Nov. 18th, 2012

iridium: (top-hat)
I wasn't really expecting to have the day off tomorrow, but it worked out in the end. So very excited about sleeping in past 6:30 am! So, if I've got the day off tomorrow, that means tonight was my evening to go out and do a thing; it was a ~13 hour workday and exhausting, but Sarah texted asking if I wanted to go out to a show. (With homemade dinner first! Perfect. Otherwise I may well have eaten leftovers and passed out at home at 8pm.) It's Nola Fringe Festival this week, and sadly I missed one of the shows I'd wanted to see, but this one turned out to be fantastic: Fringe, Fishnets, Feathers, and Felt: The Hurricane Party. You know it's a good show when you come home with your cheeks sore from grinning and laughing. As advertised, there were indeed Puppets! Dancing Girls! Live Jazz! Comedy! and Meschiya Lake! Also, it had probably the most charming palmetto bugs (i.e. giant cockroaches) I've seen -- I much prefer palmetto bugs when they are actually dancing girls in iridescent brown-gold lamé costumes, and then when they're not only dancing girls but also the stagehands. Take note, New Orleans: please have all the insects that invade my rooms turn out to be mischievous dancing girls in shiny costumes.
There were also charming swing-dancing Jailbirds in stripy crow costumes, Caroline Fourmy (being much more vaudeville-hilarious than in the bits behind that link, which are her + her jazz band) and the Camel Toe Lady Steppers. I do love this town.

Two nights ago, at the food-truck shindig atop the deserted strip mall, there was another 80s-vintage wood-paneled station wagon in the parking lot, and I was all excited because I've seen all of maybe 1 or 2 others in all of New Orleans. Today, there was another (different, and maybe even 70s-era given the profile and color scheme) wagon parked up on Carrollton, near where I live.

Also, while driving home, a song / spoken-word piece came on the radio (on WWOZ, of course) that I have only heard in two places: played live by a band called Stark Raving Chandler in a tiny bar in Charleston on a poetry slam night, once; and on the CD that I bought from them that evening...oh, what, 15 years ago? Something like that. A strange experience, to be driving (in a slightly-older version of the wagon I was driving back then, also coincidentally) and have Chris Chandler suddenly come on the radio with a meandering piece about history and truth and time, following someone doing a cover of Leonard Cohen's "Everybody Knows".

Tomorrow's the po'boy festival (there is always some kind of festival here; often several at once), and it's conveniently just down the street from my house. If I'm up early enough to dodge the crowds, I'll wander down there. I heard rumor of a shrimp remoulade po'boy, and various other rare po'boy sandwich creations. (Also, daylight! I could be outdoors in it! Amazing.)

So, first, sleep. Lots to get done tomorrow (sadly, much more than "eating po'boys in the sun").

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