Honky Tonk Chronicles

2006-10-27T16:08:00.000-05:00

In Case There's a Quiz

2006-10-27T14:38:00.000-05:00

funny kitten

2006-08-08T12:20:00.000-05:00

Me and a gorilla

...to the East Side

2006-06-22T12:56:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Adam had a slow day at work, and decided to go get me my very own URL and a template on Wordpress. It's a lot of pressure for a girl whose sporadically updated blog is visited by a total of, um, how many people? Do I could myself? Two? Anyway. It's not outside the realm of possibility that things could get even more interesting. Check it out! www.honkytonkchronicles.com

Lest you Think I'm Shallow

2006-05-19T15:29:00.000-05:00

I like to think that deep down, I have little need for or attachment to things. But I also think my deep down is, well, an abyss. Which is just to say that my arms aren't long enough to reach the unmaterialistic part. As such, I'm spending the last part of my Friday making a mental list of all the things I'm craving these days. 1. Queen-size Serta pillowtop mattress. They have them at Sam's for around $500 2. Vespa LX150. In silver, I think. 3. New MacBook. 4. And because I'd like a nice comfy auto with AC the next time I have to evacuate, the Scion xA 5. A nice frame for the artwork my sister-in-law made for us for Christmas Wow! In just five items, I'm in the hole for over $20k! Whole chunks of my day are dedicated to these musings. And I'm well convinced that my quality of life would increase exponentially with each of these purchases. It's got something to do with age, I believe. As a responsible grown up, I'm supposed to have certain luxuries. Like, a car that isn't 15 years old. Or a bedframe. Without them, I haven't quite arrived. You know, at that place you get to when you've figured everything out. I'm picturing a SONIC, America's Drive In. With a parking lot full of Audis. Hey, at least there's french fries.

I got Cute Overload Again

2006-05-19T15:09:00.000-05:00

As We've Come to Know and Love it: The Storm

2006-05-15T13:34:00.000-05:00

Our friends at the New Orleans Times Pic have put together a very telling animation of just what went down on August 29, 2005. I live here, but I don't think I fully understood the various levee breaches and storm surges and Pontchartrain swells until today. The animation includes a time stamp which makes clear that all was lost by about 9:30AM that Monday morning -- a full day before the federal government acknowledged any levee breaches.

If you made it to the seventh grade...

2006-05-09T11:51:00.000-05:00

...then you can probably read and understand my blog, according to Juicy Studio's Readability Test. Of course, according to Lifehacker, you can fool the test with gibberish.

In which we have a couple of days to think about it

2006-05-05T09:45:00.000-05:00

Let's start with a little anecdote. For many, many years, little Suzy was a dedicated drinker of Coke, the Real Thing. When she'd been out a wee bit too late the night before, nothing made her feel better than a tall glass over ice. Preferably from the fountain. Or also, from McDonald's, because there's something about that Coke. Who knows what it is, but it's crack-a-licious. In any case, one day little Suzy realized that none of her pants fit anymore, and she that she had to make some changes in her diet. With the specter of a life without Coke -- without fizz so to speak -- looming before her her, she caved and reached for a Diet Coke. It was pretty gross at first, but she drank on. And before long, she was fully converted. Today, regular Coke is dead to her. The moral of the story is that if Suzy can make the switch,just about anyone can. Including the impressionable teens for whom it will be the only option in their vending machines in school. Now, I'm all for Clinton's deal with the soda companies. Eliminating high calorie sodas from vending machines at schools could prove to cut back on childhood obesity, and I'd venture a guess that it won't be bad for ADD, either. But high schools will still sell diet sodas. And, as it turns out, Diet Coke-drinkers are far and away Coke's fastest growing market. Food TV's Unwrapped claims that Diet Coke sells are set to outstrip those of regular soda in the next ten years. It's a bit of business genius, really. Coke continues to teach the world to sing, while simultaneously giving their marketing plan an enormous boost. BTW, asparthame rots your bones. Delish! And for a bit of fun, check out what happens when you dump 13 Mentos in a liter bottle of DC.

Hot Video, Totally Safe for Work

2006-05-03T15:44:00.000-05:00

Is anybody else a big enough dork to watch this video and think of the crazy way that President Barlett always puts on his jacket? Just me? That's cool.

Has Morgan Spurlock Died and Gone to Heaven

2006-05-03T13:55:00.000-05:00

Bill Clinton and his pals have, somehow or another, strong-armed the soda/pop/Coke industry into agreeing to end (or really, curtail) their distribution to most schools. Companies will still sell water, "cetain juices" and lowfat milk in elementary schools. And high school students will have daily access to diet Coke and "energy drinks". So, it's not a total win, but an impressive step forward nonetheless. via NYTimes

Prairie Home Smarty Pants

2006-05-03T13:33:00.000-05:00

I mean that in the best possible way. Maybe it's early onset oldness, but Garrison Keillor's column in Salon today (Writers, Quit Whining) struck a lovely note for me. Of writers and other grownups who love to grouse about the trials of adulthood, Keillor writes:

Young people are pessimistic enough these days without their elders complaining about things. Shut up. Life is pretty good when you grow up. You own your own car, you go where you like, and you sing along with the radio or talk to yourself or chat on your cellphone. You pull into the drive-up window and order the Oreo Blizzard. What's not to like?

It's a simple enough thing, just enjoying the pleasures this world has to offer. It's -- shoot me for saying so --above average.

Poor widdle Scarwett.

2006-05-02T13:04:00.000-05:00

I've always wanted to like Scarlett Johanson, but she's really making it hard. Here she is, on May Day, protesting the paparazzi. And spelling "harassed" wrong. Thanks, Perez.

Hit and Dine

2006-04-26T13:15:00.000-05:00

So. I lived through 22 days of scooter-driving bliss before getting hit by a car. Bearing in mind that I was hit my a tram in Amsterdam after just one day on a rental bike, I'm viewing it as an exponential improvement. Not to worry, I'm A-ok. It was a very low-speed crash, and I'm fairly certain it was the other guy's fault. Today he dropped off a $75 gift certificate to Restaurant Zea at my work. His note read:

I went to Hallmark, but they were fresh out of 'Sorry I hit you with my car' cards, so hopefully this gift certificate will do.

Seriously, how cute? Were I single, I would totally ask this guy out on the sheer principle that no one should ever pass up the chance to have that great a story for your future grandchildren*. Alas. I'll be dining out with my Mister instead. *It's only fair to add that said note was written on Mary Engelbreit stationary which, God willing, means he's married too.

When Stars Crossover

2006-04-14T11:41:00.000-05:00

There's nothing to surprising about the number of Gilmore Girls "stars" have graduated from the show (ie, broken up with Rory) to their very own WB drama series. (See Tristan, Dean and now Jess) Of course, none of those guys can act their way out of a paper bag without accidentally inhaling the receipt, so maybe in that way it is a little surprising. But for a network's best show to also serve as it's entire talent pool is understandable. Far stranger is the talent pipeline running between Veronica Mars and HBO's new Mormon-ploitation drama, Big Love. I've been watching Big Love primarily because I just got HBO and feel I should make the most out of my monthly premiums. It's not that good, but for whatever reason, their casting director is looking to the UPN for their young actors. So far, not one, not two, but three major V.Mars players are now also on Big Love. Lily Kane appears on Big Love as one of the Mormon-spawn. Good on her, I think. Her V.Mars character was dead from the start, and we said goodbye to her flashbacks once her murder was solved. The girl needed work, and HBO, well, it's a respectable joint. Mac, the computer-bad-ass/switched-at-birth sweetheart, is pulling double-duty appearing on BL as an ultra-devout Morman pal of Lily. Then! Last week, Beaver Casablancas, the very little brother of Dick who just broke our dear Mac's heart, shows up on BL as the best and oldest friend of yet another Mormon-spawn. Only thing I'm saying, is that this pipeline better be one-way, because I don't think I can take Chloe Sevigny showing up in Neptune. Unless Logan or somebody was going to accidentally shoot her.

Salon Finally on Honky Tonk Bandwagon

2006-04-12T15:52:00.000-05:00

And Rebecca Traister comes up with a wonderful piece about the Whitney that was, and why her demise stings the way it does. Likening Whitney to the friend who has screwed up too often to forgive, Traister writes, "What we need to be doing is not laughing, or looking away. What we need to be doing is mourning." And in the vein, take a little trip down memory lane.

Is this the proper use of the word "irony"?

2006-04-06T14:37:00.000-05:00

So, my blog is called "Honky Tonk Chronicles" but all I ever seem to do is talk about Whitney Houston. Go figure. There's more news on the once and future diva, and it has to do with "toys" and "lesbians". Far worse than any of the "breaking news" is the fact that her sister-in-law is the source on all this info, which is neither right nor okay. Also, one can only surmise that the bathroom Whitney retreats to day in and day out (giving herself a sore, um, throat) is the same one pictured in last week's National Enquirer. It's a double-shudder.

Lessons Learned from Bob, Doug and Scott

2006-04-05T13:31:00.000-05:00

Crossing the Pontchartrain Causeway is not a part of my daily, monthly or even yearly life. This is by design. The bridge is long and narrow and it makes me skittish. But about a year ago, when I was in the market for a good used car, I braved the drive to scout a Honda. I had to take my husband's car, a 1991 Ford Festiva, which is a lot like a clown car in that it can turn circles on itself. Also, it has "parking power," meaning it can fit in the spaces that no one else can. For me, that's the beginning and end of the joys of that automobile. ("Automobile" sounds like an exaggeration.) This is a 1991 Ford Festiva (A much much nicer one than his, which at this point had no remaining exhaust system. It used to set off car alarms just by driving by.) This is the Pontchartrain Causway, one of the longest bridges in the world. People later made endless fun of me for the panic attack that ensued. But as I was puttering along in that soda can on wheels, all I could think about was what would happen if I broke down -- an inevitability in that piece of junk. With no shoulder, I'd be stuck in middle of the road. Barreling down the bridge behind me, a GMC Yukon or some other such monstrosity would drop kick my sorry tin ass into the waters of Lake Pontchartrain. The end of the Festiva. The end of me. As it turns out, these things do in fact happen. And not to the Ford Festivas of the world but to the pickup trucks. Face!! The driver's name is Scott Strauss, and just yesterday he was rear-ended clear off the edge of the bridge. We can be jovial about it because miraculously, he didn't die. I thought the only way to survive such a thing was from the bubbles in beer, but apparantly, if you wait until your car sinks to the bottom and fills with water, the pressure evens out and you can open your car door and swim to safety. (It helps that Pontchartrain is a very shallow lake.) Duly noted. Except really, I'm never driving on that damn bridge again. PS To all three of you Festiva lovers out there, I'm sorry. I'm married to one of you, and I think you're endearing, if a little crazy. Parking power is not to be underestimated, nor is people pointing and laughing at you when you honk your horn.

Cute Overload

2006-04-04T16:59:00.000-05:00

I know I must be one of the last people on earth to find this website, because I found not one, but two pics that my "friends" have used on myspace. Nevertheless, I couldn't possibly not link to it, as I just spent the last half hour crying, actual tears, from all my office-style silent giggles.

Pepper

2006-04-04T15:25:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me well knows that I don't have the best track record on two wheels. Let's just say that a) I learned to ride a bike at the tender age of 21 b) I once crashed into a moving tram in Amsterdam -- and not because I was on my way home from the coffee shop, and c) "Crash" is a generous word. "Tipped over" is more accurate. To start anew, I have acquired a scooter. A kicky littke Japanese number, named Pepper by its previous owner. Check it. (Before I wreck it.)

All over the Map

2006-04-04T11:59:00.000-05:00

The map here is a little small, so what you may not notice is that the levees in my neighborhood do not require any work. They are, as they say, ship shape. Or...already under construction. Or...too expensive to think about right now. Who knows? Who trusts? Not me on either count. The real gist of this map is that pretty much all the levees are just too short. It seems like such a fool's errand, in a way, just making higher and higher walls every year. The walls grow, and the river responds in kind. The first levees in Louisiana were 2 feet tall; on my block today, they are twenty five. That's what it takes now to keep the water out, so we keep going higher. We could go on like this forever, all the way to heaven. Or more likely, someplace less fancy pants.

It's Not Right, But It's OK

2006-03-30T11:52:00.000-05:00

What's a Whitney to do when she realizes she has no income? Does she get a job at Home Depot? They have health bennies, which will likey come in handy very soon. I kid, but this Whitney stuff is pretty depressing. It's been years since she took that crucial step off the deep end, but I for one haven't gotten over the shock. In the fourth grade, my friends and I made up a dance to "How Will I Know" for our community service project at the special ed school. We wore jams and polos. It was hot, but wholesome -- just like Whitney herself. "One Moment in Time"? I ask you, who among us did not mental-montage the good old days of seventh grade volleyball to this song? I could go on and on. And I have. So, where do broken hearts go? Apparently, to the crack den. Smell ya later.

Is this too gross to post, or too gross not to post?

2006-03-29T14:53:00.000-05:00

Lifted from perez

Dream the Impossible Dream

2006-03-29T12:20:00.000-05:00

Little boy genius Devin Haskin may be only three, but he knows what that claw on the toy machine will get you. That's right -- Bubkus. So Devin cut out the middle man and climbed straight through the "discharge chute" into the big glass box full of toys. The chute? Seven inches wide and nine inches tall. Devin Haskin may be one skinny little dude, but kid knows how to have a good time. Do you think it's a coincidence that he's from Austin, Minnesota -- also the hometown of Spam?

Luck

2006-03-28T16:50:00.000-05:00

As a New Orleanian who lost very little in the hurricanes last year, living in New Orleans is a lot like living in a snow globe that some chubby little kid just can't get enough of shaking. I keep thinking my life is turned all upsidedown, and then seeing that things are in place. Everything feels lost, then I look around and everything is there. My basic storm story shakes out like this: I thought we'd evacuate and come home again a few days later, like always. Then I thought we'd lost everything and that tens of thousands of people died. It turned out not as bad as all that. It was pretty bad, just not as all that. After a while, I knew our house was fine, though my car was with the fishes, and I had lost my job. Then a kind and generous uncle gave us his old Mazda. Then we drove back home, and within 2 weeks I was rehired at my old job. Things went back to normal. I am, officially, not allowed to talk about how weird this feels. People ask me every day, "Did you have any losses?" or "How do you fare?" It would be so much worse if I had a different answer to that question, but to answer, "We were so lucky," feels like a lie. My neighbor put it so well the other day, saying, "I didn't lose much, but my heart sure is broken for my city." I guess that's it, or the closest anyone's come to words for this feeling. I am tethered now, more than ever, to the watery earth of this town. I feel duty-bound to live here -- it rarely occurs to me that I could, in point of fact, live somewhere else. I wasn't born here. My people are spread out around the country. Any other place could just as easily be turned into home. What it would be like to live somewhere where people aren't so busy trying to figure out where their mail is, or at what time of day the lines at the grocery are the shortest, or when the garbage truck will show up next? The thought alone brings with it a wave of comfort. Not because waiting for food, or spotty mail-delivery and garbage service are great tragedies, but because they are constant, throbbing reminders of great tragedies. So it feels, all the time, like something really bad happened. Which it did, of course. But not to me. But it did. But it didn't. And so it goes, back and forth. Shaken. Steady. Shaken. Steady.

HT returns to New Orleans, then to Blogging

2006-02-01T15:44:00.000-05:00

I live in New Orleans again, but my head hasn’t stopped spinning yet. It would have been a good time for me to be a blogging-maniac, these last few months, but my head was always spinning. I couldn’t sit still, or move for that matter. I was OK. I was so much better off than so many people. But that’s not saying too much. Now that I’m back, well, at least I’m around other spinny heads. It makes a difference. Throughout the fall, Mr. T and I had a party line about our future in New Orleans. We may keep living there, we may not, we'd say. We'll go back and we'll see, but we promise (Mom) to consider moving elsewhere. Like a lot of party lines, it was a load of hoo-ha. In the words of my old pal LJ, call it what you want, but this city is mine.

Snakes on a Plane

2005-08-17T13:02:00.000-05:00

Snakes on a Plane. I can't get enough of reading about this movie. And Samuel L. Jackson giggling about the title: "That's the only reason I took the job!" It's like calling "Baywatch" "Tits on a Beach" More?

Movin on up

2005-08-17T12:50:00.000-05:00

Defamer has finally caught on that what we've been knowin down here for a while: New Orleans is totally the new Hollywood. I mean, jeepers kids, where do you think Jude Law did the nanny? My favorite celebrity sighting so far? The General Lee, natch.

Goin' to the Chapel

2005-07-14T14:48:00.000-05:00

Shameless plug. My favorite dude around has just completed a website dedicated to our nuptuals and all things related. He's real funny.

Needless to say? I'll say!

2005-07-12T10:26:00.000-05:00

Donald Trump wants you to know that his reality show is changing America as we know it. "The Apprentice," he'd have us believe, is more than just a gold mine. It is a statement on our most pressing social issues. No, seriously. I suppose it all began in Season One, when a group of female contestants won their challenge (luring people into a Planet Hollywood? Admittedly a tall order.) primarily by hiking up their skirts and baring their midriffs. At the end of the episode, Donald had a chat with the women in which he directly addressed the issue. This, he said, is not how it works in my company. It was a strange moment, because I found myself almost liking Donald Trump . The guy had a point. This was a show about business, not business, after all. On the other hand, to be schooled by Donald Trump, of all people, on the virtues of feminism? More than enough to make your skin crawl. For Season Two, Trump decided to turn the Apprentice into a battle of the sexes by dividing the two teams into all men and all women. Season three, he did college grads versus high school grads. My hunch is that he saw, correctly, that his little game highlighted gender and class issues in a serious way. He wanted play it out. I'd also wager that, incorrectly, he also saw "The Apprentice" as something akin to a laboratory, in which he could answer some of life's most mysterious questions? Venus? Mars? Oh no, my friend, the boardroom. Trump's epiphany that reality shows are at their core a picture of contemporary American society is up there on the list of the biggest "duh" moment ever. But because he actually seems to believe that he is the first person to have figured this out, he comes at it from a decidedly unique and un-nuanced angle. It is kind of beautiful in its naivete, really. Like, how cute, really? He's making just making another bazillion dollars, he's making a point! You go, Donald! And so there is today's news item. Trump is considering a Battle of the Races, for the next season of The Apprentice. Yes, that means what it sounds like it means. He wants to pit white people against black people to see who's the best make at making, as the song goes, monay monay MO-nay! No, seriously. Ok let's talk for just a minute about how black people have fared in the world of reality TV -- because I don't think it is news to anyone that it has not been pretty. We could talk about David, from Real World LA, or the numerous American Idol contestants who were robbed completely blind, or more recently, Stacie J, who the other (white) Apprentice candidates, decided was just batshit crazy...The list could go on, but there are actually a couple of these shows I haven't watched. It is seriously shameful stuff that is worth addressing. If only Trump was looking to produce an essay about how reality television highlights what ails us as a culture... Bwah! I don't think so! Just as with the battles of sex and class, he is looking to answer the question. Who is smarter? Who makes better decisions? Who can handle the pressure? Men, or women? Rich people, or not-so-rich people? Black people, or white people? The concept is as maniacal as it is egotistical and thankfully, I think the PC police will reign this one in at the end of the day. "Needless to say," says Trump, "not everybody thinks it's a good idea."

Loves Whitney, Hates Cindy

2005-07-07T14:18:00.000-05:00

I was just reading The Junior Varsity and came to grips with the kind of music I've been enjoying lately. It ain't pretty, but I'm loving it. Seriously, Whitney Houston may be a scary mean crackhead with doodie bubbles (Have you SEEN the show?) but the girl's got pipes! That note she hits at the end of "It's Not Right"? Will make you weep. ("You were making a fool of meeeeeeeeee-ohhhhhhhhhh!") Moving on. Tropical storm Bitch-Face stole my electricity and still has not given it back. And hurricane Total-dick-for-brains is just around the corner. I'm sure that in a couple of weeks I'll remember why I wanted to live down here. But for now I am bitter as all get out, pining for my earlier mistress of defeat -- the frigid winter chill of the upper midwest. At least she never spoiled the entire contents of my fridge AND took away cable on the same damn day.

Our favorite new pun

2005-07-06T13:43:00.000-05:00

The F-word. Check out this article in salon, this new magazine, this website... Are we cool again or something?

The secret life of total idiots

2005-06-07T15:38:00.000-05:00

The Food Network's The Secret Life of... (ice cream! pretzels! Hamburgers! Jellybeans!) is the show find yourself watching in the throes of season finale-withdrawal. I know who killed Lily Kane. I saw Rory decide to drop out of Yale because one guy said she wasn't the best thing since TiVo. I heard about Marissa shooting some dude. And now lost, I find myself turning to the likes of HGTV and the Food Network. The Secret Life of is basically the E! True Hollywood Story of food. The breakdowns! The drug addictions! The dangerous weight loss! Oh wait. None of that stuff happen to Philly Cheesesteaks. But boy are they greasy! This is the dumbest show ever. Last night was The Secret Life of Fried Chicken. I perked up, because I'm in the south, and we sure do love fried stuff down here. Especially when it is chicken. And so they say, in the intro, that fried chicken is most beloved by southerners -- Cut to stock footage of plantation home, set neatly between an ancient row of oak trees. And to learn about this amazing southern delicacy? We go to? That's right! Harlem. That's when you realize that they're using "Southern" as a euphamism for "black". Then, 20 minutes in, they change their tune. Oh no no no, they say, fried chicken is a staple of African American cuisine. They talk about the slaves, and how fried chicken kept longer than boiled or baked chicken, and that it travelled well, and so it made good sense as a culinary choice. Wait, I ask -- did this show start to get interesting?? Oh. They then cut to the same southern plantation stock footage, because of course, that's the perfect image when your talking about the daily lives of the enslaved. Commercial break. Then they change their tune again. We were totally kidding in that last segment, they say. Fried chicken is actually most loved by Southerners. Which is why KFC and Church's started there. To further examine this, they take us to -- oo! good idea!! -- Ohio. I'm so bored.

37 Candles?

2005-06-06T16:33:00.000-05:00

Question: If, when you were a little kid, you memorized the dialog to a movie so well that the jokes ran through your mind like an Abba song, and then twenty years later there appears a sequel to that movie, are you required to go see it? Because rumor has it that Molly Ringwald is saying yes to a Sixteen Candles sequel and of course it is going to be horrible. It is going to hurt my soul even worse than Jar Jar Binx did, so really I'd just rather skip it. But that's got to violate some kind of pop culture international law. Maybe it will never even make it to video? A girl can hope.

Super Sonic

2005-04-07T13:54:00.000-05:00

My blog is still secret. But I wanted to say that that thunder I wrote about? Wasn't thunder. Our resident conspiracy theorist can't give me a link, but he swears it was a sonic boom, and despite some of his other, more Art Bell-inspired philisophies, I'm inclined to believe him. For one, it makes me feel less dumb. Also, friends who live in all corners of the city, miles away from each other, all report it as being the loudest thunder they have ever heard. Ever. Usually, thunder doesn't span that much square footage. And there's plenty of Air Force activity in these parts. Mr. Conspiracy thinks it was just some pilot's birthday. Maverick requesting flyby...

It All Goes Down in Your Mind

2005-03-16T12:12:00.000-05:00

There's something kind of great about being woken up from a deep sleep at around 2AM. Because at 2AM, you have many hours to go before waking. And there's nothing like waking up briefly to remind you how great it is that you get to sleep. Also, if I'm deeply asleep at 2AM, it means I went to bed at a decent hour. And these days I can't get enough of going to bed at a decent hour. Less fun is waking up at 2AM to the sound of bombs destroying your city, and then the disappointing realization that you're just like the rest of America: Scared shitless of terrorism. The sound I had heard was, of course, thunder. Loud and booming and unaccompanied by rain or lightning, it had me fully conviced we were, as they say, under attack. I felt like I was seeing everything, and feeling everything, through the lense of a handheld camera. Terror makes you dizzy. Outside, the boom had set off a host of car alarms, signaling meyhem. I shook Adam, because you don't want to do this kind of thing alone if you don't have to, but he never fully came to, slurring giggles of "Oh, its nothing!" I knew for sure he was wrong. I waited for the phone to ring, and wondered what the papers would say the next day. And then the lightning finally came. The rain sputtered, and then poured. It's the thunder, idiot. I felt brainwashed, and tired. I'm so sick of the news.

Blame it on Carn

2005-03-10T16:39:00.000-05:00

Michael Caine had Rio, Milli Vanilli had the rain, and I have Carn. I don't like being the first person to jump in the pool. And I've never had a blogger friend before. That I know of. But then Carn went off and got himself into j-school, as they (not I) say, and started Carntown, giving me his tacit approval to go public. Carntown's got all kind of interesting posts about journalism and politics. He links to good articles. He thinks about his post, edits them probably. I may not do any of that stuff.