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Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

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            Hey, hey hey! Welcome to the December issue of Where Y’at which, as you know, will encompass Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanza and Festivus for the rest of us (I think I might have not made that up). I’m partial to the fat man coming down the chimney and this year we gonna have a talk. If it takes a bottle of tequila, some of Holly’s Tamales and even some Peruvian Marching Powder, we have to get this year’s gift straight. I want my illusion back; right now I’m so disillusioned with New Orleans I could kick sand. I’m tired of pretending that we have sweet pretty party people instead of seeing that in actuality they are wet brained functioning alcoholics who live in their own subjective reality. Don’t stop me now.

            I am weary of seeing the ‘homeless’ fly cardboard on most intersections telling me that “anything helps/God bless” as if my donation to their existence comes with a benediction; or watching the same scammers fleece a new crop of tourists, the same scam artists that I’ve seen  ply that trade for fifteen years with impunity. The second-line that passes, weaving music and frivolity on their way and leaving a trail of littered bottles, wrappers and plastic cups enough to choke an elephant.

            It’s all fun and games until it’s your bike that gets stolen; your car that gets broken into or you’re the one face down on the pavement being mugged; wouldn’t that tend to take the sheen off your brogans? It’s done that to me and if it takes Santa to bring back the love… so be it.

Yes, if you were passing on the nine hundred block of Dumaine St. at two O’clock in the afternoon last Sunday that was me yelling for help as some stranger on a bicycle tried to part me from my hard earned; that was me waiting for the police that didn’t come; that was me the next day getting a CT scan of my head and X-rays of my foot and ribs. Just some guy on a bike who believed that what I had should be his and decided to take it. Where did he come from and what created that thought process in the year 2018 in a ‘great American city’? You tell me.

            It does not fail to flummox me that I witness sexism, ageism, racism and speciesism coming from all hues of complexion. Pick a color, pick an ethnicity or social strata and sure enough you’ll find an exclusiveness in their attitude and make up that just doesn’t like, trust, respect or downright give a shyte about anyone that is not  just  the same as they are. Covertly AND overtly.  And I’m not against looking at that man in the mirror to see if I’m not resembling that remark myself.  And don’t get me started on inconsideration.

            Vehicles that weave in and out of traffic ignoring safety and turn signals now royally piss me off. People that leave dirty diapers as they drive away from city parking spots madden me; I’m getting incensed when someone loads up their groceries and leaves the shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot. How about making groceries and the checkout clerk wants to put your purchases in fifteen additional plastic ocean clogging wildlife strangling bags. You’re killing me here.

            My neighbor wants to use RoundUp on his weeds, the guy across the street is scraping lead paint from his shutters into the street, the worker down the block is cleaning his paint brushes into the storm drain and the kids walking home from school are throwing candy wrappers and drink cups like they’re Mardi Gras float throws. My ex-landlord decries the outlawing of DDT to kill termites. Somebody is spraying my Cheerios with cancer causing chemicals and that hippy dippy grocery chain has been taken over by Amazonians.  Can I get a witness? I’m supremely disillusioned when I realize that this is a microcosm of the city, state, country and world that we live in. Please, somebody, give me back my Grace; and while you’re at it, where is my Sewerage and Water bill--eight months now and NO bill?  

            There are too many good people here to put up with that pre-Katrina nonsense; do we not know what year it is? Wasn’t there some rumor way back that this was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius? No, this is the age of poverty, substandard education and a lapse of any moral compass in our elected leaders. Mass shootings.  Global warming. Poison in our drinking water.

            I hate it when anyone says “affordable” anything. Affordable housing means subsidized rent. Affordable healthcare means the government is paying for it. Affordable groceries means: reading the sale fliers and shopping at five different stores; varying your eating habits to whatever is on sale that week. Prices go up, wages stagnate and the powers that be tell us that the economy is booming; for whom?

            On a personal level, the city that care forgot is the city that forgot to care; unable to raise the minimum wage and BTW when you do see wages go up, it’s a sure sign that hours are being cut. Do you find it amusing that most family providers have to work more than one job; that there are no longer any stay at home Moms and Louisiana leads other states in obesity, teen pregnancy and infant mortality? 88,000 city service workers mean that we’re sending our kids out ignorant to become dishwashers, porters and garbage collectors; great, legitimate employment for sure but with what future? Have you considered renter’s rights or rent control? Don’t, there is no such animal.

            Man, I can’t wait to catch that red suited, bearded, “Ho Ho Ho” yelling jerk and have him dig deep in his bag; he aint leaving without me getting my Mojo back. Happy Holidays

           

  

Cats and Dogs

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Reigning

Or

Cats and Dogs

            “Dogs are like people are and cats are like people want to be”. That’s what Nonna LaMancusa told me so many years ago; before I could understand what she meant by that statement, I became it. Observe your critters and see for yourself.  Cats and Dogs.

            It’s been a long day; a long year, a long life; you drag yourself home dog tired (no one ever gets ‘cat tired’) and count on the solace of your pets. You open your door and there the pup sits, wagging and gazing into your eyes with nothing short of unconditional love and admiration. The cat wants to know where dinner is and why it’s late. The dog has chewed up your favorite unfinished novel and/or your leather skirt/baseball glove and looks ashamed knowing that they’re in for some “BAD DOG!!” discipline. The cat has just peed in your fresh laundry and try, just try, to correct its behavior and you’ll get hissed at like a snake and clawed into shredded wheat.

            It’s time for medicine and you reach over to Fido’s mouth, pry it open and in goes the meds; try that on Tiger Lily and be prepared to get that Tetanus shot, seriously. Good Ole Rover will happily go to the vet, he’s cool as long as there’s treats; will endure any embarrassment or invasion. Weigh him, spray him, spay him, prod and poke him; it’s all good as long as something that tastes like bacon is on the other end of where the thermometer happens to be lodged. What treatment does Little Mittens get? A carrier with a towel or blanket, catnip and maybe a favorite toy and you stuff her in like toothpaste back into a tube; get to the clinic and you have to dump her out (you dare not reach in) in the manner of the trash pick-up guys with the Doc and two Vet Techs ready to hold her down by whatever appendages are the least likely to end in human bloodshed. The growl that she emits will chill you to the bone, there is no reasoning with that feline.

            Off to work you go in the morning, leaving Boomer with sad eyes slowly wagging his tail and getting ready for another day filled with separation anxiety and sadness, while Fluffy and MiniPuss are planning a day of sleeping, grooming and possibly a little Oprah watching; perhaps they’ll shred the curtains while Pluto pines. While you’re gone Scooby Doo will hold himself until his bladder bursts while Mistress Taffy can saunter to the litter box, relieve herself and then scatter the litter like confetti for you to step on in your bare feet.

            It’s a NoNo for Deputy Dawg to jump on furniture and the most he can hope for is to be able to sneak up onto the bed after you’ve passed out; try to keep Sylvester off the top shelves in your kitchen, the dresser drawer that you left open or taking up a perch in front of your computer screen (while you’re working) and witness attention spans in nanoseconds as he resumes the examination of his domain, top to bottom with impunity.

            Huckleberry Hound will bark at a branch rubbing against your window or the mailman or that new person in your life and hide and wet himself during a thunderstorm or fireworks; cats will hide under the bed or in the closet and let burglars strip your house as clean as Thanksgiving turkey in the home of starving Armenians. It’s true, a dog will give its life protecting you and yours; a feline will run like a rabbit and contemplate where the next meal will come from. There are stories of canines visiting gravesites and waiting at train stations; there are stories of cats that will travel for miles after being separated from their territory. Dogs are ready to destroy their enemies on sight, on the other hand, cats like to torment their prey, sometimes for long periods of time, watching them suffer futilely the ping pong batting that leads them to their personal circle of heaven.

            There are exceptions to all this; a dog that seeks spiritual enlightenment, a cat that doesn’t already have it. There are cats that can be trained (even herded) and dogs that don’t pick up chicken bones on their walk.  There are outdoor cats that wait for the sound of your car and will purr for you as you feed and love on them, sitting on your lap drooling in ecstasy. There are dogs that will run as far and as wide away from home (and you) at the drop of a hat like Io being chased by gadflies; open the door, off they go.

            Very seldom do you hear someone say that they want to come back as a dog; it’s a dog’s life, they do the work, pull the sleds, herd cattle, jump into cold water to retrieve that duck that you shot; cats are definitely not of that ilk. Yep, we want to come back as cats. Cats create territory, nest, pick their caretakers (no one ever really ‘owns’ a cat) and settle in until death do you part; if you cross a cat, they will drop you faster than a hot potato and find greener pastures. A dog will keep coming back for more of whatever treatment you give them, returning unconditional love and loyalty without question.

            Of course, the biggest suckers are the bipeds that love, care, clean, feed, and pay the veterinarian bills for these creatures that we take in as our surrogate children and mourn inconsolably when they cross that Rainbow Bridge; you know who you/we are.