what says the holidays more than a no-eyed flying snowman? well, i just don’t know the answer to that! so, by all means, feast your eyes on new orleans’s own Chreepy Christmas tradition: the story of mr. bingle!
"thank goodness santa shoved these christmas ornaments into my inexplicably vacant eye sockets!" (photo: http://ilovememphisblog.com/2009/09/29/found-mr-bingle/)
i’d heard about it. i knew it to be something that happens here. but i’d never SEEN it. until today. so okay…it rained a lot here yesterday. all through the evening. maybe all through the night. when i set out for my hair appointment today, though, it wasn’t raining. by the time i left the salon, however, it had begun again. nonetheless, i soldiered forth to run errands in metairie; it rains here all the time—i can’t let that stop me from doing things, right? WRONG! i can. and in the future, i will.
it was a little after 4:30pm when i set out for the 1100 block of veterans boulevard. the cars were all crawling. at first i thought it was because stoplights were out, but then i discovered that that had only been the case in one instance. so on i crawled until around the 1800 block, when i noticed a side street that looked less like a motorway than a waterway. a coursing waterway. sheesh—glad i wasn’t headed there, i thought. but as i crept farther along, i realized that the water was no longer just on the side streets nor just in the gutters at the side of the road. suddenly, it was the road.
an old Times-Picayune flooding photo
cars ahead of me were now plowing through several inches of water. coursing, rising water. and on it rained. pouring, driving rain. i started seeing debris in the road, and the world was dark, as black as if it were midnight. some cars were pulled over, as if they could go no farther. it looked like i was caught up in some kind of post-apocalyptic flight. i have to turn back! i thought. this is only going to get worse! so i did. i turned back, and fortunately the other side of veterans was slightly higher ground. not flooding yet. however, i had to get back to the highway and back to my house. this involved driving through waters that, at some moments, i feared would sweep my little civic away.
once, many moons ago, i drove my old nissan sentra through a really big puddle in the law school park-and-ride shuttle lot. the car simply shut off immediately. all systems stop. da hell? i thought, re-trying the key. but it wouldn’t turn back on. i learned that i had gotten water under the distributor cap. that driving through any fairly deep amount of water must be done carefully to prevent this from happening because the result is that you are stuck, stuck, stuck. a car with water under the distributor cap will not start again until that water has dried on its own. in my case, that was at least the time it took for me to catch the shuttle, sit through class, and come back. in the meantime, my poor sentra could do nothing but sit, helpless, right where it had died.
this is what i thought about today as i crrrrrawwwwled through water that, in places, reached the bottoms of car doors and lapped at them like a persistent cat. all jokes aside, i was shook. if my car died out, what would i do? the rain was not letting up—still hasn’t. the water was rising and roiling and climbing over curbs. and i didn’t even have on rain boots. i had on converse. low-top converse! *sighs* any-hoo, as you can see from this writing, i made it home. i feel lucky and grateful for this and, from now on, when i tell somebody i’ll make it somewhere “Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise,” i won’t be speaking in jest.
UPDATE: here’s an article with photos on the day’s event: http://www.nola.com/hurricane/index.ssf/2009/12/flash_flood_warning_issued_for.html …damn you, metairie!
noun
a smug satsuma putting on airs, as usual
listen…i love new orleans and all, but don’t believe the hype. local produce or not, “satsuma” is but a synonym for “orange.” or, if you’re from here, “urnj.” O_O
UPDATE: i ate one of you jerks today, satsuma. turns out, many of your boasts are true—you really do peel easily, and you really are seedless. but at the end of the day, satsuma, you still have stringy white stuff i had to pick off and sections covered with waxy, unchewable skin. translation: as stated, you are but another orange. good day.
noun
one day, the “nutritionist lady” came to my school to speak to the students. at one point, she was talking about frying food, and then, inexplicably, she started talking about some strangely named family of people that i could only surmise were friends of hers who also liked to cook. it all happened really quickly, but from what i gathered, their last name was earl. this, in and of itself, is not too strange, but get ready for their first names: olive, canola, corn, peanut, and vegetable. i thought, my God, who would do such a th—
—wait a minute…!
it…it can’t be!
alas…oh, yes, it is.
not to spurl the joke or anything, but my purnt here is that there is a distinctly louisiana thing that happens when there is an -oi- in the middle of a word. i’m not saying that everybody here does it, but i’ve heard it enough now to know it for a truth. so if someone ever asks you, in sincerity, “how you durn?”…go ahead and ask him or her, in equal sincerity, when the next crawfish burl is—’cuz that mofo is bound to know.
UPDATE: omgz…the nutritionist is here right now, and she just told the class to keep their “appurntments!” LOL! (reporting live from my job, december 8, 2009)
noun (also: po-boy)
i mentioned my disillusionment with this in my original new orleans post (february 10, 2009). to paraphrase, i had imagined a po’ boy as something really unique and possibly cajun-y only to discover that it’s just the regional term for a sandwich on long bread. in defense (and differentiation) of the po’ boy, however, i now know that it is generally a hot sandwich and, unlike subs or heroes or grinders, it is often filled with seafood—shrimp or crab or crawfish or catfish or even oysters.
today i attended the third annual new orleans po-boy preservation festival (http://www.poboyfest.com/) and discovered just how much variety can go into even just these few types of po’ boys. the seafood can be fried or made into a salad (like tuna) or sauteed or barbecued—you name it—and it can all be “dressed” differently, too. sauces, fried onions and peppers, remoulades, slaws…and so on. so all these many months later, i am now finally willing to recant my original assessment. luckily for me, leidenheimer baking company, a leading local purveyor of the fine french bread loaves that are the basis for any good po’ boy, handed out a bumper sticker at the festival that sums up my new position beautifully:
suck on that, subway!
noun
a second line is a small parade generally comprised of a brass band and anyone willing to walk along with it. you can be just sitting in your house, minding your business on a tuesday afternoon, and one of these ramshackle affairs can come blaring along down your street. and, should you feel so inclined, you will be welcome to throw on yer houserobe and join in. this has actually happened to me since i’ve been here (minus the houserobe as i was already dressed). here’s what that one looked like:
technically, the term “second line” derives from real parades in which there is a “main line,” generally a formal parading “krewe” (see glossary, october 25, 2009), and a “second line,” generally comprised of revelers who are just following along. second lines, however, have come to be their very own independent entity. they’re similar to jazz funerals except that, well, nobody’s dead. sometimes a second line is planned, publicized, and put on as a memorial for someone or a celebration of something, and sometimes it is spontaneous and/or put on just because someone felt like it. there’s very little people in new orleans won’t rally behind if it’s celebratory in nature.
speaking of second lines, last night was my dear friend peaches’s birthday. her husband, in addition to taking her out to dinner and throwing her a little surprise after-dinner get-together, had requested that we put on a wee second line for her. we had maybe ten people, a single trombone player (thing one), a bunch of whistles, some beads, and some umbrellas. with that, we marched down bordeaux street around 8:30pm, as noisily as we could and, as planned, overtook peaches and her beau walking back from dinner.
it really was kinda priceless. when she saw and heard us coming from the distance, she thought she had just birthday-lucked upon someone else’s second line. when she realized that she knew the participants, it still took her a few ticks to realize we were there for her. after that, she was overwhelmed with us having endeavored as such on her behalf. (if i had a heart, this is the part where its cockles would be warm.) (*giggles*…i said “cockles.”)
also on the topic: last saturday, my new friend sad old red (who is neither sad nor old but is indeed red) and i had made plans to attend the fringe festival “parade” (http://www.nofringe.org/). the quotes there are intentional. we showed up ready to see a parade and found a small wad of about forty-some participants walking down saint claude avenue. granted, some were in costume and three were on stilts, but still—a parade this was not.
it was a good second line, though. brass band. chick with a parasol. a few of those head-to-toe-silver-painted people. there were even throws. i caught a barbie doll (which i handed to a little girl), a stuffed alligator (which i left atop a trash can later after peaches pointed out a questionable stain ‘pon it), a highly decorated baby doll (which, upon consensus with peaches, was dubbed stella and kept), a tiny stuffed orange teddy bear, and some beads. much of this, i ascertained, was leftover swag from previous parades (e.g., a string of beads i caught with a roller skate pendant marked “MUSES 2008″), but i actually thought it was good use of old stuff, and having throws of anything made the “parade” all the better. any-hoo…i’ve included some “photos” i took that day. i’ll let the quotation marks speak for themselves. :-/
this is basically what it was: no floats, no horsies, no formations---just people laissezing the bons temps roulez
her bike was off the hook!
i wonder how it feels to be covered in paint like that
awww...preetee!
awww...preetee? (note mah swag, as discussed!)
tap dancing parasol chick
happy ol' red!
shmooches!
watch out for those power lines, ladies!!!
kthxbai!
end quotes, dammit; i like this picture. peaches + stella 4ever!
this is a portion of the chant used in support of the new orleans saints football team. the chant, in its entirety, is as follows: “who dat? who dat? who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?” it may not be classy, but it’s effective!
as of this posting, the saints have an ASTONISHING 9-0 record. now, as a native virginian, i’m a redskins fan, born and bred and loyal. between virginia and here, i’ve lived in new york, los angeles, philadelphia, boston, and connecticut—major nfl territories—and this is the first time i’ve even taken an interest in a team besides my beloved-yet-atrocious ’skins, much less gone so far as to root for them. it was the thrashing they gave to the giants on october 18 that got me on board. that was a helluva game, if you missed it. seven touchdowns, yo. SEVEN!
special thanks to #42—free safety darren sharper—who i’ve known since he was just my best friend’s pipsqueak annoying little middle school brother. his presence as a first-year saints player has made cheering for a team besides the redskins easier on my conscience. i just pretend i’m just rooting for somebody i know, see? i have a sinking feeling, though, that before it’s all said and done, my allegiances could shift. black, after all, is a much more wearable color than maroon. 
way to class it up, darren!
here’s an essay i wrote about an issue i dealt with over the past couple of months: http://www.mypeacecity.com/2009/10/24/non-profit-workers-and-food-stamps-or-what-it-means-to-me-to-be-black-in-americorps-by-jan-jugran/
the three or so blocks of frenchmen street between peters street to about royal street are easily the coolest few blocks in new orleans. it’s just outside of the french quarter, so the tourists don’t visit it for the most part, and on the weekends, it’s like a concentrated mini-greenwich village where great clubs offer a variety of live music up and down its curtailed stretch. and, lucky me: 1) it’s only three blocks from my house, and 2) it is the place to be on halloween.
half of new orleans, decked out in its halloween best, piles into these few blocks and spills over onto the side streets. music is provided by dj’s set up on corners or by clubs with their doors flung open. it’s all about seeing and being seen, and i went out of my way to do the former, spending about twenty minutes or so, at one point, perched on the shoulders of a six-foot-six inch tall friend of one of my roommate’s and shrieking down at well-costumed passersby below to get them to pose for my camera. “beetlejuice!” i bellowed at one point. “beetlejuice!” i don’t know why i was so relieved that he heard me after only two times seeing as he was already there. any-hoo, i’ll spare you the narrative and gift you with the pictorial instead. happy halloween!
beetlejuice, beetlejuice...oh, hey!
she ate him immediately after this photo was taken
an ocean of halloween...ers
an impressive lord of darkness (from the movie "legend")
i'm not sure this wasn't actually michael phelps
this is my pick for the night's scariest costume
and this is my pick for the night's *tallest* costume (me on ol' boy's shoulders doesn't count)
a vast improvement on the typical girl-as-black-cat costume
a much better halloween shenanigan than the one i was prey to---a slashed tire 
found 'em! wasn't hard, actually---there were repeats of these costumes all over frenchmen.
i took this picture without looking, of course
this was one of my favorite things---less costume, more concert. the big blue mouse thing held court as the platform rolled slowly and drummed infectiously through the crowd.
and finally, this was my overall favorite of the night. i just think it's beautiful and done so well. and look how elegantly she holds herself. hooray for dia de los muertos!
today i saw a most remarkable caterpillar. it was bright green and sported a tiny, neatly planted coniferous forest where its skin should have been. funnily enough, just last saturday i was recounting a horror-inducing run-in with one of new orleans’s most prolific indigenous insectile terrors, the flying R.O.U.S. (roach of unusual size), when a native new orleanian interjected, “wait ’til the stinging caterpillars show up.”
*blink*
stinging caterpillars?
yup.
as soon as i saw that sucker today, i knew i was staring danger in the compound eye. here’s what it looks like:
from http://neworleansdailyphoto.blogspot.com/
menacing in a science fiction-y way, ain’t it? from what i’ve now heard and read, these creatures—buckmoth caterpillars—regularly fall out of trees during their peak season, and woe betide the passersby underneath. merely brushing against one of these suckers results in long-lasting painful stings that blossom into welts, so just imagine if one fell down your freakin’ shirt collar. , , and .
file this and the R.O.U.S. under “things people don’t tell you about new orleans.” what with the hurricanes, floods, alligators, and overwhelmingly awful indigenous insect life, i’m starting to think God is trying to tell us something.
