The Ambassador Riposte

Never Look Back

2010-10-20T16:49:00.001-05:00

What Will You Do After Purple?

2010-10-20T16:33:00.003-05:00

Along with countless assorted friends, family and acquaintances, I am wearing purple today. We are showing our unity, striving to be a vibrant, visible sign to those out there who’re struggling to just get through high school, to get through life – at a time when so much of the world is confronting them with the worst it has to offer.

Thanks to the efforts by the folks at the It Gets Better Project, many people are sharing their stories – true stories that often start in pain, yet end in joy and beauty. Tomorrow, after you take off your purple and put it away, you still have a job to do: Share your stories. You may not be gay or ever have been bullied, but I know you have a story to tell that will help someone out there. It’s time for us to reach out.

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It didn’t take a genius to figure me out in high school. Let’s see, I was in Band, Orchestra, and Choir. I was Drum Major in the Marching Band. Not only was I in plays and musicals IN school, but I also performed with the local community players. Then there was Student Council, Scholastic Quiz Bowl, Forensics Team, and Computer Club. I was so uptight, I practically squeaked when I walked. (Oh, and a B- was nearly the end of the world…)

I knew I wasn’t like my friends, and I’d known that all my life. At 14, I finally found the words to say it to myself, and did what I considered a very brave act. I had a cassette tape recorder – some of you may have to Google that – and every now and then, I’d record the following …and then “pretend” to forget that it was on there.

“I am gay. What am I going to do about it? ...........Nothing…”

Of course, I never did forget to erase it; it was just a stupid game. Stupid, but somehow it got me through. Even if it wasn’t truly brave, it felt brave to me – and that’s all that mattered. This was the early 1980s in very rural Northern New York State; being gay was NOT something you talked about with anyone, except as crude locker room jokes at the expense of others.

Sure enough, I got called every imaginable name in high school, and sure enough, it hurt like hell. But somehow, I managed to hold onto hope and the knowledge that someday - not too far in the future – I’d be able to get on with life. (College isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than high school!)

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Thanks to the incredible outpouring from breathtakingly fabulous people, YouTube is now packed with hundreds of stories of survival, of anguish and support and love and friendship. Rather than dwelling on just how awful high school is, there are some essential things we need you to know.

It gets better. I know it must seem cliché now, but I have to tell you – looking back, I could never have hoped that life would turn out this well. There will be wonderful, deep abiding friendships that last longer than you’ve been alive so far. You’ll make mistakes, you’ll be terrified of admitting you need someone to lean on, and you’ll be wildly passionate about a hundred different causes. You’ll visit places where you’ll feel truly, madly, deeply at home in a way that you may never be able to articulate to anyone. Some of your friends will become the best family you could ever imagine – and some of your family will become your most ardent supporters. And you’ll find your own way of getting through.

Oh…and there will be love. You’ll fall in love – and you’ll get your heart broken. And you’ll fall in love again. And along the way, you’ll find out how remarkable it is to love and to be loved, just for being you.

So, hold on. Be here for the good stuff. Be truly you. Stick around and see how much better it gets. No one’s promising that it won’t suck along the way, and no one’s saying that life as an adult is a piece of cake; just remember that we’re out here – and we are LIVING proof that life gets so much better.

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So, to all of us: tomorrow, we might not be wearing purple, but we need to, must carry this feeling with us. There is no wrong time to reach out. There is no bad time to let others know you care. Share your struggles and triumphs. Be a good friend and a great example. Let your children catch you doing good things. Dream big and dare to love. Open your minds to a world that is better today than it was yesterday, but not as great as it will be tomorrow.

And be there, so these kids can be here to see that it gets so much better.

Sad, but still Marvelous

2009-09-17T08:04:00.009-05:00

We lost another bright light yesterday.

Mary Travers was a big part of my early music life - we had the Peter, Paul & Mommy album. I'm surprised we didn't wear it out.

I knew every song by heart, all the lyrics and all the parts. It wasn't until much later in life that I realized how extraordinarily well-crafted these songs and arrangements were/are. And one of the most magical things about them is how truly effortlessly they sang these songs.

Infused with humor, yearning, giddiness and pathos, these songs grabbed hold of me and never let go.

I Have a Song to Sing, O!

Puff, The Magic Dragon

Day is Done

Going to the Zoo Tomorrow

But. The one that has always been the best, my most favorite, is the one that makes me well up with tears, despite never having had children of my own.

The Marvelous Toy

The last verse just gets to me.

So, today we celebrate the life of a lovely singer who touched the lives of a lot of people for several generations.

Mary, you will always be Marvelous to me.

Walking, Soles United!

2009-09-13T07:31:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, we held our SideWALK Sale to raise funds for our NO/AIDS WALK team, Soles United.

There was only a 70% chance of rain...but it had been raining pretty much all the time, every day for that last 10 days. This had us concerned.

I got up and walked the dog around 6:30am and to my surprise, there was actually a sunrise. You know, one that you could see.

OK...so far so good.

We managed to set up in time for the early birds - and 9am, we still had decent weather. We had mixed clouds and sun for the next 2 hours.

And. Then.

Well...it only started to sprinkle. And then stop. And then sprinkle again.

And around 11:20, it start seriously drizzling and we decided to pack it in. (We were set up under the eaves of the condo building, which is further shelter by an ancient live oak tree.)

Um...We weren't counting on the electricity.

You know, the natural kind?

There was thunder and lightning the likes of which we've not seen in at least 5 years here. At one point the storm was overhead, the flashes and booms nearly simultaneous and I thought to myself, this is not the time to be carrying this metal headboard back in the house.

So, we succeeded in packing up the last of the unsold items without getting struck by lightning - a little sore and wet, but alive. For a rainy Sunday morning, during church time and one the morning of the first Saints game of the season (a home game, no less!), we did OK.

So, we are down to the last of it - we'll be carousing the French Quarter this Friday and Saturday evening, twisting arms and adding to the coffers for our Walk Team. Our team is doing well this year, but as in years past, I have my own very personal reasons for Walking.

Having been the recipient of their services in the past, I do what I can to help support the NO/AIDS Task Force. I know many of the wonderful folks who work there - and count a lot of them as friends. If you can and wish to support this cause, you can check out my personal pledge page here. Any donations you are able to give - $5, $10 - anything - is more than they had before.

And from me...thank you.

Anyway, next Sunday is the NO/AIDS WALK - if you are in the New Orleans area and want to show your support, come on down to Audubon Park before the kick off at 10AM. It's always a lot of fun and it's for an incredibly important cause.

Of Rants and Racism and Presidential Speeches

2009-09-08T08:40:00.003-05:00

In just a short while, President Obama will be addresses the students of America, our future.

While I do agree that the accompanying lesson plan was not crafted in the most well-thought out manner, I am having a hard time getting all the stains out of the ceiling tile from each time my head has exploded over the last week, listening to the unfathomable brouhaha.

Here in Louisiana, it is optional from parish to parish. Public schools in New Orleans are all viewing the President's speech, while the suburbs (to which all the white flight occurred) are making it optional and at the superintendents’ discretion. Some schools are offering alternative assignments and giving parents the option to have their kids not watch it.

What I want to know is this: how long are they estimating this speech to be? Tops, 10 minutes, right? After all, how long are kids going to really pay attention?

The argument that it disrupts the curriculum for the day is specious at best. It takes longer to wrangle students for a bathroom run. And how much is this costing in administration and extra labor hours to provide the alternative activity and more teachers/substitutes to watch the kids who are not viewing the speech?

And finally (sorry for the soapbox moment), if the righties really fear this as a piece of potential indoctrination, why not let the President go through with it as originally planned? At that point, a righty could then step back and say, “See. This is exactly what we were talking about. He is Satan/Hitler/Mussolini/Easter Bunny Killer.”

The stupid. It burns.

We Heard A Rumor

2009-09-07T12:32:00.011-05:00

So, Labor Day Weekend is Southern Decadence in New Orleans, an event that started in 1972 as little more than a bar crawl and has now become a massive series of parties and gatherings, culminating in the very popular parade Sunday afternoon.

This, of course, leave Monday - Labor Day - for recovery.

Southern Decadence now draws more than 100,000 folks to New Orleans every year - and despite Hurricane Katrina squashing the big events, a rag-tag bunch still wandered about the French Quarter on Sunday, September 5th in their own version of the parade.

Police tried to stop the procession - understand, this was less than a week after the levees had failed. However, one of the revelers actually produced the parade permit that had been granted by the Southern Decadence organizers, and the parade went on unhindered.

Last year, the parade was completely thwarted by the mandatory evacuation for Hurricane Gustav. Things could have gone on - most of the Quarter only lost power for 2-4 hours on average.

Alas.

This year, we started hearing buzz about a new entry in the parade.

A Gay Marching Band.

Really, what could be more fabulous?

Of course the jokes started flying when we heard this rumor - with a gay marching band of 200 members, we speculated that the general (and highly stereotypical for humor's sake) makeup would be:

9 Lesbians playing bass drum
112 piccolo players
53 color guard
and 26 queens fighting to be Drum Major(ette)

We could not have been more wrong - and all jokes aside, they were sensational.

The group - Lesbian & Gay Band Association - is in New Orleans this weekend for their annual national conference, and offered to play in the parade. Nearly 200 strong, they had a huge brass section, lots of percussion and woodwinds - and to be fair, only 3 drum majors, 5 flags and 7 piccolo players. (There were several lesbians playing drums...)

This is Paloma - one of the Grand Marshall's for 2008 and 2009. She and her co-Marshall, Tittie Toulouse, reigned again this year after not having the chance to fulfill their duties last year. Paloma is so sweet, photographs really well and can walk in killer shoes - but let's just say that lipsynching is not her strong suit...

It was a wonderful parade - and despite some very heavy downpours, the timing for the parade was perfect.

There is a lot about Southern Decadence that gets less than flattering press...

So, the Beau and I were both a little misty-eyed with pride when the band came by - at a time when horrible things are being said about gays and lesbians here and around the world, it was so very important to see them.

Just people. Making music. Making other people happy.

Is there a better gift?

Wanting Something

2009-09-07T00:01:00.002-05:00

There are many songs that move me...spirituals, arias, folk tunes, soaring Broadway ballads...music of all genres.

Some of them appeal to me as a performer - how I yearn to to sing certain works in the context of their original setting, be it a requiem mass, opera or stage show. To have that connection for just a moment with the audience - so tenuous and infinite all at the same time - and draw them in, make them feel and leave them changed, somehow.

Other works move me in a different way - the songs that I want, need to listen to. Many of them are well out of my range and not anything that I could ever attempt to perform. Some of them are what I turn to when I need to cry or laugh.

But.

There are those few songs that I need. Songs that from the first moment you hear them, you think to yourself, "Ah, now if someone, some day would sing that to me..."

I learned this the hard way in college - one of the grad students - a friend of mine - was to perform an aria that was new to him at a group recital. Larry asked if he could use me to focus on for his performance; knowing how seeing a friendly face in the audience would help calm him, I agreed...not knowing it was Una Furtiva Lagrimar from Donizetti's L'elisir d'Amour.

I melted.

And from that day forward, I have pined to hear someone, anyone sing it to me again, that way. So completely sublime.

And now, for Monday Music, here's the more contemporary song that holds that place - no one has ever sung this to me.

And I don't know that I would be the same again if they did.

Aaron Lazar and Katie Clarke,

Performing "Love to Me"

from Adam Guettel's The Light in the Piazza

Techno-wow!

2009-09-06T01:24:00.000-05:00

I saw this online months ago and saved it, intending to write some insightful post about technology outpacing humanity's ability to understand, utilize and cope with it.

Instead, I think you ought to just watch this and marvel at the shear brilliance.

Un-freaking-believable...

Sunrise and Spiderwebs

2009-09-05T10:00:00.001-05:00

(click on for some incredible detail.)

Let Them Eat Dirt

2009-09-04T12:55:00.004-05:00

This may offend some of my friends who are parents.

However.

I believe that one of the (possible) reasons that the H1N1 virus is so much tougher on kids is that the cultural shift of the last generation toward what some might call "overprotection".

Those of us who grew up in the 60's and 70's were out running around all summer, biking without helmets, drinking from garden hoses, bathing infrequently (some of us, anyway) and in general...well, eating dirt (whether we realized it or not. Three-second rule, anyone?).

These days, from the outside looking in, it seems that some parents go to extreme lengths to make sure that everyone and everything around their kids is sanitized, sterilized and free of any potential harmful agents.

As with many other things in life (disappointment, failure, loss, etc.), isn't it possible that exposing a child to the real world will actually prepare said child for...well, the real world?

Or am I just crazy from eating all that dirt?

What Do You Get?

2009-09-02T11:12:00.007-05:00

I have this stuck in my head...

I love Sondheim. I don't always love Raul Esparza's voice, but he's just kills this, from an acting standpoint.

It always reduces me to tears.

Keep going...

"Being Alive" from Company

by Stephen Sondheim

performed by Raul Esparza

To Read Again...and to Write

2009-09-01T01:00:00.003-05:00

I am attempting to get back at this.

I tried to write a post to Facebook as a means of acknowledging the 4th anniversary of Katrina, only to hit a wall. It wasn't that I was overcome with inexpressible emotion. Rather, I knew that what I wanted to say had already been said a couple years ago on this blog.

So, I started the daunting task of combing through the archives, looking for the exact post.

And, not surprisingly, I wound up re-reading them.

All. Of. Them.

It did not - this time, surprisingly - reduce me to tears. Instead, it was rather cathartic and, in its own way, encouraging.

I'd forgotten I could write.

I mean, Write.

There are posts that I remember laboring over and others that I know tumbled out of me in some trance-like state...and I love them all.

I'd forgotten how much of my soul I'd laid bare for all the world to see (sort of).

I'd forgotten some of how to find the humor in despair.

I'd forgotten why I'd started blogging in the first place.

There are stories to tell and demons to exorcise. And it's time to start telling the stories...mine, others, as many as I can bear. And I am not talking about just the Katrina stories...more, the real deal in New Orleans.

So, here's where we start:

One thing that was most important for me to learn in the days, weeks, and months in the still-holding-our-breath-after-Katrina period is this...that experience distilled the people I knew to their most basic elements. It was most apparent in the people closest to me - good became better; not so good folks crapped out.

The subtler transformation was in the people more toward the periphery of my life. Some folks of whom I'd thought less well of, perhaps a bit too dismissively, spectaculary rose the occasion and became more their true selves. And others, of whom I'd had a fairly good opinion or at least always given the benefit of the doubt, showed their true colors and revealed what selfish, self-serving gits they really are.

It's been quite an education and at times a struggle. It's seldom easy to acknowledge that some people are - after all is said and done - toxic to your life and future.

Letting them go is hell.

To balance the other end of the spectrum, I am infinitely grateful for the newer friends, the deepened relationships and the life that I have now. Not all things that came out of Katrina were/are bad.

It's just that sometimes, you really have to sit down and look at it a little closer that is comfortable.

And just let go.

And breathe.

Gayest Thing, Ever...

2009-08-31T01:00:00.007-05:00

OK, there are a lot of competitors for the winners of this post's title:

Anything ever uttered by Carson Kressley (or Jim J. Bullock, depending on your generation)
This tattoo (warning: not to be viewed at work or in front of children...)
Getting a group together to dress as the Village People for Halloween
Johnny Weir, ice skating to Lady Gaga's Poker Face
Brokeback Mountain, the Opera
The opening/closing to ANY Eurovision competition
The PBS broadcasts of America's Ballroom Challenge, hosted by Ron Montez and his bevy of beauties, alternately: Sandy Duncan, Juliet Prowse, and Rita Moreno
This colorguard costume
Neil Patrick Harris, hosting the 2009 Tony Awards
Margaret Cho performing at Gay Pride in San Francisco
This post

Just too many others to list.

But, this is one of my first memories of such utter, fabulous gayness that I feel I must share it with you now...

Once again, for Music Monday, we return to Queen, and the inimitable, late Freddie Mercury:

For something equally sensational and marvelous, please watch this video of Freddie performing with the magnificent Monserrat Caballe at the Barcelona Olympics. I nearly peed myself when I was watching the coverage of the games (I was 20)...later I owned this CD.

Now that I think about it, this video/song may win: (Freddie Mercury + Monserrat Caballe) x Summer Olympics Theme Song = Way Gay.

Song of Unquenchable Desire

2009-08-29T07:55:00.007-05:00

New Orleans (and the rest of southeast Louisiana) has always tolerated life with a sense of an acceptable level of tragedy, knowing that each year, some hamlet would flood or a shrimp boat would sink or 500 more residents would be murdered or several more politicians would be indicted but seldom convicted or that someone's favorite restaurant would close or that the school board would find new ways to deny our students the education they deserve or another legendary musician would pass on to the next Big Gig.

All of those, individually and sometimes collectively, were always all bearable...and often were the very things that allowed us to see all the other extraordinarily beautiful treasures around us, even if it was the simple, earnest hello from another local as you passed them on the street. It took me far too long to get over my initial reaction to that--you would never greet someone so idly, so carelessly - especially a stranger - in my former life in New England, without first counting the cost or benefit. For the longest time, I was sure that people were "smiling in my face, but peeing in my cocktail."

I could not have been more wrong.

It is exactly that predisposition of locals (and those who eventually become locals) to engage the rest of the world, to invite y'all to nothing more than a passing pleasantry and make the day the slightest bit better for it.

It is qualities like this, and the desire to take care of each other and every single person who ever sets foot in our fair city, that reassure me that there will always be a kind of Mardi Gras every year, even though it will almost but not quite entirely seem like something I remember...and that the word "debris" will take on other layers of meaning, but will eventually once again become associated with blissfully messy, gut-churning po'boys...that I will marvel at how azure blue the sky is over all the rooftops and think how very lucky I am that the city picked me to live there.

To be sure, for now there is great disquiet in New Orleans, but there is also great desire...is it really any coincidence that the word "Desire" can mean so many different things to so many people on one day, and the all the same thing the next?

One day, the desire will give over to pride - that we did it ourselves. We were here, putting it all back together, rebuilding homes and lives, making new ways, shoring up old ones, making festivals happen, loving our friends...and living.

Truly living.

One on the List

2009-08-13T13:28:00.003-05:00

I've sung many funerals and memorial services. Families choose the music, mostly...and for the most part, it's favorite hymns and the like.

A good friend of mine is a glorious soprano with whom I've sung for nearly 18 years. She wants a particular Vivaldi choral work at her funeral...there are only parts for tenors, basses and altos...with the soprano line symbolically silent.

On the rare occasion, we've been able to front a small choir for services for close friends. Those are tough to sing.

For many years, I've known what music I want at my service. It has changed little over the years.

And while there will be some live music, there will have to be a couple recordings. I cannot ask my friends or anyone involved in making the service happen arrange for what I want as the finale.

This is not the best video, but you'll get the gist. I have the clean audio copy that I want played, as conducted by The Maestro himself.

It still gives me chills...and it's truly the sentiment I want people to leave my funeral with, on their way to the fabulous party that going to go on afterward. Make Our Garden Grow, the finale from Bernstein's Candide.

So, here's June Anderson and the late Jerry Hadley...and Leonard Bernstein.

*sigh*

Promise of Living

2009-08-10T09:30:00.003-05:00

I went to DCI Championships this past weekend.

sigh

The corps that did the most phenomenal, artistically powerful and subtle show did not win, but placed 2nd. They opened with a stunning arrangement of Aaron Copeland's The Promise of Living from The Tenderland.

When a video of their performance worth posting is available, I will put it up. Until then, here's is a lovely setting of The Promise of Living.

I was in tears after just their opener...and the show continued to get more spectacular. Kids, you are just amazaing and should be so proud of your performance this year.

Soles United - Time to Walk Again!

2009-07-19T11:26:00.008-05:00

We're at it again.

Soles United has started up - that's the name of our NO/AIDS Walk team, a group of friends and co-workers from around the New Orleans area who've walked together since 2006. We've done well in our efforts, landing in the top 5 teams for the last couple years. Not bad for 6 or 7 of us.

The NO/AIDS Walk helps raise funds for the NO/AIDS Task Force - and 2009 is the 20th Anniversary of the NO/AIDS Walk! The event helps support the programs and services of NO/AIDS Task Force, the oldest AIDS service organization in the Gulf South. NO/AIDS has been serving the greater New Orleans area for 25 years. In addition, through the Walk Share grant program, donations also benefit other agencies across Louisiana.

In honor of this 20th Anniversary, I've created a set of 20 of my favorite photos that I've posted for sale. All proceeds from the sale of these photos will go directly to our Walk Team, Soles United.

So, stop on by my SmugMug site, Ambassador Images and check out the pics - if you see something you like, know that your purchase will go directly to helping the NO/AIDS Task Force. (Also, the copyright watermark only appears online and won't be on any photos you order.)

Nine weeks from today, we'll be taking to the streets again - if you'd like to sponsor me directly, you can visit my page at the 2009 Walk site. Even better than that, you can start your own team and join us on Sunday, September 20 - hope to see you out there!

Thank you for being part of this event!!

Heart on my Sleeve

2009-07-13T01:00:00.000-05:00

I am an emotional person.

It's not always a bad thing. It's not always a good thing either.

I've written here about favorite songs of mine, about signature songs...ones I love to sing and speak most deeply to me.

I remember the first time I ever heard Bernadette Peters sing this song...I thought it was so powerful, so moving...so wrenching.

I watch this video and it chills me...of course, she's a great actress, but there are some things you cannot act. I recognize the temerity that goes hand in hand with the need to let something out. Some feeling are too big, too awful to let out and show the world...and yet, too big and too awful to keep in.

When her eyes dart about and she seems unsure whether she can or should go on, a little of me aches for her. I know this place. It is one of the most important places I have ever had the privilege of reaching.

Oh, how it aches. And I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

I really wish more people could express themselves as beautifully as the sublime Bernadette Peters.

What makes you cry out like this?

South Carolina Time Warps

2009-07-03T14:24:00.007-05:00

There are occasions when time seems to slow to a crawl.

Recently, in Charleston, time broadened and deepened to all SMID and I the opportunity just to be.

It felt as though the universe was allowing us all the time in the world to go here, see that, take thousand photographs (literally) and still have the luxury of sitting in a swank lounge, sipping Mint Juleps.

There were very few things on our must-do list that we didn't get to, plus many others we weren't planning on. At times, when we needed something - like the right place to have a bite to eat when we had planned that exactingly - it simply appeared. Like the fabulous rooftop bar at the Market Pavillion Hotel on our first night in town.

We spent what seemed like half a day in the Unitarian Universalist Cemetery...only to walk out and discover, much like leaving Narnia, that no time had passed at all. Seemingly.

Sadly, now that we are back in the real world, time has sped back up - and in some ways, it seems to be going even fast than before SC, in the sole attempt to make up for those blessed few days.

Please, let's do the Time Warp again.

Return of...The Pollinators!!

2009-06-15T22:27:00.001-05:00

These are the results of my first trip to the Audubon Insectarium today - a nice facility...and well worth the trip, just for the butterfly exhibit.

But I don't want to buy the whole album...

2009-06-14T21:43:00.004-05:00

I love iTunes.

I hate iTunes.

There. I've said it.

There are songs that I love that I don't have anywhere on any other form of media - and so, I've turned to iTunes for help.

Meh.

Why are the really good - albeit sometimes more obscure - songs NOT ON iTUNES?!?!?!

OK, I feel better.

That being said, there are some wonderful tunes that I remember fondly from my first few years here in New Orleans. From Sunday Tea Dance out at Lafitte's and the Bourbon Pub.

Ah, my long lost 20's.

So, from this blissful period...Justified & Ancient (MuMuLand), by The KLF featuring Tammy Wynette. I found numerous versions available on iTunes...but if you want this one, you have to purchase one of Tammy's entire albums...Not so much.

So, enjoy!

Guilty Pleasures

2009-05-18T08:21:00.002-05:00

There are way to many tunes on my iTunes. I keep going through my stash of CDs and loading more and more things that I haven't heard in years. I've had to create multiple play lists for different frames of mind - and while I am not out running like SMID, each list serves its purpose.

Getting ready for the Symphony? Various big boisterous classical works.

Busy, must-focus work day? A list of almost all Sondheim that I know so well it's almost like white noise.

Bopping around the Quarter and Marigny, stalking things to photograph? Pure guilty pleasures -upbeat, catchy and wickedly infectious.

The movie Flash Gordon was so deliciously cheesy - but the music by Queen really made it so iconic of that time.

Just give in.

Smile.

And sing along - you know you want to...

Powerwalking

2009-05-04T08:16:00.002-05:00

Too much Jazz Fest is too much of a good thing.

For the 3rd year, I spent some quality time out at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, volunteering at one of the beer booths. The Beau and I are a shameless, huckstering team as we draw people in with our barkering and general showmanship. Other teams ask not to be stationed next to us.

Way fun.

Usually, we only do the Fridays of each weekend, but this year - like last - at 6PM on Friday, Debbie - volunteer wrangler extraordinaire - mentioned that they were seriously shorthanded for Sunday and would we be willing to pitch in...

How could we say no? Free admission to the Fest - our own cooler, port-a-let and tents? Pretty sweet deal.

Then.

For the first time all this Fest, it rained. Not hard, just enough to make it messy and really steamy. We had a ball none the less.

Leaving the Fest grounds, we headed for the bike parking lot - Beau said it looked like something out of Amsterdam. We unlocked our bikes and wheeled them out of the lot, only to discover my back tire was flat.

Not just out of air, but flat. Pumped it up at a service station nearby and it lasted 5 blocks.

So we walked the rest of the way home. Only a mile and a half, but after a long day and weekend working at the Fest, it was a bummer.

This morning, I could have waited for The Beau to give me a lift to work, but I thought I'd walk (again, another mile and a half in a different direction). I did have to pick up a few things on my way in and just needed to work some of the kinks out.

I don't spend a lot of time plugged into my iPod, but this morning it was a nice accompaniment to my walk, keeping me at a relatively mellow pace.

Too mellow it seems. By the time I walked out of Walgreen's, it was much later than I thought. And when I turned my iPod back on, it was on some Shirley Bassey ballad that wasn't helping the effort.

So, I toggled through until I came to a song that I knew would get me there in time. This is a remake of the classic Diana Ross hit "Chain Reaction" - performed by the British pop group Steps - and I didn't know this until recently, but Chain Reaction was written by the Brothers Gibb (BeeGees...).

So, I hope this perks up your step too - it made the last 6 blocks fly by! Thankfully, I was almost to the office - the next song was Chains of Love, and if I'd had much further to go, I'd be dead for the rest of the day...

A Birthday Banksy

2009-04-22T20:24:00.006-05:00

So, it's been a joy to see the scattered works of Banksy around New Orleans - I haven't had the pleasure of seeing all of them, since a few were painted over or on building that have since been torn down.

One (#6 in the link below), on the former Teen Drop-In center, is protected by a heavy acrylic cover. So far, no one's messed with it.

I really want to find the one of the child chasing the umbrella. (17th in the line up here.) That one speaks to me.

So, it was fabulous to spot one this weekend (and even if it's an imitation Banksy, it pleases me) in the heart of the French Quarter. So, with no other gifts in hand, I send this to the birthday girl on vacation:

Your very own Birthday Banksy -

Happy Birthday, you-know-who!!

Utter Bravery

2009-04-20T07:52:00.005-05:00

Donnie was not a close personal friend, but I feel this loss deeply. He is an icon of a time that this generation of young gay people don't know or understand.

It is on the shoulders of Donnie Jay and many men and women like him that we stand now, able to look the world straight in the eye - so to speak - and demand to be treated like equals. There are things that Donnie had seen in his lifetime that I cannot begin to comprehend.

Always the consummate entertainer, Donnie did some of the most hilarious (and at times, hilariously inappropriate and dreadful!) drag - even after losing half his foot due to diabetes. I heard him once quip that he was headed out on the town to "kick up his heel"...

And he just didn't care what the world thought - he is the personification of Stephen Sondheim's stunning "I'm Still Here" from Follies, but that's not the song I associated with his passing last week.

There are many definitions of bravery, and exponentially more quotes about it too...I found this one via Google, and didn't know the author's names so I googled that too. There's something deliciously fitting, and somewhat campy in the way that would tickle Donnie Jay - it's from Meg Cabot, author of the Princess Diaries.

“Courage is not the absence of fear but the judgment that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all. For now you are traveling the road between who you think you are and who you can be."

Meg Cabot

Donnie Jay knew who he was - and lived and lived and lived. And the world is a little dimmer without his light. And here's what I have had playing in my head since hearing of his passing: George Hearn, and no other, singing "I Am What I Am" from La Cage Aux Folles.

Latte Love

2009-04-06T08:29:00.002-05:00

I adore Kristin Chenoweth.

So, it was a real delight that one of the colorguards selected her rendition of "Taylor, the Latte Boy" for their 2009 competition season. The eight high schoolers - only one boy - had a ball with this number.

The floor was set with a Starbuck's counter and a cafe table and chairs - Joey, who portrayed Taylor, even had the requisite green apron and attitude. (If you've never seen Winterguard competitions, they incorporate costumes, sets, rifles, sabres and flags (as well as other appropriate props. All the flags for this show had different sweetener logos emblazoned across them: Splenda, Equal, etc.)

It was a great show - perfect for this small group of student, who performed the heck out of it. I had not heard this song before seeing their show - and it's as adorable as Kristin.

So here's Taylor, the Latte Boy - hope it gets your day going. Oh, and if you'd like to see the kids in action, here's a link to a rather poor quality video of their performance a week before State Championships - where they in fact won their division easily.

Sunsets are Wonderful

2009-03-23T00:34:00.004-05:00

"Sunsets are wonderful,

when you're feeling sad."

I am working late on a number of projects, and have the TV on in the background, mostly for company. The Beau is back in DC for work-related training and it's too quiet here.

I was flipping though the channels trying to avoid every CSI repeat and such when I stumbled on a broadcast of one of PBS' Great Performances: The Little Prince. This is the operatic setting by the lovely Rachel Portman who has composed for dozens of films, including the scores for Ciderhouse Rules, Chocolat and Emma, for which she won the Academy Award for Best Score - first woman ever to receive that honor.

This is one of my all-time favorite stories. Ms. Portman did justice to the heart of the story - and the cast is phenomenal. This production introduced me a couple years ago to one of the handsomest, hunkiest baritones in the contemporary opera world - Kiwi Teddy Tahu Rhodes. Not only does he have this rich, earnest voice - and conveys the character of the pilot beautifully - he is really easy on the eyes. *Sigh*

After the events of the last 2 weeks, I found myself bawling at the end of the whole production this evening. So, here is a scene from Act I of The Little Prince, featuring Mr. Rhodes and Joseph McManners - the best of the lot that I could find on youtube. I hope you enjoy this - it made me smile.

I watched the sun set tonight. It was wonderful.

Out of Pocket

2009-03-19T11:49:00.002-05:00

Yeesh.

I'd like to say it's been one of those days, but it's been one of those weeks and months already.

I haven't blogged much since before Mardi Gras, and wanted to just let y'all know that I am still here. This week has been especially rough - I have not one, but two funerals to attend tomorrow.

One is for the mother of The Beau's best friend of 20 years...the second, which I have to sing at, is for the wife of a fellow church choir member.

Both victims of cancer.

And yesterday, my 23 year old Admin Assistant had 4 biopsy samples taken - hoping against hope that she doesn't have cervical cancer.

I am trying desparately not to lose my crap - The Beau is out of town at a corporate training is in even worse shape for not being able to be there for his friend. Thankfully, he comes in on the red-eye tonight...

Send spare hugs. We need them.

February GreeblePix

2009-02-17T16:46:00.004-06:00

Hello, All -

Here is my entry for this month's
GreeblePix contest over at GreebleMonkey,
home of the lovely and talented Aimee!

Butterfly Bush

Happy almost Mardi Gras!

Moments of Grace

2009-02-16T01:00:00.001-06:00

I am not the best gay.

I mean, I am good at it, but I don't keep up with all the latest music and trends. Politically and Medically, I am pretty on top of things, but...

Last night, I met my friend J & C out for a drink - and a video came on of a song that I'd never heard before.

Actually, I wasn't paying much attention to the song, but one person in the video caught my eye - Bianco del Rio, a drag queen with whom I worked on the musical Pageant here in New Orleans. Bianca was still Roy back then, a brilliant costume and wig designer who also played one of the funniest characters in the production - he was "Last Year's Winner", who like a former Miss Universe had had a very "full" year of reigning - and had more curves than should be legal in public.

Anyway, I watched the video to see if Bianca would reappear - and I got completely drawn into it. The song is "Breathe Love" by Brian Kent - and as he walks down a street singing this song, he passes people - people having bad days and bad moments and just days.

And it's not magic. He's breathing love. And everyone he walks past looks as though they are waking from a bad dream. And into moments of grace.

I kept thinking about this for the rest of the evening and all this morning.

Some days, I am Brian. Some days, I am those other people. I am so grateful for the people who do Breathe Love into my life - and I love that I get to give that back on the days that I can Breathe Love.

I hope you like this. It's a great dance tune - not the deepest lyrics, but simple, straightforward and beautiful. And there's something beautifully haunting about Brian too.

Singular Saturday - Valentine's Day Edition 2009

2009-02-14T01:00:00.001-06:00

HEART.

OK, so now that I have your attention,
it's time to groove out to
Blue Man Group and Venus Hum
with their rendition of "I Feel Love"!"

How I spend my Saturdays...

2009-02-03T03:00:00.002-06:00

From mid-January through late March, I spend most of my Saturdays on the road, traveling to LCGPC competitions.

Huh?

That's the Louisiana Color Guard and Percussion Circuit, the organization that puts on the winterguard and drumline shows here. Just so happens that the Beau is the Executive Director for the Circuit...and I am their photographer.

Winterguard is indoor color guard - flags, rifles, sabers. Flashy costumes, great music, overly stylized movement and dance. How gay is that? (OK, so not quite as gay as rhythmic gymnastics, but close. At least this has weapons.)

So, indoors. School gymnasiums, mostly. No flash. Swiftly hurling bodies, some not so celestial.

Can you see the inherent challenge to a photographer? I like a challenge, but this?

So, I have my new camera and the new zoom lens that Himself gave me for Christmas. And patience...lots of patience in post-production.

Two weeks into competition and here are a bunch of my favorites:

Oh, and I've posted the best of each guard to my smugmug site for the kids to see (and for their grown-ups to order if they so choose). Does it make me a professional if 3 people (4 now!) have ordered prints of photos now? This is all so new to me...

And wicked cool...

Moving

2009-02-01T15:01:00.005-06:00

I love movies. I love music. And I especially love it when a director (and all the other parties involved) get it right in a movie, by combining the right music with the right scene and - wow!

Reaching into the Way-Back File, in 1990 (when I stilled had hair on the top of my head), I was asked out to the movies by this hot German au pair. Of course I said yes...did I mention he was hot?

So, he asked if I'd like to see Henry V starring Kenneth Branagh. I am certain I probably said something smooth and classy like, "uh-huh" as I starred into his dreamy blue eyes. So, off we went.

During the time we spent chatting before the movie started, I learned that he had aspirations to be a model, or model-actor...and had no other outside interests, abilities or talents. He had cultivated nothing but his looks. And, what he liked best about me was how handsome I thought he was...blech.

Thankfully, about that time the movie started - distracting me from how suddenly un-smitten I now was. Derek Jacobi took over and for the next 137 minutes, I was transported. I had my first introduction to Emma Thompson in this movie - sigh.

Then. Then came the Battle at Agincourt...

I remember sensing that something was coming. Something special. I just didn't know what.

Then. Then he spoke those words and one lone man starts singing the "Non nobis".

Within seconds, I was in tears - each chorus, each increasingly wider camera shot, each step across the battlefield. After walking across the field, carrying one of his fallen breatheren, Henry bends down to kiss him.

Years later, I cannot watch this scene without bawling - I don't see how anyone can me unmoved by this. (And yet the au pair was. Never saw him again after that.)

So, here is that scene. What movie/music combinations move you?

Half Well

2009-02-01T05:05:00.000-06:00

My body reminds me that I am still only half well.

To bring you up to speed: I spent a week in the hospital in November with pneumonia. This is not my first bout, and once you've had it, you are much more susceptible to getting it again.

I am recovering very nicely, thank you for asking.

But.

I am not entirely well. Yet.

I am biking to work, photographing everything I possibly can, and once again juggling too many things at work and home.

Isn't that how I got in this situation?

Do you have anyone in your life who suffers from that super-person mentality? My progression went something like this: It's just a cold - it's just allergies - I can work through this - I'll shake this off with a weekend of good rest - I'll be in late today - honey, why can't I breathe?

OK. So, I listen. I listen to my body.

Biking on a cold (New Orleans cold, folks - I am silly, not insane) with limited lung capacity? Keep the Albuterol inhaler handy.

I am eating well, on a very regular schedule - I take all my meds, at the appointed time and never miss a dose. My labs are back where they should be in all categories.

And still my body reminds me that I am not quite there. Yet.

You see, my toenail is...well, odd.

One of the side effects of pneumonia and the inability to take in sufficient oxygen for all funtions in not just increased ditziness (I get that just by standing up too quickly!), but it deprives the extremities of the essentials.

My left big toenail is half-healthy...and half dirty-looking. You see, in November, when I couldn't breathe well and wasn't taking in enough oxygen, the body made the necessary choices of where to send the limited reserves.

This toenail was on the bottom of the list, so to speak.

So, it became discolored - gray-ish, but not dead-looking. Just un-well.

Now, weeks later, the toenail has half grown out - so it is half well and half not-so-well.

And it reminds me every day that I am on my way, but not quite there.

Yet.

I am so ready to be all well.

How are you doing?

Singular Saturday (and my 100th post!!)

2009-01-31T07:39:00.010-06:00

Tu - Tu

Two - two?

[SMID knows where this is...she has a fabulous purse or two from here. Oh, and before the Velvet Mafia knocks on my door, threatening to rip a corner off my Gay Card - I do know those are NOT tutus. They are crinolines. Come on, people...what kind of philistine do you take me for?]

Bar Fights and SDAs

2009-01-26T08:47:00.003-06:00

About 12 years ago, one summer Sunday evening, I was hanging out at Lafitte's in the French Quarter. This is not the Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop that many tourists are familiar with - but rather Cafe Lafitte in Exile, the oldest gay bar (they claim) in the US of A.

Sunday afternoons and evenings at Laffite's are all about Trash Disco. Now, this doesn't mean exclusively 70's disco music, but just about anything fabulously dance-able: there is a club remix of Petula Clark singing Downtown, Tammy Wynette fronting for KLF in Justified and Ancient, and the sensational remake/remix of John Paul Young's Love is in the Air, as featured in the marvelous movie Strictly Ballroom. The last one there even has audience participation of which Al Gore would disapprove. (At the big crescendo of the title, paper napkins are thrown into the air. Quite an effect in a crowded bar...)

So, this one Sunday, I was watching the videos and chatting with friends and being adorable not-40 yet...and an intro started. A very recognizable intro...Whitney Houston. I Wanna Dance with Somebody...

Well, there was a cute young man, standing in front of me, who just about wet himself when he realized what song it was. In fact, he was so excited he had an SDA.

SDA, you ask...what's that?

Spontaneous Drag Attack.

Very entertaining, if viewed from the correct distance.

I was right behind him...and he was about to perform. I didn't know that at the time, but I should have recognizd the signs.

So, when the music got to that first punctuated "Woo" that Ms. Houston does in the intro, the young man in front of me threw his arms up and out...making contact with my face.

My right eye, actually.

Thankfully, I have vodka in my system to help numb the pain and we laughed it off. It really didn't hurt all that much at the time...

The next morning, however...

I got up, made coffee, stumbled around the apartment...and nearly screamed when I looked in the bathroom mirror.

A lovely shiner, right where he'd hit me during his SDA.

Now, try explaining that to your co-workers. Somehow, they didn't believe the line, "Well, you should see the other guy..."

So, for all of you who need your own SDA today, here's Whitney.

Just be sure to check out who's around you before you start flailing your arms, OK? (The "Woo" in question here occurs around 38 seconds.)

Separated At Birth? or Man in Drag?

2009-01-25T12:13:00.007-06:00

OK, I cannot imagine why on earth any media outlet gives this vapid, duplicitous woman any airtime. Really, her opinion on just about everything should be largely disregarded.

Must have been nice to nearly destroy HP and still walk away with a 42 million dollar golden parachute. Can you tell I despise Carly Fiorina?

And, to clarify the title of this post: Is it just me (and The Beau, who first pointed this out and now I can't picture anything else) or does Carly Fiorina look like she could be VERY related to Martin Short? Like siblings, raised in different homes. How Parent Trap...

OR...could the personage of Ms. Fiorina be little more than another of Mr. Short's alter-eogs: like the incredibly offensive Jimminy Glick, or hearkening back a generation, Ed Grimley?

Either way, she gives me the creeps.

And I thought the McCain campaign had done a good enough job of throwing her under the bus...but apparently not.

Like Cher and the cockroaches post-apocolypse, she just keeps showing up.

Hypothetical Parenting

2009-01-23T08:29:00.004-06:00

The following is just a random bunch of stuff with the merest of similarities: parenting.

_____________________________________

As a teen, I spent a great deal of my free time babysitting, and many parents (and friends of our family) commented with sometimes annoying regularity what a great dad I would be some day.

_____________________________________

When I first started coming out to my friends in my late teens and early 20's, I was on the short end of comment like, "Oh, what a waste..." and "Gee, won't you miss having kids?" and so on...

_____________________________________

Over the last 10 years or so, during any of my more "substantive" relationships, people have been very forward in asking if we plan to adopt (or opt for any of the less passive modes of obtaining a child - no, not kidnapping...). The subject even came up on my first date with The Beau (it'll be 4 years this May, but who's counting?). We are both firm in our conviction: we love and adore the kids in our lives - nephews, neices, children of friends and neighbors - and enjoy their company...in relatively short doses. We know our limits.

_____________________________________

We have developed a shorthand to signal when one of us (usually the Beau) is reaching a point where they can take little more. It started one day in the presence of a very tired child, acting like a very tired child who was not have the best day with a parent who was similarly not having the best day. It was not pretty, for anyone. The kind of day where we'd all like to request a do-over.

The Beau turned to me and said, "Tell that story again about how you don't want to have children..."

It has since been reduced to just, "Tell me that story..."

_____________________________________

Last Saturday, on the flight to Orlando for a company meeting, I met quite a number of parents and kids - some on their way to the Mouse, and others on the first leg of a trip to Washington, DC for the Inauguration. Quite a combination of similar, yet still disparate types of energy.

Most of the kids were wonderful during the flight - it could have been much worse. I overheard one dad talking to a mom he was sitting across the aisle from, extolling the rewards and virtues of being a parent. "There's nothing better in the whole world." He kept saying this, over and over.

_____________________________________

For him. Nothing better for him. I'd be willing to bet that some of the parents that might happen to read what I've posted so far have been mildly offended or put off at least by my tone and phraseology.

I am OK with that. Please understand that I love kids, I loved teaching and think it's great that the world is making more Gays without me ever having to lift a finger.

But.

There are other things in the world. Other things that are better for Other people in the world. People who don't have any interest or drive or desire to be parents.

Sometimes, we come up on an odd, reverse side of that. Certain groups tell us that we can't be parents because it's wrong/immoral/illegal/inappropriate/fill in the blank. Other people tell us that we just don't know what we are missing, not being parents, and that we'll never really be fulfilled as humans without that knowledge and experience.

Makes me bristle.

What happened to Live and Let Live? I love your kids. I think your commitment to raising your kids is stunning and wonderful and breathtaking and I know it's something I could not and would not do in my lifetime. Why can't that be OK too?

_____________________________________

Last weekend, a waitress who lived and worked in the French Quarter was murdered outside her apartment as she was coming home from work. There were a few witnesses who were able to supply the police with descriptions and assist in creating sketches that were distributed throughout the city.

By noon yesterday, all three of the suspects involved in this robbery-gone-bad were in custody after turning themselves in to the authorities.

Two 15 year olds and one 14 year old. Who prompted them to turn themselves in?

Their mothers.

These mothers saw the sketches, recognized them immediately and urged their kids, their children to surrender to the police, peacefully. And they did.

_____________________________________

Could you do that? Could you go to your child and ask them, plead with them to hand their lives over to the police, knowing that what comes next is the unknowable?

It's only hypothetical for me, who will never have kids of my own - so it's easy for me to say, "Hell, yes."

_____________________________________

What about you, moms and dads? What about you? Could you do that?

I Don't Know Why...

2009-01-17T11:03:00.004-06:00

But I am infinitely fascinated by

the buds of Angel Trumpets.

When I first looked at this one,

I thought is was so bat-like.

I love my new camera.

Just thought you should know.

Happy Saturday!

Full Moon Last Saturday

2009-01-14T06:00:00.001-06:00

The Beau got me a sweet zoom lens for Christmas.

I hustled myself up to the Mississippi River

for moonrise on Saturday. What a payoff!!

The Beau did REALLY well this Christmas!!

Quit Buggin' Me...

2009-01-13T12:17:00.005-06:00

Playing with my new camera and macro lens.

You can see the grains of pollen. Makes me want to sneeze.

Once Upon A Time

2009-01-11T16:22:00.005-06:00

A can't-lose proposition in 1962 Broadway terms: a musical, with music and lyrics by the team of Adams/Strouse - they'd already given the world Bye-Bye, Birdie and would later create Annie - and book by Mel Brooks and starring Ray Bolger. Title: All American

It was a disaster, running for only 80 performances. (Sondheim broke that record, with Anyone Can Whistle lasting only 9 performances. Carrie, the Musical is my all-time flop champion, closing after 5 shows...although it really should have closed at intermission of its first performance...but I digress...)

Surviving All American are a couple lovely tunes, including one that has unexpectedly become, ahem, my signature song. It's a sad, wistful song of longing and regret - lost love and missed chances for romance and such. This song is "Once Upon A Time".

I first heard this song on Mandy Patinkin's eponymous album, sung tenderly and without pretense. (Shocking for Mandy...) Again, I degress...

I liked the song. It stayed with me. The tune is very straight-forward and textbook in form (AABA). It stayed with me because it is lovely. Then I discovered that the most wonderful piano player in my life - Tom at Good Friends - knew the tune...and we started doing this song most Sundays at their sing-a-long.

Move forward a couple years, and it had become part of our standard repertoire. A handsome man with whom I was smitten commented on how me adored the song, but found the lyrics to be too painful for the loveliness of the tune.

I like a challenge.

So, to please this handsome man, with whom I had not a snowball's chance in Hell, I went home that night and wrote a new set of lyrics.

More reassuring, winsome and hopeful. I like them quite a bit. They are all I sing now. People who know the song from its origins will ask me where this alternate set of lyrics came from and I usually lie and say some recording somewhere.

I wrote them.

Now, I had been thinking about this for a while and thought it would be great to post to Music Monday as spearheaded by the lovely Soccer Mom in Denial. I went in search of a video to post for all to hear - and found my way to Bobby Darrin's heart-wrenching rendition.

Knowing a little bit about his life and troubled love for Sandra Dee, it makes the performance even more moving. Here is that video:

The handsome man liked the new lyrics, but I never had the heart to tell him that I wrote them for him.

No. That's not quite accurate.

He wasn't worth telling. Sure, I wrote them with him in mind. But these were for me.

So, here's my version. Sorry, no recording. You'll have to make a trip to New Orleans and stay over some Sunday - make sure that your flight is not too early on Monday morning. That won't be pretty after the time we have the evening before. And you will have heard this:

Once upon a time,

It seemed the world was turning grey.

Love was what I hoped for,

But never what would be.

And yet my once upon a times

Always set me free

Once upon a time,

A man with stardust in his eyes

Showed there is hope

And also sweet romance...

And now my once upon a time

Is my second chance.

Can this be?

Does it all seem real?

Aren't we always taught

That we should guard the way we feel?

Yet someday soon, I hope I can reveal...

My heart is yours.

Now upon this time,

The world is sweeter than we dreamed.

Everything we have
Is better than before.

And now my once upon a time...

Is my forever more.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-11-05T08:42:00.002-06:00

Voting Day

2008-11-04T07:45:00.005-06:00

It was a Magritte sky this morning,

everything silhouetted against the sunrise.

We biked the 8 blocks to our polling place,

reviewed the ballot one last time and then

took our place in line to vote.

It took 28 minutes.

I wish everyone could have that kind of

swift democratic experience today.

For those who don't, be patient.

This election is absurdly important.

So, don't get frustrated and walk away.

This is Your Right to Vote.

And no one can take that away from you.

Oh, and if you don't vote,

you don't get to bitch later.

Coincidentally, our polling place -

a local elementary charter school -

had a Rene Magritte quote on the wall:

“Art evokes the mystery without

which the world would not exist.”

Playing with the GreebleMonkey!

2008-10-20T18:19:00.006-05:00

The lovely and talented Aimee over at GreebleMonkey is at it again with her monthly GreeblePix Contest. Here is my entry into the fray:

Lily Light

Thanks for stopping by!

Transitions, Challenges and Such

2008-10-05T14:30:00.002-05:00

So much going on, so little time to put it all together in posts - so, forgive me if I empty the gullet here in one post. It's all got to come out.

**********************************

I lost a friend last week.

Not someone I'd call at 3 in the morning, crying on his shoulder, but a long-time theatre friend, a Mardi Gras friend, a coffee-with-whatever-bunch-showed-up-that-morning friend - and that rare person who was far-more outrageous than I could ever dream of being.

You always knew when Steve was in the room.

Or 3 blocks away.

Steve's bicycle was festooned with odd (read that as borderline NC-17) ornaments and geegaws, garlands and bells - and when he spotted you, you were greeted with a "Yoohooooooo!!" in a voice that could pierce the thickest New England fog.

Steve was a wonderful dancer, a strong singer and one of the most alive people i think I've ever met. One time at a party, he pulled me aside and said, "Come on, we're gonna put on a show." He pulled me upstairs where he threw a wig and scarf at me - having already selected his own impromptu ensemble - and then jumped out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard where our friends were partying, and started belting out "Let Me Entertain You." I followed up with "Nowadays" from Chicago.

Now that was a party.

Steve was also a great costume designer - here's the photo I snapped on him in 2004. Outrageous to the end, Steve finally succumbed to leukemia after a more than 2 year battle.

I will miss him - and New Orleans is a little less beautiful and delightful for his passing.

***********************************

Yesterday, I learned of another passing: my friend Coleen Salley, storyteller, author and bon vivant extraordinaire. Coleen was the Distinguished Professor of Children's Literature at the University of New Orleans, wrote many children's books and taught future generations all about the joy of reading and sharing books. My dear friend and fellow book-lover Susan Larson writes a wonderful tribute to her here.

"I don't want children to read just to perfect their reading. I want them to love books for the joy of it."

Coleen Salley

Coleen smoked and drank for most of her life until doctors told her to (um, strongly recommended thatshe out to) shape up. I don't blush at much, but she swore like a sailor and saw and did more in her life than most of us can imagine. I was fortunate to live in her neighborhood, a stone's throw from St. Louis Cathedral, and get invited to many of Coleen's infamous parties - Christmas soirees before the Caroling in Jackson Square - author parties with Hudson Talbot and others I cannot even recall, due to that fourth Brandy Mild Punch.

New Orleans is a helluva lot less fabulous with Coleen's passing. She's telling wicked and wonderful stories to the angels now.

**********************************************

Life is too short to be angry all the time or to read bad books - or to tell other people what a bad book is. Coleen's passing only more dramatically points to last week's Banned Books Week.

I had every intention of posting a long diatribe on the virtues of reading banned/challenged books, and the evils of censorship, and blah blah blah. Truth is, the real world intruded. So, do your homework, check out sites like this and talk to other folks about why you think certain books aren't right for YOUR kids - but support people's choice to read what they want.

NOTE: during my research on banned books, I stumbled across this blog site. I've posted about books and some of the (perhaps) misguided challenges to them, but I had never encountered anyone who was against one of my all-time favorites, Guess How Much I Love You. The rationale? It bothered her that the parent always has to out-do the child. Really? That bothers you? Did you really read the book? What say you, parents?

*********************************

Other than that, I had planned on writing an Elegy to the Letter G. Thanks to Governor Palin, the final G - which until now been on life support, but still doing moderately OK - slipped away quietly on Thursday evening, never to heard from again.

Folks, please do your part. Don't let final G be forgotten. Let us not become a nation that is merely runnin', walkin', hopin' and wishin'...but please, remember the G.

Dreaming is not just a thing of the past.

************************************

One final thought: I am willing to bet that Sarah Palin was “that girl” in High School - not exactly pretty or smart, but aware enough to see where the power lay. And just charming or shrewd enough to know how to play people to do things for her, to subtly bully people out of the picture - making others’ lives a living Hell for crossing her.

If a real poll could have been taken of her peers, I would bet they’d vote her Most Feared.What training. Now, she’s just a small town bully who never left high school, never learned anything that wasn’t advantageous to her assent, no critical thinking skills and no awareness of the world around her. A brainless bully.

A dangerous bully. A bully who aspires to Cheney-like bullying. And if that doesn't scare you, I doubt little will.

Thank you, John McCain, for Sarah Palin - the gift that keeps on giving to the Barack Obama Campaign.

Peace.

A Belated Singular Saturday: Please - I cannot put up with 4 or 8 more years of

2008-10-05T11:45:00.004-05:00

NU - KYA -LER

Look Away - No, REALLY...Look Away NOW!

2008-09-21T09:27:00.005-05:00

Shiny things to distract the masses.

Fuzzy words, repeated ad nasuem.

Hypocritical cries of sexism.

Wimper, wimper..."Deference"...Wimper, wimper.

Blatant cronyism.

Are you kidding me?

This woman is nothing more than a diversion from the ISSUES.

Pay her no mind - It kills me that MSM is dedicating time to analyzing her wardrobe, dress size, eyewear model, et al.

Are you freaking kidding me? Is she suddenly Paris Hilton's BFF?

The last time I checked, John McCain - the lying sack of shit bastard - was running for President. NOT the the ill-informed, dangerous harpy at his side.

Sorry.

Focus, people. It's his proposed policies and his historical voting that are under review here, not what designer she's wearing. Yes, she too is a hateful, lying sharlatan - a purveyor of patent medicines, a quack - but this is NOT her campaign for President.

Look at what McCain has done and NOT done. Get informed about his lies and misrepresentations.

Get Angry.

There is so little time left. Get Angry. Stay Angry.

Like the saying goes, "If you aren't angry, you aren't paying attention."

Please, folks. Pay Attention.

Our future depends on it.

Must Read This Now

2008-09-20T18:42:00.004-05:00

OK, I am not so good at expressing myself politically, but thankfully, there are a lot of people out there who can.

I won't paste the letter from Frank Schaeffer as posted at Huffington Post, but please check out this link: An Open Letter to All Republicans From a Former Religious Right Activist

Read it. Send it to people you know.

It's brilliant, eloquent and exquisitely written.

And given the life this man has led, even more powerful.

There is so much crap flying around out there about all the Presidential candidates - it is our responsibility to get informed, stay informed and vote for what is best for the future of our country.

And in a closing fit of snarkiness, I give you this:

Pay no attention to the crazy moose-lady behind the curtain.

Like Respect, "Deference" Must Be...

2008-09-20T09:41:00.004-05:00

Earned.

This is my first time playing along with Singular Saturday - to see what others are saying with an essential economy of words, please zip on over to Jenn In Holland - Something to Say.

Playing with GreebleMonkey, again...

2008-09-15T16:13:00.009-05:00

So, Aimee is at it once again -

it's time for the greeblepix contest -

and here's my entry for this month!

Enjoy!

Click on the photo to see the reflection in the droplet.

Tough to tell this close up,

but those are bougainvillea blossoms.

And thanks for stopping by!

Come Hell or High Water...

2008-09-12T19:57:00.021-05:00

In 1971, Follies opened on Broadway - a hugely ambitious show, revolving around the reunion of a follies cast (akin to Ziegfeld) for one last concert before their old theatre is leveled and turned into a parking lot.

One of the best numbers in the whole show - the big showstopper, if ever - is "I'm Still Here." Over the years, this song has been sung by the likes of Yvonne DeCarlo, Nancy Walker, Carol Burnett, Shirley MacLaine and Ann Miller - it's like winning the theatre fag lottery!

The song is replete with historical and cultural references and has been adapted time and again...and now I've stuck my hand into it to muddy the waters further. I hope I haven't done too much damage to one of my favorites.

So, with all apologies to Stephen Sondheim (along with my utmost admiration):

Good times and bum times,

We've seen them all, and by gosh...

We're Still Here.

Mardi Gras, one day...

Next day it's FEMA and Bush.

And we're here...

We made it through Katrina & Rita too,

Gustav and Ike both really blew.

We got through all of last year,

And we're here.

We've gotten through, "Hey, buddy! Why don'tchya just move away?"

Gee, that sure helps a heap.

Or better yet, "Why are you rebuilding anyway?"

Oh, Senator, go take a leap!

Fresh paint on one home,

One home stands vacant and bare.

But we're here.

One day, it's State Farm,

Next day, we dance without care...

And we're here.

We've had the best, and seen the worst,

Stayed through Katrina - the levees burst.

Come Hell or high water, and we're here...

Lord knows, at least we've been there...

And we're here.

We're still here...

Yes, we're here...

Plan-nicking, and other thoughts

2008-08-28T08:17:00.004-05:00

OK. Deep breath, Ken.

Too much to do. Too much to wrap my brain around right now. Too little focus.

Must be time to blog.

Plan-nicking is the word I have given to this in-limbo time, as we wait and watch and obsess and prepare and email and post and bite our nails and make lists and check them thrice.

There are some things that you cannot do before evacuating in advance of a tropical system such as Gustav. Life still goes on, you have to eat, you have to (try to) sleep, you have to go to work and prepare that part of your life too. You still have to get through the day.

It ain't always easy.

Add to that, worrying over the political future of this country (Biden so rocked last night).

Stir in post-Olympics withdrawal - what does is say about how classy Dara Torres is that she asked the officials to wait to start her heat because one of her competitor's swimsuit broke and she was trying to change in time to compete? How about the comraderie and sportsmanship of the lead marathon runners sharing water bottles? Hygiene aside, that was a breath of fresh air.

OK, to vent a little more about the Olympics...If I - suddenly and for no specific reason - was placed in charge of the USOC, I would add a deal-breaker requirement for anyone wishing to represent the USA at future Olympic Games:

You must learn all the words to the Star Spangled Banner. It's our national anthem, and you're an athlete - you've heard it a quadrillion times in your athletic career. Can't sing? So what. At least mouth the right words - did you see the gusto with which Lisa Leslie of the US Women's Basketball Team was singing? That's what I want to see. From every last person. That includes you, audience.

OK, back to Gustav.

Unlike before Katrina, this time - if the prediction is dire - we will leave BEFORE the storm. Load up the truck, head North into MS. Try to telecommute from there. Yippee.

And tomorrow just happens to be the 3rd anniversary of the landfall of Katrina. And the beginning of Southern Decadence weekend.

We are as ready as we can be - oh, and add to all that, we are knee-deep in fundraising season for the New Orleans AIDS Walk (September 14). (Just in case anyone wants to sponsor me, you can check out my Walk Page here. Thanks!)

(Brain freeze.)

Sorry, but I tried to process too much at once there, and my mind seized up on me. We'll do what we have to do to stay safe. We'll get out of harm's way and we'll be prepared. We'll be with family and we'll take care of each other.

So, take care of yourselves - I will post as much as I can when I can and have the energy and presence of mind.

For now, peace and good thoughts. Pray if you do.

And tell the people you love that you love them.

Thanks for listening.

Love, your Ambassador

(I'm the taller one...)

Love to Me

2008-08-24T12:20:00.004-05:00

Now I see as I have never seen before

Since that moment in the square

When your hat is carried in the air

Just so you can chase it

Just so I can be there

This is how I know

This is what I see

This is love to me

"Love to Me" from The Light in the Piazza

by Adam Guettel

Playing with the GreebleMonkey!

2008-08-18T08:51:00.003-05:00

Always the competitive sort, I couldn't resist joining in the fun - Aimee at GreebleMonkey is hosting a photography contest. Today.

So, visit her blog - check out everyone's photos - leave comments - post a photo of your own - and spread the love.

Or something like that.

Here's my entry - a pic from our travels in June to Orcas Island, WA. I didn't even know I caught the bird in the shot until reviewing the photos last month on my computer.

Enjoy!!

Being Away...

2008-07-26T12:46:00.005-05:00

So, after 3+ months, I am posting again.

It's been quite a time. In April, just after my last post, The Beau and I decided to take the plunge and finally move in together. As he has a fabulous condo and I had been renting a ramshackle flat next to a fairly grungy bar (not in the Nirvana sense, either), we have consolidated lives at the condo. (It's going very well. No dead bodies yet, no massive meltdowns - OK, one moderately hysterical one, but it couldn't be helped.)

For those of you who've read old posts of mine, you know that I have been a member of the United Methodist Church for most of my life. A friend of mine jokes that both she and I were Methodist in vitro. But recently, I've taken a break. A sabbatical, if you will, although the irony of the etymology of that word is painfully apparent.

You see, as a matter of official doctrine, the United Methodist Church (UMC) is OK with having gay congregants, accepting their time and donations, but they won't ordain them. Well, that's not quite fair - they subscribe to the liturgical version of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell".

So, if you don't tell your bishop or other church leader that you are a well-adjusted, caring homosexual in a loving, committed relationship, you can perhaps have the opportunity of being posted to lead a Methodist congregation and continue to serve the community at large.

Just don't be happy or a good role model or open and sharing of your experiences. Keep that to yourself, please.

Or we'll have to dispatch you from the pulpit.

Wait.

It gets better.

The following is directly from archives of umc.org, and while I acknowledge that each section is quoted out of its greater context, it is no less troubling. Until recent years, I had only been vaguely aware of the Church's official stance; seeing it in print is...well, heartbreaking.

For nearly 20 years, church law as recorded in the Book of Discipline has included a ban on the ordination of "self-avowed practicing homosexuals" and has espoused "fidelity in marriage and celibacy in singleness." And while acknowledging the "sacred worth" of homosexuals, church law condemns homosexual practices as "incompatible with Christian teaching."

And my life is incompatible with Christian teaching? I thought I'd lived a fairly decent Christian life - now, I don't want you to think that I have lost faith. My faith is strong and sure and deeply personal. But I have lost some great measure of faith in the UMC. And that hurts too.

The dichotomy of espousing fidelity in marriage but denying marriage rites or even union blessings to gay couples is at the very least contradictory. I don't know if any of you've ever come across this reference, but it speaks louder to me now than when I first heard it 20 years ago:

"We have forced gay people into the red-light districts, forced them to meet each other in bars and lurid places - then we call them promiscuous sinners." Adele Starr, founding President of Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG)

Jus this week in the weekly newsletter, our new choir master wrote an eloquent appeal to the congregation to consider joining the choir. I do miss the music, but not in the way that I thought I might. There was a time in my life, not so long ago, that despite whatever I was facing in my life, however deeply my faith and belief was challenged, that music lifted me up. I cannot begin to count the times in my life at Rayne that were full of grace through music. But for now, those strains have been silenced.

And for now, I am here. Not so very far away, but no longer where I was.

Peace.

Friday Haiku

2008-04-18T10:05:00.004-05:00

greens so new, they're nearly white -
tender harbingers...
springtime profusions of Joy

I Love You Most

2008-04-11T15:47:00.003-05:00

You may not know this, but…

I love you most when we touch.
From the moment you take my hand in yours
(and yes, I’ve noticed you do that more now than ever before),
all the in-between-hours and in-my-head-worries melt away…
and I am with you.

When I sit in the chair and pull you to me,
to hug me as you stand there—
my arms around your waist,
you bending to kiss the top of my head—
I know one thing:
if I didn’t love you already,
that hug would push me over the edge.

At the end of the day,
there’s such ease in the positions we assume—
your feet in my lap,
maybe shoulders or heads to be rubbed too…
but always touching.
Eventually, it’s the side-by-side-legs-entwined-lovely-time
when more of our skin is touching than any other time—
and love pours out—me to you, and back to me effortlessly…
and I sigh that sigh.

We will not stay like this through the night,
but the morning will again find us wrapped up in each other,
holding as much as possible
before the day and the in-between-not-touching-you hours begin.

And when my days are like they are
and I cannot touch you because you are not there,
please don’t think that I begin to love you any less.
I just recall the last time we touched, and how it made me feel…
and I smile that smile.

We joke about my lonely nights and hours,
pining away by the phone,
and we both laugh…
but the truth is this:
I ache more than you imagine to have you next to me…
holding my hand, touching my leg, stealing that little tender kiss…

A simple “I love you” is an extraordinary thing…
but I thought you should know that more than anything…

I love you most when we touch.

Damn Few

2008-03-09T23:35:00.007-05:00

Allison is the friend for whom I will sleep on the floor.

Not the kind of friend. But. The. Friend.

Now, mind you, this is a beautiful cypress plank floor, just about a hundred years old, refinished innumerable times and worn in all the right places.

Beneath that floor is nothing. Buildings in this part of Louisiana are NOT insulated. Actually, below that beautiful floor was lots of cold air and occasionally the dulcet tones of two cats "in love". (I believe the phrase in Olde Disney-speak is "twitterpated".)

OK, so I had an airmattress on the floor - and was scant feet from a fabulous vintage, working gas fireplace. Still...floor.

To be fair, Soccer Mom offered repeatedly to switch places or share my big grown up bed that had no kids invading it before the crack of dawn.

Nope. It was her time to be (somewhat) spoiled.

It was a glorious week, despite some odd events at work and getting rained on whilst biking home. Old friends are worth the rain and the floor.

Because there were hugs involved here too. Many Hugs. You may have read about them here or here.

And a wonderful dinner where we had Old Friends meeting New Friends and...well, just getting each other like you'd hoped.

"Most friends fade,

or they don't make the grade,
New ones are quickly made

and in a pinch, sure, they'll do...
But us, Old Friend...
what's to discuss, Old Friend?
Here's to us!
Who's like us?
Damn Few."

Merrily We Roll Along

Stephen Sondheim

Oh, and these two old friends got together

for the first time in too many years.

It was a wonderful week...

*Sigh*

I Can Hardly Sleep...

2008-02-29T08:25:00.007-06:00

Soccer Mom is coming to visit me. I can bearly contain myself.

For those of you who don't know, SMID and I met in April of 1992 (holy crap, 16 years ago!!). And she rocks...

And, we discovered along the way that we'd been immortalized in a series of beautiful and touching children's books...Toot & Puddle.

If you don't know these books yet, please check them out. They're tender and lovely and stunningly illustrated by the ridiculously talented Holly Hobbie.

Yes, that Holly Hobbie.

Two friends, one filled with wanderlust, the other preferring the creature comforts of home.

Yup. That's us...Can you guess which one is which of us?

OK, that was too easy. But, now go read the books...and then read them to your kids if you have any.

And then be REALLY envious.

Because Soccer Mom is coming to stay with me.

YIPPEE!!!!

It Was Bound to Happen One Day...

2008-02-26T18:26:00.006-06:00

You know, it's sad, really...

But, for those of you who know me well,

this isn't much of a shock...

I mean, I love work.

Love. Work.

But this is absurd. And we should have seen this day coming...

I worked so hard, I broke my office chair.

Seriously.

Not a joke.

For my Dear Friend

2008-02-23T10:58:00.004-06:00

Someone is heading to New Orleans...that is, if she can ever get home from TN.

And I have a gift for her.

Shiny gift.

Pretty.

Glass Beads.

Decades ago, glass beads were all that the Mardi Gras krewes through, but they were expensive and tended to shatter when they hit something too hard.

It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

But, now - in recent years, companies have started selling these beautiful glass beads again. Two years in a row now, I've been lucky enough to snag a couple pair of them at the Krewe d'Etat and Hermes parades.

And I have a bunch for SMID to pick from when she arrives in New Olreans in about 10 days - she says she's coming for work, but we know the real story...she's just coming for the glass beads.

And I can't wait to see her!

Wow...

2008-02-06T13:23:00.000-06:00

It was one of the best - so many great costumes, so many old friends...

And the weather cooperated - partly sunny, warm, very breezy...and the rain held off until 9PM.

If you were still out in costume at that hour, you probably deserved to get wet.

This is the view from my front porch yesterday morning - as the Krewe of St. Ann gathered to start their traditional walk through the French Quarter. Please click it to see the details!

A trio of Fleur de Lis

Ice Queen and King

A little breezy!

The Sea Monkeys!

It was a marvelous day, and I am still sore for walking and walking and walking and posing and taking pictures and everything. But, oh...it was wonderful!

The Time for Butterflies (and other Lepidoptera)

2008-02-01T08:23:00.000-06:00

"Does the Flap of a Butterfly's Wings in Brazil set off a Tornado in Texas?" Edward Lorenz, 1972

It's time for all those butterflies to get up off their branches and start flapping...

The weather reports for Mardi Gras are NOT looking great, and I figure if all those moths and butterflies start beating their wings, they can be the change (hey, I even managed to slip in some contemporary political rhetoric!) that saves our day...

(Dude, I drank so much nectar last night, I can't remember a thing!)

Heck, even the caterpillars can help out - grab the branch with several pairs of your back legs while bouncing on the leaf in front of you with your anterior, thereby creating a similar effect to your adult relations. I've seen Nature, I grew up on National Geographic...I know what you can do and I know where you live...

(Does this chrysalis make me look fat?)

Chance of Thunderstorms, 40% Chance of Precipitation...and yes, for all you Glass-Half-Full People out there, that means there a 60% Chance of No Precipitation.

OK, everyone - start flapping on Three - you, too, Mr.-Moth-Who-Thinks-He-Can-Hide-From-Us-By-Blending-In-With-The-Tree-Bark! We see you...

One, Two, Three!

That Guy, and Other Stuff

2008-01-29T09:04:00.000-06:00

Happy Carnival, everyone! This is a wacky week - we locals still have to go to work like everyone else around the world - and having to do it with a couple hundred thousand visitors roaming the streets in various states of inebriation can be a challenge.

And woe is the person who parks on the wrong side of a parade route if you have to drive anywhere else that day - those streets may be closed off for 8 hours at a stretch...

I love my friends - we have standing agreement not to let each other become That Guy.

That Guy is:

Usually drunk (or still drunk) during the before-noon daylight hours
Slightly stooped from wearing far too many beads for way too long
Often missing an article or two of clothing
Staggering dangerously close to traffic
Frequently heard bellowing vastly erudite things, such as "Woohoo!" and "Mardi Gras, Yea!" and that ever classic "Show me your t*ts!"

That Guy isn't necessarily in the wrong (although the last phrase is immensely offensive and not part of the native vernacular)...He's just so out of context, a full week before Mardi Gras...at 7 something in the morning...with people passing him on their way to work. Empathy extends to him, as we speculate how dreadful he'll feel when the hangover hits him.

That Guy was spotted in recent years, a week AFTER Mardi Gras, at Audubon Park (that's about 6 miles from the French Quarter, shirtless, heavily beaded and "Woohoo"-ing.

It was just sad.

And a little funny.

And obviously memorable.

Ah, Mardi Gras...

Oh, there's a costume to be worked on. Like all the best costume ideas I've had, it came way too close to Fat Tuesday (and while I was showering)! I just got a new toy (my shiny new Canon SK100IS!!) and thought I might just take this Mardi Gras off from costuming - yes, it's a verb. I could wander around, taking many gigabytes of photos...just a regular shutterbug.

Wait. That's It!

Shutterbug. Cheap Plastic shutters on the front. Wings. Antennae. Colorful top. Striped Legging. Comfortable footwear. And my Camera.

Simple, easy, inexpensive, adaptable to weather changes, uncomplicated for bathroom breaks, and doesn't hinder the act of drinking. It passes all the tests!!

I think we have a winner.

Now, let's just hope the weather cooperates. It's almost time! (It's supposed to storm later today and then again on Thursday...we consider this a kind of Pre-Penance so that we get spectacular weather next Tuesday.)

Mardi Gras Goes to the Dogs (As Well It Should!)

2008-01-28T08:34:00.000-06:00

Ahem...my first Bloggy Haiku...and a few photos.

Perfectly playful,

bringing Joy to the masses;

Carnival canines

"Daddy, it's little cold out here..."

"Daddy says he lets me ride in here to keep me warm, but I know it's really so he can have both hands free for his beer. But that's OK..."

"I can't believe she put me in a cocktail dress before sundown.

I could just die!"

"Yes, we know we look like stuffed toys.

We get that all the time."

"I was going for that whole Temple of Doom thing,

but I got up this morning and the only

thing that fit was this old Neck Tutu.

I have got to lay off the King Cake."

These wonderful and very patient dogs took part in the Mystic Krewe of Barkus Parade yesterday - a yearly fundraiser for the Louisiana SPCA and a pack of other local animal resources. Each year, a King and Queen are crowned - usually after having been a Duke or Duchess in one of the preceding years. Also, the royalty for Barkus are traditionally dogs who have been adopted from the LA/SPCA. This year's theme for Barkus was Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Bark. Past themes include Joan of Bark, Lifestyles of the Bitch and Famous, A Streetdog Named Desire, The Wizard of Paws, Harry Pawter and the Sorcerer's Bone, A Fistful of Collars, and Saturday Bite Fever. Do you notice a trend?

I don't have a dog, but I get to spend quality time now and then with Dizzy (the handsome devil in the black fur coat below) - whose human companions (or My Monkeys, as Dizzy is fond of calling them) are my friends Virginia and Roger. Dizzy is more of a people-dog than a romping-with-other-dogs-dog, and will often step in at the Dog Park and assume the role of Hall Moniter - "Hey, not so rough there! Keep your paws to yourself, Jake! You better have brought enough toys for everyone!" Dizzy came to the parade, allowing his Monkeys to dress him in the Crawfish outfit, but he was much more interested in hanging close to Daddy. Forcing us to go to him, if we wanted to lavish attention on him. Which we did...Frequently. He's a smart one, that Dizzy.

Oh, and he calls me Uncle Monkey.

Couldn't you just eat him up with a spoon?

Happy Barkus!

Complimentary Angles - A Challenge

2008-01-22T23:43:00.000-06:00

The post title is intentionally incorrect. Going back to whatever grade you were in when they threw Geometry at you...you learned about Complementary Angles (notice the "e" rather than the "i") - angles that add up to 90 degrees, or a right angle.

Complimentary - of the nature of a favorable remark, a kindness, a free something.

A while back, I started doing this thing, without planning it at all. It just started.

I paid someone a compliment.

Now, keep in mind, I've worked most of my adult life at graciously accepting compliments - you hear a lot of them, whether they're sincere or not, when you're in the theatre. It's so tough not to deflect the comments...so uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of praise.

On the flip side of that, I've always tried to make sure that I pay someone a compliment when it's due. No fawning sycophant here. I just think it's important to tell people when you notice the good things.

And then I started writing them down. And handing them to people.

The first one that I bravely scribbled on an airline napkin was "I hope your family knows how kind you are." I'd witnessed this person offer assistance to strangers, speak warmly to children on the plane, and just generally radiate Goodness.

I used the "Excuse me, I believed you dropped this" ploy to get the note into his hand. I was off like a shot and only made eye contact later at baggage claim, his head shaking and eyes wide open.

There have been many more since then, the most recent one was last night. I arrived at McCarren Airport here in Las Vegas (I am trying to blog on the road, which is harder than I thought), and spotted a weary-looking clerk at one of the many shuttle counters. Weary, and slyly handsome - not pretty boy looks, but a really handsome Man. I dug up a scrap of paper, wrote two lines and walked over to the counter - "I believe this is for you."

"You are Beautiful. I hope you know."

I was already out the door, waiting for the hotel shuttle, when I heard a knocking on the plate glass window - he was mouthing the words "Thank you...thank you..." with tears in his eyes. And I turned to hop on the shuttle.

I've gotten a range of responses - "Thank you, I needed that!"..."How Sweet!"..."Um, OK..."..."You're kidding, right?" - but they don't really matter. What matters is telling someone that the world's better for them being in it.

And more often than not, it's the nicest thing that happens to them that day.

So, where do you fit in? We bloggers have so much practice in commenting on each others' posts, and that's a sensationally good habit to have cultivated. Now, take it to the streets. I want to hear from you that you've taken it up - tell a friend, a family member, a stranger something right at that moment - make someone's day. And then let us know about it.

And get really brave. Put it in writing, hand it to someone, and walk away. Then, they'll have a memento to keep, or not.

But they will have had a marvelous moment. And we all could use more of those.

I Am Mardi Gras (And So Can You!)

2008-01-15T09:15:00.000-06:00

With apologies and credit to Stephen Colbert, I couldn’t help but steal/bastardize his awesome title. If you haven’t read this book, treat yourself to a copy – it’s a scream!

That being said, back to Mardi Gras:

This will be my 16th Carnival season as a resident of New Orleans. Several times each year, I get asked by people who don't know me if I "go to Mardi Gras."

I have a two stock responses for this question:

"Well...I don't have to go to Mardi Gras...Mardi Gras comes to me."

And that part is literally true. I live next door the business where one of the most fabulous walking parades on Fat Tuesday gathers and begins. I get to walk out on my porch with my coffee and the divine madness comes to me. Oh, and how divine!!

My other response usually comes out after a cocktail or two..."Darling, I don't go to Mardi Gras...I Am Mardi Gras!!"

And so can you.

Most of those years, I have costumed for Mardi Gras - from the absurd to the extravagant. There are many out-of-towners whom I only ever see in the days leading up to Mardi Gras, digging for hints of what I'll do this year to top the previous year's finery. I adore that kind of recognition.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I don’t run around the city in mask and sundry garments for weeks at a time. I understand how confusing this celebration is to anyone who’s never witnessed it. So, let’s start with a few clarifications to dovetail on Painted Maypole’s wonderful post last week.

Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday, Shrove Tuesday: This is the day before Ash Wednesday each year, the culmination of the Carnival Season, which begins on Epiphany, January 6th). As Ash Wednesday moves each year in accordance with the date of Easter (which in turn is dictated by the date of the full moon following the vernal equinox, explained very well here), Mardi Gras can fall anywhere from February 3 to March 9.

We good so far?

It’s a shame that so much of the fun and joy of Carnival has been tarnished by the antics and misbehavior of drunken tourists and college students – this celebration is so much more than flashing body parts on Bourbon Street. In fact, most New Orleans residents stay far away from that part of Bourbon Street around this time of year.

Parades: Once upon a time, before the floats outgrew the streets, parades rolled through the French Quarter – my home for most of those 16 years. These days, it’s only a handful of the Walking Krewes that actually parade the Quarter. Painted Maypole provided a great description of the parade atmosphere, which I have inserted here with her blessing:

The parades start immediately. As Mardi Gras grows closer the parades grow more frequent. With a short season, like this year (Mardi Gras is Feb 5th) the parade schedule is pretty packed from the get go. There are the huge parades in the city, pretty good sized ones in the suburbs, boat parades and truck parades, lawnmower parades and parades of kids pulling their wagons through the neighborhood. Everyone loves a parade, yes?

The floats are fairly interesting, but what sets parades here in New Orleans apart from anywhere else that I know of is the amount of STUFF that they throw… Going to the parades is an event. Often we gather with friends for a party before the parade, then walk to the parade route. We take coolers and food. We deck out in our Mardi Gras finery. Down in the city many families wear costumes.

Now, these parades are sponsored by the founding “krewe” – the organization that recruited members and put up the money to make the magic happen.

Not all krewes parade anymore – after an ugly, contentious time in the early 90’s, some of the older Mardi Gras krewes chose not to parade, but only have their Mardi Gras Balls. (The city passed an ordinance requiring all parading krewes to open their private memberships. This threw honest and unflattering light on the dismal state of race relations in Louisiana during the end days of the 20th Century. Look how well we're doing now...)

Also, there are only a few remaining Gay Mardi Gras Krewes (whose ranks were tragically decimated by AIDS) that have some of the most spectacular formal balls. Oh, the glitter! Oh, the sparkles! Oh, the girdles!

Have I lost you yet?

(For a wonderfully detailed history of Mardi Gras, please check out Arthur Hardy's Mardi Gras Guide.)

Throws: The scenes broadcast on the Travel Channel often feature beads showering the crowds - what you don't see are the dozens of other marvelous items that are hurles, tossed, lobbed, whatever. The list is seemingly endless - in addition to Beads (and the variety within beads is mind-blowing too - cheap plastic beads, grand ornate beads, oversized blinking beads, rubber ducky beads, body part beads, tiny glass beads, beads with krewe medallions, beads that play music or even speak, and on and on...), you may be so lucky as to catch (or have gingerly handed to you, depending on the object's heft):

Metallic medallions

Stuffed animals of every variety (Yes, PM, even Sharks!!)

Paper Crowns

Squishy skull heads

Bespangled shoes (pumps, to be more specific)

Ornate Coconuts

Panties (new, usually emblazoned with the krewe logo)

Bracelets

Garters

Moon Pies

Whistles

Glow Sticks

Fuzzy Dice

Plastic Dolls, Cigars, Spears, Cups, Frisbees, Crawfish, Alligators, Cockroaches, Hats, Dinosaurs, Swords, Skeletons, etc.

Masking: While I can think of no one who's ever been arrested for violation of this, there is a city ordinance allowing revelers to wear Masks ONLY on Mardi Gras, dawn to dusk, and no other day of the year. There is a long history of international notables coming to New Orleans to Masque, mingling with native and tourist alike in total anonymity. (Brooke Shields, post-Andre Agassi, Isabella Rossellini, Nick Cage, et al.)

There's just way too much to cover in one day, so later this week, I will tackle the Great King Cake Debate. Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

Oh, and I will post actual photos of yours truly in costume!!

Our Christmas Eve Dinner

2007-12-28T07:21:00.000-06:00

It’s our tradition – dinner between Christmas Eve church services.

What started out as a practical solution has become a feast, its own menu of legendary proportion.

Laurie and I met in October of 1991, when I joined the choir at Rayne Memorial United Methodist Church in New Orleans. She is a sensational singer, a gloriously pure soprano with a killer range, exquisite subtlety and breathtaking sensitivity. I adore listening to Laurie sing – and I get to call her my dear friend.

Our church has two Christmas Eve services, one at 5:30pm that tends to draw families and one at 11pm, quieter and more contemplative, pulling in couples young and old, divorcees and widowers, and especially those for whom the late, candlelight service is more meaningful. It makes for a long night of singing, but it is one of our favorites musically and gastronomically.

Laurie is a sensational cook – that first year, she whipped up a marvelous risotto for four of us. Over the years, we’ve had this and that, but this year was our 12th in a row with principally the same menu. Straying from it now seems like sacrilege.

First Course:

Carrot Zucchini Bisque – it may sound odd at first but oh, is it good! I found this recipe in another form in a cookbook my sister gave me when I was moving out on my own. She thought it was a book of Quick & Easy cooking, when in actuality it was a Lite Cooking guide. This Bisque recipe called for skim milk…I swapped that out for an equal amount of heavy whipping cream. Oooooh. Since it’s not nice to tease, here’s the version I use now:

1 Cup Water
6 large Carrots, peeled and diced
2 or 3 medium Zucchini, peeled and diced
2 cups Heavy Whipping Cream
2 tablespoons Flour
¼ teaspoon freshly ground Black Pepper
¼ teaspoon Cinnamon
3 chicken bouillon cubes or packets

In a medium saucepan, add water and place over high heat. Add carrots, cover saucepan and cook for 10 minutes. Add zucchini, cook for 5 minutes more. Remove saucepan from heat and drain liquid. (Save the liquid to use as a base for stock later, if you’d like.)

Puree vegetables in the same pot with an immersion blender (or hand mixer or whatever works for you. I’ve never owned a food processor.) Add the heavy cream and place over medium heat, uncovered. While stirring constantly with a wire whisk, sprinkle in the flour, black pepper and cinnamon.

Add the bouillon (I swear by the Better Than Bouillon brand – and they make a super Vegetable bouillon in case you need to make this for vegetarians) and continue to stir until it dissolves. Heat for another 5 minutes, stirring frequently so soup does not stick or burn. Serve in shallow flat bowls, garnished with a parsley sprig. 4 servings.

Second Course:

Field Greens with mini Goat Cheese cheesecakes. Oh. My. Gosh. Laurie bakes these tiny Goat Cheese and Chive cakes earlier in the day – they’re still warm on the salad plate. Yum!

Third Course:

Spaghetti Bolognese – Laurie’s mother’s recipe for the sauce, adapted to our taste with some of the incredible hot sausages we get here in Louisiana. Lots of freshly grated Parmesan and warm bread (we let Whole Foods take care of that).

Dessert:

Peppermint Ice Cream with Dove Dark Chocolate sauce. Peppermint Bark (Williams-Sonoma). Lindor Truffles. Some years we never even make it to dessert after all the previous courses.

Oh, and don’t forget – Prosecco, flowing throughout the courses. And, to get us into the proper mood for the second service, selections from the South Park Christmas CD – we can do most of the parts to the Dreidl Song, with counterpoint.

Then, we waddle our behinds back to church for the late Christmas service.

I have family around the world. I have family here in New Orleans.

And now we have our family traditions. Hope you had a great Christmas – ours was one of the best in years.

A Christmas Memory, 1975

2007-12-26T10:17:00.000-06:00

One week before Thanksgiving in November 1975, Northern New York was hit by a freak ice storm. The little hamlets of St. Lawrence County were well prepared to deal with these conditions, but this came up so quickly, there was almost no way to get the sand and salt out in time.

Temperatures plummeted, rain turned to sleet turned to freezing rain, and roads became treacherous. Luckily, all the kids were already in school, and even more fortunately, the weather changed just as quickly – warming up enough to melt the ice in time for the buses to hit the roads and return the students home.

As I did every day, I got on Bus #16 and took up my usually seat, with best buddies of mine, Barry and Greg. Then it happened: my space was invaded by not one, but two of my cousins, Squirrelly (Shirley) and Blabra (Barbara). OK, what in blue blazes were they doing on MY bus route? – they lived in the next town over, another tiny burg which funnels all its kids to the same school as our town (we’re talking small here – one K-12 school for 3 towns, and still only 720 kids total!)

It got even stranger…they got off the bus at our house. And walked in with me. And sat down at the kitchen table.

In my house.

And they didn’t know why. Nor did I.

Too weird. And soooo out of the usual patterns of my well-organized 2nd Grader’s life.

Well, in a magnanimous gesture, I hauled out some of last year’s toys for us to “share” while waiting for an adult to arrive on the scene to make some sense of all this disorderliness. I mean, there had to be some logical explanation, right?

Right.

Sadly there was. The Ice Storm.

Not long after, Mom walked in the door – with ANOTHER cousin! Squirrelly and Blabra’s little brother (or little Bother, as I liked to call him), Wesley.

OK, enough already. Would someone like to explain this to me?

And she did. Mom took me upstairs to my room, sat me down on my bed and sank down wearily next to me. Most of what I remember that followed was her asking me to be patient and understanding, that we all were going to make some adjustments and then a lot of other things that didn’t quite register…but what I did understand was this: Shirley and Barbara and Wesley would be staying with us for a while because their parents, John and Paula had been in a terrible car accident in the ice storm...John had been killed and Paula had been badly injured and the doctors wouldn’t say one way or the other if they thought she’d make it.

And now Mom had to go break this news to the kids.

I was grateful that I didn’t have to be in the room when Mom took all three of them to her lap in the big rocking chair – I peaked around the banister, just to know where not to be. It was the quietest I’d ever heard our house – usually full of the five of us kids, terrorizing each other, practicing the clarinet/piano/flute/drums/trumpet, playing records, yelling from one end to the other.

Utter quiet.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mom and Paula were about the same age and had been pregnant with me and Shirley around the same time – there was no question where the kids would go when the call came to the school that morning. Paula’s parents were too old to take that many young kids and John’s parents were too far away.

Paula was one of 8 kids, and her siblings rallied to help: it was a whirlwind of visiting relations and food and preparations for the funeral. I was given the choice of whether or not to attend the service for John’s funeral – I declined, and went to spend the day with my favorite neighbor, Marian. (She and her husband Kermit had 5 daughters and so I was her special little boy – and I LOVED it!!)

The flurry of activity continued through Thanksgiving (we served about 35 for a sit-down dinner) and then suddenly quieted down again as we headed back to school. I was now sharing my room with Wesley, and Dad was quickly finishing up the back room for Barbara and Shirley. It was now apparent that Paula was going to live, but it would mean many months of recovery in the hospital, with several surgeries to rebuild her pelvis, hip and right leg.

Now, we were a farming family. We had the space for 3 extra kids, both in the house and out in the 90 acres we all knew intimately. I never would have thought of us as poor, as we always had food to eat, a roof over our heads, beds to sleep in – all the amenities. I did not know at the time how little there was to spare, or how we would have been categorized as poor compared to many other families throughout the US.

But. Add three more kids to the mix, and it was tough. At the time, I certainly didn’t understand quite why or how it was tough. None of us ever went hungry and I don’t really comprehend how Mom and Dad did it, but I could sense their tension as Christmas raced toward us.

We went through all the usual movements – put the tree up and got it decorated, assembled the cardboard fireplace (uh-huh, you know that one I’m talking about), and for us kids, started behaving like Big Brother was just around every corner. The strain for my parents took its toll on me and my siblings, but they were so careful not to speak too harshly Wesley, Barbara or Shirley. The sisters would spend hours off on their own, talking themselves nearly into hysterics, recreating the accident despite not actually being there. It was a long, strange time.

And then. Oh, then. One evening, less than a week before Christmas, there came a loud knock on the door. Mom still hadn’t returned from her bus route and Dad was in the barn, getting ready for milking. My sister Jo Ann went to the door and peaked out – two of our favorite teachers were standing there, arms laden with, well, stuff.

Jo Ann flung the door open and almost instantly burst into tears. We all came running to see what the commotion was – these beautiful women had spread the word through the school that they were planning on doing something for our extended family for Christmas and to say the least, it snowballed. There was a massive laundry basket (how big? Later, when it was empty, we fit a 1st grader and 2 2nd graders in it!), filled to overflowing with small gifts for everyone, but more importantly, oranges and grapefruits and all kinds of food supplies and fun things and it was so unexpected and so marvelous and so kind. And there were bags and boxes and boxes and bags of more stuff and goodies and food and decorations and stuff and so much that it was almost incomprehensible.

My brother Brad raced down to the barn to get Dad – of course, the teachers tried to duck out before he got to the house, but my sisters wouldn’t let them out the door. Both my sisters were talking to the teachers at a mile a minute, how cool this was, who’s idea had it been, how long had it taken to pull it all together – with my sisters, the devil’s in the details.

Dad arrived – flustered that he’d been pulled away from his work and sputtering that Brad hadn’t told him what the crisis was. He walked into the kitchen to see this mound of generosity – and all the steam went out of him. Not often a physically affectionate man, he flew across the room, grabbed the teachers into a bone crushing hug, held them at arms length, muttered some thanks, and then dashed back out the door, still muttering something about needing to get back to the barn and ordering my brothers to stay in the house to guard all the stuff so the “kids don’t wreck it before your mother gets home.”

Mom. I wish our teachers had been able to stay - they had families of their own to get home to - because Mom’s reaction was what you’d expect, to the third or fourth power. Tears, squeals, disbelief, blustering, hugging, shaking her head, speechlessness. And then she settled into a good solid cry, just to get it all out. I think that was the night that I first understood the difference between good cries and ugly cries. And, then Mom realized that not one of us kids (and oh, had this been tough) had touched a single thing in any one of the boxes or bags or the laundry basket – and the crying started all over again.

Over the Christmas break, Mom had all of us sit down and make some really cool thank you cards – we drew pictures of all the different stuff and things and goodies and wrote corny things and signed it “Love, …” and it was all so wonderful.

Christmas Day was another kind of dog and pony show, with all of our clan and all of Paula and John’s kin from both sides going so far out of their way to make it not just a happy day, but a Good Day. A really Good Day for everyone.

It was April of the following year that Paula was finally released from the hospital and returned home – the kids left our home a few days later. The transition back into our routine was much quicker than we expected, but it was time for spring plantings and there was so much to do.

Shirley and I have been very close since then, and whenever we speak of this time, it is with great warmth and affection – and Shirley cannot speak of my mother without getting misty eyed. Every four or five years, when Mom and Shirley actually meet up again face to face – the tears flow and the stories come out again and all the same love is there.

It was a terrible time in which some really extraordinary people made the best of the situation, shared a lot of themselves and loved unconditionally. When I falter and lose some of the beauty of Christmas, I revisit this time and place and it all comes back to me again.

Merry Christmas – and Peace to Y’all.

December in New Orleans...

2007-12-12T07:46:00.001-06:00

Looks like this...

And this...

And this too...

It was 47 degrees last week, and 83 this week.

Caroling in T-shirts & shorts.

Running the A/C while you trim the tree.

And Flowers that bloom all damn year.

Oh, and no hurricanes came our way.

Thanks for all the good thoughts this year.

Peace.

Fear No Book

2007-12-06T12:13:00.000-06:00

OK, so that's not really the correct admonition here, because as we all know there are a lot of really bad books out there. It seems publishers will publish, well, anything.

Here it is: with all the controversy surrounding the release of the movie The Golden Compass this weekend - the claims that it is atheist or anti-Catholic Church - I knew I had to post. (And the guilt from not jumping on Allison's Reading Bandwagon at Soccer Mom was crushing me.)

The Golden Compass, the first part of the Philip Pullman trilogy His Dark Materials, is a stunningly beautiful book. Marketed originally as Young Adult fiction, this was never intended for an audience of 7 or 8 year olds. The themes are increasingly mature through the progression of the books - and yes, it's a thrilling fantasy whose central character is a 10 year old girl - but every not-yet-adult whom I've talked to who'd read the book(s) was thrilled by the story. AND they knew it was FICTION!! And none of them suddenly "became atheists".

Errrgghhh.

How many of these "protests" do we have to suffer, theses dire warnings to The Unwashed Masses about movies or books that are destroying The Fabric Of Society? Did the Catholic Church really fall after the release of The Da Vinci Code? (I will say, the book and movie both worked wonders on curing my insomnia.)

Were millions of little boys shaped into chauvinist pigs after bedtime readings of The Giving Tree? (Remember that one? The Great State of California banned this sweet, touching Shel Silverstein book as sexist and demeaning to women - the Tree is feminine and Gives and Gives and Gives and the Boy Takes and Takes and Takes and NEVER Gives. I still don't know any Little Misogynists who can trace their origins to this book.) Double Errrrggggghhhh...

BUT, the creepy book Love You Forever is OK? I know I will likely catch Hell from some/many moms on that one, but She climbs in her adult son's bedroom window to rock him in his sleep. Does no one else have a problem with this??

OK, refocus: The Golden Compass.

People, lighten up. It's a book. It's a movie. Kids of this millennium actually get the difference between what they read or see on the screen and Real Life - at least the ones I know do - especially the ones whose parents actually converse with their kids about said difference. Despite the authors "intent".

What is odd about these books is that despite Pullman's publicly declaimed atheism and his "greatest difficulty in understanding what is meant by the words 'spiritual' or 'spirituality'", you come away with this wonderful, heartbreaking sense of deep spirituality - that there is good and there is grace and there is love and beauty and trust and honor and life and joy.

I had the great fortune of reading and falling in love with The Golden Compass when I was managing a wonderful children's book store on Magazine Street in Uptown New Orleans. Later, a galley proof of the second book, The Subtle Knife arrived - and I got to review it for several national trade publications before it was released. (Random House actually blurbed my review when the book went to paperback!!) All three books are beautiful - and thought-provoking - and heartbreaking - and sad and lovely and earnest and joyful and brave -

And should not be feared.

If I see one more comment or email from someone who's only skimmed a synopsis of the movie, I think I'll scream.

Jump in - Read. Enjoy.

Read in Joy.

I bet you get hooked on them too.

(And then let me know what you think of the movie!! Can't wait to see it - I bet I won't skip church on Sunday after seeing it, despite all its subversiveness...)

Palace Pride

2007-12-06T08:51:00.000-06:00

For Dreams of Flying

2007-10-23T11:54:00.000-05:00

We Are Not Katrina, part I

2007-10-17T08:36:00.000-05:00

It's still on the news here every single day.

Correction.

It is the news here.

I counted yesterday, and during the local evening broadcast, the name Katrina was uttered 27 times in half an hour.

Head to Phoenix or Portland or Poughkeepsie or Portsmouth or Provincetown or Palm Beach or Pittsburgh or PEI and it'll be days, weeks before there's a singe reference.

I look out my office window on the 23rd floor and cannot count all the roofs still swaddled in their blue tarp bandages.

It's not the roofs' faults. They'd really rather not be blue.

I can go entire days without thinking about The Disaster of Republican Proportion. That is, if I don't turn on the radio, watch TV, read my own blog, write my own blog, talk to anyone whom I haven't seen since The Event, read a newspaper, surf the internet, or just look around me. Or get out of bed.

I can do it.

And. Oh. It. Feels. Great.

But.

There is still so much to do. So many stories to tell. So many things to fix and wrongs to right. I actually feel guilty - well, I feel guilty for not having suffered as much as my friends anyway - but I especially feel guilty when I have a whole day in which I didn't get disgusted by the politicians lining their pockets with recovery dollars...

...in which I didn't mourn the loss of another friend who's taking flight from this city...

...in which I didn't yell at the TV as the oh-so-sincere-yet-overly-rehearsed-reporter yet again refers to something as the First/Biggest/100th/Worst/Most Expensive since You-Know-What.

It's not that I shrink from the word Katrina or that hearing it gives me ulcers.

We've just said it too much. And it's fighting to take over our collective identity.

I don't think so.

And if there's one thing that the people of New Orleans and the whole Gulf South are not, it's this:

We are not Katrina.

Sometimes, we cannot look directly at it all. Some days, we cannot look away.

Yes, we will tell the stories and live with the aftermath for the rest of our lives. We will have strong emotions tied to this part of our lives and stuggle to make sense of our random, passionate reactions to stupid, insensitive questions.

But here's the rub. Get to know us again.

I dare you.

Find out what the Real Deal in New Olreans really is.

I double dog dare you.

Paper Trail

2007-10-16T10:42:00.000-05:00

I wrote this more than a year ago for a first anniversary. So much has happened since then, and we aren't the same people. There are things here I will never express again. I found this last week in my files and thought it needed to travel.)

Isn’t it funny? The two of us, men of the new millennium, so dependent on our technological crutches, the cell phones, the computers, ATMs everywhere…so quick to dash off an email or a text message…

But that’s all on the outside, isn’t it? It’s not so hard to look closer and see what paper dinosaurs we truly are…and it’s been that way from the start. You tried to send me a text (which I was ill-equipped to receive at the time, oh, the horror!) so we had to resort to scribbling out pieces of our lives on white squares of paper…how last century is that?

Paper, it seems, has made itself a central feature of our life together. It was there in the menus and wine list at that lovely dinner; it was the concert tickets—and in an exuberant seizure of creativity, it became your home-made birthday card last year.

Next, paper came to me as twelve little penguins…then like notes in class, a card here and there expressing some simply beautiful thoughts…and yet again, as plane tickets and breathtaking photos, proof of the best vacation ever…so much paper.

Too soon, we were drowning in paperwork—FEMA applications and change of address forms, shopping lists and envelopes stuffed with receipts from a faraway land that wasn’t home, the pages of books we read to distract ourselves from our days and newspapers we used to kindle the fires that warmed our nights.

Paper can be so beautiful, the shape of a lovingly wrapped Christmas gift…so hopeful, as a fistful of lottery tickets…so contradictory, both the bills we receive and the checks we pay with…so familiar in daily choices of paper and plastic, cash or credit…and so utterly indispensable if you intend to blow your nose, clean a kitchen or powder your behind.

It’s there when you need to play, the airplane waiting to be folded…the joint waiting to be rolled…paper-dolls hiding, just a few cuts away…crossword puzzles and putt-putt scorecards and pretty flowers bursting forth from simple colored squares to decorate a gift for your love...and the one and only thing that ever beats Rock…

It’s both the Kite and the Tail…neither one’s all that good at flying without the other…they just keep going in circles before crashing to the ground…

Paper cuts, too…unexpected test results that change your life…subpoenas and last wills…but more, it binds this life together in the oddest ways…it’s the family trees and the flypaper…seed packets and history books…diplomas and death certificates…traffic tickets and ticker tape parades…it wraps the fish and lines the bird cage.

Paper is maps and calendars and blueprints and music scores and constitutions and price tags and licenses and insulation for freezing feet and the far-off smell of our youth, trapped in a freshly printed mimeograph or an ice cream sandwich wrapper.

And of course, it’s always there when you need to create. White…a blank page or canvas…his favorite…so many possibilities.

I guess it’s no wonder, really, that the traditional gift for the first anniversary is Paper. If you can survive of year of your own and each other’s paper, you can probably handle a whole lot more after that. Seems like good enough reason as any…

I can’t seem to get out of the habit myself, now that I’ve given you the photo book and the quote book and what seems like hundreds of cards and notes and such.

There is something, however, that I need you to know:

During various states of insobriety, I’ve asked you something that I won’t ever ask you again. I love you, and it doesn’t matter what pieces of paper come and go through our lives—paper doesn’t change anything or anyone. And I certainly don’t need that piece of paper (or anything else, for that matter) to let me know how much you love me or what we mean to each other.

For somebody who likes to say how simple something is, I’ve made it a hell of a lot more complicated for far too long.

No more.

A Monday Mimosa

2007-10-15T08:36:00.000-05:00

OK, so it's not a cocktail with champagne and orange juice.

It is, however, one of my favorite blooming plants in the South, the Mimosa Tree.

Come to think of it, a Mimosa sounds really good right now.

Probably not the best idea while at work...

I Live for These Moments

2007-10-12T07:24:00.000-05:00

It's Friday - there's no reason I should be this alert, this early in the day, but it's ten past 5 in the morning and I am out watering the jungle that is my front porch.

It's cool. And dry. The first true, nearly-autumnal morning. You can smell in on the air.

And as I step forward to water the primroses in my windowbox, I look up.

Oh.

The sky hasn't been this clear since April. Sparkling out against the endless dark is Venus, the brilliant point of a triangle with Saturn and Regulus (I had to look those two up).

And then I remember it. The words haven't come this easily in numberless months, with so many other things muddying my mind. And for that brief shimmering moment, there is nothing else in the world.

No War. No AIDS. No politics. No agendas. No blue roofs. No lost friends.

Just a moment.

I remember these words:

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

Opening Lines to She Walks in Beauty

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

What Are You Looking At?

2007-09-24T18:38:00.001-05:00

My friends.

I want to know how they manage to do everything they do.

I can barely keep it together enough to post a couple times a week (if I'm lucky), and yet they juggle family, work and 2 two freakin' blogs.

And still, the let me play with them. In case you haven't figured it out, I am referring to those incredibly cute and talented folk, Jenn in Holland and the frustrated woman in a gay man's body - I mean, Soccer Mom in Denial. (Oops.)

And their relatively new venture, Looking Into. If you haven't Looked Into it yet, I am shocked. The people are fabulous artists, doing their parts for making the world a little more beautiful, one photograph at a time. And the fact that let me hang with them is just so damn cool.

Curious, now? You should be.

Today they are posting one of my favorite pics from my neighborhood in NOLA - thank you, my friends.

And to all my new friends, check out all the breathtaking photos they've put up - and spend some time Looking Into.

And really, really Look. Take a deep breath, relax, and enjoy the moment.

You'll be glad you did.

Dear Applicant

2007-09-24T09:38:00.000-05:00

(Even though I posted this a little over 2 months ago, I couldn't resist re-posting in order to play today in the Monday Mission, hosted today Painted Maypole! Hope you enjoy - your Ambassador.)

Dear Applicant,

Disappointing as this may be to you, I feel confident that your extraordinary skills and assets will not long go untapped. Especially of interest to us was your ability to communicate telepathically with animals - namely the leopards at the Zoo. While this is a skill few job candidates possess, it would tragically be wasted in our small, feline-less office.

Likewise, count yourself among the standouts for your bold choices for font, format and background. There remains some debate in our office as to what body part was featured in the lower right corner of your background mosaic. You did not list photography among your plethora of skills or hobbies - would it be too much to ask you to clear up this mystery for us?

I would be remiss if I did not applaud your cover letter, not only for its length and audacity, but for the most compellingly inappropriate use of the word "diacritical" we've seen in years. It is the rare occasion these days to see one unintentionally blur the line between self-promotion and sad farce so deftly. Huzzah!

I feel it is my duty to recommend to you to place somewhat tighter privacy restrictions on your MySpace page. While photos chronicling the antics of you and your associates make for entertaining divertissments, perhaps a firmer hand in editing would serve you well in the future.

Also, consider casting a keener eye toward your page's overall content and tenor, lest a potential employer glean information which could ever prevent you from becoming that ignominious office drone with whom we all thrill to work.

A note of caution: it is decidedly poor form to post to your blog about applying to a "bogus" company for some "f***ing wack" job. Some grown-ups know how to turn on their computers and track your sorry ass down.

Respectfully yours,
The Ambassador

Old Friends (Aquarium Style)

2007-09-20T08:24:00.000-05:00

I miss working at the Aquarium.

Correction.

I miss the work I got to do at the Aquarium and

the animals I worked with.

(The people? Not so much...)

So, here are a few of my favorites:

Yellow Sea Urchin

Golden Dart Frog

Sea Anemone

Leafy Sea Dragon

(Yes, these are all my own photos! Canon PowerShot)

Goin' Out Walkin'...

2007-09-13T15:29:00.000-05:00

We all do what we can.

Every morning that I can still get up and go to work is a great day.

Sunday, I will get out of bed, get dressed and then join several thousand of my nearest and dearest friends (sadly, SMID won't be there) for the 2007 NO/AIDS WALK.

This event, held yearly since 1990 with the exception of 2005 (for some strange reason), raises money for HIV/AIDS organizations, services and education in Louisiana. So, if you are in New Orleans Sunday morning and are looking for something to do - come join us. You don't even need to register or raise money - just Walk with us. Strength in numbers sort of stuff. Increased visibility is just that.

And despite what this and other previous administrations would like to think, the AIDS epidemic is not over, nor is going away any time soon.

Lucky for us, there's a "cold" front expected to move through this weekend after the remnants of Hurricane Humberto blow through. It'll be almost 90 degrees, but it'll be much less humid. Still reprehensible by the standards of my Yankee past, but less humid.

Our merry little band has already raised over $1600 as a team and the last minute arm twisting is about to start. If you can and are so inclined, you can sponsor us/me at my personal page for the Walk. If you'd like to join us for a 5K stroll, leave a note in my comments.

Any good thoughts and energy you can send out are greatly appreciated too. I am one of the fortunate ones - 16 years+ after diagnosis, I am still going strong.

And so I Walk.

Last year's WALK Team - Motley looking bunch, eh?

Monday Morning Glory

2007-09-10T08:57:00.000-05:00

Color...

...and Light...

...and Harmony.

A Few Hours, A Couple Years Ago

2007-08-29T23:18:00.001-05:00

August 29, 2005. We were awake early, watching the news.

Until the power went out. That was 6:32AM.

We would live our lives from sunrise to sunset for the next 8 days.

Monday was spent restlessly trying to nap or
read or in attempts at banal conversation.

The winds blew ceaselessly
- imagine the wax-paper-on-a-comb noise,
extrapolated to door-size shutters.

We dubbed the cacaphony "Satan's Harmonica."

After the worst of the storm had passed us,
we ventured outside to survey the devastation.

What we saw was bad - tree carnage,
mostly,and bits of the copper roof of
the Old US Mint strewn over ten blocks.

All the beautiful Magnolias in the St. Louis Cathedral
garden had succumbed to the force of the wind
- but in the midst of the wreckage,
the Mardi Gras Jesus still stood, unharmed.

(Forgive the sacrilege, please. The statue is of Jesus
with his arms raised up in the classic
"Throw Me Somthin', Mister!" pose.)

This was still hours before the levees gave way.

We had only sporadic radio reception,
but were inundated with rumors of the ugliest stripe.

We did not yet know the worst of it all.

And it was three days later before we finally left New Orleans.

My Lessons in Gratitude

2007-08-27T19:23:00.000-05:00

I want to say thanks.

It’ll never be enough, but I need to say it anyway.

Thank you to every single person in my life who reached out in the hours and days and months (and now years) since Katrina. Thank you,too, to all those folks who’s names I don’t, and will never, know.

Thank you to the lovely Red Cross mental health professional (with the Dickensian name of Mary Cope) who made a point to come and speak discreetly to our small band of evacuees - to ensure that we had access to specific services for our needs and to let us know that we were among family (wink).

Thank you to Jessica, the ever-vigilant front desk manager at the Residence Inn in Nashville - our home away from home for nearly 4 months. After the first week, Jessica would call up to our room to let us know when the important pieces of mail had arrived - and became our den mother, making sure we were eating enough and sleeping through the night. I still think she knew we often lied on both accounts. (To make her Sunday morning shifts a little more bearable, we’d slip down to the office with a homemade Irish Coffee for her...)

To Bobbi, my dear friend of 20 years now, I can never express my thanks and appreciation for taking over as my press agent in the days immediately following the storm. Until we reached Nashville, we had limited communication with the outside world - landlines (including pay phones!) in the French Quarter are insulated underground and continued to work, even after the levees gave way. I would call Mom and Bobbi, and between the two, they’d piece together what they perceived was the real story. Bobbi then took the initiative to email to all my friends and family what she thought was appropriate to share. (I’d sent a mass email the eve of the storm to nearly all my address book...I got so many comments later that it was Bobbi’s emails that helped them get through those first 10 days.) Thank you.

Allison. I know she’ll probably say this is not deserving of thanks, but she’s wrong and too modest. Very early on, it was my conversations with her that actually helped me begin the grieving process sooner and faster than I otherwise might have. She asked me the tough questions that only a close friend has right to...and allowed me think about them and answer in my own time. With her help, I began to face the reality of my immediate future and make plans for life if, in fact, I could not return to New Orleans. And. Oh, this is a big And. Allison kept after me in her not-entirely-subtle way to rejoin the blogdom...challenging me to tell the untold stories, in a from-the-trenches point of view. How do I ever begin to thank you? I love you.

Mom. Without ever meeting Mark or John, Mom offered to fly us all out to Washington (state), to give us a safe place and a quiet space in which to pull it all back together. Even though we didn’t/couldn’t take her up on the offer, it was beautiful in its timing and simplicity. Thank you. (Mom never asked the hard questions, but confessed to Bobbi that she was worried that I’d seen things that had changed me for good. I hadand they did...but I love that she could express that care and concern.)

I am so grateful for the amazing friend I made during my exile to Nashville - Shellie. Through a series of unlikely (but incredibly fortuitous) events, I landed a sweet job working for Shellie at the Nashville Zoo - doing almost exactly the same kind of job I'd had in New Orleans. Not only do Shellie and I share very similar work ethics and notions of what quality education is - but we got each other. I had not made a new great friend like that in some time - and as a boss, she let me use my time there to grow and recharge and use all my gifts - and in turn, I helped the Zoo sparkle. Thank you, my new friend!

Mark. I don’t write much about Mark here, but I must thank him. The phrase he uttered to me, the words he knew would help me through time and time again...from the moment we realized the city was filling with water, to the now-or-never trip over the Mississippi River out of the city with John and me riding in the bed of Mark's truck to guard our worldly possessions (yes, that's me wielding the Henkels), to our long cold nights in Nashville, so very far from home. We'll get through this together. We did and we have. And now this life is in a new chapter. We didn't get through the way we thought we would, but we got through anyhow. So, thank you...

I was about to write that I could go on thanking people forever - the choir director at the small Methodist Church who let me sit in on rehearsals for a month or so despite not having the time to actually sing with them on Sundays...Andrew & Elwyn, my boys in Britain, who kept my spirits up and offered me refuge on their distant shore...Tamara, my first fiancee (we were Ambrose and Ermengard in Hello, Dolly! oh, so many moons ago) who shared my gut-wrenching emails with friends and coworker who in turn reached out to a stranger...Amy, who did her damnedest to keep all of us now-former Audubon staff in touch...Dean in Houston who listened, really listened, and helped me fathom it all...

But no. I cannot write it all down yet. Someday.

For now, I can only hope that these wonderful people know how much it all means to me - that I do thank them - and that not a day goes by that I don't try to repay all that kindness in the way I live my life.

There's really nothing left to say.

Except.

Thank you.

K+2

2007-08-26T10:53:00.000-05:00

The anniversary retrospectives have begun again, essentially unavoidable this week. I gotta tell you, it’s exhausting.

I was scanning Saturday’s New Orleans Times-Picayune, when I spotted the shorthand expression that is my post title today. And you know what? It really disturbs me...

K+2.

Two years since Hurricane Katrina made landfall and the levees broke, flooding 80% of New Orleans. Two years since so much of the Gulf South was devastated.

It is impossible to express some things in any terms other than “post-Katrina” - population centers, insurance rates, property values, etc.

But everything? I think what disturbs me most is this dangerous new identity. In years past, we hated how New Orleans was known to too many folks only for Bourbon Street, Girls Gone Wild and Mardi Gras. Anyone who’s ever visited this city for more than a day understands implicitly that it’s so much more than that.

And now? New Orleans has been shoehorned into this newer identity of ultimate victimhood. “How does it make you feel that the government is dragging its feet with recovery funding?” Umm, how do you think we feel? “Do you think the high murder rate will adversely affect the flow of tourists to New Orleans?” Do you really need me to answer that?

Oh...and please don’t ask if things are getting back to normal, because they never were to begin with.

Yes, as a city in recovery (sounds a bit like AA, eh?), we are not where we expected to be two years after this disaster of Republican proportions. Entire neighborhoods still lie in ruins. Our mental health services are non-existent. The levees still aren’t strong enough to hold back a surge of similar power. And, yes...the people here are getting more brittle and less likely to keep up the brave face.

But.

There’s so much good happening here that will continue to go unreported by the media giants. So, I guess you’ll have to look for it here.

Not only has our church rebuilt its roof and sanctuary, we are less than six months away from opening a free medical clinic in a neighborhood where such services don’t exist.

How does a creative city respond to trauma of this nature? With laughter and tears and great parties. Jazz Fest saw record number in attendance and the local theatre community is burgeoning with new shows - not all of which are acts of catharsis. (To misquote Stephen King, gallows humor is only funny when its your neck.) The Louisiana Philharmonic and New Orleans Opera Company are playing to standing room only crowds.

Oh, and the predicted conflict and strife that city leaders anticipated in “accommodating” the influx of Latin American workers (and their families - many of whom are choosing to stay here and settle down) never materialized.

It’s not perfect. It never was before. Stop comparing years and dates and what’s back and what isn’t. We’re here and we’re working as much and as hard as we can, and some days, it really really hurts. I mean bad.

But. That’s only some days. Most days, just like anywhere else in the rest of the world, we wake up, we work, we love, we eat, we fight, we talk, we worry, we build, we wonder, we teach, we grow, we die, we hope, we leave, we blog, we pray, we put our heads back down on our pillows and drift off to sleep...only to wake up and do it all over again.

Just like everyone else.

Everyone else who isn’t measuring everything in terms of when their world came to an end.

And yet, somehow the world kept turning. And it's still turning. And so tomorrow, we will wake up and start all over again.

Again.

A Picture's Worth...

2007-08-22T17:58:00.000-05:00

I love my immensely creative friends. Not only are they clever and witty, cute and fun--they're also REALLY good photographers. And now they have a new place to play, er, show their stuff.

Soccer Mom in Denial and Jenn in Holland are way cool. And I'm not just saying that because they're letting me place with them tomorrow. I wanna be like them when I grow up...just without the kids.

No offense to all the moms and dads out there. Or any of the kids. (Declan, why are you reading over mommy's shoulder?!?)

That said, please go check out my fabulous friends at Looking Into. I think you'll dig it.

The Things You Don't Hear

2007-07-31T20:55:00.000-05:00

Sure, FEMA puts victims of Katrina and Rita into trailers that are patently unsafe (high levels of formaldehyde, etc). Glamorous stuff like that always makes the evening news.

The LRA announces that it'll run out of money long before all the 136,000 applicants receive a penny. (Estimates say that somewhere around recipient 84,000 the well will run dry.) You can bet the natives are blogging about that - as well they should.

Blighted, neglected homes are collapsing under their own weight and sadness. Could you stage a better photo op?

It's all so much more than that.

I'll be willing to bet real money than no one's told you about the more than 10,000 college students (and that's just the ones that registered with agencies) who gave up their 2007 Spring Breaks to come to the Gulf South and help with home-gutting and rebuilding.

That doesn't include the hundreds and hundreds of other college students who came here under the aegis of their churches, sleeping on Youth Room floors and physically changing the landscape so much for the better.

How come Anderson Cooper isn't all over that story? Young people, out in the world...doing good for no other reward than the joy of helping their fellow human.

Oh, kids these days...

For the Love of Crying

2007-07-22T22:07:00.000-05:00

Saturday, we attended the funeral for Gordon Maginnis, New Orleans icon and bon vivant. The pre-service reception at St. Anna's Episcopal Church (yes, you read that correctly - pre - ) was exactly as he had wished...free-flowing mimosas and yummy nosh (just enough to hold everyone over until after the interment).

Gordon was 78 and suffering a host of illnesses, including congestive heart failure. Ever the champion of Quality of Life, he chose not to torture his body with drugs and tube and needles and such only to gain a few more weeks in misery. Gordon returned to his elegant home, gradually withdrew from most of his social circles and last Monday night, went quietly in his sleep.

The funeral service was spot-on. Personal and witty, dignified and illuminating, it was everything we each needed to hear about Gordon's life and his hereafter. I was fine through the most of the service until just before communion when the soloist sang "It is Well with My Soul."

I lost it.

The force of so many associations to that song, the years of singing it at funerals, the trove of so very many memories of Gordon. The soloist was...extraordinary. I wept, unashamed, for Gordon...for myself...for all we've lost. And it felt really good, honest and true to cry like that.

We spent some quality time in the hours after the funeral, telling all the tales we could bear to tell. I first met Gordon at Good Friends Piano Bar - during my first years attending their Sunday Sing-a-long. I'd been belting out Gershwin, Berlin and Porter tunes - including some of the more obscure lyrics cut during out-of-town tryouts and mostly relegated to liner notes.

Gordon sidled up to me, his Grey Goose in hand, and asked, "Tell me. How does a young man like you come to know all these old songs?" Thinking I was much cleverer than my 25 years, I quipped, "Must have been raised right!"

Mustering a withering glance, Gordon turned to me and drolled, "My dear, no one who knows those songs would ever claim they were raised right."

Most of the stories we passed around were not bawdy, but certainly racier than mine. A favorite tale centered around Gordon's vague animosity toward the young Tennessee Williams - and of the night they both wore their identical floor length fur coats (in New Orleans of all places!) to the same party. In the tradition of literary farce, each went home with the wrong coat - speculation still abounds that Gordon pulled the switch intentionally to piss off Williams, not realizing until ages later that there were personal letters and notes and outlines in the breast pocket. It's been suggested that the papers are still in Gordon's home

___________________________________________________

Sunday, we rededicated the newly restored sanctuary at Rayne Methodist Church. Such a long time coming, and still the A/C did not function to the necessary levels. Our early service (8:45AM) was sparsely attended (just under 100), but the 11 o'clock service was Standing Room Only...and very warm. The music was glorious - we performed 2 of our favorites, Randall Thompson's Alleluia and Johannes Brahms' How Lovely is Thy Dwelling Place. Mmmm...

For an emotionally charged day, I did quite well...until second service. The choir processed during the singing of the opening verses of Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee and all was well with the world...except I hadn't counted on some old friends to drive all the way in from Hell, sorry, Tyler, TX. Bob and Linda have a long history with our church - she was our secretary for years, and Bob was interim Associate Pastor basically whenever we needed him to fill the gaps.

I can't begin to comprehend their life in Tyler - Bob and Linda are two of the most liberal, forward thinking people I know (and I know SMID!!) and apparently, they are 2 of only 5 Democrats in town. Bob has long been working within the Methodist Church, furthering the recognition and celebration of same sex unions. And they both sang with the choir...and were universally adored by everyone. The sort of kind people I want to be when I grow up.

It hadn't occured to me just how much I missed them.

I refocused on the service and made the choice not to look back at them until it was all over. After the benediction, I beat a hasty retreat up to the choir room and then bounded back down the stairs three at a time.

Gone.

Oh.

I searched every inch of the building I could think to look and had resigned myself to having missed a moment to catch up with them. Then...the door to the pre-school wing opened and they walked back through - determined to see as much of the remodel as their time would allow. I exchanged quick hugs and greetings with Linda while I waited until Bob finished his conversation and he turned around to speak to me...I don't remember everything we said, but we hugged and cried and laughed and cried and didn't really know the reason why we were crying and didn't care all the same. Happy and sad and joyful and tearful all at once.

I cry for friends who are gone. I cry for the friends who have come back.

I've never been stingy with my feelings, good or bad. What a way to honor those we love but to cry with them and for them.

And now I've got myself all misty eyed again.

Dear Applicant,

2007-07-18T22:53:00.000-05:00

Thank you for submitting your resume and cover letter for consideration for the Administrative Assistant position recently posted on Monster.com. We are currently in the early stages of our hiring process, and while we found your resume properly titled and your cover letter virtually free of misspellings, at this time I regret to inform you that we will not be inviting you to interview with us.

Disappointing as this may be to you, I feel confident that your extraordinary skills and assets will not long go untapped. Especially of interest to us was your ability to communicate telepathically with animals - namely the leopards at the Zoo. While this is a skill few job candidates possess, it would tragically be wasted in our small, feline-less office.

Likewise, count yourself among the standouts for your bold choices for font, format and background. There remains some debate in our office as to what body part was featured in the lower right corner of your background mosaic. You did not list photography among your plethora of skills or hobbies - would it be too much to ask you to clear up this mystery for us?

I would be remiss if I did not applaud your cover letter, not only for its length and audacity, but for the most compellingly inappropriate use of the word "diacritical" we've seen in years. It is the rare occasion these days to see one unintentionally blur the line between self-promotion and sad farce so deftly. Huzzah!

I feel it is my duty to recommend to you to place somewhat tighter privacy restrictions on your MySpace page. While photos chronicling the antics of you and your associates make for entertaining divertissments, perhaps a firmer hand in editing would serve you well in the future. Also, consider casting a keener eye toward your page's overall content and tenor, lest a potential employer glean information which could ever prevent you from becoming that ignominious office drone with whom we all thrill to work.

A note of caution: it is decidedly poor form to post to your blog about applying to a "bogus" company for some "f***ing wack" job. Some grown-ups know how to turn on their computers and track your sorry ass down.

Respectfully yours,

The Ambassador

So Much To Tell

2007-07-18T07:38:00.000-05:00

Like all of you, there are a million posts running around inside my head, all struggling to get out at the same time. Recently, there just hasn't been the time to sit and sift through it all to post regularly - and thank you all for the prods to make the most of my new home internet connection, but the truth is this (to quote the pre-Simpsons Matt Groenig):

Work is Hell.

How and why are not the topics of discussion today. Let's just say I've let my work suck the blessed life right out of me. By the time I get home at night, the inclination to do anything other than read all y'all's posts does not exist.

Now for some Good News: the other thing taking up so much of my time is church. We are preparing a butt-load of really sensational music for this Sunday's services - no sleeping in for your Ambassador this weekend, as I will have to be at church, warmed up to sing by 8 - freakin' - AM.

Ya see, after 99 weeks, Rayne Memorial United Methodist Church (on the lovely, historic St. Charles Avenue) is coming home. We will be physically processing out of our large Fellowship Hall where we've been worshiping for all this post-K time...and entering our newly restored sanctuary. For those of you unfamiliar with this tale, Katrina's wind blew our gorgeous steeple off and through our sanctuary roof. Many pews were destroyed, the floors and altar badly damaged and the stunning and priceless Aeolian-Skinner Organ suffered substantial wounds.

The miracle in that day was that despite the destruction within and without the church, the 8 three-story, late 1800's stained glass windows were utterly untouched. They don't even make the glass the same way anymore to replace them.

So, this Sunday, we will re-enter our sanctuary as a family. Not the kind of family that we were before the storm, but a tighter, more involved family. You cannot come through tragedy such as this unchanged. And none of us are fooling ourselves that the work is done and we'll all go back to the way things were before Hurricane Katrina. Understand this: there is no going back. Only forward. (Or, perhaps, in the hardest cases to bear, away.)

Yes, the work is not done, but it is clearly time to go home...The organ has not been fully restored, nor the choir loft that is cradled by those gorgeous pipes. Key to our re-entry is the successful installation and testing of the air conditioning system. It works!! Tested in the midst of the hideous heat and humidity that plagues us in summer here, it works!

So, if you happen to be in New Orleans this weekend, please feel free to drop on by - we have 2 services, 8:45 and 11:00AM, both with full choir and such. All are welcome!

Pink Snow & Giant Chrysanthemums

2007-07-14T11:45:00.000-05:00

I spent some quality time walking in the rain on the 4th. It was lovely.

The skies clouded over late that morning, and it rained steadily for almost six hours - sometimes torrentially, but mostly in a quiet, regular drizzle. It soaked the ground, cleared some amount of the dust and pollen out of the air and did a great job of keeping the day much cooler than recent July 4ths.

The walking-in-the-rain came as a result of needing to do way too many loads of laundry. Still, the walks were lovely.

One of my favorite parts of summer rainstorms in New Orleans comes during the just-after time...pink snow on the streets and sidewalks and cars and rooftops. Pale pinks and fuschias and pinks so deep they're really purple. It's the gentle pink snow of the seemingly ever-blooming Crape Myrtles. (Of course, for car owners, the tiny colorful blooms from these prolific flowering trees can be more than just ornamental - they can be downright detrimental to a paint job if left on a car in the ensuing, post-shower bright sun.)

Lucky for us, the sun was denied the chance to come out for the rest of the day. The clouds parted just after the sun finished setting, making for a comfortable evening for fireworks.

About three-quarters of the way through the display up on the Mississippi River, the barges each shot up aerial shells that exploded white-gold, far bigger than any of the previous ones - with comet trails reaching almost back to the water. I've always been most fond of those shells. Tonight, for the first time in many years, the image of those explosions took me way back...

Mommy, that one looks like a giant Chrysanthemum!

That's right! But, sweetie...how do you know that word?

Oh, I think it's in one of Daddy's books in the kitchen. It's that flower with lots and lots of white petals called a Chrysanthemum, right?

Yes, that's right...(Mom shook her head, a bit stupefied.)

I was only 4 1/2 years old at the time. I could always be found with my nose in a book, even if I couldn't read it.

It didn't occur to me until many years later that everyone didn't read all the time, just for the hell of it. I consider myself fortunate to come from a family of readers - as the youngest of 5 kids, I saw my siblings reading all the time for school. Dad devoured Zane Grey novels while Mom's penchant was for biographies. National Geographic played a huge part in my upbringing, not in just the subscriptions of their signature periodical and World, we owned seemingly every hardback NG book known to humankind in the later 70's. Chrysanthemums...

While I still love to read very much, there never seems to be enough time. Any suggestions for some good summer reading - after I consume the last Harry Potter book next weekend? What are y'all reading?

About as Random as It Gets...

2007-07-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

OK, despite now having internet service at home (finally), life seems to have had other designs on my time than blogging, reading all y'all's (that is the correct plural form, after all) blogs and commenting thusly. So, to get back in the game (and in the habit), I've decided to play along with the blessedly non-tag form of "8 Random Facts About You". Those of you who really know me will understand I am one of my favorite subjects anyway!!

So, via just about everyone that I read these days - Random Stuff about your Ambassador.

The Rules:

Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.

Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.

Players should tag eight other people and notify them that they have been tagged. (I will not tag you for this - if you read this and want to play along, go for it - just let me know so I can post a link to your fabulocity!)

1. I am a Master Procrastinator. I have this absurd internal clock/calendar that allows me to sense the last possible moment to start a project, return a call/email, pay a bill, etc. That's not to say that I am always behind on things - quite to the contrary. The OCD Yankee in me (the last vestiges of the Northerner left in me after 16 years below sea level in the Crescent City) refuses to be late for meetings, hates the idea of having to pay any kind of late fee, and cringes at the thought of my own lapsing social graces. This is all a matter of timing.

2. Dovetailing on #1, I am oddly intolerant of other people's shortcomings. For example: I think less of someone if they are chronically late, etc. This is a part of what also makes me hideously capably of fostering and maintain a long-term grudge. Talk about wasted energy...

3. My worst first date ended with me having to rush to a CVS for Benadryl. Not only was the guy a total ass, but I had an allergic reaction to something in my food - blotches, labored breathing, puffiness. It was actually a great way out of a really painful dinner. Turns out there is something in Capers - either the seed or the pickling process - that more than just doesn't agree with me. Damn that Salad Nicoise!!

4. I withdrew from college halfway through my sophmore year, and never went back. Not because I wasn't good at it - I left with a 3.5 GPA. I just hated it. Music School was entirely subjective, and I was vehemently unwilling to play the game the professors were expecting me to in order to get a degree I no longer wanted. Faced with a room full of squeaky clarinets, I wanted to chew my arm off. I was shocked a couple years ago when a guy I'd dated for almost a month declared that it was over because he was unable to reconcile the fact that I had not gotten my degree and had no interest in going back to finish. (He's a Biology professor at Tulane University and hated the fact that a college dropout could beat him at Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, etc.).

5. My freakish memory has allowed me to retain the music and lyrics to close to 2000 songs of every variety (showtunes, opera aria, art songs, international folk songs, jingles, pop tunes, big band standards...it's all filed away up there). Add to this the lines (not just mine, but most of the cast) for nearly every stage show I've done in my adult life. This ability also gave me a great foot in the door for traveling teaching grade school - after having the the students introduced themselves, I could often remember all of them for the rest of the class period. (Now, I just want the voices to stop!)

6. I hesitate to put this in print as I may be inviting disaster, but I've never lost my wallet or keys...ever. It's part of the little daily rituals I go through to make sure I always know where they are. I've also never been pick-pocketed, but a very beautiful gift that SMID gave me was stolen when the guy (Jim) I was kindly renting a room out to got crapface drunk one night, brought home a hustler who stole Jim's laptop (the one he was working on his doctoral thesis on, but had not backed up), his passport (Canadian, ya know), and my wonderful ring that SMID brought all the way back from South Africa for me...oh, and then the guy rode off on Jim's bike...It breaks my heart that this ring is gone from me...

7. I am one of the most emotional people I know. I have been known to cry at the Hallmark commercials (you know, the one where the little boy thinks his big brother won't make it home in time from college for Christmas Eve?), laugh to be heard over an entire audience in a crowded theatre, quick to anger and just as quick to get over it. I can sing at a piano bar, so absorbed in the music and the moment that I don't realize there are tears streaming down my face. I have music and movies that I use when I need to get that kind of emotional release - things that I know will vicerally move me - happy, sad, angry, elated, scared. Exhausting, yes...but so alive!

8. I watch much more TV than anyone in my life knows. I've wasted more hours than I care to admit on the tube. It's not like I have to be home at a specific time to watch this week's episode of WhatEverCrap...I come home, I turn it on...and veg.

And now you know...

So, if you'd like to play, go for it and have fun. Hope you enjoyed reading!

It was how Hot?

2007-07-11T08:31:00.000-05:00

(OK, so it wasn't really hot enough to melt the laminate off a Stop Sign...but it sure feels that way. A monster moving truck parked next to the sign, and the constant blast from its exhaust pipe reaked this havoc.)

Glad to be wrong

2007-07-07T14:28:00.001-05:00

I was off by two entire weeks. I am not sure this is something to celebrate, but I will happily admit to being wrong.

I wrote two weeks ago about New Orleans' soaring crime rate and its place as the current murder capital of the US...and about our personal losses this year. At the time, I inferred from the trend that we would tally our 100th murder of 2007 by that weekend.

I was wrong. That happened yesterday.

Yeesh.

Note: Yes, it's been a tough year (actually going on two now). But. We are not walking around, heads down, on the verge of tears everyday. Just like anywhere else in the world, we have good and bad days. We live, we love, we fight, we die. The daily images (blue roofs, delapidated buildings, water lines, empty neighborhoods, etc.) are challenging reminders of what we've been through and continue to go through and what we will face for an immeasurable time to come.

Here's what I want from you, the reader, this week: Ask the questions you think you shouldn't ask. Ask the questions polite society tells you not to ask. Set your tact and civility aside for a while and either leave your questions in the comments or email me if you prefer anonymity.

Curiosity reigns. If you've ever wanted to know anything about New Orleans as it was during the time of Katrina and in the nearly two years since, it's all fair game.

It's time for me to exorcise some demons, and y'all can help.

Peace. Your Ambassador.

And The Winner is...

2007-07-01T08:02:00.000-05:00

Fifteen years ago, shortly after arriving in New Orleans, I submitted a couple short monologues to a local professional theatre company, in hopes of getting into their Southern New Plays Festival.

This was at a time in my life (I was only 23) when I didn't think that I couldn't win, that my work wasn't good enough, that I wasn't part of the "in" crowd of New Orleans writers. Turned out it didn't matter, because they picked one of my pieces. It was produced as part of an evening of monologues and short plays - repeated over several weekends.

Soccer Mom came to one of my nights - I have the most wonderful picture taken by the future Mr. Soccer Mom, of SM and me - beaming after the performance. It's one of my favorite photos, and one of the first I stripped from its elegant gilt frame the morning of my belated evacuation from New Orleans.

That night seems so long ago.

I had more hair on my head than on my chest.

Soccer Mom wasn't Soccer Mom yet, and the world knew nothing of Blogging. (Is that really possible??)

Now, don't get me wrong. Soccer Mom was already saving the world, one kid at a time. I had notebooks full of short notes and long essays that have started to find their ways into my posts in the last few months.

I guess we were laying the groundwork for what we'd become.

Has it all turned out the way we imagined back then?

Erm, not really.

Is it better than we knew it might be?

Hell, yes!

Today, I will be heading out the door to church, but on my way, I will be stopping by Le Chat Noir, a sensational Cabaret Theatre that has done a remarkable job of carving out a lovely corner of creativity in the city's theatre scene. There, I will be dropping off my submission for their Fall New Plays Festival Competition. They will be picking only 3 of the first 20 one act play scripts they receive.

I've written something of which I am very proud. Neither Soccer Mom nor I are characters in the story, but part of what I know from her (and the other strong women in my life) has found its way into this piece. Hopefully, I captured how much I adore and respect them all - and I really hope I've allowed these women to come across as real, vibrant beings of passion and joy and pain and daring and love.

It would be almost more than I could stand if they pick my play.

Truth is, seeing this play up on the stage would be exhilirating.

But, if you ask me, I've already won.

I have Soccer Mom in my life.

Dawn of a New Day (In More Ways than One)

2007-06-30T10:21:00.000-05:00

OK. Two months shy of two years since Katrina, and I finally have internet service at home. Someday, I'll have enough distance to find the humor in the long road to here...but for now, I am just happy to have service.

Of course, it did come at a price. Rather than getting to sleep in at all on a Saturday morning (and my apologies to all the parents who don't ever get that luxury), I had no choice but to accept their earliest appointment - 8AM today.

No complaints. I have wicked (for you Allison) high speed connection and the privacy of my home. Ahhh....

Let the blog-barrage commence!!

Something Bugging You?

2007-06-27T09:39:00.001-05:00

2007-06-22T14:18:00.000-05:00

It's been a tough year, even by New Orleans standards.

One of the things that I've always admired (and I must admit it's part of the city's appeal to me) about New Orleans is how it deals with tragedy. Some folks found their way to Louisiana through hardships in their homelands, others suffered upon arrival. So many different groups, with just about as many different kinds of suffering. Yellow Fever. Hurricanes. AIDS.

So much of what makes this region what it is today comes indirectly from the struggles it has endured. That will be what makes us stronger as we move through this ongoing recovery.

However.

It's been a really tough year.

New Orleans is still way below it's pre-Katrina population of 450, 000+. Recent estimates put us at less than half that, depending on which survey and what agency is in whose pocket to set the numbers high or low. That makes us now officially a small city. Smaller than Plano, TX. Tinier than Anchorage, AK. Embarrassingly diminutive next to the likes of Jersey City, Lexington, and Buffalo.

(Not that we're obsessed with size.)

However, if you haven't caught any of our news recently, it seems that people are just dying to get into New Orleans. Or maybe that's not quite right. Dying to stay, perhaps?

This past weekend brought our fair city its 90th and 91st murders. A handful of arrests have been made. No convictions this year. This is not the post to dwell on why. I don't have that kind of time just now. Most of those are gang/drug related retaliation killings. I once thought that you could fairly easily avoid the parts of the city where all this is happening.

I was wrong.

And now it's personal.

Last week, Robin was found beaten to death in his Marigny home. The Faubourg Marigny is the wonderful sprawling neighborhood adjacent to the French Quarter, and my home for many years now. Robin's house is a mere 7 blocks from my apartment.

It's all too close now.

There haven't been any arrests in his murder, although the authorities have questioned a "person of interest". Robin's car was taken at the time and found burned out some blocks away, either in an attempt to make it look like a robbery or some such act gone bad. Truth is we just don't know the truth and might never know.

But like I said, it's personal now. Robin rode the school bus with my friends Mark and Chrissie. He managed a bar that I frequented throughout my most formative years in the city. He was a champion of many causes, using his more recent success at the salon he owned with his sister to raise money for AIDS and breast cancer research. And as recently as October 2006, Robin had been interviewed by WDSU NewsChannel 6 regarding crime in New Orleans:

"Drive-by muggings -- I mean, there's guys riding around in vehicles just mugging people, jumping in their vehicles, going around the corner, mugging somebody else," Malta said. "I'd like to see the mayor actually walk Marigny Street, from Charters to Rampart Street, by himself at 3 o'clock in the morning. I guarantee you he'd get mugged."

No irony there, eh?

In 1997, Robin reigned as Southern Decadence Grand Marshall, and single-handedly scared the crap out of a whole hell of a lot of military guys when the parade he was leading intersected with the Labor Day Parade in the Quarter. In full "I Dream of Jeanie" costume, he mounted the running board of the nearest Humvee as it slowly cruised down the street. Holding onto the driver's side mirror and waving his free arm wildly, singing at the top of his lungs as the parade crawled along Decatur Street - I can still hear him belting out the theme song now.

It's up to us to remember in our own ways each person who's gone now. But it's more than murders. It's all kinds of death now.

It appeared to start with older friends - struggling with myriad afflictions, and exacerbated by the effort of recovery - started to succumb more rapidly. A shocker for me was Sandra. Sandra (whom I always pictured as 40ish) passed away at the tender age of 67 after struggling through the horror of Alzheimer's. I first met Sandra in 1991, weeks after I arrived in NOLA at a P-FLAG meeting - she was president of this chapter for 15 years and spearheaded the national meeting here in 1993. I had not seen her since the storm.

I sang with our church choir at a truly moving memorial service last week for a former choir member at my church. Chris was described during the service as a magnificently kind and elegant woman - and she was. But, oh...she could be salty when she wanted to be. It was her kindness and elegance that made her saltiness shocking and yet acceptable.

Arly, the owner of a local pub and grub, suffered a devastating 45 minute seizure that left her in a vegetative state for 2 weeks before she mercifully slipped away one day. My dear friend Venette's wife Cate worked for Arly for years - and I had the great honor of attending the wedding rehearsal dinner Arly and her partner Louis through for Cate and Venette. Lord, did they throw down some food that night!

An officer in a nearby parish died in an on-duty accident 10 days ago. During the car procession to his funeral, a violent summer storm blew up - winds so fierce they knocked a huge tree over onto the car of two officers on their way to the service...killing one officer and critically injuring the other.

A New Orleans officer took his own life just days before standing trial for brutally beating an unarmed 65 year old retired teacher in the early repopulation after Katrina.

So much death following so many months of struggle to bring this city back to life...

Before the week is over, New Orleans will have its 100th murder. Like other bloodier milestones, this is not one to celebrate.

Somehow, we...We will come through. We will grieve. We will deal with tragedy. We may employ some clearly inappropriate humor and drink a bit too much to do it, but we'll deal.

We - together - will get through this.

There are only two things certain right now in New Orleans. The first is daunting, but the second is much more powerful.

More death will come to our city.

We will rise.

(For those of you wondering where I've been and why I haven't been posting to the blog, it's been a really tough couple of weeks. And this post was trying to get out.)

Pity/Envy

2007-06-21T12:36:00.000-05:00

I get those looks all the time.

What is a guy his age doing, riding a bike to work?

Truth is, I've only ever owned one car in my life...and I sold that 15 years ago this month. Since then, I have owned six bikes of varying quality and expense.

And I get those looks.

Poor thing, he can't afford a car.

Actually, I can.

I just choose not to, and because I choose not to, I can afford to do a lot of other things. Like live in the neighborhood of my choice, near the Mississippi River...where it hasn't flooded in a long time. Travel. Regularly eat out at some really sensational restaurants. Maneuver through rush hour traffic nimbly. And when I really need a vehicle, I have many friends who will loan me theirs, all for the price of a home cooked meal.

Oh, and I can afford to rent a car for the weekend. If I so choose.

I choose to bike to work everyday. Yes, it's hot in the summer...and brutally humid. But, I leave for work a little earlier, keep a change of shirts at the office, splash my face (and head - shaving the dome is a blessing sometimes) with some cold water. And if it's raining, I have friends I can call on to hitch a lift with. Or - get this - I can take a taxi. Radical, eh?

I don't have a car note. Or insurance premiums to pay. That's how I can live in the apartment I love, in a part of town that I cherish, near neighbors I really care about.

Looks of pity. Hmm. All over a choice?

Now, it's other looks. These make me a bit more uncomfortable.

It's envy. I'm not spending $3+ a gallon on gas. As I pull up to the office building, deftly hopping off my cost-effective conveyance, I get that look. I don't spend an hour or two a day in road-rage inducing gridlock. At the end of the day, it'll take me 7 (yes, that's seven) minutes to get home...and that's only if I am puttering along.

Envy's a dirty look, no matter who it's coming from.

All this because I ride a bike to work?

Today's post is brought to you in honor of Dump the Pump Day. It didn't get a ton of publicity in New Orleans, partly due to the fact that our public transit system belongs in the Great Oxymoron File with jumbo shrimp, legal brief and Justice Rehnquist - but today is Dump the Pump Day "dedicated to raising awareness that public transportation helps improve the environment and conserve fuel. It also offers the opportunity for people to beat the high price of gasoline and support public transportation as an important travel option that helps reduce our dependence on foreign oil." American Public Transportation Association Website.