Pretty Pretty Flowers: Evidence of Adventure 1

On Wednesday during my lunch break at work, I set out in search of my real favorite flower.  My previous method for having chosen this oh so important thing in a woman's life was... dubious.  Luckily, there's a flower shop at 11th and U (short walk from my office) that I'd walked past, so it was an easily remedied problem.

It's gorgeous on the outside...

...And, they have pets! Three dogs I believe, and a cat named Lily, who was the only one awake enough to greet me.  Actually, that's pretty false. Pam was wide awake, and incredibly helpful. When I told her that I'd never chosen a favorite flower, she was appropriately aghast. So we talked about all the possibilities, and she recommended a few things. Take note ladies if you ever need to choose a flower:

1. Pick something that's in season more than a few months. Apparently this is a real hardship for very earnest young men, who can't get phone numbers without flowers that are unavailable.
2. Choose something that's economical. Another hardship. 
3. Pick a statement flower, but keep it simple. Pam seems very Zen in her flower choices- she likes to put a single lily in a vase (I like lilies), or add a bit of eucalytus. I think one of these days I'll try that, or hyacinth, since she raved about the smell.
4. Try different things. This is just good advice for life. So, I am keeping an open mind, per her sage advice. 

But, at this particular moment, I have chosen!

In the front are Pam's favorite, lilies. Calla lilies on the left, and asiatic lilies on the right. And there, in the back, are my favorites. It seems that my gut was correct, even if she's a bit illogical.
Gladiolas are just as elegant and striking as they sound. (Isn't it nice when words fit their objects?)

And so concludes adventure 1. I bought some, and they are currently sitting on my kitchen counter. Good times.

Learning what it means to miss New Orleans

I'm home. That's Maryland for any non-family or friend who happens to have stumbled across this blog. (Welcome, by the way, and please comment if you promise to play nice.) Maryland, I must say, is not New Orleans. Compounding this great misfortune is the fact that I'm finally getting all the only child moments I want, and have remembered why I always wanted siblings. Be careful what you wish for, no? And so, now that I must make my own dinners and cookies and pancakes, lets just say I've cut back on the carbs. There's no one to run down the hall and see, and as much as I love my mom I don't think she'd understand if I burst in her room after 10... Actually, I don't know how she'd feel about bursting... We're a peaceful household.

But luckily, I can see my Dukies (by definition) back at Duke. So I'm gchatting them, and saving all my mourning for Crescent City: the lack of shrimp and oyster po' boys in my life, and the crawfish etouffee I should have eaten more of. I miss the live music, and regret every night I stayed in (even though sleep and budgeting and being prepared for work seemed like good ideas at the time). I miss the new friends I made there, and the street car passengers, and the random palm trees in the middle of downtown. I even miss the weather, though I'm quite happy without the mosquitoes. I miss how adorable the musicians village is, and although I can't wax poetic about the stench of Bourbon, I do like knowing that it's there in its inferiority to Frenchman. I miss Superior Grill and Trolley Stop Cafe and a dozen other restaurants, and snowballs and getting hit on every day. I miss Magazine Street, and kitschy souvenir shops, and sitting at Audubon Riverview on a Sunday afternoon, and walking for five minutes and having sweat trickle (I liked to pretend I was getting excercise). And second only to the indomitable and loving spirit of the people, I miss how much possibility there is down there, and how everything has the potential to make a difference. I'm thinking it could be just as meaningful as my Peace Corps aspirations, only much less likely to give the parental units anxiety disorders.

So... yea. I don't just want to go back, I need to. I've contemplated "Walking to New Orleans" (a la Fats, see below) but I'll wait until I can afford less taxing transportation.



Oh, and I'm looking for a job. Maybe I can get one like that guy on Twitter who got fired?

(Resume and references available upon request)

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.