Bourbon Street Parade

A year ago I rolled into this town in a 95 Ford Escort with less than $75 in my pocket, no job lined up and only Waffle’s floor to crash on. At least I was out of New Jersey. I never felt at home in Jersey, regardless of what town I lived in. The first morning that I woke up in New Orleans and strolled down Magazine Street in search of coffee and smokes it felt right. I can’t explain it other than it felt like I was home. There has been a lot of rough times in the past year, but never once did I ever consider returning to Jersey. A few times I did consider cashing in my chips off of the Crescent City Bridge.

New Orleans talked me out of it. The reputation of this city through out the world is one of indulgence and debauchery, a decadent drunken harlot catering to carnal pleasure. Babylon on the Mississippi. Like the proverbial hooker with a heart of gold she welcomes the creative, the outcast and those who feel at home nowhere else. That has been her turbulent history. The flags of Spain, England, France, America and the Confederacy have flown over her, yet she is still individual and defiant.

Cajun refugees from Canada made their way down the river to find a new home here. Slaves from Africa were forced to make New Orleans their new home and Pirates had their mail forwarded here. Vietnamese refugees have come here as boat people only to become some of the finest fisherman in the world. Where else could Pirates become heroes and descendants of slaves become celebrities. A city whose not known for making steel or autos, not seen as a center of financial power or commerce. Instead is associated world wide for music, food, writing, art and individualism. Perhaps this is why I immediately felt at home here.

Today, a year later I am working as a house painter and optimistic. I took a break from painting French doors in a former slave’s quarter on Esplanade turned into a condo. I walked up Bourbon Street to a strip club to collect money for artwork I did. There is a change in my life, walking out of a strip club with more money than I walked in with. On the way to the club I stopped and jotted down a phone number to an affordable apartment on Bourbon for rent.

Kicking back down Bourbon Street I glanced into a window of Skully’s record shop. Posted in the window was a poster for “Bourbon Street and Beyond, illustrated by Eric T Styles” On the counter sat several copies of the book I worked on for the past few months. With a stupid grin on my face walking back to Esplanade I spoke to myself “A year ago I rolled into this town in a 95 Ford Escort with less than $75 in my pocket, no job lined up and only Waffle’s floor to crash on…”

Reputation is everything

On a dark note...

A friend who I worked with doing background just posted from the ER. Apparently she got mugged and roughed up pretty bad.  The thugs took all of the money she had earned working the past 24 hours. As she laid on the ground dazed and bleeding, herds of revelers just stepped over her. Another girl from Tulane was shot tonight.

I'm sure tomorrow the news will be filled with gruesome stories of shootings, robberies and rapes. The lesser crimes will be so numerous that they probably won't even make police reports. One of the reason I don't mind staying in from the festivities that so many travel here to partake in. This city can turn vicious at the drop of a jester hat. Halloween night an Iraq war veteran was walking down Bourbon with his wife when a group of guys made a comment to her. The Marine of course defended his wife's honor. He was stabbed to death.

Thanksgiving day a popular bartender in the French Quarter had just finished a long grueling shift. While leaving the Quarter he had an altercation with a group of teens and was shot to death. As much as I praise the city I will not deny the ugly, vicious dark side of NOLA. For hundreds of years cutthroats, thieves and scum have roamed these streets in search of victims.



My friend who was cruelly attacked tonight was sober but tired after working for so many hours. She was lucky to have escape with her precious life. Many victims tonight can blame only themselves for not knowing the area and being an easy drunk mark. Tourists and money are like chum in these shark filled streets. 

I don't work on Mardi Gras

I knew a guy who made that statement anytime he applied for a job. Needless to say he never really worked. The painting company I am working for is swamped with work, in fact a few extra people have been hired on. So today we started off to work and gave up on the one job site on Esplenade in the Quarter. Thick sluggish traffic being detoured around parade routes and streets cluttered with  float traffic and dim witted drunks stepping in front of cars without even glancing up. The only way I could describe the entire City of New Orleans to New Jersians would be imagine Seaside Heights on a Fourth Of July weekend.



Beneath the overpasses on Claiborne large crowds flowed towards countless Bar B Qs as the music took on an eerie sound echoeing under the traffic of I-10. Every route that we tried to navigate was lined with brightly costumed groups of liquored up revelers who obviously don't work on Mardi Gras either. We were trying in vein to get caught up on jobs. Deciding that working in the French Quarter was out of the question today, we slowly headed to a painting and siding job uptown. While working, a surprised home owner stuck her head out and proclaimed "Oh, your:e working TODAY? It's Mardi Gras..." "Yea, well, we're Yankees, so here we are."

There are many people who are working today in New Orleans, bartenders, servers, cab drivers, cops and emergancy workers.  I know what they are going through having driven cab on the Jersey Shore for five years. Tomorrow they will wake up exhuasted, aching and with a hatred for humanity.

We were going to run an errand to the Post Office, but they don't work on Mardi Gras either. 

My first Mardi Gras Parade

Tonight I return from my first Mardi Gas parade. After hearing about it for the past 12 months and seeing how this city and it's population are dependent on this season, I had to go. Like a drunk working til Friday every year, New Orleans can finally cum on itself.  Three parades on right after the other tonight.

Bobby and I were joking today about the ladders. There are some die hard parade fans who make it a family event. One tradition is a small open sided box mounted on ladders. Parents bring them along to the parade, and set them up along the parade route. They place very young children into the boxes above the heads of the rest of the crowd so their two year old can catch the best throws.

Bobby commented "Let's see, you're going to place your toddler in a box, nailed to the top of an eight foot ladder, on an uneven sidewalk surrounded by drunks..." I added "THEN you encourage drunks on floats to throw a handfuls of plastic beads at your kid's face. Might as well just put the kid over a dunk tank with a toaster in his lap." Perhaps it's just us being from Jersey, we think this way.

To be honest, I've been dragging heals about going to a parade, it's just me. I hate crowds and dislike drunks, add a lot of walking and spending money to that combination to see why I put it off. Today I had a business meeting in the Quarter and a parade got in the way. So for the sake of this blog and being able to say I went to a parade, I went. I don't drink, however while on Bourbon Street I got downwind of "the wrong crowd."  Second hand smoke, I swear. Really. I was down wind of them from Toulouse to Canal. Caught a buzz. Anyways, that made me want to see a parade. I walked along the St Charles line looking more at the crowd than the parade. It was like watching the religious holiday of a shoe fetish cult.

How did I like my first parade? It was ok.

Coming soon

I've been commissioned to revamp quarterrat.com, look for it in a few days. Humor, stories and links to all of the great spots in New Orleans from the point of view of locals.

A few problems with my Mac, I had to up grade the OS from Jaguar to Tiger and that put me behind deadline. Once it's up on line you will be able to purchase quite probably the the funniest book of the year.



The publisher has been dropping off copies all over the French Quarter. At one location two copies were instantly bought by the store's employees. A tourist couple watching the employees flipping pages and laughing out loud inquired "What do you have there?"  The seasoned service industry workers responded "A book that makes fun of you guys." The elderly tourists from the Midwest asked to see a copy, examined the the front cover and read the introduction. They handed the publisher $20 and said "We'll take one."

Three copies of "Bourbon Street and Beyond" sold in as many minutes.  If we continue to sell one copy per minute, I will be able to pay off all of my outstanding stripper debt in 11 days, 14 hours and 9 minutes.

Locals can find copies throughout the French Quarter and along major parade routes. Give me a few days to get the new web site up and running and the rest of the world can enjoy The Quarter Rat.

"We're Everywhere"

The Best of JSBE

Coming up on my one year anniversary here in New Orleans, so I'm posting another "Best Of" just to fill space. Here is one of my favorites. I had a room mate from Georgia who invited me out to a night on Bourbon Street. When a guy like Larry the cable guy want to treat you to a night of binge drinking, who could say no?

Fear & Loathing on Bourbon Street

Good Company

I've landed some work doing some graphic work for T shirts and print ads. The latest is this ad for club Deja Vu on Bourbon Street. Some may scoff at the themes of my artwork, I believe it's a status position. These very same street were walked over by the tiny legs of Toulouse Lautrec himself. In fact there is a Toulouse Street in the Quarter. 

He spent some time here back 18 something. Google it if you don't believe me. I can see why the dude dug this town. He made a name for himself doing show posters for The Moulin Rouge, 18th century strip clubs.

A creepy artist who falls in love with a dancer, gee how original.

"Bourbon Street and Beyond"

I got permission (kind of) to publish a tiny bit of the Quarter Rat book "Bourbon Street and Beyond" on line. If I had to choose one story as a favorite it would be this one. Perhaps because I have done mascot work before. One summer I had a job dressing up as a Seagull on the Seaside Heights boardwalk. Jersey's version of Bourbon Street. I hope you enjoy the sneak peek at the book, it will be up on Amazon.com, and available through out the French Quarter in time for Mardi Gras.

Two Queens and a Joker
An almost love story by: Jay Slusher

When I moved to New Orleans in the mid-90s my first job was at a club famous for its 190-proof, melon-flavored drink. They’re also famous for their mascot who dressed up in a heavy fiberglass suit with a full face of Styrofoam and a helmet. Part of my job was keeping drunks from beating on him. It was nerve wracking. I had to watch the door, the floor, and him. Needless to say, I got in a lot of shit.
Back in the day we had reps from the cigarette company come out and give away free smokes to the customers and employees on weekends. We had Winston and this one girl Gretchen. She was really hot for a merchant of death, let me tell ya. We talked about going out a couple of times.

Well, this particular night the mascot guy, named Chris, decided to drop a couple of hits of acid before he got into his suit. I’m at the door talking to Gretchen when I notice a commotion outside. Gretchen is just starting to write her number down, and I see these two drag queens beating the shit out of Chris. I’m talking two six-feet-tall black guys in heels, wigs, and mini-skirts. One of them is getting in some really good shots with a fanny pack with a brick in it. (Little known fact: NOPD doesn’t consider that a weapon. A lot of homeless people carry them.)

I got the real story from the Lucky Dog guy later that night (one of my network of spies and informants).
When the queens came by Chris says, “What’s up, dudes?”
One of the queens replied, “Say what, motherfucker?”
“You heard me, sir. How are you gentlemen doing this evening?”
They go ballistic. Chris is tripping his face off. So, I push Gretchen off and run out to break up the fight. It got rough, I got hit a couple of times, but finally I got that stupid fanny pack away. I hauled off and decked both of them, and they backed off.

I haul Chris to the courtyard where he fell out in the suit, tripping hard. His helmet was all twisted around, babbling incoherently. He couldn’t get up in that suit, so I left him there, face against a keg, hallucinating like a motherfucker. Now, I’ve had some absurd moments in my life but breaking up a fight between two drag queens and a guy in a Hand-Grenade suit is definitely up there.

I get back in the bar and Gretchen and the other, not as hot cigarette rep, are gone. I ask Jimmy the bartender what happened. He says they got scared during the fight and left. Well, shit! I look down on the ground and there’s the piece of paper with her name and the first three digits of her number on it. Double shit! Of course, I never saw her again. I left Chris in the courtyard until we closed; immobilized and tripping balls. Then to add insult to injury, I hosed him down just to help me ease the pain of the phone number lost.

Meet TJ

In this blog I am always glorifying the art and architecture of this incredible  city. Well, here's a YOUTUBE video that introduces you to one of the residents inside of a home. Author TJ Fisher takes us on a tour of her Bourbon Street home in this 7 minute clip.  Eccentric, eclectic and electric, I think I have a crush on her and her home.

tjfisher.com

Here's something that you don't see everday...

At least a few times a week you see something like this down here. In this Youtube video we see a wedding parade suddenly appear down Royal Street complete with a police escort and a band.  It's a great quality to this town, a chance of finding yourself caught up in the middle of a parade are about as likely as getting caught up in a rain storm.  For a fee, one can apply for a parade permit,  designated routes and times.  I'm sure it costs a few bucks, but it does come with a couple of cops stopping traffic for your party. I worked a couple of these parades as a Reveler and a Big Head. Fun job. 

Holiday Music

Look for it soon

Here is the latest. Look for it in finer French Quarter establishments in time for Mardi Gras.

Don't just take my word for it

 

One of my friends from Jersey posted on my facebook "You should be working for the local Chamber of Commerce." 

Sneek Peek

If you noticed that this blog hasn't had as many illustrations as usual, it's because I have been busy working on the Quarter Rat book. Look for it to come out late February 2011. My editor Ottis B. Easy will have it on the shelves and on Amazon.com in time for Mardi Gras.

Early on my friend Aaron told me that negative forces in the universe would be trying to trip me up and prevent me from reaching my goal. Turned out he was right. A few negative slams have hit me, but focusing on positive notions and not allowing evil to win has actually brought to a much better place.

New Year, New Start, New Job

When I first arrived in New Orleans, it almost felt familiar. Perhaps because I had been doing Google Earth Street views of almost the entire  city for months before moving down here, or perhaps it's some sort of new agey past life thing. 

Immediately I fell in love with the buildings and architecture. Structures hundreds of years old and almost unchanged over the centuries. You know that you're getting old when you're looking at the wrought iron work of a balcony and not the strippers hanging off of it.

Today was my second day at my new job. Yea, I landed some employment. I'm working as a helper for a painter contractor who has been doing a lot of work in the Quarter and Treme. After soaking in the these structure with awe for all of these months I was now no longer just studying them in drawings but now given an opportunity to apply a brush on one.

We worked on a condo in the French Quarter,  when I say "condo" don't picture what is called a condo up in Jersey. This condo was originally built as a slave's quarters about 250 years ago.  A narrow brick building that creaks with rich history and spirits.  Again I stress that I never was one to subscribe to any sort of paranormal beliefs, but in this town the side walks are crowded with ghosts of America's past. Slaves, pirates, artists, Indians and musician's spirits brush your elbows on apparently deserted streets.

Tourists come to the French Quarter by the millions every year to experience this magic. Ok, and also to experience lap dances and hang overs of Biblical proportions. Any renovations in the Quarter are strictly controlled by ordinances and zoning permits to retain the authenticity. You won't see vinyl siding or double insulated vinyl clad windows for low cost maintenance. All colors of paint, material, hardware and designs used in the Quarter are regulated by code.  This condo had a 12 foot high ceiling and the door to the bathroom was ten foot tall made by the talented hands of a craftsman many, many years ago.

During a smoke break I sat on a granite stoop leaning up against well weathered brick wall. I looked over a picturesque courtyard hidden away from the tourists and traffic picturing centuries of tragedies and comedies that must have unfolded. It was a privilege to add my stamp to the pages of New Orleans' dynamic history.

If it's called "Tourist Season" why can't you hunt them?

The book I am illustrating is written by those who work in the service industries down here in the French Quarter. I know the book will appeal to any bartender, waitress, bouncer or cab driver who works in a tourism area.  The Jersey Shore, Miami or Vegas, when folks leave their native environment and travel they forget to pack their manners.

Tourists will behave in ways on vacation they would never dream of acting in their own neighborhood bar or restaurant. When I was driving cab at night in the summer I would encounter individuals from North Jersey or New York who seemed to be void of any courtesy or respect for anyone outside of their drunken circle. Alcoholism does that to humans.

I would politely ask them to please stop screaming at the top of their lungs, not to play with the radio or point out the fact they can't throw pizza out the windows of my cab at pedestrians the general response was "You need to lighten up! We're just trying to have fun." Yea, well so is the total stranger in the white shirt walking down the street who you just hit with a slice of Sicilian.

The Quarter Rat highlights the difference between tourists and travelers. Travelers are welcomed and embraced by New Orleans. A traveler will stop in front of a 300 year old home and soak in the rich architecture and beauty. A traveler will marvel at the fact that people still live in and nurture these historic homes that have survived wars, fires, floods and countless hurricanes. A tourist will piss on the front steps of the same home at 3 am while singing "House of the rising sun" at the top of their lungs.

A traveler will seek out the hidden history and wonders of the city, a tourist will seek out blow jobs. One approaches the locals to find the heart of the land they visit, the other dehumanizes the local population for amusement.

Travelers behave like house guests respecting their hosts, tourists treat their hosts like servants. One summer I had several Guidoes in my cab and one juicehead loudly stated while staring at me in the mirror "Jersey SUCKS! You don't sell beer in 7-11's, the pizza stinks, and everything is overpriced"
"Then why do you come down?" I queried.
"Ta fuck yo bitches."

He was a tourist.

And over to your left....

 

"Tour Guides Bullshit"

The powder room

The other day my editor Ottis requested an illustration of the most disgusting lady's room in all of the French Quarter.  Well, I spent hours on my hands and knees peering under stall doors to come up with this.
I have a court date on Thursday.

Just completed these...

 

"Little Person, Big Waste"

This book I am illustrating is a compilation of stories about living in and working in the French Quarter of New Orleans. A relatively small neighborhood known world wide and respected by other cities of leisure.  Only in this town can a passed out dwarf in a window sill could become and overnight shrine to the patron Saint of Pushing the limits.

I know this book will appeal not only to those who live and work in the Quarter, but with bring laughter to anyone who has worked as a waitress, bartender, bouncer or manager in the service industries.  As a Jersey Shore cab driver I know that assholes are universal.