I spent my day writing and reading and watching Shoah, which is the most intense piece of art I have ever seen. That’s all I’m going to say here, except that I can’t believe I’ve never seen it, and I think it should be required viewing, period. I had plans to go to the baseball game tonight, so regardless of the mood I was in, it was time to get on the bike and head over to R.’s for a carpool to Zephyrs stadium. Continue reading
Lunch & Learn at the Royal St. Charles Hotel at 135 St. Charles
Sometimes I receive an errant mail–the Tea Party’s e-newsletter, the alumni newsletter from Cal State LA (my dad went there, and we do share a last name, I guess), and earlier this week, an invitation from the Do-WAP Agency to come down to the Royal St. Charles Hotel to learn a thing or two about their conference services. Never one to turn down a free lunch (after all, I was invited), I rode my bike down there after running some morning errands Uptown. I locked my bike to a streetcar sign, took the elevator to the third floor, and discovered instantly that I was in the wrong place. No, I don’t work for a company, no, I don’t have a business card, no, I am not planning any conventions. I got a plate of Asian coleslaw (which was neither), jambalaya, and pasta “primavera” before sitting at a table with some actual conference planning professionals as they exchanged business cards and debated where to throw their company’s Essence Fest parties. “You guys do modeling too, right? Can I get your card?” I didn’t win the raffle, got three servings of bread pudding, did a tour of the rooms, and thought that yeah, I would totally book a block of rooms here, if I ever needed to do such a thing. But they need to get some bike racks. I rode home in spittling rain without slipping on wet streetcar tracks, so I would say, all in all, that ride was a win.
Man Washing Dishes at Felipe’s on Robert & Claiborne
Today’s bike ride took me to work, and it’s going to take me home, after I finish waiting at this restaurant with this long line of little leaguers and new Tulane students here for orientation so I can grab a burrito. I never really figured out how to properly feed myself during this summer school night school class; 5:45-8:45 interrupts both my early and late night eating schedule, and that 20 minute break where students are asking me this question and that and I’m just trying to take a breath doesn’t leave me much of a chance to heat something up in the microwave and scarf it down. So here I am, another burrito on another Wednesday night. I snapped this picture while waiting in line, of a guy straining black beans and doing dishes. There’s a whole world behind my not being able to make myself dinner tonight, but it is so easy to pretend this food just dropped out of the sky and onto my plate. It didn’t.
Ken Burns at Loyola’s Nunemaker Auditorium
I love Ken Burns. Or, rather, I love his documentary films. I started watching them last summer, and they are just so good. I know the critiques: he is all nostalgia and no politics; he pretends to tell full histories, but he leaves out vital voices; he romanticizes the Confederacy, letting that reunionist Shelby Foote be the expert. The list goes on, but I am not really interested in that particular brand of cynicism when it comes to his films. Continue reading
Bacon, Basil, and Garlic Pizza and a Glass of Wine at St. Charles & MLK
I spent my morning grading, writing, laundering and cooking before it was time to bike through the haze to campus for my night class. It was one of those classes that went fine–even better than fine–where students talked to each other instead of just me and the conversation appeared to run by itself. But it was also one of those classes where there’s some real violence. That’s the flip side of teaching about race, gender, and sexuality: I have to listen to and turn into learning moments some incredibly racist, sexist, and homophobic stuff. That’s my job, and I love it–it is work worth doing, and for that I am grateful. But sometimes it gets to me in spite of how hard I am to what I talk about every day, and tonight it did, though I didn’t show it–hey, we’re learning, and I get that, and I’m genuinely glad I can create an environment where students say that stuff out loud so we can actually talk about it. But sometimes it gets to me. When that car laid on the horn as it sped past me on a street more than wide enough for the both of us, it came out, and I was pedaling through tears, saying to myself over and over again, “I belong, I belong, I belong.” Because I do, on my bike, in my body, regardless of my gender or sexuality, and so do you, and we are all here, so let’s figure out how to share this space without asking some of us to shut up and quit whining. I kept on pedaling until I got to Slice where I knew they would sell me pizza with bacon on it, red wine, and leave me alone. Riding your bike on the street is activism, people. Come out, come out, wherever you are.
Orleans Parish Criminal District Court at Tulane & Broad
I woke up this morning to gray skies and the tease of rain, so I stayed in bed with my book for a couple of hours. The rain never turned into much more than spit, so I took the bike instead of the car (phew) when it was time to head over to R.’s for her housewarming party. Continue reading
Building Being Demolished at S. Lopez & Palmyra
Today’s bike ride took me to Mid-City for much-needed iced tea with R. before joining A. and M. for margaritas (much-appreciated, in not needed). M. has a blog where she’s taking a picture of herself every day while growing out her hair. Like my sister’s blog, where she’s logged her lunch every single day for three years (and no, I don’t think she’s missed even one day), this one sounds strangely specific, something you wouldn’t check out unless you were her mom. Continue reading
Raccoon Art at the Antenna Gallery on Burgundy & Louisa
I finished up a project I’ve been working on this afternoon, so I took the rest of the day off to just play, which meant first and foremost taking the bike out for a ride to see what might happen. That little activity never fails to satisfy, and today was no exception. I headed down to the Quarter with the idle plan of shopping for a cell phone I don’t need at a Radio Shack that shouldn’t exist. I locked to the rack at the mall and walked up Canal, but I stopped at the Insectarium. I’m afraid of bugs, so I figured it was a good idea to go inside, and I’m gainfully employed for the foreseeable future, so I’ve got the $15.95–I’m still getting used to that. After petting a hissing cockroach, washing my hands furiously, and having security called to rescue the butterfly that illegally hitched a ride on me as I left the butterfly room, it was time to get back on the bike and forget about bugs. I did my loop around the Bywater and then stopped in at the Antenna Gallery on Burgundy for an event with the Lens, our local indy investigative reporting blog. The gallery was also hosting a show, “My Mom Says My Work Has Really Improved,” which featured displays of work from artists when they were children alongside their current work. I snapped this photo of an artist’s long history of working with raccoon imagery. I love people and their minds and projects–hit up the show if you have the chance. Then there was a ride to a bar to watch basketball, another bar to listen to a brass band, Cafe du Monde for late night beignets, and now I will ride home in a breeze that just might cool things off, as long as I keep pedaling. Lucky, lucky me.
Sunflowers At Baronne & Soniat
It’s hot outside. I know, I know, it’s only June and I’m already whining like a little baby, but it is so hot outside. It’s the kind of hot where you step outside and your glasses fog up and you choke a little on the thickness of it all. That’s what happened when I stepped out of the house this afternoon to head up to work. My legs were heavy, so instead of fight it, I just slowed my roll–a good general rule this time of year. I stopped at Soniat and Baronne to take a picture of the tall yellow sunflowers already in bloom. That’s the flip side of the heat, and once I get used to the heat, it’s worth it: flowers like this, for months and months and months. And they’re best seen by bike.
Poker Night in Mid-City
I spent my morning at home finishing one book and starting another, and then I got to ride my bike over to C.’s house–she just got a bicycle and wanted a little practice with a fellow bicyclist, and I was more than happy to oblige. We rode Uptown for ice cream–a terrific sacrifice on my part–and then back to her place. Then I pedaled slowly around town running errands before meeting up with R. for gelato. My life is so hard. I did some grading and some thinking and some cooking and then it was time to take the bike out to Mid-City for poker at A. and G.’s. Good lord, I love a nighttime bike ride, and Orleans Avenue, you do treat me right. I snapped this picture of my quickly diminishing stack of chips and the thankfully almost-empty bottle of grape wine with citrus spirits. I lost, but it was a most lovely evening, and Orleans awaits. Night riding in the summertime, lucky me.
What I Saw Riding My Bike Around Today 