Ducks & Crabs

This story made me feel good, although I wouldn’t say that they’re giving the ducks quite a wide enough berth.  But it was interesting to read that the site director said “It’s not all about the almighty dollar.  We respect life; it’s very important to us,” and then read this caption to a story about food sales being down: “Angie Lanier fixes a soft-shell crab po-boy at the Galley Seafood booth, which wasted hundreds of the crabs after last weekend’s rain.”

I realize I’m in the minority, but I hate when people refer to animals as commodities.  Maybe I’m just sensitive since E started “experimenting” with eating shellfish.

Striking writers, NOFF

Considering how much TV I like to watch, I’m surprised that I don’t really give a damn about the strike.  Yeah, I guess I’m on the side of the writers, but it’s not exactly the Montgomery bus boycott.  I think they deserve a cut from the webcasts, but I haven’t lost a lot of sleep for them.

Mainly, I’m surprised that I don’t miss the shows, and maybe that’s why I’m less sympathetic.  They’re doing a less essential job than I would’ve thought.  Even the shows that I get on the DVR (Daily Show, Colbert, Office) are pretty much not leaving a void in my life.  I guess I should take this as a lesson about my indulgences, but I expect I’ll be back to catching them when they’re back on.  For now, I’ll see a few more movies.

Speaking of movies, I thought I’d posted this a while back, but I seem to have lost my post.  It was belated then, and now it’s really belated.  Anyway, especially now that Diving Bell is getting wider release, I salvaged and thought I’d post from 24 October 2007:

Last year for my b-day, E got me a membership in the New Orleans Film Society (or Film Fest, depending).  It’s been great, as we’ve gone to a couple at the CAC (Helvetica & Crazy Love–both awesome docs), and now I finally did the Film Fest last weekend with my friend Joe who lives in Austin now (but he’s still a great guy).

Joe is my favorite movie companion because he loves ‘em, but he doesn’t talk.  I can’t tolerate people thinking they’re cute trying to crack up the surrounding viewers or people who act like they’re home watching DVDs.  Why do so many adults not know how to whisper?

Anyway, we both have the stamina to sit for hours on end (one of my few talents), so we went to 5 on Sat and 2 on Sun before he had to leave.  Here’s what we saw, in my order of preference:

1. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly–What a fascinating movie.  Based on the true story of the editor of French Elle, who had a massive stroke and could only move one eye.  Didn’t keep him from writing a book.  As if I didn’t feel badly enough about my own progress.  Gorgeous, claustrophobic, thought-provoking, funny, everything.
2. Left Behind:  The Story of New Orleans Public Schools–Really well done.  Starts a little before Katrina and follows the hijinks of our screwy school system and a bunch of people who don’t give a shit about the kids.  The personal stories of some local students make the story especially poignant and moving.  In the end, not quite as depressing as you might think.  Let’s hope Vallas can get the job done.
3. Killer of Sheep–Stunningly good b&w release from the ’70s about life in Watts.  Amazingly realistic performances.  Depressing at times, inspiring and joyful in others.  Gotta see it.
4. Dans Paris–Your basic French story of life in a family in Paris.  Troubled relationships, joie de vivre, and depression.
5. Grace is Gone–Somewhat disappointing John Cusack movie about a man whose wife dies in Iraq, and he can’t bear to tell their two daughters, so he takes them on vacation.  Sorta precious and self-conscious.
6. Suffering Man’s Charity–Quite disappointing Alan Cumming movie about a musician who’s obsessed with a hustler.  Devolves into a slapstick thing.  I disliked it for the same reason I disliked Death at a Funeral.  Silliness posing as dark humor.  Still, Cumming was his charming self in attendance.  Said he thought NOLA was a great city to show a morbid movie and that Scotland has similar sensibilities.  Told a great story to illustrate:  U2 was in Scotland to give a concert, and Bono told everyone to be quiet.  At 1-sec intervals, he clapped in rhythm.  Clap.  Clap.  Clap.  Then he said that everytime he clapped, a child in Africa died of AIDS.  Lad in the front row shouts, “Why don’t you quit fucking clapping then!”  Choice.
7. Flakes–I really really wanted to like this.  But alas.  I remember flipping out when we walked by Cafe Brazil and saw that it’d been turned into a cereal bar.  Felt silly when told that it was for a movie, but even pre-K we take our institutions seriously.  Fun to see Brazil, Marigny Bookshop, R Bar, Checkpoint Charlie….  Problem was the plot, with “manufactured conflict” as Joe called it (maybe that’s a common term, but I didn’t know it and it’s perfect).  Evil businessman wants to franchise Christopher Lloyd’s one-of-a-kind joint, and the good guys strike back.  Eh.

I was really disappointed to miss the Allen Toussaint Touch, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, Faubourg Treme, the Untold Story of Black New Orleans, King of Kong, Tootie’s Last Suit, etc.

I’ll try to make time to see more next year, but they do a hell of a job.  Attendance at most of the shows was really good, and there were several that I couldn’t get to because they sold out.  I’ve noted to friends that everywhere else I’ve lived I’ve been disappointed when something’s sold out.  Here, I’m thrilled because it’s a sign of thriving.  Weird.

Jersey Dispatch

Must be nice.

Also, quick observation…  I’ve never lived in the Northeast, but I had a prof in grad school who was from Connecticut.  He would always lecture in question format:  “So the frontal lobe deals with planning, right?”

In NJ, I’ve seen a similar communication pattern.  A waiter says, “Enjoy your meal, alright?  If you need anything else, you let me know, ok?”

Is this a NE thing, or my imagination?

Regardless, thanks to A&G for wonderful hosting; had a very nice time.  Alright?

I’m From Jersey, Are You From Jersey?

Right now I’m in the Mudd Manuscript library at Princeton.  My brother in law works here, and we’re visiting him and his wife for the weekend.  This is a very cool library; we got the tour last time and saw the archives of the ACLU, George McGovern, and a bunch of other good things.

They also have James Baker’s stuff.

I’m writing from the library because the candy-assed coffee shop we went to doesn’t have wireless.  What self-respecting coffee shop doesn’t have wireless these days?  Anyway, it’s a nice place to be, and I had to get out of the house because my allergies were going bananas.  They have a couple of very cool cats, but they do a number on my nose.

Thought I’d share the transcript from a phone call E got from her mom, whom we sometimes entrust with the pets.  Although she’s not always johnny-on-the-spot (almost killed Denali one time in a way that I’ll only disclose in person; sometimes puts the lid on the litterbox backwards so that the entrance is flush against the wall; etc), but like my friend who lets his mom babysit his kids even though she always tries to get them to become fundamentalist Christians, the convenience is usually too much to pass up.

It’s the benefit of living across the damn street from one’s mother in law.

Anyway, here’s the call:

This is mom, um, I’m looking for um Denali’s cat food, I mean WhoopyCat’s cat-, McGuire’s cat food.  Wondered if she had any more I need to give her if she doesn’t have any.  Anyway, give me a call when you can.  I love you.

For context, Denali’s a dog, WhoopyCat’s dead, and McGuire’s a male cat.  Alas.  To quote my mom-in-law, precise memories aren’t exactly “up my forte.”

BTW, it’s nice sometimes to get away, but it was snowing when we landed in Newark.  Jeez.

Busy

Normally, when I say, “I’m busy,” it means, “Well, between teaching my classes, meeting with students and committees, surfing the web, doing crossword puzzles, getting a beer with my friends, keeping up on Jon Stewart, and sleeping an adequate amount, my days are somewhat full.”  But the last couple weeks have been a different breed.

I’ve been busy like other people seem to be when they say they’re busy.  But for me, it’s been nuts.  I’ve been trying to figure out processes for grants and the like, trying to meet deadlines, get grading done, and deal with some major “life issues” involving my family.  It’s been those weird realizations I get only rarely where I realize at some point that I literally can’t get all the work done on time.  There’s always more I could do (such is the nature of my job), but lately it’s been just enough to keep the fires relatively undeveloped.

I’ve always thought that one of my assets in work is that I’m conscientious.  I procrastinate.  I’m really inefficient.  I have ADD (seriously).  But my saving grace is that I care about getting the work done.  That means that, even if my job isn’t exactly on the line, I’ll stay up or get early or whatever, to get it done.  Wish I was more like E and got it done early, but I don’t.  Maybe someday.

So, not much to say, but I’m relieved to have a couple hours to watch the finals of the NCAA (FL is on a mission, but I sure hate Billy Donovan).  A little light at the end of the tunnel as we head to NJ to see E’s brother and his wife.  It’ll be nice, but I could use a little true down time too.

“Foti in race for governor”–HammHawk Reads the Paper

I read the T-P every morning, and that obviously leads to mixed moods for the day.  This morning, I read the above headline and flipped out.  Before I could even think about how absurd the prospect is, I was screaming, “that dick,” as he’s been on my shitlist since he began his misguided (In My Humble Opinion) pursuit of Anna Pou and the nurses.  Of course, after I ranted to E about how I couldn’t believe it, I opened the paper and saw above the fold that the full headline was “Breaux turns to Foti in race for governor.”  That makes more sense, but at least I got my heart pumping right away.

Other observations from today’s fishwrap:

Leonard Pitts is the best columnist working, and I’ve written about him before.  Today’s slam on W et al. is excellent as always, and he threw us this little bone in a column about the admin’s reframing of the issues to serve their purposes:

As the sins of Team Bush go, this isn’t the biggest.  That dishonor goes either to bungling the war, mismanaging the peace, or leaving New Orleans to drown.

No wonder W didn’t mention us in the SOTU.  Prick.

I know it won’t convince the world that we’re worth paying attention to, and maybe it’s deckchair rearrangement, but I like the idea of the “Fleur de lis” ambassadors who will be visiting cities and meeting with editorial boards and the like about their coverage of our city.  I’m not sure Ron Forman could be a very convincing ambassador for anything, but I’m proud to work with Norman Francis and Michael White, both of whom are damn good people.  They both lost everything from their homes in a lifetime of distinguished careers, and yet they keep on doing their thing with grace.  I’m sure people have issues with Francis, and I sure wish he was a less top-down leader, but I believe he’s a sincere and skillful one without ulterior motives to speak of.  White is one of the real keepers of the flame and takes the relatively unglamorous title of Spanish professor, but all the while he’s putting his money where his mouth is and doing the right thing.

In Sports, we see that Kobe lit up the Hornets for 50 and that Big Baby was in attendance.  I was at the game, and Kobe’s performance was simply the best I’ve seen.  He just can’t miss.  Also, from my vantage point, I could see the crack of Big Baby’s ass through my binocs when he sat down.  That’s my brush with greatness for the day.

I resisted the temptation to bring to the game a sign saying, “Clean It Up, Copeland.”  If you haven’t been to a Hornets game, you’ve missed out on the glory of Copeland at a game.  He watches about 20% of it, his extensively peeled ruddy face with its pulled-and-plumped fishlips between a surgically planted and chemically blackened head of hair and a very expensive fitted silk shirt.  This season, his companion is a similarly unnatural looking youngster.  Like many things, he was amusingly bizarre before the storm, and now he’s a symbol of abuse and neglect, with his “restaurants” sitting unrepaired and unoccupied.  The rest of the country likes to complain about the poor black New Orleanians who didn’t have the wherewithal to get out, but the real problem is the rich whites only interested in their own gig.  Asshole.

I usually read Living last, since it’s the “dessert” of the paper.  I’m definitely going to check out John Biguenet’s new play at Southern Rep.  Rising Water sounds terrific.

And is anyone else discouraged by the recent decline in quality of Rose Is Rose?

Reports of Our Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

More pollyanna from me, but this weekend was another great one for people who love New Orleans. After a fine day for the wearin’ o’ the green (or, as the Onion once put it, “the Reinforcin’ o’ the Stereotypes”), Super Sunday was excellent.

We all agreed that it was bigger than last year with far more Indians. Not unexpected, I guess, but it seems like I hear more about how the tradition’s dying than that it’s rebounding. Maybe it’s taken a hit, but it’s far from dead. Hope you’ll check out my set on Flickr.

Didn’t stay for the party at the park, but Ashley and others look to be having a grand time. It was a real nice time.

Then, there’s this, from our consistent supporter, Peter King:

Stat of the Week

The Saints, who never sold out the Superdome for a full season in history until last season, now have a season-ticket waiting list of more than 20,000.

 

Pause for Bunnies

On days like this with such tragedy and strife in the news, sometimes it’s good just to come home to the fantastic CuteOverload (alright, I admit it, I’ve been a daily user for a while now), especially with posts like this one.

I don’t mean to be flip about the awfulness, but we have to maintain sanity in order to keep on fighting.

Krewe du Vieux 2007

Well, this looks like a good one.  The theme of KDV this year is “Habitat for Insanity.”

And I just got the word, our king this year is none other than the great Chris Rose.

Can’t hardly wait.  All hail King Chris.

Don’t know what my subkrewe, the Mystic Krewe of Spermes, will come up with for our theme, but here’s hoping it’s juvenile, crude, and clever.

Andy Antippas is the Bomb

I don’t know him, and I’ve never bought anything at his gallery, Barrister’s Gallery, (hell, maybe he’s an asshole for all I know) but he gave a superb interview yesterday on WWNO.  They don’t have the file in the archives yet, but when they do, check it out.  I’m sure he’s well known among the art community, which I’m pretty ignorant of, but I love what he said.

Essentially, he’s been here since the storm, was the only gallery to participate in Art 4 Arts’ Sake last year (got power at the last minute), and has busted his butt to get his artists back to town, including one he physically carried.

His tone in the interview is wonderful.  He’s not a gaga idealist or anything, but you get the sense that if you were Aaron Neville or Harry Anderson and told him that it was too tough to be here, he’s just turn around and not waste anymore time on you.   He’s been through it, recognizes that these haven’t been the most fruitful times, but that art is essential to what New Orleans is.  He even gave an appropriately curt response to the question of what New Orleans art means to the country.  This is a guy who clearly doesn’t mince words, but what he’s doing for the city is vital.

If I buy art anytime soon, I’m looking there first.  Cheers, Mr. Antippas.