Dirty Linen Party

I'm not even sure where to start with this one. The Dirty Linen party is the dirtier answer to last weeks more ....er, refined (?) White Linen Party on Julia Street. And dirty it was. Paired with the already less than fresh, but still beautiful French Quarter, were near naked girls being hand painted in the middle of the street in day glow colours, millions of little plastic cups in varying states of emptiness, and several men of varying degrees of hirstutness in red dresses. The girls were part of an exhibition by the Painted Alive gallery, one of 50 participating galleries. Which is where the little cups came from, gallons and gallons of free drinks. And good ones too. In two hours I had consumed a Cabernet, a Chardonnay, Champagne, and what may now be my drink of choice, the Old New Orleans rum strawberry and basil mojito. I had two of those, asking Selena to hold my half empty glass in order to get back in line for another. The men in dresses were from a foot race run by...men in red dresses. Add into this the famous super heated night air of New Orleans and boil. Dear God it was a hot night.


The art was on par for art in the quarter, a lot of outsider art and art that was largely process driven. That sort that is great fun to make but really has no substantial meaning taken out side of the studio. Lots of folks buying vague impressionist studies of Jackson Square to match the cararra marble counter top of the mini-bar. There were fantastic things too, like the brilliant paintings of roosters at Galerie Dalray, one of which is pictured above. On the wall 'round the corner is another fantastic oil of stacked oreos wich is a magnificent study of brown and blue ranges. In that series there are also giant studies of stacked waffles and stacked hamburgers which were torture as I am on the official tuna sandwich and apple poverty diet. After walking Selena to Frenchmen Street from Canal Street through the steaming mass of the quarter, earning me massive gentleman points, I met up with friends at the Bourbon Pub where I drank more dinner and met a nice guy named Aaron, who is not the
dancer in the photo stream.



Ricky and Friends. The one in the lower photo has fantastic eyes.



David, fantastic bartender and new proud Papa.

Random yet stunning couple at the pub.

An Unfortunate Occurance

Today I was working on the maps at home, getting covered in Orange fur as usual, and decided to get out for a bit. Deciding to go into the quarter to my favourite CC's coffee house I chose to park on a side street rather than parking across the quarter because it's too damn hot here. Two hours later I come back to find the car gone. Towed. I'd parked in a loading zone. It pays to read kids. And it pays to just wear the white t, suck it up and sweat the 9 blocks of super heated "air". And I paid 120$ for this lesson, which puts a damper on this weeks plans of mild intoxication.

Well Now I'm back home, collecting fur, and taking the Proust Questionaire.
Here it is.


What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Cooking for my family in North Carolina, I was always pretty darn happy doing that.

What is your greatest fear?
Lacking purpose.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Marie Antoinette, she had a lot of expectation put on her while only having a fairly small amount of ability to change things.

Which living person do you most admire?
My mum and her sisters.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
I could try harder.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
narrow-mindedness.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Church's Shoes.

What is your favorite journey?
Wandering the garden district at night.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Originality.

On what occasion do you lie?
When I can't stop myself.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My slightly pooching stomach.

Which living person do you most despise?
I refuse to despise people.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"cheers", "I'm fat"

What is your greatest regret?
Letting Sara go.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Drawing.

Which talent would you most like to have?
A head for business.

What is your current state of mind?
I'm never sure.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
They would be as happy as they once were.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Managing to have come this far despite myself.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A clown fish.

If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
Someone who could really, truly live their life.

What is your most treasured possession?
My hands.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Not knowing who I am sometimes.

Where would you like to live?
St. Germain-de-Pres, Paris

What is your favorite occupation?
Drawing the pictures.

What is your most marked characteristic?
Probably my hat.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Humility.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Elegance.

What do you most value in your friends?
Humour.

Who are your favorite writers?
Edmund White, AM Homes, Bret Easton Ellis, Virginia Woolf.

Who is your favorite hero/heroine of fiction?
Eloise.

Who are your heroines/heroes in real life?
Bjork.

What are your favorite names?
Anais, Peter, Anne, Soren

What is it that you most dislike?
Scooping kitty litter.

How would you like to die?
Fast.

What is your motto?
"Don't complain, make excuses or feel you have to explain yourself."
-Kate Moss
.

Prytania St.

It's summer and the air is heating up again. Each morning the sun rises and heats all the humidity molecules to boiling. I am moved out of the red room on the corner of crack and coke and into a classmates flat until August. After that...who knows . I am living with a very talkative ginger cat named L'Orange, who thinks he can live on cat treats alone.
That is him above, showing some love to a column on the balcony. At the top are views of sunset clouds from the balcony. Did I mention the balcony? And the Columns Hotel is around the block, which makes me crave a daily manhattan...or mojito....or something alcoholic.

www.thecolumns.com

Persimmon Handicap Syntax

The View from my window at work.


So, here I am weeks later. Sick in bed with the first cold of the semester, which has given me the oppertunity to sleep.
Gradschool has been exhausting. 16 hour days full of classes, design work, practicum work and workshop. I've been a little busy.
Events...
I am still debating the whole drawing/painting MFA versus the Theatre MFA thing. I am applying to both University of california At Berkley and University of Southern California for drawing. And we'll see who offers the biggest package, if any. Else wise I will stay here, I think. I have grown to like this city. Now that the "air" has stopped harassing me and I've mapped out a soild repertoire of bars, restaurants and ....bars.

Life....
At school 16 hours a day. I come home to sleep. I have food in my feezer that I cannot eat because I am unconcious when I am home. I have no life. But I have a few new friendish type people.

The blue linen suit I made nearly entirely by hand. Hot Cooter!!!

School...

Drafting. Pattern-making for the stage. The acctual stage.

Hmmm. Upon starting at Tulane, day one, the organization was horrific. My shop had no pins, clothes hangers and barely functioning machines. That paired with the onslaught of ego and misunderstanding that has unfolded to this point is straining my want to do this work. I love the classes. I have briliant professors and lovely classmates, but the overall environmet is a littoe crappy. Constant complaining and talk of revolution abound, and I am just trying to keep my head down and earn three letters behind my name. God help me.

Art...
I have not drawn one thing worth a sixteenth of a cent while I've been here and I die a little each time I remember this.

Didactic temperate imapatience

Day 5 in New Orleans.
Adjusting at last to the "air". It works out best if I stay inside between the hours of 10am and 6pm.
Thank God the library is kick ass.

Drew a bit this morning, considering starting a drawing of the day post to help motivate daily drawing.
We will see how this plays out. Finally met the phantom roomate, a big burly guy we shall call Mr. Brown.
Since comming out of hiding he has been a great source of information about the area, the city in general,
and a little bit of New Orleans History. Although he did go a bit far in telling me that the far corner of the street
may just be a favourite crack vending corner. I love my block more and more everyday.

On a slightly happier front, I have tenativly befriended a couple of fellows, M. & B..
M. is a North Carolinian fellow Tulanian studying Law (also know as the way of the avocado to us french speakers).
A nice burly cub of a guy. He gave me a ride home last evening, saving me from further exposure to the "air", but ominously responded with a "we'll see" when asked if I would indeed see him again. Fingers crossed.
B. is from Florida. A very motivated young lad with the goal of opening a KIPP school (www.kipp.org) here in New Orleans, of which he will be Principal. We had dinner at an oddly charming restauraunt called, no joke, Nacho Mamas on Magazine Street.
I've never before had a chocolate mole, but perhaps I will again. One day. Anyway, dinner went well, conversation was great with only a few awkward moments of silence. Sadly poor B. is being shipped off to the peanit fields of North Carolina (Why do I have such boundless ties to that state?) to shaddow, and thus become a principal. For a month. Will attempt to text him, if he gets a signal.

My second day in New Orleans is proving to be.....drenched. I have never sweat more in my life. Dear God. The air here is this horrible superconductor of heat. The warmth of the sunlight, yeah there is a difference, is acctually enjoyable compared to the life leeching problem I like to call the "air".

Tulane. Grand, Olde, Aloof. Like me! Met my chair, got my funding ironed out, found the electronically woeful book store that stocks all my favourite magazines. Have not talked to anyone yet, as everyone seems to know everyone else. What can I say, I love my shell. That and no onle likes talking to a sweaty person, which when I step into the "air" I become. Instantly.

My house. The house I live in is Ok, it has a phantom housemate with a stomach virus whom I've only seen once. It's 1 block over from the neigborhoods I should've been living in. (note to all, when renting online, always ask for photos of the neighborhood). Cozily situated between two cemetaries, and having absolutly no furniture.
repeat, NO furniture. I think I may be over minimalsm.