The very excellent scathe merchant Justin Shubow in Forbes. Betsky explicitly said that context was appropriately irrelevant to the design. It was clear that for Betsky and Kroloff, the anonymous globalized starchitecture that is all the rage in Dubai, Davos, and Shanghai equally belongs in New Orleans’ Lower Ninth Ward. If the architects had their…
Mrs. Reilly reached down next to her chair and picked from the floor the large volume of The Consolation of Philosophy. She aimed one of its corners at Ignatius’ stomach. “Awff,” Ignatius gurgled. “Angelo found it in that barroom last night,” Mrs. Reilly said boldly. “Somebody stole it off him in the toilet.” “Oh, my…
Being a creature of habit, as regular as a monk, and taking pleasure in the homeliest repetitions, I listen every night at ten to a program called This I Believe. Monks have their compline, I have This I Believe. On the program hundreds of the highest-minded people in our country, thoughtful and intelligent people, people…
FOR SOME TIME NOW the impression has been growing upon me that everyone is dead. It happens when I speak to people. In the middle of a sentence it will come over me: yes, beyond a doubt this is death. There is little to do but groan and make an excuse and slip away as…
H/T to Ricky Riccardi for this article. In his 1954 autobiography, “Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans,” Armstrong writes that when he was arrested in 1913, he “had no idea what a Waifs Home was” — even though he had been sent to the home just three years earlier. “This is mind-blowing,” said Ricky Riccardi,…
“Sure,” she whispered. “Look, you don’t wanna waste your evening messing with that character laying in the street. He’s some kinda bum. You look like you could use you some fun.” She stepped around the white mountain of smock, which was wheezing and snorting volcanically. Somewhere in fantasyland Ignatius was dreaming of a terrified Myrna…
A regular young Rupert Brooke was I, —full of expectancy. Oh the crap that lies lurking in the English soul. Somewhere it, the English soul, received an injection of romanticism which nearly killed it. That’s what killed my father, English romanticism, that and 1930 science. A line for my notebook: Explore connection between romanticism and…
Passed on this day ArtGeorge Rodriguenew orleanspainting
“Hey! All you peoples draggin along here. Stop and come stick your ass on a Night of Joy stool,” he started again. “Night of Joy got genuine color peoples workin below the minimal wage. Whoa! Guarantee plantation atmosphere, got cotton growin right on the stage right in front your eyeball, got a civil right worker…
My favorite — curry! (yes, you heard right). Meltdown foodice popsmeltdown popsMichelle Weavernew orleans
manwithoutqualities 