We interupt our story telling to post the February WhereY'at article before I lose it.
Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Hearts And Flowers
Or
Hello, I Must Be Going
“ Love doesn’t come in a minit; sometimes it doesn’t come at all. I only know that when I’m init; it isn’t silly, it isn’t silly, love isn’t silly at aaaaaaaaallll.”
Yes Cats and Hats, it’s February and time to take love and Valentine’s Day for another spin around the block. So, kick the tires, check your gas gauge and fasten your seat belts.
To begin with: In the time of the Roman emperor Claudius the Cruel there was a priest named Valens or Valentine or something. Claudius the Cruel wanted to raise an army but guys didn’t want to leave their wives and families, so in a typical political maneuver the emperor outlawed weddings. He figured that if guys didn’t have wives and families that they would be more likely to give up their lives in battle for nuts like him. Typical political thinking. Rome was called a republic, which makes Claudius an early republican.
Well, Val was a priest that didn’t see eye to eye with Claude and went on marrying couples; so Claude had him bludgeoned to death with clubs and decapitated. The execution took place on February 14th, which was, by coincidence, the feast day of Juno, the goddess of childbirth and marriage. The Following day was the beginning of a festival called Lupercalia. (Actually Lupercalia was from Feb 13th-15th). Lupercalia was the celebration of purification and pregnancy, named for the she-wolf who suckled Romulus and Remus, for the Greek god Pan and all his lascivious antics, and for the cleansing ritual named Februatio (after the Roman God of purification and washing, Februus) for which the month February is named. What’s the point? The whole point of Valentine’s Day was for the church to subsume another pagan ritual with a feast day of a saint whom they would later defrock, along with others such as Christopher and Nicolas. In Euclidian geometry a point is something that has no parts. And if you think that I’m handing you a line, I’ll take it a step further by quoting Euclid again who said that a “line is a length without a breadth”. If you throw religion out (imagine) the whole pagan festival is like a big three-day pure nurturing love fest, complete with body fluids; or, a line with a point at both ends, a beast with two backs. It’s more like the arrival of spring weather and a reason to party like it’s nineteen ninety twenty-two. Think about it.
So, there you go; full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. How’s your love life? Got your Valentine’s cards out yet? Got a Valentine? Want to beat them with clubs and cut their heads off?
Oh, before Val’s execution he passed a note to the jailer’s daughter, with whom he had developed a ‘friendship’ (yeah, right.); he signed it “your Valentine”. What was in the note is anybody’s guess. Supposedly, that was the beginning of the whole Valentines card thing.
So, let’s flog this horse another mile and touch on the subject of love. Love is, for the most part, a trickster, a shape-shifter and a mischief-maker; in all mythologies god and godlike beings personify these types of rascals and one thing they have in common is a proclivity and propensity for procreation. Like love, they also are not trustworthy. Eros, Loki, Kokopelli, Hermes, Ananse and Raven are prime examples. Not know many of those guys? Well here’s a story:
Once upon a time (it’s a ‘once upon a time’ story) there was a being born of the elements: fire, water, air and earth. This being was enormously unhappy because they did not have another crutial element, an element that was missing from their life, or so they thought---the element of LOVE.
This being was to wander the earth and spheres and witness the love that others had; the love of a mother as she suckles her babe, the love of a faithful and obedient pet, love to a just and merciful god, the love that comes from fealty to king and country and the love that the fortunate have for their local bartenders. There’s the love of arts and beauty, of food that is tasty and well prepared, and of the gifts of the muses: poetry, drama, dance and dirty jokes (just kidding); the love of a good book, a trusted friend, fauna and flora and a juicy piece of gossip.
Everywhere that this being looked they saw love: the love of toys and playthings, the love of a harmonic gathering of like minded individuals, of nature and of marshmallows toasted over a campfire at sunset. Then they saw the love that people have for being with other people: double Dutch rope jumping, card games, singing in harmony, playing dress up, playing undress up, doing shots together, group hugs and working together to achieve a common purpose.
Then they saw the love that a person has for themselves: in doing good deeds, in helping the less fortunate, in setting goals and reaching them, in tending the infirm, in preserving their natural surroundings, in those little ‘toys’ that are kept in the bedside drawer and in sticking it to BP for a butt load of money.
The being that was formed of the elements gave a big sigh (BBBBIIIIGGGGGSSSSIIIIGGGGHHHH!!!!!) and thought that there must be a down side to all of this love stuff, so they retreated to a mountain by the side of a lake and felt the breathing of the waves and listened to the whispers of the wind in the cool bright beatific shining of the sun and by the light of a pure moon and heavenly starlight. For a millennium they sat and pondered the human condition and came up with the insight and image of an insecure spirit trapped in a flawed body, greedy for power, materialistically oppressive, vindictive and cowardly petty; these belligerent bipeds, who infested the planet like a rash on a baby’s butt, thought that they were hot stuff armed with the belief that, if nothing else, being on top of the food chain made them something special.
The being that was formed from the elements came down from the mountain with this knowledge and was promptly bludgeoned with clubs and decapitated. It doesn’t pay to look too close at love. Happy Valentines.
Showing posts with label Love in New Orleans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love in New Orleans. Show all posts
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Love In New Orleans
Po-Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
The Lady In the Glass Bathing Suit
Or
My Funny Valentine
A local fried chicken restaurant (if you can call them restaurants) will be starting a gospel brunch soon. They’re gonna call it “A Wing And A Prayer”. This about sums up my love life.
Now Kids, I’m no expert on the subject, and will never claim to be (at least not in public); but, Uncle Phil has been around the block enough times that he’s worn a rut in it as wide as Bayou Saint John, so if I can’t talk about love, who can? In this rant we’re gonna explore some facts and fallacies about the ‘Big “L” Word” as reported by an independent study: mine.
First some fallacies:
1. Love makes the world go ‘round: what cabbage truck did you just fall off? Money makes the world go around and don’t you ever forget it.
2. You can tell it’s Love at first sight. NOT! You can tell it’s lust, power, domination, conquest or the need of possession at first sight: either that or you’re wearing your beer glasses and would screw a snake if someone would hold its head down.
3. Love means never having to say you’re sorry: Baloney! If you’re gonna hang on to love (assuming you ever find it) be prepared to admit that you’re wrong on a number of occasions, and on more complex subjects than the position of the toilet seat.
4. Love changes you: not for long, if ever. You’ll find yourself (or them) slipping back into the persona behind the façade that won favor; and, you may not be able to keep lipstick on that pig, if you get my drift.
5. You can change the person that you love: don’t count on it; and, those quirky little things that are funny now, sooner or later become a major pain in the butt. i.e. underwear on the doorknob. And while we’re at it: that new friend of yours (or possibly yourself) that’s rude to strangers, hasn’t a clue how to tip in restaurants, has an addiction or aggression challenge, likes to tell racist or sexist jokes, admires themselves in passing mirrors, is critical, abusive, unbending and just knows that it’s all about them………drop ‘em, it ain’t worth your time and make up.
6. Love brings out the best in a person: sure, like jealousy, mistrust, envy, possessiveness, insecurity and in some cases hives
and rashes.
7. It’s the ‘challenge of the unknown’ that’s so stimulating about love: No, here you’re confusing love with rock climbing, spelunking and drawing to an inside straight.
8. Love is its own reward: right. And the meek will inherit the Earth, I’ve got the winning lottery ticket and your landlord is
gonna give you free rent.
9. You always hurt the one you love: hmmmmm, you might want to make that: ‘you always let the one you love hurt you’
10. Love sneaks up on you: No, generally it sounds like the entire cast of The Lion King being thrown in to a deep fryer.
Now, for some facts.
1. Love takes work to make it stay: It does, and more than a few of us are willing to walk away rather than stay for the hard part. Then again, sometimes when your partner wants to ‘compromise’ it’s merely another way of saying “do it my way”.
2. Love can break your heart: This generally happens when someone has convinced you that you really are someone special, and then concludes with “April Fool!” Been there. Got the tee shirt; and any conversation that begins with “I think I need more space” usually ends with your relationship in the toilet.
3. Love is a many splendored thing: yeah, the walks in the park, the dinners, the smiles and the good times usually stay long after love has walked away. Enjoy them.
4. Love is like an oil painting: and you’d be advised to be careful with those brush strokes; there is no ‘do over’ accompanied by your lover’s amnesia. Think about it.
5. Love is like a song: As in Love is like an itching in my heart, I’ve got you under my skin, I only have eyes for you, you make me feel so young, knock me off my feet, since I fell for you, dazed and confused, (take another) piece of my heart, you’re driving me crazy. Are we talking about love here or dementia following a train wreck?
6. Love does NOT want to meet your ex: period.
7. You only have one ‘true’ love: but how do you know that you’ve met them yet?
8. There’s someone for everyone: and here’s where your friends come in, you know, those people who know all the worst stuff about you but like you anyway? Listen, they’ll go through Hell for you; BUT, if they don’t approve of your love……that’s a ‘heads up’! If you can’t trust your friends to know who’s best for you (or at least good for you), whom can you trust? And: if you haven’t learned this yet……. You will.
9. There are many kinds of love: but it all boils down to two things; (1) you’re thinking about something more important than yourself and (2) it gives you pleasure to do so. If you ain’t got that, you better ask somebody.
10. It’s worth it: Yep, as corny as it sounds, with its incredible highs and devastating lows, it’s all worth it. Besides, the alternative is to live a superficial life. Love IS the original ‘Living On The Edge’ roller coaster-drive it like you stole it-hell bent for leather-mind bending-flummoxing conundrum of your life. If you’re fortunate enough to have love in your life cherish it, guard it and protect it; because, one false move, Buddy, and it’s history.
11. And, The Lady In The Glass Bathing suit? Seymour Heer writes, “She’s worth wading for”.
By
Phil LaMancusa
The Lady In the Glass Bathing Suit
Or
My Funny Valentine
A local fried chicken restaurant (if you can call them restaurants) will be starting a gospel brunch soon. They’re gonna call it “A Wing And A Prayer”. This about sums up my love life.
Now Kids, I’m no expert on the subject, and will never claim to be (at least not in public); but, Uncle Phil has been around the block enough times that he’s worn a rut in it as wide as Bayou Saint John, so if I can’t talk about love, who can? In this rant we’re gonna explore some facts and fallacies about the ‘Big “L” Word” as reported by an independent study: mine.
First some fallacies:
1. Love makes the world go ‘round: what cabbage truck did you just fall off? Money makes the world go around and don’t you ever forget it.
2. You can tell it’s Love at first sight. NOT! You can tell it’s lust, power, domination, conquest or the need of possession at first sight: either that or you’re wearing your beer glasses and would screw a snake if someone would hold its head down.
3. Love means never having to say you’re sorry: Baloney! If you’re gonna hang on to love (assuming you ever find it) be prepared to admit that you’re wrong on a number of occasions, and on more complex subjects than the position of the toilet seat.
4. Love changes you: not for long, if ever. You’ll find yourself (or them) slipping back into the persona behind the façade that won favor; and, you may not be able to keep lipstick on that pig, if you get my drift.
5. You can change the person that you love: don’t count on it; and, those quirky little things that are funny now, sooner or later become a major pain in the butt. i.e. underwear on the doorknob. And while we’re at it: that new friend of yours (or possibly yourself) that’s rude to strangers, hasn’t a clue how to tip in restaurants, has an addiction or aggression challenge, likes to tell racist or sexist jokes, admires themselves in passing mirrors, is critical, abusive, unbending and just knows that it’s all about them………drop ‘em, it ain’t worth your time and make up.
6. Love brings out the best in a person: sure, like jealousy, mistrust, envy, possessiveness, insecurity and in some cases hives
and rashes.
7. It’s the ‘challenge of the unknown’ that’s so stimulating about love: No, here you’re confusing love with rock climbing, spelunking and drawing to an inside straight.
8. Love is its own reward: right. And the meek will inherit the Earth, I’ve got the winning lottery ticket and your landlord is
gonna give you free rent.
9. You always hurt the one you love: hmmmmm, you might want to make that: ‘you always let the one you love hurt you’
10. Love sneaks up on you: No, generally it sounds like the entire cast of The Lion King being thrown in to a deep fryer.
Now, for some facts.
1. Love takes work to make it stay: It does, and more than a few of us are willing to walk away rather than stay for the hard part. Then again, sometimes when your partner wants to ‘compromise’ it’s merely another way of saying “do it my way”.
2. Love can break your heart: This generally happens when someone has convinced you that you really are someone special, and then concludes with “April Fool!” Been there. Got the tee shirt; and any conversation that begins with “I think I need more space” usually ends with your relationship in the toilet.
3. Love is a many splendored thing: yeah, the walks in the park, the dinners, the smiles and the good times usually stay long after love has walked away. Enjoy them.
4. Love is like an oil painting: and you’d be advised to be careful with those brush strokes; there is no ‘do over’ accompanied by your lover’s amnesia. Think about it.
5. Love is like a song: As in Love is like an itching in my heart, I’ve got you under my skin, I only have eyes for you, you make me feel so young, knock me off my feet, since I fell for you, dazed and confused, (take another) piece of my heart, you’re driving me crazy. Are we talking about love here or dementia following a train wreck?
6. Love does NOT want to meet your ex: period.
7. You only have one ‘true’ love: but how do you know that you’ve met them yet?
8. There’s someone for everyone: and here’s where your friends come in, you know, those people who know all the worst stuff about you but like you anyway? Listen, they’ll go through Hell for you; BUT, if they don’t approve of your love……that’s a ‘heads up’! If you can’t trust your friends to know who’s best for you (or at least good for you), whom can you trust? And: if you haven’t learned this yet……. You will.
9. There are many kinds of love: but it all boils down to two things; (1) you’re thinking about something more important than yourself and (2) it gives you pleasure to do so. If you ain’t got that, you better ask somebody.
10. It’s worth it: Yep, as corny as it sounds, with its incredible highs and devastating lows, it’s all worth it. Besides, the alternative is to live a superficial life. Love IS the original ‘Living On The Edge’ roller coaster-drive it like you stole it-hell bent for leather-mind bending-flummoxing conundrum of your life. If you’re fortunate enough to have love in your life cherish it, guard it and protect it; because, one false move, Buddy, and it’s history.
11. And, The Lady In The Glass Bathing suit? Seymour Heer writes, “She’s worth wading for”.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Meltdown in New Orleans
Po-boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
The Ides of March
Or
Careful With That Axe, Eugene
And as Caesar was being stabbed, he turned to his best friend and uttered these immortal words: “Et Tu. Brutus?” To which Brutus replied: “No man, I ain’t et nuthin!”----------So much for Southern humor.
We all know about humor, you know, “laughter is the best medicine”? All of us, from time to time have that friend from ‘afar place’ (ashes on their feet?) submitting for our enjoyment an email of their latest laugh. Blond jokes: “I hate M&Ms; they’re so hard to peel!” Religious jokes: “A priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into this bordello…” or “Did you hear the one about the nun and the horny monkey?”
Or the (usually inebriated) genie and the three wishes gone wrong: “Yeah, you didn’t wish for a million ducks, and I didn’t ask for a twelve inch pianist!”
Humor, as defined, comes in categories i.e. irony, incongruity, satire, ridicule and the absurd. Also surprise, exaggeration, defiance, violence and the manipulation of language. The most hurtful of comedy comes from the humor of the human predicaments. Who of us has not had a friend start a conversation with; “stop me if you’ve heard this one…” and then tell you anyway a tale of someone’s misfortune or degradation that they find terribly amusing. Sexual, political and slapstick humor are especially embarrassing to me.
And now we have hurricane humor, sad commentary on the situation of our lives: FEMA, Road Home, our current administration’s (or lack of one) policies and $90,000.00 in somebody’s freezer are all the butt of recent attempts at funny. Chocolate City? The old ‘slip on a banana peel/pie in the face’ gags have been replace with the “did you hear about the guy who got a huge electric bill for his house that blew away in the storm a year and a half ago?” Har, har, hardy friggin’ har!
But what do we have left, what else do we have? I had a visit today from a woman with an unquiet mind. She had her home underwater in the big event, got back into it when she was five months pregnant, developed a fungal infection and miscarried. She was diagnosed with uterine cancer and had all of her reproductive organs cut out of her, suffered through a nervous breakdown and was the bewilderment of her family and friends. She talked to me; a perfect stranger and we commiserated about how all of us being emotionally, if not physically, scarred deserved, at least, a respected breakdown. Our mantra was identical: “keep busy, keep busy. We won’t heal but we must deal.” She told me that she found humor in telling herself that it was only her reproductive mechanisms. She is going to take up painting again, she’s at school to become a nurse, and did I know where the shop is that might take some of her sewing on consignment?
I stressed to her that she was NOT alone in her condition; a fact that has assuaged my foolish heart on more than a couple of occasions. What do you do when Bunny Matthews’ art can’t bring on a grin.
Did you think that there was anything funny about ‘Comic Relief’? It was kind of sad wasn’t it? I don’t think that humor is going to make things right in our lives, not when jokes do not bring happiness.
My ten year old Labrador was found to be anemic a couple of weeks ago. Now, in a human this is not terribly bad news; however in a canine it is. Subsequently, she was in the dog hospital for eight days before she could be sent home. X-rays, blood transfusions, barium tests, ultra sounds, exploratory surgery, drugs and medicines. Now she is on restrictive physical activity for the next ten days; no jumping, running exercise or long walks. No laughing. She’s lying on pillows at home as I write, she has staples where she was cut open, they look like a zipper up her shaved belly. It is not funny. At this time the core bone marrow samples test results have yet to come back. We have four scenarios to look forward to: fibrosis, a fungal infection, cancer or a miracle. You already know how I feel about that unanswered phone situation at the Bureau Of Happy Endings.
When I come home after a long day, she wags her tail. I hope that’s not considered exercise. Her doctor has allowed her to walk to the closest bar where she likes to hang, one of her many haunts. My sweet companion. When she was in the hospital, it was the longest we have ever been separated and I was sad sad sad. Ten years. I don’t want this to be the year that my dog dies.
However, is it funny that her medical vet is a lot more accessible than mine. Mine being the Military Veterans facility. It takes me two months to get an appointment; it takes Ginger two minutes. It’s also funny that Ginger can get morphine for less than twenty bucks!
My new friend with the ‘Unquiet Mind’ said it was a day and a half before they could get her a bed in the psyche ward. ‘ Sorry Miss, 36 hours before you can have that meltdown”.
These days I need something funny that will lead to healing. At least once a day I have to fight tears. And I don’t need no anti depressants; I need things to get right!
Perhaps there are only a few of us keeping up a good front and nothing more. Perhaps the entire city, after physical, political and infrastructural breakdowns is ready collectively for an emotional rescue, a knight in shining armor. “Hey whatsa matter man, we got some Puerto Rican girls comin’ round the Square that’s just dyin’ to meetcha! We gonna bring a case of wine…we gonna mess and fool around, you know…like we use to!!”
Have I lived in New Orleans all my life? Not yet. Do I remember New Orleans when it wasn’t this gone? Yeah, and in the words of Mick Jagger: “Lord, I miss her”.
By
Phil LaMancusa
The Ides of March
Or
Careful With That Axe, Eugene
And as Caesar was being stabbed, he turned to his best friend and uttered these immortal words: “Et Tu. Brutus?” To which Brutus replied: “No man, I ain’t et nuthin!”----------So much for Southern humor.
We all know about humor, you know, “laughter is the best medicine”? All of us, from time to time have that friend from ‘afar place’ (ashes on their feet?) submitting for our enjoyment an email of their latest laugh. Blond jokes: “I hate M&Ms; they’re so hard to peel!” Religious jokes: “A priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into this bordello…” or “Did you hear the one about the nun and the horny monkey?”
Or the (usually inebriated) genie and the three wishes gone wrong: “Yeah, you didn’t wish for a million ducks, and I didn’t ask for a twelve inch pianist!”
Humor, as defined, comes in categories i.e. irony, incongruity, satire, ridicule and the absurd. Also surprise, exaggeration, defiance, violence and the manipulation of language. The most hurtful of comedy comes from the humor of the human predicaments. Who of us has not had a friend start a conversation with; “stop me if you’ve heard this one…” and then tell you anyway a tale of someone’s misfortune or degradation that they find terribly amusing. Sexual, political and slapstick humor are especially embarrassing to me.
And now we have hurricane humor, sad commentary on the situation of our lives: FEMA, Road Home, our current administration’s (or lack of one) policies and $90,000.00 in somebody’s freezer are all the butt of recent attempts at funny. Chocolate City? The old ‘slip on a banana peel/pie in the face’ gags have been replace with the “did you hear about the guy who got a huge electric bill for his house that blew away in the storm a year and a half ago?” Har, har, hardy friggin’ har!
But what do we have left, what else do we have? I had a visit today from a woman with an unquiet mind. She had her home underwater in the big event, got back into it when she was five months pregnant, developed a fungal infection and miscarried. She was diagnosed with uterine cancer and had all of her reproductive organs cut out of her, suffered through a nervous breakdown and was the bewilderment of her family and friends. She talked to me; a perfect stranger and we commiserated about how all of us being emotionally, if not physically, scarred deserved, at least, a respected breakdown. Our mantra was identical: “keep busy, keep busy. We won’t heal but we must deal.” She told me that she found humor in telling herself that it was only her reproductive mechanisms. She is going to take up painting again, she’s at school to become a nurse, and did I know where the shop is that might take some of her sewing on consignment?
I stressed to her that she was NOT alone in her condition; a fact that has assuaged my foolish heart on more than a couple of occasions. What do you do when Bunny Matthews’ art can’t bring on a grin.
Did you think that there was anything funny about ‘Comic Relief’? It was kind of sad wasn’t it? I don’t think that humor is going to make things right in our lives, not when jokes do not bring happiness.
My ten year old Labrador was found to be anemic a couple of weeks ago. Now, in a human this is not terribly bad news; however in a canine it is. Subsequently, she was in the dog hospital for eight days before she could be sent home. X-rays, blood transfusions, barium tests, ultra sounds, exploratory surgery, drugs and medicines. Now she is on restrictive physical activity for the next ten days; no jumping, running exercise or long walks. No laughing. She’s lying on pillows at home as I write, she has staples where she was cut open, they look like a zipper up her shaved belly. It is not funny. At this time the core bone marrow samples test results have yet to come back. We have four scenarios to look forward to: fibrosis, a fungal infection, cancer or a miracle. You already know how I feel about that unanswered phone situation at the Bureau Of Happy Endings.
When I come home after a long day, she wags her tail. I hope that’s not considered exercise. Her doctor has allowed her to walk to the closest bar where she likes to hang, one of her many haunts. My sweet companion. When she was in the hospital, it was the longest we have ever been separated and I was sad sad sad. Ten years. I don’t want this to be the year that my dog dies.
However, is it funny that her medical vet is a lot more accessible than mine. Mine being the Military Veterans facility. It takes me two months to get an appointment; it takes Ginger two minutes. It’s also funny that Ginger can get morphine for less than twenty bucks!
My new friend with the ‘Unquiet Mind’ said it was a day and a half before they could get her a bed in the psyche ward. ‘ Sorry Miss, 36 hours before you can have that meltdown”.
These days I need something funny that will lead to healing. At least once a day I have to fight tears. And I don’t need no anti depressants; I need things to get right!
Perhaps there are only a few of us keeping up a good front and nothing more. Perhaps the entire city, after physical, political and infrastructural breakdowns is ready collectively for an emotional rescue, a knight in shining armor. “Hey whatsa matter man, we got some Puerto Rican girls comin’ round the Square that’s just dyin’ to meetcha! We gonna bring a case of wine…we gonna mess and fool around, you know…like we use to!!”
Have I lived in New Orleans all my life? Not yet. Do I remember New Orleans when it wasn’t this gone? Yeah, and in the words of Mick Jagger: “Lord, I miss her”.
Dark in New Orleans
Po-boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Musings Of A Hope Fiend
Or
My Foolish Heart
“There’s a line between love and fascination, that’s hard to see on an evening such as this…”
No one sings that line better than Rebecca Parris and no one line reflects more the feeling that I have for my home here in New Orleans.
Those of us that are in love with New Orleans live here; and those that are merely fascinated, pass through. I find it as simple as that, with few exceptions. I figure that those puppets, paupers, pirates and poets, pawns and Kingfish that stay here basically fall into two general categories: those that did not know that growing up would be like this; and, us lucky ones that found out, that in New Orleans, we really never have to grow up. Isn’t that special?
But wait, there’s less. Sometimes fascination turns into love, and that’s the feeling that made us implants, supplants, replants and all of the other plants look around at cooler climes and embrace, without question, the eccentric lifestyles that make (muggy) New Orleans and New Orleaneans matchless: the heat, the humidity, the streets, the stupidity.
No month will suit me more than February to focus on the love affair that I have with La Belle Orleans…because… duh?… Valentines Day!
Of course you’ve already figured out that I live in the French Quarter, you know, the island in the middle of the mayhem? The Quarter, as well the Tchoupitoulas / Saint Charles corridor (the sliver by the river) still pretty much define New Orleans. The rest is being resurrected like a paint by number cityscape. It would take a lot to budge me from here until my time comes. I realize that we all have our thresholds where we say either ‘enough is enough’ or ‘any place is better than this one’, it happens. I have developed a strong sense of patience when it comes to dealing with ‘works in progress’ as the city is turning out to be. I’ll go a step further and say that progress is going to turn out to be something that we’re really going to have to work at, especially if we want to get out of being stuck on stuck.
I’m in the habit of telling folks that the only thing worse than living in New Orleans would be living anywhere else, and I’m not alone in that outlook. Watching this snail’s pace recovery from afar would be heartbreaking. Watching from here is no piece of cake either. But, I love my home and I put on my game face and dress in optimism every day (usually by the end of the day I’m ready to set my hair on fire and rip the lungs out of the next person that says “so the Quarter’s doing pretty well, huh?”).
I know what you’re going to say: ”Phil, what about Clancy Dubos deciding to rate our city’s recovery (in print, in the Gambit!) on a ‘Suck Index’? Not to mention the reports that I received that 32% of the population living here was packing their bags and are getting ready to boogie like a turkey through the corn and the rest are blindly vowing to stay until they’re ‘murdered, drown or get sold back to France’!
Well, finding that, I have three options here:
1. I can suck it up and admit that “home it where I hang my head” OR…
2. I can go directly to The Isle of Denial and bask in the warm glow of ignorant bliss OR…
3. I can and will believe that none of this is real.
Here’s how I will do just that: you know those movies with the Back To The Future—It’s A Wonderful Life—What If Hitler Had Won The War—Over The Rainbow/middle Earth themes? Well, I’ve decided that I’m from another dimension. How do I rationalize this? Physics, more precisely…String Physics. Yes, far beyond Relativity and able to leap Quantum with a single bound, The String Theory (yet unproven OR disproved) says that we live in multiple dimensions. That’s okay with me, only how did I get stuck in this one?
I really feel like the dimension that I’d be most comfortable with is the one with peace, prosperity, cleanliness and an amount of non-lethal danger (like falling in love/lust has). The one where we have the background music of our lives playing all the time, everybody knows all the words to all the songs and that SOB did not get re-elected! The “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way” dimension, you know? The dimension where we’re all young, in shape and still have our turntables and rotary phones with booths.
So now when I see something weirder than dirt going down, and here that’s a daily occurrence, I take it very seriously. I take it very seriously, react accordingly and then thank my stars that that stuff doesn’t happen where I come from. Where WE come from.
Haven’t you noticed how dark it is here? Even in the sunlight it never is crystal clear…here. Yet we have gravitated to this place, to this time, with these people. Do you ever ask yourself: “what ever happened to all of those Dave Clark Five albums?” or “why did that person tell me the stupidest thing that I ever heard in my life, and why did I say that same thing about the last stupid thing that I heard?”
Kumi Maitreya once said that all of the people that perished when Atlantis sank will be reincarnated and come together in New Orleans for some strange reason that I’ve displaced in those lost gray cells of the sixties. I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I’m here to love. OIA.
Love did not come easily or early in my life; but love came in the form of a happy childhood spent in New Orleans. It is a coincidence that I was in my late twenties/early thirties when that happened and another story altogether. I’ll leave you with this: “With tenderness have these come up out of the ground. Look upon these faces of children without number and with children in their arms, that they may face the winds and walk the good road to the day of quiet” Black Elk.
Happy loving Valentines Day
By
Phil LaMancusa
Musings Of A Hope Fiend
Or
My Foolish Heart
“There’s a line between love and fascination, that’s hard to see on an evening such as this…”
No one sings that line better than Rebecca Parris and no one line reflects more the feeling that I have for my home here in New Orleans.
Those of us that are in love with New Orleans live here; and those that are merely fascinated, pass through. I find it as simple as that, with few exceptions. I figure that those puppets, paupers, pirates and poets, pawns and Kingfish that stay here basically fall into two general categories: those that did not know that growing up would be like this; and, us lucky ones that found out, that in New Orleans, we really never have to grow up. Isn’t that special?
But wait, there’s less. Sometimes fascination turns into love, and that’s the feeling that made us implants, supplants, replants and all of the other plants look around at cooler climes and embrace, without question, the eccentric lifestyles that make (muggy) New Orleans and New Orleaneans matchless: the heat, the humidity, the streets, the stupidity.
No month will suit me more than February to focus on the love affair that I have with La Belle Orleans…because… duh?… Valentines Day!
Of course you’ve already figured out that I live in the French Quarter, you know, the island in the middle of the mayhem? The Quarter, as well the Tchoupitoulas / Saint Charles corridor (the sliver by the river) still pretty much define New Orleans. The rest is being resurrected like a paint by number cityscape. It would take a lot to budge me from here until my time comes. I realize that we all have our thresholds where we say either ‘enough is enough’ or ‘any place is better than this one’, it happens. I have developed a strong sense of patience when it comes to dealing with ‘works in progress’ as the city is turning out to be. I’ll go a step further and say that progress is going to turn out to be something that we’re really going to have to work at, especially if we want to get out of being stuck on stuck.
I’m in the habit of telling folks that the only thing worse than living in New Orleans would be living anywhere else, and I’m not alone in that outlook. Watching this snail’s pace recovery from afar would be heartbreaking. Watching from here is no piece of cake either. But, I love my home and I put on my game face and dress in optimism every day (usually by the end of the day I’m ready to set my hair on fire and rip the lungs out of the next person that says “so the Quarter’s doing pretty well, huh?”).
I know what you’re going to say: ”Phil, what about Clancy Dubos deciding to rate our city’s recovery (in print, in the Gambit!) on a ‘Suck Index’? Not to mention the reports that I received that 32% of the population living here was packing their bags and are getting ready to boogie like a turkey through the corn and the rest are blindly vowing to stay until they’re ‘murdered, drown or get sold back to France’!
Well, finding that, I have three options here:
1. I can suck it up and admit that “home it where I hang my head” OR…
2. I can go directly to The Isle of Denial and bask in the warm glow of ignorant bliss OR…
3. I can and will believe that none of this is real.
Here’s how I will do just that: you know those movies with the Back To The Future—It’s A Wonderful Life—What If Hitler Had Won The War—Over The Rainbow/middle Earth themes? Well, I’ve decided that I’m from another dimension. How do I rationalize this? Physics, more precisely…String Physics. Yes, far beyond Relativity and able to leap Quantum with a single bound, The String Theory (yet unproven OR disproved) says that we live in multiple dimensions. That’s okay with me, only how did I get stuck in this one?
I really feel like the dimension that I’d be most comfortable with is the one with peace, prosperity, cleanliness and an amount of non-lethal danger (like falling in love/lust has). The one where we have the background music of our lives playing all the time, everybody knows all the words to all the songs and that SOB did not get re-elected! The “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way” dimension, you know? The dimension where we’re all young, in shape and still have our turntables and rotary phones with booths.
So now when I see something weirder than dirt going down, and here that’s a daily occurrence, I take it very seriously. I take it very seriously, react accordingly and then thank my stars that that stuff doesn’t happen where I come from. Where WE come from.
Haven’t you noticed how dark it is here? Even in the sunlight it never is crystal clear…here. Yet we have gravitated to this place, to this time, with these people. Do you ever ask yourself: “what ever happened to all of those Dave Clark Five albums?” or “why did that person tell me the stupidest thing that I ever heard in my life, and why did I say that same thing about the last stupid thing that I heard?”
Kumi Maitreya once said that all of the people that perished when Atlantis sank will be reincarnated and come together in New Orleans for some strange reason that I’ve displaced in those lost gray cells of the sixties. I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I’m here to love. OIA.
Love did not come easily or early in my life; but love came in the form of a happy childhood spent in New Orleans. It is a coincidence that I was in my late twenties/early thirties when that happened and another story altogether. I’ll leave you with this: “With tenderness have these come up out of the ground. Look upon these faces of children without number and with children in their arms, that they may face the winds and walk the good road to the day of quiet” Black Elk.
Happy loving Valentines Day
Friday, August 1, 2008
Dying in New Orleans
Po-Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
The Longer That You Live
Or
Hello In There
She’ll be going on thirteen in cat years, he’ll be a little over seventy in human terms. She’s in a convalescent home on the West Bank and he’s at home; they both appear to be circling the drain, failing slowly but surely, the treachery of physical forms giving out while the spirit of life fights to remain among us.
For the people that love them, it is a heartbreaking death-watch. It is a wearing down of deep emotions, like being one breath away from bursting into the tears in the face of loss unremitting. The heart remains a weight to carry. The next phone-call may bring news of the end.
This is a Valentine card to them: Verita Thompson and Phil the cat. Hello in there…and goodbye.
I met them both, separately, about eight years ago. They were both strong and alive, full of piss and vinegar, élan, and elegance, vitality and vigor.
Phil was a new rescue from Fairhope, Alabama; brought to New Orleans for a new lease on life. Personable and loving, mischievous and bold, honorable and agile; he soon became the king of the courtyard and a bane to small birds and rodents. Hell, I don’t need to tell you how a big gray lug of a boy tabby can win you over while he establishes his own kingdom (over you, your belongings and surroundings), stealing your heart with love full and pure.
He came to a whistle and a call of his name. He was equally at home in the neighbor’s apartments and often came home late, smelling of tobacco and a good time. The girls called him ‘Phil-boy’. The guys just called him ‘Buddy’. He was part of the pack of critters that stayed through the storm and evacuated to San Francisco and back. He’s been around, now he’s going down.
Two years ago he was diagnosed with FIV and separated from the other cats. Medication was prescribed and Phil was supervised a little more closely.
But wait. Before you might have the nerve to think that Phil was quarantined, let me again tell you how we treat our heroes. Phil still has free range of his kingdom. It was Bob and Pepper that made the adjustments. Pepper, who has been an inside feline…remains that way. Bob, who was Phil’s sidekick was promoted to shop cat and relocated to Toulouse St.
Things remained pretty much status quo until the beginning of November when Phil went into renal failure, after a week’s hospitalization, he was sent home, a shadow of his former shadow. The classic “til one day the old doctor looked at me and said: I can’t do no more for him, Jim” was applied and accepted. So it goes. Phil is now lying in the sun and fading.
Here’s the next part: what do you call a woman who was Humphrey Bogart’s mistress, had two restaurants in Los Angeles (at least one given to her by Howard Hughes), has Henry Mancini’s piano in her living room, wears Chanel suits and has the ability to use language that can make a sailor blush? You know, a little sassy broad, lunching at Galatoire’s in the day and tossing them back on her rounds in the evening? Who is it that can bring a crowd to Claire’s On Conti by the rumor of an appearance? Who is it that said that if Lauren Bacall couldn’t run her out of Hollywood, Katrina couldn’t run her out of New Orleans?
Who is it that you missed by not paying attention to legends living amongst you? Uh, that would be Ms. Verita Thompson.
Verita stands about five foot nothing (in heels); however, when she holds court, she is the center of the universe and the word HUGE doesn’t adequately suffice in application. She has a book that she authored named ‘Bogie And Me’ out of print for twenty five years and still sought after. She ran a saloon across from Antoine’s for a time and flitted between Santa Monica and here for years until…..
Question: what happens if you live long enough? Answer: you get old. The ‘O’ word. The curse of a long life is that your gears start to wear, your bearings get bushed, your oil needs changed more regularly and, although your spirit is still willing, the flesh simply cannot keep up. A mild stroke and a hard fall was enough to put a seal on Verita’s future. What had been a brave ‘fuck you’ life is now the time that the kindness of strangers becomes the reality of her existence. Confined to a wheelchair, fed through a tube and diapered, medicated, not listened to or even noticed in a facility that they mistakenly call a ‘Convalescent Home’. There is no convalescing from this one, Honey.
Last night a waitress that I know told me that she cannot stand waiting on the elderly because they break her heart and bring her to tears with how fragile that they are. Hey, listen up, we are all headed down that same road; if we live long enough.
So, I put it to you: what are you doing with these days of your life? If Verita were your age, she’d be knocking back a tequila with the likes of Gable and Gabor. If it were Phil, he’d be having you for lunch on his personal killing floor.
Well, tough guy, you can spend time on your cell phone, irons in the fire and all them business deals; but, you cannot put real value into a life if you place your dreams on call waiting. February the sixteenth is Verita’s ninetieth birthday. I’ll be at Claire’s On Conti hoisting a few and celebrating what time that we, collectively, have left on this planet. I’ll also be wishing Phil god-speed in whatever reality he may be residing in.
Question: how am I feeling? I’m blessed to be alive and awfully glad to be here. The longer that I live, the more precious my life has become, as I remind myself, often, that there are no ‘do over’ days. Here’s lookin’ at you, Kid.
phil@whereyat.net
By
Phil LaMancusa
The Longer That You Live
Or
Hello In There
She’ll be going on thirteen in cat years, he’ll be a little over seventy in human terms. She’s in a convalescent home on the West Bank and he’s at home; they both appear to be circling the drain, failing slowly but surely, the treachery of physical forms giving out while the spirit of life fights to remain among us.
For the people that love them, it is a heartbreaking death-watch. It is a wearing down of deep emotions, like being one breath away from bursting into the tears in the face of loss unremitting. The heart remains a weight to carry. The next phone-call may bring news of the end.
This is a Valentine card to them: Verita Thompson and Phil the cat. Hello in there…and goodbye.
I met them both, separately, about eight years ago. They were both strong and alive, full of piss and vinegar, élan, and elegance, vitality and vigor.
Phil was a new rescue from Fairhope, Alabama; brought to New Orleans for a new lease on life. Personable and loving, mischievous and bold, honorable and agile; he soon became the king of the courtyard and a bane to small birds and rodents. Hell, I don’t need to tell you how a big gray lug of a boy tabby can win you over while he establishes his own kingdom (over you, your belongings and surroundings), stealing your heart with love full and pure.
He came to a whistle and a call of his name. He was equally at home in the neighbor’s apartments and often came home late, smelling of tobacco and a good time. The girls called him ‘Phil-boy’. The guys just called him ‘Buddy’. He was part of the pack of critters that stayed through the storm and evacuated to San Francisco and back. He’s been around, now he’s going down.
Two years ago he was diagnosed with FIV and separated from the other cats. Medication was prescribed and Phil was supervised a little more closely.
But wait. Before you might have the nerve to think that Phil was quarantined, let me again tell you how we treat our heroes. Phil still has free range of his kingdom. It was Bob and Pepper that made the adjustments. Pepper, who has been an inside feline…remains that way. Bob, who was Phil’s sidekick was promoted to shop cat and relocated to Toulouse St.
Things remained pretty much status quo until the beginning of November when Phil went into renal failure, after a week’s hospitalization, he was sent home, a shadow of his former shadow. The classic “til one day the old doctor looked at me and said: I can’t do no more for him, Jim” was applied and accepted. So it goes. Phil is now lying in the sun and fading.
Here’s the next part: what do you call a woman who was Humphrey Bogart’s mistress, had two restaurants in Los Angeles (at least one given to her by Howard Hughes), has Henry Mancini’s piano in her living room, wears Chanel suits and has the ability to use language that can make a sailor blush? You know, a little sassy broad, lunching at Galatoire’s in the day and tossing them back on her rounds in the evening? Who is it that can bring a crowd to Claire’s On Conti by the rumor of an appearance? Who is it that said that if Lauren Bacall couldn’t run her out of Hollywood, Katrina couldn’t run her out of New Orleans?
Who is it that you missed by not paying attention to legends living amongst you? Uh, that would be Ms. Verita Thompson.
Verita stands about five foot nothing (in heels); however, when she holds court, she is the center of the universe and the word HUGE doesn’t adequately suffice in application. She has a book that she authored named ‘Bogie And Me’ out of print for twenty five years and still sought after. She ran a saloon across from Antoine’s for a time and flitted between Santa Monica and here for years until…..
Question: what happens if you live long enough? Answer: you get old. The ‘O’ word. The curse of a long life is that your gears start to wear, your bearings get bushed, your oil needs changed more regularly and, although your spirit is still willing, the flesh simply cannot keep up. A mild stroke and a hard fall was enough to put a seal on Verita’s future. What had been a brave ‘fuck you’ life is now the time that the kindness of strangers becomes the reality of her existence. Confined to a wheelchair, fed through a tube and diapered, medicated, not listened to or even noticed in a facility that they mistakenly call a ‘Convalescent Home’. There is no convalescing from this one, Honey.
Last night a waitress that I know told me that she cannot stand waiting on the elderly because they break her heart and bring her to tears with how fragile that they are. Hey, listen up, we are all headed down that same road; if we live long enough.
So, I put it to you: what are you doing with these days of your life? If Verita were your age, she’d be knocking back a tequila with the likes of Gable and Gabor. If it were Phil, he’d be having you for lunch on his personal killing floor.
Well, tough guy, you can spend time on your cell phone, irons in the fire and all them business deals; but, you cannot put real value into a life if you place your dreams on call waiting. February the sixteenth is Verita’s ninetieth birthday. I’ll be at Claire’s On Conti hoisting a few and celebrating what time that we, collectively, have left on this planet. I’ll also be wishing Phil god-speed in whatever reality he may be residing in.
Question: how am I feeling? I’m blessed to be alive and awfully glad to be here. The longer that I live, the more precious my life has become, as I remind myself, often, that there are no ‘do over’ days. Here’s lookin’ at you, Kid.
phil@whereyat.net
Sunday, July 27, 2008
also Love in the French Quarter
Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
April Fool
Or
P.S. Your Cat Is Dead
People that want money from me come at me from all different directions and are all on different schedules. My bills arrive in my mailbox all on different days. Also, they are all due on different days, which has me at my checkbook three or four times a week, at the post box three or four times a week and at my mail box every day. I’m thinking ‘some kind of conspiracy’. I’m thinking that they’re trying to drive me nuts…well, it’s too late.
Do you know what happens if you check your mail, say, once a week? When you look at how much the postman has managed to cram in there you just know that there’s a late fee lurking. And forget about waiting until the last possible day to post a bill. Of course, that’s the very day that you get the next bill from the very same people. You just cannot catch a break.
The fact of the matter is, that, if all my bills came at once, my life would be easier but my brain would probably go into the ‘deer in the headlight’ zone. I shudder to think of how much money I put out every month, I really don’t want to know, not all at once at least. I do know that it is all the money I make and then some.
Talk about not catching a break; I saw a mouse that had gotten that snap across the neck in one of those ‘look! Here’s some plastic cheese!’ affairs. His little hand was still outstretched wanting and wishing for that piece of orange plastic. The perfect picture of the April Fool.
You, or rather we, April Fools know who we are. We’re the ones waiting to inhale and exhale; waiting for our agent to call; the winning daily double; our lucky day; Hell to freeze over. We’re already aware that the concepts of winning or losing are nebulous at best and we’re pretty much happy if we can cop a draw.
Are you looking for an even playing field? Do you really believe that the check is in the mail? Good times are just around the corner? There is no recession? This year will be better than last year? That there is really a Department Of Happy Endings? April Fool.
Okay, the April Fool is a little naive, the April Fool still believes in love no matter how many times they have gotten their heart broken. The April Fool believes that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and every cloud does have a silver lining. That’s why we set aside the first day of April to celebrate them (us, you, me).
All Fools Day is celebrated (if you can call it celebrating) around the world. In France they’re called Poisson d’Avril, in Scotland they’re referred to as April-gowks (cuckoos). At one time, the last week in March into the first couple of days of April was when the New Year was celebrated, the time of the vernal equinox. A lot of people were slow at hearing about the change (1582, go figure), so, those in the know decided to play tricks on them, pretending it was the New Year and generally pulling wool over they’re eyes and confusing them and stuff like that; until the day has generally degenerated into what we have now: a day dedicated to embarrassing the gullible. That’s me…the gullible.
Let’s see, who else could be called an April Fool? Let’s go down a list: do you, or have you ever, believed in organized government, The Road Home, the Army Corps of Engineers, FEMA, or the ability of someone up for election who will take the stars from the sky and put them back into your eyes?
‘See a pin and pick it up…that means all day you’ll have good luck’. “I’m looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before”. “I’m siiiiiiiiiiiingin’ in the rain!!!!!!!!!!!” Etc. etc. etc. Sound familiar?
How many times have you played that game where you’ve bought your lottery ticket and before the numbers are even drawn, you have already decided where you will spend your winnings?
Hollywood has made a lot of money on movies for and about April Fools. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, girl finds out something and they break up.
The boy goes into the Army and is shipped off to fight in an unjust war. The girl stays at home and cries. The boy gets a bullet, which stays lodged in some obscure part of his body. The girl is in an automobile crash (not her fault). The little dog gets stolen by terrorists and is being set up to be a suicide bomber. The father (did we mention the father…a retired firefighter, blind since birth) and the mother (who makes the best gol-durn tuna casserole in the world!) are worried sick and the mortgage is overdue.
The girl is forced to work on the first floor of a honky tonk saloon (she just can’t make it up the stairs) and the boy’s buddies check him out of the hospital where the male nurse has a crush on him (and him and him and him).
The boys go to the honky tonk saloon and the boy sees the girl and naturally thinks the worst and flees. The girl sees this and rushes after him (not easy with her crutches, but he’s in a wheelchair--- and here comes Fido!!!) Meanwhile….you see where this is going? Not a dry eye in the house.
Well I say that the April Fool is being maligned and castigated unjustly. Think of it this way; were it not for us there would be no other holidays! Who else would celebrate Valentines Day, Mother’s Day, Christmas…. Easter?
So, here’s your assignment: think of some cool (non aggressive) tricks for All Fool’s Day, like asking someone if they knew that the word ‘gullible’ was being taken out of dictionaries, and get ready to be fooled yourself. When a prank is pulled on you, even when you know it, fall for it and laugh like you don’t have a lick of sense. Did you know that it’s April Fool’s Day today?
Comments, questions, gossip? phil@whereyat.com
By
Phil LaMancusa
April Fool
Or
P.S. Your Cat Is Dead
People that want money from me come at me from all different directions and are all on different schedules. My bills arrive in my mailbox all on different days. Also, they are all due on different days, which has me at my checkbook three or four times a week, at the post box three or four times a week and at my mail box every day. I’m thinking ‘some kind of conspiracy’. I’m thinking that they’re trying to drive me nuts…well, it’s too late.
Do you know what happens if you check your mail, say, once a week? When you look at how much the postman has managed to cram in there you just know that there’s a late fee lurking. And forget about waiting until the last possible day to post a bill. Of course, that’s the very day that you get the next bill from the very same people. You just cannot catch a break.
The fact of the matter is, that, if all my bills came at once, my life would be easier but my brain would probably go into the ‘deer in the headlight’ zone. I shudder to think of how much money I put out every month, I really don’t want to know, not all at once at least. I do know that it is all the money I make and then some.
Talk about not catching a break; I saw a mouse that had gotten that snap across the neck in one of those ‘look! Here’s some plastic cheese!’ affairs. His little hand was still outstretched wanting and wishing for that piece of orange plastic. The perfect picture of the April Fool.
You, or rather we, April Fools know who we are. We’re the ones waiting to inhale and exhale; waiting for our agent to call; the winning daily double; our lucky day; Hell to freeze over. We’re already aware that the concepts of winning or losing are nebulous at best and we’re pretty much happy if we can cop a draw.
Are you looking for an even playing field? Do you really believe that the check is in the mail? Good times are just around the corner? There is no recession? This year will be better than last year? That there is really a Department Of Happy Endings? April Fool.
Okay, the April Fool is a little naive, the April Fool still believes in love no matter how many times they have gotten their heart broken. The April Fool believes that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and every cloud does have a silver lining. That’s why we set aside the first day of April to celebrate them (us, you, me).
All Fools Day is celebrated (if you can call it celebrating) around the world. In France they’re called Poisson d’Avril, in Scotland they’re referred to as April-gowks (cuckoos). At one time, the last week in March into the first couple of days of April was when the New Year was celebrated, the time of the vernal equinox. A lot of people were slow at hearing about the change (1582, go figure), so, those in the know decided to play tricks on them, pretending it was the New Year and generally pulling wool over they’re eyes and confusing them and stuff like that; until the day has generally degenerated into what we have now: a day dedicated to embarrassing the gullible. That’s me…the gullible.
Let’s see, who else could be called an April Fool? Let’s go down a list: do you, or have you ever, believed in organized government, The Road Home, the Army Corps of Engineers, FEMA, or the ability of someone up for election who will take the stars from the sky and put them back into your eyes?
‘See a pin and pick it up…that means all day you’ll have good luck’. “I’m looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before”. “I’m siiiiiiiiiiiingin’ in the rain!!!!!!!!!!!” Etc. etc. etc. Sound familiar?
How many times have you played that game where you’ve bought your lottery ticket and before the numbers are even drawn, you have already decided where you will spend your winnings?
Hollywood has made a lot of money on movies for and about April Fools. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, girl finds out something and they break up.
The boy goes into the Army and is shipped off to fight in an unjust war. The girl stays at home and cries. The boy gets a bullet, which stays lodged in some obscure part of his body. The girl is in an automobile crash (not her fault). The little dog gets stolen by terrorists and is being set up to be a suicide bomber. The father (did we mention the father…a retired firefighter, blind since birth) and the mother (who makes the best gol-durn tuna casserole in the world!) are worried sick and the mortgage is overdue.
The girl is forced to work on the first floor of a honky tonk saloon (she just can’t make it up the stairs) and the boy’s buddies check him out of the hospital where the male nurse has a crush on him (and him and him and him).
The boys go to the honky tonk saloon and the boy sees the girl and naturally thinks the worst and flees. The girl sees this and rushes after him (not easy with her crutches, but he’s in a wheelchair--- and here comes Fido!!!) Meanwhile….you see where this is going? Not a dry eye in the house.
Well I say that the April Fool is being maligned and castigated unjustly. Think of it this way; were it not for us there would be no other holidays! Who else would celebrate Valentines Day, Mother’s Day, Christmas…. Easter?
So, here’s your assignment: think of some cool (non aggressive) tricks for All Fool’s Day, like asking someone if they knew that the word ‘gullible’ was being taken out of dictionaries, and get ready to be fooled yourself. When a prank is pulled on you, even when you know it, fall for it and laugh like you don’t have a lick of sense. Did you know that it’s April Fool’s Day today?
Comments, questions, gossip? phil@whereyat.com
also Love in the French Quarter
Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
April Fool
Or
P.S. Your Cat Is Dead
People that want money from me come at me from all different directions and are all on different schedules. My bills arrive in my mailbox all on different days. Also, they are all due on different days, which has me at my checkbook three or four times a week, at the post box three or four times a week and at my mail box every day. I’m thinking ‘some kind of conspiracy’. I’m thinking that they’re trying to drive me nuts…well, it’s too late.
Do you know what happens if you check your mail, say, once a week? When you look at how much the postman has managed to cram in there you just know that there’s a late fee lurking. And forget about waiting until the last possible day to post a bill. Of course, that’s the very day that you get the next bill from the very same people. You just cannot catch a break.
The fact of the matter is, that, if all my bills came at once, my life would be easier but my brain would probably go into the ‘deer in the headlight’ zone. I shudder to think of how much money I put out every month, I really don’t want to know, not all at once at least. I do know that it is all the money I make and then some.
Talk about not catching a break; I saw a mouse that had gotten that snap across the neck in one of those ‘look! Here’s some plastic cheese!’ affairs. His little hand was still outstretched wanting and wishing for that piece of orange plastic. The perfect picture of the April Fool.
You, or rather we, April Fools know who we are. We’re the ones waiting to inhale and exhale; waiting for our agent to call; the winning daily double; our lucky day; Hell to freeze over. We’re already aware that the concepts of winning or losing are nebulous at best and we’re pretty much happy if we can cop a draw.
Are you looking for an even playing field? Do you really believe that the check is in the mail? Good times are just around the corner? There is no recession? This year will be better than last year? That there is really a Department Of Happy Endings? April Fool.
Okay, the April Fool is a little naive, the April Fool still believes in love no matter how many times they have gotten their heart broken. The April Fool believes that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and every cloud does have a silver lining. That’s why we set aside the first day of April to celebrate them (us, you, me).
All Fools Day is celebrated (if you can call it celebrating) around the world. In France they’re called Poisson d’Avril, in Scotland they’re referred to as April-gowks (cuckoos). At one time, the last week in March into the first couple of days of April was when the New Year was celebrated, the time of the vernal equinox. A lot of people were slow at hearing about the change (1582, go figure), so, those in the know decided to play tricks on them, pretending it was the New Year and generally pulling wool over they’re eyes and confusing them and stuff like that; until the day has generally degenerated into what we have now: a day dedicated to embarrassing the gullible. That’s me…the gullible.
Let’s see, who else could be called an April Fool? Let’s go down a list: do you, or have you ever, believed in organized government, The Road Home, the Army Corps of Engineers, FEMA, or the ability of someone up for election who will take the stars from the sky and put them back into your eyes?
‘See a pin and pick it up…that means all day you’ll have good luck’. “I’m looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before”. “I’m siiiiiiiiiiiingin’ in the rain!!!!!!!!!!!” Etc. etc. etc. Sound familiar?
How many times have you played that game where you’ve bought your lottery ticket and before the numbers are even drawn, you have already decided where you will spend your winnings?
Hollywood has made a lot of money on movies for and about April Fools. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, girl finds out something and they break up.
The boy goes into the Army and is shipped off to fight in an unjust war. The girl stays at home and cries. The boy gets a bullet, which stays lodged in some obscure part of his body. The girl is in an automobile crash (not her fault). The little dog gets stolen by terrorists and is being set up to be a suicide bomber. The father (did we mention the father…a retired firefighter, blind since birth) and the mother (who makes the best gol-durn tuna casserole in the world!) are worried sick and the mortgage is overdue.
The girl is forced to work on the first floor of a honky tonk saloon (she just can’t make it up the stairs) and the boy’s buddies check him out of the hospital where the male nurse has a crush on him (and him and him and him).
The boys go to the honky tonk saloon and the boy sees the girl and naturally thinks the worst and flees. The girl sees this and rushes after him (not easy with her crutches, but he’s in a wheelchair--- and here comes Fido!!!) Meanwhile….you see where this is going? Not a dry eye in the house.
Well I say that the April Fool is being maligned and castigated unjustly. Think of it this way; were it not for us there would be no other holidays! Who else would celebrate Valentines Day, Mother’s Day, Christmas…. Easter?
So, here’s your assignment: think of some cool (non aggressive) tricks for All Fool’s Day, like asking someone if they knew that the word ‘gullible’ was being taken out of dictionaries, and get ready to be fooled yourself. When a prank is pulled on you, even when you know it, fall for it and laugh like you don’t have a lick of sense. Did you know that it’s April Fool’s Day today?
Comments, questions, gossip? phil@whereyat.com
By
Phil LaMancusa
April Fool
Or
P.S. Your Cat Is Dead
People that want money from me come at me from all different directions and are all on different schedules. My bills arrive in my mailbox all on different days. Also, they are all due on different days, which has me at my checkbook three or four times a week, at the post box three or four times a week and at my mail box every day. I’m thinking ‘some kind of conspiracy’. I’m thinking that they’re trying to drive me nuts…well, it’s too late.
Do you know what happens if you check your mail, say, once a week? When you look at how much the postman has managed to cram in there you just know that there’s a late fee lurking. And forget about waiting until the last possible day to post a bill. Of course, that’s the very day that you get the next bill from the very same people. You just cannot catch a break.
The fact of the matter is, that, if all my bills came at once, my life would be easier but my brain would probably go into the ‘deer in the headlight’ zone. I shudder to think of how much money I put out every month, I really don’t want to know, not all at once at least. I do know that it is all the money I make and then some.
Talk about not catching a break; I saw a mouse that had gotten that snap across the neck in one of those ‘look! Here’s some plastic cheese!’ affairs. His little hand was still outstretched wanting and wishing for that piece of orange plastic. The perfect picture of the April Fool.
You, or rather we, April Fools know who we are. We’re the ones waiting to inhale and exhale; waiting for our agent to call; the winning daily double; our lucky day; Hell to freeze over. We’re already aware that the concepts of winning or losing are nebulous at best and we’re pretty much happy if we can cop a draw.
Are you looking for an even playing field? Do you really believe that the check is in the mail? Good times are just around the corner? There is no recession? This year will be better than last year? That there is really a Department Of Happy Endings? April Fool.
Okay, the April Fool is a little naive, the April Fool still believes in love no matter how many times they have gotten their heart broken. The April Fool believes that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and every cloud does have a silver lining. That’s why we set aside the first day of April to celebrate them (us, you, me).
All Fools Day is celebrated (if you can call it celebrating) around the world. In France they’re called Poisson d’Avril, in Scotland they’re referred to as April-gowks (cuckoos). At one time, the last week in March into the first couple of days of April was when the New Year was celebrated, the time of the vernal equinox. A lot of people were slow at hearing about the change (1582, go figure), so, those in the know decided to play tricks on them, pretending it was the New Year and generally pulling wool over they’re eyes and confusing them and stuff like that; until the day has generally degenerated into what we have now: a day dedicated to embarrassing the gullible. That’s me…the gullible.
Let’s see, who else could be called an April Fool? Let’s go down a list: do you, or have you ever, believed in organized government, The Road Home, the Army Corps of Engineers, FEMA, or the ability of someone up for election who will take the stars from the sky and put them back into your eyes?
‘See a pin and pick it up…that means all day you’ll have good luck’. “I’m looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before”. “I’m siiiiiiiiiiiingin’ in the rain!!!!!!!!!!!” Etc. etc. etc. Sound familiar?
How many times have you played that game where you’ve bought your lottery ticket and before the numbers are even drawn, you have already decided where you will spend your winnings?
Hollywood has made a lot of money on movies for and about April Fools. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, girl finds out something and they break up.
The boy goes into the Army and is shipped off to fight in an unjust war. The girl stays at home and cries. The boy gets a bullet, which stays lodged in some obscure part of his body. The girl is in an automobile crash (not her fault). The little dog gets stolen by terrorists and is being set up to be a suicide bomber. The father (did we mention the father…a retired firefighter, blind since birth) and the mother (who makes the best gol-durn tuna casserole in the world!) are worried sick and the mortgage is overdue.
The girl is forced to work on the first floor of a honky tonk saloon (she just can’t make it up the stairs) and the boy’s buddies check him out of the hospital where the male nurse has a crush on him (and him and him and him).
The boys go to the honky tonk saloon and the boy sees the girl and naturally thinks the worst and flees. The girl sees this and rushes after him (not easy with her crutches, but he’s in a wheelchair--- and here comes Fido!!!) Meanwhile….you see where this is going? Not a dry eye in the house.
Well I say that the April Fool is being maligned and castigated unjustly. Think of it this way; were it not for us there would be no other holidays! Who else would celebrate Valentines Day, Mother’s Day, Christmas…. Easter?
So, here’s your assignment: think of some cool (non aggressive) tricks for All Fool’s Day, like asking someone if they knew that the word ‘gullible’ was being taken out of dictionaries, and get ready to be fooled yourself. When a prank is pulled on you, even when you know it, fall for it and laugh like you don’t have a lick of sense. Did you know that it’s April Fool’s Day today?
Comments, questions, gossip? phil@whereyat.com
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