Lots of great friends came to our wedding in New Orleans last March. Official VM buddy Jess was among them, and she just posted a series of pix from the city. Only one pic from the wedding itself, but it’s a nice one:
No disrespect to the occidentals
Made it back from New Orleans yesterday, but I brought a mean headcold with me. Took the day off from work today, since there’s no way I can drive in my present condition. Just getting down to the CVS and back this afternoon was an adventure.
Given these parameters, expect even less coherence from this blog for the next few days.
Recapping from where we left off: Amy & I had a wonderful dinner at NOLA on Sunday. I was like Reggie Jackson, going for three home runs that night:
Appetizer: Pan-roasted crab cake with smoky eggplant puree, feta cheese, crispy spinach and citrus butter
Salad: Strawberries and goat cheese with baby spinach, toasted pistachios and warm bacon-balsamic vinaigrette
Entrée: “Shrimp & Grits” sautéed Gulf shrimp, grilled green onions, smoked cheddar grits, apple smoked bacon, crimini mushrooms, Creole tomato glaze and red chili-Abita butter sauce
Stupidly, I added the NOLA Buzz Bomb for dessert (flourless chocolate torte with bittersweet chocolate mousse and brandied apricots wrapped in chocolate ganach). We were quite stuffed.
Earlier in the day, my wife went to church with her mom. Her dad stayed home, seemingly intent on passing that headcold on to me (just kidding). I read some Pynchon, tried to nap, and watched Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, and that’s about as close to religion as I’ve gone lately.
The sermon went on pretty late, evidently, but the highlight of the morning came when they were singing hymns. Amy told me that, during the children’s church segment, they broke out an old standard, the first verse of which is
Jesus loves the little children,
All the children of the world,
Red and yellow, black and white,
They are precious in his sight,
Jesus loves the little children of the world.
“That’s a nice sentiment,” I said.
“Yeah,” she replied. “But then they sang a second verse, which I’d never heard but everyone else knew:
“Jesus loves the little children,
All the children of the street,
English, Irish, Russian, Jew,
German, Jap, Italian, too,
Jesus loves the little children of the street.”
“Did Bill Parcells write your hymnal?” I asked. No disrespect to Orientals. Or Mel Gibson.
As I’ve said, everyone down there has treated me pretty well. Especially Emeril.
Bush Saves New Orleans
Last night, we had CMT’s Hee Haw Weekend Marathon on while Amy worked up a dose of Emeril’s spicy tomato glaze. My parents didn’t watch Hee Haw much when I was a kid, although my dad developed an unhealthy attachment to Willie Nelson in the 1980s (unhealthy inasmuch as he really loved that duet with Julio Iglesias). My in-laws asked if I listened to Buck Owens. I told them I never did, but that Amy was pretty broken up when Owens died this year.
I made my first visit to a Wal-Mart yesterday. Where I live (northern NJ) it’s not a huge feat to avoid them; my grocery needs aren’t extensive and the only store I know of nearby is up in Western Samaria (aka Rt. 59 in NY state). Down here, it’s more of a necessity, especially post-Katrina. I took one step inside and Got It: huge, well-lit venue, cleaner than any of the local markets, good selection of food products. And then there’s all the other stuff: a family passed us with a shopping cart filled with food, back-to-school clothing, and a color inkjet printer. Wal-Mart doesn’t carry everything, of course.
In the “efnic food” aisle, we bumped into Amy’s cousin Wade, whom I last saw during his visit to NYC with his wife. He pines to retun to the city.
I always wonder about how different regions see each other. It reminds me of that scene in Annie Hall, when Woody Allen tells Tony Roberts, “Don’t you see? The rest of the country looks upon New York like we’re left-wing, Communist, Jewish, homosexual, pornographers. I think of us that way, sometimes, and I live here!” But Wade really liked visiting, and no one down here’s given me any crap for, um, being who I am. Even if the housepet is a little judgemental.
The news here is focused on yesterday’s six murders — the murder rate is skyrocketing this year — but the top story is that Reggie Bush signed his rookie contract with the Saints. In the Times-Pic, it takes top billling over a misguided idea to build a “Jazz Park” to replicate Chicago’s Millennium Park.
Tonight, we’re staying in New Orleans at the same hotel we stayed in leading up to our wedding. I’m flooded with memories of last March, and so is Amy. We had a little snack (if that’s possible) at Café Du Monde, and reminisced about the end of our wedding evening. I love being in this city, but I have a hard time imagining how it’s going to recover from the disaster last year. I’m glad we did what we could to boost the economy via our friends’ alcohol consumption.
It’s a Sunday afternoon in mid-summer, so it’s kind of dead outside. I was hoping to get some good pictures, but there really isn’t much to see that I haven’t snapped in past trips. We’ll be dining at NOLA tonight, then getting up earlyish to fly home. If I do manage any good pix tonight, you’ll be the first to know.
Dog, hair, etc.
Surprise, dear readers! Amy & I are down in Louisiana, having surprised the official VM mother-in-law for her brithday yesterday! While we did keep it a secret from almost everyone, I’m starting to think we could’ve told them all we were coming, since no one would believe that people would actually come down here in late July.
Because it’s flat-out hot, brothers and sisters. The humidity adds a layer of stank to it, but the heat is just awful. The weekend after I proposed to Amy, we sat down with a 2006 calendar to figure out what weekends we could have the wedding. Our first move was to cross out the 5-month span between mid-May and mid-October.
We’ll spend time in New Orleans on Sunday, and I’m hoping to get some good pictures for your edification & enjoyment.
On the flight down here, I got upgraded to first class, which is always nice. It was a 7am flight, so I was too exhausted to get nervous about the flight. I just got some coffee and read for a bit. My co-first-class-ters, on the other hand, felt that 7am is a good time to start drinking. I mean, I know that the drinks are free in first class, but having a Jack-and-coke at that hour doesn’t seem like a smart strategy to me, unless maybe you’re seeking a homeopathic remedy for New Orleans.
I Was a Marvel Zombie
Fun article at the Washington Post on the differences between Marvel & DC comics. I was a Marvel geek throughout my youth, as I found the DC books to be way too square.
DC, back then: It’s your kid brother, wacked out on Pop-Tarts, still in his underpants at 10 a.m., insisting on “Super Friends” over “Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space.” Thinks he’s Batman at night, thinks he’s Aquaman in the tub. It’s make-believe, make-believe, make-believe. A hot dog is not a death ray, now sit down and eat. And who used all of the red and orange crayons? And why is Robin always in here naked with my Barbies?
Marvel, back then: It’s your big sister’s boyfriend, already 18 and “kind of different, but nice,” your mother observes, although he rides a motorcycle with no helmet. He draws an Incredible Hulk for you on a sheet of paper, and that’s it, you’re hooked, he’s a god. From him you learn about Ghost Rider and Conan the Barbarian and Silver Surfer. He listens to Rush.
DC, back then: Shlockarific television! “Batman” in the ’60s (Ka-pow! Wham!), “The New Adventures of Wonder Woman” in the ’70s. The toys, the cartoons, the read-along storybook LPs.
Marvel, back then: Put out a comic book starring the rock band Kiss.
DC: “Sgt. Rock.”
Marvel: “Doctor Strange.”
But look at DC now: It has become a retreat for grown-ups who’ve had it with the Marvel characters’ endless angst. When you weary of 22-year-old mutants, Batman can seem comfortably adult. Superman feels right. Green Lantern is a terribly interesting idea, a meditation on burden. Wonder Woman and Aquaman are filled with what seems like literature and history.
And look at Marvel now: After decades of fawning over bad-boy Wolverine, everyone started paying a lot more attention to Captain America. He kind of rocks, in a way you never knew, and so does Iron Man. For years nobody except total Marvelheads read “Iron Man.” The World Trade Center collapsed and Marvel took it personally, bub, and started drawing firefighters and cops more. Started drawing flags and sunsets. Had a moment.
All hail Tom Spurgeon for linking to this.
Tom also posted a link about the American Library Association’s annual meeting, which was the first major event to be held in New Orleans since the flood. The report is written by a comics/pop culture site, but the content isn’t geek-specific.
Good thing Ian didn’t bring up his Navy record
Last December, Amy & I stopped in on one of the hotels in New Orleans where we were planning to reserve a block of rooms for guests at our wedding. The place was still under reconstruction, but one of the upper floors had just been refurnished, the desk clerk told us. The guard would take us up and show us around, if we wanted.
The guy took us upstairs and we toured a couple of the newly decorated rooms. They looked great. Walking behind the security guard, I noticed the large sidearm hanging from his belt, and I thought, “This guy could be a complete psycho. He could shoot us right now and dump our bodies somewhere, and no one would find us.”
It was a weird, passing thought, but it was conditioned by being in a pretty abandoned city.
The hotel worked out for a bunch of our guests, even if my buddy Ian and his family had a problem with their door not locking correctly and had to get moved to a new room at a weird hour (sorry, guys).
This morning, I was scrolling through Drudge and came across a news item about — wait for it — a psycho security guard at a New Orleans hotel popping a visitor in the face with his .40 while they argued over who had the more extensive military record!
“Well,” thought I, “it couldn’t possibly be the same hotel . . . Oh, wait. Yeah, that’s the Royal Saint Charles, alright.”
What a drag
House to house
Photoblog of house-rebuilding efforts in New Orleans by a group called Celebration Church. It’s got some pretty harrowing images.
Big Sleazy
Going into this weekend, I wasn’t sure if the re-election of Ray Nagin as mayor of New Orleans would be tantamount to Marion Barry’s re-election in Washington, DC after being caught smoking crack cocaine.
Then the city’s member of the House of Representatives got caught on video taking $100,000 in cash to facilitate bribing Nigerian officials for an internet venture (evidently not this one), and I thought, “Well, at least Nagin’s not part of the political establishment.”
Will Collier at Vodkapundit has a good take on the need to revamp politics in New Orleans and Louisiana:
Louisianans in general and New Orleanians in particular made too many bad choices for too long. They acquiesced to governmental corruption and incompetence with a shrug and the inevitable, “that’s just Louisiana.” They allowed an unfettered criminal class to fester and thrive, until it literally took over the city. They put too much trust in luck and “the great elsewhere,” as local author Chris Rose puts it, to bail them out when things were at their worst.
And so they lived and died with those choices.
Now it’s time for them to choose again.
Read the whole shebang.
Flood the zone
When you compare the Army Corps of Engineers to the Catholic church, you’re hitting below the belt.
If you’re interested in the policy that led to the flooding of New Orleans, you need to read this article by Michael Grunwald.