Dropping the Fleur-de-lis

This year, downtown revelers will watch a fleur-de-lis, instead of the Post-K paper-mache gumbo pot, drop in Jackson Square.

I hear it is black and gold, nine feet high by six feet wide, and will ascend a 25-foot pole to the top of Jax Brewery before dropping amidst a backdrop of fireworks over the Mississippi River.

The fluckin' fleur-de-lis--why don't we just drop it?

It seems there's no stopping it. We've so empowered this arbitrary symbol that it now has a life of its own. It's about time there's a super-hero version, don't you think?

Preaux Life

Can it get any worse than this?



http://www.prolifelouisiana.org/store/preauxlife.html

She Can be All Four Seasons in One Day

December in New Orleans: The Weather Channel's Greatest Hits.

Who Dat Need Paint?

I finally snagged a picture of this sign I mentioned long ago. Intersection of Gentilly Blvd and Paris Ave, right before 6-10 ramp towards Slidell.

Soprano's Meat Market

I fell for the gimmick.



How does one take pictures without a)looking like an asshole b) getting hit by a car?


One dog goes one way, one dog goes the other way...



Where da cold cuts 'n shit?

Venice? or Mid-City

From Billy Goat's Gruff Bridge:

Moses in the Reeds? I'm a dilettantish Jewish scholar.

Mid-City Walk

One of my favorite views: rows of Easter-egg shotguns across Bayou St. John.


Including Parkway bakery:






I'm pretty attached to my local gas station. Is that unusual?



What up Civil War Monument:

Mid-City Lights

and a few lakeview lights:

Snow Day

Ok, it was cute for five minutes, but I don't live in Ohio anymore, what is this!!!

No, just kidding; to be honest, it gave me a thrill.

Spin the Bar Wheel! or The Return of the Blog

Oh my god, like where are we going out tonight? I really need something new, I'm in like such a funk. Oh my god, you fucking bitch, you did not just suggest Balcony. I'm like so over Balcony. Please, how about something new??? Like a different neighborhood? Oh really, you think there's no boys in Mid-City? That doesn't even make sense, what are you even talking about. Ok, I'm done with this conversation, let's see what the Bar Wheel has to say: Spppiiinnnnnnn!

The Bar Wheel landed on.....THE MID-CITY YACHT CLUB!!! Your retarded friends won't know how to get there, so they probably won't make it. But your friends who have a clue will come along and have a good time. Not only is the Bar Wheel a lifesaver, but it's also a weeding out process, if you see what I mean...

Everybody needs one. The Bar Wheel helps you expand your horizons. Keep your outlook fresh, and your experiences new, always changing. Sometimes you have to relinquish control, give yourself up to fate, the wheel of fortuna, so to speak. Like Bjork says, it's not up to you, it never really was. Nietzsche says the story of civilization is the will to power. Well, you know every friend group has a leader, that cock sucker who's like, we're doing this tonight. With the Bar Wheel, you can shrug off that age-old struggle with a simple spin, discontinue the pattern of the oppressed overthrowing his oppressor only to command the same abuse of power.

What are the limitations of the Bar Wheel? It's only made of wood, and doesn't spin on its own, unless there's a draught in the room. You can spin it and see where the pointer lands, but Bar Wheel cannot force you to go there. But that's okay; the Bar Wheel merely suggests, means to open your mind to new possibilities. The Bar Wheel doesn't know what time it is, that you just got off work and are tired, that such-and-such-place is closed, or that you want to go to some particular mediocre spot to meet somebody who won't be worth it (don't be a loser). The Bar Wheel doesn't know what kind of person you are, but it does know there's always room for improvement, so no matter your caliber, the Bar Wheel seeks to make you better. How can you go wrong?

If you want one, leave a comment with your information. And we'll even custom make you one for your city.

75th Anniversary of the Repealing of Prohibition

Like we need more reasons to celebrate drinking.

Also, what is it about weather extremes that make you want to go on a bender? In the summertime, when it's hot as shit, that's all you want to do. Beer and sweat and late nights. And in the winter time, when it's cold as fuck, you warm up with icy liquor drinks. Whereas in fall and spring: moderation in all things.

Hmm. See you at the bars!

Hot Guys Love Sandwiches

The Oak Street Po-Boy Festival was today! Banners read "S.O.S. Save our Sandwiches," and the event was hosted by the Po-boy Preservation Society. I didn't know the Po-boy was endangered! I was so upset when I found out that I promptly drove to Oak Street and waded through the crowd, and waited in long lines to get my last bites in.

Among all the different varieties, there were no shit sandwiches present. Hallelujah, the shit sandwich must now be extinct!

Everybody was so happy! All the people, all the dogs, united sandwich-eaters. I ran into about 100 people that I know. And I had the same conversation every time. "Hi, how are you? So, what sandwiches have you tried? Well, I had the...Ok, see ya I gotta go try another sandwich."

Highlights of the day included all the good-looking boys, and the second line of folks shaking fat loaves over their heads. Bread and Circuses anybody?

I had a $2 version of Ye Olde College Inn's shrimp remoulade and fried green tomato. A friendly fireman handed me a pulled pork and slaw po-boy. But truly, I think I most enjoyed Bahn Mi Sao Mai's combo of meatballs and shredded pork with cilantro, spicy sriracha-type hot sauce, shaved carrot and cucumber.

I gazed fondly at Mahoney's peacemaker (pacemaker?), of fried oysters, bacon, and cheddar cheese, and eyed Jacques-imo's duck po-boy and Red Fish Grill's Cochon De Lait. Another time.

Leaving the festival, dehydrated and bloated in the slightly chilled air, I thought how much I am looking forward to Mardi Gras.

Click here to learn the true history of the po-boy!

"The formerly middle-class"

David Brooks wrote an op-ed today stating that our current recession will affect the middle class more than any other sociological group. "In particular, it's likely to produce a new social group; the formerly middle class. These are people who achieved middle-class status at the tail end of the long boom, and then lost it. to them, the gap between where they are and where they used to be will seem wide and daunting."

Hmm. So, no Blanche DuBois losing it over the sale of the family estate Belle Reeve in Laurel, Mississippi; no grieving family listening to their beloved cherry orchard being cut down in late 19th century Russia, symbolizing the downfall of the aristocracy following the abolition of serfdom. Nope, this time it's about the bourgeoise. The middle-class, new money folk, who rose on their own by working hard and saving their money.

Bring on the literature exploring their plight.



p.s. I work at a fine-dining establishment. If the aristocracy is chilling, then why don't they come eat anymore???

You Can Call Me Al

Since I turned 23 two days ago, I've been worrying about aging. Wrinkles and shit. Looks like the cosmetics industry just got me by the balls.

It's hard to be a girl. That's what she said.

When you go shopping wearing clothes that you bought at that same store recently, do you feel self-conscious? I do.

Back during sophomore year of college, a guy once told me, "You know, maybe you should get a blog," to the tune of, "Why don't you go fuck yourself." He was trying to convince me to stop sending him sappy emails to Chile, where he was studying abroad. If only he could see me now!

Last night, I went to F & M's. I know. When this guy went to the bar to buy me a drink, I left. I know. But at the time, I felt that it was the right thing to do. Have you ever done that?

I hate making that right turn from carrollton to claiborne. I always just miss the green arrow because the douche bag in front of me decides to idle on through, paying me no mind. And then I have to wait. And I want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light. I thought that was just one of our many cultural advantages, but apparently, on this point we are inconsistent!

Parallel streets that are better than one another: Broad destroys Carrollton. Always. I prefer Esplanade to Canal or Canal to Esplanade depending on my mood. Uh, and where I'm going. Ok I just realized these comparisons are going to be way too arbitrary.

Boy Alexes have issues with their name, as does everybody else. I have never known a Boy Alex to ever go by just Alex. He and the world suggest a host of nick-names that basically sabotage his name. Girl Alexes don't have this problem. Why? I don't know.

Boy Alexes I have known: Alex Visotszky. Goes by Avis, Lex, or Favis. Alex Sugiura. The dude who writes the blog whose style this particular post mimics. Unfortunately for him, but fun for everyone else, in college, he went by "Sug," the g pronounced like "je" of the french language, basically an abomination of his Japanese last name. Oh, or he went by Al. Or Big Al. Or, if he's feeling particularly fruity, Alexander J. Alex Gonzales. Zan, or Al, or Alexander. Alex Reed. Unfortunately for him, fun for everyone else, he was dubbed "Ale," rhymes with "heeeyyy" by a bunch of fat senior football players who were in his AP Spanish class that he took as an 8th grader cuz he was smart and half-Spanish. Recently, he has dropped "Ale" like a bad habit, requesting instead, surprise, Al.

Also, Boy Alexes are nuts. Intense.

Isn't it kind of a let-down that in this age of globalization and what have you, you can never truly mourn that you might never see someone again? But then there is always death. So that should remind you not to take any one for granted.

Always read the NY Times, and always apologize, even if you are afraid the person could give two shits.


....So how'd I do?

Al of porwinegrind.blogspot.com blogs like lying in bed saturday morning, half-awake, squinting your eyes at the wall as things occur to you. Sometimes I love it. It's like, "Adages" by Al. Or, "Afterthoughts" by Al. Yep, like a cologne. Or candles. Like, "Serenity" by Jan. (Those who know, know.) Sometimes I think he's lazy, and he leaves too much to the world. Dry, squinting humor. Why does that sound dirty.

I'm out.

Be A Better Person For Obama

Yesterday, when I woke up, hung-over and hopeful, I felt like it was New Year's. A new day that I, in excitement and nervous anticipation, had celebrated too much for, and then eased into with both caution and earnest. I set out with new resolutions, because I want to be a better person for Obama. Your syndicated columnists have delivered the words you pay to read, about the future of the nation, race relations, the economy, and spirit; and I, your lowly blogger, free-of-charge, can only say what this new day means to me, and maybe, to you.

Today is my birthday; I'm 23! And Obama's victory was a wonderful present. The next time I celebrate, like, tonight or this weekend, ha, it will be an earned celebration of my coming-of-age as one who tries to be a more thoughtful, harder-working person. If Obama ever knew me, I'd want him to think such things about me. Chances are, he won't, but I can live and act for him, as though he were watching over me. You should do the same, and be thankful that we now have such a role-model and leader to guide us through the coming years.

GEAUX VOTE OBAMA

I'm Kate Mooney and I approve this message, I think it's totally hot.

Second Line News

Check out my preview for Prospect One!

YURPS...Tap that Ass!

As I wrote in my post "New Orleans Own: 9-5ers, the Next Generation" it's no secret there's no jobs here. Trying to find a mate? The lack of a job-market precludes the existence of yuppies, so who the hell is going to treat you to a fancy blueberry mojito at St. Joe's? You best stick to the child molesters who frequent Mae's. (Ok, there are well-dressed, affluent-looking young men at St. Joe's, but I'm not attracted to them because duh, I grew up here, and they're always with girls that are dressed better than me, and I'd rather drink dollar high lifes anyway!) But instead of shaking our fists in the air and screaming like Karen from Goodfellas, my man is in the can again, he's gotta go to rehab, what the fuck but I'm so attracted to him (maybe I'm confusing situations? I don't know. Mafia hottie vs. Joe Deadbeat?) we ought to tap into the potential of this recent (Post-K) sociological addition to the dating pool: YURPS, or Young Urban Rebuilding Professionals. You better get one 'cuz they're going fast; who knows how long they'll even stick around? Post-collegiate drifters just slumming it like the hippies before they went to law school? Here to tap into our raw materials just as we might want to tap into what they've got? And then back to New England and the Mid-Atlantic? There are articles speculating these young studs' staying power.

Do you care about your city being rebuilt? Do you want a boy who believes in idealism, both the vague ideas and the concrete realities, like, your body?  How hot is a Jew boy with man's hands?  I mean, nobody can resist that.  

Right now I would like to publicly apply for the position of dating/sex columnist for the Times-Picayune.  I am so much smarter than Carrie Bradshaw.  

I think I've said too much here.  Check out the website, join the facebook group to find out about networking events.  And keep your eyes peeled.  You could even tell the difference with your eyes closed...

NOLA this, NOLA that: Too Meta

Why oh why do we self-promote so much? We have redefined the term self-promote. It's reflexive right? You promote yourself. To others. But what if you constantly promote yourself to yourself? What's the word for that?

I'm so so tired of every business incorporating NOLA into the title, either as a prefix or a suffix. NolaJava, Nolabeans, Nola Brewing Company, Nola Furniture, Nola tattoo, Nola cam, Cafenola...it never ends. How is it a good business strategy if every single business adopts the same technique? Really? And it just gets old. We know we are in New Orleans, nobody is confused about it, so drop it!!!

For instance, if everybody who blogged about New Orleans arranged Nola differently in their blog title, how would you even keep track of what you were reading? Nolablog, blognola, NOblogger, NoblogLa...etc.

The "geaux" spelling is charming though. Geaux Obama! Geaux Hornets! Geaux fuck yourself!!!

But wait...am I a hipster?

So, I've been rocking the thrift store scene down here, and feeling at once lucky and guilty. I get all these great deals, and sure I don't have a lot of money, but thrift stores are not supposed to be cheap thrills for stylish urbanites; they're supposed to offer relief to struggling lower class families. Not to mention I'm getting addicted, and I feel like some superficial stay at home mom who spends her days running errands, buying herself things to convince herself her life isn't empty. (hey, at least I'm blogging about it? You don't see Carmela Soprano blogging about her plight...of course if she did she'd probably cause her entire family to get wacked...)

Am I a hipster? Because I bought black skinny jeans at Buffalo Exchange for 15 dollars? Well, no, because skinny jeans are just the style right now, and if you have a womanly body, then skinny jeans accentuate it, whereas if you are an emaciated coke hole, they make you look like an awkward prepubescent boy.

If I had known about these deals down here, I could have given the Manhattanites at college a run for their money. Dammit!!!

I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was still in college...

Winter is here, and I'm excited about boots, jeans, hoodies, cardigans, tights, etc. Does this make me a bad person?

But seriously, New Orleans is an extremely affordable city. These are my favorite thrift stores:

On the Other Hand, 8204 Oak Street: Exclusive resale boutique on Oak Street. Currently having a fifty percent off sale. Got great shoes for four dollars. Good array of pants. Were playing Cake the other day. You can trade in clothes for fifty percent store credit(no cash).

Thrift City, 601 Terry Parkway: On the westbank!!! Excellent for overalls. Bout to head over for some long overalls, now that the weather is changing.

Buffalo Exchange, 3312 Magazine: Available in nearly every big city. Hip styles, good prices. You can trade in clothes for 30% in cash of the sale price, or 30% in store credit. I went to town on Buffalo Exchange the other day, bought a purse, wedges, three blouses, and three pants.

Funky Monkey, 3127 Magazine: Though the employees all have attitude problems, this is a good place too! Got a Miller High Life Girl pirate-style hat that is just perfect!!! Good costumes, good regular clothes. You can also trade in clothes here for store credit or cash.

Red, White and Blue, 6001 Jefferson Highway: Make the trek down River Road, all the way past Clearview and the Huey P. Long Bridge, to the mecca of thrift stores. Color-coded, aisle after aisle of surprises.

Bloomin' Deals, 4645 Freret Street: Gotta love the clever name. Has a nice 50's-era vibe, as does the rest of Freret Street.

So I guess everything is about the economy. You smile if you get a good deal, you want to break shit when you can't make your mortgage payments. Hey, gas at Ideal Discount on Orleans Ave. and N. Hagan St. in Mid-City is $2.49 a gallon, unleaded regular. WHOO!

The history books will document the way you are feeling right now. Nothing, my friend, is petty. (The one lesson a blogger can teach you...)

Will the Real Sarah Palin Please Stand Up, Please Stand Up...

If only she were funny?

Jokes? or Politics-as-usual?

This NY Times article discusses how this election year, political comedy shows' ratings have increased to record-breaking numbers. This time around, watching the speeches and debates isn't so different from watching political skits, as viewers tune in largely for entertainment value, and to see just how badly candidates might embarrass themselves. It's ready-made comedy when certain candidates (I'm not saying any names) are already caricatures.

I imagine you've already seen Tina Fey's first skit as Sarah Palin; if not, click here.

Embedded below is an SNL skit on the VP Presidential Debates:



My favorite part: (Tina Fey)Palin's closing comments, "Oh, and for those Joe Six-Packs out there, playing a drinking game: Maverick" as she cracks open an air-beer, sound effects and head tipped back...

Here's the SNL skit about the Bailout:

"Who Dat Say They Gonna Beat Lil Wayne? My name ain't Bic but I keep that flame"

Lil' Wayne, new blogger for ESPN The Magazine. Check out his first blogpost.

People are pissed he didn't mention the Saints once!!!

Second Line News

Check out my article about the Vice Presidential debates, posted at New Orleans Second Line.  

A History of American Beer...umm, Miller High Life

I'm getting ready to brew my own beer, and that got me thinking back to the origin of the things, to the very first gathered sprigs of hop and barley, and the delightful sweetness of a surprise fermentation...etc. So one night, drinking my favorite beer, Miller High Life, I thought, hmm, what's the story? Who's the girl in the moon? Why is it called The Champagne of Beers? What did the Miller people envision with this special brew?

So I researched. Here's what I learned.

In the very fertile Miller Valley of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 1855, Frederick Miller first founded the Miller Brewing Company. Miller High Life, it turns out, was Miller's oldest brand! I've included the WIki explanation because it is tells you everything you need to know:

"Miller High Life—This beer was put on the market in 1903 and is Miller Brewing's oldest brand. High Life is grouped under the pilsner category of beers and is 4.7% ABV. The prevailing slogan on current packaging is 'The Champagne of Beers,' an adaptation of its long standing slogan 'The Champagne of Bottled Beers.' Accordingly, this beer is noted for its high level of carbonation, making it a very bubble filled beverage like champagne. It was originally available in miniature champagne bottles and was one of the premier high end beers in the country for many years. Except for a brief period in the 1990s, High Life bottles have always been quite distinctive, as they have a bright gold label and are made of a clear glass that has a tapered neck like a champagne bottle. High Life has brought back its 'Girl in the Moon' logo, which features by today's standards a modestly dressed young lady that, by legend, is company founder Frederick Miller's granddaughter. High Life beat out 17 other contestants to take home the gold medal in 'American-style Lagers' at the 2002 World Beer Cup."

Did you catch who "The Girl in the Moon" is? Frederick Miller's granddaughter!!!

Here's a fun fact relating Miller Genuine Draft and Miller High Life:

"Originally introduced as 'Miller High Life Genuine Draft', the 'High Life' part of the name was soon dropped. MGD is actually made from the same recipe as Miller High Life, with a different treatment. High Life is heat pasteurized after packaging and MGD is filtered before packaging."

Wow!
Wiki does not give a good explanation of the process "heat pasteurizing," but apparently, it is responsible for the difference between normal Miller and special Miller High Life. So I guess it translates, roughly, into "awesomeness, love, the best stuff in the world, the joy of my life..."

*note: all information was acquired from wikipedia, search terms: "miller high life"

Ok,a tangent. I've noticed that all kinds of boys will drink light beers or regular beers indiscriminately, if they're of the Miller, Bud, or Natural Brand...aka cheap, easily chuggable kinds. However, boys only smoke Camel Filters, and never Camel Lights. Why oh why???

Have a High Life today. And please observe the smoking selection of your boy and girl friends.

Crime today

Check out this Times-Pic story of dirty cops getting theirs. I could write a freaking Scorsese script with this kind of material.

New Orleans Own: Nine-to-Fivers, the Next Generation

Who are they, and for whom do they work? More importantly, where are they? Because you never see them anymore. They no longer get ripped during the "weeknights," (please, what is a weeknight? we're not in high school anymore) and most of the time they're too exhausted from the 40-hour-week to show their faces on Friday night. On Saturday, they're up early for friendly tennis matches or outdoor adventure Northshore trips. That exhausts them for Saturday night, plus they need their beauty rest so that they can wake up early on Sunday, hum "doot-do-do" happily as they brew coffee and fry some eggs and bacon, toast some Whole Foods Seeduction bread to craft the perfect little breakfast sandwich, then take care of the week's errands so they can dedicate the rest of their day to their other job: Saints pundit.

Ok, so, it's no secret there are no jobs here. A separate concern from our nation's record-holding financial crisis...because there were never any jobs here. Maybe at the turn of the 20th century, but after that...nah. Certainly not before that--Civil War wreckage followed by Reconstruction-era incompetence rivaled only by that of the Post-K rebuilding effort.

So where are they working? Some are teachers, some work business for daddy. Some slave away at law firms, others test water for amoeba all day. Then, there are the Y.U.R.P.S, or Young Urban Rebuilding Professionals. They are post-grad, non-natives who rebuild New Orleans, working through such organizations as Common Ground, Hands-On, Teach NOLA, and Habitat for Humanity.

A handful work retail, and some are unpaid interns.

And the rest of us? We work in the service industry. Our hours are roughly 5 p.m.-11 p.m. We work till midnight on the weekends, so that the more established Nine-to-Fivers can have a fine-dining experience.

Basically, we eat shit for tips. Our cheeks hurt from fake smiles when a customer sends a steak back to the kitchen, an asshole bullies the hostess because he's too important to wait to be seated, and that lady who looks like she's straight out of Death Becomes Her leaves coins as a tip for her pre-dinner Cosmopolitan. But learning to kiss ass is an important skill. These people skills will help us make friends and move up in life, you know, that day when we, too, are working for...don't say it.

But we have a good time. Chat at work, have a drink or two, sit down for a meal prepared by the kitchen, then take the party over to the local bar, where we mingle with crews from neighboring restaurants.

Then, in the day time we watch episodes from The Office, laughing that we don't work for a paper company, and brainstorming our own work place's counterparts to the show's characters. We mess around in the kitchen, squeeze in a run, shower, and go to work again. Umm, but this is all after a morning dedicated, Hemingway-style, to working on our latest manuscript...

But this post was supposed to be about Nine-to-Fivers...forgive me.

Some of them do party on the weekend!!! Some of them suffer from Friday Nine-to-Fiver Desperation: they drink too much and stay too long, eventually sicking themselves on whoever is still hanging at the bar and will tolerate them. Then Saturday, they lie around all day, feeling guilty, reluctantly go out again that night, deflated and sour-faced, while their Five-to-Elevener friends coast on easy energy and the attitude, "So what, it's Saturday, I like Monday night better;" and Sunday, sluggishly run errands and think about how much the week ahead is going to suck.

But hey, they're playing with the big dogs, right? That's what it's all about, huh?

Working Five-to-Eleven isn't as glamorous as it seems. For example, getting ripped during the week can make you feel bad about yourself. Going to bed at 5, and waking still tired at noon, with only five hours till work, is no recipe for a cheery mood. And I believe I already spoke about the whole shit-eating component.

But you'll be unhappy no matter what, anyway. In the words of Morrissey, "I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now..."

Real World Depression

So much worse than undergraduate depression.

I couldn't sleep last night, and no, I'm sorry, I wasn't up puzzling about the economy. Indirectly, I guess.

So I'm a privileged spoiled bitch. If you call getting the opportunity to go to a nice liberal arts college, but pay loans the rest of your life, spoiled.

Either way, being in college, I got depressed, like any other person. Normal stuff. But there was this degree of self-indulgence about it. Oh this time in my life, oh this boy, oh my friend, oh my passion. I don't really feel that way anymore.

It's not fun to wallow about being broke. Or having another failed relationship, to the point that you wonder if you will ever meet the right person, and you hear yourself in your head sounding like one of those Sex in the City thirty-somethings. And you've got a fucked-up situation with your roommates, of course. And you don't have a "real" job.

No, I don't want to get drunk and pout about these things, hoping someone will think I look sad and cute.

I want to break shit.

Satire and Sexism

Thus far, I've been reluctant to write about Sarah Palin because I think V.P.ILF gets enough attention, but Tina Fey's impersonation really reframed the spectacled spectacle for me. Sure, I've been passively reading and listening to the tabloid-esque gossip about her, feeling sick to my stomach watching her perform her Little House on the Tundra routine, but Fey's performance really drew me in because it got to the heart of why the media's obsession with Palin rubs me the wrong way: sexism.

SNL comedians create political satires, exposing flaws or outrages in the political system by exaggerating the personalities involved and their plight. Ironically, the McCain campaign accused Fey and Amy Poehler (who played Hill) of sexism, when Fey and Poehler's act was in fact a parody of the sexist exploitation of female political candidates. Fey played up Palin's sex appeal, batting her eyes and posing with air-shot-gun, while Poehler played up Hill's reputation as an unappealing, testosterone-raging bitch. Together, Palin and Hillary stand at opposite ends of the spectrum of the media's stereotypes of women: sexy, coy, and dumb; and bitchy, power-hungry, and therefore unfeminine. Fey and Poehler, by exaggerating these stereotypes, drew attention to the prevalence of these stereotypes and the real issue that they present to women vying for political clout in a male-dominated world.

And hey, Palin thought it was funny, according to this NY Times article from the Caucus blog...because she once dressed up as Fey for Halloween.

Lucky for Fey that she's sexy, but a comedian. It seems that the "funny" label elevates women above the media's spectrum of judgment. Probably because comedians are busy self-parodying all the time anyway...

P.S. Speaking of Palin look-alikes: what about Dr. Melfi(MILFY?) on The Sopranos?

Exciting shows this week!

Thursday, September 25, 8 pm and 10 pm: Davy Mooney CD Release Party for "Astoriano" at Snug Harbor, 626 Frenchmen St.
featuring:

Davy Mooney - guitar
John Ellis - sax
Simon Lott - drums
Brian Coogan - organ
Dan Loomis - bass

Check out Davy's myspace page and website.

And Saturday, September 27, 9 pm: An Evening with Ballzack at One Eyed Jack's

Ballzack on myspace

Food Stamps Anybody?

Let's have a food stamp party, just like the gumbo party on K-ville! But no alcohol, illegal drugs, or tobacco products...

The other day I drove down to the Convention Center to apply for food stamps. The Convention Center is humongous! What is inside there? Surely they don't need that much space. It ought to have been renovated into apartments for Katrina refugees and displaced residents of the Magnolia housing projects.

When I arrived, they sent me down an industrial-looking side street to the back of the building, which of course reminded me of that scene in Goodfellas when Jimmy Conway coaxes Karen down a scary back alley--"G'ahead" "Here?" "No, down there, keep going...G'ahead"--ostensibly for a bunch of designer dresses.

But really, the entire operation was legit. I stood in line, filled out my application, took my interview, and at the end, received my card. While filling out my application, a Latino guy asked me if I spoke Spanish, and I talked him through every question! So the way I view my experience is as a chain of mutual aid and exchanges between the government and its citizens, in which every middle man is an important contender: Gustav handed me a shit sandwich, but New Orleans rewarded me with food stamps, to buy more shit sandwiches...but no! New Orleans helped me, I helped a fellow citizen. I paid for public parking in the CBD, which helps New Orleans and prevented me from losing my car as usual and probably heaping on more parking tickets to the pile. And while I was down there, I stopped by City Hall to register to vote, which helps the federal government, and me, (hopefully) as a citizen!

What a beautiful day.

Having Text?

Drunk-dialing? A thing of the past. Phone sex? Who needs it. Young people today are leading a textual revolution. Now seduction is at your finger-tips, in the palm of your hand. Forget monogamy. In this post-modern age, you can have as many partners as there are names in your contact list. Hell, you can be monogamous, but text your ex-boyfriends, brand-new crushes, oldies-but-goodies, last-ditch efforts, and friends' sexy little brothers all you want. I mean, who's going to indict you for "texting around?"

Now I've indulged in my fair share of "heavy texting," (thanks Mel) but there are some folks out there who just understand having text on a higher level. Like, the kama sutra manual, and shit.

So, I consulted my textiest friends, and asked them for their best sexy-texting stories:

1. Sascha--As a visitor to New Orleans, Sascha had a night with a strapping young fellow that she enjoyed so much, the next day she texted him "Fuck me like a prom queen."
He did not respond.

Back in college, Sascha had been engaging in mutual flirtations with a man who she saw at the campus bar from time to time. Shockingly, he was a malnourished hipster type with a coke problem. They frequently made eyes, talked too close and too long over too many drinks, etc. She had heard rumors of his having a "girlfriend," but this bitch never seemed to show her face. Well, one night, when he left the bar, Sascha decided to send him on his way with a little message:

Sascha: "So, are we going to fuck or what?"
Boy:"I have a girlfriend..."
Sascha: "What? Since when."
Boy: "It's been official for like two days."
Sascha: "Ever heard of cheating?"
Boy: "Baby, you got the wrong guy."
Sascha: "Wait, who is this?"

Moving on...

2. Miss Make-it-Rain-on-Them-Hos

So, Miss Make-it-Rain is a sexy-texting expert because of her amazing ability to text up to nine guys at once. Via cell, she is able to string along guys from past, present, and future. It's called multi-texting. I interviewed her about her style.

Kate: So, Miss Make-it-Rain, who are you texting these days?
Miss MIR: How many drinks have I had?
Kate: Good point. Next question. What is your texting m.o.?
Miss MIR: "I don't care who you fuck, as long as it's me, when I wanna."
Kate: I see. Ok, can one catch a textually-transmitted disease?
Miss MIR: Yes, but they're all mental.
Kate: Umm, that's not funny enough.
Miss MIR: That's not supposed to be funny, that's true.
Kate: What advice would you give to a young texter?
Miss MIR: "Better wear a la-tex, 'cuz you don't want that late text, that 'i think i'm late' text. (a ha ha)." So practice safe text.

Some tips and warnings:

1. Texting while driving is very dangerous. ("Much more dangerous than fellatio while driving," says Make-it-Rain.)

2. Being textually active is healthy and normal for young people these days. Moderate sexy texting is known to release endorphins, functioning as well as most low-dosage s.s.r.i's.

3. Do not have a Make-it-Rain text-a-thon unless you are her. Because you will fuck it up. For example, a young, green lad, actually, a sexy little brother, once texted me that he had had a dream about me. When I wrote back something benign like "oh that's sweet, I miss you" he responded, "Are you naked or Christina? Because that could affect when I come up." Looks like the little one was really working the freshman dorm.

4. I know Weezy did it, but look, no texting Mr. or Mrs. Occifer. 911 is for emergencies only.

Happy Texting! Please post your stories below:

"Men Resting"

Drive-by-Blogger posted this comment yesterday:

"I was driving on down St. Charles and there was a street dept. crew with warning signs saying "Men Resting".
As I drove by, I could hear the roar of snores."

!!!!!

Just like in Goodfellas, when Tommy DeVito is telling that story at the restaurant:

"What's really funny, is, at the fucking bank job away at Secaucus, I'm in the middle of the fucking weeds laying down, he comes over, says, 'What are you doing?' I said, 'I'm resting.' 'Here you're resting? I'm gonna fucking beat you in a box.' I said, 'I'm resting, I know I'm resting. I'm resting, I'm resting..."

Adventures at Traffic Court

If while leaving the New Orleans Municipal Traffic Court at Tulane Ave. and S. Broad, you can't remember where you parked, so you walk around the ghetto, sweating and crying, past the OPP (Orleans Parish Prison), getting catcalled by recently-released thugs; do not, under any circumstances, ask one of the many nearby police officers for help. Because they do not care, and they will not help you. Oh, and if your phone dies, borrow one from a civilian--not an officer--and call your dad, who will pick you up, drive around with you until you find your car, and then take you to lunch.

P.S. Traffic Court no longer accepts credit cards. Also, their online system is down. Drive flawlessly. As Ballzack says, "Nothing in New Orleans don't ever work/the fucking stop lights don't even work/the fucking City Hall don't ever work/the fucking school board don't even work/You can get away with murder, man, they don't give a fuck/but if they catch you speeding they gonna lock you up." Yah.

...and Britney! Louisiana at the VMAs!

You watch her, winning awards, looking good, and you remember why you love her...until you remember her kids were taken away from her.

Lil' Wayne at the VMAs

Oops, video no longer available. We're running into some serious copyright blocks. I hope you saw him at the VMA's! Lil' Wayne is the bomb!

yIKEs

Oh come on, NOT AGAIN!!!

But listen, seriously: EVACUATE. I know you did last week, and you're broke, and you're pissed, but when you were a little kid, did you ever hear the story about the Boy Who Cried Wolf?

Every year, we play a little game, where the people who evacuate are grumpy as fuck and regretful, and those who stay strut around bragging about how hard-core they are. Well, one day, you're going to get fucked in the ass, and you're not going to feel cool. You understand?

P.S. Y'all heard of this mediocre-ass band Beulah? I'm listening right now cuz I'm exhausted, home on Saturday night, and I needed something mindless...until I hear the goddamn line, "I'm missing you like hurricanes/I give them names but their waves keep rolling/On and On and On..."

Not exactly my sentiment.