View current page
...more recent posts
Red Awakening 1.14.98
We were all lined up this morning across the street at 4a.m. under the overhangs of the five shotgun doubles, and a steady rain was coming down as I tried to hold my styro-foam dixie cup steady so that Vanessa could pour me a shot of Seagrams. Mama D leaned over and said, "I guess you won't be going to work this morning."
"I was just thinking about that, Mama D."
"No, you should stay home, maybe take care of some business."
"Maybe you're right," I said.
Mandy said, "Mama D could write you a note."
And the fire has now broken through the roof of what was known as Esnard Villa in those few years preceding the Civil War, and is now the headache and heartache of Y.
Her three young boys have been staying with their father so they did not have to jump out the second story window as did Y, and her friend, Chilly. Chill seemed okay but I think Y busted something in her feet pretty bad.
And now here I sit in the undamaged LeBlanc House, as close as six feet away from the remains of Esnard Villa, and I cannot for the life of me fathom what sort of business it is I should take care of. "What do I do now," I could ask Mama D, if she hasn't yet left for the casino.
Crackhead, 1.26.98
S say when I grow up Ima be a cop killer
S say when I grow up Ima be a crackhead cop killer
S say his mama out of jail, staying with his daddy.
S say she back on that rock.
A child named Chris was acting disrespectfully in Miss Amanda's Free School For The Soon To Be Criminally Insane today so she threw him out. I couldn't resist a small act of terror so I followed him out and told him he could come back in the future but that he must not fuck around in this house. He responded by telling me I was using violent language and I said, that's correct, do you understand it? When he nodded, I shut the door. Shelton, who was taking a break from pasting pictures of red and white blood cells on a piece of poster board said, while looking out the window, "You made him cry, Mr. Jim."
"Good," I said.
Sunday, me and the boys, Shelton, Fermin, Eric, and Glynn, were out at Boy Scout Island in City Park and later Sunday I read in the paper that on Saturday someone had wrapped a newborn baby in a trash bag and placed it under the back tire of a Minivan parked in the mud lot at Boy Scout Island. The baby made enough noise to be discovered before being squashed into the mud, and will "live."
After Boy Scout Island, we cruise to the river but the piece of land we usually play on is beneath five feet of water, river's up, and so we hang around for awhile and watch all the well-behaved suburban gutter punks. Check out those bell-bottoms. While I was waiting for the boys to return from somewhere they had disappeared to, I listened on the radio to this rap song by Tupac Shakur that kept asking the question does heaven have a ghetto? It was four years ago that I first wrote this and although I have never heard the song again, that question has become for me one of great spiritual significance.
I seem to be spending the whole day with these little jokers because now we are on our way to the dollar movies and Shelton, Eric, and Glynn are singing made up songs that make fun of Fermin's hands, the palms of which are covered with hard, scaly, cracked callouses. I sigh deeply several times and wonder if these children can ever stop being petty, hateful, and evil to each other. Just one Sunday. And then I threaten them with death, or worse than that, returning to Dumaine and they obediently shut up.
We get to the show a little early so I give the movie listings to the boys and tell them to decide on the movies they want to see. Glynn says, "I'm going to the movie Mr. Jim is going to." I say, "Okay, but if you go with me you can't talk, you can't act goofy, you can't make jokes, and you can't leave your seat more than once." Shelton chimes in with, "That's right," and Glynn pauses to consider the value of the father figure versus having real fun, and says, "Forget that."
I saw Alien Resurrection, thought it sucked, and the boys saw Home Alone III, and seemed to have enjoyed it immensely. Glynn and Fermin returned to the car first and were telling the best part of the movie, how this kid had a gun and stuff, and also that Shelton was cutting up and cursing at some girls through the whole movie.
"I am not sure that surprises me," I say.
"Why?" Glynn says.
"Because ya'll always act bad when I bring you here."
"No we don't," Glynn says.
"How about the time you laughed at that retarded kid."
"Yeah, but then you said if I couldn't keep from laughing to just walk away and that's what I did, I walked away."
"No," I say, "that was the week after you laughed at the retarded kid and we came back here and there was a whole group of retarded children you wanted to laugh at."
"But I walked away," Glynn says.
"You were laughing as you walked away."
"But I walked away."
And then Shelton and Eric show up and Glynn reminds me that Shelton was cussing in the theater and Shelton says, "I most certainly did, I most certainly did do that."
On the way home I yell at them all again for good measure, and, as they frequently do on the return to Dumaine reality, they all curled up into little balls and fell asleep, or pretended to.
Wake Up And Smell The Phlegm 1.27.98
There come those times in a man's life when the everyday pressures build to a point where the release of a little back pressure is inevitable. A man in the company of friends will be forgiven these small transgressions, perhaps a pat on the back with some kindly advice. Like--hey man, you need to get laid.
As a follow up to making a kid cry yesterday, today I verbally abused an indigent person.
I was over to Sam's place (the Magnolia #2) at Broad and Esplanade this morning at 6 a.m. to get a pack of cigarettes and as I pulled into a parking space by the front door I noticed this white bum sitting on the curb with his legs stretched into the parking space. I turned off my lights so as not to blind the old man and stopped halfway into the slot so I wouldn't run over his legs. Hey, live and let live, right? As I got out of the car, the bum raised his head and in some language similar to American English, growled a deep and phlegmy request. Considering the cold blowing wind, there was an unnatural stillness to the morning. I responded to this bum with more voice than I would have thought possible at this early hour, by saying--"Hey man, don't fuck with me," with a particularly harsh emphasis on the F word. I then walked in and greeted Sam, who was behind the counter. He was more than a little solicitous, and with pantomimes seemed to be asking me did I want him to go out and cap the no good scum who upset me this early in the morning. Sam is from Lebanon, and being so reminds me of the paternal grandfather I never met who also came from that country at the very end of the nineteenth century or the very beginning of the twentieth century and, like Sam, ran a grocery store, but in Austin, Texas, rather than New Orleans. Also, Sam's 21st century New Orleans requires that he keep a 9mm holstered to his hip, which, with the proper papers, is legal here. I pantomimed back to Sam (I guess I had used up all the really choice words already) to the effect, no Sam, let the bum live. "Have a nice day, Jim," Sam said, and I left the store. As I'm getting into the car one of Sam's unofficial employees is explaining to the bum about cause and effect, policemen and jail. The bum shrugs, as if to say--three squares and a bed, please don't throw me into that briar patch.
Thirty minutes later I'm on a refrigerated 24 foot ladder with another to my left and another to my right. This way if someone is down there to move my ladders I can just step sideways around the house without climbing up and down. The wind is kicking so fierce that the ladder to my left starts screeching against the brick, moving towards me. The ladder to my right is making the same noise, moving away from me. My fingertips are bloody and throbbing from the caulking I have done over the last two days. Mortar and brick dust broken free by the scratching ladder has found its way into my eyes. The hair under my hat is blowing wildly across my face and reciprocating strands of it are also sawing against my browns, which were already tearing up from the mortar bits scratching their way across my retina. Boss man comes around the corner, and with what vision I have left I can tell he is looking up at me. Careful Boss man, be very careful. I am fully loaded with the F word and I'm not afraid to use it. He said, "Jim, I got a hooded jacket in the van if you want to use it."
That was a close one.