It is official.

That man is the devil.

Posted by jackson on 22 Jun 2007
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I’ve been having this pathetic fantasy for years now: I, for whatever totally unlikely reason, am given the opportunity to meet the president in an intimate setting. Something for work or whatever. Bush approaches me with a smile, working over in his mind what my nickname might be (Jackie? Knowleserstons?), and extends his hand for a shake. And I — wait for it! — refuse. No thanks, Mr. Bad Guy, I say. I don’t shake hands with, with, you know, guys like you.

Only in my mind it is super bad ass.

I was just sitting here in my office thinking about this glorious day that will never come after reading in Wonkette about the Mardi Gras themed picnic at the White House today. Paul Prudhomme (who, by the way I saw the other day — dude has had gastric bypass surgery and lost about 489 pounds) catered the event and Kermit Ruffins provided the entertainment.

It makes me want to gag to see our local heroes playing huggy bear with this administration. I can kind of see why it would be a hard gig to turn down, but sheesh. I don’t know how you could sit by Bush all noshing on gumbo and acting all pleased with himself while our city remains about one shot of tequila out of the shitcan. So, as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, here’s the exchange between Bush and Ruffins:

THE PRESIDENT: Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers, right out of New Orleans, Louisiana. (Applause.)MR. RUFFINS: Thank you. Thanks for having us. We’re glad to be here.

THE PRESIDENT: Proud you’re here. Thanks for coming. You all enjoy yourself. Make sure you pick up all the trash after it’s over.

The only reason my fantasy isn’t me kneeing the guy in the groin is because I’m a wimp and the Secret Service scares me.

Posted by jackson on 20 Jun 2007
Filed Under: New Orleans, Politics | 1 Comment »

Posted by jackson on 18 Jun 2007
Filed Under: Links | No Comments »

For the past four days my house was filled with the stuff of a 7 year old girl: tiny shoes in the family room, on the stairs, tiny shoes by the toilet; DVDs scattered about – Chicken Little, Nacho Libre and various episodes of her current (and somewhat mystifying*) obsession, Mythbusters; half-full bottles of red Gatorade, a swamp-themed coloring book, a stuffed otter and a blankie. And of course, there was the girl herself, boundless of energy and unflagging in her quest to locate our cats and give them a pat or two.

 My niece Caroline and her dad (my brother) have been in for a visit. We ran ourselves ragged with fun — visiting the zoo, the aquarium, Mardi Gras World, Hansen’s Sno-Bliz, the lower Ninth Ward and Cafe du Monde all in two days. In the 90-plus degree heat, we should be locked up for all we put Caroline through.

Before bed each night, we brushed her hair. She can’t stand to have her hair brushed – she is very serious about her “tender-headedness”.  But these four days away from her mom were a real test for the long hair she is determined to have — if she comes back with a rat’s nest, she’s going to have to get a haircut.  So she is methodical about the comb, the brush, the detangler and the cream. The first two nights, she let me brush her hair for a whole half a minute before insisting that’s good enough. That’s plenty.

But last night, Adam and my brother ran out for boudin and stain remover, leaving Caroline and I alone for a bit. We washed her hair without getting any shampoo in her eyes. Then we sat together on the couch, watching the Lindsey Lohan version of The Parent Trap (”TV distracts me from the pain,” she says) while I gently coaxed her hair into a completely tangle-free state.

“I like it when it is just you and me,” she tells me.

“I like being with you, too,” I tell her.

“Yes, but do you like it when we’re alone together?”

Very much, I told her. And very much I did.

Posted by jackson on 14 Jun 2007
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Holy freakin horsedance, y’all. Please.

Thanks again, Cute Overload.

Posted by jackson on 27 Apr 2007
Filed Under: Miscellaneous | 1 Comment »

It was about four and a half years ago that A and I first hatched the plan to move to New Orleans. He emailed me one day at work with the idea. I responded with an enthusiasm that surprised us both, coming home that evening with countless internet print-outs detailing neighborhoods, rental prices and local arts organizations. It is entirely possible that we moved to New Orleans because I was bored that day at work.

During this entire decision-making process, we referred to our destination — in both our conversations and our hearts — exclusively as New Orleans It wasn’t until we were on the drive down (a preposterous road trip, for which we had skipped a Uhaul and instead purchased a 1982 Ford Econoline van) that it occurred to us that we, in point of fact, were moving to Louisiana. Which was an entirely different prospect. Louisiana? A holy shit kind of feeling lingered in the van for hours.

Of course, at that point, we’d gone too far, and so we forged on.

Four years later, the strange swamps and marshes of Louisiana’s landscape have come to look like home to me. But, we haven’t actually ventured outside of New Orleans too terribly much. We always mean to. There are about 8 million festivals a year in this state — plenty of good reasons to travel about — but we’ve remained more or less tied to the city.

This weekend we finally found our way to the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival. Ponchatoula is about an hour outside of New Orleans. Like a Deep South Stars Hollow, it is quirky and precious and completely united in its small town pride. This festival is something to behold. First of all, there are strawberry’s everywhere — strawberry daiquiris, deep-fried strawberries, strawberry shortcake, strawberry ice cream, strawberry hats and t-shirts and beer koozies, gigantic strawberry kiddy-rides. The festival is not contained on Main Street, but instead is just peppered around town. You can wander around, consider your strawberry options, admire all the wrap-around porches and wonder if you should give it all up for the small town life. Eventually, you will find yourself in the center of things, where the carnies have set up shop with games and rides, and where the local cover band is jamming through every rock song you hate but dance to anyway.

The mister and I wandered for hours and managed to achieve nearly all the great carnival clichés: he won me a Care Bear shooting plastic cups with a BB gun; we ate cotton candy; we staged a PG make out session on the Ferris wheel… All of that plus some homemade meat pies and boudin pretty much sealed the deal: Louisiana rocks. And Louisiana is home.

Posted by jackson on 16 Apr 2007
Filed Under: New Orleans | 3 Comments »

Let’s a do a little Jeff Foxworthy, shall we? I already know I’m kind of a redneck — the broken down Ford Festiva that lives in my yard can attest to that. (At least it’s not on cinder blocks!) But, I’ve also been wondering to myself lately how I rate as a grown up. How do I know if I’m basically just an 18 year old with crappy metabolism?

Here are some thoughts.

• You know you’re a crappy grown up if you’re thirty years old and you just got your first credit card.
• You know you’re a crappy grown up if, upon receiving said card and not the expected stamp of disapproval, you did the Snoopy dance for five solid minutes.  
• You know you’re a crappy grown up if it took you four years to get a Louisiana driver’s license.
• You know you’re a crappy grown up if you believe that now that you have a credit card and a valid driver’s license, you’ll be able to get a well-rated mortgage, too.

Well, at least I still my child-size well of unfounded hope!

Posted by jackson on 10 Apr 2007
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I don’t know if this is a lighter note, per se, but did you know that Woody Harrelson’s dad was a hitman? I had no idea! He was in prison since 1979 for the murder of a federal judge, and had previously spent 5 years (just five?) for another murder. He also claimed to have been involved in Kennedy’s assasination. He died of a heart attack last week. Son Woody worked to get the last conviction overturned — the drug dealer who hired his dad later said that Harrelson had not actually committed the murder — but to no avail.

I don’t know why, but I find this to be fascinating. Woody? Stoner, sure. Friend of Wesley Snipes, crazy but true. Son of a hitman? That is intense.

Posted by jackson on 21 Mar 2007
Filed Under: Starf-cker | No Comments »

In a speech this week to the National Newspaper Association (a consortium of newspapers that target black readers), Nagin seems to have alluded to a “conspiracy” to make New Orleans a white city. And once again, people are totally freaking out.

The quote that’s getting floated around is this one:

Ladies and gentlemen, what happened in New Orleans could happen anywhere…They are studying this model of natural disasters, dispersing the community and changing the electoral process in that community.

No one denies that the hardest hit communities from the storm were, and remain to this day, largely African-American. The storm, and the sad shrinking of our city that followed, has changed New Orleans in countless ways, including in no small part a significant shift in the electoral base. It doesn’t require a huge leap to see that this has paved the way for increased wealthy, white leadership in elected offices.

Many of the responses I’ve seen to Nagin’s latest comments wonder jokingly about a mysterious room full of old white men stroking their beards, trying to figure out how to get rid black leadership in New Orleans. People are asking, “Who is this ‘they’ Nagin is referring to?” — as if, if only Nagin could point to one specific guy, we’d take him more seriously. The Times Pic is asking its readers, “Is there a plot to keep African-Americans out of New Orleans?” Staff writer Jarvis DeBarry wonders if this isn’t just a smokescreen to “divert attention from [his] own weakness.”

But with all these questions, why is no one trying to parse out what Nagin was really getting at?

Why not take a long, hard look at what people really mean when they talk about the “opportunities” Katrina created in New Orleans? Why not look at plans to demolish local housing projects without plans to develop truly affordable housing? Why not look at Pres Kabacoff’s various interviews about “mixed income” neighborhoods?

It seems like Nagin can’t help himself, especially when he’s talking to largely black audiences. Like the elephant in the living room, there sits the fact that New Orleans is becoming a city that cannot welcome the citizens who own our history. Unfortunately, he can’t speak intelligently enough about it to move people to ask, how is racism tainting the rebuilding efforts in New Orleans?

It’s too bad, because that’s exactly what we need to do if all this work is going to take us somewhere new, somewhere better, somewhere we can all call home.

Posted by jackson on 20 Mar 2007
Filed Under: New Orleans | 1 Comment »

I have to gush. My pal Amy G is doing some great work. Check it out!

Her new site, www.re-presenting.org documents a recent project she lead connecting middle-school students from Chicago’s West Side and Accra, Ghana. The site includes photography, interviews and poetry by the young girls who participated in the exchange, and is sure to give your day a boost.

Posted by jackson on 15 Mar 2007
Filed Under: Miscellaneous | No Comments »