STEVIE NICKS ~ New Orleans

The Square peg finds it's square hole

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

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....

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

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

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!

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.