Act III: New Orleans, BFF's wedding, May 13 and thereabouts
Drinks on Friday at a yuppie bar, drank something called "DW Lemonade" mixed by a very cute dreadlocked bartender/mixologist. The lemonade disguises the vodka content. Dangerous stuff. The bar, now called "Bridge Lounge" is full of smug yuppies who like all those "something-tini" drinks. I used to go there when it was a filthy punk-rock venue called the "RC Bridge Lounge" with cheap PBR, wooden pallets on the bathroom floor so you didn't have to stand IN the 3" of water that inevitably backed up, and there were mattresses tied to the poles so no-one smacked into a metal pole while slam-dancing. I saw Helmet there once. JEebus, they were loud. Frankly I prefer the goombah punk rockers to the smug yuppie fuckheads. Go figure.
Saturday: the poet met the parents. Went well, I think. Bought a steam iron at Target (everybody in Metairie was in the Target parking lot that day), delivered it to the bride for wedding-dress-steaming to a hotel at the foot of Canal (everybody in Orleans Parish was circling Canal Place that day), then primping, changing, polishing, powdering, adorning, etc., GORGEOUS wedding & reception, terrace view of the river, sunset, fireworks, yummy cake, loverly. Sweet groom, happy bride, it's all good. Plus the poet looked all cute in his new jacket.
Sunday: Mothers Day, lunch, gifts, etc. then drove back home.
Fortunately there was no flying or turbulence involved.
Didn't take the poet on a "disaster tour" but he saw plenty while we were driving all around. It's still grim down there, except for pockets of activity. I hope the universe sees fit to spare New Orleans another storm this year. I can't get over how much so many people have aged in 9 months, how many marriages gone south, how many deaths of older people - not techically "storm-related" but truly: Storm Related.
Trumpism and race. The new identity politics.
6 hours ago