A tick in the plus column

Friday afternoon presented another of the reasons to live in New Orleans:
One can always find someone to have a drink with. Even during the day.

A certain software program in the Office Suite (one that rhymes with HELL) was giving me a few issues. I worked myself into a bona fide snit trying to figure it out. Thoroughly irritated, I called my Excel Guy (thanks, J!). He works for a big bank in Houston. Generous though he is with his time--or their time as it may have been--we did not end the conversation with full systems go as I hoped.
Our conversation ended shortly after I insisted 'Yes, I do where the Start icon on my computer is.'

I moved on to a plan B compromise of running my desktop and laptop side by side so I could run two different spreadsheets simultaneously.

That's when I ran into the second snafu: green flags. In the upper left hand corner of each cell. Over 2,000 of them. The only way I could manage to get rid of the flags was to double click in each cell. Individually. 4,000 clicks. Without a mouse since I'd left it on my dining table.

I quickly moved on to yet another plan B compromise: gin.
I called my gin guy (he's local--what good is an out-of-town gin guy?) and said I'd be there in under an hour.
True to my word, I arrived by 3:47.

Everything was fine once I walked through the door; he directed me to the fridge where gin & grapefruit was mixed by the gallon. Raymond Carver wrote 'Booze takes a lot of time and effort if you're going to do a good job with it.' It's worthwhile to collect a few people willing to make such an investment.

Not from around here

I got into the elevator this morning in my building.
A woman darted in just as the doors were opening.
'I'm only going to eight. Do most people just walk that few flights?'
Me: 'In this town, people live their whole lives without walking eight flights of stairs.'

57.4%

This week has found me considering why it is I live in New Orleans.
A conversation with a friend prompted me to do a back of the cocktail napkin calculation.
The solution: I've been here 27/47 months since I moved here in 2004--that's 57.4% of the time, divided among six different places in as many neighborhoods.

Yet for each time I go away, I come back.
Some of the reasons are practical--I have an office here, friends, work colleagues and I know my way around.
More than that it's the intangible qualities and characters of the place that keep me returning.

I spent evenings over the week wandering through the Garden District to remember some of what's unique and beautiful about life here.
One night I stood on a street corner waiting for the light to change when a guy came rolling by in a white convertible. He was in the opposite lane of traffic to me with his top down. I could smell his cologne. From 15 feet away. While he was in motion.

Another evening, I rambled with a friend and we ended in The Half Moon, a local bar.
We settled into a pleather sofa under a fan near the juke box with local draft beers.
Another patron was on the sofa so I ended up sitting in the middle between the two guys.

Bar talk started and soon enough I knew the guy was an auto detailer with a birthday on the next day. He thought knowing me better might sweeten his celebration and minced no words.

Auto detailer: 'Is he your boyfriend?
'No, he's a friend.'
'Have you got a boyfriend?'
'I'm between boyfriends right now.'
'Oh, so you've got more than one. Think they would they mind if I took your number?'

My friend howled. I couldn't help myself and laughed aloud, too.

Later on he tried again.
'So what kind of work you do?'
'I'm a graduate student.'
'You getting a four year degree?'
'Well yes, I guess it's taken me about four years. Now I'm at the end of the line.'
'What you majoring in?'
'I study Public Health.'
'So you gonna get a four year degree in that?'
'Well, it's a PhD. Like I said, end of the line.'
'Damn. That's remarkable.'

Even with unbearable summer heat, slowly I'm remembering just why it is I live here.
How it is I can't imagine life any place else in the U.S.
This city just gives and gives.

What I do for kicks

I was at an organic wine tasting for Earth Day.
The guy across from me was a Chemical Engineer.
He approached his wine tasting like the chemistry lab--talking about viscosity and such.

As we got more into the vino we started chatting more.
He asked about my work.
Usually I keep it vague unless I feel like pushing the envelope a bit.
I went for it.

Me: "I study sex workers in Zanzibar."
Him: Gulp. "You're talking about prostitutes."
Me: "Yep. Sex workers is the way we refer to it."
Him: "Well, how do you do that? I mean is it observational?"
Me: "As opposed to participatory? No, I don't sell sex. Nor do I watch others sell sex. So, no I wouldn't call it observational."
Him: (the brightest, reddest face I've seen on anyone in AGES!) "I kind of set myself up for that, didn't I?"
Me: Uh-huh. Cheers.

Things people say

I'm in Memphis.
We were pulling out of a parking lot in my girlfriend's Volvo station wagon when she noticed a guy standing at the sidewalk waiting to cross.
The windows were down so she spoke up to tell him, 'go ahead.'
His reply: 'Bring your ass on' with a sweeping arm gesture as if he were waving a race flag.

We didn't argue with the man.

You've asked for a blog forever.
Forever has come.


For the inaugural post I'm featuring treasures from Zanzibar. From the most recent trip, I brought back a few of everyone's favorites: clove soap & vanilla beans and spiced coffe [sic]





And a new treasure that is priceless.
From the Indian owned card shop of Gizenga Street, I give you 'I Hate You' cards.

I have one in every variety my friend Peter could find. I sent him shopping one day when he was bored during the four week black out in Zanzibar.


The inside messages are as flowery as the cards would suggest: 'I hate you when you said you will call, and you never called at all.' 'I hate you for hurting me, and taking away my smile.'
And my favorite: 'Life goes through a phase of loving and enjoying every moment; Now life is going through a phase of regretting because of you.'


I've shared the coffe, soap and spices with friends, but I'm holding on to the greeting cards until someone of the XY chromosome pattern does something worthy. Any greeting card with a semi colon in the message is a keeper.