More Silence.
Soz once again for the long delay in an update.
I know it's time to scribble something here when I start receiving emails, phone calls and texts from concerned friends: Are you okay???
Why yes, and thanks for asking!
It's been quite a couple of weeks.
Paul was in town from jolly ole Blighty, and while I wasn't up to my usual speed with him, and felt decidedly a dullard for the SSRI's and lack of nicotine in my system, it's still such a joy to behold his face in the mornings. (Er, 2pm for us.)
The Asylum St. Spankers blew through town last week as well, and somehow managed to pull off an incredible show at One Eyed Jack's despite Christina Marrs not joining them on this tour. (Nursing new baby.)
They had fortunately scheduled an extra day in New Orleans, so I took Wammo out for the day. We zig zagged all over the Quarter, having lunch, having a drink, buying a trinket, having a drink, exploring the cathedral, having a drink. And then we went drinking. He (along with Paul) is one of those people who have a very positive effect on me. He (along with Paul) ooze right-brained fortitude, and I cannot help but catch the contagion.
Friday and Saturday were spent in the best manner I could conceive - dining at chefcdb's new restaurant, The Green Goddess on Exchange Alley in the Quarter. He's not officially open - still waiting on the poky state to okay his health permit - but he did want to start cooking and get the buzz going about his new venture, so he pulled a couple invite-only dinners.
I invited myself to both, and dragged along people who could serve Chris well with their prominent voices. French Quarter merchants, rockstars, and I'm hoping Paul will write something up in England.
It's been nearly a year since Chris de Barr left Delachaise. It's been nearly a year since I've had his food. He was and remains the most talented, original, and savvy chef New Orleans has to offer, and that is a HUGE statement coming from a city with some of the finest restaurants in the world.
Eating his unique, understated, fascinating and delicious meals again is like settling into your comfiest chair - the one you weren't allowed to sit in for nearly a year. "Ohhh, Chris is back," I said through mouthfuls of food on Friday and Saturday night.
On mother's day I threw my back out, and spent the day doped up and napping. Almost forgot to call mom, but managed a zombie-like conversation Sunday evening. Later that night, I went to the Fleur de Tease burlesque show at OEJ's with Ryan, Marcy, Sean, Chris, Rickilane, Jeremy - oh, just everybody.
Brian Peterson and I were running around the front bar screaming, "Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!" à la Neely O'Hara. My true gayness came out when with a start I realized I wasn't watching the show to admire the female form; I was watching the show with the intent of stealing pattern ideas. When Tinkerbell came out to do her striptease, for example, everyone was hooting and hollering when the tits came out, while I was thinking, "Those edges aren't finished on her tattered and jaggy skirt. I know how hard it is to work with those springy knits. Always curling at the edges. I wonder if she interfaced them."
Don, a superior seamstress to my meager abilities, was sitting at the next table. I leaned over and asked him for sewing tips on this or that costume. "Dude. I'm straight. I'm looking at tits. Shut up."
"Yah, but how many YARDS of black velvet would it take to cover that hooped Red Queen dress? I mean, that shit's on the fuckin' BIAS, man!"
I took my friends back home to Manderley after the show where we sat on the deck and finished off a bottle of Scotch after talking Paul into staying up with us with this flawless logic: "Sleep? You don't need sleep. That's what trans-Atlantic flights are for. Sleep on the plane. Drink with us."
He hates having his arm twisted.
Monday was pretty much a write-off. Back still hurting. Painkillers taken for their intended purpose. (How sad when that is the case.)
Today's a bit better. Did some banking. Biked to the CBD to pick up my final item from Honk Kong Tailor - a long overcoat made of exaggerated black and white houndstooth with silver thread running throughout and green silk satin lining. Just in time for summer!
Annie, my old regular from The Saint, came by and did yard work for me since my back is out. She's my new favorite housekeeper, annnnd she does yard work! She's a treasure, and I'm so glad I found her. (If you need a housekeeper, I recommend her entirely. Contact me for her digits.)
Ben comes home tonight from Vegas, then we're off on Thursday to Tahoe for some work and to meet with my brother whose birthday is, conveniently, Thursday.
So that's that. I feel quite useless for not making this entry more entertaining to read. This logy, lacking-nicotine, drugged dizziness takes its toll on my writing and conversing skills.
If you want a not-in-any-way challenging conversation and can't find someone stupid in your neighborhood, call me up and I'll go have drinks with you and astound you with pithy insights like, "I like beer. It tastes good to me."
That's all I got.
I know it's time to scribble something here when I start receiving emails, phone calls and texts from concerned friends: Are you okay???
Why yes, and thanks for asking!
It's been quite a couple of weeks.
Paul was in town from jolly ole Blighty, and while I wasn't up to my usual speed with him, and felt decidedly a dullard for the SSRI's and lack of nicotine in my system, it's still such a joy to behold his face in the mornings. (Er, 2pm for us.)
The Asylum St. Spankers blew through town last week as well, and somehow managed to pull off an incredible show at One Eyed Jack's despite Christina Marrs not joining them on this tour. (Nursing new baby.)
They had fortunately scheduled an extra day in New Orleans, so I took Wammo out for the day. We zig zagged all over the Quarter, having lunch, having a drink, buying a trinket, having a drink, exploring the cathedral, having a drink. And then we went drinking. He (along with Paul) is one of those people who have a very positive effect on me. He (along with Paul) ooze right-brained fortitude, and I cannot help but catch the contagion.
Friday and Saturday were spent in the best manner I could conceive - dining at chefcdb's new restaurant, The Green Goddess on Exchange Alley in the Quarter. He's not officially open - still waiting on the poky state to okay his health permit - but he did want to start cooking and get the buzz going about his new venture, so he pulled a couple invite-only dinners.
I invited myself to both, and dragged along people who could serve Chris well with their prominent voices. French Quarter merchants, rockstars, and I'm hoping Paul will write something up in England.
It's been nearly a year since Chris de Barr left Delachaise. It's been nearly a year since I've had his food. He was and remains the most talented, original, and savvy chef New Orleans has to offer, and that is a HUGE statement coming from a city with some of the finest restaurants in the world.
Eating his unique, understated, fascinating and delicious meals again is like settling into your comfiest chair - the one you weren't allowed to sit in for nearly a year. "Ohhh, Chris is back," I said through mouthfuls of food on Friday and Saturday night.
On mother's day I threw my back out, and spent the day doped up and napping. Almost forgot to call mom, but managed a zombie-like conversation Sunday evening. Later that night, I went to the Fleur de Tease burlesque show at OEJ's with Ryan, Marcy, Sean, Chris, Rickilane, Jeremy - oh, just everybody.
Brian Peterson and I were running around the front bar screaming, "Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!" à la Neely O'Hara. My true gayness came out when with a start I realized I wasn't watching the show to admire the female form; I was watching the show with the intent of stealing pattern ideas. When Tinkerbell came out to do her striptease, for example, everyone was hooting and hollering when the tits came out, while I was thinking, "Those edges aren't finished on her tattered and jaggy skirt. I know how hard it is to work with those springy knits. Always curling at the edges. I wonder if she interfaced them."
Don, a superior seamstress to my meager abilities, was sitting at the next table. I leaned over and asked him for sewing tips on this or that costume. "Dude. I'm straight. I'm looking at tits. Shut up."
"Yah, but how many YARDS of black velvet would it take to cover that hooped Red Queen dress? I mean, that shit's on the fuckin' BIAS, man!"
I took my friends back home to Manderley after the show where we sat on the deck and finished off a bottle of Scotch after talking Paul into staying up with us with this flawless logic: "Sleep? You don't need sleep. That's what trans-Atlantic flights are for. Sleep on the plane. Drink with us."
He hates having his arm twisted.
Monday was pretty much a write-off. Back still hurting. Painkillers taken for their intended purpose. (How sad when that is the case.)
Today's a bit better. Did some banking. Biked to the CBD to pick up my final item from Honk Kong Tailor - a long overcoat made of exaggerated black and white houndstooth with silver thread running throughout and green silk satin lining. Just in time for summer!
Annie, my old regular from The Saint, came by and did yard work for me since my back is out. She's my new favorite housekeeper, annnnd she does yard work! She's a treasure, and I'm so glad I found her. (If you need a housekeeper, I recommend her entirely. Contact me for her digits.)
Ben comes home tonight from Vegas, then we're off on Thursday to Tahoe for some work and to meet with my brother whose birthday is, conveniently, Thursday.
So that's that. I feel quite useless for not making this entry more entertaining to read. This logy, lacking-nicotine, drugged dizziness takes its toll on my writing and conversing skills.
If you want a not-in-any-way challenging conversation and can't find someone stupid in your neighborhood, call me up and I'll go have drinks with you and astound you with pithy insights like, "I like beer. It tastes good to me."
That's all I got.