Cover 21

Last week at the Moulin View, I was discussing New Orleans with Andie. She was telling me how this town lets you know if you belong here or not. Andie said she has known people who move here only to be driven back to where they came from. Jobs lost, cars stolen or bad vibes roll up the welcome mat. For those who belong here the city opens herself up for the embrace that keeps you for life. You still have to earn it, you still have to prove yourself for the lady's approval.

I've been here a year and things are looking better each day. There's been some challenges, some downfalls but I think New Orleans likes me.  Here is my third cover for the Quarter Rat, enjoy.

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…”

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"

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.

 

"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.

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

What a day

On Sunday I had to meet with the publisher in the Quarter.  I've noticed since I moved down here almost everybody runs late. It's a given.  A tenish AM meeting evolved into eleven-something, ok quarter past twelve... One o'clock. I kicked around Royal Street checking out performers and galleries. Figuring I'd meet up with him at Jackson Square I took a nap in the grass soaking up 60 plus degree sunshine. A dozen or so joined me, homeless dudes, young lovers, and a hippy. In Jersey being late for a business meeting is a sin, down here it's a perk.

Walking back though the Square I found myself walking pace next to some long haired Jesus looking dude with a guitar. In NOLA this common. We acknowledge each other and a few steps later "Hey man, I hate to ask, but do you have an extra cigarette?" His lucky day. The day before I was walking down Decatur and spotted a just opened pack of Parliaments on top of a newspaper box. I'm from Jersey, I can't just leave them there. I pull the pack out of my briefcase and handed him 19 smokes. "DUDE! You are the Jesus Christ of cancer! Thank you." I'll add the title to my resume.

We got to bullshitting and stood on a corner talking about New Orleans. Turned out that he was a teacher by day who hung out street performing on the weekends for extra cash and for the experience. "Some nights I play out and only get paid in drinks." I met a very cool dude.  I now no longer describe myself as an out of work cab driver. I am now self described "Freelance artist." Turns out that Chris had not only heard of the Quarter Rat, but is a big fan of it. I am constantly meeting fans of the publication.

I really feel the energy of the Quarter, something supernatural here. Had this same scenario played out in Jersey...."Hey man, I hate to ask, but do you have an extra cigarette?" "GET A FUCKING JOB HIPPY!"

Look for it soon

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

I went to church today

I had today off from work, so I wandered into the Quarter with sketch book in hand. Sorry to rub it into the rest of the country, but it was in the mid sixties and sunny. Tourists and Quarter Rats milled about, listened to music and lounged in the grass at Jackson Square. I'm getting familiar enough with the streets, coffee shops and cool niches that I almost feel like a local.

Most of my "architectural charactures" I draw from memory, composites of buildings that I visually inhaled on my excursions.  I thought that I would attempt the New Orleans crown jewel of St. Louis cathedral. I have been a bit intimidated to tackle a drawing of the most photographed structure in the Crescent City. For this piece of art I would have to sit in front of it for almost four hours, eyes darting back and forth between my paper and the church hundreds of times.

 

St Louis Cathedral is one of the oldest continuous operating cathedrals in the nation. The original one was destroyed by a hurricane in 1722, a fire destroyed the second one in 1788. The present one was finished in 1794 and has been the crown of the French Quarter easily viewed from the Mississippi. I'm sure many an early visitor passing on the river awed at it's spires. During hurricane Katrina the roof leaked severely damaging a million dollar pipe organ. Two large oak trees fell almost missing a statue of Jesus. The falling tree took off only Jesus' thumb, allowing him to only being able to hitch hike in one direction. 

Captain Kirk

I'll admit that sometimes I produce an illustration that makes me say "wow." Not often, but sometimes. This one started in Adobe Illustrator. Re-drawing original drawing in vector. The font also was tweeked to be original. Brought into Photoshop for the next four hours, this is the fini. I hadn't used Illustrator in about 5 years but it all came back to me because I had a great instructor.

I was taught by Kirk Strickland. He's kind of like Yoda when it comes to Mac based desk top publishing. When I first saw his white hair, he reminded me of Steve Martin. Most every skill I utilize to bring my artwork to the internet is done through his instruction. Everything you see on my website artbystyles.com and the finished artwork on this blog wouldn't be online if not for what I learned at DDP Training.

Thanks again Kirk.

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.

"The guy at the end of the bar"

"The guy at the end of the bar"

Another Quarter Rat illustration. I didn't mean to make this guy look like anyone in particular, it just kind of happened. Sorry Waffle.

"Yo-ho-ho, it's a Pirate's wife for me..."

 

More cartoon fun from the book I'm doing illustrations for. Above is the finished color version, the grayscale version for the book. 

the latest

 

Bourbon Street Blues

 

"Bourbon Street Hustler Blues"

Not to jinx the deal, but I've been contacted to do illustrations for an upcoming book about working in the service industries here in New Orleans. Very funny stuff written by the the people who live and work in the French Quarter. They proudly call themselves "Quarter Rats." I hope to be one some day soon. Here is one of the first graphics. Sorry, but I can't give you any of the stories, for that you will have to wait until the beginning of the year and buy the book. 

"Two Queens and a Joker"

Thanksgiving Day BiNGE

Last night a friend and I were discussing the holiday. For me it's not that much of a holiday. I don't get into binge eating. Food is one of the few addictions I don't have. Way back when I was an evangelical christian I always thought it odd that "Godly" people love to worship their deity through the sin of gluttony. Any excuse to over indulge the one pleasure of the flesh that they allow themselves in the name of "thanks."

 

After my divorce from marriage and the christian church I decided that year to celebrate the holiday in my own way. I wasn't into football and turned down a number of pity invites to dinner. I went to a local strip club for their annual GOBBLE GOBBLE RAMA. Little did I know that that night would be the start of a wild ride of a life changing time. That night would become episode one of my web comic strip BiNGE.

If you get bored this holiday and want to get away from the bullshit drama of in-laws or room mates, sneak off with your lap top and read this mostly true story of a Thanksgiving I had. I won't say it's anywhere nearly as good as Arlo Guthrie's, but it's pretty damn close.

BINGE

Cheech & Chong's Animated Movie Trailer

manic self-publicist

Here is my ad for the Quarter Rat Publication, to be hitting hotel lobbies, strip clubs, massage parlors and beer soaked bars across the French Quarter this month. Check out their web site with back issues. Very funny stuff. It's a publication directed toward the locals. Lot's of humor from those in the service industry. Almost a venue for everyone to share the aggravation of living and working in a tourist hot spot.

THE QUARTER RAT

I share the feelings. I drove taxi for five years at night on the Jersey Shore. Yea, like the TV show. When drunken assholes who pay your bills it's like being stuck in an abusive relationship. I am convinced that most serial killers at one time worked in the service industry. Bartenders, servers, cab drivers and hookers, we all know what it's like.

Zaphod Beeblebrox, adventurer, ex-hippy, good timer, manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personal relationships, often thought to be completely out to lunch.

Night of the Zombie Tourists

Here is an illustration I finished for the Quarter Rat Publication.

Fine, Don't Answer Me

Nice comic book style artwork. A great song with simple animation.