Gumbo Ya Ya!

It was with a good deal of trepidation I approached my first "after the storm" visit to New Orleans. Would the things I loved the most - was the French Market still standing? Did the vendors come back? What about Jackson square - would all of the azaleas still be there? And the people, the ones I hold dear to my heart - would their spirit be broken?

New Orleans is special to me for many reasons. My mom and dad lived there for a short while after they were married. My brother lived in LaFayette off and on when he was single and an off-shore oil worker. And NOLA was one of the first places I ventured on my own as a high-school student. The food, the culture, the people... they are all so very pure in their blended, but unique little outpost of civilization. They have fought hard to maintain every part of the culture they created, and take great pride in each element.

When I arrived in New Orleans a few weeks ago, many things looked the same. Whew. The azaleas were pink and perfect in Jackson Square, the shrimp and grits tasted the same (okay, better because it's been so long!) at Muriel's and yes, the French Market is still there (a little lighter for vendors, but it's coming back....). But somehow, the smiles of the locals, while very appreciative for me, the tourist, being there, were not quite as broad. Obvious sincerity rang in their "thank you for being here".

But along with the sincerity came a sadness. It was tiny, but very much there. This is not a people who wear their sadness on their sleeves! But these people saw all the levels of Hell, many right in their own homes. Many at the Super Dome or the Convention Center. Yes, these places have been repaired, cleaned, scrubbed of the filth that the storm left.... but the memories are still very much there.

When we drove down Canal St. out of the quarter, you find homes that have been completely rebuilt standing next to those who still bear the marks left by emergency officials telling the number of bodies found inside. Water marks on houses stand tall - up the roofline on many. Whole "neutral grounds" (or median strips, as we call them) down the middle of the roads are flat, dusty and brown now. No trees, only the scrape marks of the front-end loaders that moved the debris (people's lives!) from the neighborhoods to this central location for diposal.

Scratching deeper beneath the surface with my friends who lived through the storm and are still there, I learn that the standard greeting among locals after the storm was "How are you?" followed quickly by "How'd you do?". The second question would be answered by how many friends or family members you had lost in the storm, then a summary of your losses. This still goes on today.

So while Bourbon St. goes on (with a new street cleaning service that makes the French Quarter smell GOOD), and the music continues to play, the spirit is a little bent. Not broken, no, not hardly. Because as long as there's ground to stand on, even if it's soggy, there will be the boucherie, the fay do do and the traditional po-boy, and the purest, most unique corner of culture this country has will survive.

The Dude

One of the perks of my job is sometimes, in the strangest of places, you see famous people. My experience with famous faces is that they seldom look like you think they will. For instance, Steven Tyler is not as hot in person... he's much thinner than I expected, and older (but ridiculously nice!). Tom Cruise is SHORT.

This morning, I was working at the Peabody in Memphis and one of the VPs from my client company had just left the area where we were working. I realized I had neglected to ask him an important question, ran to the elevator he had just gotten on and stuck my arm in the door to stop it from closing. There were 4-5 other people, and while I'm never one to be willing to inconvenience others, it would only take a second. When I looked at my client, he was giving me a look of incredulousness - "what are you thinking???" he seemed to be trying to say.

He quickly answered my question, giving me the eye to look to his right which i did... into the very handsome face of Jeff Bridges. Startled, the only thing that popped into my head (and straight out of my mouth) was "heh heh heh Dooooode".

Fortunately, Mr. Bridges appreciated my recollection of his character in one of my favorite all time comedies, The Big Lebowski and flashed his famous grin. Everyone in the elevator began laughing and door slowly closed, mercifully separating me from my embarrassment.

Memphis

I've been to Memphis many times before - my maternal grandmother was born and raised here, and was even the "most beautiful debutante of Memphis" in 1924. My parents were married in Memphis and spent their wedding night at the Peabody Hotel.

I find myself today in the same hotel, having spent the last few days here on business. Memphis is a city that has always intrigued me. There's so much history here - real, modern American history. From the cotton boom of the 1800's, to the riverboats of the early 20th Century right through Elvis, Stax, Martin Luther King at the Lorraine Motel and to the doorstep of the 21st Century.

Sadly, Memphis has not kept up with the world. When you walk through the city, instead of gracious southern facades, you see drug deals. In broad daylight, outside of the most expensive hotel in the city. The people here are poor. The schools are in decay. The people, while friendly enough, seem to look at those who are clearly not local with a suspicious eye.

It makes me sad that this city - that once was a booming place, a place where black people and white people made great music together, where so many things began, where so many great things ended - is now reduced to a distressed version of itself. A caricature of what it once was.

I leave here tomorrow with trepedation. While leaving Memphis is not what worries me, it's what lies ahead. I'm going to New Orleans tomorrow. NO is another city near my heart - I have had family there, and it was another city that played a significant role in my family. I haven't been back since Katrina, and while I've been told that the Quarter is back to itself, the Garden District is nearly what it once was... but the Lower Ninth will never come back.

Next week is Vegas, baby! No surprises there.... it always disappoints.

Where I finally make a decision.

I am faced with the challenge that many bleeding-heart tree-huggers are dealing with these days..... which one? First, let me say that blessedly, we are not trying to decide which is the lesser of two evils. For most of my voting history (which began with Mondale/Ferraro - don't get me started on that crazy old bat!) there has been a clear choice. Not always who I would have chosen, but a clear choice nonetheless.

I was listening to the morning "blah-blah" this morning, and Chris Matthews informed me that Democratic voter registration is "off the charts" this year. More young people, women and minorities are registering to vote than at any time in history. Wow. For an election that the pundits promised to be polarizing, that sounds pretty unified to me. Could it be that it took a woman and an African-American to finally bring this crazy, chaotic party together? From a completely textbook level, it makes sense. Something other than the old white guy. Yeah!

But then..... which one? Let me say on record that I do not like Hillary Clinton. I like the Clinton part, which I realize makes me a minority, but I just don't like the woman. She's brash, calculating and hard. I do like Barack. There's an intelligence in his eyes, something that says to me "I've got your back". I like that.

But hold the phone! Wasn't I the one who berated people for voting for the Shrub TWICE because they'd like to have him over for barbecue? Yup. Didn't I say that you can't vote for someone because they have good hair or a nice smile? Guilty. Didn't your author say that intelligence, coupled with a willingness to make the tough decisions and be unpopular because of them make a good leader? Strike three.

So in the end, I have to say I am putting my energy behind Hillary Clinton. I can't stand the woman personally, but I have to say she'll hit the ground running. She's witnessed what the Republican machine can do and says "bring it!". And you've gotta figure Bill will be around to advise, right?

Management reserves the right to change endorsement at any time between now and November. Prices subject to change and are based on double occupancy.

The one other moment when they got along

One of the few moments they were getting along

Street Talk

A little background.... The man and I have just recently discovered the fabulousness of The Wire. We have purchased the first 4 seasons on DVD and are proceeding to watch at least one episode a night - and we haven't missed too many nights.

Add to this the fact that I work from home, and don't get a lot of adult conversation during the day.... and you'll understand the following story.

Yesterday, I had to drive up to my company's office to work on a project. In a meeting with my boss, her boss and three of our web developers, I was emphatically agreeing with a point that one of the developers was making. While nodding and using my college-educated words that I have in my arsenal of vocabulary and generally working and playing well with others in a professional setting, suddenly, the phrase "True-dat" came out of my mouth. In Omar Little's voice.

My boss, her boss and the web developers were all speechless. One of them started to giggle and said "Did you just say "True dat"?"

In my embarassment, all I could do was answer honestly. I said "word!".

Places....

This month, I'm thinking about the Italian Riviera. While the French Riviera gets the press, my mind goes to Alassio. Not on the trendy Cinque Terre, boasting no Relais and Chateau hotels, nor any royalty, Alassio is the perfect Italian Coastal town.

I was "lucky" enough to be on a bus from Nice to Genoa in 1980 that broke down in Alassio. With no urgent need to be in Genoa, my Sorbonne roommate, her (hunky French - another story entirely) brother and I found a place to stay for the night. It cost us the equivalent of about $18 (total, not each) and included breakfast... and I fell in love with this little corner of paradise.

Now, when I go back to Italy, I will make time to go to Alassio. While Theirry (the hunky brother) is not there (married with children in the 7th arrondissement! Quel Horreur!), the spectacular natural beauty is, as are the quaint places to shop, dine and soak in the sunshine and the wonderful climate. The hotel of choice there now is the Hotel Diana - right on the beach!

I'm pretty sure that heaven looks like Alassio.

Pets or Meat?

Overheard in our kitchen:

Him: "You really set a high level of expectation for yourself this weekend what with cleaning Mighty Man's room and whipping up the all-day lasagne."

Me (sitting at kitchen table in a heap of exhaustion): "Next weekend, I'm going to build a bunny hutch."

Him: "Pets or meat?"

How is it that he gets me so well?