Yours truly, riding the short horse through Jackson Square.

Yours truly, riding the short horse through Jackson Square.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Sarah snapped this shot before dinner in the French Quarter Tuesday evening. What follows are a few other choice shots from our visit to New Orleans.

My favorite ramshackle, classical, converted New Orleans mansion. Now an unintendedly ironic statement on the state of New Orleans architecture

My favorite ramshackle, classical, converted New Orleans mansion. Now a complete, ironic piece of architectural crap.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Located at the corner of Bourbon and Esplanade on the East edge of the French Quarter. Close to the coolest local bar in the area (Port of Call). I expect it almost entirely split into small apartments. But I couldn't love the gothic look of this building more even if Anne Rice made it the unembodied subject of a vampire novel.

Hangin' with James and Mary, while respecting their privacy. Until now, of course.

My second day of Habitat for Humanity was cancelled without much of a reason, which is something of a bummer. But even more of a bummer is just how things look in those areas most brutalized by Katrina. We rented a car for a day starting yesterday afternoon and drove around the Ninth Ward leading up to those famous failed levees on Lake Pontchartrain. Some areas look to be heavily rehabilitated. Others are filled with house after house of windowless, tattered shells of former homes. I drove around some more this morning and noticed dozens of now equally-worn FEMA trailers parked beside houses that are obviously under varying degrees of repair. Most noticable to me, however, is how the grasses and trees have essentially grown back fully, often lending a feeling of marsh land to certain neighborhoods. If you didn't venture out of the French Quarter or Central City it would be hard to imagine that life had not returned to normal. In short, I'm glad to have taken a bit of time to see just how much of a dichotomy that is when you compare it with life in the flood zones. I can do it no justice through description and, sadly, I didn't do much to help this week as it turned out. But a little bit of education goes a long way.

On a much brighter note, Sarah and I splurged on a classic New Orleans restaurant last night. K-Paul's Lousiana Kitchen in the French Quarter, owned by Chef Paul Prudhomme (a dead ringer for Dom Deluise of the "Cannonball Run" era). The food was very good, even though we're convinced yet again that even the exceptional versions of this style of cuisine ain't exactly our fave. But midway through our delightful meal, we got a surprise celeb sighting that added a star to the rating. James Carville, Mary Matalin and their kids sat down at the table next to us. For me, it was like seeing Miley Cyrus plop down next to me in the high school cafeteria. But Sarah - as a credit to her infinite wisdom - convinced me to not approach them and just let them have their family time. After a while, two pharmaceutical reps from a large table across the room approached and asked to have a picture taken with a make-up-less Mary. She declined. Graciously. I got to overhear James order a "double order of gumbo". I gained new respect for them given that it was a big Primary night and they chose to skip watching the results and have a meal with their kids. I didn't even see one check of a Blackberry or the like, even as we lingered over dessert. Maybe James saw what was coming for Hillary and just wanted to escape. Regardless, we finished our meal and walked around the French Quarter. Sarah swore that she saw James checking me out. That was reward enough. My rating for the restaurant - a solid B. With a gold star for the company (wink, wink).

After that, we headed to "Iron Man" with a friend who grew up here and moved back from Austin a year ago. The same friend (Peter) who the night prior brought us to Cooter Brown's for super po'boys and Dos Jeffes for cigars (don't ask). My ratings - Cooter Brown's (B-plus), Dos Jeffes Cigar Bar (B-plus), "Iron Man" (A-minus). Good times in all three cases. In the case of "Iron Man", Robert Downey Jr. is having more fun than anyone on the planet at the moment. The movie is perfect blockbuster fare, satisfying in every way. The design is pitch-perfect and really fun to watch. I couldn't imagine a better way to start the summer movie onslaught. See it.

Hope your own trips back home today feature an extra seat and double bags of almonds. Rock on.

Baby steps into Bywater

With much preview notice and little actual information, today was my first scheduled day to do something with Habitat for Humanity here in New Orleans. Jimmy Carter's coming in a week for the start of one of those marquee events when everyone wields at the very least a hammer, if not tremendous self-satisfaction. But for me? Work in an out of the way warehouse, teamed with two other out-of-towners, a three-legged-dog and a single employee that wanted nothing more than to shut up shop and head to JazzFest ("Steel Pulse plays at 3, and I'm so out of here before then.") Not to mention that a true thunderstorm front bore down on the City starting around an hour before our designated "start time" for "work". I'd planned to walk there. I decided to take a cab to expand my carbon footprint while avoiding an accidental drowning. My friendly cabbie asked lots of questions, all with a disbelieving tone seemingly meant to echo a belief that I was either lost or should be questioned further for heading to said address. I finally convinced him that I had the right address, which as it turns out lies in an interesting arty neighborhood known locally as Bywater. Bywater is actually in the Ninth Ward, but it didn't suffer much flooding at all during the post-Katrina period (or "post-K", as I've seen it termed here in the Times-Picayune - a great paper, by the way). The warehouse was a well-organized tangle of stuff torn out and donated by builders to Habitat for Humanity. So well-organized, as a matter of fact, that there was nothing for us to do. Except talk for a while about what it's like to be on the opposite end of the PR spectrum from the Musician's Village, or Bradgelina, or anything dealing with new showcase construction projects. What you have in the ReStore is a place for people to get greatly reduced prices on generally good but somewhat ramshackle items. Some cherries were in the mix - the employee pointed out a brand-new kitchen stove that "some a**hole" donated that was nicer than our own back in Seattle. McMansion upgrade, we mutually surmised. But all snark aside, it was mainly an operation that amazingly facilitates building supplies needed at a cut-rate for those that couldn't otherwise afford a renovation.

There was nothing for me to do. I thought about taking the three legged dog out for a skip around the block. But not even Tripod (not his real name) wanted to venture into the rain. One couple eventually came and walked around the aisles of windows, screens, doors, cabinets, tiles and random crap. They thanked us and left. Pretty soon I ran for coffee and a cinamon roll on a drive-by recommendation from my cabbie for a great neighborhood bakery at the corner of Spain and Chartres Streets. The crowd in the cafe was decidedly arty. And conversant. White. But, hell, even Jeremiah Wright would have felt at home given the energy in the room. I read some of the local paper. Including the Saturday Real Estate section that features an absolutely astonishing extended listing of transactions they call "Transfers". Broken down by Districts of the City and bordering Parishes, you can see how many homes were bought by whom and for how much. It wouldn't have caught my eye were it not for the prices. $50K was about the norm. A few over $100K. Many around $30K. For homes in a metropolitan area. I don't know enough about it (yet) to judge. But there's a story there that I'd not heard of previously. An exodus. And not a happy or chosen one by hundreds of families, just this week alone.

After a healthy linger, I took my cinamon roll and walked back through the French Quarter toward our hotel in the Warehouse District. I didn't return to ReStore, which is just as well. I was an out-of-towner looking to cleanse my soul in some way. And that doesn't fly when there's JazzFest to get to. Even I can understand that aspect of the local mentality. As I approached the French Quarter, tourists decked out in garbage bag-quality rain slickers festooned with French Quarter street signs began to appear with alarming regularity. I can only imagine how many of those plastic sheets will end up in Louisiana's landfills now that the late afternoon has turned sunny and the forecast is for a number of consecutive days of summery weather. On a different note, I've decided to rent a car one day and drive out to the neighborhoods I know I need to see. Then I've got another Habitat for Humanity volunteer day on Wednesday. JazzFest ends tomorrow, which I hope to attend. Please check back for more observations. Or don't. No worries.

Hope your own days brighten as considerably as the afternoon here has today. Rock on.

Hangin' with Tommy Lee. For a few seconds. Before the Sheriff's Department shoved a beignet in my mouth and put me on a streetcar.

My first impression of New Orleans after arriving this morning is that we ain't seen nothing yet. It's Jazz Fest, which means the city is awash in hipster tourists and alcoholics wandering around the City spilling all over the rarely sighted locals. The areas of the City in lingering disarray are far from the hotel we're staying in and the French Quarter where I've been wandering for a while. I expect I'll see something worth commenting on tomorrow when I head to a first day of volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity. But I do have one scene report. Imagine Jackson Square where Dubya delivered his infamous speech a week after Katrina made landfall. Kitty korner to Cafe Du Monde - the famously necessary visit for any out-of-towner looking for beignets and horrible chickory-flavored coffee. And just across Decatur Street toward the Mighty Mississip in the elevated park with the cannon statue...Tommy Lee from Motley Crue and various sex tapes fame filming something for yet another lame reality show. This time it's about the environment, kids! If ever there was a signal that the ironic debauchery was back home in N'awlins, I think I've just seen it being staged. Personally, I'd prefer to see a thousand frat guys throwing up on each other just a few blocks away along Bourbon Street and then gathering forces to add it all to a compost bin for disadvantaged gardens.

Hope your own fests are equally jazzy today. Rock on.

Beignets, Jazz Fest and tool belts

We're heading on the road again tonight aboard an insane red-eye flight that will eventually get us to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Another work gig for Sarah. I'm going to drive some nails for Habitat for Humanity and check out what the devastation looks like as we approach the third anniversary of Katrina. Expect a bundle of pics and hopefully a few insights. Maya's staying back here in GrungeCity. At a kennel. She's such a trooper.

Hope your own May Day Parade has columns upon columns of hybrid Hummers today. Rock on.