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.

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.

Quickie

I'm supposed to be working, and am going to re-write an old post that was lost by the poorly formatted DukeEngage blog, so this will be short and sweet.

Time for another edition of Engagement by the Numbers:

1. Mosquito bites from Saturday night: 12.
2. Obscenities thought in effort not to scratch: 108.
   
3. Street cars run for since we've been here: 8.
4. 99 cent ATMs found: 3.
5. Places in NO that take only cash and make ATMs vital: 84.
6. Mornings my suitemates and I have overslept: 12.
7. Times we've told our DukeEngage Coordinator about: 2.
8. Number if "incident reports" filed for DukeEngage NOLA: 7.
9. Times we've gotten turned around and ended up in the 'hood: 6.
10. Sketchy old men who've catcalled us: 3-5 per day.
11. Locals who've asked my Indian fellow Engager where she's from: 1 per day.
12. Tree roaches I've run from: 6.
13. Guys who've given me their numbers (after asking for mine usually): 5.
14. Percentage of them that I've called: 0%.
15. Percentage of men who think it's okay to be a creeper on Bourbon: 87%.
    
16. Times I've sweated out my hair after attempting to curl it: daily.
17. Hilarious conversations overheard on the streetcar: 22.
    
18. Reasons to fall in love with the city: infinite.
    

(accuracy of statistics not verifiable)

More extensive reflections later.