Day 58: A Marigny Halloween

I am not a Halloween person inherently. I cannot remember the last time I dressed up in a costume (outside of the Idoitarod 2012). It's not the concept that bothers me, but I'm just not big on costuming it up. Here people have costume closets.

Sexy Ben Franklin and Babe-braham Lincoln

I don't even bother to compete with that. So, I threw on a doctor's coat left over from a show however many years ago and did the best I could muster. If asked, I was "a doctor", a "hipster doctor" (in order to justify the Uggs and knee socks), and if I was feeling really sassy "Healthcare". The latter shut people up. The former resulted in direct "WTF?" comments.

It was not impressive so there are no pictures.

I convinced a crew to come out for the Cochon de Lait party a few blocks from my house. It was hosted at the Krewe de Vieux warehouse. For those who don't know, "krewes" are the social clubs that host Mardi Gras parades, and Krewe de Vieux s notorious for their political commentary themes through vulgar presentations. So don't judge me for the following two shots. They were some of the more tame ones available.

Fun Fact: Krewe de Vieux had John Goodman's character in "Treme" as a member.

Not for the super-feminista friendly.

One of the bonuses of living where I do, people do not have to be cajoled to come visit. Especially not to a pig roast, live music show, and then drum line to Frenchmen in a cool venue, no less.

This was my posse for part 1 of the evening.

During the party, people got restless and wanted to leave before the drum-line did. I followed suit despite my love for bare bones rhythm. 

Reporting for duty, sir!

I had to go to the bathroom, so I doubled back on the walk to Frenchmen to avoid doing the pee pee dance in a crowd of hundreds. Lesson learned: you separate from the herd there is no catching back up.

Oh, the anxiety!

I ran into Mike, a LA native who I met doing comedy in NYC before he relocated back. Poor guy, he got stuck with my tipsy agoraphobia rant.

I tried to meet up with another friend who was at a bar two blocks away. Took me 20 minutes to get to the door and then this guy...

WOULD NOT MOVE TO LET ME BY!

I gave up and went the other way to meet up with another friend at The John. It was much more my speed, except for the crowd with a propensity to set off fireworks.

Amateur Night at its finest

Going inside was a much better idea. Some people say The John is the place people go to end the night in despair with their dignity on the floor of the bathroom. I, however, danced my tail-feathers off and made new friends.

 Mr. McGibblets!

Day 57: Day Before Halloween

The Horror! The Hipsters!

Day 56: Sandy-Inspired Rambling

DISCLAIMER: I'm actually writing this on November 1 after several days of thinking too much, but I'm posting it for this day because this is where the thoughts took hold and still haven't let go.

ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER:  this was written from a very self-indulgent place. Know that going in, especially if you're a Tri-Stater

City Hall 

New Orleans, LA

City Hall

New York, NY

In the last few weeks, I have been doing a lot of thinking about why I moved down here. 3 months ago, I would have told you that I was over New York, that living in a cheap but off the beaten path neighborhood in Queens had drained my will to be social, that I wanted to meet new people, have new enriching experiences personally and professionally,  try something new after having lived in the same city for 2/3 of my life.

The homesickness has hit and it's been killing me slowly. 

Major issues have included, but are not limited to:

• I miss my people, my happy hours, my food adventures, Study Sundays, bitching about my crap day to a roommate perched on the kitchen counter like the sympathetic version of the raven...
• I miss my job, the feeling of pulling out a semantic victory against my nemesis and the huge societal ills that put us in business in the first place, the high-fives, the camaraderie of people who get it and hatch big ideas...
• People cannot pronounce my name down here. In fact, they don't even try. And yet, I'm the obnoxious one for mispronouncing "boudin" and 
  "Tchoupitoulas"
  ...   
• There is no freaking Knicks bar here. How is that possible when 50% of the people I meet here are from New York?
• I am early or late for everything! 
• That's super important because YOU CANT MAKE LEFT TURNS 90% OF THE TIME! Just install a left turn arrow and maybe there will be less accidents. Or how about a damn street sign that isn't embossed into the sidewalk.

I'm not the only one living in Weird and Unjustified Driving Frustration Land

Add to this list my professional state of ennui and an annoying buddy-dude situation (both the buddy-dude and the situation itself were maddeningly annoying) and I've been moaning about wanting to go home for a couple weeks now. I tried making deals with myself. "If it doesn't get better in 6 months, I'll go home." "I have to put in at least a year in order to feel like I didn't fail at life planning." I am a bummer to be around. Ironic since one of the reasons I left NYC is that I felt like I was a misery to be around, like I didn't belong in the place where I was born.

Sandy, can't you see, I'm in misery, We made a start, now we're apart

Then the superstorm hit. I tracked the storm all day with a rubberneck level of curiosity but when the rain started coming down and the pictures of the Lower East Side underwater showed up, and the explosion of the Con Ed plant, and the lack of power spread, my heart broke in a million pieces. I was an impotent mess, unable to manage the feeling of helplessness while furiously and selfishly texting friends to see if they were OK. If I wasn't living off of a consultant retainer, I would have started driving home immediately. I wasn't sure I could do anything useful, but I wanted to be around to try.

Instead, I pulled myself from the laptop and went to the bar where I eavesdropped on New Orleanians trading their own power outage stories from Isaac and how NYers needed to stop invoking the "K"word about their situation. While I struggled to not pass judgement for or against their statements, I still wanted to pop them for saying negative things about my hometown, or at least sassily counter about how stabilizing and comforting Bloomberg's brand of "ruthless efficiency" is. But I didn't do that. Rather I sat alone at the far corner of the bar, eyes glued to my phone as the "I'm OK" texts started to come in, drinking away the guilt for wanting to leave NYC, the guilt of wanting to give up on NOLA already, and the guilt of panicking about if (or really when) a big storm hits down here, I'm screwed.

Day 55: Draft Day

UPDATE: My team is bad ass and it's a good thing I've taken to wearing face powder to work.

Day 53: TGIF

Happy Friday!

Sometimes all a girl needs is the ability to afford a trip to Target for Biore pore strips and a broom to take the edge off.

Day 52: Just Got Paid, Thursday Night

Foie Gras on toast

There are few things proving to be reliable in this city, but the "Trust Me" option at Mimi's is awesome every time. 

**Right now I'm being paid to write all day, so I'm a little brain-dead and word-shy. 

Day 51: Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off to Work I Go

Frustrated, Incorporated

Started consulting onsite today in a very quiet, very cubicle divided office. Definitely another component of the culture shock experience as I have worked in that kind of environment since 2005. 

One area that I thought would be better by now is my complete lack of a concept of time, particularly how long it takes to get between places. After living in a city where it took a hour (give or take 15 minutes in either direction), and tack in the regular use of bike transport, I am often absurdly early for things. This picture was taken when it only took 15 minutes to go 5 miles and I had to sit in my car to kill off 45 minutes.

Why didn't I just go get a cup of coffee or something? Because I can't get over the idea that I will never make it back in time. New Orleans is a alternate dimension, where minutes are seconds and hours are weeks are days. I'd make a Dr. Who reference but I don't watch the show.

Day 48: I Feel Like Funkn' It Up

Today was a full examination of the Second Line phenomenon from start to finish.

Met up with my friend, Brian, at St. Augustine Church, which was official start line.

 The unofficial starting line was really at the Backstreet Cultural Museum

"Ya Ya"

Band #3

The route went through Tremé, around Armstrong Park into Central City into the Upper Ninth and back over four hours.

The bands crescendo under the overpasses, where the acoustics lend themselves to a sonic explosion, which then compels the dancers to compete.

I decided this guy was my imaginary boyfriend of the day

Love a man who will get down and dirty 'cause the spirit moves him

Band #2 - They were my favorite

A take on a classic photo

Get it!

She's still learning, but she's going to get there

Dancing Shoes

These women should get a merit badge or something to mark their triumph of doing the whole route in heels. The one on the left who was limping a little bit (but not as much as you would have thought) told me it was because of the platform so they were “high but not that high”. I was in Nike sneakers and my puppies were whimpering. I think she just doesn’t know she’s a super hero yet.

The stamina to keep up in the fun is impressive, never mind in a suit

Storefront Social Services

Back at the beginning

The parade ended where it began, culminating in a block party (not pictured: the giant smoker and BBQ trailer and guys with coolers full of beer reasonably priced for sale).

Brian got up on a truck to snap this one

We capped it off with a slice from Pizza Delicious, whose claim of being the closest thing to New York pizza that isn’t in New York is totally supported. Most of the people I have been hanging out with since I got here are from New York (Brian is from Long Island, so I’ll give him a pass). The crust was thisclose to perfect, thrown off by the damn soft water around here, but the cheese-pepperoni balance needs some further study.

I got sunburned, mildly tipsy, and worn out from sashaying for four hours. Luckily, we were a 10 minute bike ride from my house and most importantly, a 10 minute bike ride from Lost Love’s Bloody Mary that is becoming my post Sunday physical adventure tradition.