Taylor the Teacher

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Far be it from me to speak deeply about New Orleans ~as a non katrina surviving newcomer with naive starry-eyed ideas about what this city is who will never understand and is probably about to be raped any day~  or the French Quarter.

So I’ll say something of questionable wisdom instead, to wit:

New Orleans is unspeakable. I hope I can live here a long time. She’s beautiful and wise, and comfortable and flirty, and sexy as hell, but New Orleans isn’t a whore. ~but she doesn’t mind if you think she is~

She gives it up hard. New Orleans really is amazing. But it is much harder to live here than anywhere I’ve lived before. Still, I’m on the roof in my pajamas listening to music & dancing two hours after spending my last dollar to roll my tired ass back to this city after fleeing Gustav.

And I am happy to be here.

And I had to go inside to put on more clothes because I was cold. Our apartment is surprisingly cool. ~which really kills my plans for running a brothel of exhibitionists around the city. we’d cater to voyeurs, of course~

And I’m happy that when we got here it felt like home. ~for a while up in arkansas i was afraid it wouldn’t. only four weeks here and then gone for a week. that was three different states/homes in six weeks~

I’m pretty sure that H.I. McDonnough Nicholas Cage can see me from somewhere in that mansion of his. He’s so close that I could probably hit the widow’s walk of his house with a pebble if I tried.  But why? It’s surprisingly boring to look at Nicholas Cage’s rooftop. ~i’ll be discovered soon~

Daily life is so different from just a few weeks ago. I can’t list the things that are different ~although i love lists, and tried like hell to make one~ but I’ll offer these as representative examples: shutters AND windows, sharing a back porch with a neighbor, airflow management, walking to the grocery store, discerning the difference between river boat horns and train horns, washing dishes by hand, washing CLOTHES by hand, $20 daiquiris, parking tickets, tarot card readers, carrying every blessed purchase up and/or down 59 steps and consequently being much more selective and short-term about the foods we buy, seven keys to get into my house, prostitutes of every stripe, sushi in jackson square, cops on every corner, and movie stars being pulled along in wrecked up cars by camera crews, ghosts and people who see ghosts.

Just off the top of my head.

Oh, and spending a week in Little Rock, Arkansas with some friends because we had to leave heave out of our apartment late at night. We did this so we wouldn’t die hacking our way out of the rooftop. Our mayor advised those who stayed to have their axes handy. I don’t even have a chain saw or a jack hammer, much less an ax, so we decided to leave.

We went to Baton Rouge, but that wasn’t far enough. Before we left, we had time to corrupt my friend’s 5–year-old son and his equally impressionable friend by leaving a tiny single-serve bottle of Tangeray in the outside fridge at 2 in the morning and and leaving it until 8 in the morning when we woke up. ~~why in the hell do kids wake up so early?~ I had to explain to my friend her son drank my gin. Then she had to explain it to another mother. Each child took a sip, then they poured it out.

So that was impressive.

Then we spent a really fun time in Arkansas, ate like kings, and came home.

And I’m singing on the rooftop.