It seems weird that I am so into New Orleans. I am the opposite of everything that makes it cool. From my clothes to my job to the food I eat. I am totally inhibited: I don’t dance, don’t sing, and don’t like to be touched too much. I am cranky and impatient. Hell, I barely even drink anymore. The fact that I am remotely comfortable in this place does not make any sense at all.
That’s probably it.
There was a piece by a guy whose name I didn’t recognize. He was talking about how he visits regularly, but would always be a tourist. I was kinda relating to that, except the next piece, by novelist Bret Lott, said it better:
“Walking the Dog with Joe” was about how he was visiting his friend, Joe, who lives in the Quarter. They were walking the dog, Zuli, before heading out to dinner. Zuli was a standard poodle and the piece was all about the attention the dog was getting in the street. This was the ending:
“Zuli, I see, in all her imperial bearing, all her presence and regal posture and beauty and carefree nobility, might as well be New Orleans herself.
And now I hurry to catch up.”
I am looking forward to going back.