The plague stats were good last week locally, and the city loosened some restrictions, allowing people inside bars and for bigger outdoor gatherings. The weather changed as well, going from hovering around freezing to the mid-80s. 

Mardi Gras, just two weeks ago, was a DIY fun neighborhood affair with bars and public places shuttered and locked and a heavy police presence to discourage group gatherings. After the holiday, things returned to plague time normal, with things open at seemingly 10% activity, and it was usually possible to find one or two music performances somewhere in the neighborhood if you were paying attention. 

After the minor changes in rules on Friday, it was a disconcerting return to the before times. There were 12 shows a day on Frenchmen Street, outside and masked for the most part, with dancers vying with cars for space in the street. Other venues scheduled music in courtyards and porches, and the quest became finding the best music, not just the only music at any given time. 

The Quarter was busy with family groups, party groups, tour groups, and a few locals roaming among the artists and the street musicians. People were out in their summer clothes showing off and seeking attention. The sheer press of a spring break crowd or the cruise ship transfer days was thankfully missing, but there were actual crowds to navigate. It was refreshingly normal to plan to avoid the French Quarter during the weekend and go visit with neighborhood friends over a fish fry or crawfish boil, and to see a favorite local musician or two. 

The odd thing is that, despite the good statistics and the commensurate loosening of restrictions, not a lot has really changed except attitude. Vaccines remain in short supply and maddeningly difficult to get through normal channels. Some friends are traveling to other towns or states to get a jab, and others are bending the truth to become eligible, but it remains hard to see how to ethically get vaccinated in the core city. It is not even clear that vaccinated people or people with antibodies can’t spread the virus. I remain thankful that this plague is not as bad as it was feared it could have been early on, but some people get very sick and many are dead, and many more will die before this is over. 

It remains reasonable on a personal level to limit social activity to outdoors and to mask in public, but these measures seem like more magical thinking(especially as the mask comes off to sit and eat or drink) than positive steps to reduce either personal or group risk. The level of activity in New Orleans over the weekend made me think that increasing official restrictions will be disregarded by more and more people as they seek entertainment and interaction. Perhaps we did make it through the plague year. It sure makes the city more fun.

The lid is off the pot. Let’s hope it doesn’t boil over.  

It was not just another Tuesday in New Orleans. 

Tourists still came, not understanding that the city they came to see (Bourbon Street, big public events) was essentially shut down, and some were angry that their Mardi Gras was hanging around in the AirBnB. The restaurants, open to limited capacities, were turning people away as they were the only game in town. 

The City had shut down the parades, the bars (even for to-go service), liquor sales in the French Quarter,  live music, and pedestrian traffic on Bourbon Street, Frenchmen Street and Decatur. Reaction varied to this, with some thinking it was the right thing to do at the wrong time, others that it was a gross overreach of government power, and especially service industry folks thinking it was an unfair attack on their income streams. These restrictions were successful at minimizing crowds throughout the city, the goal. The weather turned towards winter, with below-freezing temperatures in the morning, further dampening spirits.  

There was a semi-official effort to keep the party going, with static displays of floats for people to drive by and the encouragement of an innovation, the Krewe of House Floats, where people decorated their houses even more than usual for their own entertainment and for the amusement of people driving or walking by. Even so, it seemed like a forced effort, and many friends I talked to did not expect much, with many people not planning to mask or go out. 

Well, we were wrong. Mardi Gras was spectacularly disorienting, as it should be. People were out strolling and biking in homemade costumes and gathering in small groups on porches and sidewalks. I walked the neighborhood in full costume, double masked as many were, putting in 17,616 steps dressed as a complete fool, happily socializing with friends old and new and drinking too much. I gave out two dozen Jell-O shots, mostly to strangers in costume.

I was gifted king cake, jambalaya, and homemade honey vodka, and was issued a tongue in cheek citation for not wearing enough bright colors. I was covered with confetti and sprinkled with glitter. I saw a group of adult bicyclists dressed in dinosaur onesies, the Krewe of Purple Drank dressed as go-cups, and princesses, jesters, and fools. There were groups of adults just out playing, and family groups dressed to a theme. A man in elaborate Salvador Dali makeup was handing out rubber balls from the basket on his bike. The police cruised through the neighborhood looking for big crowds or other violations, but were not intrusive. 

It was a pretty good Mardi Gras for a canceled event, just weird and crazy enough without the press of the big crowds, and a good chance to act foolishly with friends. 

This Carnival is different, proving in a hard way that you can’t put your foot in the same river twice. 

One of the fun things folks are doing is decorating their houses more than in years past, and although my condo faces the courtyard instead of the street, I thought I would join in with some low-key decorating of the front porch rail that faces the street. I had seen many bead fences in my rambles through the neighborhoods, some that seem to have been up for years, and figured that a bead fence would be a good use for the 4 or 5 dozen sets of Mardi Gras beads I had been saving for the walking parades I have joined in past years. 

New Orleans has a different culture than I was raised with when it comes to “stuff.” As far as I can tell, if anything-furniture, a bike, books from the free little libraries, an Amazon package-does not appear to be secured on the street for five or so minutes, it is considered fair game in a kind of aggressive version of finders-keepers. In addition, there are hustlers who scratch a living together by selling these items on the street, including a prominent guy who drapes beads over tourists on Bourbon Street and then demands a “tip.” As one of my wise Black neighbors said, “They aren’t bad folks, but people are people.”

I draped the fence with beads to festive effect four weeks before Mardi Gras, with the idea in mind that some would walk away with enthusiastic revelers. Well, the first five dozen sets of beads lasted two or three days before they disappeared. 

I continued walking the neighborhoods, and closer observation showed that some of the more weathered beads had been zip-tied to the fences, making it obvious that these were decorations, not donations. 

With this revelation, I bought four dozen more sets of beads at the height of the season(a little more pricey than I wanted, but paying the price for last minute preparations) and zip-tied them to the porch railing, figuring I would cut the zip-ties the weekend of Mardi Gras to let them go to someone who wanted them more than I wanted to store them over the summer. 

I walked out the morning after to find half of them gone, zip-ties cut, and three or four broken strands of beads on the sidewalk where people had not seen the zip-ties and ripped them off the fence. After cleaning the broken beads and cut zip-ties up from the sidewalk and gutter, I cut the remaining zip-ties to avoid the mess, rearranging the few strands that were left.  

All of them were gone the next day, still two weeks before Mardi Gras. People are people, after all. 

It is almost halfway through Carnival, when things ought to be ramping up, with Chewbacchus behind us, Barkus and ‘tit Rex happening, Krewe de Vieux rolling and frantic costuming and planning going on, with lists being made of the things that you just can’t miss this year that somehow you missed last year. The travelers and street people should be getting more flamboyant mixing with the locals who start to mask for parades and dress formally for other Krewe-sponsored events and the flocks of tourists donning beads and doffing clothes in an effort to join the party. Musicians should have full schedules of gigs, ranging from the elaborate receptions and parties thrown by the big krewes to the neighborhood clubs hosting live music through the wee hours.  

Instead, the streets are mostly empty and the clubs are closed. The city shuts down at 11 except for the people hanging around outside convenience stores and gas stations. People are decorating their houses in a kind of quiet desperation, with people who normally decorate ramping it up a little, and the people who ride with the big krewes spending money on professional artists to build out their houses into semblances of floats. 

As a fan and participant in the walking parades, the formal floats have always left me a little cold, even as I enjoy the crowds, bands, and dance troupes that accompany them. Now the elaborate house floats just seem a way to demonstrate how much money someone is willing to spend. I understand that excess is the point for many, but I prefer the overindulgences and the stretching of social boundaries to overspending on decor. The driving tours past tableaux set up in parks, for a fee, are just depressing. 

The music scene remains grim, with a ban on live music one of the plague rules that is being enforced. The music clubs remain closed, with a few offering live-streaming shows of bands playing to empty rooms. The festivals have been postponed indefinitely. A handful of players have staked out busking opportunities outside clubs, playing to sparse audiences in the street for tips, and a few of the restaurants have hired people to play to to their half full rooms. I have not taken advantage of these, not really interested in taking up table space for a singleton. When a restaurant is operating at 25 or 50% capacity by rule, how much do you tip to make up for the bad day/week/year the server is having? The bars remain in “to-go” status only, unless they operate in the restaurant permit gray zone. 

A few tourists are still coming and are oblivious to the risks they bring and to the changes, a striking example of shifting baselines. I am glad they are enjoying the city as a shadow of itself, but it is hard to appreciate the first time visitors who proclaim it is “so good to hear the bucket drummers” as an example of the New Orleans music culture, or exclaiming about how great it is to see people hanging around outside the bars. 

Friends in the service industry are getting hammered, those who remain employed getting a shift or two a week at limited capacity at restaurants and nothing at the bars. 

In the meantime the real estate market is crazy, with for sale, rent and lease signs up all over, but prices and rents going up rather than down. People are not being evicted because of the plague rules, but the bill will come due and it is hard to see how it will turn out well. Friends, renters now in the neighborhood, are shopping to find a modest house or condo and finding nothing less than $500K. A recent listing in the Quarter had a 100 sq foot efficiency for $169K. Photos made it look like a nice, if tiny, hotel room in an old dependency. Rents across the board exceed most people’s income.   

This plague and the official response, including the increase in economic inequality, feels like a case study in “How to Kill a City.” New Orleans is resilient, as shown by Katrina, but many neighborhood institutions did not survive that regional disaster. How long can the city continue to play Rope a Dope, taking the body blows of the pandemic and claiming it is a strategy? 

I’m hoping Carnival 2022 looks better, but the foundations are slipping. 

COVID-19 has changed a lot of things, but it is certainly possible to have a great day in New Orleans while trying to observe some basic hygiene rules, staying outside, masked, and/or distanced. This is important to me as the family gatherings, rituals, and festivities of the holiday season will be curtailed.

Saturday was a peak plague day, a couple of weeks before Christmas. I spent a little longer than usual writing at Envie, noticing that the weekend crowd was heavy on locals with a sprinkle of tourists, identified by their recklessness with the masking and distancing rules. I guess if you come to New Orleans to party, you are gonna do what you wanna.  

I like seeing the young families without tattooed faces getting treats at the coffee shop mixed with the large young woman with a Grateful Dead tattoo covering one shoulder and carrying an iPhone X wearing an over sized T-shirt and apparently nothing else, showing more flesh than many burlesque dancers and carrying a guitar I have never seen her play. She is living her grandmother’s hippie dream. 

I meandered into the Bywater, checking out the art space at 601 Elysian Fields, then a fun garage sale with lots of women’s costumes. The ladies let me into their house to see a bunch of stuff for sale. It was a small cottage with great art on the walls, and it looked like someone dumped out a house full of adult toys and clothes throughout. They seemed like fun people but I’d go nuts picking up after them. I walked through a couple of art markets for the last gasp of Christmas shopping, and saw a brief performance from the Flossin’ Possum, a woman in an elaborate possum outfit dancing. Don’t see that every day.  

I sat at Pepp’s outdoor “park” (two parking spots converted into outdoor seating) for a couple of beers, and talked with a older man, probably in his seventies, very thin, smoking cigarettes and drinking red wine. He could have been played in a movie by Harry Dean Stanton. He talked about how he walked a couple of miles to get here for the cheap wine, how happy he was to be healthy, and his father in his 90s who was in a nursing home, desperate and lonely because of the pandemic. 

I bought a couple of Christmas gifts from the art vendors set up at the bar, and headed towards home. A band called Concrete Confetti, a rock and roll band credibly covering 60s and 70s hits was playing at the old gas station across the street from Marie’s. They would have been a hit at DU back in the day. There were neighborhood people in costume dancing, and some of us old folks just hanging around.   

After their set, I walked home to drop off treasures, and then thought I would check out Frenchmen Street. It was quiet, and I walked to Breaux Carre Brewery and had a pint of lager served by Courtney the Hula Hoop go-go dancer. Fun to have friends. 

I walked back along the almost deserted street, and stopped at the tintype pop up photo booth. It had usually been too crowded for me to look, and the sample photos l saw looked good. Jenny, the photographer, came out and explained that they are taking digital images and processing them using glass plates and colloidal silver onto the metal to get the effect that the early photographers got from long exposures. As I was talking to her, Nicole from the R-bar and her friend John, saw me and said they were headed to MRB for live music. I agreed to meet them, and talked with Jenny some more, explaining my idea for a Jack Dempsey boxer style photo in the tintype format. She was extremely excited by the project. She shot a bunch of me shirtless in the boxer pose, and then a few with the pork pie hat as a prop. She was gushing over with enthusiasm, and had me sign a permission slip so they could use the images as advertising. I am really excited to see what they do with it, and the enthusiasm was certainly flattering.

I met Nicole at MRB in the courtyard and we split oysters, a dozen chargrilled and a dozen raw, listening to a guitar/keys duo. It was really good to get some oysters, and better to run into friends and have a good conversation. 

On the way home, I heard music playing at the Royal Frenchmen, and paid the cover to hear Glen David Andrews in the courtyard. He was in great voice, with a range that not many have, and was entertaining as always, wandering through the sparse audience (COVID rules) and flirting with the girls. I noticed him whistling more this time, perhaps just because the space was so intimate. It was really a great show, and something to take guests to. He ended the set by playing the Treme song in fun second line style and the roadies or hangers on danced throughout the courtyard. 

I headed home along Touro Street, and stuck my head in the courtyard as the neighbors were doing karaoke, but probably wisely passed on the party. What a day for a plague! 

It is December already, and I have been back in New Orleans for a little over a month.

I arrived, delayed a few days by a hurricane, for the Halloween weekend and have been in town for the national election, football weekends, and Thanksgiving, with a plane ticket home in April. Adventure travel has been essentially eliminated by the plague; travel to visit relatives, including new grandbaby Hugh, does not seem smart even if permitted; and none of my friends are visiting New Orleans. Of course, the national swingers organization conference didn’t get the memo, and although downsized from 2000 swingers to 250, 40 of the courageous and patriotic body-fluid swappers caught the COVID. I don’t think the nurses or the teachers are going have their big conferences here anytime soon. These things I expected, but had a glimmer of hope when planning my trip that the pandemic might get a little better rather than worse, allowing for a road trip or two. Oops.  

I arrived in the first week or so of a relaxation of the plague mitigation rules in the city. New Orleans is as open as any major city, and more than most. There is a set of confusing rules that are not really enforced by anyone but seriously whined about by anyone who still watches Fox News. Many restaurants and bars remained boarded up, and some have announced that they will not be coming back, including some favorites like the Meaux Bar and Mimi’s in the Marigny, and some icons like K-Paul’s. Others are not open, but it is not clear at all, probably even to the owners, if or when they will open. I’m rooting for Kingfish and the Marigny Brasserie and other local fun spots, and against the big chains. Tipitina’s is part of the culture, the Hard Rock Cafe not so much.  

Each bar or restaurant seems to have it’s own interpretation of the rules, with some doing to-go windows only while providing tables on the sidewalk, others allowing people to come in, sign in, and sit at a table (but not at the bar) inside so long as they mask up between bites, and others allowing full bar service if you have ordered food (like a bag of chips or a $2 hot dog out of the microwave). The city has limited hours, shutting the bars down at 11PM rather than being the 24 hour party place, a greater imposition on some than others. Every time I approach a bar or restaurant, I try to follow whatever rules they seem to be enforcing, and then decide if it seems too crowded, or if people are being reckless. Large groups of people who have convinced themselves that the virus is a hoax are not the people to be hanging around with. I have felt pretty good about being outside, masked, staying a reasonable distance apart with others doing the same, recognizing the essential intellectual dishonesty of that position. The weather has been great for the most part, warm and dry, which makes all of this possible. 

There is a live music ban for indoor venues if there is singing or horn playing. This has shut down all of the dedicated music venues across the city except for streaming performances. It is a little frustrating to walk by an empty club with a good band playing inside to the internet.

This being the “Do Wacha Wanna” city, of course there are workarounds. A couple of brass bands and buskers have reclaimed their corners of Jackson Square and Royal Street; musicians are playing from porches and balconies, some sanctioned by the authorities like at the Jazz Museum and others more spontaneous in residential neighborhoods; groups of guitar players or percussionists will gather at the sidewalk tables outside the open bars to play together; and there have been “pop-up” performances by excellent performers on the sidewalks across the street from bars operating to-go windows. A couple of the restaurants on Frenchmen Street have paid the permit fees to have instrumental music playing to their reduced capacity rooms. There are rumors of DJed house parties and raves throughout the city, but that is not exactly my scene.   

The city is not diminished so much as contracted. There are fewer restaurants and bars open, and the music is here, but weekly there are as many shows as there were daily last winter. The flow of cruise ship tourists and conventioneers (and their cash) is gone, but there are independent tourists coming into the city. Halloween saw a party crowd of young adults (not nearly as creatively costumed as the locals) and Thanksgiving brought family groups, but the big crowds of years past are not here. This is hard on the service workers and business owners, who rely on the fall and winter season to make it through the year. 

The positive side of this contraction is that most of the people I see daily I recognize and interact with regularly. This is a small city, and the lower French Quarter, Marigny, and Treme are even smaller. It is a blast to see performers like Kermit Ruffins in the grocery store, Shawn Williams in the bar, or Glen David Andrews on the street. I am able to patronize businesses like DBA, even if it is just to buy a to-go beer and stand outside listening to the Treme Brass Band, and be recognized as a neighborhood regular by the owner and the band leader. I am expanding my circle to include some edgier places, made more comfortable by the familiarity with the people hanging out there. I have been able to spend more time with friends, learning what brought them here and learning more about their quirks, reinforcing what an unusual and special place this is, a place where people come to be weird and accepted. I’m seeing more Black people from the surrounding neighborhoods in the entertainment district, reclaiming it from the hordes of tourists, and engaging more with the regulars. 

The plague stalks the city and the country, and I hope that my friends and neighbors can weather these hard times and come out partying in true New Orleans spirit on the other end, but this winter will be a hard one. 

I checked out of the Chateau and, after some computer time at Envie, walked the Quarter, half heartedly shopping on an 80 degree day. I cooled off at the Chart Room and Johnny Whites before pulling the trigger on replacing the sunglasses I lost on New Year’s. It is nice to have good glasses again. At Mollie’s I talked to a couple from Metairie who kind of get it. They rent a hotel room in the Quarter once a month or so, and hang out for the weekend not having to drive or worry about home stuff for a few days while enjoying the bars and restaurants.

I let myself back into the condo, and spent an hour or so cleaning up the sidewalk and courtyard after the termite folks. It wasn’t too bad, but they did knock the front gate out of alignment which may cause a problem later as guests or drunken tenants don’t pay attention to closing it properly.

I had a good burger at Buffa’s, talking to a couple from Downers Grove who were all decked out in Cubs gear. They never escaped, and were perplexed by my story of getting to Alaska. I’m a little surprised that they seemed to like New Orleans, but they were freaked by the geckos and roaches. I had a beer with the Hank was Here crowd and commiserated about the effect of the coronavirus on events and especially the service industry folks, and then picked up my stuff at Jill’s. She is still negotiating with Jena about St. Patrick’s Day parties, so we will see how it rolls out. She has to travel for a week for business in three different cities next week, which is a little scary, but the judge is unwilling to change a court date.

Chores in the morning, repacking the cabinets and going grocery shopping. I’m not sure whether to shop like I am camping for a couple of weeks before I decamp for the summer or for the coronavirus apocalypse where we fight off the escaped zoo animals.

The Downtown Irish gathered at the R Bar in the evening, buying everyone drinks and distributing Jell-O shots. They don’t get better by virtue of being green. The groups was smaller than years past, but probably 50 marchers showed up. I ended the evening on the Touro porches.

Saturday the official St. Patrick’s Day celebration, and I decided to avoid the unpoliced block party at Tracey’s and Parasol’s. It turned into a minor riot in the evening, with police horses riding through the crowd to disperse the illegal gathering. I’m glad I was not part of that show. It was a hot day, and I took my camera along the river and through the Bywater. It does feel good to be out in the sun and sweat a little. I had lunch at Mimi’s, a lamb chop tapa perfectly prepared. The chef told me that he butchers his own animals for the lamb dish on the menu, one every few days, and can make only one of the lamb chop specials per animal. Pretty good for bar food. I took a break after the walk to download some photos, and then headed back out.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and one of the really quiet days in the lower Quarter. The cruise shippers were out on Lower Decatur, and Mollie’s was crowded, but downright pleasant for a Saturday. It was a good walk. I saw and chatted with Puge outside Checkpoint Charlie’s, continuing on past the overcrowded Mollie’s to Manolito where I sat with my bartender friend Melissa from Tujagues and Shannon who had just got off duty but stayed to talk for a bit. We were sitting outside, and I was greeted by name by half a dozen people including Katie Leese, the artist. I took the loop through Jackson Square and Bourbon Street, not stopping but marveling that people were still out playing, and being greeted by the evening occupant of my favorite barstool at Johnny White’s. I stopped at Harry’s Corner to say hi to Beverly, and met Tom, the chef from Tujagues, who said he was laying off a third of his staff, going to summer staffing now instead of June. He claimed that the big Marriott on Canal was shutting down completely, effective immediately, in response to the virus and business slowdown. With that cheery news, I went to the Rbar and sat with the Hank was Here crowd, commiserating with the church musicians who no longer have a choir to direct or a congregation to play for, the HR people who have gone from hiring to firing overnight, and the service people who are wondering how they will make it through the next few months with a reserve for the always slow summer.

From there, I sat with Jill and her very drunk friend Renee who had not skipped the block party. Jill took us out to sushi, and it was time for me to go when Renee launched into a good five minute angry rant about co-workers that rivaled the “fuck you you fucking fucks” speech from Treme. I thought sailors could swear, but try a drunk Cajun lawyer. On the way home I was flagged down by Irena (Auryana?), the Ukrainian woman with the neon orange hair, and Jim the mule driver tour guide. Jim says their business is off by half, and they are probably going to cut staff in their normally busiest season. Irena asked me to walk her home because she was having a problem with one of the guys in the bar, and it was a good way to end the evening.

The whole day was great, in that I saw a lot of friends and had good conversations, and reminded myself that this is a good place to be, with great food and with lots of pleasant acquaintances and some good friends, but a little melancholic because the corona virus has let the air out of the balloon. The planned parties, festivals and gatherings are all cancelled, and there is talk of closing bars and restaurants. People are scared and it shows. I will miss all these folks, but most of them will be here in October, and they did move French Quarter Fest and Jazz Fest to October, which may make me move up the travel dates. All we have to worry about is the hurricane season.

With all of the uncertainty, and a potential for increased travel restrictions and diminished social opportunities, I am pulling the cord and heading north a couple of weeks early. Travel on St. Patrick’s Day into a couple of weeks of self quarantine as a potential disease vector.

The house was termite tented and bombed, and I had to vacate for an evening. So far it is going well with no more than the usual New Orleans friction—the contractor showing up a couple of hours late, not being clear on what to do with keys, and the 24 hour security guy determining that the best use of his time was napping in his truck.

Events all over town, including the St. Patrick’s Day parades and block parties, were cancelled, and service industry friends are stressing about making it through the summer without this bump of cash. Big conventions and festivals are being cancelled for the Spring and even summer. It’s two weeks since Mardi Gras, when a million people, maybe two million, flooded the city and people who participated actively shared food, drinks, drugs, and hugs(among other physical activity for the adventurous) with many people they met while costumed scantily and playing recklessly. I’m not a big hugger, and estimate I hugged 200 friends, acquaintances, or strangers. A real hugger might have hit the 500 mark during the weekend, and it is hard to imagine a better disease incubator. In a normal year, many locals pick up the “Quarter crud” right after Mardi Gras due to the increased contact with people and the lowering of immune systems, and hopefully the corona virus was not super common in this year’s crowd or they will have to wall off the city.

Deanna and the girls have cancelled their travel plans based on the uncertainty of the safety of travel and government response, and at least in Deanna’s case, medical advice. It is a disappointment, but also the right thing to do.

I breakfasted with the last of the night people at Buffa’s, and then an hour at Envie. I walked the Quarter, and watched a couple of sparrows bathing in a puddle, fluttering away when a group walked past and fluttering back just as soon as they passed. I sat for a bit with Puge at Mollies and was the recipient of one too many free drinks as liquor distributors made their rounds with samples for the bartenders. Chris Seker met me there, apparently fully recovered from his stroke, and we went over to Tayho for lunch. I had their shrimp po-boy, a good but kind of standard version. I think the key is the bread and the remoulade, and if we can reproduce the crusty bread we could do this at home.

I checked into the Chateau on Chartres, an old fashioned hotel definitely on the run down side, but clean and quiet for the Quarter. I walked by the house for photos, and saw the security guard sound asleep in his truck. That was an encouraging sign. Crime is a problem in the neighborhood, but we have had no direct crimes in our building. It does just take one guy with a plan to change all that, but I am not really very concerned.

I met Caroline, one of the organizers of the Tales of the Cocktail conference, at the Rbar, and showed her the Happy Hour webpage. She was impressed by the idea and the content. She invited me to the conference, but I’ll wait to see if she comps it. Unlikely. Seker and Tebo came by and we chatted for a bit. I walked a subdued Bourbon Street, and had a sandwich at Manolito’s with a crowd of all locals before heading back to the hotel. I hope the tenting and aftermath go smoothly and I can start rebuilding the house this afternoon, although there is less urgency now that travel has been cancelled.

I slept in Saturday, and went out a little later than usual in the day, and after some good Envie time, I walked up Decatur Street, swimming upstream against the tourists. I stopped for a Guinness at Mollie’s, and then across to the Tayho Tavern. I walked in and it was as busy as I have seen it. Lauren was one of the two cooks, and the bartender and waitress were just overwhelmed. I ordered a Wagyu beef burger, and after what seemed like a long time, I got an order of fried green tomato caprese by mistake. It was good, with the fried food as good as it gets, and the mozzarella balanced it well. The burger was excellent, but it seems odd to me that two out of the three times I have been there the ordering process has been difficult. I hope they are able to smooth it out, because I would like to go back for the food.

I walked through Jackson Square and along Bourbon for a few minutes, trying to catch the crowd before it turned from the afternoon eccentrics to the evening crazies, and sat at Johnnie White’s. I was in my usual perch, and a guy about my age with long flowing white hair said, semi jokingly, that I was in his seat. He leads one of the cover bands on the street, and was fun to talk to about the changes on the street over the last couple of decades. I’m not sure he had great insights or perspectives, but he did have some good stories. He was visibly relieved when I vacated his chair to go meet the Touro Street Irregulars at the Orleans Grapevine around the corner. The ladies were through their first flight of wine, and after a glass of wine with them they solved my cash problem by giving me cash and letting me put the bill on a card. Better than an ATM. We walked back via Turtle Bay for snacks, and I called it an early evening, skipping the Krewe du Fool party.

Jill invited me to the Algiers Point Friendship Day block party, and we met in the afternoon for a walk across the Quarter to the Algiers Ferry dock. The streets were crowded, almost unwalkable, because of the cruise shippers and Spring Breakers. It was less pleasant than usual because the we were trying to catch a ferry that only runs once an hour. We made it to the dock and met Jena. It was good to be on a boat if just for 5 minutes, and it was good to see the city from the river. The boat is a temporary ferry, passengers only, with a small inside space and a large open deck. There were about 60 people on the boat, pretty close to full capacity.

We made it across to Algiers, and met with Jill’s friend Stephanie and her family, and Rene and her husband. Algiers is surprisingly cool, with the same old houses as the more interesting parts of Bywater in a more relaxed way. There was a St. Patrick’s Day-themed party going on, and there were a few hundred people outside the Old Point Bar listening to a country band and drinking green Dixie Light. A beer critic would not approve, and it was pretty bad. They had set up a slide on the inside of the levee, using old political signs as a track and cardboard boxes as sleds. The kids were having a blast. Rene had a beautiful Moss-sized border collie, black and white, who was enjoying the crowd.

We solidified our St. Patrick’s Day plans, which include me bringing some smoked salmon to Jena’s apartment which directly overlooks Parasol’s and is the place to be for the block party. I’ll have to find refrigerator space for it on the termite tenting day, but there is probably no better use for it. Jill and I walked back across with a stop at Kingfish for Happy Hour appetizers. They were as good as I remember, and I have to keep it on my mental radar. I hadn’t been in since December, and should go back before I go.

I ended the very good day at the R-Bar, talking with Nicole about fish, and negotiating the cooking arrangements for Monday. Hopefully we can pull it off.

It was a good Monday, with a walk through the Quarter to Rouse’s for odds and ends with a stop at the Faulkner House for a little more reading, still working on Andre Codescru, this time a collection of his essays on New Orleans. He is a funny and observant writer. I talked with Puge and one of the guys that lives above the bar for a bit at Mollie’s. I’m never quite sure if the guys who live at the bars, literally, and also work in nearby bars are the bar backs or the owners or trust fund babies slumming. I’ve met them all and recognize that in New Orleans it is best not to rely on appearances or public personas.

I prepped fish, fighting a little freezer burn on a big piece of coho with lime juice. I Uber Ed over to Nicole’s place in St. Roch, a pleasantly quiet neighborhood. It is a recently “better” neighborhood with few entertainment businesses and a worse reputation than the reality. her house is new construction in the exterior style of a shotgun, but the interior is modern. The lack of security bars and doors says something good about the neighborhood. I cooked a piece of white king, a beautiful piece of coho, and a couple of pieces of coho that did not survive the travel well. I jerked the two worse pieces, Italian spiced the king lightly, and did just parsley and salt and pepper on the final piece. Nicole made asparagus and potatoes. Unfortunately only one of the expected guests made it across town, and I think the ideas of entertaining at home is pretty foreign to a place with so many good entertainment venues. It was fun to cook and share the fish.

The guest that did make it, Richard, was a interesting fellow, a man in his 70s who had a career in Wisconsin Democratic politics and a veteran of the Hillary campaigns. He currently splits time between Ballard, Washington and a house on Burgundy near Music Street, near Marie’s. He has sailed as a hobby on Lake Michigan, and was familiar and fascinated with Haida Gwaii and northwest culture. Nicole is a 40ish woman of liberals politics, and it was good conversation to have about the future of the Democratic party and progressivism with three people of similar politics but different generations.

After a good morning and a stop at Mollie’s, I went home and prepped the house for the termite tenting. I put some stuff out in the shed and only had a little bit of food to throw out. I packed up a lock box from the safe and the last bit of smoked salmon. I took those over to Jill’s for storage. I went to Buffa’s to test my new ATM card and it started to rain. I sat with neighbor Dave for an hour as we let the downpour stop. Huggie described the bachelor party he is arranging that features a Dungeons and Dragons game with a topless moderator and a catered late night meal from Arnaud’s.

I had taken all the food out of the house, so I went to 13 for the taco Tuesday special. I met a couple from Chicago who had taken advantage of the corona virus travel bargains to take a long weekend. I steered them to Checkpoint Charlies for Shawn Williams early and dba for the Treme Brass Band late. I went to Checkpoint Charlies and sat for a set. She called me out as iwalked in from the stage, which is always kind of fun. No anonymous crowds in this part of the Quarter.

The mayor cancelled the St. Patrick’s Day parades and block parties, withdrawing police support. I’m guessing a lot of people will still be out partying unofficially, but the pandemic puts a pall over the ordinarily festive weekend. I like these parades, both the downtown and Uptown versions, and will miss them. Now we are waiting to see how things play out as Spring Break travel approaches. There seem to be lots of good reasons not to travel, but the trips have been planned and anticipated.

I slept in Saturday, and went out a little later than usual in the day, and after some good Envie time, I walked up Decatur Street, swimming upstream against the tourists. I stopped for a Guinness at Mollie’s, and then across to the Tayho Tavern. I walked in and it was as busy as I have seen it. Lauren was one of the two cooks, and the bartender and waitress were just overwhelmed. I ordered a Wagyu beef burger, and after what seemed like a long time, I got an order of fried green tomato caprese by mistake. It was good, with the fried food as good as it gets, and the mozzarella balanced it well. The burger was excellent, but it seems odd to me that two out of the three times I have been there the ordering process has been difficult. I hope they are able to smooth it out, because I would like to go back for the food.

I walked through Jackson Square and along Bourbon for a few minutes, trying to catch the crowd before it turned from the afternoon eccentrics to the evening crazies, and sat at Johnnie White’s. I was in my usual perch, and a guy about my age with long flowing white hair said, semi jokingly, that I was in his seat. He leads one of the cover bands on the street, and was fun to talk to about the changes on the street over the last couple of decades. I’m not sure he had great insights or perspectives, but he did have some good stories. He was visibly relieved when I vacated his chair to go meet the Touro Street Irregulars at the Orleans Grapevine around the corner. The ladies were through their first flight of wine, and after a glass of wine with them they solved my cash problem by giving me cash and letting me put the bill on a card. Better than an ATM. We walked back via Turtle Bay for snacks, and I called it an early evening, skipping the Krewe du Fool party.

Jill invited me to the Algiers Point Friendship Day block party, and we met in the afternoon for a walk across the Quarter to the Algiers Ferry dock. The streets were crowded, almost unwalkable, because of the cruise shippers and Spring Breakers. It was less pleasant than usual because the we were trying to catch a ferry that only runs once an hour. We made it to the dock and met Jena. It was good to be on a boat if just for 5 minutes, and it was good to see the city from the river. The boat is a temporary ferry, passengers only, with a small inside space and a large open deck. There were about 60 people on the boat, pretty close to full capacity.

We made it across to Algiers, and met with Jill’s friend Stephanie and her family, and Rene and her husband. Algiers is surprisingly cool, with the same old houses as the more interesting parts of Bywater in a more relaxed way. There was a St. Patrick’s Day-themed party going on, and there were a few hundred people outside the Old Point Bar listening to a country band and drinking green Dixie Light. A beer critic would not approve, and it was pretty bad. They had set up a slide on the inside of the levee, using old political signs as a track and cardboard boxes as sleds. The kids were having a blast. Rene had a beautiful Moss-sized border collie, black and white, who was enjoying the crowd.

We solidified our St. Patrick’s Day plans, which include me bringing some smoked salmon to Jena’s apartment which directly overlooks Parasol’s and is the place to be for the block party. I’ll have to find refrigerator space for it on the termite tenting day, but there is probably no better use for it. Jill and I walked back across with a stop at Kingfish for Happy Hour appetizers. They were as good as I remember, and I have to keep it on my mental radar. I hadn’t been in since December, and should go back before I go.

I ended the very good day at the R-Bar, talking with Nicole about fish, and negotiating the cooking arrangements for Monday. Hopefully we can pull it off.

It was a good Monday, with a walk through the Quarter to Rouse’s for odds and ends with a stop at the Faulkner House for a little more reading, still working on Andre Codescru, this time a collection of his essays on New Orleans. He is a funny and observant writer. I talked with Puge and one of the guys that lives above the bar for a bit at Mollie’s. I’m never quite sure if the guys who live at the bars, literally, and also work in nearby bars are the bar backs or the owners or trust fund babies slumming. I’ve met them all and recognize that in New Orleans it is best not to rely on appearances or public personas.

I prepped fish, fighting a little freezer burn on a big piece of coho with lime juice. I Uber Ed over to Nicole’s place in St. Roch, a pleasantly quiet neighborhood. It is a recently “better” neighborhood with few entertainment businesses and a worse reputation than the reality. her house is new construction in the exterior style of a shotgun, but the interior is modern. The lack of security bars and doors says something good about the neighborhood. I cooked a piece of white king, a beautiful piece of coho, and a couple of pieces of coho that did not survive the travel well. I jerked the two worse pieces, Italian spiced the king lightly, and did just parsley and salt and pepper on the final piece. Nicole made asparagus and potatoes. Unfortunately only one of the expected guests made it across town, and I think the ideas of entertaining at home is pretty foreign to a place with so many good entertainment venues. It was fun to cook and share the fish.

The guest that did make it, Richard, was a interesting fellow, a man in his 70s who had a career in Wisconsin Democratic politics and a veteran of the Hillary campaigns. He currently splits time between Ballard, Washington and a house on Burgundy near Music Street, near Marie’s. He has sailed as a hobby on Lake Michigan, and was familiar and fascinated with Haida Gwaii and northwest culture. Nicole is a 40ish woman of liberals politics, and it was good conversation to have about the future of the Democratic party and progressivism with three people of similar politics but different generations.

After a good morning and a stop at Mollie’s, I went home and prepped the house for the termite tenting. I put some stuff out in the shed and only had a little bit of food to throw out. I packed up a lock box from the safe and the last bit of smoked salmon. I took those over to Jill’s for storage. I went to Buffa’s to test my new ATM card and it started to rain. I sat with neighbor Dave for an hour as we let the downpour stop. Huggie described the bachelor party he is arranging that features a Dungeons and Dragons game with a topless moderator and a catered late night meal from Arnaud’s.

I had taken all the food out of the house, so I went to 13 for the taco Tuesday special. I met a couple from Chicago who had taken advantage of the corona virus travel bargains to take a long weekend. I steered them to Checkpoint Charlies for Shawn Williams early and dba for the Treme Brass Band late. I went to Checkpoint Charlies and sat for a set. She called me out as iwalked in from the stage, which is always kind of fun. No anonymous crowds in this part of the Quarter.

The mayor cancelled the St. Patrick’s Day parades and block parties, withdrawing police support. I’m guessing a lot of people will still be out partying unofficially, but the pandemic puts a pall over the ordinarily festive weekend. I like these parades, both the downtown and Uptown versions, and will miss them. Now we are waiting to see how things play out as Spring Break travel approaches. There seem to be lots of good reasons not to travel, but the trips have been planned and anticipated.