Celebration in the Crescent City

2009 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival

Let me just start by saying that I somewhat of a festival nut. I am not going to say I am a festival aficionado because there is probably no such thing, but I love music festivals and art festivals and the such. I have never been to a renaissance festival and like to laugh at renaissance festivals behind their backs, but if you took me to one I would probably be gnawing on a turkey leg and jousting within about ten minutes. But, why? Why would I want to deal with port-o-potties and the heat and expensive, low quality beer and...all those, those people!?!? Well, it is actually all those people that makes me like festivals. I love seeing all those people coming together for a good time. I love seeing all the smiling faces and the expressions that say "I took the day off" and "I have zero responsibilities today". It's thousands of people with the same goal - to have a great time and forget their troubles for a few hours. Granted, there are some total idiots out there. I am aware of the teenager getting drunk via fake ID and the biker who looks like he's ready for a fight, just as soon as he finishes his corn dog and thirtieth Bud Light. I am able to filter those people out with my trusty festival goggles when I am in attendance and my short term memory allows me to forget about them after I leave. What doesn't leave my conscience, though, is the collective fun had by many and the multiple layers of creativity people come to see, hear, taste and share. This entry is starting to sound like hippie gibberish so I will just stop and clarify. I love festivals and this year would be my first time attending the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

"Take it easy, man." - Jeffrey Lebowski

There is one important rule music festival attendees should try to keep in mind and it can make the difference between a great time and a frustrating time. This is not ground breaking information but it's helpful: go ahead and and plan on missing some of the great music you intended on seeing and hearing in exchange for some surprising introductions to artists and musicians you have never seen or heard. Keep that in mind and it will help you relax and enjoy the total environment. Remember, it's not a concert. It's a festival. Rather than nervously staring at the stage schedule and your watch while muttering "Dave Matthews starts at 5" over and over, you might just end up catching some really cool gospel band from Arkansas. Or, you might just sit around and laugh with your pals. We don't get many recess days as adults. It's best to not turn them into an intense effort.

Music followed by more music.

In terms of musical diversity, New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival does a great job. However, for any jazz nuts reading this it would be good for you to know that here in 2009 (after forty years) the "jazz" aspect of the festival is best represented in the name. There is a specific jazz tent and there will be some great jazz shows, but it's really more about diversity these days. There are rappers, country acts, rock acts, DJs, funk bands, gospel groups, Native American music groups, bluegrass bands, reggae bands, and more. In terms of celebrity, there were some heavy hitters this past weekend: James Taylor, Wilco, Dave Matthews Band, Joe Cocker and several others. Next weekend (the closing weekend) will bring Bon Jovi, Sugarland, Neil Young, Tony Bennett, Emmylou Harris, Buddy Guy, Ben Harper and many others.

There were several musical highlights for me, personally. I finally got to see The Del McCoury Band and they sounded great. Big Chief Monk Boudreaux surprised me and I was a big fan of the brief section of his set that I caught. I have liked Hugh Masekela for a few years now and I enjoyed his set, even though he was promoting a new album and I did not know many of the songs. Joe Cocker gave it his all, and while the years have not been kind to his voice, he certainly has an excellent catalog of songs that all of us know. Dave Matthews Band was good and his stage presence is always contagious to a crowd. His music is not really my favorite, but people really dig the guy and he seems genuinely appreciative. I'm cool with that. There were a few others mixed in there that I also enjoyed but they were more or less background music for time spent gazing at the various art booths, chatting with friends and enjoying the surprisingly mild weather.

D is for Delicious

I could try to give you a bunch of art and music reasons to come down to New Orleans for the Jazz Fest. To be completely honest, my invitation would be sincere but I think you can also find great art and music at other festivals that don't require hotels and plane tickets. But, there is one aspect to Jazz Fest that can not be replicated because it is uniquely New Orleans and uniquely Jazz Fest. The food. It's simply the best, most creative, most surprising, most delicious food at any festival I have ever attended. Let me start by telling you what you will not find at Jazz Fest. Don't come here looking for funnel cakes or corn dogs or pizza slices or Dippin' Dots (yeah, I went there) or french fries. You simply won't find them here. What you will have to choose from are soft shell crab po boy sandwiches and crawfish puff pastries and pork chop sandwiches and frozen mango and tons of other delicacies that can only be found at this event. There are two creations that people rave about before, during and after Jazz Fest. These two foods cause people's eyes to tear up when discussing their ingredients. It's quite impressive how excited people get when it comes to the food at Jazz Fest.

The first delicacy is called Crawfish Monica. It's basically a pasta dish served in a heavy cream sauce and mixed with fresh crawfish meat. It's very filling and it would be hard to imagine eating this on a very hot day but people love it and lick their spoon when they're finished. The second is a sandwich called Cochon De Lait Po Boy. First of all, Cochon De Lait means "milk fed pig". Unless you're a vegetarian, you should be drooling at this point. Basically, it's a roasted pork sandwich served with a cole slaw dressing and a spicy mustard sauce. It's as good as it sounds and is the number one, most popular food at Jazz Fest. I ate it, loved it and cried after the last bite. And I never once missed those Dippin' Dots.

To sum it all up, Jazz Fest didn't have to do much to win me over. I was already a fan of the idea. People + Music + Food + Art all in one place. They just had to execute well in order for me to be impressed. And they did execute well. Very well. After forty years, they have figured out how to put on a great event. All of the reasons I like festivals were present and accounted for and I am excited to go back next weekend.

Thanks for reading.

The Housing Challenge in the Crescent City

Risky Business

Trying to find a great, more permanent place for Adrianne and I to live in New Orleans is proving to be very difficult. New Orleans is a unique place. Sometimes, the reasons for that are wonderful. Sometimes, they can be frustrating.

The living situation here in New Orleans is vastly different that the one in Atlanta. The main reason is the fact that we are still dealing with post-Katrina New Orleans. Yes, a lot of progress has been made and a lot of the city is alive and kicking. But mixed in with all the positivity are the corpses of homes and businesses that are still unoccupied, boarded with plywood and spray painted by the National Guard. You've all seen the symbols, right? Here is a photo of what I mean:

After Katrina, when the city was evacuated, the National Guard literally went house by house and checked for survivors. The date of the search is at the top of the X. I am pretty sure the CBP stands for the National Guard unit that searched the house, but please correct me if I am wrong. The 0 at the bottom of the X stands for the number of bodies found in the house. It's pretty eerie. Granted, 98% of the symbols have a 0 at the bottom but knowing there is the potential to see a 1 (or a 3) is unnerving. The point of this information is that with all of these unoccupied homes, you have a what can be called a "lack of desirable inventory". In addition to a lack of inventory, you have areas where the bare minimum has been completed in order to restore occupancy. Someone moved back into their house. Yippee! But the street looks like Kosovo and there are seven other houses around it that need to be destroyed. I saw a FOR RENT sign yesterday and pulled down a side street to check it out. Yes, there was a nice home available and it was attractive. The rest of the street made me think that if I waited for the sun to go down, zombies would come pouring out of the buildings looking for human flesh. It can be creepy and I am rambling.

We all understand simple economics. What happens when you have very little inventory and a lot of people who need it? If you guessed high prices then you're a winner! The amount of money people are asking for rent here is much, much higher than we would have ever paid in Atlanta. This is also not relative economics because of the city's neighborhoods and their design. It would be easy to take a deep breath and say, "OK, we're going to pay a lot more but live in a nice place in a nice area." Any resident of New Orleans will tell you (it's almost a rehearsed speech) that when you find a nice place to live, there is no guarantee you will have great neighbors. You can literally see a $5 million mansion with rundown houses occupied by shady people just one block away. And even if you have great neighbors on either side, you might walk eight houses down the street while walking your dog, make a right, walk another five or six houses and suddenly feel very vulnerable and a little scared. There just isn't any rhyme or reason to the living situation here. If we wanted to get crazy ridiculous, we could find a place that was literally three times the cost of our mortgage in Atlanta and live safely and comfortable. We would also learn to live off of bread and water and probably not enjoy our new life here very much. It's complicated.

For those of you reading this that care about our safety and well being, it would be easy to read this post and be worried for us. Please don't be worried and I will tell you why.

Back in middle school, our family was heavily invested in orthodontics for me and my sister. I had braces and head gear and retainers and rubber bands and all this crazy stuff. For an airhead 13 year old kid, it was all very confusing and the responsibility that came with it was beyond my grasp. I mean, there were times when I missed the bus back in seventh grade because I could not find my shoes. We're talking like 12 or 13 times. I just could not keep up with anything. So anyway, one time we were at this restaurant and it was the kind of restaurant where your food was on a plastic tray. I took my $250 retainer out of my mouth to eat, ate my meal and then promptly threw my food scraps, napkin and $250 retainer into the trash. The family drove home and I announced what I had done right as we pulled into the driveway. Well, $250 was a lot of money (and still is) so my parents drove back to that restaurant and tried to ask about the retainer. The restaurant people probably pointed to the garbage cans and shrugged. My parents ended up digging through disgusting restaurant trash for about an hour trying to correct my mistake. And guess what? They found that retainer and everything was okay. It was nasty but they worked through it together and they persevered. And guess what? Adrianne and I will persevere, find a great place to live and everything will be okay. I hope my strange analogy makes sense for what we are dealing with here in New Orleans. We're going to have to dig and we're going to have to sort through some trash but we're going to find a great place and we're going to love it here.

This city has a hundred nicknames and they are all applicable. After talking to people about Katrina and what has been happening here since 2005, I have another nickname. The City of Perseverance. This place went through hell and there are some places that are still smoldering, but people are smiling and music is playing and birds are chirping. It's going to be okay. I think the lifelong residents of New Orleans have had to tell themselves that more than a lot of Americans. I live here now. Adrianne will live here soon. We will need to add that phrase to our repertoire.

Thanks for reading.

People in the Crescent City

Politeness and Piracy

I'd like to start this post with a shout out to all the people in New Orleans who have been so nice to me. My co-workers, my neighbors, the assistant manager of Rite Aid Pharmacy, my landlord, the waitress who served me a fairly bad salad this evening, the old dude with the keg last week and all the other people I keep meeting. These people are so nice and polite and just friendly in a real, sincere way. I feel like I have "New guy. Go easy." tattooed on my forehead! It's great and I am so thankful. A special thanks goes out to the guy who saved my butt by yelling "one way street" from his porch the other day as I zipped by his house. Thanks to him, people in New Orleans have remained nice to me. Mainly because I have not hit them head-on while driving the wrong way down a one way street.

Here's one other thing about a small sect of people in New Orleans. It's an observation and a belief of mine and it is being shared as a motivator for people to come visit. Ready? OK, here's the deal. There are real, in the flesh, true, legit pirates living in this city. Seriously. I'm not talking about peg legs and parrots and guys who drag out the pronunciation of Art Garfunkel to a hilarious degree. I'm talking about people who have no real need or use for modern laws, hygiene standards or shoe laces. People who are scoundrels in the most respectable way. People who live by a code that I am positive I could not understand. People who, if you stopped on the street and offered $100 for them to tell you what year it was, would stare you down and then mumble something about rum and pork chops. People who would find it perfectly normal to trade three fish hooks, a shotgun shell and a piece of pizza crust for a pack of cigarettes. It sounds like I am talking about mentally ill, homeless people. And this would be true in other cities. Not in New Orleans. Specifically, in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

As I walk the streets of the French Quarter during my lunch hour, I notice these people. The observation that sticks with me the most is that they don't stand out as peculiar or weird. Why? Because of their surroundings. (The tourists in their Crocs and cargo shorts are the ones who look weird.) They really do look like pirates, though! Crazy beards and sunburned faces and wild eyes and clothes that look like they're from the 17th century. I have not seen any swords or those little pistol muskets, but I'd bet anything there's a weapon there somewhere. It's OK, though. And they are standing in doorways of homes and peering out of windows and sometimes zipping by on ancient bicycles. They are the part of the French Quarter experience that comes absolutely free of charge and is one of the real reasons the place stays so popular. They're legit. They're living, breathing history in the roughest sense. They are not going to tell you jack squat about the city's history but they will probably have an opinion or two on all the ways the city has changed for the worst. It starts with me, my Crocs and my cargo shorts. (For the record, I do have Crocs but do not have cargo shorts. I'm pretty sure I got that one backwards in terms of being cool. It's OK.)

These modern day relatives of Captain Hook fit in perfectly fine and look perfectly normal in this one little neighborhood in this one strange port city in this one massive nation. Rip them off of Royal Street in New Orleans and plant them on Piedmont Road in Atlanta and they would probably be surrounded by the cops pretty quickly. There are only a few of them and I never take their photo because I am sure I would be verbally abused if caught in the act. (You'll have to come visit if you want to see one. We'll go out for drinks and pirate sightings.) They don't beg. They also don't look desperate or hungry or particularly pained at all. They do seem a little annoyed with all of the people like me. And they do seem very out of touch with all of the borders that touch their little enclave. But maybe that's one of the reasons people flock to this city from all over the world. Maybe it's good to get a little out of touch from time to time. Just a thought.

Don't worry about me becoming a pirate. I just find it interesting to see people who should be considered odd suddenly appearing very normal because of their home. The full or part-time pirate lifestyle is not attractive to me for the following reasons:
1) I have to shower pretty much every day.
2) The idea of contracting scurvy scares me to no end.
3) I could not grow a beard if you paid me.

Thanks for reading.

Scenes from the Crescent City

Vanilla ice cream with a drizzle of chocolate sauce.

I continue to be amazed at the paradoxical nature of this city.

Everywhere I look there is beauty and history and quite possibly the most gorgeous concentration of architecture that I have seen in our country. (OK, if you are exhaling deeply and naming off other cities with better architecture then let's agree to disagree right now. Geez.) Then there are the trees! These massive, imposing giant oak trees with the longest branches/arms stretching out over every street. They are so comforting. There are the beautiful homes, thousands of them, tightly packed into neighborhoods with named boundaries that start and stop in the middle of streets. It's quite possible in New Orleans to live in a house large enough so that your front door is in one neighborhood with a special name and for your back door to be in another. I love to exaggerate. I'm good at it.

But then there's a little bit of ugly mixed in...in a good way. Imagine a perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream in a dish. It's flawless. It's from heaven. Then you drizzle some dark chocolate syrup on it. You have totally ruined the pristine scoop of ice cream, but in a wonderful way. Does that make sense? That's New Orleans when it comes to the charming, historic city and its desperate plea for attention from tourists. You have to forgive the obvious addiction to outsiders because without them and without their unbelievable lack of good taste, the city would not be itself.

For example, let's gaze at one of the most gorgeous buildings I have ever seen. In this case, an ancient hotel called Monteleone. This photo does not do it justice. It's truly magnificent.

If my camera lens was wide enough, you would be able to see a daiquiri bar and a little shop advertising "3 T-shirts for $9.99". (Note to friends and readers: If you ever see me wearing a t-shirt that you suspect cost only $3.33, be alarmed, be very alarmed.)

Please come visit and we will walk together through New Orleans and you will have your camera and we'll have to wait for a (large) man from Michigan to finish his "yard of beer" and step aside before you can photograph Hotel Monteleone.

Sometimes, you just feel lucky.

There is a New Orleans culinary tradition that sometimes take a back seat to crepes, oysters and other unpronounceable entrees envied around the world. It's just as delicious. It's just as special. If you have read Confederacy of Dunces then you know what I mean. I'm talking about Lucky Dogs.

These are available everywhere down in The Quarter and pretty much all the time. Seriously, like until the sun comes up. When the fancy-shmancy restaurants close in the Garden District and you're still hungry, we'll go down and get one. There is a strong chance I will sleepwalk down St. Charles one night and get one.

The Streetcar exhibit.

Back in Atlanta a few years ago, we had the "cows" exhibit. There were these lavishly decorated cows all over Atlanta, placed on random street corners or in the middle of pedestrian areas. I tried to convince people that Atlanta had a huge Hindu artist population but nobody believed me. One day they were just gone. I asked a few cops if they knew where the cows were and they answered me with "step away" and "pour out the beer". I never really considered that an acceptable answer. Whatever.

Here in New Orleans, I am now seeing these lavishly decorated street cars all over the place. The name of the exhibit is called "Streetcar Named Inspire" and they are really neat. I took a picture of one. (Note the Mardi Gras beads on the neck of the statue behind the streetcar. Someone either spent hours trying to do that or had a lucky shot followed by about fifty high-fives.)

Well, that's it for today but I have to tell one more story that does not have a photo with it. I finally went and found the disc golf course here in New Orleans. It's OK and I think it will grow on me as a home course. It needs to because it's the only one. I was spoiled in Atlanta. Anyway, I ended up partnering up with two college kids and we played about eight holes together until our round of golf took us by a park pavilion where a lone, older man was hanging out with a keg of beer. He offered. The college kids accepted and started filling up cups. I stood several feet away, expecting the game to continue. I'll cut this short and say the round of golf stopped there. I ended up drinking keg beer with two college kids and a man old enough to be my father until it got dark. It was so weird but the conversation was good and I still get a kick out of the accents. This older man was straight up Cajun. I felt like a vagrant drinking in a park with strangers but it also felt natural in New Orleans, LA. It was a spontaneous party and a really nice form of generosity. Back in Atlanta, I would have been glancing nervously for any police presence. Not in New Orleans. It's perfectly legal to drink anywhere as long as you don't have a glass bottle. By the way and in case you are wondering, the older man was a caterer and a corporate event had just ended under the pavilion. The beer was leftover but they "barely touched it" according to the older man and he didn't want it to go to waste. People in New Orleans have their heads on straight.

Thanks for reading.

Day Two in the Crescent City

I spent most of the day on Monday just sort of staying busy until I could move into my apartment. I dropped my bike off for some repairs and visited a hat shop that I found online (I love hats due to a lack of hair) and went to Borders to buy a city map.

I am super glad to say that the meeting with the landlord and the move-in went well. I have been a home owner for two years and the idea of renting (and really the word landlord) at this point is about as far from ideal as I could explain. Adrianne and I keep reminding each other to be flexible and patient so I am reminding myself again right here, right now. (I would love it if someone read that last phrase and then sung "watching the world wake up from history" to themselves. Jesus Jones was the artist. Stop racking your brain.) Anyway, Tony is a super nice guy and we have had many great conversations over the phone. However, as he swung the door to the apartment open, I held my breath awaiting a roach motel. I should mention here that this was the first time I had EVER seen the place, aside from some blurry photos on Craigslist. I found the place and booked it because the landlord accepted three month leases. It was perfect for what I needed. One of my trusty New Orleans pals went to check it out for me and gave it his approval. Still though, what if my pal had been distracted on a cell phone? What if he had not noticed "that smell" or what if the landlord had hurried him through his inspection? I was concerned and feeling hesitant.

The apartment rocks! It is perfect in every way. My landlord immediately noticed some light bulbs had burned out and instead of saying he'd get to them soon, he dashed across the street (where he lives) and went about making the changes. Here's the deal with the apartment...quite often in a massively touristy place like New Orleans, Bed & Breakfast locations would sell out and be booked solid. He had the bright idea to use this apartment as overflow lodging for "turned away at the inn" B&B customers. Therefore, it is adorned beautifully. There are even two bathrobes (nice ones) hanging in the bathroom. The bed might be the best bed I have ever slept in. Anyway, Craigslist once again proved to me that the world's largest, online yard sale might be the best invention since the internet itself. If I ever meet Craig, I am buying him a beer or a bowl of cereal, depending on what time of day it is.

I am within walking distance to so many things that I can not believe it. Great bars and restaurants and a hospital should I ever need it (let's hope not) and that Borders mentioned earlier. The streetcar is four blocks away. I have still not ridden a streetcar but will soon. It will probably be its own post.

I visited my new grocery store and bough essentials for living: olives, Goldfish crackers, granola bars, ingredients for grilled cheese, lemons, bananas, powdered Gatorade and coffee supplies.

The rest of the day was spent playing tennis at Audobon Park with my friend Karen (I lost to a girl - sweet) and then dinner at a wonderful place called Lola's that specializes in Spanish paella. This dinner excursion was my first time seeing what is called Mid-City and City Park. New Orleans' City Park is bigger than NYC's Central Park and San Fran's Golden Gate Park.

Pictures will come soon. Thanks for reading.

Upon Arrival in the Crescent City

Day One (Sunday, April 12)

I arrived in New Orleans after driving all day on Easter Sunday, wondering who was winning The Masters tournament and missing my wife and animals. It was overcast and windy through Mississippi and into Louisiana. My car was fully packed and I had my bike mounted to the bike rack on top of the car. I called my friends Karen and Dave Curry to let them know I was minutes away. I would be staying with them for one night and would move into my apartment the next day.

It's interesting when I hear that a city is known for crime. Isn't almost every "city" known for crime here in 2009? I can understand very small towns where there has not been a murder in 15 years. But a city? Let's just pick one. A non-descript, somewhat bland one at that. How about Orlando? (Stay cool Orlando. It's just a point of reference.) There were 123 murders in Orlando in 2008. Maybe I'm a wimp, but that's a lot of dead people. Anyway, I called my friend with my car loaded down and here's how the conversation went:

Jason: Hey, I'm almost there. I have my bike on top of the car and I think it's going to rain so can we bring it inside?

Karen: Oh, we'll be bringing your bike inside. But not because of the rain.

I knew exactly what she meant and said a quiet "doh!" to myself for already being the naive, new guy. Not only did we bring my bike inside. We also drove my fully loaded car to the Curry family's company warehouse and locked it inside for the night. No kidding. I was advised not to leave my packed car on the street for one, single night. Granted, a stolen bike is not a murder but for crime to be so top-of-mind was interesting, if not a little eerie.

I was glad to be taken care of by people who care and can not imagine arriving to a city where I knew nobody. If it was my first night in Pittsburgh, it would have been me watching A&E inside the Best Western while two dudes in the parking lot argued over who got to keep my freshly stolen bike.

Since it was Easter, most restaurants were closed. We went to a smoky sports bar called Cooter Brown's and I had my first Po Boy as a resident, along with several raw oysters and an Abita.

That's it for Day One. Thanks for reading. I will start adding photos soon.