Pas des mots, chui bien et content. Un peu miserable a cause de l'humidite. Ete a arrivee a Nouvelle Orleans.
Maybe I will write something soon...but something goes wrong between my head and the keyboard making it all into a bunch of uninteresting mush. Pictures will work better for now. Making a Iranian aubergine stew tonight, which I am looking forward to with painful enthusiasm.
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.
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
21 August 2007
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.
