"Times are not good here. The city is crumbling into ashes. It has been buried under a lava flood of taxes and frauds and maladministrations so that it has become only a study for archaeologists. Its condition is so bad that when I write about it, as I intend to do soon, nobody will believe I am telling the truth. But it is better to live here in sackcloth and ashes than to own the whole state of Ohio."
Lafcadio Hearn, 1879
Fortunately, I have managed to avoid the sackcloth and ashes. So far.
Monday, August 24, 2009
In the Quarter, balconies and galleries are prime social spaces - generally breezy in the summer and great for people-watching. If one is lucky enough to have one, one spends less time in bars because one's apartment becomes a destination. This has been the case for much of August, which has been surprisingly (OK, comparatively) mild, despite the 99% humidity. So on Friday, my friends Jennifer and Scott, who were celebrating their impending adoption of a rescue frenchie, randomly showed up, as they will do (in all fairness, I drank much of the contents of their wine fridge a couple of weekends ago). I was actually next door drinking grappa on my neighbor Mike's gallery (note to self: grappa gives a vicious hangover, especially when consumed with more than one bottle of red wine) when they hollered up from the street (as people will do), but soon enough, things moved over to my spot.
Bugsy wants to know what all of this noise is about. No, we weren't playing French Quarter Lifeguard (Out of the pool!), because I couldn't find my whistle. Etta stayed inside, sniffing the contents of Jennifer's bag.