Saturday, December 6, 2008
My desk is where I have coffee every morning. It's as New Orleans to me as Cafe Du Monde. I'm sure we all have our little places to go and things to see with people we know involved in them. Many of these paths may never cross. Still, there is, in this town, about one degree of separation, in that somebody you know is gonna know somebody I know, if we don't know each other and both of them already. It's just like that here. At times we have stood divided by issues or by streets, by income brackets, by skin color, by political affiliation, by musical tastes and favorite po-boy shops. ( Please note I left out sports, as the Saints are the Saints. Period.) There is one thing that we share here, or we would simply have to go; A sense of humor. With that in mind, I offer up the Best Christmas Song in the Entire World. Not because we all celebrate Christmas, but because we all celebrate living in New Orleans. I give you the 12 Yats of Christmas. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7rUoX5_VGI Go watch it right now, and put a smile on, ya heard? Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Friday, November 21, 2008
I am beginning to think that what I thought was ’strength’ may be only the numbness of ‘jaded’. Everyday I watch out my back window as the cops at the 5th district gather around the cruisers in the parking lot; standing, talking, sometimes laughing…and I walk out my front door to see the doorway where Helen Hill, my neighbor, was shot to death in a horrible meaningless killing, as yet unsolved. I listen as politicians squander our livelyhood and our city, avoiding responsibility and duty, squirming for higher ground, using our battered city as a fulcrum to power and position. And so many lives are destroyed in the waiting…. Waiting for what? Until another local kid is shot in retaliation for some crazy feud that has its cause too far back to remember? Over a turf war on broken streets & sidewalks? Until another bright light, come here to ‘help rebuild the City’ is gunned down for a a handfull of crumpled bills, barely worth leaving on the bar? It’s a grudge match now. I’ll stay to see the Mayor, the Police Superintendent, the crooked Trash Bosses and Home Destroyers brought down. All the way down, to where we live everyday, fighting for our lives. Or until this city takes my life as well. They are the ones who have allowed this to be; through apathy, greed and self congratulation: A City at War with itself, a frightening body count to their corruption, from the drug dealing cops and copper thieves, to the Mayor of False Awards and the Police Superintendent of No Filed Reports. I DO NOT SURRENDER. Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sometimes I picture Mayor C. Ray Nagin as a Preacher, and his choir is a nest of baby birds, singing gratefully along with everyhting he says, as he vomits regurgitated worms into their mouths. If only it were that innocent… As I understand the current Hymn being sung, Veronica White has been doing a shit job, and refused to produce documentation on hugely over budgeted contracts, so Stacey Head demanded it. Ms White stormed out of a City Council meeting, and Mayor Nagin cried racism. Which, of course, never occured, but the ‘tone’ created by asking someone to account for fucking up their job (oh, yeah, and destroying homes in the process) is racist in the Nagin Administration, if the asker is white and the accounter is black. So now there’s a protest group calling for Ms. Head’s resignation because of her “racist” behavior. Meanwhile, rumors flourish that Nagin will be chosen as the head of HUD by President Elect Obama, for his insight into housing problems, local singer returned to town, Brian Turd, is shot dead while walking his dog at 8pm on a neighborhood street, and houses continue to be ripped down for no apparent reason. Then there’s the WWL TV report about STD trash trucks dumping toxic waste in City Park, also on Veronica White’s watch. Let’s just simplify, shall we? If you’re one of Nagin’s cronies, you can run a department in to the fucking ground, cheat, lie, steal and destroy parts of the city, and if anyone complains, they’re a racist. For this, Mister Nagin expects a presidential Cabinet post and you’ll get murdered walking your dog by your house, even before the kiddies go to bed. I, for one, am so tired of this song I could spit. Sign the petition below to recall Veronica White, and send letters to barackobama.com expressing your deep disatisfaction with C. Ray Nagin, so that armed guards appear if he ever gets near a White House appointment. Enough of this shit already. Lord David Skull Club New Orleans
Monday, November 10, 2008
It started in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1947. A theater event where many of the ‘outsider’ performers were turned away. They used local venues, houses, bars and whatever they could get into, to put on their own shows on the Fringe of town, and the Fringe Festival was born. Kristen Evans & Dennis Monn have brought it to New Orleans this year. Read the story about it in the special insert in this week’s Gambit, or go the website for more information, clicking VENUES, for directions and locations, or SHOWS to get listings of events and their locations. Featured Event: théâtre du jour at The Skull Club Thursday, November 13 through Sunday, November 16 Performed earlier this year in Paris and Washington, DC, théâtre du jour comprises two comic shorts written and directed by Michael Merino. The first work, “Seat Yourself,” explores the frustrations of fine dining and “the euphemism.” The second work, “Pompa y Circunstancia,” concerns a bizarre commencement ceremony, where two brothers mis-communicate about what to wear, life and lunch. The cast includes Perry Leopard, Randy Maggiore and Claudia Baumgarten. The shows will be performed at The Skull Club, located at 1003 Spain Street. Dates and times are: Thursday, November 13 at 8:30 p.m. Saturday, November 15 at 7:00 p.m. Sunday, November 16 at 5:30 p.m. Tickets are $7 and can be purchased at the door or in advance through TicketWeb.com. Here is the Street Talk edition featuring chat with Kristen Evans, Dennis Monn & Lord David, discussing the history of Fringe Festival, the local event & venues, and the Skull Club, at wwoz.org, or listen by tuning in to Street Talk on 90.7 FM. You can listen to Street Talk — WWOZ’s 5-minute cultural news report — Monday at 12 Noon, Tuesday at 2:00pm, Wednesday at 8:00pm, Thursday at 10:00am, Friday at 8:00am, Saturday at 8:00am, and Sunday at 10:00pm. Get out and see some Fringe Festival Theater! Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
So it seems like a dream, now, this long road to the polls. I am confident that clearer heads will prevail, and Barack Obama will be the next President of the United States of America. Besides a feeling of well being that is washing over me, the tension is leaving my body and I feel like I am surfacing from some strange depth within myself. In this New Clarity, it dawns more clearly than ever, that we are witnessing a change, not only in our nation, but the world, and beyond that, History, itself, as the first African American President is elected in the USA. Not only does this mark a huge shift, within my lifetime, as I was born about the time of the Civil Rights Amendment and can see how much has been achieved, but because The World At Large bears witness to this act, in which older white men, with huge family fortunes, steeped in separtism and control through power, no longer hold the title of Commander and Chief of the most powerful country on earth. This day marks the gateway of New Beginning, one of compassion and understanding, truth and human value, co-operation rather than division, and acceptance rather than denial. The work here is only beginning. We are far down the road to our own end, all of us, as one, riding our planet into extinction and war. The trip back will be long and difficult. Take this new hope to heart, and build on it there, whatever your political choices. To hold back now is to deny yourself the promise and passion of being one of billions of humans, working together to form a better world in the 21st century. Let it begin now. World 2.0 Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Sunday, November 2, 2008
A year ago today, on la Dios de la Muerto, The Dead came to my window. They appeared to be several hundred strong, and they gathered in the street below my loft windows, singing songs, beating drums, chanting my name and demanding solace in the form of drink. Not being unaquainted with this form of solace, and impressed by so many of The Dead knowing my name and whereabouts, I capitulated with cocktails and beer, speaking to them out my window like some Dark Pope, and finally waved them on to Flanagan's Bar, where dead people are always welcome, if only due to the Irish name. We all know that the Irish love both the drink & the dead, so it seemed like the right thing to do. I hope they come back again tonight. I rather like The Dead, not only because of their fashionable black outfits and over sized skull heads (anyone knowing me is familiar with my constant black attire and big head), but because they make us Who We Are. Everything we have going for us as Humans came from Dead People, unless it comes from people who are about to be dead. Someday, anyway. But the stuff we take for granted, the New World, fire, television, rum and of course cooking school, all came to us by way of people now long dead. So there's that. And the afore mentioned Irish and their Dark Poets, who romanced Death, even before they did it. Those wacky poets. What might not be as obvious is what death does for us now, on a daily basis, for free. All by just being there, if we'd only pay attention. Death is a punctuation point at which our lives, as we know them, anyway, end. There's much discussion about what's next, but that has nothing to do with Death. It may have a great deal to do with how we approach the subject, but that's for another day. Today is la Dios de la Muerto, the Day of the Dead, and I want to offer up my respect to those who have gone before, and the message they seem to be leaving, at least, when they show up at one's window, chanting your name and demanding cocktails. We Are All Going To Die. See how simple that is? It doesn't take much study to understand. The problem is that folks just don't like to think about it. They spin off in to theological discussions about Next Worlds, and stories about lost family or loved ones, or make video tapes depicting horrifying car crashes, or write bound-for-DVD scripts about sexy teens on forbidden islands getting picked off one by one... Anyway, I think you see my point. It takes quite a bit of moxie to stand in front of your mirror and say to yourself, "I'm going to die." In fact, it may happen anytime in this crazy world. Anytime at all. We take measures to ensure our health and safety, as well as the health and safety of those around us, but that's not enough. The best thing to do is much simpler; Live. I figured out the message that The Dead bring to my window. Not that one must give demanding neighbors free drinks, although that's a very interesting subject for another column, but that we must Live Now. May your morning bowl of cereal be perfect, crispy and cool, if that's what you desire. May your work, at whatever task you have in front of you, be the best that you can do. May you tell that lovely man or woman you've just met (you know who you are) that you think they are lovely and would like to know them better. Sing out loud when joy finds it's way to your lips, laugh louder when confronted by ridiculous circumstance. Cry openly at the loss of love and lovers, in your favorite movie or in your life. Smile at complete strangers and feel the glow of that smile returned. Do something amazing with your life, if only for an instant, and take the time to be amazed by the actions of others. Above all things, find your place on this earth of ours, to experience the breath and blood of living, to celebrate YOUR life, as it's the one thing you truly own. Find others to join in this celebration, to sing with you, and when necessary, to rise up and protect your right to that life. I am blessed in that I have found my place, and therein, friends abound. To night, I shall celebrate my life, and the living of it, here in my beloved New Orleans, when my friends, The Dead, pass by my window. Thanks to The Dead, for showing me the meaning and truth of Life. I may never have done it without you. Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Friday, October 24, 2008
For every offered moment of bliss, there is someone who will complain about it. That, I suppose, is that. I'm posting this because it more accurately captures my current state of mind then anything else I could say. I suppose I felt the same way when I wrote it. Anyway...
WELL OF SLEEP
Excerpt from Tales & Verse from the Tower Room, by Lord David
Of which well that I might drink
to bring me to eternal sleep
to dip my cup into that stream
elixir of unending dream
escaping mundane daily dross
fashioned in a manner gross
wherein each & every blade
reflects how very stars were made
in vision passing, fancy pure,
that leaves me behind to endure
when in slumber I have known
lovers of no flesh and bone
but gossamer and wind and sky
of beauty such transcends the eye
where pleasures endless multiply.
Adventures of the strangest kind
challenge limits of my mind
scenic vistas shift and change
sea and mountain rearrange
ride on wing back, fall and fly,
breathe of color, feel with eye,
yet waken to this morbid shell
and leave behind what none can tell.
Now separation takes it's toll
passing faces grim and cold
contact at it's best so fleeting
each heart in a cage is beating
touch- a mere and hopeless taste
desire's greed has laid to waste
whatever comfort offered there
is soon dipped in rich despair
a feast on each and every plate
stuffed with solitary fate.
Me, I shun this bitter taste
rather a toast that I shall make;
bring me none for I shall wait
for wine steeped long with opiate
and dip my cup into that stream
to plunge me into endless dream
of that well that I might drink
to bring me to eternal sleep.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The Open Mind was awake. It was everywhere, and everything, all at once. It had either been there for ever & ever, or it had just started to be. It didn’t really matter which, since things like Time and Memory were all part of it, so any way you went about it, things all led back to the same place. I know that sounds a bit dicey, and there are very smart people who have formulas to prove one thing or another or a bunch of stuff in between, but they and their thoughts and mathematics and matter and measures and history were all part of it, too, so figuring it out was like herding cats. As pointless as it is impossible. So, anyway, the Open Mind was awake. And it was everything and everywhere all at once. Almost… Contained in the fabric of Everywhere were some impenetrable areas like little round ball bubbles. Some were quiet and smooth. Some were almost ethereal, as though they would become part of the Open Mind at anytime, dissolving in to the Entire Fabric with a refreshing breath of release, satisfying some certain longing that only the Open Mind could understand and appreciate. Of course, since Everything is part of the Open Mind, there was certainly enough refreshment to go around. Some of the little ball bubbles were hot beds of irritation, red and scratchy to look at or feel, and seemed almost to boil inside, like some festering thing, ready to explode. These were all part of the Open Mind, but separate somehow. While everything was part of the Open Mind, not all of it was under control by the same thought processes. The areas inside these little ball bubbles were special. They contained something called Free Will. The Open Mind could go and look around inside these ball bubbles by looking out through the eyes of any one of billions and billions of facets of itself that lived inside of many of these ball bubbles. It had to be careful doing this, because if it looked out the eyes of any one of these for more then what seemed like an instant, the others seemed to know, and act differently towards the one it looked through. The facet whose eyes it used would most certainly start acting funny. This could prove to be difficult and defeat the entire purpose of Free Will altogether, so the Open Mind would sort just peek around at specifics a little bit, from time to time, and occupy it self with being Everything All The Time, which is pretty much a full time job. Of course, any one of those billions and billions of facets could turn around and look out at the Open Mind, and watch Everything All The Time, too, but they hardly ever did. Go figure. Many of these ball bubbles grew like seeds, gestating at their own rate, developing according to their own basic guidelines, until they became one of those refreshing breaths of release, blending in to the Entire Fabric, further quenching the longing of the Open Mind, or they went the other way. They became so involved in their own inner festering, that they just burned away until they were but a hard and crispy little crust, which of course, couldn’t flow with the Entire Fabric, so they eventually just disintegrated back in to the Open Mind to be redeveloped at a later time. The Open Mind was used to this, as Every Part of Everything That Would Ever Happen was part of it, too. It came with the territory. So, anyway, during one of these occasional specific peeks inside one of the more troubled ball bubbles, the Open Mind saw that there had developed a New Facet, just within the last moment or so. They called themselves people, and they lived on a tiny speck in remote corner of this particular ball bubble, which they called The Universe. They thought that Everything In Existence was right there inside their particular ball bubble, and that the inside of this ball was actually the outside of everything else. As ridiculous as that may seem, they believed it, for the most part, and these people weren’t very accepting about new ideas. They even thought that the Open Mind lived entirely inside this tiny little ball bubble, The Universe, which was really so small that the Open Mind didn’t really give it much thought, except in an Open Mind Everything All The Time sort of way. They also had given the Open Mind a series of pet names, in a wide variety of languages, some of them even claiming that the Open Mind had a beard and robes. Being well groomed in Everything and wearing whatever it imagined All The Time, the Open Mind paid little attention to such vivid descriptions, knowing that these people were only seeing the Open Mind in terms they could understand; as themselves. The Open Mind loved all parts of itself equally, which is considered healthy, even those parts with Free Will that became irritated by themselves, sometimes. So it had a look inside this particular ball bubble to see what these momentary people were up too. Peering way down into that distant corner, deep inside the space within this tiny fragment of a ball bubble, the Open Mind could focus on the little sliver they called a Galaxy. There, just about where you’d expect, was their little solar system, and spinning around really fast, was their tiny blue ball of a world. Now, these people, as they’ve decided to call themselves, were mostly limited to just a few languages, some of them only one, which was disappointing, but even worse, they had decided not to trust too many of each other who looked and talked differently then whoever was doing the looking and listening. They had, in fact, divided up their tiny blue ball in to areas which were restricted to certain groups alone, and others had to ask permission to go there at all. Why anyone would want to visit such a place is too big a question to deal with here. Most unpleasant was the fighting they did with each other. It seemed to go on and on and on, destroying huge portions of their Blue Ball, and killing off vast numbers of these strange beings who had only moments ago been created and crawled out of holes in the rocks. What was really unbelievable was why they were doing it. Their use of the gift of Free Will was to claim that certain people had windows through which they could look and see the Open Mind. They said they ‘talked to it’ and that it ‘had a plan for them’. This was just plain silly, of course, as the Open Mind had created all of this to exercise Free Will in the first place, and these people used Free Will to take it away. Free Will, that is. So anyway, these momentary people would point at their own windows, calling them by various names and in a multitude of languages, and claim them to be the Only Window. This seemed to be what a great deal of the fighting was about. There was also a lot of trouble over stuff. Some people wanted more than they needed, and they hid it away to rot, while others got none. Not being a very nice way to get along, the Open Mind would have frowned on this, as it spread itself pretty equally Everywhere Forever, but that’s what Free Will is all about. At the moment, the Open Mind is waiting to see if this particular ball bubble with the littlest galaxy and the tiny blue ball will turn it’s momentary people around and begin to nourish their fellow creatures, habitat and future, eventually becoming a refreshing breath of release, and joining the rest of the Open Mind, or if it will just irritate itself into a crispy little crust and fade back into the Open Mind, for redevelopment at another time. The word on this is not yet in….
Monday, October 20, 2008
New Orleans is, and has always been, a city that calls out to artists of all types. Writers, actors, painters, and especially musicians, come here and are reborn in the image of those who were born here in reality; not by imitation, but by the sense of freedom and self discovery that prevails in such a lush Caribbean climate, steeped in all night drinking establishments, a history of cultures, wide and deep, and a sense that life is for living in the moment at hand. This makes New Orleans the perfect venue for music, not only at festivals such as Voodoo & Jazz Fest, but also in the dive bars, tiny clubs of Frenchman street and for the street performers of Jackson Square. Thousands come every year to see & hear their favorite artists, acts too big to play together in smaller arenas, or in one night only situations. Twice a year we are host to a stellar group of performers and luminaries, a seemingly unending parade of talent, going on for days. In the background of these nationally noticed events is a much smaller phenomenon. A small part of downtown New Orleans, just east of the French Quarter, is known as the Marigny/Bywater. These two communities, joined back to back at the Press Street railroad tracks, are an amazing burgeoning art community. Having lived in this part of town for almost fifteen years, I suppose I got used to seeing artists on bicycles, carrying their tools and canvases under an arm as they peddle down the streets, musicians carrying instruments on backs and baskets, as they head to & from their gigs, rehearsals or street performances. This small community has grown dramatically over the last decade, spawning a series of galleries, some in reconditioned buildings, previously long out of use, such as the Candle Factory, a huge warehouse and art/performance space, hidden under the Claiborne Street bridge, and L’Art Noir, created in an old store front on St. Claude Avenue. Then there are the home galleries, like the Side Arm Gallery on St. Roch Avenue, or my own loft gallery, The Skull Club, mere blocks away. This development has led to the creation of the St. Claude Art District, (http://www.scadnola.com/) an online co-operative of the art spaces and galleries, now garnishing national attention from the likes of Derek Hess & the Andy Warhol Society, as well as international attention created by this Fall’s New Orleans Fringe Festival (http://www.nofringe.org/). At the same time, local musicians have been plying their trade, supporting local recording studio spaces, from the well known Piety Street studio, home of the latest Andre Williams recording, to one of the newer additions, The Rookery Studio, a digital and multi track tape recording facility hidden deep in the Bywater. I recently produced a short session at the Rookery for a friend, Stix duh Clown, of My Graveyard Jaw, who was joined by his illustrious pal, Ratty Scurvics, of Ratty Scurvics’ Singularity. I met these two wildly creative guys when they played together in Strekin Hobo, some time ago, when I was bartending at the Hi Ho, another St. Claude institution of outsider music and art. In the years that have followed, they’ve worked together and separately in a slew of projects, ranging from My Graveyard Jaw & Singularity, to Ratty’s musical backup of theater productions, written by him & performed live at the Back Yard Ballroom shows. This is but the tip of the iceberg, however. The new music coming from this community reaches far & wide in terms of influence, method and instrumentation. From the dreamlike poetic musings of Illusion Fields to the house & dance hall reggae & ska of DJ Proppa bear, there is as far flung an approach to this local music scene as any art community has seen. Local college radio station WTUL often gives voice to new music, and the local Jazz & Heritage station WWOZ prides itself on promoting local talent. It is still difficult, at the best of times, for New American Bands to get themselves heard. College radio has a particularly different trend in musical listening tastes because, unlike other genres where the fans grow with the music they enjoy, the college listening market constantly turns over as that particular age group arrives and eventually moves on. This makes for a fascinating array of new interests, but can be very challenging for a new band or artist to establish themselves in. Local Jazz & Heritage Radio, WWOZ, sticks closer to its roots in blues, jazz, R&B and the music that gave New Orleans its name. While there is a wealth of talent, new & old, in this genre, it’s hardly the place for bands like Why Are We Building Such a Big Ship to create a fan base. Aside from smaller experimental venues, and playing backup at local galleries, only the internet, with its dizzying compilation of independent talent, offers itself as ongoing fertile ground for these artists. Therein lies the rub. Until now. Enter Dan Sheridan, or as we call him in the neighborhood, Dan the Man. I met Dan when he arrived in New Orleans to stay, about the same time that Strekin Hobo was rocking the Hi Ho. In fact, we met at that very club. A long time outsider entrepreneur, Dan the Man was marketing a thoughtfully freaky brand of clothing, particularly tribal designed screen printed wear, under the name Noomoon. Those who helped out with these endeavors, taking part in an organic growth of neighborly family, became known as the Noomoon Tribe, back in the beginning of the creation of this crew of freaks. But that was only the beginning. As Dan would tell it (or at least as he told it to me), so many people from those days assumed that Noomoon Tribe was a band, that one was eventually started, as the promotional machine seemed already in motion. Bringing that momentum from Detroit to New Orleans, Noomoon quickly found a home base, right here in the Marigny, and an ongoing group of willing constituents. These endeavors grew right along side of the music & art community renaissance that was taking place in these same small neighborhoods. Dan’s Noomoon promotional machine once more came into play. While music and art fans from around the world know they can come and enjoy the second Saturday of the month gallery openings of the St. Claude Art District, or come to town in mid November for the New Orleans Fringe Festival, it’s only just becoming common knowledge that the Voodoo Music Experience is no longer for name acts only. This year is the 10th Voodoo Experience Music Ritual, and the 9th for Noomoon. Running it’s own stage, The Land of Nod, Noomoon brings to a huge public audience those underground and outsider musical entities the rest of the world is only just now about to discover. Located just inside the front gates, aptly placed immediately to the right of the New Orleans Museum of Art, the Noomoon Land of Nod stage provides an alternative reality, with two stages, a variety of bands and performers, fire breathers and dancers, tribal style body piercing and suspension, vendors and costumers all quite a bit different than the usual Voodoo fare, last year even including a voodoo ritual to protect New Orleans from hurricane damage, that although may be a leap of faith, may actually have worked to some degree. You’ll have to decide for yourself. The point is this: New Orleans is a magic city of new tastes and old, of mixed blood and history, of pirates and politicians, churches and vampires, writers and drinkers, many of whom are all one and the same. It is a spicy gumbo of creativity, where musicians & artists of many types and cultures experiment with their canvases and sounds, their processes, their lives. While that may not be for everybody, it’s an amazing thing to watch. The 10th annual Voodoo Music Experience and Ritual provides that opportunity. Noomoon’s 9th annual Land of Nod stage takes it the extra mile, loosing local creative madness in a public forum. While many cities have their own music scene, art venues, culture & style, few challenge New Orleans for sheer volume of these things, and so many talents that challenge the perspective we have come to know and accept. Enjoy Voodoo this year. Take the walk down to the Land of Nod. Stay a while. Make some new friends, enjoy the music, join the Tribe for an afternoon or an evening or both. Find something new to explore. Find something new inside yourself. Who knows, you may find yourself on the Land of Nod stage, too, one day. It’s a place where anything can, and often does, happen. Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans For details on Noomoon, and the Land of Nod stage, go to: http://www.noomoonlandofnod.com/ This year’s performers from the Marigny/BYwater area include: Ratty Scurvics Singularity My Graveyard Jaw Why Are We Building Such a Big Ship? Illusion Fields NOOMOON Tribe Worms Union American Disaster Party Pain Tribe DJ Proppa Bear Hurray for the Riff Raff Wooden Teeth White Bitch's Prey Drive sHellShock!!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I just heard from Joe the Plumber. At first I thought he said it was Louie Palumbo, a character from my youth who was probably a plumber for Nixon at the Watergate Hotel. Anyway, through his mumblings, I caught some headlines, like ‘McCain endoreses Sarah Palin for President’ and ‘McCain complains about how negative Obama’s campaign was and demands an apology, saying his feelings were hurt’. Then there was some ranting about Bill Ayers and The Never Ending Story, followed by a claim Senator McClain made about being a careful steward of America’s Economy, (trading/as Charles Keating) and I drifted off into the boxing report on CNN, where they talked about Which Candidate Was Agressive, and Who Growled With His Eyes Open, and The Defenders of Their Image. I realized that Joe the Plumber wasn’t really mumbling. He was crying alligator tears of joy. And he was thanking John McCain, rascal that he is, for mentioning his name on the air. He got so excited hearing it that he proposed to his live-in lover and was accepted. Thanks Senator John McCain. And you’re invited, sir, to the joyful and legal wedding of Joe The Plumber and Joe Six Pack! They’re hanging your picture over their bed. Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Friday, October 3, 2008
I will Create in the face of Demise. I will Refuse to Give In. I will not Go Quietly. I will make Something Beautiful in a World Full of Ugly. Every Life has a Death, and every Light a Shadow. I will Dance in the Light and let the Shadow fall where it may.
Sarah Palin is an idiotic cheerleader hand puppet, spouting memorized talking points and lies she learned this week while cramming for the second highest position in our Nation. As Americans, we should be ashamed that such a completely unqualified bozo is standing up to represent us in front of the entire world, even as an also-ran. It's seriously embarrassing that such a thing could even happen. If someone like you or me can catch all of her mistakes and 'untruths', how will any other world leader ever take her, or McCain, also a big fat liar, seriously at all?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
It’s a New Orleans tradition. It used to happen a lot more around America, in general, but here, it’s still on the books. Sunday evening, dinner or hanging out, or drinks or something. Getting together with one’s ‘peeps’ and catching up, reminding ourselves of who we are, and why. Like many residents in this rectangle of old houses, train tracks, shops & bars, galleries and graffitti on canvas, commonly known as TheMarignyBywater, I have no blood family living here. My family is larger and looser, roaming the streets, on foot and bicycle, filling up bar stools, washing dishes and preparing that next masterpeice. Working, playing, eating, drinking. Living. It consists mostly of people I know because I see them when they see me. Daily or close enough. We hang paintings in the same venues, drink in the same half dozen watering holes, stand in line at the local markets, ride down the same streets on similar bicycles (1 story & 2). This is my family. So I want to invite you to a Sunday get together. Not a pot of beans on somebody’s stove, but a real gathering, a quintesential New Orleans moment, something to make you look around and say, “This is it. This is why I live here and not someplace else. This is why I sit out hurricanes and crazy ass Mayors and bad plumbing and high crime areas.” Sunday Nights, for the next four weeks anyway, Doc Otis and the Junker Jazz Allstars will be playing at Sugar Park Tavern, in the Bywater, corner of Dauphine & France Streets, half a block from Kermit Ruffins’ usual Thursday shows at Vaughn’s. The All Stars feature Doc Otis on Piano & Voice, Kathleen Kraus on upright bass, Sean Dawson on trumpet and Sugar Park Pizza maker, Steve Pollier on saxophone. But it doesn’t end there… The room lends itself to the old days of barrel house music; a bar, some long tables & short tables, chairs & benches, all arranged to keep you close to the cold beer & cocktails, as well as the music. Drinks and food flow brilliantly with this wonderful throwback jazz and blues. Award winning pizza (A Maxim Magazine top pick), fish & chips, nachos, and an array of crowd pleasing sandwiches & appetisers to feed every appetite. Cocktails made to order and ice cold PBR, along with most things in between. If they don’t have what you want, try wanting what they have. It’s the perfect set of choices for this time out of time experience. Most wonderful of all is the local family. All the best friends and whacky relatives you ain’t met yet. Set to music by Doc & Kathleen & Sean & Steve. So come see the band. Eat ’til you’re full. And drink some more. You’re invited. Welcome home, New Orleans. It’s like no other place on earth. Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Sunday, September 21, 2008
THE TEACHER OF WISDOM From his childhood he had been as one filled with the perfect knowledge of God, and even while he was yet but a lad many of the saints, as well as certain holy women who dwelt in the free city of his birth, had been stirred to much wonder by the grave wisdom of his answers. And when his parents had given him the robe and the ring of manhood he kissed them, and left them and went out into the world, that he might speak to the world about God. For there were at that time many in the world who either knew not God at all, or had but an incomplete knowledge of Him, or worshipped the false gods who dwell in groves and have no care of their worshippers. And he set his face to the sun and journeyed, walking without sandals, as he had seen the saints walk, and carrying at his girdle a leathern wallet and a little water-bottle of burnt clay. And as he walked along the highway he was full of the joy that comes from the perfect knowledge of God, and he sang praises unto God without ceasing; and after a time he reached a strange land in which there were many cities. And he passed through eleven cities. And some of these cities were in valleys, and others were by the banks of great rivers, and others were set on hills. And in each city he found a disciple who loved him and followed him, and a great multitude also of people followed him from each city, and the knowledge of God spread in the whole land, and many of the rulers were converted, and the priests of the temples in which there were idols found that half of their gain was gone, and when they beat upon their drums at noon none, or but a few, came with peacocks and with offerings of flesh as had been the custom of the land before his coming. Yet the more the people followed him, and the greater the number of his disciples, the greater became his sorrow. And he knew not why his sorrow was so great. For he spake ever about God, and out of the fulness of that perfect knowledge of God which God had Himself given to him. And one evening he passed out of the eleventh city, which was a city of Armenia, and his disciples and a great crowd of people followed after him; and he went up on to a mountain and sat down on a rock that was on the mountain, and his disciples stood round him, and the multitude knelt in the valley. And he bowed his head on his hands and wept, and said to his Soul, 'Why is it that I am full of sorrow and fear, and that each of my disciples is as an enemy that walks in the noonday?' And his Soul answered him and said, 'God filled thee with the perfect knowledge of Himself, and thou hast given this knowledge away to others. The pearl of great price thou hast divided, and the vesture without seam thou hast parted asunder. He who giveth away wisdom robbeth himself. He is as one who giveth his treasure to a robber. Is not God wiser than thou art? Who art thou to give away the secret that God hath told thee? I was rich once, and thou hast made me poor. Once I saw God, and now thou hast hidden Him from me.' And he wept again, for he knew that his Soul spake truth to him, and that he had given to others the perfect knowledge of God, and that he was as one clinging to the skirts of God, and that his faith was leaving him by reason of the number of those who believed in him. And he said to himself, 'I will talk no more about God. He who giveth away wisdom robbeth himself' And after the space of some hours his disciples came near him and bowed themselves to the ground and said, 'Master, talk to us about God, for thou hast the perfect knowledge of God, and no man save thee hath this knowledge.' And he answered them and said, 'I will talk to you about all other things that are in heaven and on earth, but about God I will not talk to you. Neither now, nor at any time, will I talk to you about God.' And they were wroth with him and said to him, 'Thou hast led us into the desert that we might hearken to thee. Wilt thou send us away hungry, and the great multitude that thou hast made to follow thee?' And he answered them and said, 'I will not talk to you about God.' And the multitude murmured against him and said to him 'Thou hast led us into the desert, and hast given us no food to eat. Talk to us about God and it will suffice us.' But he answered them not a word. For he knew that if he spake to them about God he would give away his treasure. And his disciples went away sadly, and the multitude of people returned to their own homes. And many died on the way. And when he was alone he rose up and set his face to the moon, and journeyed for seven moons, speaking to no man nor making any answer. And when the seventh moon had waned he reached that desert which is the desert of the Great River. And having found a cavern in which a Centaur had once dwelt, he took it for his place of dwelling, and made himself a mat of reeds on which to lie, and became a hermit. And every hour the Hermit praised God that He had suffered him to keep some knowledge of Him and of His wonderful greatness. Now, one evening, as the Hermit was seated before the cavern in which he had made his place of dwelling, he beheld a young man of evil and beautiful face who passed by in mean apparel and with empty hands. Every evening with empty hands the young man passed by, and every morning he returned with his hands full of purple and pearls. For he was a Robber and robbed the caravans of the merchants. And the Hermit looked at him and pitied him. But he spake not a word. For he knew that he who speaks a word loses his faith. And one morning, as the young man returned with his hands full of purple and pearls, he stopped and frowned and stamped his foot upon the sand, and said to the Hermit: 'Why do you look at me ever in this manner as I pass by? What is it that I see in your eyes? For no man has looked at me before in this manner. And the thing is a thorn and a trouble to me.' And the Hermit answered him and said, 'What you see in my eyes is pity. Pity is what looks out at you from my eyes.' And the young man laughed with scorn, and cried to the Hermit in a bitter voice, and said to him, 'I have purple and pearls in my hands, and you have but a mat of reeds on which to lie. What pity should you have for me? And for what reason have you this pity?' 'I have pity for you,' said the Hermit, 'because you have no knowledge of God.' 'Is this knowledge of God a precious thing?' asked the young man, and he came close to the mouth of the cavern. 'It is more precious than all the purple and the pearls of the world,' answered the Hermit. 'And have you got it?' said the young Robber, and he came closer still. 'Once, indeed,' answered the Hermit, 'I possessed the perfect knowledge of God. But in my foolishness I parted with it, and divided it amongst others. Yet even now is such knowledge as remains to me more precious than purple or pearls.' And when the young Robber heard this he threw away the purple and the pearls that he was bearing in his hands, and drawing a sharp sword of curved steel he said to the Hermit, 'Give me, forthwith, this knowledge of God that you possess, or I will surely slay you. Wherefore should I not slay him who has a treasure greater than my treasure?' And the Hermit spread out his arms and said, 'Were it not better for me to go unto the uttermost courts of God and praise Him, than to live in the world and have no knowledge of Him? Slay me if that be your desire. But I will not give away my knowledge of God.' And the young Robber knelt down and besought him, but the Hermit would not talk to him about God, nor give him his Treasure, and the young Robber rose up and said to the Hermit, 'Be it as you will. As for myself, I will go to the City of the Seven Sins, that is but three days' journey from this place, and for my purple they will give me pleasure, and for my pearls they will sell me joy.' And he took up the purple and the pearls and went swiftly away. And the Hermit cried out and followed him and besought him. For the space of three days he followed the young Robber on the road and entreated him to return, nor to enter into the City of the Seven Sins. And ever and anon the young Robber looked back at the Hermit and called to him, and said, 'Will you give me this knowledge of God which is more precious than purple and pearls? If you will give me that, I will not enter the city.' And ever did the Hermit answer, 'All things that I have I will give thee, save that one thing only. For that thing it is not lawful for me to give away. And in the twilight of the third day they came nigh to the great scarlet gates of the City of the Seven Sins. And from the city there came the sound of much laughter. And the young Robber laughed in answer, and sought to knock at the gate. And as he did so the Hermit ran forward and caught him by the skirts of his raiment, and said to him: 'Stretch forth your hands, and set your arms around my neck, and put your ear close to my lips, and I will give you what remains to me of the knowledge of God.' And the young Robber stopped. And when the Hermit had given away his knowledge of God, he fell upon the ground and wept, and a great darkness hid him from the city and the young Robber, so that he saw them no more. And as he lay there weeping he was ware of One who was standing beside him; and He who was standing beside him had feet of brass and hair like fine wool. And He raised the Hermit up, and said to him: 'Before this time thou hadst the perfect knowledge of God. Now thou shalt have the perfect love of God. Wherefore art thou weeping?' And He kissed him. - Oscar Wilde
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Ruthie the Duck Girl dies of cancer at 74 by John Pope, The Times-Picayune Friday September 12, 2008, 10:36 PM Ruthie the Duck Girl, a French Quarter eccentric who zoomed from bar to bar on roller skates, often wearing a ratty fur coat and long skirt and trailed by a duck or two, died Sept. 6 at Our Lady of the Lake Hospital in Baton Rouge. She was 74. Ruthie, whose real name was Ruth Grace Moulon, had been suffering from cancer of the mouth and lungs when the residents of her Uptown New Orleans nursing home were evacuated to Baton Rouge as Hurricane Gustav approached, said Carol Cunningham, a close friend who watched over her for nearly 40 years. “I’ve always looked at Ruthie like a little bird with a broken wing, ” Cunningham said. “She was always so dear to me.” Miss Moulon, a lifelong New Orleanian, became a French Quarter fixture, achieving legendary status in a city that treasures people who live outside the mainstream. Along the way, she acquired a coterie of people like Cunningham who found places for her to live, paid her bills and made sure she got home at night. A tiny woman with a constant grin, she frequently sported a bridal gown and veil on her forays because, people said, she considered herself engaged to Gary Moody, whom she met in New Orleans in 1963 when he was a sailor. Moody showed up at a 2001 birthday party for Miss Moulon at Mid-City Lanes Rock ‘N Bowl, but the two never got to the altar. According to a Times-Picayune interview that year, Miss Moulon had a stock reply whenever anyone asked if there might be a wedding in her future: “I got engaged; that’s enough!” In 1999, Rick Delaup made her the subject of a documentary, “Ruthie the Duck Girl.” Miss Moulon’s daily routine consisted of roaming from one watering hole to another, mooching drinks and cigarettes. She could be sweet one minute and unleash a torrent of profanity the next. Although people deemed Miss Moulon’s behavior unconventional even by French Quarter standards, no one ever diagnosed her mental condition because she refused to see a doctor, David Cuthbert wrote in The Times-Picayune in 2001. “She’s not out of touch with reality; she’s just not interested, ” photographer David Richmond told The Times-Picayune. Miss Moulon’s mother, who put her daughter’s hair in sausage curls to make her look like Shirley Temple, came up with the idea that little Ruthie should be a duck girl, Cunningham said. “She dressed her in evening dresses and bought her skates, and she skated through the Quarter with these little ducks following, ” Cunningham said. Miss Moulon’s mother, who grew up in rural Louisiana, initially let the ducks live in the house, although the two women sometimes fought over them, according to eccentricneworleans.com. On that Web site, Myrl D’Arcy, an artist, described a visit to the house: “The duck’s living in the bathtub, and the mother wanted to take a bath. Ruthie didn’t want the mother to take the duck out of the bathtub because it would upset the duck.” In the documentary, artist George Dureau recalled a conversation with Miss Moulon after the death of another French Quarter character, Eloise Lopez Arollo Samakintos, who always carried a cross through the Vieux Carre. “There ain’t a whole lot of us left, George, ” she said. A Mass will be said Monday at noon at Jacob Schoen & Son Funeral Home, 3827 Canal St. Visitation will start at 10 a.m. Burial will be in Greenwood Cemetery. reposted from the Times-picayune. Original post and comment thread here. On a personal note: I only encountered Miss Ruthie twice. The first time, I entered Lucille’s Golden Lantern to meet my girl friend of the time, whose roomate worked there. As I walked in, they were all sitting at one side of the horse shoe bar, facing a small woman in desheveled clothing. The room was silent. As my eyes were adjusting to the dark, I sat down on the empty side of the bar, not far from the woman in question. The others all went wide eyed, and Ruthie launched into a diatribe, at the top of voice, beginning with, “you're ALL FUCKING WHORES…” I fled. Years later, I cut to the front of the line at the Dungeon, to see what the hold up was, and to see if my friend was working the door. As I entered that little alcove in the front, the hulking doorman held a finger to his lips and went “shhhh!”. Behind him, Ruthie stood on the little bridge, letting her duck swim in the tiny flow of water below. We waited patiently, and after a while, she left, whispering a quiet, “Thank you” to the doorman on her way out. You are now and forever a Legend of the French Quarter, Miss Ruthie. Knock ‘em back in line, wherever you are.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
In the news today, the McCain camp accuses Barack Obama of name calling. Read this blurb: NORFOLK, Va. (Associated Press) -- Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama on Wednesday accused Republican John McCain's campaign of using "lies and phony outrage and Swift-boat politics" in claiming he used a sexist comment against vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin. Calling it "the latest made-up controversy by the John McCain campaign," Obama responded to the Republicans' charge that he was referring to Palin when he used the phrase "lipstick on a pig" at a campaign stop Tuesday. "I don't care what they say about me. But I love this country too much to let them take over another election with lies and phony outrage and Swift-boat politics. Enough is enough," he said. Obama's reference was to the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, an outside group that in 2004 made unsubstantiated allegations about Democratic nominee John Kerry's decorated military record in Vietnam. On Tuesday, Obama criticized McCain's economic policies as similar to those of President Bush, saying: "You can put lipstick on a pig ... it's still a pig. You can wrap an old fish in a piece of paper called change. It's still going to stink after eight years." The McCain campaign contended that the comments were directed at Palin, the GOP's first woman on a presidential ticket. In her acceptance speech last week, she had referred to herself in a joke about lipstick being the only difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull. Accusing Obama of "smearing" Palin in "offensive and disgraceful" comments, the McCain campaign demanded an apology _ though McCain himself used the folksy metaphor a few times last year, including once to describe Democratic Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's health care plan. There is no mention here, however, of a report by service industry workers at an Alaskan restaurant, that upon hearing Obama had won the Democratic Candidacy, Palin loudly & publicly remarked,"So Sambo beat the bitch..." The Big Name Press (Fox News & CNN) can fuck straight off. These are the same people who refused to televise Ron Paul in any of the debates he joined. The first step towards building a Facist State is to control the media. Let's lose these bastards, ya heard? Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Sunday, September 7, 2008
There are times when the latest news of Jihad, police corruption, gang violence, general hate and selfishness, begin to overwhelm even one so hardened as myself. At these times, I often stand in the center of my room, awash in music, arms spread out to the heavens, head back, deeply breathing in the cosmic marrow of life. I begin to see myself, as if from above, standing there, filling my lungs, and push all other thoughts and mental pictures away. Still your mind and the Truth will come… Soon the image I hold draws further back to see my building, my block, the city, continent & planet. I see the Earth, a blue ball, spinning the through the cosmos, with billions of specks, much like myself, standing on the surface like mad surfing insects, riding their host as it hurtles through space. The Earth itself then becomes a mere pinprick next to the gargantuan size of Jupiter, which is then dwarfed by our Sun. The sun we know becomes a pinprick against immense planets that spin around stars so big they would swallow our entire solar system. These formations spread for hundreds of billions of light years in every direction, beyond the concept we call infinity. Now seriously, folks, in the midst of all that, is it really possible that there is a Supreme Being who chooses to speak only through one human being, the Official Prophet, for all eternity? That one person’s life and ego are more important than another’s? That this tiniest of blips in the history of our planet alone, the history of human kind, is so important that we would decimate our world, and each other? I think not. I think that it’s high time (bad choice of words perhaps) we took it upon ourselves to make this work, this humanity experiment, by standing together in the face of religious fanaticism, racial division, violence and class driven greed. It’s time to awaken. Perhaps there is a Supreme Being, and if so, perhaps for a tiny sliver of a moment, we might cross their inbox. The rest is up to us. To act in a manner befitting our self image as the Prime Life Form in the Universe. As things stand right now, when I wonder if there is intelligent life in the Universe, the only thing I know for sure is this: It certainly isn’t us. Root for the Home Team, kids. That’s Humans, to anyone out there listening. We’re all in this together. All of us, each & every one. Lord David Tripped Out Artist Skull Club New Orleans
I’m one of those bastards who snuck back into New Orleans early, because I can, it’s my home, and fuck all those assholes, anyway. I’ve done more to rebuild this town (with my own hands and tools) then any of those bureaucratic flap jaws, so…. …I pulled up in front of my door and darted inside with my bags of crap, as the police and guardsmen began to peer around the corner at me from the 5th district headquarters, next door. As I got to the top of the stairs I became aware that: I really had to pee, because there was no place to stop since Hammond. All the power was on and my loft was completely unchanged. I could see all four blocks of my corner from the front window and lights were on everywhere. So… I stuck my hand into the bathroom to turn on a light, and as I flipped the switch, all the lights in the enitre neighborhood went out. So if anybody asks, it was me who broke New Orleans. I used the very last watt and burned the system. This is obviously why none of us should be allowed to come home without proper instruction, preferably by Ray Nagin AND Warren Riley, on How To Take A Piss In The Dark. After all, they’ve been doing it for years now.Has anybody seen the Pinesol? The power came back on within hours, after all, and the world hasn't ended, so I’ll be here, taking on water & my favorite revolutionairies, for Ike and whoever else comes down the line. Lord David Pirate & Artist Skull Club New Orleans
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Now, I'm sometimes noticed in public being drunk & unruly and I admit that. God bless my friends who don't make fun of me for this, at least while I'm listening. I appreciate it. During any & all of my 'episodes' I try to maintain a certain level of integrity, at least until I lose a shoe and become convinced that aliens are dressed as government agents and are here to take me to the brig on the Mother-ship. Hey, it could happen... Anyway, it has come to my attention that Another Great Lie is being thrust upon us, largely because the memo that we're all stupid childlike fucks has gone round again. This time it's circulating at the Republican National Convention. No big surprise there, I know. Home of the Haves and the Have Mores. Both John McCain & Sarah Palin are loudly voicing a desire to reverse Roe vs. Wade. At the same time, Governor Palin's underage daughter is pregnant out of wedlock and they want us to ignore that because...wait for it, this is good...it's a private matter and an individual choice. Let them eat cake for baby laws. The Ruling Class gets it's shot at keeping the baby bulge on the quiet, and deciding as individuals what their coarse of action will be, all while denying any & all of us the same privilege. Choice will be reserved for those who are in power, and agree with the choices that our leaders make. This same political party pushed for legislation that would make a 16 year old boy who had sex with his 15 year old girl friend register as a pedophile and sex criminal FOR LIFE. At the same time, I don't see any Alaskan cops kicking down the door of Bristol Palin's gum chewing snowboarding boyfriend, who is legally guilty of statuatory rape. Must be nice to be plugging the Royal Family, if the perks include being above the law. The Republican Party, with George W. at the wheel, also tried to shove a Constitutional Amendment down our throats making it illegal for gays & lesbians to marry. My opinion is that this issue has nothing to do with Constitutional Law, and why aren't we enforcing the existing laws like having underage sex with the Governor of Alaska's daughter? Why is it that some bozo who got caught smoking a joint outside a Motley Crue concert is likely to do a year in jail, in fact, Tommy Chong, who was entrapped into selling an unused bong to federal agents, from a legal website, did a year in jail, but fucking an underage girl and knocking her up only gets Snow Boy his 15 minutes of fame? I'll tell you why. Beacuase they think they are better than us. They believe that we are cattle to be sent off to war to improve their oil profits. They believe that we should cut funding to the department of education and be dumb muscle for their service needs, as they send decent jobs to other countries, tax us in to poverty, build giant global corporations with giant global tax shelters, make trillions of dollars from the War Machine, and sit happily by as our Great Nation is disolved into bankruptcy, because they already have a Global Corporate Golden Parachute. We will become their machine, their fodder to run the gas stations, fast food restaurants, cleaning companies, data input services, etc. as they give themselves more & more privelege, and all of us, less & less freedom. We've seen students tazered for speaking out, middle aged women detained by police for wearing anti-bush slogans at rallies, BLACKWATER USA thugs shooting unarmed civilians in Irag and extorting millions in revenue from the City of New Orleans, our very White House lie bold faced about WMDs in the middle east and expose a CIA agent to possible death because her husband spoke out about it. Now your body is not to be your property anymore, ladies. It's not as sacred as Bristol Palin's. Your choices are to be made by a woman moose skinner who was put there soley to cash in on the frustration of fence sitting democrats who wanted to vote for Hilary Clinton. This is a last minute impulse purchase to prove your own stupidity and prove how low your opinion of your own self worth has fallen. If you want to be degraded as a woman, call Larry Flynt. He won't lie about it and I hear he pays well. If you want to degrade your own daughters and granddaughters by selling their freedoms down the path of Old White Boy Government, where money rules and the priveleged call your dance tune, then you probably aren't reading this anyway. You're probably too busy throwing your designer dress over your head and letting the good old boys bend you over the constitution.
I just got a message from my dear friend, Rhonda. We had drinks thursday night, to celebrate being home, albeit illgegally, and were joined by many dozens of other fun people who crowded the Marigny bars called Mimi's, and the Nighthawk. According to Fox News (at 9:20pm Friday night) there is a curfew in Orleans Parish? 10PM - 6AM. There are 4 zips where the curfew is 2AM - 6AM. 70116 (The French Quarter) is one of those. Once again, the Infinite Wisdom of City Hall Prevails. Imagine all those bar backs, bartneders, waiters cooks and servers, nevermind managers, dishwashers, DJs, etc. who get off work in the French Quarter at 2am and have to get off the streets immediately....by coming home to a neighborhood that has a 10pm curfew. Of course, this follows the rabid order Warren Riley spewed across the air waves last week insisting that anyone poking their head out of the corner during evacuation "will be arrested." A Free Trip To Angola was included in this travel package. For going outside. Way to attract tourism, guys. I remember having to deal with this for months after Katrina. It made sense at first, as many neighborhoods were empty and blacked out, but ended with French Quarter bar owners making a stand against City Hall, who finally backed down. This time, many neighborhoods are untouched, and the Marigny, where I live, is As If It Never Happened. Why on earth everybody has to be home and locked down by 10 pm is beyond all reason. The freakin storm was a week ago, and never really hit this neighborhood. It would seem to me that City Hall is simply trying to enact control over us by extending their marshall law curfew as long as possible, not to protect anyone, to but to Show The World their great and powerful dedication to Saving Mankind. NEWS FLASH: You're all fucking idiots. You, Mayor Nagin, with your 900 mile storm. You, Chief Riley, with your bully cops and curfew, and all of the City Council who stand by watching like dorks on a playground as the bullies beat the shit out of the younger kids. Again. Perhaps there is another award in the making, and Hizzonner wants to earn some extra credit by saving us when there's nothing to really be saved from. We can store it in the freezer for later, or maybe make jambalaya out of it when the family comes on Sunday. I actually tasted Save Me From Myself a couple of times, usually as a multiple year sentence for a joint, or someone trying to reverse Roe vs Wade, but it always had that after taste of FUCKING FASICISM. Maybe Police Chief and Wooden Indian, Warren Riley, is going to fight the out-of-control crime in my neighborhood by locking us all in our rooms. Except it didn't work last time, Warren. Did it....? I seem to remember having to lay my then crippled ass on the ground at gun point, with three State cops from some god fearing dry parish screaming at me and waving pistols around. Crime in the neighborhood skyrocketed, however, as it was much easier to pick on tired dishwashers and broken down writers than it was to say, arrest the bastard who ran over Dave Gordon, even though you know who he is and where he lives. Or maybe they just wanted my parking space. In any case, there's a curfew in effect. And I think I saw a hurricane hanging out by the tracks, looking shifty and hiding behind a retaining wall. It may have only been a cloudy day, for that matter, but it was whistling a rather annoying tune, and I didn't like it's haircut, so we'd better all stay inside until, once again, crime is prevented by locking all the citizens in their homes. Maybe there will be a meeting soon, and they'll realize the best way to fight crime is to simply make us all leave the city or go directly to jail. They'll be no coming back, either. No trailers allowed. Just sit in your tent and wait for that absentee ballot with Nagin's name on it to arrive. I wouldn't hold your breath for an ivitation to the next Award Ceremony, however. Unless you're a wealthy property owner. But then, you'd be running a New Orleans Ethics Commision, right? Lord David Who will never fucking evacuate again Skull Club New Orleans
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Reposted from that bathroom wall of cyberspace, Myspace... MANDATORY EVACUATION 1 1/2 oz. Absolute Ruby Red vodka 1/2 oz. Vermouth Clamato Prune juice Combine vodka and vermouth in cocktail glass. Fill remainder of glass with equal parts Clamato and prune juice. Stir. Drink. Ask next-door neighbor whose fichus tree blew over and crashed onto your roof - even though you'd warned him for months to uproot it - if you can use his bathroom. Repeat. ============================== CATEGORY 5 1/2 oz. vodka 1/2 oz. tequila 1/2 oz. rum 1/2 oz. bourbon 1/2 oz. gin Sweet-and-sour mix Splash of fruit juice Combine vodka, tequila, rum, bourbon and gin in a tall glass. Fill remainder of glass with sweet-and-sour mix and splash of juice. Stir, then garnish with an inverted drink umbrella. Drink during peak storm hours, and vow not to believe anyone who tries to tell you the hurricane that flooded your garage and destroyed your shed was just a Category 1. =============================== CONE OF PROBABILITY 1 oz. cinnamon schnapps 1 sugar cone Pour the schnapps into the sugar cone. Every time you hear a TV weather man say, "cone of probability," bite off the end of the cone and down the shot. =============================== FEEDER BAND 2 oz. Midori 2 oz. rum 1 scoop vanilla ice cream After your home loses power, combine Midori and rum in a cocktail glass. Add a scoop of the vanilla ice cream that is melting in your freezer. Stir, and drink through a straw. ============================== BEACH EROSION 1 1/2 oz. Goldschläger 1 1/2 oz. apple brandy 1 pack Sugar in the Raw Combine Goldschläger, apple brandy and sugar in cocktail glass. As you drink, seriously contemplate moving your Yankee Ass back to New Jersey where it belongs. ============================= DOWNED POWER LINE 1 1/2 oz. rum 5 oz. Jolt Cola Combine ingredients in a cocktail glass. Drink while trying to figure out how the hell you're supposed to go two freakin' weeks without TV and AC. ============================== FLOOD ZONE 2 oz. Kahlúa 2 oz. Baileys Irish cream 4 oz. rum Serve in a 6-ounce glass and laugh-cry deliriously as the mess spills all over the countertop. ============================ COLD SHOWER 2 oz. Blue Aftershock 4 oz. Sprite Combine in a cocktail glass with crushed ice you received after waiting in line for three hours at a mall parking lot. Take a deep breath, sip and scream like a little girl when the cold beverage hits your tongue. Repeat. =========================== LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT (My personal favorite) 1 oz. Jack Daniel's Splash of sarsaparilla Rock salt Load both barrels of a shotgun with rock salt. Climb to the roof of your house with gun, bottle of Jack Daniel's and can of sarsaparilla. Fill shotglass with Jack and splash of sarsaparilla. Watch for looters. When you spot one, blast his ass with rock salt. Drink shot. Repeat. ============================= THE CHAIN SAW 1 oz. Goldschläger 1 oz. Rumplemintz 3 oz. Jim Beam Splash of vermouth Combine Goldschläger, Rumplemintz and Jim Beam in an empty soup can. Add splash of vermouth. Drink. Remove chain saw from garage and attempt to cut up fallen tree limbs in yard. Ask neighbor to drive you to hospital when it all goes horribly wrong. ============================== FOUR-WAY STOP 1 1/2 oz. vodka 1 1/2 oz. vodka and Midori 1 1/2 oz. vodka and Galliano 1 1/2 oz. vodka and grenadine Pour each ingredient into a separate shot glass. Serve one each to yourself and three other people. The person with the clear shot of vodka drinks first. The person to his right drinks the Midori shot, and so on. If somebody drinks out of order, develop a quick case of road rage and beat the living crap out of him. ============================= BLUE TARP 1 1/2 oz. Curacao 2 oz. pineapple juice Splash of lime Combine ingredients in a leaky paper cup and serve. Wait six to eight months for someone to repair the cup. If you're impatient, hire an unlicensed, out-of-state contractor to do the job for an exorbitant sum and pray he doesn't hurt himself in the process. ============================== FEMA FIZZLE 1 oz. Southern Comfort 2 oz. sloe gin Tonic water One week after the storm has passed and your neighborhood is still in ruins, with no sign of help on the way, combine Southern Comfort and gin in a cocktailglass. Fill remainder with tonic and add a dash of Angostura bitters. Serve with a nut brownie. Before drinking, raise the glass and say the toast, "Doing a heckuva job Brownie!" NOTE: Just because we may escape Gustav, doesn't mean Hannah's not coming to kick our ass. Drink up me hearties, yo ho! Lord David Pirate & Hurricane Rider Skull Club New Orleans
Friday, August 22, 2008
"The journey will be difficult. The road will be long. I face this challenge with profound humility and knowledge of my own limitations. But I also face it with limitless faith in the capacity of the American people." - Barack Obama "Bomb Iran, bomb, bomb Iran." - John McCain, singing to the tune of the Beach Boy's 'Barbara Ann' on National Television
Monday, August 18, 2008
To John Humphries; I spoke today with a fellow Marigny Resident, Friend & Neighbor. He actually took a picture of the younger of the two boys who are assaulting Bicyclists in our neighborhoods. He took the picture to the 5th Distirct Police station where the boy was identified. The officer taking the report said no arrest would be made, juvenile or otherwise, but she would tell the kid's mom he might be headed for trouble. She also made a point of telling my neighbor that she would alert the boys mother that 'an older man was following him around taking pictures' and that the neighbor should watch his step. So we have a 14 year old african american kid, out late, at least 'til midnight, assaulting bike riders with concrete and large peices of metal. The police do nothing, but tattle to his mom. Even though they know him well enough to identify his picture on sight. The person who reports it (an older white guy) basically gets told he's being watched as a pedophile. Great. This is exactly the kind of Do Nothing, Racist Attitude that needs to be reported to the Metropolitan Crime Commision. Such graphic failure and corruption of Law Enforcement in the City of New Orleans, compounded by bullying and threatening behavior from the police themselves, is a travesty, and not to be tolerated in this country, never mind the State of Louisiana, or the City of New Olreans. Lord David humidcity.com lorddavidtruth.com
United for Peace is organizing an amazing project, speaking out against violence with poetry, music and visual art. Recycle for the Arts would like to invite all of our friends and supporters to participate in this important event. The march needs visual artists to donate their talent and create portraits of the victims. These portraits will be carried during the march as a memorial to those who have been lost. After the march the portraits will be displayed in an art show and finally given to the families of the victims. There are no restrictions in regards to media but Recycle for The Arts would like to encourage everyone to use recycled materials to complete their piece. If you are interested in completing a piece please do so and contact receive an image and information about a victim please contact Charles email@example.com with any questions you may have about the march or other ways that you can help. Guidelines:18 inches by 18inches might be a good size restrictions. .. remember people will be walking down the street with these. Please include the person's name and day of death on the back. Please include the victim's name on the front as well. Please no street names or nicknames. The medium and the kind of paint is up to the artist as United for Peace will be taking photographs of the paintings and making copies for people to hold down the street as well. Please have your portrait completed by Sept 7th. Since Katrina New Orleans has lost over 400 of our neighbors, friends and community members to violent crime. United for Peace is organizing a march for peace on September 20,"Our mission is to assert the dignity and worth of all 484 New Orleanians murdered since the Storm. If we can unite for this march, we will create the energy and power needed for our individual projects to grow. The artist of the world have always been the ones to change the consciousness of their community, so let us come together for our community on this day. "United for Peace will be planning the march every Monday starting Monday, July 21st, from 6:30pm to 8pm at 1629 Simon Bolivar Ave. (Berean Church). This is our time to change New Orleans' perspective on peace. Please email Charles at the above address to confirm your attendance. Showcased by Michael Dingler
Like many of our Humid City readers, I am still reeling from the recent murder of Jessica Hawk, a kind and loved Bywater resident. As commentary began to come in from her friends and family in Ohio, I found myself trying to explain exactly how such a horrible event could be seamingly shrugged off by city officials. No answer is forthcoming. I also wondered why lesser violent crime, like the brutal hit and run that crushed Dave Gordon's leg (half owner/operator of Funrockn & Pop City), could go unanswered, while the police know the actual location of the vehicle involved, and the address of the perpetrator. A young woman, a fellow artist, in fact, who lives not far from me in the Marigny, has alerted me to another situation, in which two young men are attacking bicycle riders in the marigny/Bywater area. These are her words: "Friday night around 11, I was biking home. At the intersection of St. Claude and Frenchmen, there were two black boys on bikes. One looked to be about 16 and the other one no more than 14.They were on low rider new looking bikes. One had on a blue baseball cap, over sized white t-shirt, and long blue jean shorts. The other one was wearing a dark jersey of some type. They said nothing as I rode by them but one of them threw a heavy metallic thing at me and hit me in the spine in between the shoulder blades.They laughed and took off. I thought it was an isolated incident until I talked with a friend who said that I am the 7th person she has heard of to be attacked in the Marigny/Bywater area. They have all reported two boys about the same ages. They seem to only be targeting people on bikes.One guy was smashed up against the head with a slab of concrete and then they punted his head. They did not rob him, but I am afraid that someone is going to be killed soon. I was not robbed either. The intent seemed to be to hurt me and go. I reported it to the police, although they were less than interested." This then, seems to be the connective tissue between all of these stories of violence. As citizens of these neighborhoods, we are sometimes singled out to be hunted by local thugs, run down in the streets, attacked for no reason other than entertainment. The response of the police force is shockingly simple. They can't do anything about it without citizen involvement, and we we become involved, they still do nothing except put us at further risk, going so far as to ask a local woman to identify Dave Gordon's assaulter in front of a large group of his friends, knowing he would not be taken in to custody. New Orleans has a Metropolitan Crime Commision, which oversees corruption and malfeasance of local government. I believe that these recent failures by the NOPD, at least in our neck of the woods merits their action. I urge each and every one of you to make contact, and let them know how you feel about living like fish in a barrel. Mr. John Humphries has been receptive about hearing these complaints. Please be polite & concise. The Metropolitan Crime Commision can be reached by phone at: 540 524-7000 or toll free at 888 524-7001. The email address is: firstname.lastname@example.org Simple letters can make a huge difference in large numbers. I've also received an email from Baty Landis at SilenceIsViolence, letting me know that many citizens are outraged, like myself (read my posts about this), about Mayor Ray Nagin accepting an award for bravery and recovery from his millionaire developer friends. We are planning on assembling for protest. The Award Ceremony takes place Friday Night at the Ritz Carlton, at 7pm. I urge all who are interested to meet there for the Silence Is Violence protest at 6pm sharp. This is a chance to make our collective voices heard. Contacting the Metro Crime Commision about the failure of our local police is a chance to tell your individual story. Please, do whatever you can to help make a difference. The life you save could be yours or that of one you love. Lord David Skull Club New Orleans humidcity.com
Friday, August 15, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
My sincerest wish in all of this is that the perpetrator(s) of this horrible crime will be caught, prosecuted & punished. And that somehow, someway, soon, the people who are running this city, at every level, will take responsibility, not by holding investigations and casting blame, but upholding their commitments to this fine city, and to all of us, preventing such a devastating act, and allowing us to live without fear of losing our loved ones or our lives. Rest in peace, Jessica Hawk.
So, let me get this straight; The Mayor’s friend owns three river front properties in the Marigny, and is put in charge of River Front Development, because he doesn’t have ’substantial economic interest.’ ( see post comments on humidcity.com) Mister Cummings will be making decisions about how the City of New Orleans will spend money on these properties to develop our riverfront. while owning three of them. And he’s the Mayor’s pal. I think racketeering charges should be filed, preferably at the Mayor’s award ceremony. A Federal Indictment on a cake. Meanwhile, Jessica Hawk, who was murdered in her home across the street, 'keeps the New Orleans brand out there'. Thanks Ray. Thanks Warren. How do her friends and family feel about this you snake oil motherfucking bastards? I’m so goddamned angry the tears are burning my face. You fucking assholes are bleeding the city dry to line your pockets and a simple flower lady gets fucking murdered, horribly, in her home. You respond by giving yourself a prize? FUCK YOU, C. RAY NAGIN. That’s right. I’m Lord David, Helen Hills’ neighbor, and I’m saying it for all to see. You’re a fucking liar, thief, useless asshole and another good citizen is dead because you’re playing rockstar and taunting the city council about ‘what you don’t appreciate.” You know what Jessica Hawk doesn’t appreciate? Anything. Ever again. I hope you rot in burning hell for all eternity and a day, you piece of shit.
The Mayor of New Orleans is getting an award for courage and other stupid shit that never happened, and having a party for the ceremony. There is an RSVP phone number on the invitation, which is for Friday, August 22nd, at the Ritz Carlton, 15th Floor, 7 to 10pm. Proper attire required. Also getting an award, according to the same invitation, is “New Orleans Katrina Survivors”. I think I’ll call and let them know I’m coming for my award. Please, RSVP yourself, at: 504 543-4131 I think we might all share a cab. Oh, say, about five or six hundred of us. I hope there’s plenty of shrimp cocktails. After all, you know who’s footing the bill.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I am trying desperately to see any reason to accept these recent circumstances; A career cop is suspended for wearing the wrong uniform shirt for 15 minutes. A cop waves a loaded gun in anger, in front of children at a day care in the Treme. An off-duty cop leads on-duty cops on a high speed chase, drives off after being pulled over, finally slaps one of the on-duty cops when they catch up to him. A hit and run driver, who left a Bywater resident and business owner bleeding in the street with protruding broken bones, telling the victim, "I never hit you", can only be ticketed for a misdemeanor, and then only if witnesses come along for the arrest to identify him to his face. The Ticketed driver would not be arrested, nor the witness protected. A woman is found beaten and stabbed IN HER HOME, mere blocks from where the violent hit & run driver lives, but he has not been questioned. The murderer of Helen Hill remains at large. The car used in the hit & run sits daily in plain sight, yet the police refuse to tow it or ticket it, because it has Texas Plates. Several witnesses have identified it as the vehicle which assaulted the victim. The victim of this hit & run will probably not be able to walk for at least five to six months. The assaulting vehicle appears to be uninsured, a Louisiana State Violation. The writer of this blog was stopped and consequently run for warrants, due to 'Homeland Security' because a passenger in the vehicle (From England) had a legal Federal Green Card, but no state ID. He was threatened with arrest. Approximately 150 illegal Mexican workers watched this whole event, and the police ignored them and never asked them for ID. Two separate shootings, one of them apparently a home invasion, took the lives of two New Orleans citizens this weekend. Chief Warren Riley continually tells us how little the police can do without community involvement and information. Local residents took the police to the address of the Hit & Run vehicle. They refused to act. The police asked a witness, a single women who lives near by, to accompany them to the front porch, where almost a dozen young men were gathered, and stand there pointing out the one who drove the vehicle so cold bloodedly over her friend, while his friends watched her make the identification. The cops said they would issue a traffic citation upon her identification, but make no arrest. She must pass this house on an almost daily basis. Then I got a notice from Loki at Humidcity... The Excellence in Recovery Committee is holding A Tribute to the Recovery of New Orleans. The Award of Distinction for Recovery, Courage and Leadership goes to C. Ray Nagin, Mayor. This do-nothing pompous ass has ignored anything like real responsibility to the people of this city, insulted any but black citizens calling it 'a chocolate city,' suggested that run-away murder rates are good, as they 'keep the New Orleans brand out there', spent $7,000 of taxpayers money on personal expenses in the last year alone, took a dozen personal aides on a two week trip to South Africa, helped set up NOAH, the biggest con game since Bill Jefferson, and generally acts like a cross between Napoleon and Axl Rose. Now he's getting an award. Probably of his own device. Meanwhile, cops hassle citizens for petty traffic infractions that they can fine, arrest hobos for petty theft and call it felony burglary to increase their felony conviction stats, and refuse to arrest a hit & run driver without exposing a witness to obvious intimidation, and allow hundreds of illegal aliens to block intersections as they openly solicit work without papers of any kind. I don't know about you, but I'm actually ready to throw up.
From 'The Tower Room', by Lord David Of which well that I might drink to bring me to eternal sleep to dip my cup into that stream elixir of unending dream escaping mundane daily dross fashioned in a manner gross wherein each & every blade reflects how very stars were made in vision passing, fancy pure, that leaves me behind to endure when in slumber I have known lovers of no flesh and bone but gossomer and wind and sky of beauty such transcends the eye where pleasures endless multiply. Adventures of the strangest kind challenge limits of my mind senic vistas shift and change sea and mountain rearrange ride on wingback, fall and fly, breathe of color, feel with eye, yet waken to this morbid shell and leave behind what none can tell. Now separation takes it's toll passing faces grim and cold contact at it's best so fleeting each heart in a cage is beating. Touch, a mere and hopeless taste desire's greed has laid to waste whatever comfort offered there is soon dipped in rich despair a feast on each and every plate stuffed with solitary fate. Me, I shun this bitter taste rather a toast that I shall make bring me none for I shall wait for wine steeped long with opiate and dip my cup into that stream to plunge me into endless dream of that well that I might drink to bring me to eternal sleep.
Verse from 'The Tower Room',
by Lord David
This one night as I lay awake,
brain steeping in boiling plans
for world domination,
breathing slow fire and
listening to the wild
drums of my heart,
I would cool the fever
on the dry skin of my palms
against your honeyed flesh.
No shared secret spoken here,
or rending sex
of inhuman passion
could possibly be antidote
to this poisonous void.
Only your still form
and cool fine hair
in which to bury
my galloping thoughts,
might arrest this
of gypsy night.
It does not matter
if you know who
I will ever be,
as long as your
cool contagious sleep
bleeds me out into dream,
watching the movement
of your visioned eyelids
hypnotic potion cure.
This one night
I would give you
my last canister
of pure milk chocolate
and maybe some of
my last beer
to sleep beside your beauty.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Some guy named Jonathon, from Slidell, LA, who's picture is a camera lense, responded to my rant about corrupt government officials, and told me I left out. "Barac Hussein" . Figuring that he meant Barack Hussein Obama, I responded by saying that the dude has my vote in November. Which he does. Oh, yeah, by the way....If anyone has a problem with free choice and democratic electoral elections, please just fuck straight off or move to another country. It's what we do here, my choice is up to me, and I don't care what you think of me, whether you agree or not. So Anyway.......this Jonathon (the 'i'm afriad to show my face' dude) sends me an email telling me I'm a loser and a sheep and blah, blah, Lord of the flies, we're all doomed cuz of my vote, end of the world and so on. You know, stupid redneck armegedon crap. He ends it with, "peace and have a nice day anyway". I deleted him and he went beserk. I got a message saying how horrible I am, a sheep, la la de da same shit. I answered (against my better judgement) saying, nothing personal, I just don't want the negativity. His unbeleivable answer? "I said have a nice day and peace, dude. That's not negative. You're a douche bag, a loser..." and a long list of other offensive terms I was called daily as a bartender. All in the name of proving I'm a loser and he's not negative. To Jonathon, and all his myopic clones, retarded clan members and people who hang out drinking with him in his mom's tool shed (read: Man Cave)... Please try lots of tricks based on the show "Jackass." Preferably any that involve jumping over running lawnmower blades, or juggling plugged in toasters while standing in a full bath tub. The world will be a better place. If you don't like my choices, look the other way. If your idea of freedom is to shout obscenities at those who differ from you,please die in flames. If your attempts to better the world are based on never voting, but sending hate mail to grownups who take an active role in the American process and take full responsibilty for their actions, then perhaps you could hang your nut sack down a running garbage disposal to prevent my kids from supporting your kids as they struggle to memorize the phrase, "Please drive through." If you really want a mean old wrinkled and self serving white guy to tell you what to do, go to work for Larry Flynt. At least he doesn't lie about what he is or what he does. For those who are troubled by similar assholes, remember this: All the rats start freaking out when their ship starts going down. Just keep rowing towards paradise and smacking the little bastards out of the boat.