Today I took the baby to City Park. I had seen people feeding the ducks many times so this trip I took some bread to feed them thinking this would be a fun experience for all involved. Just behind the museum I spotted some ducks hanging out and thought this would be a great place to stop. No sooner had I sat the little one’s feet in the grass did the ducks and geese start to waddle toward us from the edge of the water. At first things were ok but they just kept getting closer and closer and before I knew it the geese were just a foot from the baby. They are as tall as he is and seemingly unafraid of humans. So, I picked him up and we walked back a few steps but he overly friendly waterfowl just kept on coming. When the pigeons swooped in, I knew it was time to go. I threw the slices of bread I had left and walked briskly to the car.

We then drove around to the playground area where we played and were able to toss the rest of our bread to some ducks in the water who were much more respectful of our personal space. And when I say ‘we’ threw the bread I mean ‘me’ because though the baby seemed to like the birds he just ate his bread. Lesson learned; few birds - cool, lots of birds a la The Birds- not cool

Dear Neighbors;
Thank you for having us over, well really thank you for having the whole street over for BBQ. Thank you for offering us BBQ and for giving me some chilled white wine in a glass because wine is too good for a simple plastic cup. We were out when you decided to have a little get-together and when you started up the grill, thank you for noticing when we arrived home and taking the time to call our names and wave us across the street. We had a wonderful time meeting all of you especially the other children in the neighborhood. I am sorry that some of you are moving due to the crime in the area even though it is understandable, I guess. My husband and I have been together for nine years and this is the first time any of our neighbors have even invited us to any type of gathering. Out of all the places we have lived this is the first time I have ever truly felt like neighbors with anyone. You know in the old ‘50’s welcome wagons and “may I borrow some sugar?” kind of way. Thank you for being so nice to the little one. It was wonderful to be amongst people who did not feel put off by the baby. So often people think he is cute and then they go off to have a good time and leave me to tend to him alone only meeting up with me again at the end of the party long enough to say goodbye. You all made us both feel like part of the group. Thank you for helping me keep an eye on the little one and giving him high fives and pieces of your food. Those little things made me feel so comfortable and made the whole experience more enjoyable for me. We stayed out until his bedtime and the termites were starting to gather at the street lights. I just wanted to say thank you for being so friendly just like neighbors are supposed to be.

A few weeks ago, there was a lot of hue-and-cry in New Orleans over the impending visit of a bunch of writers. The writers work for a website that pokes fun at street people–not only the homeless, but also panhandlers, buskers, and other folks who spend most of their lives on the street. The comments from locals generally went something like, “Oh, how awful–not only to ridicule the homeless, but to do so in New Orleans! That’s insensitive and insulting, kicking us all while we’re down.” Noble and totally laudable sentiments.

Today, the staff of the website in question sent us Metrobloggers a link to the New Orleans article. And I’m happy to report, it’s nothing like folks had feared. It’s basically a guided tour of French Quarter hustlers (the panhandling kind, not the Corner Pocket [nsfw] kind). And you know, I’m not a fan of that kind of thing myself, so I found it pretty inoffensive.

What was totally offensive, however, was the writing style. Seriously, it reads like something from a bunch of dull, A&F frat boys. Very “what I did for my summer vacation”. I could barely keep my eyes open. Total snooze.

And FYI: ordinarily, I wouldn’t have even bothered to mention the piece, since the only people it’s going to anger are those who enjoy well-written prose. But I thought since the visit was kind of a big deal recently, I’d do the honors. I won’t bother posting the link, though, ’cause seriously: screw their page view stats.

Parents Unite! It sounds like I am rallying for a protest or something, I am not. When we moved here, Just after Katrina there were little to no services/groups for parents let alone anything really for kids. Hell there weren’t even schools yet, so anyway I was a little discouraged and after the baby came I was lonely. It happens to the best of us but NOLA is a big city I knew people were moving back (and still are) and I knew there had to be something out there. After much searching I have found a few playgroups that have been so helpful and fun for me. They have given me and the baby an opportunity to get out and meet new people. I have learned that the alone feeling is not just a depressed NOLA thing it is sort of a feeling you get after having a baby no matter what. There are new people joining our playgroup all the time. So if you are out there and you are a parent who is looking to get out and meet other parents and let the kids socialize and have fun then you should check out these area groups. I know there are a lot of other groups out there; you could even start your own group with friends or neighbors you just have to set the dates, get out of the house and actually do something. There are meet up groups for the three big areas of the city. The New Orleans group is geared more toward city dwellers most of the events are centered in the city, The Metairie group is a bigger group and that holds most of its events in the Metairie area, the Westbank group is centered on that bank and does most of it’s events in that area. There are more parent/child meetups close by too as well as other meet ups on the website for all kinds of other interests as well, check it out and get out and socialize.

Oh, Louisiana legislature….

You may look more or less the same in your two-button blazers and your unattractive chambers, but you’ve changed.

You’ve changed, man.

You always said you were gonna buck the trend. Sure, you caved in on some stuff — important stuff like integration and public smoking. That kinda thing. That was totally okay. But you’ve stuck to your guns on other matters, proud of our state’s traditions and eager to force them on your children and their children’s children.

But now? Now y’all have legislated yourselves right outta kickbacks, fer chrissakes! You’ve taken away cockfighting, and you’ve tried your damnedest to pull up our sagging pants. You are essentially dismantling the crazy quilt of Louisiana’s cultural history and turning it into a double wedding ring of tasteful ecru damask and remnants of rose-colored satin. Where is your fabled sense of whimsy? Where, dammit?!

Then last week came the cruelest blow:

Louisiana legislators have approved a resolution calling for “privacy dividers” to be installed at urinals men’s public bathrooms.

The resolution does not have the force of law. It will now be up to state health officials to amend Louisiana’s plumbing code to require the privacy partitions.

The resolution was sponsored by Democratic state Rep. Mickey Guillory of Eunice. The reason, according to the resolution, is that “sexual offenders, sexually violent predators, and child predators can easily violate the privacy of others using urinals….”

–more at WAFB

[ YES, THERE IS VIDEO! ]

Speaking on behalf of gay men and their bi-curious half-brethren everywhere: hasn’t Louisiana suffered enough? Must you add insult to injury?

I don’t even know who you are anymore.

Bad news: Our housemate made a complete ass of himself at French Quarter Fest.

Good news: The high point of his ass-foolery was dancing onstage. With Chris freakin’ Owens.

Best news ever: It was totally captured on video.

I’m not ordinarily a jealous man, but Chris Owens? Damn….

Likely:

• In Chicago, writing speeches for Obama’s erstwhile pastor.
• In Cuba, because he needs his annual physical and his local doctor can’t see him for another six months.
• At Chris Rose’s house, because that’s where the crazies live.
• At the Broadway South offices, because he’s sure to run into absolutely no one.

Less likely:

• At Home Depot, because he’s gotta make sure his sons do the [questionably legitimate] job right.
• In a squad car, because real police officers surely wouldn’t make blunders like that.

Hopefully:

• Resting upon the fragrant bosom of a hooker/actress/songwriter.
• Pinned beneath a burning 1979 Ford Pinto on top of an abandoned petroleum tank hundreds of miles from where anyone can hear him scream (or 300 yards from the nearest fire hydrant).

A Jefferson Parish man tried to commit suicide Thursday morning by jumping off the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway but was rescued by the Coast Guard, authorities said….

The man, whose name was not released, apparently parked his car in the first crossover on the northbound bridge about 8:10 a.m., got out and jumped over the side, Causeway Police Lt. Curt Franz said. A maintenance worker saw the man jump off the crossover, which is about 15 to 20 feet above the water, and called police….

Police tried to rescue the man by throwing him a life ring, but he twice evaded the flotation device and swam about 300 yards away from the bridge through 2-foot chop, Franz said.

–NOLA.com

Dear Unnamed Suicidal Person:

As an environmentally conscious citizen, I appreciate your desire to reduce the world’s population. Clearly, overcrowding is an area of eco-concern in which one person really can make a difference.

However, in reviewing your case, I think I have identified several issues you ought to resolve before taking one for the Gipper again. Trust me: I’m a consultant. I know what I’m talking about.

1. Choose a different time of day: The sun is a cruel and mercurial mistress. In California, she provides solar power for homes, but in Florida she causes skin cancer. Here in Louisiana, she provides light to see, but in doing so, she also encourages complete strangers to get all up in your business–and by “strangers” I mean pesky Causeway maintenance workers. I’d recommend carrying out your plan at 2am. Just to be on the safe side, do it on a night with no moon. April 5 and 6 look great, fyi.

2. Choose a higher jumping-off point: I mean, let’s face it: 15 or 20 feet is basically the high dive at most swimming pools. Increasing the distance between you and the water will increase your chances for success–and as an added bonus, you’ll have a far more scenic view of the world you’re leaving behind. Consider using the Crescent City Connection, or the Huey P. Long, or even the Luling bridge in St. Charles Parish. South Louisiana has a longstanding love affair with bridges and is chock-full of possibilities! However, if those options seem daunting, you could also just look around your house for items to lift you higher off the Causeway deck. That 12-foot ladder gathering dust in the garage will nearly double your odds!

3. Lose your ability to swim: That way, even if you survive the drop, you’re still in good shape. It may seem difficult, but people unlearn how to swim all the time. Try watching another person drown; in the movies, that always causes some kind of mental block that does the trick. At the very least you should stop being such a strong swimmer. Swimming 300 feet in a two-foot chop kinda puts you in Aquaman territory. Ease up on that.

4. Consider other options: If you’re unable to carry out my first three suggestions but remain committed to the idea of jumping, try landing on your stomach; a good, hard belly-flop always stunned us when we were kids. Or eat a very large meal before jumping–possibly an anvil, or several pounds of cement. And although you’re clearly attracted to the water, don’t overlook the appeal of office towers and the sidewalks below them. Believe it or not, they have a far better track record of population reduction than bridges and water.

Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed this food for thought. I wish you all the best for the future. And if your first attempt was just a vain cry for help, and if it effects some kind of longed-for reconciliation between you and your teenage bride, don’t worry: you can always come back to this project later, after she runs off with the bouncer at the strip club she’s working in Kenner. It’s never too late!

Warmly,
Richard

Full disclosure: I can’t stand Anne Rice. I mean, yes, on the handful of occasions I met her, she was a lovely and charming woman, but her writing…well, lovely and charming it ain’t. Even back in college, when I spent many a night dancing gloomily to Front 242 at the Blue Crystal–even then I thought she was a sloppy, slovenly hack. Her popularity completely mystified me.

But today I figured it out.* Today, in an interview in the Picayune, Ann Rice has inadvertently explained everything and made clear (at least to me) her intent to follow the American zeitgeist all the way to the bank–no matter the pit stops it may make along the way:

On leaving New Orleans: “My only beloved son was in Los Angeles, and I felt like moving out to California was a good thing to do.”

Did you catch the reference? Do you see where this is going?

On the success of The Da Vinci Code: “I’m so outraged by it,” she said…. There’s not a scrap of evidence to support any of those theories.”

Yeah, baby. Work the angle.

On the possibility of writing another Lestat novel: “That book will only be written if I can keep my commitment to the Lord,” she said. “If I can work out a book where Lestat is saved, yes, I’ll write it.

Bingo.

Having ridden the Gothic wave until it finally petered out at the threshold of a Claire’s Boutique somewhere in Missouri, Anne is now totally hot for Christian schlock and George W’s ballyhooed Base. She’s bid adieu to the slim-hipped young men, attracted by her daring views on homosexuality. She’s bid adieu to the plus-sized women, clad in crushed velvet, who often accompanied the slim-hipped men at book signings. She’s bid adieu to everyone drawn into her parallel universes of inverted but somehow totally right-on morality, and she’s gunning for Wal-Mart employees and the Songs of Praise demographic.

Which is not to say that vampire novels and biographies of Jesus Christ don’t bear similarities to one another: they’re both intriguing myths chock-full of blood-guzzling. In fact, if I were so inclined, I could give Ms. Rice the benefit of the doubt and presume she’s trying to modernize Christian ideology by working from the inside out. Sadly, I am not so inclined.

Nor is it to say that a person can’t appreciate these two divergent styles of Ms. Rice’s work (three, if you count the A. N. Roquelaure erotica). Such a person may well exist, but I wouldn’t wanna be his therapist.

Anyway, given Ms. Rice’s stated and unstated intentions, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess at her immediate goals:

1. Buy an abandoned church and start her own denomination (working title: International House of Ann-cakes).

2. Trample Dan Brown on the bestseller lists and leave behind those Left Behind guys.

3. Enshrine Christopher in the literary heavens (just below her), so that he’ll be wealthy and well-connected enough to care for her in style throughout her waning years.

* Her son’s popularity, however, continues to boggle my wee mind.

Who are these Who Dats?

As in:

Who Dat playing quarterback? It’s not Drew Brees.

Who Dat playing defense? Looks like absolutely no one.

Who Dat breaking long touchdown runs, leaving 10 players in your wake? David Beckham he ain’t.

Who Dat breaking a city’s heart almost as fast as the Katrina gut punch? Dem Saint’s dat’s who.

The spirit, the fire, the energy to win football games in the NFL has not been apparent from the start of the regular season. The boys seem flat and uninterested. No sneaking up on the league this year. The passion that the team displayed last year is what took all of us, these brave souls fighting for a city’s life, on the ride of a lifetime. It’s foolish of us, any of us, fans, media, or the team itself, to EXPECT the Who Dat’s to play the same way. I covered sports for a long time before I came home. I’ve seen it before. Not anywhere to the degree of last season, but I’ve been around teams that had a special season, a breakout year. The next season, every team was coming after them, to knock them back down or to just get the publicity of beating a “better” team. Playing sports is about emotion. A average team that has something to prove can and usually does beat a superior team that isn’t into the game emotionally.

So what does it all mean Howard Cosell? Hell I don’t know, it’s just football. But I do know that a whole bunch of Who Dat’s are close to crying in Who-ville.