the more things change...

just before this year's super bowl, new orleans elected a new mayor.  he won 66% of the vote in a field of over 5 other candidates.  his closest competitor received only 14% of the vote.  no doubt he was the people's choice in a crowded field where elections usually drag on for successive rounds of primaries and runoffs.

in contrast, several seasoned politicians and a couple of political newcomers (but not new runners) rushed to the open Louisiana State House District 93 Seat a few months ago.  James Perry and Helena Moreno rose to the top of a wide field of candidates and will duke it out in next week's runoff.  now that the stakes are high, the kid gloves have come off and both candidates are going for the jugular, exposing the relative faults of their opponent. 

the gambit, nola's local weekly paper (the smart and reliable alternative to the time-pic) recently posted it's endorsement in the District 93 race. 

Voters in House District 93 will choose a new state representative on Saturday, May 29. The district contains the economic nerve center of Louisiana — most of the French Quarter, all of the CBD and Warehouse District, the port, the Morial Convention Center, the Louisiana Superdome and New Orleans Arena, the new LSU/VA hospital project, and the mainstays of the city’s tourism and restaurant industries.

The two remaining candidates are housing advocate James Perry and former newscaster Helena Moreno. In their runoff campaigns, the candidates have brought forth disturbing accusations against one another, and recent revelations about both cause us to take no position in this race. That this race has come down to two seriously flawed candidates is a shame, considering the economic importance of this district. 

more of the same.

fun time in the city

a new mayor.



saints win the super bowl.



mardi gras time!



formulating any coherent thoughts other than where my next drink is coming from is pretty much impossible.

see ya'll on the other side.

who dat said dey gon exploit them saints?

so my new city is all abuzz wit saints hysteria. 

there are at least 50 tribute songs and more being cranked out and over the airwaves every day.

lawyers are getting continuances based on the big game for cases that are set to roll an entire week before the super bowl. 

kinda awesome right?  can i get one of those please judge?  hat tip to abovethelaw. 

and even the NFL is jumping on the proverbial bandwagon of the saints' success.

the NFL is now claiming ownership of "who dat".  really NFL?!?  really!  you own the who dat?

chile boo.

what's interesting is that during last sunday's thrilling game, i wiki'ed "who dat" just for kicks and was surprised at what i found:

The chant of "Who Dat?" originated in minstrel shows and vaudeville acts of the late 1800s and early 1900s, and was then taken up by jazz and big band performers in the 1920s and 30s.

The first reference to "Who Dat?" can be found in the 19th Century. A featured song in E.E. Rice's "Summer Nights" is the song "Who Dat Say Chicken In dis Crowd", with lyrics by poet Paul Laurence Dunbar. A common tag line in the days of Negro minstrel shows was: "Who dat?" answered by "Who dat say who dat?" Many different blackfaced gags played off that opening.

hmmmm.... and then, as to the use of "who dat" during sporting events:

It has been debated exactly where it started, but some claim it began with Southern University fans either in the late 1960s or early 1970s and went "Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Jags" - Southern University being nicknamed the Jaguars. Another claim is that around the same time it began at St. Augustine High School, a historically African-American all boys Catholic high school in New Orleans, and then spread to the New Orleans Public Schools. Another claim is that the cheer originated at Patterson High School in Patterson, Louisiana (home of Saints running back Dalton Hilliard).  In the late 70's fans at Louisiana State University picked up on the cheer. By 1983, the New Orleans Saints organization officially adopted it during the tenure of coach Bum Phillips, and Aaron Neville (along with local musicians Sal and Steve Monistere and Carlo Nuccio) recorded a version of "When the Saints Go Marching In" that incorporated the chant (performed by a group of Saints players) that became a major local hit, due in part to the support of sportscaster Ron Swoboda and the fact that Saints fans had been using the chant already.

how bout that!

yet the NFL is sending cease and desist letters to local apparel shops in town who use "who dat" on their clothing.

"According to NFL spokesman Dan Masonson, "Any unauthorized use of the Saints colors and other [marks] designed to create the illusion of an affiliation with the Saints is equally a violation of the Saints trademark rights because it allows a third party to 'free ride' by profiting from confusion of the team's fans, who want to show support for the Saints."

why the NFL wanna be cracking down on these mom and pop shops?  why stop there?  why not stop the chants in the superdome? and why now when the saints are winning and on their way to the big dance?  shady antics indeed.

video of the week

so you think you can dance "discovers" nola bounce.



enjoy!

Heard it Through the Grapevine

So one of the things that we ladies here at the 5spot planned to do during our vacation down in New Orleans was to work on a house through Habitat for Humanity. This activity became more exciting to me than the fact that we were going to the Essence Festival that Friday night-and as a chick who wasn’t a Beyonce fan I have been converted, that chick is a master performer! Anyways, when I told a coworker that I was going to New Orleans-so good luck with all the mounting projects that were being assigned to us-she asked me what I was going to do. I proudly told her that I was going to help build a house. Well I can’t tell you how pretty my halo and wings looked reflecting through her eyes. I must say Angelic Amaretto is quite a beautiful sight to see.

Okay so cut to last Wednesday when I came back into the office tired and tanner and the one coworker I told has since told other random coworkers about what I planned to do on my vacation. There I was sitting at my desk, catching up on emails and fighting fatigue when Old Man Pseudo Boss came over talking about glad you’re back Amaretto, how was building houses. Um what? Houses? Do I look like I work for Centex Homes, I was only going to “help” build a house-one singular sensation. And so the fact that my coworker told OMPB didn’t really vex me because she talks to him a lot, but it was when Worrisome Willy, Fat Boy, and Trying Tanya all asked me how was my time building houses was…I got a little annoyed. Moreover, at the end of the day my coworker comes over with shock and sadness on her face to say OMPB just told her that I didn’t even build a house on my vacation! There, ladies and lone gentlemen went my halo and wings.

So what happened? Well, why we didn’t make it to the building site really isn’t important. We aren’t blaming anything on da alcohol. But I can say that it really was a perfect storm of a series of unfortunate events that lead us to site see and chill at the pool until it was time to eat.

But the moral of the story is that you can’t trust coworkers with nothing! I mean really it’s troubling that my name came up in at least 5 conversations unbeknownst to me. And worse yet, the information spread was oh so very very wrong! The whole ordeal reminded me of the corporate communication course I took in my freshmen year, I mean as a student I really didn’t care about the world of working but they did list the Grapevine as one of the major forms of communication in the workplace. Three cheers that I can remember that! And all I can say is yes and Amen! It’s amazing how somewhat true information or even bold faced lies can sound like God’s Gospel after traveling through the Grapevine. Now I’m wondering if so-and-so really slept with him and Jim to get that promotion. Or if they are going to really take all of our cubicles away and have us work at rectangular desks in an effort to be green and save money! That stuff in the office air just cain’t be trusted…ever!

Imma have to get Courvoisier to photoshop me with a hammer in hand and President Obama cheering me on in the background, talking about Yes We Can! Then Imma frame it and put in on my desk under my Marid Gras beads…let’s see what my coworkers will say about that!

See You In Seven

Gimme A Break!

It’s a cruel and usual punishment to get a person accustomed to having a break from the daily grind from June to September for nearly 22 years only to throw them into the world of working! Personally I’ve been working for what seems like a hundred years and I ain’t use to this working through the summer thang yet!

I long for jaunts to the pool, watching the sun set at 9pm, and just chilling with a glass of lemonade for no other reason other than I ain’t got nuffin better to do!

Soon I’ll be starting my 6 hour day/ 4 day work week movement ya’ll. Don’t you think people would be more productive, if they had less time to get stuff done? This working gal does!

*Sigh*

But in the mean and in between time, I’m protesting and raging against the world of working and taking a grown up vacay down in the Big Easy!

Check out Will before he got sexy and Jazzy Jeff before Hidden Beach! This song always heralds summertime to me!

See You In Seven

les bon temps rouler...

My sincere apologies folks, -- I'm in Nawlins and my state of mind isn't right. I'll be on point next week.

Have a safe and happy 4th of July!

cheers,

Bellini

P.S. I'm not sure if Minty will post --she's in court as we speak, gotta move those dockets.

mardi gras redux: top 10 greatest hits

shouts to rum punch for holdin a sista down last week. my apologies for being mia. i was in the middle of my first ever new orleans mardi gras. and folks what a mardi gras twas. this might be my new favorite holiday. good friends, good food, great drinks and non stop partying for a good week straight. loves it!

being a mardi gras newbie, i had nothing to go on but images of boobs and beads. but let me tell you the real real mardi gras is about community, family and showin love for the city. i didn't step foot in the french quarter once and that probably did the trick. i had a great time and looking forward to next year. until then, i'ma reminisce on my top 10 mardi gras moments!

10. baby king king. standing on st. charles avenue watching some of the most beautiful floats i've ever seen with little kids, grandmamas, frat boys, tourists and every other kinda person you could think of.



9. wtf!?! mr. officer. getting a wack ass parking ticket for parking in the the crosswalk. now that officer knew good in hell well that i was nowhere near the crosswalk. he musta been on his 3rd daiquiri or smokin that good good when he wrote the ticket. in any case, i ain't payin it.





8. down goes frazier! have you ever seen somebody fall and you wanted to laugh so hard but you didn't want to make them feel bad. well imagine the exact opposite of that: somebody falls and everyone within a 5 foot radius laughs. hoard. long. while pointing. and more laughing. yeah that's how it went down. this drunken hot white girl bust her ass and almost took down a judge in the process. she came over to say hello to him and tripped over her own sloppy drunk feet and proceeded to grab on to him on the way down. luckily he shook her loose and she went down on her own. good times!

7. breaking my neck(lace). there is something about free stuff that makes folks go crazy. combine free shit with a lil alcohol and that free shit being hurled threw the air and there is bound to be a disaster. during one of the numerous parades i attended (which one, i can't rightly recall) i jumped up for some beads and came down without my favorite necklace. pictured below is all that is left of it. sadness



6. red Beans and Rice. mmm good!


5. Patron Got You in the Zone. taking patron shots with a judge... nuff said.

4. Kicking the Breeze, Hangin' on St. Philip Street! Gettin' to hear my favorite mardi gras song ova and ova and ova again!

Roll with Me, Rock with Me - Rebirth Brass Band

3. All Hail Queen Zulu. I was the first person to score the most prized throw from the Krewe of Zulu, a coconut! And it was gold. snaps in a circle two times!


2. Three's Company. then i got greedy and went for more. these 3 lil guys aren't as fantastic as the golden one but they're cuter. just look at those faces!


1. Corrupting the Youth. since the 5 spot is a pg-13 site i can't give ya'll any other details than this but just know it's numero uno for a reason...

see ya next year! laissez les bons temps roule!

trouble in the water

Imagine if the place you knew as home no longer existed? The town you grew up in was wiped off the map. That church where you were baptised razed to the ground. Your high school alma mater abandoned and neglected. Pretty disturbing thoughts.

While perusing the internets, I came across this over at The Breaking Point. Lord Hannibal asked "Is New Orleans Habitable?" It is a valid question, especially since I'm chillaxin on a week-long evacucation from New Orleans due to Hurricane Gustav. He raised some interesting points to consider:

Much of New Orleans, which was all but destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, sits below sea level. While it’s debatable that the city is sinking into the Gulf of Mexico, what can’t be debated is that it’s highly vulnerable to the potentially devastating effects of hurricanes.
. . .
I appreciate that New Orleans, with its rich culture and unique history, is the literal and figurative home of some people whose roots can be traced to the migration of 1809, but at what point does reality trump sentiment?

Now since I'm a New-New Orleanian, I'd quibble with the notion that "much" of the city "was all but destroyed" by Katrina but large parts of it do indeed lie below sea level. While Katrina's devastation was widespread, especially in areas like the 9th Ward and the Lower 9th Ward, other areas only sustained minor damage, like the Garden District, Uptown, and the Westbank. Nevertheless, I fully appreciate the devastation that hurricanes can cause on coastal cities and towns.

I grew up riding out hurricanes with candles and battery operated radios in a Georgia city prone to flooding because of its low lying location along the Atlantic Ocean. We'd watch the newscast with diligence and listen as the grown folks of the family assessed whatever storm was bearing down on us based on David and Hugo. Evacuating or at least considering evacuating at the end of every summer was a part of our lives in the same way that my cousins in Brooklyn got snow days when the city experienced a particularly brutal winter storm. In elementary school, we had tornado and hurricane drills where we huddled in the hallways with our bodies pressed against the wall with faces between our knees.

But is there a point at which this "reality" will ever trump "sentiment"? People's connection to a place is more, in my estimation, than mere sentiment. A place represents culture, history and home. A home that many families have known for generations since a time when this "home" was nothing more than a brutal surrogate for a no longer knowable home-land. It would be hard to imagine an abandonment of such a place. My great-uncle who refused to leave his home when most everyone else evacuated would have waved away any talk of the uninhabitability of his home. Not the one that he had labored for years to earn by putting aside every week and sacrificing the now for the rewards of the later. No reality could trump that.

So then what is the reality? New Orleans and many of America's coastal communities sit at or below sea level. An undeniably dangerous place to be. But perhaps these places have become more dangerous over time. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, the "sea level is rising more rapidly along the U.S. coast than worldwide." Global warming may very well be contributing to the rise of sea levels and the level of danger facing cities like New Orleans. The reality is that with the level of scientific engineering skills that we have within this country, we can do more to help protect first human life and second our cultural properties through planning. Planning that slows and ultimately stops the effects of global warming on our coasts. Planning levees that will withstand the strongest categories of hurricanes. Planning that will get people out of harm's way at the threat of a hurricane.

I just can't imagine no longer visiting Saint Peter Claver Church or listening to the Rebirth Brass Band on Tuesday nights at the Maple Leaf. Sentimental maybe, but living in New Orleans is my reality and the reality of a lot of folks, something not given up lightly if at all.

What say you?

from the belly of the beast

imagine a large room, well-lit but dank, heavy with the misery of those around you. black men and women, ranging in age from the older gentleman with hair graying at his temples to the young woman with the baby dreadlocks crowning her defiant face as she glances around the room, each one seated, some slumped in mix-match plastic chairs. they are all clad in the obligatory orange jumpsuits subdivided into pairs not necessarily partners in crime or friends from around the way but temporarily shackled together, cleaved at the ankles as they await their fate (for the day).

what will be the price on their heads today? how much will their families attempt to scrap together in order to bail them out? what will freedom, even home-monitored freedom, cost today? what will the man do, as he sits in the stately, oak paneled room across town, peering through the peculiar apparatus inserting an ironic touch of technology into this rustic room that looks like the inside of an empty pool or an elementary school cafeteria. if you peer close enough and pay attention to the sheriff in green keeping watch from the back of the room, you'll learn that it used to be the place where police line-ups were conducted. this place, long forgotten after that bitch katrina laid bare the federal government's engineering inadequacies, has been revived.

welcome to bail hearings in orleans parish.

where the magistrate's only link to those whose bail he must determine is a video camera and a flat screen TV up front. a substitute for bringing the accused into the judge's actual presence, lauded for its ability to promote judicial economy and eliminate the supposed inefficiencies of having those whose lives you are so deeply impacting appear before you in real life, real time.

this is how they do it down in the big easy. how they've been doing it for years. the lady sitting at the judge's right hand calls a name. the accused stands. his charges are read. marijuana first. crime against nature. any priors? 96. armed robbery. the judge doesn't miss a best. Bail is set at 5000.

there is no space for the defense attorney to plead her client's case. no regard for the statutory bail factors. the likelihood that he'll return to court for his next appearance. and if one dares to interject, a swift rebuke is sure to follow.

once the spectacle is over, all names having been read, prices set, the men and women in orange are trotted back to their cells to await the next stop on the criminal justice train (wreck).

this image sits with me. reminds me that there are places in this country, the land of the free where every man and woman has certain inalienable rights, that this is the level of criminal (in)justice you receive. sits with me as the election churns on, candidates speak endlessly about their experience in making change, the change they hope to inspire, the change they've spent their life working for. the trail each one is trying to blaze without actually acknowledging that they are this or that, that they don't represent this or that, when we all can see that they are and that they do. no matter who becomes president shit won't change in orleans parish just because [name your favorite candidate] took office. cause these poor people aren't the middle class that so desperately needs preservin' or the rich folks who are searchin' for the tax breaks. talk to these people about the finding jobs that will pay a respectable wage from which taxes can be taken out.

who panders to these people? who sits with them and hears their stories? who truly listens and forces that judge in the little box to consider the bail factors?


who indeed....