What exactly have I been doing around here?

I have the day off today. We've managed to complete our projects, and the ever-so-kind ladies at Tipitina's decided to reward us with a very light week. Thanks much!

Pause.

I just realized I've never really explained my job to the blog-reading public.
I have been working at the Tipitina's Foundation, who's purpose is to preserve Louisiana's musical cultures through various means- we donate instruments to school kids, have music business co-ops that help local musician's get their music out there (making CD's, copyright assistance, simply checking email, etc.), sponsor workshops for school age musician's with professionals, and have internships for local college and high school students. During Katrina, the French Quarter club served as a shelter for a few residents of the city, and after the uptown club served as a center for musicians, and Tip's subsidized gigs and other much needed assistance.
Basically, as a group they rock at life in multiple ways. They also let me wear jeans to work. And the famous Tipitina's Club itself is a very good time too. Goodness all around.



My main attempt to contribute has been to flesh out on of the co-founders ideas- a summer camp for ages 4-6. We put together the lesson plans, and found instruments for them to make and books to read and dances to do and watched children's videos online and listened to really cute music. Tipitina's Tykes will hopefully go off without a hitch next week (impossible since it involves 4 year olds, I know) and Sushma and I can feel good about it having something to show for ourselves. I also did some research on grants for musicians and learned a lot about professional musicianship that will potentially be useful in the future.
Yay for my internship! And my day off to appreciate it!

Unpause.

I had started this post with the idea of making a list of things I've learned in NO. But, perhaps that would be a bit much. So, I'll leave it here, and do the nostalgic update later... After all, there are still a few days to learn something. This city is full of surprises.

Oh, and here's a fun clip of some of great acts at Tipitina's Uptown. I heart Big Sam.

It is Sunday evening yet again, and I am trying to be deep and insightful, or at least funny. But, I've been a bit tapped out since my treatise on race, or as Ryan put it "why Tim's a dirty racist". These were not my words, but I find Ryan so ridiculous sometimes, I wanted to immortalize him (if being put in my blog counts as being immortalized. Ha! Doubtful.) Anyway, nothing is coming. I don't want to write about the melancholy that's coming about leaving, or the madness that was this weekend, which pretty much leaves out everything on my mind.

Well, for memories sake, and to make my readers think I lead a fabulous life, here's a summary of the weekend: 2 jazz clubs in one night, a video involving me, a fork, and my esteemed DukeEngage colleagues, a reggae club and a trip to "Nigeria" and a day of shopping (of the window variety) and fine dining (of the within the budget variety). Oh, and beignets, breakfast for dinner and a wee bit of drama were thrown in there too. I don't want to dissect any of these experiences in detail. At least not right here, right now.

Alas, since I've started this post I suppose I should give you something worth checking out. So, here's a video of the song that's been stuck in my head for the past week or so. It's not very upbeat, (actually it's a bit needy), but I like it anyhow.


I like her voice, and her style, and think she has real talent. Go Jazmine.

So... yea. That's all for now folks, because I'm tired. Next episode will be some variation of "what I learned in New Orleans." That is, if I have any follow through with my intentions...

Re: Don't Be Sad There's Chocolate in the Room

To understand the impetus for this post, read my friend Tim's blog. Furthermore, please remember that Tim is actually a favorite of mine on the trip, and has excellent manners (see "Home Training" for the relevance of that). Take all of this as an attempt to explicate my opinions, not an attack on Timmy Neutron.

Feel free to skip to the end for the summary.

This DukeEngage experience is the first time I've spent concentrated personal time with a group of people who have the Caucasian persuasion... Contrary to the beliefs of my grade school peers, I've spent most of my life around black people (at least my personal time... school and work are a very different story). After I left private school in second grade, I never had a close white friend until college, and even still, my "favorite white girl" and I don't spend the majority of our time together. I have had romantic feelings for a white guy, but race was actually a pretty big sticking point with us, and the source of much frustration for me.
I say all this to bring me to why I feel Tim and I disagree on this subject. I think Tim can view "black culture" as an environmental product because he, as he has said, never had to deal with race until college, and even now, does not really have to ponder it on a daily basis. Furthermore, from my studies and observations, few white people even believe there is such a thing as white culture. Secretly, it's called mainstream America.

So, on the day that spawned the quote and conversation Tim reference's

"I just want to be a girl today, not a black girl, just a girl..."

we had spent a lot of group time together. I had watched Shantel (a bi-racial girl on our program who identifies as black) be photographed while stepping, listened to a rant about how Bojangles chicken was racist, and gone on a haunted and vampire tour.
(Hey, here's the post I promised about that! Small victory!) We had a very Southern sounding white middle aged tour guide pointing out what I swear was every former slave quarters in the French quarter. Apparently they have slate counter tops and floors now, with thick walls so that no one hears your music, or when you beat your slaves... Whichever. She also told us about balls held where white slave holders could meet and buy pretty quadroons to take as mistresses, and the tour ended with a more graphic and sensational telling of the story of the LaLaurie house. Although it may be a case of yellow journalism and completely overhyped, capping off the tour with a tale of horrific cruelty to slaves, and the inability of the spirits of my possible ancestors to settle after a century was really just too much for me.
So, yes, I was tired of being a black girl. I needed a breather, and wanted to dance, and from my experience, (Tim and the aforementioned favorite white girl being exceptions), most white people don't dance when they go out. I don't feel at all misquoted.


But, Tim and I differ very starkly in our views of race, and I think his blog itself actually proves my point. Tim says:

Culture as I think of it is like a collective past; memories, traditions and beliefs that influence and shape the next generation.

Although I understand the efforts to invoke our shared American past, I think we can all see that Black Americans have experienced this history differently. Significantly affecting the black experience has been slavery, and though most white people were not slaveholders, the necessity of dehumanizing those of African descent in order to continue barbaric practices for financial gain has left a legacy that I don't believe can be denied. Centuries of oppression created differing memories, traditions and beliefs. Furthermore, because of the differing ancestries and continued separation of the race, some of the more concrete hallmarks of culture- food, storytelling traditions, dance styles, hair and clothing styles, the list goes on- are also incredibly different.
Now, in our conversations, Tim has seemed very concerned about over generalizations, which I totally agree with. Not all black people are the same anymore than all white people are, and I appreciate his ability to differentiate and aversion to stereotypes. But, we both agreed that Sushma, a girl in our program who's parents were both born in India and moved here before she was born, has a different culture... or at least her parents do. I honestly see no issue in acknowledging that though life in an Indian village and Bombay are different, there is still a cohesive Indian culture, just as though Black Americans have differences in urban, suburban and rural environments, and vary socioeconomically, and simply as individuals, there is still a culture.
Tim is arguing for a larger American culture, and while there is definitely some truth to that, it's illogical to think we really all are one. If we were "one" the statistics in health, education and poverty would not be so disparate between racial groups. Furthermore, again, from Tim's own points, if there's no such thing as black culture, why would Shantel know about Yaki weave??? She is of a very mixed racial heritage, resulting in great hair that grows quite well without synthetics. And what about other things we've discussed, like "CP time" and "gov'ment names"- stereotypical yes, but brought about because there is the perception of different races (I do believe race is mostly a social construct) and therefore there are differing expected behaviors. These classification have resulted in different cultures. And you can't ignore the existence of things like "Ebonics"- a shockingly national dialect even before the advent of mass media.

I could go on for quite a while, thanks to many experiences both being "the black girl" and "not black enough", reading too much Michael Eric Dyson, and being a AAAS minor. But a dissertation here would be silly and I don't want to accidentally talk myself out of my depth.

Summary: While I appreciate Tim's viewpoint, I think he's wrong. But, I don't think it's his fault. He's not been confronted with these issues for a lifetime and therefore wouldn't realize that he provided a lot of evidence for my point. Color-blindness, which is what I would say Tim is arguing for, is a beautiful idea, but simply not realistic in the near future.




Heart TimTim though!


As proof, I've included a picture of a moment of merriment. (see right)

Home Training

A list of things I wish people agreed with me on:

1. Please and thank you really are the magic words.
   
2. Unless they're wide open, I like to knock on suite doors and expect others to do the same.
   
3. I like to speak to people, and get made fun of for checking in all the time, but asking "how was your day?" is second nature to me. Besides the fact that it's polite and kind, it's the quickest way to find out interesting things about a person. You learn if people are pessimists or optimists, what they find important, or at least they're short term-memory capacity if you consistently ask this simple question and wait for the answer. And it's much more natural (at least to me) than contrived getting to know you questions about family background.
   
4. Hand in hand with the importance of speaking to people is listening and acknowledging that I've heard someone rather than ignoring them. Just because I don't feel as though something applies directly to me, or do not usually have conversation with someone, doesn't mean I get to invalidate what they're saying by pretending I cannot hear it when they are a few feet away and project and enunciate well.
   
5. If I am cooking in my suite, it's not required, but is definitely kind, to ask if anyone wants some. In my world, breakfast is not made and given to neighbors before the people in the room have a chance at the french toast.
6. Along those lines, if taking food that I have not had a hand in preparing, paying for, etc., I try and show gratitude. At the very least by saying hello to everyone who may have had a hand in the purchase and prep (i.e. the people in the suite). A thank you to the cook is also nice. Taking cookies without a hello and walking out is not nice.
   
7. I've always thought gossiping about one's friends was impolite. Or one's something other than friends for that matter.
8. Hypocrisy in general is unkind.
   
9. Carrying on a conversation as though others are not in the room and using pronouns so they don't understand exactly what's happening makes the anti-Sam's-ideal-manners list as well.
   
10. Talking through television and movies because they are not important to you is also not the most considerate thing.
11. Everyone should clean their own hair from the shower drain and take responsibility for their mess in general. Beyond manners, this keeps us from living in a collective pig sty since we have not paid for a cleaning crew.

I'm sure I could offer more explanation as to the source of this list, but that may lead me into some impolite territory of my own. So, I'll let it stand.

Have a nice day.

"I'm votin' for Obama 'cause homie is malleable"

For the past two days, I've come home from work covered in soot. I get stares walking down Canal and on the street car. One young man was undeterred by the "Whatever you're selling I'm not buying" expression on my face, and tried politely but persistently to get my phone number, but I think most people were a bit deterred by the Cinderalla-esque smudges on my face (and I mean pre-fairy godmother). But despite the dirt and dirty looks, I've been quite pleased with myself.
This week I've been on fire clean up. There was some sort of electrical explosion at the office for Tipitina's French Quarter (seemingly a computer monitor) and although the fire damage was minimal, the ash blew all through the office, and there was a some water damage too. All the knick knacks, pictures and documents that accumulate in an office over a decade or say had to be taken out, assessed for damages and cleaned up if salvageable.
It was pure chance that I ended up helping out. Someone was needed to wipe down the pictures on Tuesday, and my computer wasn't working, so I was the chosen one. Inwardly, I'll admit I grumbled a bit, once I was sitting downstairs with washrags and soap and water, I remembered how peaceful cleaning can be. So, when asked if I minded helping out again the next day, I was actually happy to volunteer. The rest was dusty, sweaty history.

Besides the break from being a desk jockey (I need to avoid a 9-5 at all costs when I grow up because by 2 pm I'm always itching to go move), I had lots of time to get to know Joseph, who works downstairs, and has been something of an enigma for the past few weeks. We bonded over hard labor, and I let him bond a little extra by lifting the heavy things. Meanwhile, he told me about his childhood in Miami, and his opinions on everything from not-so-legal substances and underage drinking to politics (the quote in the title is courtesy of him). He thinks I should come back and run for mayor of New Orleans one day. Or teach. I told him we'll see.

Meanwhile, hard labor? Not so hard. Or at least it's easier to stay awake.

Story Time

Ms. Frederica and I both missed the trolley today. I wasn't willing to run for it, and she's never had much luck with that- they leave her anyway, and while she's glad to have them back (it was bad after the storm) they're just one of the many things in the city that could use an improvement. The street lights by her house are out as well. And don't tell her to vote for people who will change that, because they're all corrupt and she refuses to waste her effort on a government that won't care anyway. Her husband is always shocked when she says things like that, but it's true.
She appreciated the National Guard after the storm though. She told me about about the time she missed curfew and made a sandwich with the National Guard supplies, and it was very sanitary and some of the best ham she'd ever tasted. Her husband couldn't believe she did that, but it's true.
She also told me about visiting her family for the month she was evacuated after Katrina. She and her husband left the day before their anniversary, and she stayed in the country, and played with her relatives' children, and missed home intensely. She never ate any more than the kids did, and helped them do all their chores even getting eggs from the chickens. She wouldn't milk cows though- she's a city girl and they "don't have no cows in the city." Her husband told her to rest herself, and couldn't believe she could ride bikes with the young'ns all day, but she did, it's true.
I also learned about her food preferences, and her philosophy in relation to her sugar diabetes along with her husband's reaction to it all. Seems like he spends a lot of time in disbelief.
Ms. Frederica talked me from Canal to Constantinople on the St. Charles street car route (no small feat I must say) and would have kept going had it not been her stop. I came home overwhelmed and overloaded, but amazed at her conversational skills, and somehow feeling privileged to have spoken with her (though granted, my speech was mostly just mmhmm and yes ma'am).

But more than that, what amazed me is that Ms. Frederica is not at all unusual. She is one of many incredibly friendly souls in an incredibly friendly city. New Orleanians seem ready to share their life stories with you at a moment's notice, and all I've ever had to do was smile sincerely and nod at the right times.
I've never felt unwelcome here, even when our rainbow coalition of DukeEngagers took a trip to a part of Washington Avenue where such diversity is uncommon. As we ate our first po' boys on the sidewalk next to a dumpster, we got a few incredulous looks (especially since 11 of us piled out of the mini van) but only one question: were we college students? Our affirmatives were enough explanation for them, and from then on, I've felt welcome, even wanted here.
So, I'm glad I hid my exhaustion and heard Ms. Frederica's. I suppose the least I can do when I've been riding the welcome wagon is listen to one of the conductor's (extensive) stories.

Even still, I need a nap.

Kanye Mosquitos: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

This is not going to be a very substantial post, I'm warning you now:

I just want to announce to the world, that New Orleans mosquitoes are no joke. In fact, they're very unfunny. They're aggressive and mean and, on top of it all, sneaky. After a single Saturday evening at an outdoor jam session I had twelve, (I counted) bites covering my legs, ankles, feet and arms. Granted, we were dancing on the grass and may have been disturbing their habitat. But they can fly, and could have moved. Twelve bites on one host just seems a bit vindictive to me.

There is also a great deal of standing water in the Upper Ninth Ward, where we were, and they could have bred elsewhere. We, however, could not really have visited many other places in the area, which isn't much a tourist spot. So, they clearly weren't paying fair.

They also weren't playing fair last night, when they ate me alive during our vampire and ghost tour, which ended up being more informative about slaves in early New Orleans than any ghosts. Apparently, slave quarters are now outfitted with slate counter tops and floors, and are well insulated so that one's music can be turned as loud as the mood calls for. And, while I'm absorbing this information from our very blond, very middle aged and southern tour guide, the little buggers managed get me five times.

In short, the mosquitoes are not nice. And, since the current refrain in my head is "itch itch, don't scratch", I chose to ignore all other experiences for this post. Please reference other blogs for more details on the wine bar and how I felt about the "ghost" tour.

"Let's just move here and work in a snowball shop..."

A friend and I were sitting around last night (or this morning, depending on how you look at it) discussing how time was flying by. I can't really say that this experience has gone by fast, because it feels like we've been here forever, but at the same time, it seems to suddenly be ending. So, we'd been having a day of premature nostalgia, over snowballs.

Pause for an explanation of the glory that is a snowball: imagine childhood, dipped in sunshine and sprinkled with deliciousness, and you've got an idea. More specifically though, they're something like a snowcone, but with smoother ice, and Ms. Norma, the owner of Queen of the Ball, will stuff hers with ice cream. She's ridiculous flavors, like wedding cake and Georgia peach, and the shop's decor only adds to the charm. I'm sad we never got around to trying one of these before today, but I'm sure my waistline thanks me. I'll have to go back and visit Ms. Norma again though.

Queen of the Ball Snowball Stand

I've digressed completely off topic. Originally I was going to write about how much I'm going to miss this place, and Candace and my plans to move here and skip the whole college degree thing. But, there are dozens of reasons that won't work, and premature nostalgia is a bit sappier than I'm into at the moment. So, for now, I'll just focus on finding another day to get a snowball...

Regulars

I work in downtown New Orleans, and take the streetcar to work from uptown every day. Several of the streetcar drivers know where my stop is at this point, since I'm riding almost daily and usually multiple times. (And I suppose that the Indian co-worker I'm with stands out around here...) There are also fellow commuters that I've gotten used to seeing: the woman who hates to share her seat, a man who lives near Loyola and wears a very familiar cologne, and others.

Then there are the regulars I wish I wouldn't see. Perhaps it's because I've never spent this much concentrated time in a city before, or maybe it's affects of Katrina, or the fact that New Orleans' socioeconomic groups are all mixed up... But it seems like I've never been confronted with so many homeless people. Walking to the elementary school where I tutor in Durham, I'd often see a few of the same men. However, those two or three just never seemed as bad off as people here. I know I'm speaking from middle class privilege, because to not have a home is bad off regardless, but there's a different level of poverty when sanity comes into question.

There's a homeless man I see most days who wears an orange wool hat and is bundled up in the New Orleans heat of June. He has plastic bags filling his motorized wheelchair and hanging over the side. And when he talks to us, its so hard to understand. And we've met others- a man who seemed to be high on something other than life, as he jazzercised his way down the street and on to the trolley, men by the street car stops and on sidewalks, women who wreak of liquor.

All this is in the middle of a thriving down town, and in contrast to the beautiful garden district where we're staying... It's a lot to reconcile. This city seems to expose the best and worst of America, all boiled down and intensified. The poverty, and the racial issues (another post entirely) are all right next to this amazing culture and incredible accomplishments and wealth. I'm still enamored with the city, but like any complicated loved one, the ugly parts have to be acknowledged along with the beauty.

I must say, NO's got extremes of both.

A Reminder Not to Judge Books (Or Wine Bars Apparently) by Covers

Saturday night we went to a wine bar called "Bacchanal". I'd met someone in the band the night before and been invited, and in the interest of safety, community building and good taste decided to invite the rest of the group to come with. A few agreed, adventures ensued, as they usually seem to around here.
Since some of us were making it the beginning of our night and others were making it a midway point, we decided to go in a couple of groups. The group I was in had no car, and decided to look up directions and find a friend to drop us off. According to Google maps, the place was in an area we'd never been before, and our driver expressed a bit of shock that we were headed toward the ninth ward, but what's Duke Engage without a bit of engagement right? So, we put on grown up clothes wrote down directions and piled in the car.
Per usual, Lil Wayne was blasting in the car (not a fan of that Mrs. Officer song by the way... What is Bobby Valentino thinking???) and, sitting in the back seat, I was too caught up in the madness of the lyrics to notice our driver's growing concern. I did notice, however, that we were not in the garden district anymore, and the further we drove, the less familiar and tree lined things looked. We finally pulled up to a run down building with the right address, but a completely different feel than what had been on the website. It took some convincing of the group mom, but we ventured on, past the faded brick and a few hipsters (or maybe hippies? the terms blend for me).
What we found inside was definitely worth the journey and the mosquito bites that would come. Chuck Perkins, a poet I now heart, emceed and the Voices of the Big Easy were playing. We got our first exposure to Mardi Gras Indians and I for one will be looking forward to their CD (yes, I may actually pay for music... Gotta support the locals.) We met the New Orleans fire chief, and various movers and shakers, and got a shout out from Chuck, and even did a little open mic improvisation. Good times all around.
What impressed me most was how open everyone was to us. Part of that may have been due to the hospitality of the musician that invited us in introducing us to so many people. But, I was really impressed that, although this was clearly a local place, no one seemed to resent our appearance, as touristy over eager college student as we were. That's quickly become one of my favorite things about the city- everyone is ready to be your friend.
So, lesson of the weekend- always open the book, even if it looks a little beat up.