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.

"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.

Down in New Orleans

They got music
It's always playin'
Start in the day time,
go all through the night

When you hear that music playin'
Hear what I'm saying,
it make you feel alright

Dr John

Chamber of Commerce meeting in the Quarter

I gots overhead, I gots balloons to buy.

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!"

Bourbon Street Tease

"Welcome to the Big Show. Grab your artillery and let’s whoop today’s ass! File rank and gear up. Shotgirls and Strippers, Barkeeps and Barkers please report to the front lines. This is the battlefield known as Bourbon Street, where heroes are made and brain cells are lost. You take your post amongst the madness." 


Excerpt from the Quarter Rat book that I am illustrating.  I'll keep all of you posted on it's due date.

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"

The first ever WALKY AWARD goes to....

A film set is a remarkably boring place. Hours upon hours of waiting for something. A wait for the cameraman to set up, a wait for the lighting director, a wait for the sound man, a wait for the weather, a wait for the lead starlet to wake up at 5:00 am after an all night bender at the club. She must have a cold, she's horse and is sniffling a lot.

With so much time to kill, a disgruntled background extra (Russell) pointed out that everybody involved with production gets mentioned, except the background extras. Never. The caterer gets listed, every sort of assistant and intern get listed into the credits, even the producer's hooker is worked into the credits somehow. Never background actors.

So I decided to come up with some sort of award for background extras. Check out old films and isolate excellent performances in background acting.  Where to start? Well, my friend Jeffery in NJ posted this one on his Facebook. I thought it would be a great first winner of a "WALKY AWARD"

Performer: Unknown


The YOUTUBE set up video is boring, see, he's a film maker. "This short film is about a piece of footage I (George Clarke) found behind the scenes in Charlie Chaplins film 'The Circus'. Attending the premiere at Manns Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, CA "

If any of you have suggestions for a WALKY award, send me a link to the video!

The New Orleans Bingo! Show

Here's a show I hope to catch one day. Looks fun and unique.

Street performing ain't easy....

I keep saying that I am going to get back over to the Quarter on a regular basis to juggle. Hats off to those guys, it takes balls to do this everyday for a living. A lot of the musicians hawk DVDs for $10 and play clubs at night. Get hassled by asshole drunken tourists. Just like driving a cab at night on the Jersey Shore.

Only one time did I ever have a problem with another performer. A balloon bender claimed I was on HIS corner. I replied "AND?...) Even I'm not afraid of a guy with a balloon poodle on his head.

For the record I AM NOT A MIME, I am a juggler.

Someday....

My goal is once I get settled with steady income and a few bucks ahead, is to move to the French Quarter.  There is something supernatural about it. I'm not one given into new agey paranormal feelings.  This town has such a rich history of both positive and negative energy that almost trips you on the sidewalk. Royal Street is fantastic, art galleries and street performers populate the street with the ghosts of pirates.

Recently a few residents have squawked about the street musicians who make their living from performing on Royal. It's like the people who move next to the airport and try to get the airplanes to "come in from the other direction."  I can think of worst sounds to wake up with a hangover to.  Erika Lewis is one of my favorites to catch singing on the corner.

Hey, Waffle....

Have any suggestions for Halloween? What are your plans?

New Orleans Commission Of Tourism Presents....

Meet an artist

A few months ago I hung out in the French Quarter on warm evening nursing a beer and checking out some art. Two types of art down here, stuff for the tourists and really good art. Most of the galleries on Royal Street were closed by the time that I got over there. I prefer to just look in the windows anyway. Ironically the only time I'm ever comfortable in an art gallery is if it's my work on the wall. Other than that I don't belong in one.

One gallery's art stopped me dead in my tracks. The interior looked more like an English pub than an art gallery. Moody lights highlighted some inspiring artwork. Great cityscapes with taxis and buses. Beautiful scantily clad female figures done with taste and grace. Really cool work. I stood in front of the gallery somewhat melancholy as my buzz was fading. About four doors down, a scruffy street performer strummed on an equally weathered guitar. He picked away at "Margaretaville" as I took my last looks before I cruised on back home.

Out of all of the artist's work I saw that night, this was the only work I googled upon returning home. Turned out that he was a fellow New Jersian.  Peter O'Niell.

Visit him on FaceBook: Peter O'Niell

La Vie Boheme

By extension, Bohemia meant any place where one could live and work cheaply, and behave unconventionally; a community of free souls beyond the pale of respectable society.

Wikipedia

The tag line for my comic strip BiNGE is "An artist in search of a 21st century Bohemia" It never really dawned on me, but I guess that was what I was searching for. I tried the Ned Flanders life of Sunday school and white picket fences. It wasn't me. Not that there is anything wrong with that life style, I just can't live it. Suburban keeping up with the Jones. Spending money I don't have to buy things I don't need to impress people I don't like.

I've met a lot of people who claim to be non materialistic, claim to be simple spiritual beings. The same people are quick to boast about their new car, which when it's paid off won't be new any more and they will have to take out a loan for a newer car. New agey neo hippies who want the illusion of Bohemia in a chic four bedroom house in an expensive town with perfect landscaping. They'll talk about positive energy and karma, then talk about their best friend behind her back.

New Orleans is a city where it's people have learned from experience that all material things will end up in a landfill someday. Why run down to Home Depot for a new ceiling fan, here's one on Craigslist for $10. It's not new? That's ok, by the end of the summer we may not have a ceiling to hang it on anyway. Are you driving an 15 year old car? Let's paint it to look like Zebra.

Down here when you fill out a form that asks for occupation, you can fill in artist, actor, writer, musician or juggler and know one questions it. Back in Jersey, you would get a snide comment "What's your real job?" Well, at least it's not processing pointless paperwork.

Bad Decisions

Bad decisions, nothing will make me laugh out loud when I'm by myself more than when I think about all of the bad decisions I have made. Bad decisions when it came to money. Bad decisions of who I associated myself with. Bad decisions of careers. Bad decisions.

I decided to change my life and reinvent myself to be one who makes the right choices when I moved. I moved from Jersey to ground zero of the world's worst ecological disaster a month before it happens. Good decision. Really, I love this city, love these people. I made the right decision. My friend in Seattle said. "Wow, you had to move front row center to the end of the world." "Yea, New Orleans has been chosen to be the host city of the Apocolypse, that's cooler than the Olympics."


In the past three months I have been homeless sleeping in a car, I've rubbed elbows with TV stars. I got to be a twelve foot high Jester leading a parade down Bourbon Street. I've gotten to be a street performer in the French Quarter. I've smoked up with Asian gang members. I had U.S. Marshals point weapons at me, handcuff me and run me down to Orleans Parish Prison. I've walked the same streets as pirates, artists and musicians have for hundreds of years. I've made great friends. Like Waffle and Dr Maad.


Moving to New Orleans, the best decision I ever made.

.

Hey Crablady

Someday, my now 13 year old daughter will be tearing up Bourbon Street with her rowdy college girlfriends. When they say how cool Bourbon Street is, Laura can turn and say "My Dad led a parade down Bourbon as a twelve foot tall Jester back in '10." I thought I would be bringing up the rear, nope. They put me on the point with a brass band behind me.

There was a large group of cardiologists in town for a convention. My employer was contacted for some revelers and a big head for a promotional event. I was given a big head job...wait, that doesn't sound right. Paid to do head... given money for head.


Anyway, I was a juggling reveler in the beginning at the convention at a sweet old downtown hotel. The Roosevelt. Classy and grand. When another reveler named Steve and myself walked in dressed like we were, people spun and looked at us in awe. It was like the Joker had just taken over the Gothem City Hilton.


On the way over to the job, I heard someone say the words "Yea, the crab lady will be there." I'm thinking, "Nice, she sounds like a keeper. Even though it's been a while, don't introduce me." Actually she was a crawfish. The hottest most drop dead gorgeous crawfish I have ever seen. Very sweet girl. I'm not sure, but I think I now have a fetish for women dressed as crustaceans. Pretty much rounds off my list of weird thoughts. The girl dressed as a gator was smoking hot too. I digress.


All of the convention attendees were treated to marching in a parade down Bourbon Street. Complete with brass band, permits and a police escort. I almost knocked a cop off of his scooter when he stopped short in front of me on Canal Street. I wasn't scared of the cop, I was at least six feet taller than him.

As soon as we started, people lined up, snapping pictures. Behind me the band wailed out some Jazz classics, Steve danced with some Doctor's drunk wife and Crablady flung beads. Strippers were coming out of the clubs to see what was going on. Down the middle of Bourbon with two police escorts, navigating by neon signs, sweating my ass off. It paid a week's rent and was a blast. I'll see if I can get hold of some pics from tonight's parade.



So, what did you guys up in Jersey do today at work?

I'm working tomorrow

Yep. In New Orleans this is a job. I will be a twelve foot high Jester. Since I've been down here the majority of my income has come from background acting, street performing and now this.

Ironically, I'm working as an actor until I can find steady work waiting on tables.

The artist mission

Last week, my buddy who's a tattoo artist from California started my day. "Dude, I am so overbooked with work I can't get caught up. Everyone heard I'm moving back home and they want their art before I leave. I'm booked solid, can you help me out by doing some artwork. I mean I'll pay you and stuff." Let me get my art pad. We roll to the hood of his Vietnamese homies in his white Caddy with classic rock blasting. I felt like I was starting a GTA mission.


We stepped out at the flashing arrow in the driveway. Cris speaks: See this dude? It was under like 18 feet of water. There's where the levee broke." The neighborhood was scattered brick homes separated by empty slabs of concrete. "I guess that's where the wooden homes were."

Our hosts were super cool. Polite and gracious hosts. I did three sketches, two were used. The one client wanted a more serpent looking cobra snake. My style didn't jive. I always respected the art. I never got to deep into it. Tattoo artists are a cliche all of their own. I never claimed to be one. Back at the cab stand in Jersey the guys used to tell me I should do flash art. I never got around to it.

Bamboo was requested around a already drawn Tiger, my exact design was used. Incredible to see one's artwork on human canvas. More flattering than to have a yuppie buy it off a gallery wall. The second was panther and a cobra. The client didn't like the style of my work. He politely and with respect declined, I was equally gracious. The third design was revamped but mostly intact when the tattoo artist inked it on a few days later. A coi fish. I read up on the meaning of Coi in mythology and tattoos. I have explore this art more.


Many hours and a few long breaks later, we were treated to bar b Que. An entire meal of meat around a large tile table reading "WHO DAT" in a mosaic. The center of the table had a small grill burning for those who wanted it well done.

Cool People

I won't say I didn't meet cool people in New Jersey, there were a few. For some reason New Orleans seems to attract interesting folks. Creativity in Jersey was viewed as a mostly useless talent. What do expect from a place where old Victorian homes would be torn down and replaced with plastic McMansions. Down here the homes with the most style have peeling paint and shutters slamming in the wind.
I've met people who have earned a living from building Mardi Gras floats and designing costumes. This is what they did when they went to work and saw it all as just another day at the office. I just applied for a job as a juggler, I never once saw an ad in Jersey for juggling. I drew this cartoon of a dude I met from California. A superb tattoo artist who cruises around in a sharp Cadillac with a cool little dog. Next Sunday I'm taking part in an event, the Chaos Carnival. I'll fill you in then on the details.