No place like home...

Back in New Jersey, the number one thing people like to complain about is New Jersey. Too crowded, too expensive, too corrupt, too hectic. If you interrupt their tirade about how Jersey sucks to ask them why don't they move they respond "What?? Leave Jersey?" Residents there have a dysfunctional relation ship with their abusive state spouse. Don't let another state make a joke about it, no matter how true it may be.

When I first moved down here a year ago, I was pretty much jobless, penniless and homeless. Still I felt more at home, more at ease and happier in New Orleans than if I had been given a mansion back in the Garden State.  I have yet to hear a resident here bad mouth the Bid Easy, instead you hear everyone rave about their love of the city like newlywed on a honeymoon.

A new Facebook friend who is serving in the military overseas has been sharing his love story with New Orleans with me. He sent me this Mark Twain quote:
It has been said that a Scotchman has not seen the world until he has seen Edinburgh; and I think that I may say that an American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi-Gras in New Orleans.
- Letter to Pamela Moffett, 9 and 11 March 1859 

Well I hope I don't make him too homesick, but I'll send him a little Dr. John in return. Stay safe Franklin, I'll treat you to a beer when you get back home.

The view from work

 Pontalba building

I spent the past week or so working on an apartment in this very historic building. From the balcony I was literally a stone's throw from the Cabildo building where they signed the Louisiana purchase. During my smoke breaks I could walk out on the balcony and listen to the musicians as tourists milled about below me.

Beats driving a cab in Jersey.

 The Pontalba Buildings form two sides of Jackson Square in the French Quarter.

These are matching red-brick block long 4‑story buildings built in the 1840s by the Baroness Micaela Almonester Pontalba. The ground floors house shops and restaurants; the upper floors are apartments that are the oldest continuously rented such apartments in the United States.

In the short story Hidden Gardens, Truman Capote describes the Pontalba Buildings as "...the oldest, in some ways most somberly elegant, apartment houses in America, the Pontalba Buildings."

They were declared a National Historic Landmark in 1974

The Upper and Lower Pontalba Buildings, which line the St. Ann and St. Peter Street sides of Jackson Square, were built in 1850 by the Baroness Micaela Almonester de Pontalba, the daughter of Don Andres Almonester y Roxas, the Spanish colonial landowner associated with the neighboring Cabildo, Cathedral and Presbytere. Inspired by the imposing Parisian architecture the Baroness favored, the distinctive rowhouses were intended to serve as both elegant residences and fine retail establishments. In 1921 the Pontalba family sold the Lower Pontalba Building to philanthropist William Ratcliff Irby who subsequently, in 1927, bequeathed it to the State Museum.

We finished up the apartment. Yesterday early start, long lunch then worked until 4 am. I slept for a couple of hours on a pile of drop cloths on the balcony over looking Jackson square. 

A lone saxophonist down by the river sung me to sleep in the moon light. Homeless guys fighting over the last swig woke me up.

it’s a rough planet

Today was beautiful weather as I started to prep a house in St Bernard Parish for painting.  St. Bernard was hit hard during Katrina, in fact the house I was working on like many on the street still bore a spray painted X on the porch marking that it had been searched for bodies after the storm. The radio next to me was reporting on the devastation in Japan.

The contractor that I am working for has been getting a lot of work correcting repair work that was done in the months following the hurricane. Shoddy work done by fly-by-night contractors who flooded the city after the storm waters receded. Paint jobs that should have lasted 10 to 15 years starting to peel after 5.

I needed at lunch to find coffee and cigarettes. I walked block after block finding the same patterns, a recently renovated shotgun house, a couple of vacant lots with just concrete slabs, another recently renovated shotgun and an occasional vacant house covered with vines. One gutted home had PLEASE BULLDOZE spray painted on the front.  I had to walk a lot father than I anticipated, most of the strip malls that we passed on the way in, turned out to still be abandoned.

Like the rest of the world who watched the tragedy unfold on the news channels, we could not imagine what it was like for the residents. I’ve heard many recountings from those who were here. I often wonder how I will respond when and if I am forced to. Will I stay or evacuate and will I suffer the post traumatic stress of seeing my adopted city ravaged by nature.

Often we hear astronomers speak of how Earth is nestled in just the perfect location in our solar system. Any closer to the sun and we’d burn, any farther from the sun we’d freeze.  How incredibly perfectly located we are in the big picture with enough oxygen and water.  Listening to the radio reports of how many thousands may have died do to the earthquake and the following tsunami while wire brushing a Katrina X I thought about this planet. It’s not nearly as friendly as the travel brochures make it sound.

99 percent of the time it is pretty decent, but now and then the atmosphere decides to it’s time to fuck with us by slamming humanity with unlivable conditions. At times the most stable thing in our lives, the very plant itself becomes violent and our seas desire to show that they are in the majority and land is the minority.

It can be a rough planet to live on at times.

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…”

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. 

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"

Putting a face on Mardi Gras

If I had to describe Mardi Gras to the folks back in Jersey, I'm not sure I could. The entire Gulf Coast celebrate this season with passion and reverence as the Jersey Shore does with the start of summer. Imagine Memorial Day, Labor Day and Christmas all with in a couple of months.  Locals are a tight group down here, all share the joys of Carnival season and the fears of hurricane season. Someone tried to explain to me how the season starts and ends each year, all depends on when Fat Tuesday falls. 

This Mardi Gras poster is by artist Peter O'Neill who has completed several Carnival themed paintings for his New Orleans gallery. Peter says he enjoys painting for his NOLA gallery. I look forward to his Facebook postings of his latest work, great stuff. Mr. O'Neill said he's going to take four weeks off after I commented on how prolific he has been in the past few weeks.  Here is his web site to view more of his work, or to order a copy of his Mardi Gras poster.

www.oneillgallery.com

Enjoy your time off Peter.

Damn neighbors kept me up all night

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

CP3

Calliope Projects, third ward, New Orleans.

I write a lot about the French Quarter and the culture in NOLA. It's a city of great diversity and adversity. Here is a local hero, C Murder.

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.

New Orleans Ladies

I'm at a point in life where I am actually thankful I don't have me a honey on Valentine's day. It would be just one more bill that I couldn't pay. I've been impressed by the ladies down here. I've spent my entire life around women like Snookie, suddenly I'm exposed to some true Southern Belles and am taken back. Fun, classy, able to hold their liquor till sunup and could drop kick ass while wearing heels. (Dudes, it's like a city filled with Daisy Dukes.)

New Orleans Ladies
Words and Music by Hoyt Garrick and Leon Medica

New Orleans ladies
Sassy style that will drive you crazy
And they hold you like the light
Hugs the wick when this candle's burning

Them Creole babies
Thin and brown and downright lazy
And they roll just like the river
A little wave will last forever

All the way
From Bourbon Street to Esplanade
They sashay by

New Orleans ladies
A flair for life, love and laughter
And they hold you like the night
Holds a chill when this cold wind's blowing

Them Creole babies
They strut and sway from dusk till dawn
And they roll just like a river
A little wave will last forever

All the way
From Bourbon Street to Esplanade
They sashay by

I always think of my friend "Goose" when I hear this one. You can spot a true local by their Flor De lis tattoos. I've gotten to spend a lot of time with some of the nicest women while working as a background actor.  

Unlike the Jersey girls I hung out with, not one down here has yet puked on me, thrown a punch at me or stole my wallet for coke money.  I might start dating again someday.

What I learned from video games

When I came down to New Orleans a year ago, some said I didnt have a plan. I insisted I did. I lied. In hindsight I realized that I treated it as nothing more than a new game of Grand Theft Auto. Thats the only role playing video game I ever got into.

 

Every game starts out with basically the same character, a down on his luck new guy in town. Penniless and with few contacts the anti hero climbs his way to the top on wits and guts. Dropped off in the lowest rent district of a large city with a cast of characters to be met, some allies, some enemies. Its a game about hustling your way to the top using what you got available. How does the game end? You kicking back in a mansion full of toys, respected by everyone in your new city.

 

Vince Vance

"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

it's a battered old suitcase

  and it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal

No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers,
the night watchmen flame keepers

And goodnight to Mathilda, too

Tom Traubert's Blues

Chamber of Commerce meeting in the Quarter

I gots overhead, I gots balloons to buy.

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.