Geaux Nads

3am on Annunication

“FUCK YOU GRAMMAAAWWW!” There was a palpable hatred, nuanced and complex, a feral stench of claustrophobia and contempt that could only be properly transmitted through flaring nostrils and clenched fists, its source a chthonic floodgate releasing dammed water, black and ancient and evil and beautiful, fountaining up through the bellows that was my friend David’s heaving diaphragm. He was braced to launch a second volley of flaming projectile umbrage when he realized that his business, quite independent of his awareness, had become a public spectacle. Even the black dudes on the corner who used to kick our asses in junior high had to shake their heads and say, “GOD-DAY-UM!”

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Don’t say hi to me

A popular complaint amongst my fellow native New Orleanians is the unfriendly attitude displayed by the most recent influx of carpetbaggers and Californicators who have adopted our fair city as their new home.  (for the sake of clarity I will refer to them from this point on as the”nouveau locals” or simply “noovies” ) 

It seems that a passing “hello’”or gesture of acknowledgement in any form is either ignored or frowned upon by these nouveau locals who apparently take offense at the Southern hospitality that is our humble heritage. 

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Do You Know How to Speak Yat Yet?

I had a gig at the Convention Center today. There have been some major overhauls to the facility since the last time I’d been  there. In Hall A there’s a huge room now between the exhibit floor and the lobby. It’s tastefully spackled with arty magnolia patterns on one wall and a bunch of weird unrelated words like “lard” and “Tchoupitoulas” on another. I’m puzzled over what these giant random words are about until I’m on the lobby side of the entrance and notice a plaque, kind of like what you’d see in a museum, that says  “Do You Know How to Speak Yat Yet?”

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