Archive for March, 2005

This one is so funny, I had to make sure I got it in before April fools day, else you might think it was a joke:

National Geographic Traveler Poll names New Orleans Top U.S. Family Travel Spot

On the referenced page, you’ll find a few statistics.

In 45% of families surveyed, Mom made the decision on where to go. (29% Dad, 17% Kids) 68% of respondents said that their family vacations are better than those taken when they were kids.

98% of those respondents were drunk at the time, citing the fact that their vacation in New Orleans was so much better than when their families actually made them talk to each other on family vacations sober.

Moms of America: what were you thinking?

Coming, Going, and Staying for 3-31-05


Kipp schools to New Orleans:
“KIPP is a nationally recognized program that brings excellence in teaching and an enviable reputation of success in inner-city schools.”

A Tabasco museum.

A new airline?


If you didn’t already know, Trent Reznor has officially left the city, selling his garden district home.
Maybe he heard I was after his picture.


The KFC New Orleans chicken wings in China.
(Update from previous entry: “Beads, Zydeco, Jambalaya, Cancer“)

History guy

Local lawyer Jim Petersen has a blog that should interest history buffs: Lewis & Clark: What Else Happened. He uses the web-log medium to present a log of the Lewis & Clark expedition, each day telling exactly what happened exactly 200 years ago. For instance, today’s installment tells us what happened on March 30, 1805. (Apparently some expedition members were misbehaving with the natives.) Jim also tells us what else was going on while L&C were busy exploring the Louisiana territory.

You can take the homo out of the disco…

To anyone traveling inbound on I-10 this afternoon, I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.

It started innocently enough: I’d grown weary of the same ten cds in my car and was flipping through radio stations in search of something interesting. And after a couple of scans, I heard the unmistakeable piano riff of “It’s Raining Men” by the Weather Girls, and although the song’s never been a particular favorite of mine, I let it play.

Seconds later, I recalled an episode that happened at the Bourbon Pub nearly two decades ago, a couple of years before I came out (well, came out again, but that’s another entry). Anyway, I was there with my girlfriend, and we were goofing around, and the dj played “It’s Raining Men,” and I starting singing along and doing this little dance, and my then-girlfriend just laughed, thinking it was cute, but later she asked me, earnestly, “Richard, are you sure you’re not gay?”

Like, duh, lady. How many straight men know the fucking lyrics to “It’s Raining Men”? How many would lip-synch the words in the middle of New Orleans’ biggest fag bar? …I mean, sure, I denied it, and I guess I’m a good liar, but come on, sweetie. Clueless girlfriend, there’s a call for you on the white courtesy telephone.

So, an hour ago, when I heard the song, I thought of that and I laughed at the absurdity of it all. Then I had a little nelly break. While driving. Not exactly a safe thing to do–it’s hard to steer with your hands that far up in the air.

The Photos Above

If you’d like to take a closer look at the photos uploaded by the authors (see that header above?) check out the Metroblogging New Orleans Flickr group.

An editorial about Eddie

This morning, I heard a newscaster say that a jury at the U.S. courthouse is now deciding “whether Eddie Jordan is a racist.” Wrong. The jury is deciding whether Jordan will be civilly liable for employment discrimination.

Years ago, I knew Eddie when we both worked at the same law firm. The Eddie that I knew was not a racist; and I doubt his character has changed. He may have made some unwise personnel moves, and for those moves, the jury may find him liable for money damages. If that is the jury’s verdict, it won’t make Jordan a racist.

Are New Orleans Clubs Racist?

In respect to the Levon Jones case:
Only a single frame of the Razzoo video has been released to show Jones’s friend throw a punch to prove that the attack was provoked through violence. The NO Human Relations meeting seems only to have been a circus. Here is the story yesterday from NPR.

The truth will come out when we have all the facts. Some college students from Ithica, NY have been busy creating a documentary on the subject.

The spotlight is widening from Razzoo to all the French Quarter clubs. What do you think?

To New Orleans street performers

I’m sorry, but I am not obligated to give you money because I snap your photograph. Don’t stop playing your music and howl at me that I now owe you something. If I think that you’ve earned my dough with those two or three barrel-house piano riffs you repeat endlessly and those dog yelps you let out in place of singing, I will pay you, but once you enter a public space, you have no reasonable expectation of being able to control your image. People can snap as many photos as they like and pay you nothing. If they do drop a few bucks into your pail after taking a few photos, it’s a courtesy, not an obligation. You’re part of the scenery now, and local color, and therefore will wind up in photos now and then, and that just comes with the territory.

And I say this as someone who is preparing to join your ranks.

Magazine Girl

The other day I met Magazine Girl, a very sweet young woman named Linda, who runs a magazine store on (where else?) Magazine Street.    Her store has mostly eclectic magazines, not the usual grocery store fare.  I browsed around and picked up a copy of the February edition of Modern Drunkard, which has a feature on the ‘Wisdom of the Winos.’  It’s good to see some scholarship being devoted to this sort of thing.  I’m sure Richard Pryor would be proud.

A little secret about the French Quarter

When you sit on my stoop and have long, detailed, heart-to-heart conversations, I can hear every word you’re saying. Seriously, it’s like you are in the room with me. I am privvy to a preposterous number of intimate cell phone calls, relationship woes, and drunken men explaining to each other how they are best friends. I imagine this is true of every single apartment in the Vieux Carr

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