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.

Courtyards

When you have 10 million visitors cramming themselves into your 70 square block neighborhood every year, you need a sanctuary. Very few of those 10 million ever get to see the nicest parts of the Quarter, courtyards.  The front of almost every structure is has it's toes on the sidewalk. Behind these iron gated and shuddered dwellings are open air  rustic brick lined spaces. The size can vary according to lot layout and building design.

The Pontalba building has small courtyards that are 4 stories deep. Those were designed primarily to provide cross ventilation in the days prior to air conditioning.  The townhouse layout utilizes long hallways, winding steps and lots of windows to funnel the slightest breeze from the balcony to the courtyard. Windows from each unit facing into the staircase are authentic. I remember one windy day, someone opening up the first floor door caused a door on the fourth floor to slam.

Some of the least expensive and yet coolest places to rent are slave's quarter efficiencies.  To my Yankee friends: Yes, former living quarters for slaves. Carries Karma with it.  The original popular layout is an apartment on each floor with two bedrooms off of the balcony facing the street, a sitting area and maybe a dining room. The kitchen area is usually a long narrow brick building connected by an exterior balcony (To you Yankees "decks") Two of these "L" shaped buildings facing each other produce a small courtyard in the center.

This time of year they are Eden like. Old and sometimes crumbling brick walls divide the space into small cozy halves.  I've been in some adorned with folk art and plush with tropical plants and fruit trees. Water features trickling as tiny green lizards dart about the fauna. Drink up under an umbrella during the day, smoke up under gas light at night and watch a rat bounce across the slate floor with that piece of chicken that your were saving for later.

The main apartment facing the street has the balcony that everyone associates with the Quarter, the slave's quarters balcony faces the quiet private court. It was easier to keep them in that way I guess.  A lucky quarter rat can afford one of these less than 200 square foot domiciles. It's about like living in a roomy RV. Most have 12 foot high ceilings with windows only on the side facing the balcony.  No cross ventilation here.  Mine has a large loft space for my bed at the 8 foot mark. Better suited for people in their 20's, most nights I end up crashing on the couch. Too sore and too old to deal with the fold up ladder. At my age I don't do bunk beds.

I enjoy my time out on my tiny private little balcony. If I want to stand out there in my underwear at 3 am to have a smoke, I can.  The other day I realized that the courtyard for the "Court Of Two Sisters" could probably be hit from here with one of those water balloon launchers. Just sayin.

Views from a Vieux Carre' balcony

 I met David Akin through my buddy Richard at the Internet Cafe. Richard is a networker with both computers and people. He would meet up with me at my gate to tell me about this "Guy with a bunch of really high end camera equipment and he's a huge fan of the Quarter Rat." I'll admit, my ears picked up and I said I would be willing to take a few minutes out of my fast paced and hectic schedule as a cartoonist to meet with him. 

Living here in the Quarter,  you live in the midst of as much talent as history. Especially since NOLA has become Hollywood south.  You also meet a lot of bullshitters and wanna be's who couldn't direct a funeral down a one way street.  Shortly after meeting with David I knew he wasn't one of those. Impressed by his creative passion, being a resident of the French Quarter with a real resume. He does a bit of writing on Facebook called "Views from a Vieux Carre' balcony" I offered him this blog as a forum of life in the Quarter. Here is a recent post of his.

Views from a Vieux Carre' balcony: www.quarterrat.com (still being redesigned).....take a gander at this website, if you dare! The real steamy, seamy, creamy underbelly of the Quarter and the trials, tribulations and victories of the French Quarter service industry will be revealed.....can you handle it bible belters and zombie tourists? I've partnered with Quarter Rat magazine mogul Otis B. Easy and animator/illustrator Eric Styles to produce a reality show and spectacle like no other before, taking you to Bourbon and beyond, Toulouse and cut loose, Royal and roll over, Burgundy and a month of hung over Sundays. 

There will be competitions, there will be infinite shots of Grand Marnier and absinthe, there will be gratuitous nudity, female/male and in between, there will be snockered shot girls, there will be fist fights with homeless drunks, there will be Asian lady boys, vampires, witches and ghouls. There will be Harleys and biker cowboys sporting colors, there will be no rice rockets. There will be battling bartenders and wily waiters and waitresses, glitter coated cranked up strippers and bluesy bayou swamp pop pickers. Dark temptations will be found on every corner and there may or may not be light at the end of the Harvey Tunnel. There will be sweat and various other body fluids....there will be blood. There will be an EMS team and mounted NOPD on stand by;) Stay tuned for over the top gutter gravy drenched decadent dilemmas and a bawdy Babylon Big Easy-palooza sports fans! Recommended for immature audiences only:)

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.

I'll be right back...

I've been busy, that's why I haven't been doing much writing. Lots of interesting things have happened, no time to tell you about them. Conversely, when I have time to write, life is boring. Seldom life is boring in the Quarter. If you need some interest in your life, just walk out your front door and there will be something waiting for you. Sometimes it's a parade coming down the center of your street, sometimes it's a chalk out line and police tape.

Some weekends you walk out and find a half million strangers shitfaced in your front yard. You remind yourself that these people pay your bills, tighten your emotional seatbelt and push through the party to run an errand.  I went to an art opening / birthday party for Peter O'Neill a week ago. Great art, cool people and good wine. You know, wine that come with corks, not in boxes like my art openings.  Before the gallery could be closed for the night there was one loose end. Some tourist passed out on the sidewalk in front.

From what I heard he had stumbled in shitfaced earlier, wondered out and got about eight feet. At closing the gallery manager and myself searched the blocks around the gallery to find a cop. None. If I had decided to piss behind a dumpster there would have been four. NOPD was called as we tried one last time to wake the guy. "Dude, you are about to have a very bad night unless you start walking." I told him. It's amazing how a flash light shining in the face a stern demand for I.D. will sober one up usually.  You couldn't get this guy's attention with an M-80.

He was tossed into an ambulance as we departed the gallery, "Geeze, it's only just after 10:00." I busted on Peter for having someone taken away in an ambulance from his show. I was jealous, the best that ever happened at one of my openings was that I was bounced out for being too drunk and trashing the place. Just once.

Monday night I came home from work of physical labor after a long weekend. I crashed and burned until about 1:00 AM,  waking up to just a half a pack of remaining smokes. I swear, I just went out for cigarettes.  On Bourbon Street I ran into "Disastrous Dave and Catastrophe Curt."  You can tell where this story is going. Remember from High School those boys that hung out behind the shop class smoking and constantly bitch slapping one another? Now fast forward 20 years and put them on Bourbon street with a good buzz going.

"Buy the ticket and take the ride..." Hunter S. Thompson once said. The secret to having a good time in the French Quarter is not going out to have a good time. The secret is to go out and try not have fun. Rowdy but well liked every place they went, I followed behind Dave and Curt as they just pushed through the crowds with loud voices and flailing arms.  Like two middle aged versions of Steve - O, bar stools were over turned, drinks spilled and at least one almost fist fight with a street hustler. I would have been there just to watch for cops.

I spoke to Curt about the meaning of New Orleans. Locals can spend hours discussing the spiritual meaning behind living here. Trying to define the undefinable, describing the unseen.  Curt struck upon  the  notion that there has to be some sort of magnetic anomaly here. We developed the "New Orleans, the G-Spot of the Earth theory." More research is still needed.

From Molly's to Erin Rose and back to Molly's. The best was in the back bar of Erin Rose where Jacob was working. After the second time he had to speak to the muppets for rough housing Jacob barked "Why don't you two just fuck and get it over with." PBR came out of my nose. 

As the sun rose over the west bank I stumbled across Toulouse to unlock my gate. "Shit, I forgot to buy smokes."