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

It's been a while

Dawna downstairs at Glass Magick brought to my attention that I haven't blogged in a while. I can't say that nothing is new, this is the French Quarter. On second thought, this is the Quarter, nothing here is new.  Since I moved to the French Quarter last summer, I've fallen into a very pleasant routine. I can't remember life in the stale suburbs of New Jersey or I blocked it from my memory like some sort of childhood trauma involving a creepy scoutmaster.  Occasionally I do get out of the Quarter for a painting job as I have been for a couple of weeks working with my friend Cornell on an apartment building in Harrahan.

Early morning walks up Bourbon Street to meet Cornell on Canal Street in front of the recently renovated JOY Theater to pick me up. I make it a point to say "Good Morning" to the statue of  Ignatius J. Reilly.  Bourbon Street at 7:00 am is busy with Quarter Rats cleaning up from the previous night's battle and rearming itself for the next night. Dozens of beer and liquor trucks with two men each delivering fresh ammo. Produce and food service trucks making deliveries as the morning crews hose off the icy slick brick sidewalks. The well worn bricks offer as much traction as packed snow when they get wet.  If that doesn't present enough of a challenge to pedestrians, every step is aimed to avoid  stepping in a crater of missing water meter covers or paving bricks. There are at least five potential personal injury lawsuits per block. Either the city doesn't care or never pays claims.

Early one morning about 4:30 am I was up and out of smokes. Like most people awake at that hour my main concern was feeding my addiction. At four in the morning however there would be people outside willing to kill to support their given habit.  I strolled down Bourbon to find a place open with nicotine as barbacks dragged dozens of bottle clattering garbage cans out to the curb.  Large rodents scurried about grabbing up dropped pizza crusts and chicken bones.  I watched my back for any thug that might dart out from the shadows of a doorway to clock me in the head with a beer bottle with one hand as his other hand went for my wallet.  I also had to watch my step as I navigated around numerous puddles of vomit.  I looked down at a bright pink rice filled pile of vomit and commented to myself "Someone had Gumbo and Hurricanes last night."

Across Bourbon Street a van was parked with it's doors open and a thick hose led into a darkened strip club as the inside of the van whined with noise. Upholstery cleaner. He might be there for the rugs, but the odds are that right now at 4:30 am some poor guy was cleaning dried semen stains off of a red velor couch in the VIP room. Mike Rowe from the television show "Dirty Jobs" wouldn't last a day here.

Locked in a room down in New Orleans

The Doobie Brothers - Toulouse Street

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the scrap bin

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.....

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!

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

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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...

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

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

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....

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...

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. 

Preview of a preview preview...

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

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....

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

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

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....

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

 

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.