Mardi Gras 2015: Day of Nightmares, God of Dreams–Part 2

March 10, 2015 by

SOPHMORE SLOWING

Perhaps the biggest concern of first-time Mardi Gras riders is “How much stuff should I buy?” There is no set answer, however, because it depends on your personality. Heavy throwers—like Marco beside me with a stash bigger than one of the elephants he trains—constantly fire beads and novelties like a machine gun, often tossing the unopened cellophane packages of a dozen strands that fill 20-25lb vinyl bags, and occasionally throwing the whole dang bag. Conversely, light throwers take plenty of time to sip their drinks and soak it in, tantalizingly dangling favors before the crowd until spotting someone in a sufficient frenzy to warrant the reward. Then there are folks in the middle like me. One of the first bits of advice I’d gotten before my first ride was “See who you throw to,” and that seemed to fit my style.

At least theoretically

Between the haste of our drivers after being stranded behind Krewe d’Etat, the overwhelming newness of it all, and a few too many Jello shots, I’d done my best to spot my targets but that first ride had been a blur. This year, however, as we rounded the corner onto Magazine Street I immediately felt like more relaxed and in control, like a second year NFL quarterback admitting the game has slowed down.

AFFIRMATIVE ACTION FOR BIG DUDES & TOURISTS

View Of the Crowd As We Turned Onto Magazine

View Of the Crowd As We Turned Onto Magazine

As we crept down Magazine it was immediately apparent that this crowd was special. After last year’s delay we’d lost many spectators—especially downtown—but this year the crowd remained thick and enthusiastic throughout. Perhaps it was because our delay hadn’t been as long, or our Freaky Friday theme kept them enthralled. It certainly wasn’t [Read more…]

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Mardi Gras 2015: Day of Nightmares, God of Dreams, Part 1

March 5, 2015 by

GETTING METER MADE

2015-02-13 17.19.23Arriving back in New Orleans for the first time since summer, I did what most returning pilgrims do: went to eat. Although my heart was set on Slim Goodies—my favorite breakfast dive—prudence advised otherwise. It was already late morning and I had to load the beads I’d brought from home, stop by the store, and check into the hotel, all before Morpheus Bash at 2:00. Besides, NOPD shuts streets down early on parade days and I didn’t want to get caught Uptown; thus I exited onto Poydras and headed to my oldest NOLA culinary love, Mother’s. (Yes, critics, it’s overpriced with declining portions, but I stand by her quality!)

2015-02-13 16.52.45Aimee was accompanying me for her second Mardi Gras (though sadly her nephew and his girlfriend couldn’t make it after their infectious exuberance in 2014) so I dropped her off to stand in line and found parking nearby. Digging in my pockets I realized I didn’t have change but fortunately had parked in front of Barcadia so ducked inside to use their change machine. Returning with $2, I pumped it all into the meter advertising $1.50 an hour and watched it register 56 minutes. Grinning, I shook my head. Welcome back to New Orleans, where even the parking meters are on the take!

PUTTING THE FAT IN TUESDAY

2015-02-13 12.34.16Although I recently wrote that I didn’t miss New Orleans food, I only meant as a full-time dietary staple. I fully intended to put the Fat in my Tuesday while in town and give myself a reason to [Read more…]

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10 Things About New Orleans I Don’t Miss (Part 1)

January 13, 2015 by

A TEMPERMENTAL TEMPTRESS

kate-uptonMy last post explored the Top Ten Things I’ve Missed Since Leaving New Orleans, concluding with a promise to follow up with Ten Things I Don’t Miss At All. As I compiled this second list, however, it quickly became apparent that it would be best delivered in two parts. I know that sounds bad, but it’s not that I enjoy complaining but rather that it’s much simpler to gush about the good times; the complications involve nuance and caveat that require more thoughtful deliberation.

Just as Mick Jagger and Keith Richards wouldn’t be Rolling Stones without their wild and reckless tendencies, New Orleans wouldn’t be New Orleans without its untamed nature; however, NOLA doesn’t have so-called ‘white people’ problems (Starbucks messed up my double soy decaf sugar-free vanilla latte) or ‘First World’ problems (my boss flubbed the TPS reports and made me late for Taylor Swift) but deep-seeded struggles involving race, culture, decaying infrastructure, and environmental fragility.  Therefore, I don’t want to be flippant and make it sound like everything would be fine if everyone would just stop drinking sazeracs at lunch and dancing in the streets.

I also decided to process this in chunks because it was emotionally taxing. I moved to New Orleans full of hope and optimism but found the transition tougher than expected. Initially I felt guilty writing about my struggles, but was surprised to find that people who lived or had lived in New Orleans responded most enthusiastically to these confessions. If you’ve spent significant time there you realize that the city is like a brash and beautiful woman who is as temperamental as she is tempting: she’ll make you fall head over heels only to immediately begin testing your love. Nevertheless, I don’t regret the move and want to recall my adventure in a mostly a positive light. That being said, New Orleans is inspiring and infuriating in equal measure, so here’s Part 1 of my glimpse at the other side:

10) POTHOLE FOXHOLES

pothole pimp 1

Playing in the Road

Comparing NOLA potholes to foxholes is no exaggeration. Several streets in my Uptown/Carrollton neighborhood had craters that spanned both lanes, were longer than my truck, and a couple of feet deep. This is particularly dangerous when they’re obscured from view during frequent and sudden torrential downpours. NOLA is one of the few cities where it makes sense to own a 4WD truck (until it’s time to park.) Then there’s the post-Katrina Ninth Ward, which makes Uptown look like pristine open highway.

pothole gumbo

Local Cooking

Complaining about road conditions is a favorite local pastime, and a few months before I moved an area media outlet even started a “Pimp My Pothole” contest to shame the city into action. It didn’t work.  (Though it says something that you can fill the road with paraphernalia and drivers will drive around it while the city ignores it.)

Pothole-art-600x450-600x340

This is SO New Orleans!

 

 

I worked summers in college filling potholes for the WV State Road, so I dreamed up a fantasy for promoting the blog where (if I had the money) I’d buy a truck full of asphalt and travel around like some road repairing Johnny Appleseed. This fantasy always ended with me getting arrested for tampering with public property, for that is totally New Orleans: too inept to fix the problem but swift to thwart perceived intrusions on the malaise! (More on that later.)

9) THE UNSMART GRID

neighborhoods

At An Odd Angle

The layout of the roads in New Orleans is even more frustrating than their condition, though this largely can’t be helped. New Orleans is an old city that organically expanded by incorporating the plantations or ‘faubourgs’ that radiated from the French Quarter like spokes. Having been founded at an odd angle on a river bend (i.e. The Crescent City), NOLA has a unique and peculiar geographic orientation that is largely (though not always) triangular. To get a sense of the street grid, visualize a Salvador Dali rendition of a Trivial Pursuit piece after it’s been dissected and reassembled by Dr. Frankenstein. Even after a year I was often disoriented when two turns led me back from whence I came. This was particularly challenging when I was doing home health visits, for either Google Maps can’t even figure out this mess or my GPS was trying to murder me, for I was constantly told in a calm, robotic voice to turn right off the top of a bridge or drive straight into a concrete highway barrier that inexplicably cut off a main artery.

It is only five miles from Carrollton (the western edge of the city) to the French Quarter, and all the dense neighborhoods therein would fit into one sprawling Jacksonville gated community. Jax is the largest city in the nation by acreage, and the local joke is that no matter where you’re heading (even to the kitchen for a beer) it will be twenty miles and thirty minutes away. In New Orleans, I quickly realized every destination was two miles and yet still thirty minutes away.

Like I said, some of this in unavoidable and part of the city’s history and charm. But some of it is just typical local lack of planning. Through-ways are suddenly cut off by poorly placed barriers, the main arteries suddenly shift to another road several blocks away without warning or signage, and some one-way streets suddenly switch direction only to switch back to the original direction four or five blocks later. Seriously. WTF?!?

8) DIRT & DIN

trashBecause it was built on a swamp, New Orleans has always struggled with dirt and disease. Fortunately, Yellow Jack no longer makes its annual summer visits but that veneer of dirt is still omnipresent. It’s weird, because it’s a beautiful city and I don’t know if I’d want a sanitized New Orleans, but there was more dirt and pollution in the air than anywhere I’ve ever lived. Even in the house, the furniture gets covered with a thick layer of gray every couple of days, like living in a West Virginia mining town where black dust rains down daily. I’m not enough of a clean freak for it to consciously bother me too much, but I could feel myself relax a little when I escaped to cleaner pastures. In fact, this is so prevalent that while I volunteering with a native during Jazz Fest last year, she admitted she was disgusted visiting her grandparents in ‘clean’ Tampa. “The roads are all clean, and orderly, and planted with flowers,” she said with wrinkled nose and no trace of irony.

The noise, though, was a very conscious irritant. Because summer heat was a concern and most buildings were constructed before the invention of A/C insulation wasn’t a concern. On the other hand, space was a premium so these non-insulated homes were built close together. In the first room I rented near Freret Street it sounded like I was sharing a bedroom with my neighbors. I could hear everything, and they weren’t the most attractive couple so those were mental images I could have lived without. Then I moved to the French Quarter, which was actually relatively quiet at night because the walls were thick and my room backed up to the Convent.  But two or three times a night something loud enough to penetrate those walls roll through, scaring the crap out of me, and when outside my room the Quarter was, as you can guess, always rocking. I knew this going in, but had to regularly bike to City Park for some tranquility.

Even in my third home in a sleepy Uptown neighborhood, if the neighbors decided to have friends over late to hang on the patio it sounded like they were sipping drinks and laughing at the foot of my bed. New Orleans is a city of music and parties, and that’s awesome when you’re feeling spry and lively. Not so much when you need to recuperate.

7) ALL THIS WATER & NOTHING TO SEA

9.9.13 HIST Distant GatorI may have a Creole soul, but my heart belongs to the ocean. New Orleans was built on a swamp so there’s water everywhere and its very existence hinges on its proximity to the sea, but it still felt a long way from open water. Even though there were beaches nearby in Biloxi or Pascagoula, I don’t ‘feel’ the coast until crossing into Florida at Pensacola.

New Orleans is the most visually alluring city in the U.S. and I never tire of gazing at its architectural brilliance. But, for my tastes, Mother Nature hardly did her best work deep in the delta. Yes, there is a certain beauty in the bayous, but it is a harsh and foreboding aesthetic. There is a reason the fugitive French Acadians who weren’t welcomed anywhere else south of Nova Scotia stopped when they reached this swampland (eventually becoming ‘Cajuns’): No one else wanted it.

I’m sure this will be greeted by some with incredulity, for I know people who believe that exploring these molasses streams on an airboat armed with rod or rifle is damn near paradise. It’s just not my version of it. When I drive back to the green rolling mountains of West Virginia and Virginia my demeanor changes and my soul cries, “I’m home.” Paradoxically, when I return to the saline shores and swaying sawgrass marshes of North Florida I sigh and again think, “I’m home.” But though I always feel a thrill at the sight of the New Orleans skyline, I never lose myself in the surrounding swamps.

6) CAJUN CLAUSTROPHOPIA

new orleans shotgunAgain, this is a matter of preference and temperament. New Orleans is a very European city, which means it is close quartered and cramped. I grew up in rural West Virginia yet have gradually migrated to increasingly urban locales. I may have hit my ceiling in New Orleans.

New Orleans is small in both population and acreage, but it is densely settled and built to the smaller dimensions of days gone by. Granted, high ceilings were a must to trap the summer heat, but overall I always felt ‘enclosed.’ I loved basking in history and culture all so compactly presented, but felt the need to escape town at least once of month, experiencing a sense of relief like slipping off that Easter outfit you were so proud to squeeze into. I always felt a rush upon returning to the energy and proxmimity, but I always needed that break as well.

Well, that wasn’t too bad, but the biggies are yet to come!

To be continued…

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Top 10 Things I’ve Missed Since Leaving New Orleans

January 2, 2015 by

2014-02-28 18.22.47When last I signed off I’d just finished following the Mississippi River from its Lake Itasca source to New Orleans. It was my grand farewell to both the city and my year (and a half) of living like a working writer. I’ve since moved back to Jacksonville where I’ve been scrambling to reenter the professional realm—a much rockier and time-consuming transition than expected. I never expected to fall silent for so long but I was carrying an overdue balance of delayed reality and the ‘real world’ always demands its due.

Successful writers seem to steal a minute here or there while the coffee brews or the washer runs that extra spin cycle, but I typically require blocks of unbroken time to focus and access my brain’s creative center. Perhaps this trait will sentence me to a life of stifled ambition, but I have not been able to write while restructuring and reestablishing my life as a Floridian and occupational therapist.

The Christmas season, however, left me wistfully dreaming of New Orleans. In December of 2012 (while preparing to move) I visited and was surprised by the beauty and festivity of a Crescent City Christmas. I have always associated holiday mystique with snowbound northern destinations, yet found a New Orleans holiday utterly enchanting. Thus, spending the season away spurred me back to the keyboard to reflect upon the Top Ten Things I’ve Missed Since Leaving New Orleans.

10) A CRESCENT CITY CHRISTMAS

A Perfect Kermit Christmas

A Perfect Kermit Christmas

I visited New York in 2011 expecting to rekindle my waning Christmas cheer yet was a victim of my own expectations. I came to New Orleans in 2012 sans expectation and stumbled upon what I’d missed in the Big Apple. If I miss Mardi Gras (which I won’t, barring tragedy) or Jazz Fest (50/50 chance) then these two favorites will surely crack my list; however, for now I’ll include my third favorite NOLA season, having blessed to experience the entire season last year.

When I arrived in 2013 I believed Halloween—my favorite holiday as an adult—would easily assume the #3 position in my NOLA hierarchy, yet what tugs at my heart and fires my imagination are memories of Christmas tree lights cutting through a French Quarter fog in Jackson Square; the elegantly twinkling tree in Antoine’s plush dining room; Kermit Ruffins standing before a tree topped with his signature red hat while playing a jazzy Peanuts style “O Tannenbaum; ordering the special Reveillon menu at The Gumbo Shop after a free Christmas concert at St. Louis Cathedral; and….sigh.

9) PROCESSIONS, BOTH PLANNED & SPONTANEOUS

2013-09-28 18.25.44-1Whether an organized second-line, a Happy Thursday bicycle group, or just a mix of tourists and locals falling in behind a brass band on Frenchmen Street, part of the magic of New Orleans is everyone’s willingness to drop everything to follow a Pied Piper to no particular destination—folks here realize it’s all about the journey. This phenomenon is so interwoven into local DNA that when our weekly bike parades blocked an intersection, drivers waited patiently and often honked in appreciation or offered a friendly wave. In any other city such an inconvenienced motorist would lay on the horn and a middle finger, furious at your impertinence.

I also miss, of course, the friends I made during such treks. Upon compiling this list I considered including the peeps I left behind, but quickly realized that all those folks were already imbedded throughout.

8) A WORLD OF WEIRD

DSC02883Before moving to New Orleans I was collaborating with a photographer friend on articles for a Jacksonville publication. We’d eagerly scour other magazines and websites looking for weird or unusual happenings to cover. Upon moving to New Orleans, though, I joked: “In Jacksonville I had to work to find weirdness, but in New Orleans I just walk out my front door and watch the crazy parade pass by.”

It’s common to claim that there are ‘two types of people in the world,’ but on this point I’m thinking in triplets. One type of person (a majority) fears or reviles odd or unusual behavior. A smaller second type tends to tolerate or ignore it—live & let live. Then there are those—a minority for sure—that revel in weirdness. I definitely fall into this third category. I love the strange, novel, and unusual. Although I admittedly can get uncomfortable when someone pushes boundaries too far, I generally admire people who don’t mind going out on a limb and happy live outside the expectations of polite society. And many of those people find an accepting home in New Orleans.

7) DIVE BAR DISCOVERY

Frenchman Street Night Spotted CatThere are thousands of unique and interesting watering holes in New Orleans filled with unique and interesting people, covering the full spectrum from grime to grandeur; thus, a night out always held the thrill of possibility. Some of this is admittedly self-perpetrating myth, and my dive bar explorations were dampened by a lack of company (I made tons of friends, but few whom I could just call on a whim), but, still, every trip out the door felt like a trip of discovery (especially when close friends came to visit), and I miss that constant sense of possibility.

6) CREATING/VEGETATING IN COFFEE SHOPS

Coffee Fight ClubI was in New Orleans to write, so spent more time in the coffee shops than bars. Fortunately there is a funky and unique java joint nearby in every corner of the city. One thing about Jacksonville (and most cities) that drives me nuts is how quickly the local coffee shop fad was obliterated by Starbucks and Panera, so I even devoted a section of my Geaux Local guide to coffee shops.

And this warrants another shout out, for owner Eugene and the rest of the Krewe Du Brew staff became good friends and always made me feel at home. I felt like Norm in a caffeinated NOLA version of Cheers and wish I were typing these words in that stately columned St. Charles café while the streetcars rumble past….

5) MARINATING IN HISTORY

FQF Bourbon 2I was recently discussing my only trip to the U.K. with an Irish friend, noting that this thrilling trip held a constant melancholy undertone because I was deeply affected by the constant weight of ancient history that surrounded me. In America everything is new, creating the illusion that the world is still in a state of creation; in England there is a five hundred or thousand-year-old castle in every town to remind you of the brevity of human life. It was both exhilarating and daunting.

Regardless, I love immersing myself in history and New Orleans is the most European city in the U.S. Every nook and cranny of New Orleans is drenched in history, if not quite so ancient. Perhaps this is why so much of My Year of Mardi Gras was tinged in melancholy, but good or bad, every corner of New Orleans seems significant so simply being there made me feel relevant by default.

4) INTIMATE MUSICAL PERFORMANCES

Robin at Mardi grasWhen it comes to national touring acts, North Florida has come into its own in recent years.  In 2014 alone I saw four all-time favorites (Paul McCartney, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and The Allman Brothers Band), and another, Wilco, is coming in May. I find myself with more options than expendable income these days.

Nevertheless, few if any cities can compare to New Orleans when it comes to a local organic music scene, and Jacksonville is particularly deficient in this area. It is no secret that music is woven into the very fabric of daily life there, and I am grateful to have had the opportunity to attend so many intimate shows in small but iconic venues. Along the way, I befriended a few amazingly talented musicians such as Robin Barnes and her band and Vince Marini and they often visited for Red Beans on Monday. Even though I was burning through savings and barely earning a dime, it was a thrill to feed a few starving musicians and play the role of patron to the arts if even on the smallest scale. And it was a thrill to head out on any random night and support so many unheralded artists making exceptional music.

3) THE LITERARY LIFE

bookstoreIf the music scene in Jacksonville is on life support, the literary scene is DOA. I may have not achieved the foothold I desired in NOLA, but while living there I interviewed nationally known writers, became close friends with several other writers and professors, and could rest assured that even those friends who weren’t writers still read veraciously. (Most of my Florida friends don’t read at all—including this blog—so I can tease them freely!)

New Orleans is a literary city to its very core. Although it was hard to stand out in such a sea of talent, it was easy to join in, such as with the monthly book group at the sadly defunct McKeown’s Books & Difficult Music. Owner Maggie was one of the first people to show genuine kindness to this frazzled outsider when I stumbled into her shop looking for a way to connect with the local literary scene, and I still miss those meandering and sometimes unruly discussions with a lively cast of characters at the monthly non-fiction book club.

2) CONSCRIPTIVE COMMUNITY CONNECTION

StompersOkay, perhaps no one is forcibly drafted into community life in New Orleans, but there is a strong affirmational social pressure to participate.  If you’re a native, it’s bred into you. If you’re a transplant, you probably didn’t matriculate because you wanted to sit in your basement and play X-box (besides, there are no basements below sea level!)  Whether it’s a Mardi Gras Krewe (and I miss my Morpheus and Chewbacchus peeps and those crafting sessions assembling bandoliers and Wookie merkin panties!) or a bike club or a an ironic dance troop or an amateur brass band or a social aide & pleasure society or whatever else floats your eccentric boat, there is something for everyone.

It doesn’t matter what the outlet, nearly everyone plugs in somewhere. People in NOLA are proud of their city and, more importantly, are part of their city. In a world of gated communities and Facebook friends and hyper individualism bordering on social disconnect, it was refreshing to experience a place where people still value connecting on a human level and working towards a common goal—no matter how absurd or frivolous.

1) HOPE & PURPOSE

2013-09-28 18.43.02This is the biggie.  When I decided to get a second Master’s in Occupational Therapy rather than pursue my Ph.D. in literature I quietly admonished myself for giving up on my dream. And for half a decade I did.  But over time I gradually sought out more and more writing outlets until I finally pushed all my chips onto the table and moved to New Orleans to devote my full attention to figure something out. Over a year and a half I experienced a ton but made little visible headway towards practical goals, so was faced with a difficult decision. I never realistically believed (we all dream) I could ‘make it’ in a year, but hoped for signs of progress or visible markers along the road. Instead I was financially floundering, having seen my early inroads (published in Offbeat, connecting with a couple of nationally known authors) quickly fade. My closest friends were far away and the sacrifices I would make in staying just didn’t seem warranted.

Still, as long as I was in town I felt like I was in the game, much like the NFL team belonging to the city I’d left. Although the Jaguars have been the laughing stock of the NFL for years, at least they can say they’re in the league, and that means there’s always a chance. Only 30 U.S. cities—and cities in the world—can say that. Similarly, as long as I was in New Orleans I was striving for something more—paying my dream due respect—no matter how futile the endeavor. I was losing but in the game. Since moving back I have been necessarily focusing on more immediate financial and personal goals, but I miss that grander if hyperbolic sense of hope and purpose.

Of course, everything wasn’t always rosy in New Orleans. ‘The Big Easy’ is a despised nicknamed coined by outsiders with no idea what daily life is truly like in the nation’s most quirky and challenging city. If everything had been Big & Easy I’d still be there. So my next post will surely be the one to irk the friends I left behind (for residents tend to take NOLA criticisms quite personally): Top Ten Things I Don’t Miss About New Orleans One Bit!

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FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Motel In Memphis–Pride (In The Name of Love)

August 24, 2014 by

 MOTEL IN MEMPHIS

2014-07-08 19.28.39

Where you there when the man from Atlanta was murdered in Memphis?

Did you see him laying at the Lorraine Motel?

Did you hear them say that the CIA is witness

To the murder of a man at motel in Memphis

Motel in Memphis, Motel in Memphis

Run and tell somebody there’s blood on the riverside

Oh, muddy water / Roll into Memphis

If you were there you would swear it was more than a man who died

2014-07-08 19.29.14The wispy summer sky was turning a dark purple and a gentle breeze was blowing off the Mississippi as I strolled east through a decaying stretch of downtown. My soul was still buoyant from its dip in the fountains of Memphis music history but was slowing waxing with a melancholy tide. I was nearing the American Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel where on April 4, 1968 a great man was gunned down for the crime of demanding human dignity. Although it was after hours I felt compelled to pay my respects, particularly after hearing the recorded testimonials at Stax Records—whose artists often stayed at the Lorraine—of the stark and immediate repercussions of this hateful day.

The song “Motel In Memphis” by Old Crow Medicine Show was on endless loop in my head as I approached, the Stax Museum having provided affirmation of the song’s claim “it was more than a man who died.” As I write these words several weeks after my visit, racial tension is spilling over in Ferguson, Missouri outside of St. Louis where I had just left.

LorraineRegardless of what we learn about the incident at the core of this turmoil, such frustration doesn’t boil over without antecedent. Yet where is a Martin Luther King, Jr. to channel violent backlash into peaceful and effective protest? Nearly fifty years later his shoes have yet to be filled—his dream of a post-racial America still not fully realized. A black man is no more likely than a white man to use drugs, but is ten times more likely to go to jail for it, and we jail more citizens (not per capita–literally more) than China with its repressive government and population topping a billion. Our for-profit prison system has become the new Jim Crow.

More than a man, indeed.

PRIDE (IN THE NAME OF LOVE)

Early morning, April 4

A shot rings out in the Memphis sky

Free at last, they took your life

They could not take your pride

In the name of love

One more in the name of love

The scene outside the Lorraine Motel is frozen to April 4, 1968, including the same model cars that were in the parking lot that evening (not morning).  The lobby, though, has been converted into the National Civil Rights Museum and a huge brick extension sits across the road in place of the dilapidated building where the assassin hid.

2014-07-08 19.28.09As I stood outside room 306–a reef on the door just like the one placed April 5th–my eyes welled up and a lump rose in my throat. I’d spent the day luxuriating in the heights our people can soar when white and black harmoniously collaborate—the sublime emerging from subjugation. Yet here lay a stark reminder of the unseemly flip side—a nation’s deepest shame played out upon the same soil that gave birth to so much splendor.

I don’t necessarily buy into the concept of white guilt, but suddenly felt embarrassed standing amidst black families who had come to pay tribute, as though I were intruding. Part of me wanted to apologize for every idiotic thing ever done in the name of racial hate, though I knew that would be patronizing (and just plain awkward!) Besides, King’s dream was of peaceful coexistence.

National-Civil-Rights-Museum-BannerThe U2 song “Pride (In The Name Of Love)” now dominated my thoughts, and I choked on the line “They took your life, they could not take your pride.” King had come to town in support of a sanitation workers strike and was gunned for standing up for basic human dignity. It boggles the mind how a man of love could inspire so much hate. He was aware of the threats on his life, but would not be bullied or marginalized. So they took his life.

They could not take his pride.

FROM UNBEARABLE PAIN, TRANSCENDENT BEAUTY

Rain Began To Descend Upon The Memphis Waterfont

Rain Began To Descend Upon The Memphis Waterfont

I was unprepared for how deeply that moment outside a motel in Memphis would affect me through mere proximity. As I walked back to Beale Street along the Memphis shoreline a gentle rain began to fall. It felt as though God himself were mourning our capacity to wrench pain and discord from an already indifferent universe.

Mississippi River At State Park Just North of Memphis

Mississippi River At Meeman-Shelby State Park Outside of Memphis

The next morning I packed my soggy camping gear and headed south down legendary Highway 61 which cuts through the Mississippi cotton fields where slaves once coped with backbreaking labor (their compessation: degradation, humiliation, brutality, rape, and death) through the only means available—music. From these fields of nightmare emerged America’s one indigenous art form and greatest cultural gift to the world: the blues/jazz/rock-n-roll continuum. How ironic that from unbearable pain came such transcendent beauty.

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FOLLOW THE MISSISSIPPI: Memphis Musical Ménage á Trois

August 22, 2014 by

A MOST EPIC MUSICAL DAY

2014-07-08 12.16.44The Elvis themed dive just outside of Graceland informed me they were no longer serving breakfast. What kind of diner quits serving breakfast after 10:00!? Considering I’d spent a soggy night curled up in the middle of a leaky tent I’d pitched by headlights after driving a half hour from Memphis and then wandering lost for a half hour in a sprawling state park, I didn’t accept the news with grace. The king would not approve.

2014-07-08 13.21.32After swallowing an unsatisfying hamburger I scurried away, but upon learning they wanted $10 just to park next door I returned to my parking spot and walked–the cheapest admission package to see a dead man’s house ($34) seemed stiff enough. Despite the rocky start, passing the gates of Graceland via shuttle from the visitor center marked the start of what would be one of the most epic musical days of my life. In Hannibal I’d walked in the footsteps of Mark Twain, but today I would [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, Travel, Venue & Band Reviews

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Celebrating The Nation’s Birthday In America’s Hometown

July 26, 2014 by

BLOGGING BY FIRELIGHT

Spending The 4th With Tom & Huck

Spending The 4th With Tom & Huck

Tonight, after three longs days of driving, I’m spending my second consecutive night in Hannibal, Missouri, having merely traveled the two miles to town and back today. Taking the day off to bask in history and walk in the footsteps of—in my opinion—America’s greatest writer feels luxurious after my whirlwind trek from Lake Itasca.

 

 

Map Of The Web Like Cavern Passages...No Wonder A Young Twain Got Lost!

Map Of The Web Like Cavern Passages…No Wonder A Young Twain Got Lost!

As I write these words I’m basking in a warm, orange glow: my first ever act of blogging by firelight. I’m camped just a few hundred yards from the cavern where Samuel Clemens got lost as a child, an incident that he would recreate as central plot point in his breakthrough novel: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

Blogging by a campfire may seem like an odd juxtaposition of the elemental and artificial, but it feels rather romantic. I’d like to think Mark Twain would approve.

BAD LUCK=DIVINE PROVIDENCE

Arriving In Hannibal

Arriving In Hannibal

I’d arrived in Hannibal late in the afternoon on the Fourth of July after spending the previous night in Iowa, too rushed to relax as my idealistic visions of cooking dinner on a scenic bluff gave way to hurriedly pitching my tent while daylight faded as I munched on veggies and lunch meat. I knew I’d have the entire next day to explore Hannibal, though, so that afternoon allowed myself to relax before heading into town for the fireworks.

Relaxing In Hannibal On The Fourth

Relaxing At My Lovely Campsite After Dinner

I’d been worried that [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , ,

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: The Waterfall That Starts It All (Minneapolis)

June 30, 2014 by

ONE FINAL DETOUR

Minneapolis & The Waterfall That Built A City

Minneapolis & The Waterfall That Built A City

Last we spoke I was lying on an air mattress in an empty house contemplating the future. Now I’m curled up in a leather recliner cradling a streaming cup of black coffee in a rugged, wood hewn coffee shop along Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota warding off the chill of a northern summer as I eagerly embrace the glorious present tense.

Granted, Duluth is slightly beyond the reach of the Mississippi River—the alpha and omega of my journey –but anyone familiar with my life knows that I’m always susceptible to a delightful detour. In fact, One Final Detour could serve as my epitaph!

THE WATERFALL AND THE FLAT HEAD

Hauling Aspirations Past A Missouri Sunset

Hauling Aspirations Past A Missouri Sunset

Exorbitant rental car rates made flying north impractical so the morning after my dining room dissertation I packed my truck so full you would think I were [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, Travel Tagged With: , , , ,

One Last Adventure: Exploring The Spiritual Artery of New Orleans

June 24, 2014 by

EMPTY HOUSE, CROWDED MIND

One Last Game With The Guys

One Last Game With The Guys

Tonight I’m lying on an air mattress in the dining room of the now empty New Orleans house I’ve rented for the past ten months. Last night this room was filled with the stories and laughter of the good friends I’ve made over the last year and a half. It took an entire year for my ‘Red Beans On Monday’ parties to draw a steady crowd, but the last several gatherings have been smashing successes. Last night’s encore performance didn’t disappoint, delivering all the enrichment and communion that I’d hoped for when I began this tradition after reading about the phenomenon in Gumbo Tales. Thus inspired, I made my first Monday pot as a New Orleans resident within weeks of moving here and tried to give them away to the neighbor who begged off, citing her diabetes. I’ve come a long way.

It figures things would finally start to click as my time winds down.

Fore!

Fore!

Therapy work is still slow in New Orleans, writing opportunities have failed to materialize, and I’ve yet to hear back from my last gasp TV audition. Meanwhile, several interesting opportunities are beckoning back in Florida, so perhaps it’s time to join the real world again and resume the daily grind, relegating passion back to hobby as most adult do.

PACKING UP & LOOKING BACK

Visiting My Old Decatur Street Home

Visiting My Old Decatur Street Home

I have no regrets. It has been an enlightening year and I never truly intended to permanently relocate, anyhow. Still, it was a little melancholy over the past week packing up and looking back. As I’ve reminisced I’ve visited old haunts and caught up with everyone I could. Sunday afternoon I took one last opportunity to play croquet with the Chewbacchus folks and that night headed to Frenchmen Street while it’s still just down the road. At one point in the evening wanderlust overtook me and I strolled back by my Decatur Street home of last summer’s misadventures, checking on the old neighborhood.

Last night’s red beans was the final stop on my farewell tour, so this morning I put my stuff in storage and cleaned the house, setting aside food and camping gear for one last adventure.

LEWIS & GPS (FOLLOWING THE BIG MUDDY)

The Old Neighborhood At Night

The Old Neighborhood At Night

Tomorrow I’m heading north, driving to Minnesota—specifically Lake Itasca, source of the Mississippi River. From there I plan to follow it back to New Orleans, blogging about my discoveries along the way. I have no itinerary. I’m just heading out like a Lewis without the Clark (though with a GPS, which is probably better, anyhow.)

There is no New Orleans without the Mississippi River and all that enters that great draining basin must pass the Crescent City on its search for the sea. I have wanted to take this trip since arriving in town–for the river seems such a natural extension of the city–and recently it has occurred to me as the perfect farewell. So I’ll spend the next two weeks exploring the river that made New Orleans a necessity and contributed to is wild and delinquent nature, following it back to my current adopted home.

SEEKING CLOSURE: ONE LAST GRAND ADVENTURE

One Last Night On Frenchmen

One Last Night On Frenchmen

Unless something drastic happens as I meander, then I’ll pack upon return and head back East, having found such fitting closure in seeking out the spiritual artery that feeds New Orleans.

The blog will continue, as will my visits to New Orleans and participation in Mardi Gras, but differently. The blog and my study of New Orleans will again become a hobby rather than focus of my time and attention.

Empty House

Empty House

Yet before I go trying to grow up again, I have one last grand adventure to undertake, so I hope you’ll check in from time to time as I cut through the heartland of this great nation looking for the people and places whose essence has drifted down towards this famous bend in the Big Muddy to create one of the most unique and interesting cities in the world.

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Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, Travel Tagged With: , , ,

My Year of Mardi Gras: The TV Show?!?

June 16, 2014 by

POTENTIAL GAME CHANGER

Yoda Pat Pontificates While Bartending at Two Tony's (Or Demonstrates How a T-Rex Eats Red Gravy!)

Yoda Pat Pontificates While Bartending at Two Tony’s
(Or Demonstrates How a T-Rex Eats Red Gravy!)

An interesting wrinkle cropped up last week while I contemplated my future and the future of this blog. Since Mardi Gras I have pondered whether to stay in town and double down on my writing aspirations or move back to Florida and move forward compiling my adventure as a memoir. Although returning would feel a little like a retreat, I have deeper roots and more therapy opportunities in Florida (and I certainly need to refill the coffers after my year-long adventure!) Whatever I decide, I will continue to blog and participate in Mardi Gras. It’s just a matter of focus and priority. I intend to stay connected, marching in Chewbacchus and rolling with Morpheus no matter where I live; frequent down I-10 have become old hat by now. The question is whether to continue to make New Orleans my daily reality or return it to the status of my favorite escape from real life.

My lease ends this month and my roommate is reuniting with his wife so the pressure of the decision has increasingly weighed on me considering I’ll be homeless in two weeks. Perhaps it would be easier just to move back to Florida, go back to work, and resume writing on the side.

Just when it seemed cut and dried, though, my friend Yoda Pat sent me a Facebook invitation that could change everything. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, Travel Tagged With: , , , , ,
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