“I suspect that the parties you attend must be true visions of the apocalypse. I knew that our society was coming to this. In a few years, you and your friends will probably take over the country.” “Oh, we’re planning to,” the young man said with a bright smile. “We have connections in the highest…
It was just a couple of days ago that Lionel’s birthday was being commemorated. Here is the announcement. One of my favorite albums is the one below, bridging the generations. JazzLionel Ferbosmusicnew orleansTrombone Shortytrumpet
Interview with Cory MacLauchlin. (See my review of “Butterfly”). a confederacy of duncesButterfly in the TypewriterCory MacLauchlinJohn Kennedy Toolenew orleansphilosophical literature
He had read in the morning paper that a ladies’ art guild was having a hanging of its paintings in Pirate’s Alley. Imagining that the paintings would be offensive enough to interest him for a while, he pushed his wagon up onto the flagstones of the Alley toward the variety of artwork dangling from the…
Unfortunately, my feet could not keep pace with my soul (p. 197). Some musk which my system generates must be especially appealing to the authorities of the government . . . Like a bitch in heat, I seem to attract a coterie of policemen and sanitation officials (p. 198). Perhaps the Quarter will provide me…
Therefore, my size itself is a safeguard against my ever sinking too low within the structure of our civilization. I was there — on the very rim of our age — when my mother’s cataclysmic intemperance, as you well know, catapulted me into the fever of contemporary existence (pp. 195-196). (H/T to Cory McLaughlin for the…
You’ve got to love Susan Ford’s “understated overstatedness” or perhaps the reverse or even perhaps Southern Stoicism — whatever, she is a treasure! Check out her Louisiana Kitchen and Culture mag. Two summers ago, when hurricane Isaac was looming in the Gulf of Mexico, I took stock of my freezer to see what I could…
The grandeur of my physique, the complexity of my worldview, the decency and taste implicit in my carriage, the grace with which I function in the mire of today’s world — all of these at once confuse and astound Clyde. Now he has relegated me to working in the French Quarter, an area which houses…
Yummy! A new spin on an old favorite. Watch the short video for the surprise finish. bone marrowfoodnew orleansToups Meatery
Lana studied Jones’ face, but his eyes were invisible behind the smoke and dark glasses. “The only thing you ever be givin the orphan is siphlus. Whoa! Do gimme no shit about no mutherfuckin record player. As soon as I crack open this orphan case, I calling a po-lice myself. I sick and tire of…
manwithoutqualities 