Hot and Heavy Summertime.
Welp, it looks like we didn't get a storm, after all. Here's to Bayou Gods.
We're renovating our office here at Gordon Arata LLP. For those who have been through this process before, you know already how greuling and insufferable a horrendously tore-up office can be. They are renovating everything, from the lobby, the stairway to the 39th floor, to my very own reception desk! The lobby will be transformed into two different conference rooms; the stairway will get a make-over; and my desk will be bigger and grander than it is. Right now, a bunch of my machines (printers, computer moniter, etc.) are visible to those who stand outside of my desk. They're working to create giant walls surrounding me so no one will see all my business. oO Which is kind of ridiculous; but I love new stuff so I won't complain any. ^_^
Alongside renovations, I have DC news! The upcoming Green Lantern movie is being filmed down here in my very own city! XD The creators are under the impression that Hal Jordan's native city, Coast City, is similiar in appearance and all to New Orleans. Some . . . how -- anywho! They have currently blocked off sections of our CBD (hooray it is not Bourban street for once) in order to shoot some sequences. This is both kick-ass and terribly inconvenient. But mostly kick-ass.
Plus! This morning while driving up the ramp to our garage, we could hear sounds from the set! WOW AMAZING I KNOW I KNOW! XD It sounded like a speech was being given; couldn't tell if it was part of the filming or if it was just the director all, "Listen everyone we are hollywood!" So . . . Kevin remembered reading something about a speech Carl Ferris would be making in the film, but he's not positive. Still. Cool!
Aaaaand meme time. Jacked from head_voices_xd.
1.) Go to Google and type "You know you're from your city/state when . . ."
2.) Cut and paste the list.
3.) Bold all that apply to you.
You proudly claim that Monkey Hill is the highest point in Louisiana.
You know that the Irish Channel is not some Gaelic-programming channel on cable.
You drive your car up to onto the neutral ground if it rains steadily and heavily for more than two hours.
Someone asks for directions by compass directions and you say it's Uptown, Downtown, Back-a-town, Riverside, or Lakeside.
You reinforce your attic to store Mardi Gras beads.
You save old newspapers, not for recycling but for tablecloths at crawfish boils. (I don't do this anymore, but my parents did.)
Your ancestors are buried above ground. (Not sure about mine, but most everyone I know from here does.)
You get on a green trolly to go to the park and a red one to the French Quarter (don't take the cars much).
You listen to holiday songs such as "The 12 Yats of Christmas" and "Santa and his reindeer used to live next door."
You walk on the "banquet" and stand in the "neutral ground" "by ya momma's."
You were born at Baptist, raised in Metry, and hang with Vic and Nat'ly.
Somone asks for directions and you stop and help them with a smile.
When you speak with a tourist, he asks, "Are you from Brooklyn?"
You start an angel food cake with a roux. (D8)
You think a lobster is a crawfish on steroids.
You think Boudin, hogshead cheese, and a Bud is a bland diet.
You think Ground Hog Day and the Boucheire Festival are the same holiday.
You take a bite of five-alarm chilli and reach for the Tabasco.
Fred's Lounge in Mamou means more to you than the Grand Ole Opry.
You have an "envie" for something instead of a craving.
You use a "#3" washtub to cover your lawn motor or outboard motor.
You use two or more pirogues to cover your tamotos to protect them from the late frost.
You use a grillnet to play tennis, badmitten, or volleyball.
The horsepower of your outboard motor is greater than that of your car motor.
You pass up a trip abroad to go to the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge.
You are asked to name the Holy Trinity and your reply is, "celery, onions, and bell pepper."
You let your black coffee cool, and find that it has gelled. (Gelled?! D8 However, I do drink my coffee black. ^_^)
You describe a link of Boudins and Cracklin's as "breakfast."
Every once in a while, you have waterfront property.
Your mamma announces every morning, "Well, I've got the rice cooking . . . what will we have for dinner?"
None of your potential vacation destinations are North of the Ol' Mississippi River Bridge (US 190).
You refer to Louisiana Winters as "Gumbo Weather."
You get a disappointing look from your wife and describe it as, "She passed me a pair of eyes."
You think of gravy as a beverage.
You greet your long lost friend at the Lafayette Regional Airport with "AAAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEE!"
You sit down to eat boiled crawfish and your host says, "Don't eat the dead ones," and you know what he means.
You learned Bourre the hard way: holding yourself upright in your crib.
You don't know the real names of your friends, just their nicknames.
You give up Tabasco for Lent.
You worry about a deceased family member returning in Spring floods.
You don't learn until high school that Mardi Gras is not a national holiday.
You push little old ladies out of the way to catch Mardi Gras throws.
You have been pushed out of the way by little old ladies trying to catch Mardi Gras throws.
You have a parade ladder in your shed. (not anymore, but that's where my dad kept ours!)
You leave a parade with footprints on your hands.
You believe that purple, green, and gold look good together.
You can't stand people who say, "THE Mardi Gras," or "THE Jazzfest," or "THE Canal."
Your last name isn't pronounced the way it's spelled.
You know what a nutria is but you still pick it to represent your baseball team. (The Zephyrs)
You like your rice and your politics dirty.
No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food.
Your loved one dies and you book a Jazz band before you call the coroner.
You haven't been to Bourbon Street in years.
Your accent sounds nothing like Harry Connick Jr.'s.
You can sing these jingles by heart: Rosenburg's, Rosenburg's, 1825 Tulane;" "At the beach, at the beach, the Pontchartrain Beach."
You ask "How they running?" and "Are they fat?" but you're inquiring about the seafood quality, not the Crescent City Classic.
When a hurricane is imminent, you have a lot more faith in Nash Roberts than some Doppler Radar 6000.
You city is low on the education chart, high on the obesity chart, and you don't care because you're No. 1 on the party chart.
Nothing shocks you. Period. Ever.
Everywhere else just seems like Cleveland.
Being in a jam at Tulane and Broad isn't the same as being stuck in traffic.
Your idea of healthfood is a baked potato insteaad of french fries with your seafood platter. (So sad, but true. .__.)
You have to take your coffee and favorite coffeemaker with you on a three-day trip.
You have sno-ball stains on your shoes.
You call tomato sauce "red gravy."
Your middle name is your mother's maiden name, or your father's mother's maiden name, or your mother's mother's maiden name, or your grandmother's mother's maiden name, or your grandfather's mother's maiden name.
On certain Spring days, Crawfish Monica is your breakfast.
Your house payment is less than your utility bill.
You've done laundry in a bar.
You don't show your "pretties" during Mardi Gras.
You know that Tchoupitoulas" is a street and not a disease.
You "boo" the mayor on national television.
You wear sweaters in because it ought to be cold.
Your grandparents are called "Maw-maw" and "Paw-paw."
Your Santa Clause rides an alligator and your favorite Saint is a football player.
You suck heads, eat tail, sing the blues and you actually know where you got them shoes.
You shake out your shoes before putting them on.
You don't think it inappropriate to refer to a large, adult male as "Lil' Bubba."
You know you should never, ever swim by the Lake Pontchartrain steps (for more than one reason).
You cringe every time you hear an actor with a Southern or Cajun accent in a "New Orleans-based" movie or TV show.
You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.
You waste more time navigating back streets than you would if you just sat in traffic.
You still call the Fairmount Hotel the Roosevelt.
You consider garbage cans a legal step to protecting your parking space on a public street.
You fall asleep to the soothing sounds of four box fans. (Well, two window units and two box fans, but still. It's fucking hot down here.)
Your one-martini lunch becomes a five-Bloody Mary afternoon . . . and you keep your job. (The lawyers certainly do.)
You're out of town and you stop and ask someone where there's a drive-thru Daquiri place (then they look at you like you have three heads).
You refer to people older than you as Mr. or Mrs. and their first name.
You eat dinner out and spend the entire meal talking about all the other good places you've eaten.
Ya stood yaselfs in da line by Galatoire's. (Haha! The lawyers go there every single Friday and have done so for the past 15+ years.)
You reply to anything and everything about life here with "Only in New Orleans."
We're renovating our office here at Gordon Arata LLP. For those who have been through this process before, you know already how greuling and insufferable a horrendously tore-up office can be. They are renovating everything, from the lobby, the stairway to the 39th floor, to my very own reception desk! The lobby will be transformed into two different conference rooms; the stairway will get a make-over; and my desk will be bigger and grander than it is. Right now, a bunch of my machines (printers, computer moniter, etc.) are visible to those who stand outside of my desk. They're working to create giant walls surrounding me so no one will see all my business. oO Which is kind of ridiculous; but I love new stuff so I won't complain any. ^_^
Alongside renovations, I have DC news! The upcoming Green Lantern movie is being filmed down here in my very own city! XD The creators are under the impression that Hal Jordan's native city, Coast City, is similiar in appearance and all to New Orleans. Some . . . how -- anywho! They have currently blocked off sections of our CBD (hooray it is not Bourban street for once) in order to shoot some sequences. This is both kick-ass and terribly inconvenient. But mostly kick-ass.
Plus! This morning while driving up the ramp to our garage, we could hear sounds from the set! WOW AMAZING I KNOW I KNOW! XD It sounded like a speech was being given; couldn't tell if it was part of the filming or if it was just the director all, "Listen everyone we are hollywood!" So . . . Kevin remembered reading something about a speech Carl Ferris would be making in the film, but he's not positive. Still. Cool!
Aaaaand meme time. Jacked from head_voices_xd.
1.) Go to Google and type "You know you're from your city/state when . . ."
2.) Cut and paste the list.
3.) Bold all that apply to you.
You proudly claim that Monkey Hill is the highest point in Louisiana.
You know that the Irish Channel is not some Gaelic-programming channel on cable.
You drive your car up to onto the neutral ground if it rains steadily and heavily for more than two hours.
Someone asks for directions by compass directions and you say it's Uptown, Downtown, Back-a-town, Riverside, or Lakeside.
You reinforce your attic to store Mardi Gras beads.
You save old newspapers, not for recycling but for tablecloths at crawfish boils. (I don't do this anymore, but my parents did.)
Your ancestors are buried above ground. (Not sure about mine, but most everyone I know from here does.)
You get on a green trolly to go to the park and a red one to the French Quarter (don't take the cars much).
You listen to holiday songs such as "The 12 Yats of Christmas" and "Santa and his reindeer used to live next door."
You walk on the "banquet" and stand in the "neutral ground" "by ya momma's."
You were born at Baptist, raised in Metry, and hang with Vic and Nat'ly.
Somone asks for directions and you stop and help them with a smile.
When you speak with a tourist, he asks, "Are you from Brooklyn?"
You start an angel food cake with a roux. (D8)
You think a lobster is a crawfish on steroids.
You think Boudin, hogshead cheese, and a Bud is a bland diet.
You think Ground Hog Day and the Boucheire Festival are the same holiday.
You take a bite of five-alarm chilli and reach for the Tabasco.
Fred's Lounge in Mamou means more to you than the Grand Ole Opry.
You have an "envie" for something instead of a craving.
You use a "#3" washtub to cover your lawn motor or outboard motor.
You use two or more pirogues to cover your tamotos to protect them from the late frost.
You use a grillnet to play tennis, badmitten, or volleyball.
The horsepower of your outboard motor is greater than that of your car motor.
You pass up a trip abroad to go to the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge.
You are asked to name the Holy Trinity and your reply is, "celery, onions, and bell pepper."
You let your black coffee cool, and find that it has gelled. (Gelled?! D8 However, I do drink my coffee black. ^_^)
You describe a link of Boudins and Cracklin's as "breakfast."
Every once in a while, you have waterfront property.
Your mamma announces every morning, "Well, I've got the rice cooking . . . what will we have for dinner?"
None of your potential vacation destinations are North of the Ol' Mississippi River Bridge (US 190).
You refer to Louisiana Winters as "Gumbo Weather."
You get a disappointing look from your wife and describe it as, "She passed me a pair of eyes."
You think of gravy as a beverage.
You greet your long lost friend at the Lafayette Regional Airport with "AAAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEE!"
You sit down to eat boiled crawfish and your host says, "Don't eat the dead ones," and you know what he means.
You learned Bourre the hard way: holding yourself upright in your crib.
You don't know the real names of your friends, just their nicknames.
You give up Tabasco for Lent.
You worry about a deceased family member returning in Spring floods.
You don't learn until high school that Mardi Gras is not a national holiday.
You push little old ladies out of the way to catch Mardi Gras throws.
You have been pushed out of the way by little old ladies trying to catch Mardi Gras throws.
You have a parade ladder in your shed. (not anymore, but that's where my dad kept ours!)
You leave a parade with footprints on your hands.
You believe that purple, green, and gold look good together.
You can't stand people who say, "THE Mardi Gras," or "THE Jazzfest," or "THE Canal."
Your last name isn't pronounced the way it's spelled.
You know what a nutria is but you still pick it to represent your baseball team. (The Zephyrs)
You like your rice and your politics dirty.
No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food.
Your loved one dies and you book a Jazz band before you call the coroner.
You haven't been to Bourbon Street in years.
Your accent sounds nothing like Harry Connick Jr.'s.
You can sing these jingles by heart: Rosenburg's, Rosenburg's, 1825 Tulane;" "At the beach, at the beach, the Pontchartrain Beach."
You ask "How they running?" and "Are they fat?" but you're inquiring about the seafood quality, not the Crescent City Classic.
When a hurricane is imminent, you have a lot more faith in Nash Roberts than some Doppler Radar 6000.
You city is low on the education chart, high on the obesity chart, and you don't care because you're No. 1 on the party chart.
Nothing shocks you. Period. Ever.
Everywhere else just seems like Cleveland.
Being in a jam at Tulane and Broad isn't the same as being stuck in traffic.
Your idea of healthfood is a baked potato insteaad of french fries with your seafood platter. (So sad, but true. .__.)
You have to take your coffee and favorite coffeemaker with you on a three-day trip.
You have sno-ball stains on your shoes.
You call tomato sauce "red gravy."
Your middle name is your mother's maiden name, or your father's mother's maiden name, or your mother's mother's maiden name, or your grandmother's mother's maiden name, or your grandfather's mother's maiden name.
On certain Spring days, Crawfish Monica is your breakfast.
Your house payment is less than your utility bill.
You've done laundry in a bar.
You don't show your "pretties" during Mardi Gras.
You know that Tchoupitoulas" is a street and not a disease.
You "boo" the mayor on national television.
You wear sweaters in because it ought to be cold.
Your grandparents are called "Maw-maw" and "Paw-paw."
Your Santa Clause rides an alligator and your favorite Saint is a football player.
You suck heads, eat tail, sing the blues and you actually know where you got them shoes.
You shake out your shoes before putting them on.
You don't think it inappropriate to refer to a large, adult male as "Lil' Bubba."
You know you should never, ever swim by the Lake Pontchartrain steps (for more than one reason).
You cringe every time you hear an actor with a Southern or Cajun accent in a "New Orleans-based" movie or TV show.
You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.
You waste more time navigating back streets than you would if you just sat in traffic.
You still call the Fairmount Hotel the Roosevelt.
You consider garbage cans a legal step to protecting your parking space on a public street.
You fall asleep to the soothing sounds of four box fans. (Well, two window units and two box fans, but still. It's fucking hot down here.)
Your one-martini lunch becomes a five-Bloody Mary afternoon . . . and you keep your job. (The lawyers certainly do.)
You're out of town and you stop and ask someone where there's a drive-thru Daquiri place (then they look at you like you have three heads).
You refer to people older than you as Mr. or Mrs. and their first name.
You eat dinner out and spend the entire meal talking about all the other good places you've eaten.
Ya stood yaselfs in da line by Galatoire's. (Haha! The lawyers go there every single Friday and have done so for the past 15+ years.)
You reply to anything and everything about life here with "Only in New Orleans."