HELP WANTED

VOICE ACTORS NEEDED

Otis and I have been kicking around a couple of ideas for a while. Recent free time and moments of panic have convinced us to go ahead full throttle on our animation project "Life of a Quarter Rat."  We want everything to be lined up when the light turns green. We are going to need professional voice actors. Looking for those with comedic abilities, improvisational skills and multiple voices.

PAID

It's in the budget. None of this Craiglist bullshit where some one wants you to give your talent and labor on their project with only a vague promise a full time gig. This animation project was first conceived and started back in 2005, it's not just something flung together based on an bar room idea.

Quarter Rat Animation needs talented, funny and versatile local actors to get paid for one possibly two days in the studio. This is our pilot episode. Professionals who will be there when expected or better have very good reasons if they aren't. Not looking for cartoon voices, but animated. If you know the differance contact us. No more than 5 or 6 actors will be needed, fewer if we find the right people.  Pay bumps for the ability to do multiple voices.

bingecomic@hotmail.com

If interested contact us at the above E-mail address, and we'll send you some character monologues to audition with. Or just send your own audition track (MP3 or something easily opened) with what you can do, resume, and do we really have to say this? No head shots.

all the news that fits, we print

I've been in a funk the last few weeks. House painting work is hit or miss lately. I'll start a project, historic society facists bring the job to a halt. Line up something else and have to wait on materials. Lots of work to do for the magazine this month, but as always Otis and I will wait until 48 hours before we go to print before we ask ourselves "What the fuck are we going to do this month?" We are dysfunctional rats who can't really meet our full potential unless it's a crisis.  Panic, fear and eviction notices get the creative juices flowing. 

I shuffled across Toulouse to Molly's for the editorial meeting with Otis. Pondering such journalistic ponders as "Is it too soon for dead stripper stories?' or 'Who is the next convention in town that we can mock and ridicule?" Like Time magazine editors didn't go out drinking for an editorial meeting one day to a strip club and decide to have a hot milf getting her tit sucked on by an eight year old boy on the next cover. I bet they laughed their asses off and someone said "I dare you." I know we are only the Quarter Rat, Time magazine probably have twice as many readers than us. But our readers re-read every page at least three times. I've had readers start to quote their favorite story from the Quarter Rat to me. Once I interupted asking "What the fuck are you talking about? What? Oh yea I guess I did write that. I hope you didn't actually try it, I made it up."

Towards the close of the meeting we looked outside to see a local getting arrested again in the same spot he got arrested last month. For the same thing. Perhaps you know him, "Mr Kick-my-ass-for-$1" I mean, what exactly is your business model? Last month during your grand opening, you made one dollar and went to jail. 30 days later you get out, make a new sign and hope to make a new start? You had a fucking month to come up with a better hustle. He did revise his sign from last month. Instead of "KICK MY ASS $1" It read "Kick ME IN my ass $1"  That little type-o might have been the source of the problem last time. I mean that's a great deal, but one kick in the ass for a dollar is much more reasonable. I guess since he doesn't have a vendors license is why the cops hassle him. If he got away with it, soon the crackheads would be out there by the dozens holding hand scrawled signs that say "Fuck me in my ass $10"  I don't much like cops, but every now and then you don't mind seeing them crack the head of a stupid person. "Muthafuck me $1" you might get away with.

We didn't see any cops bust his head tonight, in all likelihood they waited until they got him down to booking.  Too many cameras that close to Bourbon Street. Although I think a few on Toulouse would have cheered. but there is always the one person with a camera phone who has to try and save the world from fascism. If Christ were crucified today he would be a YOUTUBE sensation. Pilot would be holding press conferences promising transparency and a thorough investigation. A few low level Roman soldiers would be tossed to the lions, and there would be a TV mini series, the end. 

We looked across the street to see mounted NOPD riding up one at a time, like the four horseman of the Apocalypse but in no particular hurry. Behold, I see the pale horse radio it in.  Soon our misadventure capitalist is in cuffs. Probably the same pair clicked on last month. It sucks being busted, I feel for anyone standing in front of blue strobes and the world rubbernecks at you expense. There is a reason it takes so long for a cop to run your I.D. or write you out a ticket. They want to make an example of you. Remind the fifty cars that drove by gawking over the past twenty minutes who is in charge.  I'm sure it's a union thing too.

You get a sick to your gut feeling as your arms are cuffed behind you and a gloved hand is pushing you by the top of your skull into a backseat.  That's the time you quickly realize that you had better get your shit together fast. If you don't, your night will defiantly go from bad to worse. Booking is always a buzz kill. The perp walk in the French Quarter is more like a second line parade minus the band. What did you think? The cops put him on the back of a horse? No. Handcuffed he was led down Toulouse, a right on Royal Street walking between four mounted cops.  Tourists quickly tried to catch it on cell phones. Poor guy was stepping in horse shit the entire three blocks to the 8th.  

After the amusement turned the corner, myself and another patron returned inside. Otis asked if 'kickmyass guy' got busted, I said yea. As I finished my PBR again Otis asked "What have we got to write about?" I shrugged "Dunno, nothing really stands out anymore."

barge rats

Usually when I correspond with someone up North, I always ask "How's the weather up there?" just so I can rub it in. It's the asshole in me.  I found myself asking an Alaskan Quarter Rat fan "How's the radiation up there?" That's the friend in me when someone I know may be hit with isotopes. Dumb Japs. If anyone should be the most careful it's them. Perhaps if you put as much effort into nuclear safety as you do bad animation and pervy porn, you wouldn't be living in a microwave oven right now. At lest Russians had someplace to move the population to. You guys are shit out of luck.

The Alaskan Barge Trash are good friends with the Quarter Rat, we are honored. A tug boat crew working Valdez Harbor spend the long sadistic winters passing around DVDs of Treme, listening to WWOZ on the internet and reading The Quarter Rat. Next year they want Fat Tuesday off. My friend Jeff said it's the only Mardi Gras themed tug working up there. See? They get it. 

I tried to figure out the connection between a tug crew working in Valdez with those working in the French Quarter,  I can't figure it out. Other than  those up on Valdez have as much respect for big oil companies as we do. Think about it. These guys live fairly exciting lives on some of the roughest waters in the world and they spend their down time listening to our music and reading the adventures of bartenders and strippers on Bourbon Street.

Thanks guys, we'll send ya some beads for those railings.

Kick my ass for $1

I stepped out earlier to go to Rouses, as I exited my building I could see strobe lights flashing on my street. Lots blues and a few reds, cops are blue and EMT or NOFD are red.  Most people get the rubber neck and can't wait to look, I was tempted to back into my door without even glancing at it. Instinct as a former cab driver, if you see flashing lights go the other way. It's nothing I haven't seen before, and just as a rule of thumb, AVOID COPS. Even if you haven't done anything, it's just smarter to do so.  Let's say 5 cops are beating the shit out of some drunk and 5 more cops show up. There isn't enough ass to go around so the 5 new cops will grab whoever happens to be walking by at the time so they can have some fun too. 

It's just common sense to stay away from the action.  As I locked the gate behind me, my neighbor Richard comes skipping up to me from the middle of the mayhem like a little boy who just saw his first police car. Excitedly he told me what had happened, later Catastrophe Curt filled me in on more details.

Apparently one of our local characters was standing on the corner of Toulouse and Bourbon holding a sign that read "KICK MY ASS FOR $1" Sounds like he made a few bucks tonight.  Drunk on booze and high on bath salts he became belligerent to passer-bys trying to drum up business. Someone told him to chill the fuck out or the cops were going to give him a very bad night. At that point he started to muthafuck the cops who took that as a challenge. Now, no place on Earth do you start shit like that with law enforcement, especially in New Orleans. Seriously, after a NOPD cop in the Quarter gets done beating your ass, they let their horses have sex with you. It's been documented. 

I went on to Rouses, bought my coffee and hot dogs returning to see the ambulance pull away from in front of Molly's. As it chugged pass I glanced into the window to see a bloody and cuffed idiot on the gurney  having a very bad night. I wondered if he ever got his dollar. Life in the Quarter.

Pipes

My friend Jeff does some work for my landlady.  We have a couple of dancers who live upstairs. Jeff asked if I would come up to the fourth floor and help find the dancers drip, he needed me to hold the flashlight. "Hell yea man, let me grab my coffee...."  Oh. Plumbing.  Of course I had to be a smart ass as soon I walked in. "I found your plumbing problem right here, you have a big brass pipe in the middle of the living room."

It is of course an old building. I think I saw a plaque on the neighbor's building that it was built in 1794 or something.  It's amazing what you'll read when you're taking a piss on a wall.  Very high maintenance structures here in the Quarter, lots of unpleasant surprises for property owners.   Say what you want about dancers, they do get the best service. I knew a dancer once, I swear Domino's delivered in 12 minutes. I was always afraid to eat the pie, she was a creep magnet.

(BTW,  the answer was twice on the pipes.)

Politics in the French Quarter

I haven't paid too much interest in NOLA politics. I'm not sure I can say that I have a firm grasp of the political system down here yet. Coming from New Jersey I understood them up there. Jersey's last scandal involved politicians on the take, mobsters and rabbis. Down here political families are immortalized for picking up strippers on Bourbon Street or being a power hungry madman and getting a bridge named after them. 

Prior to that, political leaders used to have public duels and shoot one another. They play rough down in the Big Easy. I wish elected officials still settled things on the House floor by dueling to the death, I might start watching C-SPAN if they did.  Perhaps instead of elections we give them all weapons and let them settle it like men.  I'm not saying the survivors would necessarily be the best choice, but it would thin the herd faster than term limits.  Unfortunately the best man would probably be Sarah Palin hanging out of a helicopter with a sniper rifle.  I could picture Nancy Pelosi pointing a Russian made RPG back at her. She looks like she has stood behind a few being launched.

The French Quarter has had five flags fly over it. French, Spanish, English, Confederate and American.  Napoleon had one hand in his vest while the other helped write the laws here.  If they wanted something done right, they hired Pirates. Pirates, the original NAVY SEALS. 

The basic premise behind politics is the same no matter where you go, "What's in it for them." The three branches of government are: the elected officials, corporations, and the taxpaying sheep.  I know my place on that food chain.  Recently two of those branches held a little PR parade through the Quarter. "Hospitality Zone" self promoting self pleasuring committee or something like that.  Sounds great on the surface, promoting tourism in the city.  What's in it for them? More money, more taxes. For us, a little more money, a lot more vomit on our doorsteps every morning.

Another red flag is an "Appointed committee." I understand that not every city related position can be filled with an election. So the premise is that you elect a few barely competent lawyers and trust them to fill  needed positions with the best choices they can find. See the flaw in that ideal? We barely trust you guys that we voted in, now we must trust your buddies.

I won't attempt to explain the entire "HO ZONE" story. At first I thought it was just promoting the two blocks of businesses on Iberville Street between Bourbon and Decatur. But no, it's the the Quarter and parts of other neighborhoods.

Here are a few links:

New Orleanians: If you’re not disgusted by the proposed Hospitality District,
then you’re not paying attention

We Are a Community — Not a Commodity!

Hospitality District LA SB 573 amended, but not improved.

Genesis Report re: LA SB 573′s Hospitality District Legislation

 

Just ran into a good friend Rod the street magician at Walgreens. He said the city now wants to crack down on street performers. The city (or businesses) want only statue mimes since they don't hold a crowd. I know what the city is planning, they want to paint all of the homeless people on the benches silver.  Do they plan to clean up the Quarter so much that it just becomes like Disneyworld's sanitized reproduction of the Quarter? It won't work Mitch, we ain't got mice, we gotz ratz.

About this month's cover...

The longer I live in the French Quarter, the more people I have gotten to know. Locals are a tight group. Tough to imagine the small town feel when 10 million strangers a year crowd your local streets. Even on the most congested nights I can walk down Bourbon Street and get a nod from a dozen or so people who I call neighbors.  Doormen, bouncers, street performers are all just people that you meet each day. Clint the strip club barker who has the persona of a River boat gambler, Chad the "Swamp Creature" performer and Disaster Dave doorman at Molly's. My day wouldn't feel complete unless I bump into somebody I like.

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more I miss the one I care for
More more than I miss New Orleans

One young lady who was perhaps the most highly regarded Shotgirl on all of Bourbon Street is a Facebook friend of mine. Moe has written some incredibly funny stuff for the magazine over the course of it's publication.  She raised the bar for all future Shotgirls on Bourbon.  Moe  messaged me about how much she was missing New Orleans. Recently she had moved out west to pursue a career as a chef. She and her close friend Steph were homesick and meloncholy about the Quarter. Moe asked if I could do a cartoon of the two of them partying it up in the Quarter to cheer up Steph. 

I'll do you one better, we'll put you two on this issue's cover. I'll admit I did "slutty" them up just for the cover. After all, this is the Quarter Rat and I am a creepy old guy.  I hope you like the cover. Best of luck to you two young ladies, I know that you will return someday when it's time. This city will be even more special to you when you have gone without it for a while.

Big Weekend

I'm goin' down to New Orleans to see about a friend of mine

Down in New Orleans good peoples they's hard to find

I bet he's making gumbo and drinkin' homemade wine

A jukebox shakin' and breakin' down in New Orleans

 I'll be the highest hillbilly that Bourbon Street has ever seen

 Kid Rock

Although there's not much planned for this weekend in the French Quarter, I'm looking forward to it. The rest of the month we have French Quarter Fest (April 12th to 15th)  and Jazzfest (April 27th to May 08th.) Any local will tell you if you have company coming in to visit the Quarter, do it on a weekend when theres not an idiot convention in town. Last week was miserable with Kentucky fans.

I know its how we make our money in the French Quarter. Doctors make their money from sick people, it doesn't mean that they enjoy being around them all day. Dealing with people with contagious diseases, incoherent, comatose, bleeding, vomiting and lying in their own bodily waste, doctors and Quarter Rats call these people customers.

Except for a SLUTWALK and a few other smaller events, this should be a quiet weekend. Fortunately this is the weekend that my big brother from Las Vegas will be in town for a few days. My brother is about 11 years older than me so we never really spent a lot of time together growing up. When he was 17 he joined the U.S.A.F. for twenty years and settled in Vegas for retirement.  I was trying to remember today if he and I have ever sat a bar together, I really never remember drinking with him.  We have about 30 years of catching to do, I think the Quarter is the perfect place to start.

I'm really looking forward to showing off the French Quarter like she was my hot new girlfriend. Compiling lists of where to take him for food, booze and history.  Where do you start? Of course Bourbon Street the first night, I'm thinking Frenchman Street on Saturday then he might be ready for Lower D on Sunday.  Molly's, WW2 museum, Molly's, Clover Grill, Molly's, ferry to Old Algiers for a couple beers and a couple hundred other "must do's."

I mention the impending visit to a property manager that I was doing some work for today "How do you show someone who lives in Vegas a good time?" I asked. Sam, a many generation local who is very bright and well traveled replied. "Vegas is what it is, what makes New Orleans different from every place else is the history and the people." I'll try to make it a point not just to show my visitor the hundreds of landmarks, but introduce him to as many of my local friends as I can.  That is for me the best part of the French Quarter, the people. Keep an eye open for us, even though he kind of looks like a cop, he's cool, he's with a Quarter Rat.

And if you're payin' for fun a french quarters really all you need

K.R

So much talent.....

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

Drunk Stripper Storage

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."

Home Video

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

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

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.

A change of pace

 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.