Quarter Notes

Tue, 31 Jan 2006 21:35:20

It’s a gorgeous day here in Topsy Turvy Town. I’m at my part-time gig at the Pontalba building in the Quarter listening to Brian Setzer and nibbling on some Zapp’s. I have two amusing anecdotes; holy crap I’m sounding like the Reader’s Fricking Digest today. Next thing you know I’ll rename the blog Life In Dis United States. Dat will not do at all…
Quarter Note-1 Smells Like Katrina Spirit: This morning a guy walked in the tile shop and apologized repeatedly for smelling like E’au de Katrina. It turns out that he’s the EPA’s man in charge of the Gentilly dump. He’s the guy who makes sure that the fridges are disposed of properly. He told me that no matter how much he washes his clothes they smell like the contents of the Scad Grad’s fridge. Well I added that bit of local color. You locals know what I’m talkin’ about.
After stinking up the shop the Rubbish Poohbah spent $380 on presents for his kith and kin. He plans to burn his clothes if this job ever ends. I told him to be sure that he took them off first.
The Rubbish Poohbah had an excellent if somewhat offbeat idea. He thinks that the city ought to preserve a square block of the Lower Ninth Ward as is to make sure that we *never* forget what happened there last year. He went on to say that we should build a museum on the next block and erect some sort of obelisk in honor of those who died in the storm. I doubt that the COC types would go for such a thing but I like the idea for its quirkiness and audacity. Quirky is my middle name y’all.
Quarter Note-2  “Crime” On St. Peter Street: I toddled over to the A & P on Royal Street a few minutes ago in a vain quest for a Hubig’s Pie which is probably better for the old waistline. I have some extra post-K weight to drop after all.
Anyway the Louisiana State Police is operating out of the Cabildo; part of the state museum and one of the oldest buildings in New Orleans. There was a crowd of state cops on the sidewalk supervising a man in a Hooters T-shirt who was <drum roll> breaking into a police cruiser. Somebody had locked the keys in the car. I started laughing like a hyena. The Sergeant in charge of the scene told me: “If this guy doesn’t break the window we may let him skate.” Roller not ice presumably.
When I passed again after my futile sweet potato pie quest I heard applause: Mr Hooters had done the deed. I told him that I knew a good lawyer if he needed one.  But the cops let the skel walk.
That’s life in the big city; well not quite as big as it used to be…


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