25th Anniversary Where Y'at

 

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Quintuplequinquennial

Or

5x5

        Long ago and not very far away, a guy with a dream and not much money thought it would be cool and necessary to publish a music and entertainment rag for the edification of any of the interested populous in the City That Care Forgot.

        Twenty-five years of Where Y’at. Lots of water under the bridge and once upon a time twenty five years ago; 125 years in cat years; 175 in dog and 200 in automobile years (My ’97 Lincoln and I should know); a hard birth occurred; followed by a rough adolescence; a steamy youth; and finally we’re in the prime of life, hittin’ our stride, ready for the next twenty-five. Perhaps we’ll eventually mature (I hope not).

        Man, can you imagine having the same job for twenty-five years? Do you even know where you were twenty-five years ago?  Gas was $1.15 a gallon; average rent a little over $600.00; Walmart was a whisper on the street; David Bowie, Prince and Freddy Mercury were alive and well and Bill Clinton was being impeached for the attention he received in the office closet.

        Twenty-five years ago Google was founded; the FDA approved Viagra and YOU may have been paying attention to the current music back then but I WASN’T. It was a cold winter and a hot summer (what else is new) and hurricane George pimp-slapped the coast in September clocking winds of 155. It was the perfect year to launch a new entertainment magazine (eh, Josh?), but the US GDP was up that year, so what the heck?

        I started tugging the editors coat-tails early on, being egged on by a former wife who decided that I knew how to “tell a story” and at first I got not a nod, a wink nor a nudge and was about to throw in the towel when I received an answer to yet another plea from me asking to be recognized, saying that the magazine “liked my stuff but just didn’t have the room for me….yet”; and then they did (have room). I became a real writer then. I was vindicated, elated, inflated, upgraded and creatively created; I called myself Po Boy Views (and it stuck). The pay wasn’t great, but being paid at all made me a legitimate and ‘real’ writer (hell, I would have paid them!).

        My first article, if I recall, was about a trip to one of the French Quarter’s chocolate shops and my love of the product consumed surreptitiously like a criminal in a darkened alley. Looking back on that article (yes, I’ve saved them all). I’ve come to believe that I have come a long way as a real writer and after three hundred something pieces you would hope that I have. I must be doing okay because Where Y’at has kept me, and even sends me assignments and for that I am and will remain eternally grateful. They even still invite me to the Christmas party.

        Come to think of it, Josh has been with me and Where Y’at has been my only constant (except, of course Debbie) all these years; I’ve been through cars, jobs, living places, critters, loved ones, computers, storms, floods and the mugging I experienced on Dumaine Street; throughout life’s ups and downs and downs and ups and all those things that alter and illuminate my life, Where Y’at still calls and reminds me that another deadline is looming; another writer’s picks and/or meeting; that extra Jazz Fest article is due and would you mind doing a piece on the thus and such?

        Of course I’m twenty-five years older now and it gives me great comfort to say that so is Josh Danzig my once and future head honcho; we’ve weathered our separate storms together separately and we’re here to celebrate the silver anniversary of that tie that binds us. Sure, it’s a little corny; but hey, when you look back over this amount of time in terms of teeth cleanings, child raising, gasoline fill ups, holidays spent, showers and baths and holy sh*t! it’s a BFD!

         Naturally speaking, our city has gone through twenty-five years of growing pains as well; you would think after three hundred and something years that New Orleans would have settled into some kind of adulthood, but no…. Twenty-five years ago Marc Morial was re-elected to a second term as mayor of New Orleans; he was a mere forty years old and a Democrat (in fact our all mayors have been Democrats since 1872). Look how far we’ve come (or haven’t come) since then.

        And then look how far Where Y’at has come; the difference being that our city was built and fashioned on the rough and tumble greed and avarice, brutality and wantonness, slander and spalling slather played by a second line marching band to the raucous tune of Nearer My God To Thee Down By The Riverside Little Liza Jane Hey Pocky Way and for twenty-five years, Where Y’at has stood by this city and pointed out the good, positive, celebratory aspects that keep our populous sane and sanguine.

        Conversely, Where Y’at was fashioned and has built on optimism, fair play, team spirit, frozen daiquiris and pizza, a noble and worthy foundation. I am amazed each issue; after twenty-five years that each issue is stand alone and new. I am amazed, each month, that collectively we writers, contributors, editors and externs have put together another issue that is informative, entertaining and exciting. AND I am completely amazed that, after twenty-five years, I am still in the pages every month, writing pretty much whatever comes out of my brain and onto the keyboard, sharing another thousand words about life, the universe and everything. What a long strange trip it’s been. Thank you Josh and everyone for having me.