I’ve skipped the Story Time feature for three weeks. I ran out of time, not stories.
I’ve also been writing a lot about death and loss, so it’s time to lighten up after an intense weekend. Thanks for listening, y’all. Our readers are the best.
I’ve combined two short posts from 2007 one of which looks back at 2004. I’ve removed some arcane references to bring the posts up to date.
It’s time to set the Wayback Machine to 2007.
The Night I Kinda, Sorta Met The Canal Street Madam
Wed, 11 Jul 2007
How’s that for a teaser? And no, I did not frequent her bordello. Get your minds out of the gutter folks.
‘Twas the night before the 2004 Presidential Election. Dr. A and I joined a group of friends at the corner of Napoleon and Magazine to wave Kerry-Edwards signs and encourage people to vote out the dolt. We all know how that turned out.
At one point I was on the neutral ground across the street from Miss Mae’s bar. There was a tall brunette who a tabloid writer would call statuesque. I chatted with her for a few minutes about how horrible Bush was and I predicted that Kerry would win. We all know how that turned out too.
A few minutes later someone said to me: “Did you realize who you were talking to?”
“Nope. But she looked kinda familiar.”
“It was the Canal Street Madam.”
Our second story took place in my former place of business at Jackson Square.
Quarter Notes: Rainy Day Edition
Thu, 24 May 2007
It poured buckets in the Quarter yesterday. For some reason, the rain brings the weirdos out in droves, or perhaps it just drives them under the balconies seeking shelter from the deluge. Two moments in particular tickled my funny bone wherever the hell that’s located:
First, a large group of very wet and rather frantic Russian tourists entered the shop. A brassy and aggressive blond woman demanded that I sell them raincoats. We don’t sell soft goods plastic or anything remotely serviceable as rain gear. [2022 Update: We sold art tiles, pottery, and arty but not potty photographs. No rain slickers.]
After deciding that they weren’t Russian mafia types who would curb stomp me Tony Soprano style I laughed and said: “I can’t sell what I don’t have.” She looked puzzled and irate but one of her peeps looked around and started laughing as well. I told them how to swim over to Walgreen’s. Slosh slosh.
Second, some very tall joker dressed in a black suit sought shelter under the Upper Pontalba’s balcony during the downpour. I thought nothing of it until a customer informed me that he had a lizard on his nose.
I looked for myself and sure enough it was a genuine live lizard. But by the time I saw him the lizard had crawled up his face and was resting comfortably on the top of his head. I resisted the temptation to ask the Lizard Man if he’d escaped from a side show…
The 2022 last word goes to The Carpenters followed by Cracker: