Something that Rhymes with Nothing in Particular

My neice just turned three a week and a day ago. Tonight, her mother posted a video of my neice on Facebook. In it, the little girl proudly shows off more than just her counting skills. In a clear, childishly pitched but incredibly articulate voice, she shows with her fingers: "One plus one is two. Two plus one is three. Two plus two is four, but so is one plus three!"

And that's pretty impressive stuff for a just-turned-three year old, I think.

The first comment on the video was, "OMG! I love her crazy hair!" (My neice's hair was sort of big and voluminous from being out playing). Other comments also went on about how cute she is.

And I'm sitting here thinking, if you wanted a clearer picture of the societally-constructed obstacles that stand in the way of bright little girls and STEAM futures, it's the maddening crowd of well-meaning people who praise appearance before achievement, natural beauty over talent and accomplishments, and the skill to execute a flawless blowout over the skill to code a program, wire a light switch, invent or engineer solutions, solve equations, weld sculptures....

I didn't say anything to my sister-in-law, and I won't. She and I are very different. Sister-in-law pledged Delta Zeta in college; my little neice lives in pink and green, several states away. Obviously, her mamma is proud of her little girl's mad numeracy skills (she basically taught herself to read almost a year ago, too), enough to post them online, but I wonder how long it will be before my neice notices that she gets a better social approval return for her investment of time and effort from being pretty than by being smart? Because that day will come. It is inevitable, if it hasn't happened already. She also happens to be a very pretty child.

I worry what my neice will do with that knowledge.

The other day at work, I just happened to look out the window with enough time to glimpse an upright taxidermy alligator being moved down the street via repurposed skateboards. I have no idea from whence the 'gator came, no clue as to where its eventual destination was, but it took an entire crew of people to navigate it down the cracked and uneven sidewalks of the French Quarter. Maybe fewer people would have been required if the chosen method of conveyance had not been skateboards. The world may never know.

In most people's lives, I think, an instance such as that might have gone unnoticed. Or maybe, it's something they might have noticed, filed away as odd, and maybe even reflected on, from time to time, as a sort of “weirdness litmus test” in their lives. “Is this odder than the alligator incident?” they might ask themselves.

For me, however, weird things happen all the time. All the time. And I notice most of them. I think partially this is because, having established a history of making note of unusual things, I subconsciously keep and eye out for them now, as the notion that I may yet one day write a best-selling memoir is practically always tickling at the back of my mind. Also, I think, I'm a magnet for Odd.

One day at work last year, just before Mardi Gras, I was opening the store, and I think it was a Saturday. It was slow outside despite the time of year and the gorgeous early springtime weather, and we had WWOZ blasting away on the radio. The DJ that hour was playing a sort of “best of” compilation of some of the area's incredibly talented Brass Bands, and the music was upbeat and vivacious and made me want to dance, even at 9 in the morning. A few minutes into one particular song, I paused, and looked up at the radio, which was a weird thing to do. Why do we tend to look intently at something when we are trying to hear something better? Its not like we listen with our eyes. What I was trying to listen for, and what I ultimately discovered to be correct, was whether or not the energetic piece of music currently being played was, in fact, a wordless, brass-instrument covered version of Lady Gaga's “Bad Romance”. It so was, and it was so awesome.

But that's not the whole of this story. The tale gets better. Because I was looking up at just the right moment, I saw with my eyes something even stranger than what I heard with my ears. Together, the experience sums up so much of what I love about living in New Orleans: as I looked up, I noticed a young man ride by on his bicycle. On the sidewalk. The man was wearing a pom-pom bedecked, obviously hand-made knit cap of the gloriously ear-flapped variety that appeared very much to be of the sort that Jayne's mother might have made for him, on Firefly. The man on the bicycle was also wearing a skirt, but not just any skirt: a tattermedallion patchwork confection of gypsy-punk glory, full and voluminous and absolutely baffling as to how the gentleman in question was managing to ride a bicycle while wearing it and not getting it caught in the gears.

There's more.

Because the man in a skirt and a ridiculous knitted hat also was wearing, on his shoulder, a kitten. A tiny, meowling, white fluffball of a very young kitten, perched on the man's shoulder as if it were king of the kitten world, and wearing a small, obviously handmade harness that was attached to the man's backpack. It was just about the most oddball and adorable thing ever.

Also, both of the bike's tires were flat.

That's the French Quarter for you. But the weirdest, most wonderful, most amazing thing I have memory of is far better than either of those stories, and it happened right outside my own front door.
It was early February 2010 and I was ill. I had caught a mild strain of what was probably influenza, and had been laid up all day and the day before with the usual symptoms: fever, chills, body aches, wracking cough and absolutely no energy at all whatsoever. I was misery personified so far as I was concerned, when after a while, off in the distance, I heard a sound. It might have been a car horn, or a radio. Whatever it was, it was loud enough to catch my attention by far away enough that I couldn't discern what it was. You know how it is when you hear something you just can't place, however: you stop what you are doing, you turne your hear in the direction of the sound, you tune out everything else, and you listen. You really listen. After a few seconds, I heard the sound again. It sounded like a marching band. There is a high school not terribly far from my apartment, I though. Maybe the band is practicing for a Mardi Gras parade. Not sooner had that thought crossed my mind, than another one surfaced: the sound of the band was coming closer. Maybe it was going to march by my house!

I was feeling unwell, but liked the idea of seeing a marching band, so I threw some clothes on and headed toward my front door, where I was greeted by something awesome: there was a marching band outside my door all right, but not a high school marching band. It was a mis-match, hodge-podge band of musicians, wearing various interpretations of “band attire” from over the years: vintage drill team jackets, ancient drum major hats, etc. Those who could not scrounge up “band attire” had opted for a vintage look in general: the girls wore skirlts and hose and heels, the boys wore slacks and arm garters. It was wonderful.

And then, what followed the first band was even better: a cluster of people with R/C controllers in hand, maneuvering around the potholed street tiny radio-controlled cars, each decked out with tiny strings of battery-operated strings of LEDs. Behind the R/C cars were another group of people, each dragging behind or pushing ahead teensy, tiny floats, like regualr Mardi Gras floats shrunken down and made miniature. Some floats were on custom-built chassis, others were simply Radio Flyer wagons given new use for the occasion. The people dragging the tiny floats also had tiny throws, so that I cause a tiny string of beads and a large plastic pearl glued to a fragment of oyster shell, and my neighbor acquired a miniature King Cake.

Following the tiny floats was another band, much like the first. They disappeared down the street, and the Tiny Float Parade was over. Suffice to say, I was considerably cheered up by the experience.

“In order to lead a fascinating life–one brimming with art, music, intrigue, and romance–you must surround yourself with precisely those things.”

Haven't posted here in forever. That usually means things have been good. This time, it means they are excellent. I've fallen in love.

This Sunday, November 22nd, I'll be selling a lot of my jewelry at Pravda at seriously discounted prices. If you're local you should go and check out what myself and other local crafty people have to offer!

And, for those of you who aren't local and can't make it, I want you to be able to get in on the special value-pricing too, so here's the deal. Remember this piece?



I made a whole slew of these NOLA necklaces to sell on Sunday for $25.00- I normally sell these for $35.00. If you want one, comment on this entry before the weekend is out, give me an e-mail address to send a paypal invoice to you, and I will send your necklace to you- anywhere in the world, with free shipping. $25.00 covers the whole shebang. (ps you can also e-mail me- my contact info is on my profile page, if you don't want to make your e-mail address public)

I think my necklaces make great gifts. They're totally cute, and this design in particular is great for all you NOLA-lovers and expats out there. You know who you are. ;)

I found the exact fabric I want for my Blood and Gold ballgown.

It's $11.00 a yard.

And I need 6 yards.

Was really hoping to find something maybe half that price...?

*Sigh*

I'll buy the fabric, but only if I have a dressform by then and can promise myself that I'll do the gown up *right* so that it'll be more than just a costume and something I can wear more than once. Considering the underpinnings I'm going to need for this dress (full-length petticoat, backless halter bra, dyed-to-match shoes...) it better not cost me too many arms and legs... I've only got one of each on each side!

There are going to be some changes made in this journal in the very near future.

Upon re-reading the entirety of my LJ posts made over the years, I've come to the realization that I honestly treat it more as a real pen-and-paper journal than anything else. It's not something to be shared with random strangers, co-workers, people I've just met, family members or anyone other than very close intimate friends.

Now, some of the friends I've made here on LJ and the Internet in general are exactly that- close, and intimate, even if we've never actually met.

Time after time I've encountered problems with people who do not know me very well at all passing judgment on me because of something I've said in an entry here which was not meant to be taken in the context they interpreted it as. I've even lost some acquaintances I very much would have loved to have grown into friends, simply because I let allowed them too deep into my own weird psyche, too soon.

So I'm making some changes around here. When I first moved to New Orleans, I made a NOLA-specific journal for my friends and family back home to read. I haven't done much with it recently, but I'm in the process of taking all my NOLA-specific entries from this journal and putting them into that one, as well. lisainnola will continue to document my day-to-day life here in my new home- weird people I encounter at work, awesome things I see, strange things I eat.

If that's all you really want to know about me, you can read that journal exclusive of this one and never be bothered by my family rants, bouts of depression, or lengthy tributes to my myriad body hangups ever again.

I've tried different tags and filters and things like that, but I'm simply no good at being consistent with them. I really think that this solution is going to be better.

Also, because I no longer have Internet access in my house, all future posts, in both journals, are going to be far more edited, simply owing to the nature of having to write them out in a word-processing program on my computer and then upload them at a later date. Expect better grammar and spelling all around! Hooray!

...this is something I probably should have been doing for a long time now.

Anyway, if you chose to friend lisainnola and defriend this journal, please don't worry about offending me- I won't be. Also, after a few weeks I'm going to be culling my friends list here, too. If you find yourself removed from my jaenanda friends list and would still like to read all my deeply personal stuff, drop me a line let me know.

There's no need to friend both journals. jaenanda will chronicle my weird life in NOLA with all the same posts as contained in my other journal.

Thanks for reading.

If you haven't seen Portland artist Dylan Meconis' flickr collection of watercolor paintings of lesbian couples from her recent gallery showing (in Portland), you should definitely check them out here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/quirkybird/sets/72157616772075210/

Some are hilarious, some are kinda hot, some are really poignant, and a few manage to be all three. All are PG-13. Maybe not entirely work-safe. There's a profile view of a naked tush in one image.

And then you should check out her webcomics Bite Me! (complete) and Family Man (incomplete). Google them, they're worth it. The woman is a genius.

I was hopeful that I'd get paid for the two training days I've worked so far, since some of the businesses I've worked for down here don't withhold the first pay-period, but alas, that was not the case. It appears that I have been misinformed.

This is sucky because the work that I've done up til now that I didn't get paid for today is about $100.00 after taxes. It's not a lot, but it would have helped tremendously. Alas, I'm going to have to wait two weeks to see that money now, and wait a whole month until my first full paycheck.

Well, I knew I was going to be working over Mardi Gras so I guess I won't have as much opportunity to spend money if I'm working. And I can probably get an advance from my boss if I really need it, but I'll hold off on asking for one until "if and when" it becomes necessary.

Hopefully people will be generous and tip me well when I'm at work on Mardi Gras.

The good news is that once I've gotten into the swing of things here I'm going to be fine. I actually have a job that pays a decent (well, decent for New Orleans) wage again.

The depressing thing is, if I was going to stay here, I probably could afford an apartment or a shared room and still eat and drink and be merry on what I make here. But I'd never be able to really set aside enough to retire on and I'd always be living paycheck to paycheck and if I needed medical attention, I'd be screwed. I need to keep telling myself that I deserve better than this. Because the temptation to settle is very, very great.

Someday, when I am more settled and have the resources available to make dog ownership something I can responsibly undertake, I am going to buy a Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

Yes I am. Yes I am!

There are few things on earth that turn me into a gibbering puddle of cuteified Lisa more efficiently than a Corgi. I literally go spastic whenever I see them on TV, in movies, or online.

Want. Ubercute doggie.

*ded frum cute*

This morning, it was cold, and fresh snow fell softly over existing ice.

It was fun to crunch through on the lawn.

Love Actually.

Totally. Completely.
(you'll have to guess which segment is my favorite)


And it just so happens to be on right now.

This is the thing that makes me happy today.