioned. I wanted to retort "Hot dogs and Ramen noodles." I know I would have been met with the look that I have witnessed tens of thousands of times in my life, people sneering at me like I AM the idiot because they failed to grasp my humor. I shuddered at her voice and continued on my way fantasizing about smacking her in the face with a paint brush still wet with the color "Urban Putty."

WHERE do the locals eat? would have been a more appropriate question. If the four of you hadn't seemed like total dickwads, I might have taken the time to point you towards a few places where you would have found great food at very reasonable prices by the French Quarter standard. Real Cajun food prepared by real Cajuns while sitting next to locals who might have bought you drinks if they liked you. I kept quiet, I wouldn't do that to my neighbors. You probably would have responded "Coop's Place? I neva heard of it! Where's Bubba Gumps?" Go. That's all you deserve anyway.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-25T07:18:00.000-06:00

Home Video

2011-12-24T01:04:00.000-06:00

Eric, would you post some random pics of your block someday? Every block is cool, and I'd love to see yours.

Ok, Brooks, here is my little corner of the world...

Alaskan Barge Trash

2011-12-23T18:30:00.000-06:00

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to visit my blog of late night ramblings about my life here in the French Quarter. I wouldn't be so presumptuous to think it's about me, it's all about the Quarter. Those who live here, those who have visited know that there is something different about this place from the rest of the Earth. Native Americans camped here hundreds of years ago, Europeans fought over it, tourists make pilgrimages here and a few lucky people can call it home.

"Something about NOLA completely changed my outlook on life.

Can’t say specifically, but it was profound."

I am able to check the statistics of web traffic to this blog, and it amazes me. Regular visitors from around the world. Some I have the privilege to actually get to know via Facebook and E-mails. A really cool couple from Australia are regular readers and FB friends, a former resident of my apartment building keeps track of the old neighborhood now that he's up in Canada. I see by the stats that this blog receives regular visits from folks in Russia, Israel, Germany and the United Kingdom.

These writings are in no way sponsored by the tourism board, I don't sugar coat the French Quarter. I'll do my best to write about the incredible energy and beauty of this city but at the same time tell the truth about dodging gun fire on Bourbon Street, constant harassment for a spare cigarettes or change and the overwhelming stench sometimes of human excrement, urine and vomit. If you want a white washed version of the French Quarter, visit Disneyworld. If you want to walk on streets that still have traces of pirate DNA in the gutters, we are the real deal.

I just received an E mail from a Quarter Rat fan in Alaska:

Eric,

You have a totally awesome blog and l look forward to reading it while I’m here at work. I was in NOLA for several days around Halloween and was fortunate to pick up a Quarter Rat at d.b.a. It’s one of the best souvenirs of my trip. I am missing NOLA badly. I want to go back. Something about NOLA completely changed my outlook on life. Can’t say specifically, but it was profound.

Totally understand about being away from your family during Christmas. It sucks major. I am currently working on a boat in Alaska this Christmas, and before you ask I have to say, “NO! It’s not like the fucking ‘Deadliest Catch’. There are other maritime related industries up here that have little to do with those meth-addled drama queens!” Besides, we mainly stick to sniffing paint thinner.

Anyway, here’s a photo of a few of the tugboats in our fleet. I took this several days ago and since it kind of looks Christmas-ey and all that shit, I thought it was kind of cool. And anyways, since most people rarely associate tugboats with Christmas, why the fuck not?

Sincerely and Merry Christmas,

Alaskan Barge Trash

To sum up my response to his correspondence "There's plenty of tugboat action on the Mississippi River." Read some Mark Twain up there in Alaska, you'll walk down here if you have to. This city only invites or keeps those people who "Get it." Thousands of tourists every week say "Oh, I want to live here." Very few ever do, or deserve to. You sound like you get it.

The "BIG EASY" got it's knickname from the "big easy bend" in the river given to it by riverboat pilots. Over the years it's just adopted that as a philosophy. My friend Darren from the bench in front of the Pontalba on the square says "The reason they call New Orleans the Big Easy is because it's so easy to live here. Ya got a smoke?" Either version of how New Orleans received it's title is correct.

Stories have been written about tugboat men in New Orleans.

Christmas In The Quarter

2011-12-22T01:50:00.002-06:00

Issue #25 was released yesterday, not so much released as it escaped. Again we at the Quarter Rat tried to keep in mind what our readers really want. Breasts. Since our Halloween distribution was much appreciated by all of our fans on Bourbon Street in October, we repeated the festivities with a Christmas theme. Young healthy breasts adorned with paintings of holly and Christmas lights, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, candy canes and a Menorah. All painted by the talented artist Lady Erotos.

Our buddy Xhan again unselfishly volunteered his time and pedi-car to assist the magazine in distribution. The girls were great, well organized and filled with the holiday spirit, our four angels filed into just about every door on Bourbon Street and lower Decatur with the precision of a SWAT team. Every bar, swanky hotel and five star eatery was brought to a dumbfounded standstill as four topless girls wearing Santa hats entered and dropped dozens of copies on every flat surface. Now and then some much appreciative patrons would buy them shots.

My favorite moment was when a Fire truck came to a complete stop on Bourbon as a half a dozen grinning NOFD heroes reached out for their copies. Later on when we discovered Frenchman Street was dead and we decided it wasn't worth the additional time to traverse it, so the girls made a point to go into the fire house on Esplanade and say hello to the much appreciative firemen. I am sure today they are still talking about the visit from the elves. The Quarter Rat salutes you guys.

There were only a few who didn't seem too impressed. One of the cheezy gift shops on Bourbon Street had the store owner in the doorway watching our yuletide procession stroll by. The store owner appeared to be of a middle eastern origin. He stood scowling and looking like he had a humbug up his ass. I mean this dude looked pissed. Well if this kind of thing offends your religious sensibilities then perhaps A) You shouldn't have a store front on BOURBON STREET, B) If naked women offend you, then STOP STARING AT THEIR TITS. I half expected him to start yelling "INFIDELS!!!" and hurl rocks. I thought perhaps he just isn't familiar with our religious customs. It might be my duty to extend an understanding hand of friendship. Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men as it were. I handed him a copy of our magazine just as a blond with a Menorah painted on her breasts walked by and waved to him. I explained "We are celebrating the birth of our Messiah, Merry Christmas." As I walked away, he hurled a paving stone at me.

The other "negative review" of the night was when I spotted three Asian kids walking by and I went to hand them a copy. I figure "They're Asian, they love cartoons." The one kid got real snotty and snapped "What do I want that fuckin thing for?" and they walked away. I guess he thought I was one of the numerous evangelical Christians that frequent Bourbon Street handing out "Why you need Jesus" tracts. I laughed and yelled "ANIME SUCKS!" Three blocks later the same group was milling about and spotted our hotties handing out something. The grinning boys approached one of our ladies. As she started to hand him a copy, I pulled her arm back and snarled at the boy "He doesn't get one..." Profanities were yelled at my back as I and the elf strolled down Bourbon. I half turned and yelled "Go home and watch Speed Racer!" I should work for the U.N.

My personal highlight was when I ran into a former roomate that I hadn't seen in months. Neither one of us could remember the other's name so we called each other "DUDE." We chatted about what we were doing in life. As I started to tell him about my exciting life as a house painter, he became distracted. He was looking over my my shoulder with bulging eyes and a stupid grin as he interrupted me "Dude, look at what's coming..." I glanced behind me to see our posse of beauties skipping towards us waving copies of the Rat. I causally responded "Hmm? Oh yea, they're with me." He sneered "Uh yeaaaaa, Riiiiiight. You wiiiiiish!" As they got closer, one came up and hooked her arm into mine and held up an unlit cigarette "Styles, baby, do you have a light?" "Of course I do, anything for you dollface." I accommodated her and clicked my Zippo close turning to my buddy "Excuse me, I have to go back to work now. Have a good holiday dude...." "Uhm, yea, uh, you too Styles."

The artwork was created by local artist Lady Erotos. She has a little business venture going of selling and painting ad space on breasts. Remember, this is the French Quarter. Her husband Domino helps her in her upstart company. What a gracious hubby. Domino joins us on these excursions just to provide an extra bit of security. Xhan, Otis, Domino and myself keep an eye on the girls at all times. Stupid shit can happen on Bourbon Street faster than a stripper can grab a buck. I turned to see Domino chuckling to himself. "What did we miss?" I asked. He told about across the street there was a man guiding a blind kid down the sidewalk through the crowd. Evidently the man who was doing the guiding got distracted by our delivery girls. The guide, not paying attention walked the blind person straight into an iron balcony post. Straight on, middle of the forehead shot. The blind guy hit the cast iron so hard, folks on the balcony looked down to see what caused the shaking. How do you explain to a blind guy with a concussion "I was staring at boobies with candy canes painted on them...."

We finished our delivery route back on Bourbon Street with out any arrests, dramas or major incidents. Rudolph was hanging onto my arm, apparently one too many free shots and she looked cold. I could tell because Rudolph by this point had pierced ears. For those of you who don't live in New Orleans, this has been a very violent and deadly year. A lot of murders and shootings, a number of high profile shootings on Bourbon Street in the past few months. Several dead, many injured by stray bullets. All Quarter Rats are jumpy and nervous from the constant tension of possible gunfire at any given moment. Suddenly from behind us I hear one of our girls yell "YOU MUTHAFUCKA....."

I spun around to see what was going down in time to see a black kid about sixteen or seventeen years old running at full speed. About the time he was a few feet away from me, a handful of a dozen or so magazines flew into the back of his head exploding into the crowd. As he ran at full speed, one of our slightly inebriated girls was hot on his heels waving a fist and threatening deadly violence against him and his testicles. Before I could grasp what was transpiring, Domino flew past chasing after the girl. As I was trying to decide if I might be needed or not in this unfolding drama four other kids who were evidently friends of the first one ran past following after Domino, who was chasing the girl who was chasing the first kid.

I could see this turning very ugly very fast. By this point of the evening I had feelings towards these girls like they were my daughters, so I joined in the chase. It defied common sense, but then again this is the Quarter and most daily activities defy common sense. So here are the eight of us at full sprint charging down Bourbon Street weaving in and out of surprised tourists watching a topless chick with pig tails and a school girl skirt screaming like a banshee after a 16 year old, being followed by a four other teens and two hipsters. Otis comes sprinting up next to me "How many?" "At least five." "What happened?" "Fucked if I know..."

At any moment I half expected to see one or more of the group pull a piece and start emptying a clip in our direction. Otis accelerates away from me catching up to the group of four a block away. I start to realize that I am no longer even in this race when my chest starts to feel like it's being cut open with a chainsaw. I notice a crowd gather around me as I kneel on Bourbon clutching my heart ready to vomit. I hear someone in the crowd mention 911. I pull myself up and jog back to the other girls to make sure they are ok. I try to listen above the noise of bad Zydeco music and my pounding heart for the sound of gun fire. I didn't hear any.

Back at the starting line Rudolph was a little pissed that I had left her, but Lady Erotos and the other two girls were near by. Catching my breath and swallowing back the bile of my near coronary, I see our troops jogging back all accounted for. The panting girl in pig tails stands in the middle of Bourbon Street pointing to the crowd in a spinning motion. "If any of you other Muthafuckas try to grab my tits, I'LL CUT YOUR DICKS OFF!"

I spent my last three bucks on Cherry Bombs at the Dungeon and walked home, and to all, a goodnight.

Lived to see another one..

2011-12-18T21:23:00.001-06:00

I posted this melancholy Christmas song last year on my other blog. It was a very low time for me. Missing my daughter, unemployed, hungry and on the verge of being homeless it was a bleak holiday season to say the least. Well, I stuck it out for my kid's sake in spite of my desire to to cash in my chips off the bridge into the Mississippi. Glad I did.

A year later, my rent is paid, my belly is full and artistically I am making money at what I love. I'm living in paradise. When I use that term, keep in mind homeless guys crap on my doorstep, gang members murder each other a block from my apartment and I think a rodent stole my Zippo lighter last night. Still I wouldn't want to live anyplace else on Earth.

I still miss my only child to the point of tears. Especially this time of year. As much as I love New Orleans, I will say that New York City does Christmas just a little bit bigger. So a year later, I'll repost this video, and this year it carries a whole different tune for me. I hope you enjoy.

Issue 25

2011-12-18T07:36:00.000-06:00

Coming soon to the top of a cigarette machine near you!

Dancing Police horse

2011-12-17T10:14:00.000-06:00

I love sharing these kind of YOUTUBE videos with my daughter back in New Jersey. "Yea, this video was made about 5 blocks from my apartment."

A page from history

2011-12-16T08:26:00.000-06:00

The blog posts about the Pontalba Apartments has gotten some great responses. One came from a reader in New York City who shared with me his memories of the building as a child. Here is a photo taken of the reader's parent's wedding reception held in apartment 502B in 1945.

My great aunt lived in a corner Pontalba apartment overlooking Decatur and St. Peter from the late 1920s until the late 1960s. I still have dreams about the interior stairway from the street to the second floor. When I was a kid, something about those wide, curving stairs, the shadows, the smell of the old building — were magic to me.

Since 1970 I've lived in NYC, Lately, I've been missing NOLA, and thinking about moving home.

Brooks

What da hell did I do last night?

2011-12-15T12:11:00.000-06:00

Otis my editor called last night to meet him over at Molly's to to see the rough draft of December's issue. Some really cool stuff in this issue. A few beers, a shot or two then I went home. Found a half a pint of Seagram's Extra Dry Gin that Cornell had given me. Dry gin and "Rip-it" energy drinks as a mixer can lead to confusion and black outs. I highly recomend them. I went out for something, probably smokes or poppers, I can't remember exactly. Anyways, I woke up this morning and found this in my apartment.

It's a gold painted mannequin torso with plastic "googly-eyes" glued to the breasts. I don't actually recall how it came into my possession, however it will make a nice display for a Mardi Gras bead collection. Boobs that stare back at you. I'm not sure where I got it. Judging by my wallet, it appears that I didn't pay some exorbitant price for it. I might have found it or... If anyone reading this has recently had a gold painted mannequin torso with plastic "googly-eyes" glued to the breasts stolen, I caught the guy who ripped you off and wrestled him to the ground, beat him to a pulp and retrieved your property. He won't be doing that again, I promise. No need to thank me.

Right place, right time...

2011-12-13T20:29:00.001-06:00

One of my Mother's favorite expressions was "Always a day late and a dollar short." Perhaps I am the one to finally break that family curse by moving here to New Orleans. I feel like a child who has traveled across the country to find his birth mother, a feeling of being where I belong. For those of you who follow my blog postings (at least 4 or 5 of you) you know for almost two years now I have been boasting, raving and romantically drooling about this city like some sort of travel agent trying to meet a quota. Well, it looks like I am not the only one to do so.

Market Watch with the Wall Street Journal has placed NOLA in the top third. Once ranking very low on their business friendly survey, now it's considered one of the best. When I first moved down here in March of 2010, the only day labor that I could immediately find was back breaking digging in the hard clay soil of St Bernard Parish. (March 2010) I was hired to work on a strip mall that was finally being renovated after being damaged by Hurricane Katrina. As I took a smoke break in the back of the building looking at a large boat resting on it's side in a vacant lot, I pondered the irony.

Five years earlier New Orleans would have been the last place I or anyone else looking to improve one's opportunities would have dreamed of moving to. My economic position back in New Jersey was one of erosion, every year earning less and paying more. Fewer opportunities, more competition for what little was available. Now down here, I have to ask for time off from my day job as a house painter to tend to my part time job as a graphic artist while turning down a few freelance gigs just for the lack of time.

I remember watching the news during and after the storm, feeling the way rest of our nation did. Hearts heavy with sadness, grief and compassion for what many may have silently considered a lost American city. Now six years later, many major American cities may be looking down here with envy. A strong economy, lower than national average unemployment and an increasing personal income growth for it's residents. It's the people, strong and resilient, determined to not only just to bounce back but surpass any expectations of them. Perhaps that's why I find New Orleans so inspiring.

A Facebook friend posted the article from the Wall Street Journal's web site with the photo of the Pontalba Apartments accompanying the article. I immediately exclaimed "That's where I work!" And it's where I belong, thank you New Orleans.

(BTW, I didn't even see a New Jersey city mentioned on the top 100 list)

Some more pics

2011-12-09T09:03:00.001-06:00

Here are some more photos from some work that I did at the Pontalba. I spent way too much time on this medallion on the ceiling in the living room. More than one usually does on a rental property, but I enjoyed it.

We were the painting crew that started painting the medallion the wall color, property management liked it and decided all of the rooms should have that. Now they insist the other crews do it too. So of course I have to one up them with this. By the end of the day my neck was killing me and my vision blurry from drops of oil paint. I felt like Michelangelo.

A change of pace

2011-12-08T06:01:00.000-06:00

I have been writing about working at the Pontalba on Jackson Square for a while now. I'll admit that I needed a change. This week I am working as a house painter out in the Marigny on a house on North Rampart. A little bit more of a walk in the morning, about 20 minutes instead of 3 minutes to the Square. I love the walk and change of scenery. Some really beautiful homes on North Rampart and in the Marigny. What has made it really fun is that I am working with my buddy Cornell. I first met Cornell over on Jefferson Davis Parkway when I lived there a few months ago. A fellow house painter who lived upstairs from me, it was impossible not to like him.

A native of New Orleans, he is what you would expect from the best of the Crescent City, positive, hard working and fun. We struck it off immediately sitting on a stoop over looking JD parkway, talking about house painting and making each other laugh. After I introduced him to my employer Robert who might need extra help painting, I asked Robert "Did you like Cornell?" "How could you not?" he replied with a grin. Cornell is one of the few people I envy, he can approach almost anyone and win them over with a simple comment.

Cornell got me some work with another painting crew when I needed it earlier this year, so I was happy to bring him in on our crew when we needed reliable help with experience. One trouble Robert keeps running into down here is he will hire someone to do a job, and they never show up. We brought in one laborer who showed up to work, asked me where the bathroom was and never returned. I think he used the job as an excuse to have someone drop him off in the Quarter to go score some rock. Cornell thanked me for the work coming his way, I told him "I only got you the first days work, any after that you got on your own." Robert wouldn't have had him back if the man didn't do a good job.

When we left the job site, we faced a long walk down Rampart back to the Quarter. Cornell was catching a bus back to Mid City. We decided that a pint bottle of Gin might take the chill out of the walk, It did. A fun walk, great conversation and we had the bottle killed by the time we hit Armstrong Park. I vaguely remember my walk down Toulouse, and I am blaming all Facebook postings that night on Hackers. Working with Cornell is a lot of fun.

Down in the Marigny...

2011-12-07T05:36:00.000-06:00

My coworker Cornell and I knocked out three rooms today of a cottage in the Marigny, and during our smoke breaks on the front stoop we watched the shooting of TREME across the street on Elysian Fields. I thought about my friend Janet in Allentown Pa. who is a fan of the show. She would probably think it was awesome to watch the filming of the HBO show. After a while down here having worked in the industry and seeing film crews busy everyday, a production across the street is just like seeing a Lucky Dog cart. You don't even notice them anymore.

Robert is going after acting roles like a Pitbull after bacon. I stopped doing the "acting" thing just because it's not my goal in life. I think for all involved, it's best I remain behind the camera. However Robert sent me a casting notice for a 50 something, balding "creepy cashier." He thinks I'm a shoe in. I might audition.

Don't call me a republican...

2011-12-07T03:41:00.000-06:00

I've just awoken from a Gin coma to find this message from a good friend back in Jersey:

Good morning . Need your help. Do you by any chance have a copy of H.S.T. 's Fear & Loathing on the Campaign Trail ? I've been researching quotes of his for hours & can't find his description of Hubert H. Humphrey . It's an awesome piece of writing that i believe also accurately describes Newt Gingrich.
Now I'm aware you're an avid republican , something I will never comprehend , but to each his own. Actually you're one of the poorest republicans i have ever known. Not many poor republicans around. Most of my republican friends have boo koo bucks & I understand their point of view. Don't like it , but I understand it. A poor republican i will never understand. What ever you're smoking , I want some. ..

Yes I have a tattered and stained copy somewhere in a storage garage back in Jersey. Sorry I can't help you with more than this...
"There is no way to grasp what a shallow, contemptible and hopelessly dishonest old hack Hubert Humphrey is until you've followed him around for a while." HST

To address your confusion over my neo-con views going hand in hand with my destitute poverty, let me clarify. If I were to turn to the Democrats to assist me in my financial morass, I would be condemning my self to a life of slavery. Caught up in an addiction to the government teet, forever seeking more and more hand outs and assistance. I would have given up on believing in myself, sucked into the mindset of that I was an absolute failure and incapable of ever succeeding on my own. I would become a hater of humanity, thinking that others got a bigger slice of the American dream than I. No, I will be a success on my own with out any bail outs, grants, funding or crumbs from the table of manipulative politician who play me for my vote by convincing me that I am some sort of victim of capitalism.

Greed is good. Without it we all would still be living as serfs in some sort of dark age commune. Greed has given us great technologies, modern medicine, mindless distractions and a military industrial complex that tells the world "Keep your hands off of our shit." I may never be wealthy, but at least I know that I have a chance to be. That is the only thing that keeps me going day after day. If all I had to look forward to everyday was the next Government check or food stamp card in my mailbox, I would have no reason to keep going.

It may never happen, that phone call from someone with my big break. I have talent and dreams, now I just need to find some greedy capitalist who sees an opportunity to make bigger bucks off of my abilities. The far left hate freedom with a passion. They want to tell us all what to eat, what to wear, how much we can earn, who we must love and to hate those who disagree with them.

Republicans aren't much better. So I never refer to myself as one. I do believe in the philosophy of less Government, less taxes and fewer laws. Let each individual state put issues up for a vote to it's own citizens. Legalize marijuana? If enough residents vote yes, than that state gets the revenue and baggage that goes along with it. Gay marriage? Same thing, that state gets the revenue and talents of the highest income earners. Those who don't like it can move to another state that doesn't recognize the marriage or legal pot smoking. Freedom to choose, freedom to change.

"Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads?"

H.S.T.

Ya ain't goin to believe dis...

2011-12-05T17:57:00.000-06:00

Ya ain't goin to believe dis... but the other night me, Otis and Richard were standing out front bullshitting. Richard from the internet cafe was explaining to us how he could put Wi Fi on the moon or something when this dude in a red shirt goes running down Toulouse at full speed. Looked like he had a towel in his pocket so he was service industry. I mean he was booking. Otis yells "YA A-IGHT?!" Yea is heard as he disappears to the left on Royal. We immediately looked towards Bourbon to see who or whom or what may be chasing the guy. If it's dudes with weapons, I'll be going inside now "Good night."

We go back to talking. Less than a minute later, two horse mounted cops come galloping in the same direction. Two mounted cops with hooves making sparks on the pavement is not anything I would want on my ass. I turned to Otis and boast "Come on, where else in the world do you see that in your front yard."

A peek inside

2011-12-03T00:00:00.000-06:00

I recently brought some friends up to tour the unit at the Pontalba Apartments that Robert and I have been working on for a number of weeks now. When the guests entered the first word was "WOW." One visitor said she couldn't believe that such large luxurious apartments were available in the French Quarter. Two large bedrooms with original marble fireplaces, open up to a third floor balcony overlooking the very center of Jackson Square. The statue is directly in front of this center unit. Out of the half dozen or so remodelings that we have done, this one by far has the nicest view of the Square and St Louis Cathedral.

Not to come across as some sort of real estate broker, but this place is beautiful. Wood floors, twelve foot high ceilings with plaster medallions crowning the center. Ten foot high doors open up into each room, as well as each closet. The windows to the balcony have folding pocket shutters that still function despite the many layers of paint over the years. The ten foot high window can be closed off if you are shy about getting dressed in front of General Jackson. Everything about the apartment is grand.

Out of all of the units we had worked on, this particular one has needed the most attention. A portion of the plaster ceiling in the living room was in the process of collapse, as well as a lot of surface plaster work needed on the walls. Apparently the previous tenets had lived there for many years and were "hoarders." Having some personal experience with hoarders, I can tell you that by their very nature they are secretive and isolated. Most compulsive disorders can somewhat be hidden from the world. Not so with hoarding. Consequently, when routine repairs or maintenance was needed to the unit, property management was never notified in order to keep the clutter a secret.

I can't imagine being a pack rat while living in a third floor apartment. The tenets had installed multiple shelving units through out the apartment. The first couple days of prep work involved just removing the shelves and repairing the walls from the brackets holding them up.

If you were a property owner in suburbia who tried to maintain a presentable home, having a hoarder next door with a yard filled with debris would be at best a nuisance. You might think that hoarding in an apartment setting it wouldn't affect the neighbors, but it can. I have spent the better part of six months in this building and the only signs of rodent or insect infestation has been in this unit. The pest problem has been taken care of. One of the hazards of compulsive hoarding is that it provides a perfect enviroment for pests. Ample hiding spots and often ample food supplies.

The property management people discouraged me from posting "before photos" of this unit, I guess they didn't want the photos to be taken out of context and give the wrong impression of the building over all. Everyone involved with the Pontalba takes a great deal of pride in the preservation of the building, it's not just real estate, it's history.

I'll be posting more photos of the apartment as each room becomes completed.

I guess I'm just gettin old....

2011-11-29T22:20:00.001-06:00

Today was pay day, two weeks worth. I went right over to pay pay my rent and set aside some for the rest of my immediate bills. Tonight I looked at the rest of my cash with eager anticipation of my big plans for the night, grocery shopping. I have been planning my trip to Rouses for a week. My front door is fifty feet from Bourbon Street, years ago that would have been the direction to go on pay day. In 2011 it has no appeal to me except for the occasional walk for amusement.

I read posts from Facebook friends 30 years younger than me of their plans for every night of the week. "Going here, meeting so and so, drinking this or that." God bless you, be careful, and get it out of your system now. I'm sure if they saw my life, I would seem like a boring old fart. I am and proud of it. People my age behaving like twenty somethings are sad and pathetic. I have been living in the French Quarter for a little more than four months, might have gotten drunk less than a half a dozen times. Can't do it any more. You'll see, I hope.

I chuckled at myself getting ready to go make groceries. Showered, groomed and actually put thought into what to wear. You would have thought that I had a date with Trixi Minx or something. Every purchase was thought out for maximum nutrition for my dollar, no splurges, no treats. This time last year I was so broke that I came down with the scurvy. I know, who gets the scurvy in the 21st century anymore? I had been getting food stamps but 3/4 of my Louisiana Purchase Card each month went towards paying my rent. Fifty dollars a month left for hot dogs and potatoes.

After a diet like that for three months I noticed all I wanted to do was stay in bed, and when I tried to get up every joint in my body ached, my teeth wiggled and I saw a zombie with blotches in the mirror. So tonight going grocery shopping was like a night on the town. No snacks or frozen pizzas, straight to the produce section. Yea, on pay day I lust for cauliflower. Someone recently said that I should reapply for food stamps, I responded "If I have the money for coffee and cigarettes every day then I can afford to buy my own food. Governor Jindal doesn't owe me a damn thing." In fact, I feel I owe the state and look forward to paying it back someday.

I toyed with the idea of crossing the street to join my friend Otis for a beer at Molly's. I have a full belly, a full day of work behind me, and another full day ahead of me tomorrow so I'll just go to bed. You young kids, go to Bourbon Street and have fun. Spend so much of your money now that someday you'll look back on it and cringe. If in thirty years you're still doing it, stop and reconsider. You might be surprised at the joy of a simple night out grocery shopping.

God bless you, be careful.

Who Dat!

2011-11-28T23:55:00.006-06:00

I had never been a football fan until I moved to New Orleans. Never. I couldn't understand the obsession or the fanaticism. Back in New Jersey, not everyone liked the same teams. At the cab company we had a few Giants fans, an Eagles fan, some guy who loved the Jets and another who liked a mid west team for some strange reason. I used to listen to them perplexed as they would become abusive and belligerent towards each other over sports teams. "Your team SUCKS!" "No, your team sucks more! " " They both suck, mine is the best!" I would silently think to myself, "Are you for real? Why do you base your self esteem on the success or failure of total strangers who couldn't give a shit about how well you do your job?"

I had a passenger ask me once "You a Giants fan?"
"Nope."
"What teams do you like?"
"None."
"NONE?? What do you mean?"
"I don't follow football, never did, never will."
"What are you? A FAGOT?"

Let's examine that statement. You spend your Sundays with your male friends squeezed onto the same couch or elbow to elbow at a bar, watching sweaty, muscular, athletic MEN roll around in the mud piled on top of each other while wearing skin tight pants. When they do well, you and your buddies high five and even hug. When your team of MEN are done, they pat each other on the asses and take a shower together. The only thing that is even remotely heterosexual about football are the cheerleaders who they seldom show. If your team of MEN do well, you feel good about yourselves and your self esteem goes through the roof. Like you as the fan actually acomplished something yourself, but you didn't. You wasted several hours of your free time cheering on millionares. If your team fails, you are in a bad mood for days, acting like a pissy little bitch whose man didn't please her. Football is very gay.

The GIANTS

Most of northern New Jersey love the Giants. The Giants are a NJ team. The stadium is in Jersey, the players live in Jersey, the fans are in Jersey, the revenue comes from and goes to New Jersey. The team calls themselves THE NEW YORK GIANTS. Isn't that kind of a slap in the face? I mean, if I had a hot young trophy wife she better be using my name. If you are spending my money, you better be calling yourself MRS STYLES bitch. However, New Jersey has such low self esteem that they allow their team to take the name of another state that already has two teams of it's own, the Jets and some team out of Buffalo NY. In all fairness to the Giants, would you want to be associated with New Jersey? Of course not.

The SAINTS

It wasn't until I arrived in New Orleans that I started to understand the football thing. Perhaps because Saints fans aren't complete assholes like Giant fans were back in Jersey. NOLA has such a loyalty to the Saints, it is part of the community. Not just some franchise making a buck off of fans, the Saints are inspiration to a city that feels isolated and alienated from the rest of the country. In times when the residents of the city seem to be shooting each other at an alarming rate, there is almost a truce on game day. If some local points a gun at you and you can manage to yell "WHO DAT!" before he pulls the trigger, you may get to live. Music, food, parades and the Saints is all that keep New Orleans imploding like some middle eastern capital.

NY GIANTS 24 • THE SAINTS 49

Location, location, location

2011-11-26T11:21:00.001-06:00

We are in the early production of our animated series "Quarter Rats." I'm working on some of the background art and have been scouting locations and buildings for our characters. I hope to capture the beauty and grittiness of the French Quarter so much that those who have never been here will feel like they have, and for those of us familiar with it I want to be able to point and say "Hey, that's the corner of so and so!"

The main character BiNGE will live in a run down apartment building on the 1100 block of Bourbon, his friends Lance and Jody will have a neat Creole cottage on Gov Nichols. Bars and clubs will look vaguely similar to those we pass everyday on Bourbon Street.

I never met a dame yet that didn't know if she was good-looking or not without being told, and there's some of them that give themselves credit for more than they've got.
Stanley Kowalski

The leading lady of romantic interest is Athena DeCruelle. A former aspiring high fashion model turned B movie actress, turned exotic dancer, turned professional dominatrix is a lady of style and class. I have written several scenes between her and BiNGE as a wink to Tennessee Williams. Of course I had to include a winding street front staircase for and future Stella and Stanley like exchanges. Surprisingly, there are not a lot of staircases on the exterior facades in the French Quarter.

The location that I chose for Athena 's apartment is actually just a few doors down from where Mr. Williams was living when he wrote "Streetcar named Desire," at 632 St Peters.

BiNGE and Athena have a very dysfunctional relationship. Athena is the abusive and manipulative partner. When the man is abusive, it's a drama. When the woman is the abuser, it's a comedy.

Being a lady of elegance, her place had to be just right. I combed the Quarter scouting locations and stumbled upon hers on my way to work. Across from that famous little alley connecting Pirate's Alley to St Peters it seemed perfect. Just a stone's throw from Jackson Square it should provide some great visuals. Called the David Victor house built in 1838, it houses the Le Petit Salon Ladies Literary Group. I don't think they will object if I place a coked up dominatrix in there as a resident.

Take a look at yourself here in a worn-out Mardi Gras outfit, rented for 50 cents from some rag-picker. And with a crazy crown on. Now what kind of a queen do you think you are? Do you know that I've been on to you from the start, and not once did you pull the wool over this boy's eyes! You come in here and you sprinkle the place with powder and you spray perfume and you stick a paper lantern over the light bulb - and, lo and behold, the place has turned to Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile, sitting on your throne, swilling down my liquor.
Stanley to Blanche, Scene 10

Scene: Night time, exterior of Athena's apartment.

A very drunk BiNGE staggers up the deserted street

and stands under her balcony by a gas street light.

In a very Stanley Kowalski fashion starts to yell her name.

Binge

Athenaaaaaa, Athenaaaaa!

Interior of Athena's posh apartment:

She is on a computer and hears the annoying

drunken BiNGE calling her name outside.

She scowls and tries to ignore him.

Binge (off screen)

Athenaaaaaaa!

Nieghbor
SHUT UP YOU ASSWIPE!

Binge
Look! I want my gurl down here! Athena!

Athena, perturbed gets up and goes off screen.

An startled cat is heard meowing.

Back on street, Binge looking up.

Binge

Athenaaaaaa, Athenaaaaa!

Athena appears on balcony holding a

box of cat litter, she dumps it on Binge mid yell.

Binge

Athen... (Cough)

He doesn't know it yet, but Nic Cage will be making a cameo appearance in the show....

Smoked Turkey

2011-11-26T07:56:00.004-06:00

I got out of the Quarter for Thanksgiving, to the Marigny. No airports, no traffic jams, just a 15 minute walk to Frenchman Street. I was fortunate enough to get an invite from my friend Chris to join him at one of the coolest guest houses in the Fauboug Marigny on Frenchman Street. His landlady Noni is a sweatheart who is a lovable hostess that made me feel like family. The atmosphere was sophisticated but casual with polite and smart guests. Musicians, teachers, artists and professionals all enjoying great food and great conversation.

Compared to the deeply depressing holiday season I had last year, I was going to be content with staying home and splurging on a turkey po boy followed by a Hubig Apple Pie. I had to fight my hermit like nature to accept the invite and I was glad I did. Noni's son made a pork roast that was unlike anything I ever had. Pork roast stuffed with Boudin sausage, wrapped with bacon and cooked in a smoker. Chris played his classical guitar as we passed the smoked turkey.

We dined outside in an immaculate courtyard, actually the entire house was a piece of art in itself. Beautifully decorated with a real sense of peace and tranquility about it. Noni runs this guest house and is a fantastic hostess. Many of her guests are production people in town shooting film or television productions. The location and atmosphere of the place make it a perfect place to escape the hectic workplace of a film shoot. I won't mention specific names of productions, but you would recongnize titles.

I enjoyed listening to musicians discuss music, and I had a civil intelligent discussion with a jazz drummer about politics and the Occupy Wall Street movement. We did both agree the Coca Cola brothers should be bitch slapped. I know I have made some new friends.

Anyone visiting from out of town, look into staying here. Not to come across like some maudlin promotional piece, but Noni and company would make a stay at a great city even better. Frenchman Street is where the locals of NOLA congregate to enjoy the best of New Orleans music, culture and people. Entirely differant feel from my part of town by Bourbon Street. Frenchman has a mellow energy that one would expect from the "hipster" side of town.

Noni and Company

This what you can find on Frenchman Street most any weekend night. A few blocks down from Noni & Company. Far enough away that it won't keep you awake, but close enough to grab your drinks and walk down to listen on a warm night. (Don't forget to tip your musicians)

Thank you very much

2011-11-24T10:32:00.002-06:00

This is such an important holiday. Even if you remove all of the religious and political cogitations, we need it for a healthy psyche. It's way too easy to get caught up in what we think we need, what we believe we want and what we fear that we'll never get. It's a time to stop and look around at what we do have with the realization that it easily could be gone tomorrow. Even more important, to be thankful for the "whos" that we have.

Yesterday morning at work I stood out on the balcony of the Pontalba looking over Jackson Square thinking what a blessed mutherfer I am. My day started out as usual, giving my buddy Darren (a homeless guy) his first smoke of the day. He mentioned how he was still damp from the hard rainstorm the night before. My friend asked me what my holiday plans were, and if I didn't have any that I should join him over at the Hard Rock Cafe for Thanksgiving dinner. The HRC closes shop every year to serve Thanksgiving Day meals to the homeless. Darren encouraged me to join him and the others I have befriended in the Square over the past few months.

I declined because I have a job and a warm home, I wanted to leave a seat open for those who need it more than I. Darren told how they put on a great spread, who says corporate America is heartless? Back in the beginning of October, Darren was sitting on his usual bench when a man walked up and started to hand him toiletries of soap, toothpaste and the like. Darren thanked him profusely as the good Samaritan walked away. I came over to offer a smoke. Darren commented that although he appreciated the act of kindness, he just didn't have room for all of the travel size containers in his only backpack.

"I appreciate all he gave me, but I just don't have the room, here, take some of these toothpastes." "No, I couldn't." "He gave me five tubes of toothpaste and I only have three damn teeth. Take some." I was just moving into my new place and money was tight between the first month's rent and deposit so I did take some tubes of Crest and soap. It came in handy and saved me a few bucks. I walked away a little choked up. Darren is an example of the "whos" that I am thankful to know.

Twenty months ago I cruised into New Orleans with just $25 bucks left of the $200 loaned to me by my ex wife's new husband to move down here. I knew no one but my friend from the cab company Doug AKA Waffle. He and his wife Diane let me sleep on their floor until something else came along. Waffle was the one who talked me into coming down to a city that I had never even been to before. As he put it "To be with like minded individuals." I'm thankful.

This time a year ago was a dark, depressing and loathsome time for me. It has not all been a big easy for me since I moved down here. However, I am thankful for those difficult times as well. They have made me stronger, more mature and grateful for what I have achieved. New Years Day I abruptly found myself without a place to live. My friend Robert took me in to his already crowded apartment, fed and employed me. Ten months later I moved into my own place on Toulouse. I'm thankful.

I could give a long list of people that I am thankful for and examples of them being there for me, Kevin, John, Aaron and Colleen. One thing the long time residents of New Orleans have taught me that the "things" in our lives don't mean a thing. Tomorrow they all could be washed away, friends are always there after the storm waters recede. Friends don't remind you of what they have done for you or keep track of what they have given you.

When I rolled into NOLA twenty months ago, I only knew two people here. Now as I walk through the Quarter I am greeted and welcomed by dozens. Business owners, Lucky Dog guys, bouncers, club managers, dancers, artists, magicians, musicians and the homeless. On this day we look to our higher powers with acknowledgment and grace. Today, I look towards a lady. She's graceful, talented, enchanting and yet can quickly turn violent and dangerous. She's ancient and weather worn, has seen a lot of rough times but still is beautiful and sexy as hell. Thank you New Orleans, for taking me in and being my friend.

Hey Kiddo

2011-11-20T18:33:00.002-06:00

Laura, I probably think about you a hundred times a day. Miss you very much and can't wait to have you down to New Orleans to show you this great city and to see how much you've grown. I brought my camera in today to take some photos at work and to show you what I do down here. I have been working 6 to 7 days a week painting the Pontalba apartments on Jackson Square. It's a lot of work but it keeps me out of trouble, believe me it's easy to get in trouble when you live in the French Quarter. You don't have to look for trouble, it finds you. Besides I need to work a lot with Christmas coming up. ; )

These buildings were constructed by Baroness Micaela Almonester Pontalba in the 1840's. She was a strong independant woman for her time and had her hand in the designing of these apartments for $300,000 on land she inherited from her father. Originally the land was occupied by military barracks and a prison.

In the photo of me (not very flattering) over my right shoulder you can get a glimpse of the Cabildo where they signed the Louisiana purchase in 1803.

Here are some photos that I took from the third floor balcony where I take my cigarette breaks. Below in the Square are artists selling artwork and street performers doing their acts as hundreds of tourists mill about.

You can see the Mississippi River from the balcony. It's cool to watch huge cargo ships cruise up and down the river. These things are massive, they are as big as skyscrapers lying on their sides.

Here is one of the rooms that I finished today. It's a smaller dining room with marble floors and mantle. I painted the walls and installed the chandelier. I'll show you some more photos of rooms as they become completed. I'm always thinking about you, hope to see you soon.

Love Dad

My lip is bleeding....

2011-11-17T22:05:00.002-06:00

I didn't want to get too political with this blog, to be honest I am trying to work on some business deals with lefties and don't want to blow it. However if these morons have their way, there won't be any economy left for me to get rich off of. I have been biting my lip on the Wall street protesters for so long that I have a hole in it. Believe it or not, when I was in my early twenties I probably would have gone along with this idiots. Of course when I was in my twenties I was a lazy worker, politically ignorant and a foolish ideologue. So I think I can safely speak to these cracked pots.

A) Show me any example in history where communism or socialism has ever really worked. Anywhere? Ever? Capitalism has given you all of the material possessions that you can't now live with out. Any of you protesters willing to give up your iphones, computers, Facebook, cars, or god forbid X box 360's? No, in fact you want those people who dreamed up, invented, toiled, sacrificed, manufactured, marketed and produced those and thousands of other technologies to now turn over the profits back to you so you can sit in your parent's basement collecting Government money while playing with the above mentioned toys? If you want the products of socialism, buy a YUGO.

B) Oh, the big bad oppressive system is evil. You smelly, lazy hippies use to sing about "Freedom and personal expression and how bad the establishment is." Your solution? More government, more laws, more taxes. Yea, you want bigger government and more laws as long as they coincide with your way of thinking. I don't want laws telling me that I have to buy those stupid curly light bulbs or that I can't run with scissors if I so choose. For the little crap like that, let the individual states decide without Federal intervention what is best for it's citizens. If one state wants to legalize something, let it. That state can keep the revenue and the expense of it for itself. Never has more laws, more government and more taxes ever led to more freedom. (see China)

C) I made a comment to a facebook friend about the protesters evidently didn't have jobs. She was quick to defend them stating that 98% of them probably had jobs. That seems a little unrealistic considering the national average for unemployment is actually around 20%. Also take into account that would mean that millions of employers would have no problem with their employees taking weeks or months off from work to sit in a park and protest the very system that the pay check issuing boss is toiling away to make work. "Sure, come back to work after you increase my taxes and destroy my livelihood."

D) Celebrities who are endorsing these fools, shut the f*ck up. I don't see you letting these deadbeats camp on your Malibu yard, so don't tell us that we have to put up with them in our downtowns. Want economic justice? The next film you make just have the producers hand over 90% of your paycheck to the IRS so the 99 % can sit in a park at a drum circle. Michel Moore, stop giving your income to McDonalds, KFC and other "Evil Corporations." Ya fat f*ck!

E) You want jobs? What kind? Working for the Department of Pasta Research and Development? You want cushy, overpaid, union bureaucrat jobs where you shuffle in, do next to nothing, collect a check and have holidays off. Paid for by the tax dollars of those who actually produce, labor and think for a living.

F) It's not fair... Anytime I hear that exclamation I turn a deaf ear. It's not fair that 1% controls 40% of the wealth in this country. Why not? They worked hard for it. Their parents worked hard to send their kids to good schools where they studied hard at things like business and engineering, not art and social studies. I'm an artist and I wouldn't even waste my time on an art degree. I bet very few of the 1% had student loans paying for the education, and if they did I'm confidant they paid back the loans. Probably a few of them worked their way through college to pay for an education. So yea, they deserve it. Is it fair that a person who pushed themselves and worked hard all of their lives should have to pay more taxes to support you lazy bastards who want to sit at home all day and masturbate?

G) I could jump on board with you. I am at the bottom of the economic ladder myself. I have been homeless and hungry. Did I blame corporations, banks or George W Bush? No. It was my own fault, my situation lies entirely on my back and my choices. No one else is to blame for my life, good or bad. I am working hard to change it. I am focused on giving my child every advantage I can. I do not expect our government to take care of her or me.

I'll be damned if I am going to quietly sit by and let you dirty, lazy, ignorant fools try to wreck the best economic system the world has ever seen.

Cause that's what friends do....

2011-11-16T22:08:00.000-06:00

The past couple of days I have been working by myself over at the Pontalba building. My friend and employer Robert has been busy. Some of the guys at the building ask in the morning "Where's Robert? Out sick?" "No, he had a film shoot again today, he's playing a secret service agent in the new G.I. Joe film, or something..." Robert is an aspiring actor and takes on every part he can get for the experiance. Starting out doing background work over a year and a half ago, he has already accomplished more than most wanna be actors could in five years.

Robert threw himself into it 100% when he made up his mind that it was his goal. Acting classes from several renowned local acting coaches, speech courses, and every free moment dedicated to his passion. Even though his "day job" is doing very well with so much work that he has to hire on another painter, he's focused on a bigger goal.

At the beginning of the year I was working on the illustrations for the Quarter Rat book "Bourbon Street and Beyond." (copies of which are still available at your finer strip joints on Bourbon Street.) About half way through the project I suddenly found myself with out a place to live or work on the book.

Robert, without hesitation took me into his already crowded apartment and said "Finish that book." He put a roof over my head, fed me, encouraged me and gave me employment when his business started to get traction. That's what friends do. He never once reminded me of what he did for me, or ever said I owed him, he ain't like that. At the time all he wanted to see was me succeed at my art.

So eleven months later, he's turning down painting work because we are so busy. Every now and then he has to take a day or two off from painting for auditions, fittings or to spend time on the set for a shoot, it's cool with me. He was there for me and my pursuit. I'm more than happy to work a few extra hours a day, and sling a few extra gallons of paint to help him along the way to his goal.

Cause that's what friends do....

Ok, it use to be cute, now it's annoying

2011-11-16T20:15:00.000-06:00

Durring my first year in New Orleans the only real work I could find was doing background work in films. It was kind of exciting at first, then it just became a boring part time job. Sure they fed us well and on occassion I got to stand next to an exploding building or get chased by monsters, but it got old fast.

I can currently make more money painting apartments, and I don't have to listen to whiny cry babies in the Extra Holding tent piss and moan about how hard of a job it is. "It's too hot, we've been here for hours, the director doesn't know what he's doing." Shut the hell up, you're getting paid $80 a day to walk back and forth across a street. "Oh, at lunch they ran out of the Bar B Que chicken..." Yea, they were out of it on your THIRD TRIP BACK TO THE TABLE. I knew a woman who use to load up her purse from the craft table, no class.

I stopped applying for the work to devote myself to a steady income. Lately I have been annoyed by the amount of filming here in the Quarter. Sure, it's great for the local economy and we can take pride in our creative community, but damn it, you are blocking my path. I went to meet a friend on Frenchman Street, blocked by a Treme shoot, on my way to work this morning I had to step over cables and around trucks on Royal Street. I went for coffee on Decatur this afternoon, sidewalk blocked by lighting equipment and gawking tourists.

Yea, yea yea, they're filming a movie, big shit, get out of my way.

STEVIE NICKS ~ New Orleans

2011-11-13T09:13:00.000-06:00

The Square peg finds it's square hole

2011-11-09T19:50:00.001-06:00

I was talking to my downstairs neighbor Dawna this morning, like most mornings on my way to work. She understands what a privileged it is to live in the French Quarter. Her first visit here she proclaimed that she would move to the Quarter, and did. Thousands of tourists every week tourists say that, very few ever would. It's not a question of choosing to live here, it's a question of belonging here.

I'm finally feeling settled here. I have couch surfed one end of NOLA to the other. Irish Chanel, Broadmoore, Algiers on the West Bank, Mettarie, Mid City, and three separate couches in the French Quarter. This one is my own. As much as I hated my transient life style, it gave me a greater insight to the city. Neighborhoods and roomates. Lived in a house that still had a spray painted X on the door from Katrina.

Locals refer to this recent era as "Post Katrina" referring to anything prior they usually preface the sentence with "Pre-Katrina I worked as...." I have never asked any survivors details, but once they befriend you, you'll hear inspiration.

When I left work tonight at the Pontalba they were setting up for a balcony performance for classical music. Last month I was surrounded by Opera singers in theatrical garb while I was trying to clean paint brushes. Every month the French Market Corporation is setting up live performances on the second floor balcony over looking Jackson Square. Not usual NOLA fare, opera, classical and next month a children's choir. I'll leave early that day thank you.

I never felt this comfortable anywhere else. I have the coolest neighbors in the world. Yea, it can get a little rough down here, but it's worth the risk.

Art imitating life or life intimidating art debate

2011-11-07T20:11:00.001-06:00

Art imitating life or life intimidating art old debate. Down here in the French Quarter, they are one in the same. You can stop in front of an art gallery on Royal Street and look in the window at the paintings while your thoughts are being serenaded by a classical violinist playing eight feet behind you, while stepping in dog crap.

Tonight if you had looked in the window of Peter O'Neill's gallery you would have seen them filming a pilot for a series Subrosan. My friend Robert does a lot of film work on the side and is helping out on this hopeful pilot. When Robert heard they were looking for a gallery, he suggested our friend Peter's gallery. The director loved the look of the place, so it became a set. It is a cool spot, open up the front doors right on the corner and the rear of St Louis Cathedral is the back drop.

Mr. and Mrs. O'Neill were in featured background. Ironically, Peter and Noelle were cast as a doctor and wife buying Peter's art on his own walls. That life / art thing again.

About ten minutes ago....

2011-11-05T21:56:00.001-05:00

About ten minutes ago, my neighbor Richard (he's kind of our version of Kramer) starts tapping on doors and yelling like there was a UFO hovering over Bourbon Street.

Not that UFOs ever really get noticed over Bourbon Street. You watch where you walk, and if you dare look up you might get a face full of beads or piss.

He yells "There's a parade coming, cop cars are passing Bourbon now." Six feet away from our front door.

Ok, if it's that close, I'll go watch it. Imagine if you went out the front door of your house and found an all girl parade in your driveway. You would have to at least stick your head out the door and watch.

The all female krew MOLASSES had a great parade down Toulouse tonight. I grabbed my simple camera and set it on auto. Here are the photos.

Eat your heart out New Jersey.

Quarter Randomess 1

2011-11-05T19:16:00.000-05:00

One day I woke up and walked outside to find a drunk stripper on my doorstep. At that very moment a donkey drawn carriage with a mid western looking group of tourists rode by. Giving confused, indignant looks, scowled at me trying to get her up and out of my way. I looked up at yelled "This is a great town, THEY DELIVER!" On that cue, 'Rocket' vomits on herself. I guess I got on some sort of subscription list.

Quarter to Seven

2011-11-05T11:18:00.000-05:00

I had today off from house painting so I planned to devote it to the animation work. I went to bed about nine last night. Yea, nine. Up and about at six thirty this morning I went on a quest for coffee since my coffee maker is on the fritz. Soon as I hit my front gate on Toulouse to leave I heard loud a twenty something girl screaming belligerently "The bitch stole my cell phone! I'm going to kick her in the C*NT!" She and her swirling group of four were knocking over garbage cans staggering away from an all nighter on Bourbon Street.

Across the street I spotted Hulse from our Quarter Rats @ Molly's video leaning on a garbage can on Toulouse. I don't think he knew from where he recognized me from, but still was friendly. "So..whare ya comin from?" "I just woke up, I'm going for coffee." He looked a little confused by the statement. "Wanna go for Irish Coffee?" "Uhm no thanks man, I'm just getting started, have a good night."

I enjoy the French Quarter in the early morning hours, except for the few hard cores staggering home at day break, the Quarter is peaceful. The only ones stirring are the Quarter Rats, dragging out tons of garbage from the night before and hosing off the brick sidewalks from the indulgences of their customers. Careful where you step, every form of bodily fluid can be slipped upon, I mean every kind. I have seen soiled condoms stuck on lamp posts. That ain't dog crap on the sidewalk, unless the dog was trained to wipe with a paper napkin from Krystal Burgers.

Truck drivers making early morning deliveries before the streets become congested with tourists and mule drawn guides. The locals in bathrobes walking tiny annoying dogs glance up with suspicion at passing pedestrians like myself, only to smile and give a quiet "Good morning" when they realize that I'm not going to ask for change or demand their wallets at knife point. Even at daybreak you have to be on guard, doorways and alleys are still dark. Dawn brings desperation for those who have been up all night looking to smoke crack and want to rob someone while the streets are still dark and deserted.

I got to the Community Coffee on Decatur at 6:45 am, closed. They open at 7:00 am, "Ya gotz to be kiddin me?" I passed four places still serving alcohol at quarter to seven, but I can't find caffeine. Up and dressed I wasn't going to go home to turn around and return. So I headed up to Unique Groceries in the 100 block of Royal. If there ever was a convenience store in the wild west, it would be like Unique Groceries.

Outside there is always a group of guys drinking out of paper bags and talking loud, asking for change or offering to sell you something that you know ain't what they say it is. By this point I am a caffeine junky desperate for my fix and in a lousy mood. As I try to enter a very drunk man is parking his bike in the doorway, I mean directly in the doorway. I try to skirt around to the left, he rolls the duct tape covered bike to the left. I step to the right, he rolls it to the right. "EXCUSE ME!" I bark.

"Sarry, sarry, I's just tryin to park it so I cans see it frum insides the store.." I push by on my quest for an upper. "I needs my bike, don't want it stolen...." he continues to chatter at my back. Unique Groceries has about 60 feet of refrigerated coolers in the store. Only about 10 feet of them are devoted to non alcoholic beverages. There are no coffee makers in the store, so I grab an energy drink and my body suddenly starts to ease from it's discomfort realizing the hunger for caffeine will soon be quenched. Who do I get in line behind? The bicycle guy counting out pennies to by a beer. "78, 79, 90, 91, 92... what's you mean? Let's me start over... 1, 2, 3..."

Early morning on Bourbon Street.

No car? No problem!

2011-11-02T22:17:00.000-05:00

Back when I drove cab in NJ, I couldn't imagine not having a car. The thought frightened me. It seemed so emascilating to rely on public transportation. Well, shortly after my Ford Escort got me down here to New Orleans the transmission crapped out and I found myself on foot. You know, it wasn't so bad. Now that I live in the French Quarter, everything I could possibly need is with in a 10 minute or less walk from my apartment. I no longer have the burdens of car payments, gas, maintenance, parking, insurance and all of the aggravations that go with car ownership. Especially here in the Quarter with alternate side of the street parking. Getting towed and fined if you should forget what day it is, which inevitably happens. Not to mention trying to find the rare parking spot, vandalism and break ins.

Since I moved into the Quarter, I have had no real reasons to travel out of it, or desire. I had a small job to do with my friend Robert who picked me up to take me to the Marigny (the next neighborhood over) and it was like an adventure to cross over Rampart. I don't want to leave the Quarter, it's my neighborhood and home.

I don't miss driving at all. Most of my life I had driving jobs. I drove delivery trucks from upstate New York to Baltimore, I drove commuter bus into lower Manhattan for a year, drove crane trucks and taxi cabs all over the state of New Jersey. Now when I use public transportation I look at the driver and think "Thank God I'm not you." I probably clocked well over a million miles in my life, and with it the frustration of traffic jams, idiots, tickets, tolls, break downs and near fatal wrecks.

Yea, things are a little more expensive in the French Quarter. I do my shopping at Rouses Market where I pay a few bucks more. I could jump on the Tchoupitoulas bus to go to Walmart. That would mean walking to the bus stop, waiting, riding, and paying for the damn bus. Standing in a longer check out line behind god knows what kind of human punch line. Returning on the bus with only as much as I could carry, and spending two hours of my life to save maybe ten dollars. Sorry, I'm getting up there in years and two hours of my remaining life is more valuable than ten bucks.

Or I can walk two blocks, listen to live music performed on Royal Street, stop and talk to friends passing by, be greeted by clerks who now know me, get what I need and be home in 15 minutes.

A car? Oh yea those ugly things that get in my way when I walk, no thanks.

Halloween on Bourbon Street

2011-11-01T07:42:00.007-05:00

Two persons were killed and 10 others were injured overnight in separate shooting incidents on Bourbon Street and Canal Street.

A 25-year-old man was was shot to death and seven other persons were injured shortly after midnight in a shooting incident in the 400 block of Bourbon Street. Police say the victims apparently were caught in crossfire between two men who were shooting at each other. Three women and four men were wounded and each suffered non-life threatening injuries. A 19-year-old woman suffered a wound to the hip, a 25-year-old woman was struck in the wrist, and a 30-year-old woman suffered a gunshot wound to the leg. Two men, ages 24 and 26 suffered wounds to their legs. A 40-year-old man sustained injuries to his left ankle and thigh and a 50-year-old man suffered a foot injury.

At about 1:45am a 19-year-old man was killed and a man and two women were injured in a shooting incident on Canal Street at University Place. None of those wounded was seriously hurt. Police have arrested a 24-year-old suspect in the second incident. He's been charged with one count of first-degree murder and three counts of attempted first-degree murder. Investigators say another suspect managed to escape while a third man was questioned and released.

My neighbor Richard asked me several times yesterday "So what are your plans for tonight?" "I don't go out on nights like this, I have work to do anyways." I was woken up by the sirens, rolled over and went back to sleep. This is like a wild west town, you have to know when to close the shutters and keep to yourself.

UPDATE:

NOPD Superintendent Ronal Serpas has suggested that the club owned by entertainer Chris Owens is, in some way, responsible for an increase in criminal activity on Bourbon Street. In the wake of a shooting Tuesday morning outside the club at Bourbon and St. Louis that left one man dead and 7 other persons injured, Serpas told reporters, "There's a lot of complaints that our officers are telling me are coming from that club."

Serpas added, "I see the Chris Owens club having a large group of people going in and out of the club with very little involvement in the club. I just don't get it." The Superintendent says he's asked his investigators to look into it. The manager of the club, Mark Davison told Fox 8, "there is nothing happening in this club and I am on top of everything." "I don't know why they have to point a finger at the Chris Owens club," he told Fox 8. "There is no reason why they should have to do that." "This is not a drug store," he added.

wrnno.com

500 Bourbon Street

Herding Cats

2011-10-31T01:08:00.001-05:00

I have been making it a point to help my editor Otis distribute copies of the Quarter Rat when they come out. This usually means large armfuls of magazines being lugged up and down Bourbon Street, dropping them off on bars and cigarette machines to the delight of bartenders and service people throughout the Quarter. Doormen's eyes light up, shotgirls shriek with delight when the latest copies are slapped into their hands. I dig being able to see reactions to the latest cover, most of the time artists don't get that immediate validation.

Otis was struck with an idea that was brilliant on paper. He would have our friend Xan on his advertising pedicar haul the boxes of copies while 5 topless girls with painted chests delivered them to the bars. Sounds easy on paper. Being the loyal employee that I am, I left work painting apartments at the Pantalba early (Thanks Robert) to meet up with the pedicar, Otis and by this point 5 very buzzed topless chicks. How tough can this be?

I found the crowd gathered around my coworkers at Iberville and Bourbon, and soon our entourage' was slowly proceeding down Bourbon to countless cell phone photos taken by dumbstruck tourists from the Midwest as 5 topless young women darted in and out of bars with Trick or Treat bags loaded with the Quarter Rat. Bourbon Street stopped in it's tracks as the red pedicar surrounded by drink wielding hotties darted back and forth in front of us. It was my job to make sure the girls had enough copies to drop off. Otis was the wrangler. "Come on girls, let's stay together, keep moving we have a lot of ground to cover..."

Evidently everytime they went into an unsuspecting bar they caused quite a stir, that was the idea. Apparently, for each time they dropped off a handful of issues someone in the bar would offer to buy them a shot. Needless to say, by the time we reached the 400 block trying to keep our group together was a lot like hearding cats. Xan and I were in the pedicar chuckling as Otis kept asking "Where's Amy?"

Chasing Amy

Amy was the proverbial wild card of the group, either one block behind, one block ahead or in case one balcony above the rest of the group. Otis shot me a look like "Perhaps this wasn't one of my better promotional ideas." With a Frankenstein monster painted on her torso, a constant cigarette and beer she was like a child with severe A.D.D. turned loose in Disneyworld after having ten Pixie sticks. Otis turns to me "Styles! Your in charge of keeping track of Amy. You're both from New Jersey." Suddenly this started to seem like work, "Why am I in charge of keeping the out of control dancer from Jersey out of trouble...Oh yea, I got the t-shirt."

Somehow we managed to make it down to Saint Ann with our delivery crew together and not one arrest. I turn to see some of our girls in the gay bar Oz slapping the ass of a muscular male dancer on the bar and trying to stuff a copy of our magazine into his butt crack while asking to be teabagged.

"Are we done yet?"

"Not yet Styles, we still have to hit Lower D and Frenchman. Where's Amy?"

"Uhm, she was just here..."

"I ask you to keep an eye on a naked woman and you can't even do that?"

Suddenly I hear a fraternity hollering and making WHOOT WHOOT calls. "I found her..."

By the time we hit Lower Decatur the girls were hammered, I mean at least one face plant per block kind of hammered. Amy had lost her tiny little skirt somewhere and was just wearing a G-string and flip flops as she would just fling a handful of Quarter Rats into unsuspecting open doors. Otis came up from the rear, keeping the girls safe and picking up handfuls of magazines scattered on the sidewalk. "Where's Amy?"

"Right there." I proudly announced, pointing to her and another girl dry humping on top of a parked motorcycle as two brothers working in a kitchen stepped out to take cell phone pics of the live show outside. "This was only supposed to take an hour and a half, it's going on three now. I still need you to get that script and artwork in an E-mail to California tonight. I promised they would have it in the morning." Otis handed me a beer in appreciation for my help. "Otis, perhaps next time we should tether them together with bungee cords."

We were only about two thirds the way through our planned route by this point. Xan had left to tend to his wife who was working her tarot card table on Jackson Square. At night, Jackson Square is no place for a woman to be alone. We proceeded up Decatur past the pirate bars and head shops, handing out mags. Amy's motor skills were suffering and I stayed beside her like Lyndsay Lohan's chauffeur on a Saturday night. She would get down on the ground and start playing with the dogs of street rats sitting on the sidewalk and her G-string would drop off of her ass. "Amy, pull up your string, we don't want to get busted for nudity." The whole time I am thinking about the couple of hours worth of Photoshop work I still have to do, and get to my day job in the morning.

Working our way up to the Square, the girls would pose for photos in exchange for tips. The one girl was holding a sign the entire night reading "TIT$ FOR TIP$" They seemed to be doing pretty well as singles and fives wear pouring out of the pockets of their cut offs. I'm not sure where Amy was keeping hers. Again I was following behind her keeping an eye on the situation like a Secret Service agent behind Obama at a Tea Party rally. Suddenly Amy stops to look into a doorway, and does the drunk walking downhill walk into a five star restaurant.

By the time I get up to the door, I find her sitting on the lap of an elderly Italian man sipping espresso in an empty dinning room. He might have been an owner or friend of one. At the counter is a dumbstruck hostess shaking her head in disbelief that a near naked woman is giving a senior citizen a lap dance in the middle of her Zaggot rated Bistro. "Come Amy sweetheart, the gang is waiting for us at Coop's." The woman shoots me a "Is she with you?" look. "I think this is the last year that I take my daughter Trick or Treating." I respond to distract her with humor before she calls the cops.

We caught up with the others in front of a convenience store on Decatur as a group of older men ogle the topless young girls. One asks to take their photos, which gets a reply "If you tip us..." One guy in the group pushing 70 mumbles something about 'Prostitutes.' "What did you call us muthafucka?" The one girl slams her half empty beer to the pavement and charges at the senior citizen with a clenched fist as the other girl grabs her around the waist in time to prevent a manslaughter charge. "Go back to the fuckin Bible belt if you don't like tits, shithead!" Which I may suggest to Mayor Mitch as the new tourism campaign for NOLA.

As we point the ladies into the right direction to avoid a bloodbath, again I am asked "Styles, where's Amy?" "Uhm, there!" I point to the upcoming corner where a NOPD squad car is parked. Amy is sprawled out on the trunk lid writhing for a group of convention goers who are now videotaping her one girl show on the back of a police car. Fortunately, the cop is nowhere to be seen. "Aw man, we are so going to get busted on this idea. Styles, if the cops stop us, I want you to disappear while the girls and I distract the cops. You must get that script sent out tonight."

We found ourselves on Toulouse in front of my apartment, my patience and Seagrams had run out back on Decatur. "Otis! I'm going to run in and use my bathroom..." "Oh no you don't Styles! You're not going to run up into your apartment and hide from these women. You have to stick around to the end. Besides we have a production meeting when we finish with this."

I stumbled out of The Dungeon chewing a mouthful of Cherry Bombs and mumbled to the Lucky Dog guy on my corner "Here take these off of my hands." He looked down at the dozen copies of the Quarter Rat in my hand and responded "You gave me some earlier." "No, not the magazines, the girls..." Back on Bourbon four hours after we started Otis thanked everyone for their help and our group quickly dissolved into the crowd. Their adventures were only beginning for the night.

On the walk back to my place to continue with business I said to Otis "I never in my wildest dreams would ever think that I would be thankful to get rid of five half naked drunk chicks." Otis chuckled, "I never would believe that I would agree with that statement."

Coming soon...

2011-10-28T06:03:00.007-05:00

Not to jinx it, but we are in the early stages of production on a Quarter Rat animation project. Long writing meetings, and countless E-mails back and forth fine tuning and polishing of scripts have brought us closer to ultimate goal, to be filthy stupid rich. I told Otis that all I wanted out of this was enough money to send my kid to college and maybe a little to get started on. Otis replied "Hell no, I want us to make so much fuckin money that our kids never have to go to college or even have to work." Now that is a goal.

I'll be posting some of the artwork on this blog, as well as some updates and ideas. You might have guessed that the French Quarter will be the location, in many ways the focus. The unique characters and situations that could only be found here are an endless resource for humor. The daily hustle to survive without getting stepped on in the chaos that we call home. The feeling as we crash on our couches as the sun comes up and think "That was fun." The show won't be based on the worn out dysfunctional family premise, it's based on friendships and addictions. Every character has his or hers. Bartenders, club managers and dancers from Bourbon Street, artists, psychics and crackheads from Jackson Square make up the ensemble as viewed from the perspective of a large streetwise rat named Otis B. Easy.

Here is some of the early background art, I hope that we can do the French Quarter justice in representing the beauty and grittiness of both the city and it's residents.

Television in the French Quarter, Why?

2011-10-24T22:06:00.000-05:00

Like an ex smoker who is quick to mouth off when someone lights up, or a self righteous recovered alcoholic bragging about how many years he has been dry, I'm going off on Television. Finally having a place of my own there is no longer the drone of a TV constantly in the background. I'll admit when given access to one I have 24 hour news going during my waking hours. Determined to break that bad habit, especially in these days of 24 hour conflicts, riots, economic crisis and impending doom I made a choice of turning down a free television offered to me for my new place.

This video was shot about 100 feet from my front door.

I live in the most entertaining city in the nation, if not the world. Why would I want to sit in my apartment and stare at a video feed of corporate sponsored, agenda driven mindless fluff? I do watch a couple YOUTUBE videos and news features before bed, but just waiting for them to load causes me to grow impatient and retire. Most nights I get restless and go for a stroll. On any given night I can catch blues, jazz, folk, rock musicians, magicians, jugglers or acrobatic break dancers. I understand very few people have this blessing of live entertainment literally outside their front door, I hope I never become blase' about living in the Quarter.

This is where I do my grocery shopping.

I'd be surprised if you could get cable television for under $50 a month, so I make it a point to drop a buck in the tip bucket when I really enjoy a performance. That's only $30 a month for the best live performances every night of the week. On my long three block walk home from work, I pass Grandpa Elliott every night on the corner of Toulouse and Royal. How can I complain that when I "make groceries" at Rouses market, and I have to push through a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk watching musicians. That's a minor inconvenience for living here.

The CVS Pharmacy is a nightly stop for smokes.

I know that if I lived back in the gray dreary suburbs of New Jersey I would probably have a television just to numb my mind enough to get to sleep at night. In my opinion having a television when living in the French Quarter would be like living in the Playboy Mansion and sneaking in a copy of Hustler magazine to my room. It just ain't right.

Shameless self promotion

2011-10-23T22:48:00.001-05:00

The French Quarter has a style unique unto itself, nowhere else in the world will you find businesses or people as distinct as in the View Carre. Shouldn't your advertising be as unique? Graphic Bourbon Street will handle all of your graphic design needs. Only in house production done is for web graphics, splash graphics and web banners. The rest we give you the designs to take to your printer or sign makers in the format they require to make your vision a reality. By giving you the artwork file, you can shop around for the best prices on production.

• Print Advertising • Menus • Fliers • Sign layout and design • Posters • Storyboard Art • T-Shirts • Logo Design • Internet Graphics • Chalkboard Menus • Mardi Gras throws • Cartoons

View Samples

Yea, people live here....

2011-10-23T20:12:00.000-05:00

Once while walking down Bourbon Street behind two Sorority sisters I overheard the following statement as we passed the Washing Well Washdrtyeria Laundromat "Why is there a laundromat on Bourbon Street? I mean, like, that is sooooooo stupid!" After hearing that statement I fantasized about kicking her perfectly shaped ass with the tip of my cowboy boot. You dumb twat, people live in the Quarter, people need to wash clothes, shop for groceries, do all of the things that everyone else does in society. Sorry if a store front is being wasted on a business that isn't catering to your addictions. Perhaps tomorrow you may need it to wash the semen off of your designer jeans.

I'm sure you can find plenty of drinking establishments that will encourage your new found alcoholism. Lots of bars where you can go in, get drunk and do slutty things with total strangers that would cause your father to blow his brains out if he ever heard about them.

There are other places in the Quarter to wash your clothes, the Three Legged Dog on Burgundy has washing machines in the back. A few bars in New Orleans offer laundromat services. Check Point Charlies on Frenchman is another "Wash & Slosh." I was looking for someplace that I could just do a load of painter's whites without getting loaded.

Trouble Squared

2011-10-23T11:08:00.000-05:00

Jackson Square is the heart of the French Quarter, the center of tourism for the city of New Orleans. The scenic park has a rich and somewhat dark history. Public execution of slaves in the early 1800's, a popular hang out for pirates and the location of the signing of the Louisiana purchase. Today tourists crowd the sidewalks like slow moving flocks of pigeons looking for something to pick at. The French Market, St Louis Cathedral, Decatur Street and the Pontalba apartments flank the park.

The iron fences surrounding the park itself are ornamented with artwork for sale daily by street artists. I would be generous if I said one out of four should be allowed to call themselves artists. Street performers ranging from the traditional sliver mimes to 5 piece brass bands to a human transformer entertain tourists and make a meager living one buck at a time. I even juggled in the Square when I first arrived in New Orleans just to make enough for cigarette money.

Perfectly manicured greenery and seldom a piece of litter, the Square screams to be photographed a thousand times a day. Like a picture perfect tropical lagoon filled with sharks, the Square masks the darker side of the Quarter.

Jackson Square is the favorite gathering place for every type of hustler, con artist, thug and homeless you could find. The square has become my place of work, my front yard. I see all day long the same guys and gals scheming and hustling to score enough for the next bottle or a rock. These predators see everyone else in their world as prey, as marks to be taken advantage of.

I often step outside from the apartments that I have been painting to have a cigarette and enjoy the sights (the ladies.) If I have one person try and bum a smoke, then I have at least five a day ask "Ya got an extra smoke?" When I respond no, I get the stink eye as they slowly shuffle away. "Do I look like the figgin Marlboro man to you?" You have money for the cheap bottle of booze in your hand, choose your addictions. If you should break down and give one cigarette to a homeless guy then the rest are like a flock of seagulls swarming around you and your super sized fries.

One guy is kind of cool. A few times he offered to pay a quarter for a smoke. We have gotten to know each other, once in a while he offers me a swig from his bottle of "Heaven Hill Whiskey." Of course now the familiarity has led to "Styles, ya got 50 cent?" The best was the other day out in front of the Pontalba, a slouch on one of the metal benches saw me light a cigarette as I walked out carrying a bucket of paint.

"yo man, can I get one of those smokes?"

"Nope, sorry dude."

"Awww come on don't be like that, I just saw you put a full pack in your pocket."

"Yea? And?"

"Come on, give me a couple."

"No."

"That's just wrong, you're the one with a job."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

"You got to be fucking kidding me..."

It was all I could do from stomping his greasy face in with the bottom of my work boot. I'm working a 70 hour work week to stand out here and hand out smokes to you bums? I didn't want to get too political with this blog, however I see it as an example of the mindset going on in this country. I guess I represent the one percent that controls all of the nicotine in New Orleans, and the other ninety nine percent who don't have any deserve what I have.

I have spoken to a few of the street artists who display their work on the Square also make comments that the homeless have become excessively aggressive with their panhandling of the tourists. I have witnessed a very drunk derelict asking for change from a family of tourists, and when he was ignored the guy proceeded to muthafuck the somewhat frightened group. It's only a matter of time before the city is forced to crack down on these bench warmers. I don't think anybody has an issue of them spending their empty days on the the Square, however when you start fucking with the tourist dollar you're asking to be hassled by NOPD on a Segway.

Misc artwork for #24

2011-10-21T00:51:00.000-05:00

A new advertiser

2011-10-21T00:26:00.000-05:00

www.bourbonlive.com

RETURN OF THE ZOMBIE TOURISTS

2011-10-16T14:11:00.001-05:00

October is when things start to pick up down here in the French Quarter. I'm use to New Jersey where the summer is the busy tourist season, down here the stifling heat makes it the slow season. In the summer, Quarter Rats working the service industry struggle with meager incomes waiting for it to get cold up north so the alcoholics migrate south to mate. Halloween is big in NOLA, any excuse to put on a costume and act the fool.

Here is the latest artwork for the Quarter Rat Magazine, and my one year anniversary issue. This one will be in black and white as kind of a retro-old horror film look, as well as a cost saver to pump out as many issues as possible to start off the season. Looking to expand our circulation into the Uptown and Marigny areas, we hope to distribute at least 10,000 copies.

It's easier for me to do the artwork in color and then convert it into black and white for print, also it gives me the flexibility to use the artwork on the web site. Also I have been playing around a lot with iMovie to make simple little slide shows. In this one I put together the music also using Garageband on my MAC. YOUTUBE really busts balls over copyrighted music, so being able to make an original tune keeps it legal.

Who are our advertisers? Most publications in the Quarter try to cater to the advertisers who want business from the 10 million or so tourists who come down every year. Large tabloid newspapers running ads for all of the cheesy tourist traps selling overpriced Cajun dishes that miss the mark to be washed down by vile drinks in gimmicky souvenir cups.

QR ads are aimed at the locals, the ones serving the above mention swill to tourists from Bumfuque Ohio. Where does a bartender from Bourbon Street go to unwind at six in the morning after a twelve hour shift? Our advertising is for the locals who need to know they are not alone. Small cozy bars that you can find folks who have suffered through the same shit you have. Bartenders and waiters dressed in unbuttoned tuxedo shirts stained by clumsy cheap bastards. Dancers with sore feet and a purse full of singles who need a place to unwind and be treated like a person before they retire the day.

You won't find ads for corporate resturant chains named after a Tom Hank film claiming to have "authentic Cajun food." If our ads say Cajun, odds are that it's prepared by a cook who grew up in the swamps of Louisiana with an accent so thick that it's tough to understand what he's saying. Can he cook alligator? Yea, and he knows how to hunt, kill and skin one too.

No ads for franchise bars named after a worn out drinking song written years ago by an old man in an ugly Hawaiian shirt. Where does his employees go to have fun? Well, if a tourist is really cool, and knows how to tip and behave the bartender might slip him a copy of the Quarter Rat. If not, he's just told to keep stumbling down Bourbon street.

And to your left you can see....

2011-10-15T05:54:00.006-05:00

My first few weeks of living in the French Quarter I bounced from a couch from Royal Street to one on Saint Ann Street to finally land at my own place on Toulouse. One thing that took some getting use to was the mule drawn carriage tours constantly cruising by during the day. One day while unlocking my front door on St Ann, a carriage stopped in front of my building and the guide barked "This is a classic example of an American townhouse, you can tell by the design with a large open hallway to each of the apartments." About that time I had got the door open so I swung it wide and stood there gesturing grandly like a Price Is Right prize model. I then held up my half empty Community Coffee cup and gestured like it was a box of Rice-a-Roni.

I have nothing against these guides who are trying to make an honest living by providing tourists with the rich history of this great city. I often listen to their narration as they pass by. I learn something about my new home everyday. Once while taking a walk down Decatur Street, I heard my name called by a man in a straw hat on a carriage. It was a former neighbor from when I lived on Jeff Davis in Mid City. "Hey Bob, I didn't know you did this." "Oh yea, for about ten years, I grew up around horses and I love history."

There is one woman carriage guide who dresses up like a pirate complete with boots and a riding crop that I would love to get to know. I would rather see the multitude of tourists doing something educational during their visit than making complete assholes of themselves with hideous green drinks on Bourbon Street. Although I do believe the majority of residents would delight in watching a van load of "Katrina Tours" drive into the river and drown anyone who takes it.

Even though I am Facebook friends with a few Ghost tour guides, I have to admit the walking tours piss me off to no end. After working a ten hour day in the heat painting these fine structures, all I want to do is hit Rouses for my dinner go home and shower before bed. Instead, a block from my front door the sidewalk is obstructed by a large group of gullible tourists with mouths agape staring at a rustic old building. The Gothic dressed tour guide is dramatically telling them what they want to hear about the supernatural world on New Orleans.

"In 18blah blah, the countess blah blah, today blah bla can be seen and blah is often heard at night..." Oh please people, it's bad enough that you are foolish enough to believe in ghosts, but then you pay good money to stand outside of an old shotgun house inhabited only by two gay guys who work as dance instructors at the mall. One night walking home after a long day of climbing ladders I look down a narrow sidewalk on a lonely gaslight lit street to see my path blocked by a group of ghost groupies as a guide does his well rehearsed shpeal.

Rather than to try and push my way past, I cross the street to the empty side and walk past the average building that they are all mesmerized by while the narration describes a murderous rampage. I don't know what you hope to see, but you are making my walk home a few steps longer. I overhear something about evil spirits and what have you. About the time I get in front of the building in question, I am the only person on that side in view. When I get up to the front doorway of the building I let out a shriek, dive into the doorway as if being pulled in by unseen forces and start to scream for the entity to let go of me.

I thrashed about in the dark doorway for a few seconds, then dove onto the ground as if I had been slammed there by the hand of Satan himself. Total silence and shock from across the street. In fact a few of the tourist start to step back in fear. I pick myself up, brush off and continue on my way home as if it was a regular occurrence in the Quarter.

Don't quit your day job

2011-10-13T23:53:00.001-05:00

It wasn't until I moved to NOLA that I could call myself a full time artist. Illustrator for the Quarter Rat magazine, commercial graphics and a house painter for some of the most beautiful buildings in America. I approach house painting with the same passion and zeal as I did for my artwork that went into galleries back in New Jersey, however this art pays the rent.

The painting company that I work for, Pride Improvements has been contracted by the Upper Pontalba in the French Quarter to help with their extensive remodeling project for the apartments over looking Jackson Square. For those of you not familiar with the city, the French Quarter is the heart of New Orleans, Jackson Square is the very center of activity of the Quarter, The Pontalba buildings surround Jackson Square.

I never lived so close to where I worked, a three block walk from my apartment on Toulouse every morning brings me to a theatrical stage that I can call my office. One side of the set has St Louis Cathedral, the other side has Mississippi River boats with Andrew Jackson on horseback center stage. The comedies and tragedies unfold daily in front of my place of work with live music being played by street performers as I Spackle and paint a glorious old building.

Every day I get to cross paths with some of the most interesting characters that the French Quarter have to offer. Mimes, musicians, magicians and a few homeless folks that I have befriended during my smoke breaks. It's a privilege to work here on this fantastic piece of history. A few times while sitting outside on the promenade steps sipping coffee and enjoying a cigarette in my drop cloth work clothes I have had tourists snap my picture, I guess I qualify now as "local character."

I'll be writing a lot about the Square and Pontalba, it's a major part of my life right now. The term "Quarter Rat" is often associated with the bartenders and food service industries in the Quarter, contractors are the unsung rats. These historic building are authentic, no aluminum siding, no vinyl windows and no short cuts to keeping them looking great. Like aging beauty queens, the buildings are high maintenance. Every morning I step around fellow contractors on my walk who are working hard to keep roofs from leaking, paint from peeling and walls from cracking.

My coolest moment

2011-10-13T21:42:00.002-05:00

My coolest moment of living in the French Quarter, or of my life for that matter took place on Bourbon Street. I had done a hand drawn ad for several strip clubs on Bourbon who hold an annual lap dance competition during “Gatorfest Weekend.” The club whose team of dancers perform the most lap dances during the week wins a trophy, the girls win prizes and guys wake up for a week with a horn over from the night before.

I drew the flier up of a hot farm girl riding on an alligator based on a dancer from the one club named Moonshine. A beautiful, sweet and intelligent girl that restores my faith in women. She’s just a kid to me, my only fantasies of her involve playing Play Station 3. The ad made me a couple hundred bucks that I had to try and pick up. E-mails and messages back and forth with the manager to try and collect. He wasn’t dodging me, it’s just with The French Quarter being such a twenty four hour hustle, coordinating crossing paths can be difficult.

The manager arranges for me to come by and see the manger on duty one night to pick up cash. The doorman stops me for the five dollar cover charge. I explain who I am and why I am there, tones change. Now I am being treated like a peer, not prey. A quick radio call followed by a “One moment.” A very tall, muscular man in a dark suit and perfect pony tail who looks like some sort of German terrorist from an action movie steps into the lobby to escort this artist into the back. He cuts a path through the surprisingly thick crowd for a weekday as I follow. I make it a point not even to glance at the naked women just feet away as I pass. I am way too cool for that, I am here on business, higher up on the food chain than the drooling buffoons who believe the girl dancing might actually want them.

The manger’s office at a strip club is the least glamourous room in the club. The men’s room has more class. A quick phone call to the manger to confirm the cash drawer pay out and we return to the bar area. I scratched out a receipt as the manger on duty waits for the bartender to open the cash drawer and comps me a beer. I look around the slick club as money is being swept up like beads on Fat Tuesday. A year ago I rolled into this town on two hundred bucks loaned to me to get out of town by my ex wife’s new husband the preacher. Today I am on Larry Flynt's payroll.

I am finishing up my beer by the time the bartender has a chance to open the drawer. I get handed the cash as I drop my bottle in the trash behind the bar. I am walking out of the strip club with more money than I walked in with. As I stuff the bills casually in my pocket, a couple customers give me the “Who in the hell is that guy?” look. This is my coolest moment right now. I feel like I have just completed a Grand Theft Auto mission. Nothing could make this exact time in my life any better. I start to leave.

My name is yelled by a woman’s voice above the music. I turn in time to see Moonshine leaping off of the stage to give me a hug. Ok, the coolest moment of my life just got cooler by a factor of ten. I felt like a hero in a Frank Miller story, this was my Nancy. The hottest dancer in the club gives me a big topples hug. My stare never leaves her child like eyes as we chat. She thanks me for my feedback on her own work as a cartoonist. I didn’t bullshit her when I said she shows real promise as a cartoonist. We say a quick good bye as she hops back up on the stage and I head for the door.

If I had to choose a moment for me to drop dead with a heart attack, that would have been it. What a scene to end with. At the exit I pause and look back at the twenty two year old and wonder to myself if I could legally adopt her someday.

Moonshine Bonanza's Crazy Gypsy Boot Blog

One year anniversary

2011-10-09T22:50:00.004-05:00

One year ago I was looking through Craigslist for work as an artist. I never bothered with gigs that were looking for "internship or non paying work." Damn it, I know what I am worth, and it ain't free. However being new to New Orleans and looking to be seen in a town with more artists than parking spots I decided to be selective as to who I give it away to. One ad caught my eye, local publication seeks cover drawn. Ok, a local rag might help get me seen.

A few E-mails and a phone call conveyed that some local rag wanted a Halloween cover. Ok, I don't have anything else going on. I spent several days working on a detailed cover based on the theme he wanted, "Zombie Tourists." A roommate chided me for spending so many hours on a project that didn't pay. Of course the roommate had nothing better to do with his unemployed ass than to stand over my shoulder and critique. Just get the fuck away from me I thought. I don't see you doing anything but jacking off to Smallville episodes.

I attached the following JPG to an Email and waited for a response. A phone call came almost immediately. "Let's meet for lunch" my new editor exclaimed. I met with the editor Otis B. Easy at Coops for lunch. Hell, a free lunch and a beer would be payment enough for the artwork at this point in my career. Otis explained to me the cult following that his publication had among the service industry people in the French Quarter. How every issue was eagerly anticipated and scooped up as soon as he could distribute them. Ok, enough with the hype I thought, first cover is free, the next will cost.

I started to see this guy wasn't bullshiting. We walked down Decatur and a few other streets talking about the Quarter Rat. As we passed open doors and windows of bars and restaurants, those working inside would yell out his name and ask when was the next issue coming out. He gave me a few back issues to read through, and I saw the potential for a real creative outlet.

Back in Jersey I had a few folks criticize my choices of topics for my artwork. "No one will ever pay you to draw cartoons of fake tittied strippers" one gallery owner exclaimed. Perhaps I am not working in the right place I thought. Otis asked again to meet for lunch after the issue was published. Another free lunch? Hell yea.

He conveyed the overwhelming positive response to the Halloween cover from the fans of the QR. You could see his mind racing and crunching numbers of potential profits. "Did you ever think about illustrating a book?" he asked. "Well, I guess I could squeeze it in" I stammered. It wasn't long before I completed over 30 drawings for the book "Bourbon Street and Beyond" and a half dozen more covers.

Not to place too much importance on my position as QR illustrator, but it has changed my life. I went from being the new unknown and unseen artist in the French Quarter to being recognized by strangers for my work. I suddenly was connected to the French Quarter, part of it with insights and connections that would have taken years to established if I had tried to do it on my own. It changed how I view myself as an artist and my place in New Orleans. The Quarter Rat is important to everyone in the Quarter, it's tough to explain how.

As far as Otis goes, I'm still not sure what to make of him.

Well, I'm here

2011-10-09T12:52:00.000-05:00

I have trouble remembering life before New Orleans. Everything from my past life in New Jersey seems almost like it happened to someone else, someone who led a boring, unfulfilled existence. Looks like I am becoming a resident, worker and member of the French Quarter. As I walk to work down the same streets in the morning, I pass and get a nod from those hosing off the previous night from the sidewalk. The Batista at my favorite CC coffee shops no longer wait for me to order, they just hand me my large dark roast.

This blog is a "sequel" to my last one, From The Jersey Shore To the Big Easy. The Jersey shore is history, The Quarter is where my future lies among the awe struck tourists and empty handgrenade cups.

GOT THE KEYS

2011-10-09T12:23:00.001-05:00

Tonight my editor Otis B. Easy came through like a true hero. OTIS! MY MAN! He borrowed, met up with me at Molly’s with the last $30 bucks I needed to get the keys to my new place across the street on Toulouse. Up until now, I have been “staying at a friend’s place.” It sucked not having my own space. I am an artist, my space becomes my art, I need it to really create. Although, the challenges of not having a traditional studio space has made me a better artist. I have drawn many of the Quarter Rat cartoons while sitting on a bench in Jackson Square, not for inspiration, but because of necessity. Now with private space, I should really kick ass.

Otis met up with me at Molly’s coming up with the needed amount to get the keys from Richard at the Internet Cafe. Met a new bartender who just started at Molly’s. She’s cute as hell and a sweetheart. I hurriedly returned to show him the keys and said “Want to see the new Quarter Rat office?” My first twenty minutes in my new abode was an editorial meeting about October’s issue. The meeting was interrupted my me miserably trying to beat a roach to death with a step stool. His beating death took longer than the discussion of content. Otis laughed as Christopher Lloyd tried to kill the John McLain of cockroaches. “Do you always scream like a girl?” he asked.

After I fumbled trying to figure out what keys went where, we walked down my driveway formally known as Bourbon Street towards Canal. Wow, this is my new home. I have been living down here on and off for months. Now I receive nods from bouncers and doormen like they are my neighbors, because they are. What are all of these damn tourists doing here in my front yard?

My brother was so proud of his back deck in suburban New Jersey. Plastic Tiki Bar and hot tub. He was quick to brag how much he spent on it all. Then he complained about he never gets to enjoy it because of all of the yard work and maintenance to the new additions. A monthly mortgage that is more than my W-2 for last year. Well, my back deck has a hundred or so bars, any given night at least 12 different types of live bands, dozens of naked hot women, 24 hour Karaoke and a mechanical bull. Seven hundred a month, utilities included.

Walking back from the drug store on Canal with a new pack of smokes I stopped to watch a black guy with dreadlocks singing “I got friends in low places.” Smirking about what a great welcome home song it was, I remembered that I now reside only a few blocks from fellow Quarter Rats Brad Pitt and Angeline Jolie, I’ll have to invite them over for a few bong hits.

'Cause I got friends in low places,
Where the Whiskey drowns,
And the Beer chases my blues away,
But I'll be okay,
Now I'm not big on social graces,
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis,
Oh I got friends,
In low places.

(That reminds me, Nic you can crash on my couch if you can’t find your way home.)