LA_MERC_Spark
November 15th, 2005, 10:18 AM
I got this in an e-mail from a fellow New Oleanian. I just about sums it up.
Now for those of you that don't live in New Orleans this may not conjure up any memories of days gone by, but being a native of the city I can certainly relate to some of the feelings expressed. I really hope she comes back storng and with a better populace. People who are doers and not takers. There is a chance, however slim, that it can be a better place. The one thing I am SURE of is that it will be back. Hell.. I'm betting my families financial future on it. And once again I can stagger down the streetcar lines with a bloodied and bruised Andy and a bum in tow while slurping down a fine can of malt liquor. I can think of no better place to call home. Truly a uniqe city. :drunk2
> > I Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans
> > By Patti Nickell
> >
> >
> > Twenty five-years ago, I followed a man to New Orleans. A scant
> > year
> > later we were history and it was then that I really fell in
love.
> > With a
> > city. The Crescent City, The Big Easy, the City That Care
> > Forgot.
> >
> > Losing the boyfriend was bearable, but as I write this from my
> > sisters'
> > home in Lexington, Kentucky following forced exile after
> > Hurricane Katrina,
> > I realize that losing the city is not.
> >
> > A quarter of a century ago I took New Orleans for richer or
> > poorer, in
> > sickness and in health. Now, after weeks of watching
interminable
> > and
> > heart-wrenching images of its poverty and weakness, I choose to
> > remember the
> > richness of its spirit and robustness of its lifestyle. This is
> > what I
> > can't wait to get back to.
> >
> > Images come flooding in a kaleidoscopic fashion. The first time
I
> > saw a
> > jazz funeral, celebrating a life rather than mourning a death;
> > the first
> > time I sucked the tail of a well-seasoned crawfish; the first
> > time I heard
> > the happy tune from the Riverboat Natchez's calliope or the
> > distinctive
> > clang and clip-clop of the Roman Candy Man making his rounds in
> > his colorful
> > horse-pulled cart.
> >
> > I think back to the glamour of my first Mardi Gras Ball when I
> > had to make
> > sure that my gown reached past my ankles (carnival protocol, you
> > know) and
> > the Woodstock-like atmosphere of my first Jazz Fest (where I
> > spent the
> > entire afternoon mired in mud from a May deluge that turned the
> > Fairgrounds
> > into a quagmire.)
> >
> > I revel in memories of Breakfast at Brennan's. No egg-beaters
and
> > turkey
> > bacon here; breakfast starts off with a Brandy Milk Punch or
> > Ramos Gin Fizz
> > and ends three hours later with a flambeed bananas Foster. Those
> > memories
> > segue into ones of Friday afternoon lunch at Galatoire's, where
> > we regulars
> > show up promptly at 11:30 to make sure we get our usual tables
> > and preferred
> > waiters. You can generally still find us there as the dinner
hour
> > approaches. Thinking of dinner, I drift in my mind to Arnaud's
> > with its
> > cool, tiled floors and gently whirring ceiling fans where I can
> > always get
> > my favorite café brulot (a liquorized version of java) even on
> > sweltering
> > summer days.
> >
> > As a writer by vocation and painter by avocation, I have
> > discovered just
> > how nurturing New Orleans is to those who think (and act)
outside
> > the box.
> > A bohemian cousin of Paris's Montmartre, it continues to attract
> > those who
> > would turn up their noses at the prospect of becoming Donald
> > Trump's latest
> > apprentice, but who gladly strain their vocal chords hoping to
> > emerge
> > victorious in the "Stanley and Stella Shouting Contest" which
> > signals an end
> > to the annual Tennessee Williams Literary Festival.
> >
> > It was, in fact, Tennessee who best summed up the city's appeal
> > to
> > eccentrics when he said, "In New York, eccentrics are ignored;
in
> > Los
> > Angeles, they are arrested; in New Orleans, they are
> > celebrated."
> >
> > He was right. Just ask Evangeline the Oyster Girl or Ruthie, the
> > Duck
> > Lady. Where else but New Orleans would you find a coroner who
> > doubled as a
> > trumpet player, or a District Attorney, Harry Connick, Sr., who
> > would often
> > show up for cabaret gigs with his famous son? New Orleans' motto
> > has always
> > been: if you've got it, you might as well flaunt it.
> >
> > I can't wait to savor a muffaletta at Central Grocery Store
> > across from
> > the French Market or a piping hot beignet at Café du Monde
across
> > from
> > Jackson Square. I can't wait to rock with the Neville Brothers
> > again at
> > Tipitina's or dance the night away at Rockin' Bowl, surely the
> > only bowling
> > alley in the country that doubles as a dance hall.
> >
> > It can't be soon enough for me to belly up to the bar at the
> > Fairmont
> > (which native New Orleanians still refer to as the Roosevelt)
for
> > a Sazerac,
> > a local concoction that those who don't know any better swear is
> > made from
> > lighter fluid. Or to join the cadre of bon vivants who turn
every
> > Friday
> > afternoon into an "Obituary Cocktail Party" (that's after they
> > stumble out
> > of Galatoire's, of course.)
> >
> > Those who wonder if New Orleans will ever be the same again need
> > not
> > concern themselves. Our Grande Dame has survived Spanish, French
> > and Yankee
> > occupation, yellow fever and malaria, fires and floods, pirates
> > and
> > privateers, carpetbaggers and charlatans, Boll Weevils and
> > Formosan
> > termites, Yellow Dog Democrats and Nazi-uniformed
Republications.
> > It will
> > survive Katrina as well. In time, the Big Easy will shed its
> > unease.
> >
> > Until that day, the words of Satchmo himself, will continue to
> > resonate:
> > Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans...miss it each
> > night and day?
> >
> > Yes, I do.
> >
> > -Patti Nickell is a New Orleans-based travel writer.
Now for those of you that don't live in New Orleans this may not conjure up any memories of days gone by, but being a native of the city I can certainly relate to some of the feelings expressed. I really hope she comes back storng and with a better populace. People who are doers and not takers. There is a chance, however slim, that it can be a better place. The one thing I am SURE of is that it will be back. Hell.. I'm betting my families financial future on it. And once again I can stagger down the streetcar lines with a bloodied and bruised Andy and a bum in tow while slurping down a fine can of malt liquor. I can think of no better place to call home. Truly a uniqe city. :drunk2
> > I Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans
> > By Patti Nickell
> >
> >
> > Twenty five-years ago, I followed a man to New Orleans. A scant
> > year
> > later we were history and it was then that I really fell in
love.
> > With a
> > city. The Crescent City, The Big Easy, the City That Care
> > Forgot.
> >
> > Losing the boyfriend was bearable, but as I write this from my
> > sisters'
> > home in Lexington, Kentucky following forced exile after
> > Hurricane Katrina,
> > I realize that losing the city is not.
> >
> > A quarter of a century ago I took New Orleans for richer or
> > poorer, in
> > sickness and in health. Now, after weeks of watching
interminable
> > and
> > heart-wrenching images of its poverty and weakness, I choose to
> > remember the
> > richness of its spirit and robustness of its lifestyle. This is
> > what I
> > can't wait to get back to.
> >
> > Images come flooding in a kaleidoscopic fashion. The first time
I
> > saw a
> > jazz funeral, celebrating a life rather than mourning a death;
> > the first
> > time I sucked the tail of a well-seasoned crawfish; the first
> > time I heard
> > the happy tune from the Riverboat Natchez's calliope or the
> > distinctive
> > clang and clip-clop of the Roman Candy Man making his rounds in
> > his colorful
> > horse-pulled cart.
> >
> > I think back to the glamour of my first Mardi Gras Ball when I
> > had to make
> > sure that my gown reached past my ankles (carnival protocol, you
> > know) and
> > the Woodstock-like atmosphere of my first Jazz Fest (where I
> > spent the
> > entire afternoon mired in mud from a May deluge that turned the
> > Fairgrounds
> > into a quagmire.)
> >
> > I revel in memories of Breakfast at Brennan's. No egg-beaters
and
> > turkey
> > bacon here; breakfast starts off with a Brandy Milk Punch or
> > Ramos Gin Fizz
> > and ends three hours later with a flambeed bananas Foster. Those
> > memories
> > segue into ones of Friday afternoon lunch at Galatoire's, where
> > we regulars
> > show up promptly at 11:30 to make sure we get our usual tables
> > and preferred
> > waiters. You can generally still find us there as the dinner
hour
> > approaches. Thinking of dinner, I drift in my mind to Arnaud's
> > with its
> > cool, tiled floors and gently whirring ceiling fans where I can
> > always get
> > my favorite café brulot (a liquorized version of java) even on
> > sweltering
> > summer days.
> >
> > As a writer by vocation and painter by avocation, I have
> > discovered just
> > how nurturing New Orleans is to those who think (and act)
outside
> > the box.
> > A bohemian cousin of Paris's Montmartre, it continues to attract
> > those who
> > would turn up their noses at the prospect of becoming Donald
> > Trump's latest
> > apprentice, but who gladly strain their vocal chords hoping to
> > emerge
> > victorious in the "Stanley and Stella Shouting Contest" which
> > signals an end
> > to the annual Tennessee Williams Literary Festival.
> >
> > It was, in fact, Tennessee who best summed up the city's appeal
> > to
> > eccentrics when he said, "In New York, eccentrics are ignored;
in
> > Los
> > Angeles, they are arrested; in New Orleans, they are
> > celebrated."
> >
> > He was right. Just ask Evangeline the Oyster Girl or Ruthie, the
> > Duck
> > Lady. Where else but New Orleans would you find a coroner who
> > doubled as a
> > trumpet player, or a District Attorney, Harry Connick, Sr., who
> > would often
> > show up for cabaret gigs with his famous son? New Orleans' motto
> > has always
> > been: if you've got it, you might as well flaunt it.
> >
> > I can't wait to savor a muffaletta at Central Grocery Store
> > across from
> > the French Market or a piping hot beignet at Café du Monde
across
> > from
> > Jackson Square. I can't wait to rock with the Neville Brothers
> > again at
> > Tipitina's or dance the night away at Rockin' Bowl, surely the
> > only bowling
> > alley in the country that doubles as a dance hall.
> >
> > It can't be soon enough for me to belly up to the bar at the
> > Fairmont
> > (which native New Orleanians still refer to as the Roosevelt)
for
> > a Sazerac,
> > a local concoction that those who don't know any better swear is
> > made from
> > lighter fluid. Or to join the cadre of bon vivants who turn
every
> > Friday
> > afternoon into an "Obituary Cocktail Party" (that's after they
> > stumble out
> > of Galatoire's, of course.)
> >
> > Those who wonder if New Orleans will ever be the same again need
> > not
> > concern themselves. Our Grande Dame has survived Spanish, French
> > and Yankee
> > occupation, yellow fever and malaria, fires and floods, pirates
> > and
> > privateers, carpetbaggers and charlatans, Boll Weevils and
> > Formosan
> > termites, Yellow Dog Democrats and Nazi-uniformed
Republications.
> > It will
> > survive Katrina as well. In time, the Big Easy will shed its
> > unease.
> >
> > Until that day, the words of Satchmo himself, will continue to
> > resonate:
> > Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans...miss it each
> > night and day?
> >
> > Yes, I do.
> >
> > -Patti Nickell is a New Orleans-based travel writer.