Naw'leans Decadence

So first and foremost, I must congratulate the town of New Orleans for simultaneously creating some of the best food and music in a place that smells of vomit, piss, and ass sweat. I guess I should retract that statement to say, that only parts of New Orleans (all of Bourbon Street) smell of the “holy trinity” of aforementioned odors. Anyhow, I bring that up, because that is why I liked New Orleans so much. Much of the fun of Las Vegas is concentrated in the glitz and glamour of the Strip, and the stunning displays of vertical architecture, grandiose cars, and picturesque models. New Orleans on the other hand is grimy, serpent like in structure, and smells like a dumpster outside Fraternity Court, and I absolutely loved it. It’s raw, unvarnished, and wonderfully rich all at the same time. And I should add that if one desires classy, more posh circumstances, then New Orleans can deliver that with a nice southern charm as well. Still, what appealed to me most was what would appeal to most young people – the debauchery, the lack of regard for traditional conventions, and the complete ease with which you accept it.

Truly the pinnacle of the entire 28 hours I spent there was Sunday night, known as the parade night of “Southern Decadence.” For those unfamiliar with this festival, it is the week-long Gay Pride event that culminates on the Sunday before Labor Day, so creatively called the “Gay Mardi Gras.” Your usual thin, Fauxhawk-sporting, and scantily dressed young gays were there; however, the surprise that met my eyes were the large number of bearded, fairly plump, gay men in what had to be their early 50s romping about as if they were 16 and getting drunk for the first time. For those that know me, you know that this in no way grosses me out, in fact quite the contrary. It makes me laugh because of how nice and free it looks – “Hey, I’m fat, you’re fat, oh you’re not wearing a shirt, let me touch you and then make out with you.” If only I were allowed to do that at my parties and clubs without having to be escorted out by some dude who always has is bald and wearing a black collar-less shirt.

Of course, one does not need to stretch their mind very far to deduce what the equivalent of flashing breasts for beads would be at this festival. I saw some nipples, and some were quite nice. I also so some straight up mashed ball-sack. The first guy who ended up showing his hang-dangle was being somewhat artsy – he was wearing low cut underwear and slowly revealing himself to the people on the balcony above him. Then some other guy sort of took this the way someone would at a karaoke bar – they see someone else singing and think that they can sing too, and then of course everyone leaves the karaoke bar. He comes along undoes his zipper and just waves ball-sack/dick upward towards these girls in a manner that pretty much looks like he’s just going to wank one out if nobody stopped him. At this point my other fellow travelers were either laughing hysterically or covering their eyes and walking away. Well, needless to say, Mr. Chod-head here basically summed up our whole trip in a matter of five minutes – good times that are slightly crazy, then get real crazy, and then just elicits gut-busting laughter. The other parts of the trip were awesome too – I rode the mechanical bull at Bourbon Cowboy and many told me I looked like I was sodomizing the bull, and then I felt the coolest when I started dancing at the intersection of Bourbon and Canal Street, to a jazzed up “When the Saints,” and of course I did the worm (please, it’s my signature move). I ate the biggest and best shrimp I’ve ever eaten, and had to remove the head and then suck out the marrow (gross sounding but delicious tasting), and realized that red beans and rice is one of those things I always forget to think about but love every time I eat them. I lifted up my own shirt to receive beads and was told no, but then as I walked away, the beads were pelted at the back of my head. I didn’t even think to get mad, I immediately laughed as soon as it happened – and laughed about it again when I had beignets and Café Au Lait the next day. Thus, it goes to show what I liked about New Orleans – I get hit in the head with beads, have dick waved near me, and shat out what smelled like crawfish the next morning, and I’m still smiling three days later. Long live the “Who Dat” nation.

Humor as the Cure

As I sit at my desk, I nervously await my roommate coming home. She generally asks me lots of questions, many of which I must fabricate some sort of worthy answer to, thus saving me a conversation about making the most of my time. If I were to tell the truth, I would be subjected to penetrative eyes and staccato rhetoric about how my life will go nowhere if I have no ambition.

My roommate is nice though – she lets me eat whatever she’s cooked, and she does my laundry with hers. She generally looks out for my well-being, and lies to her friends about what I am doing so that I don’t look bad. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship – I screw in light bulbs, lift plants, and unscrew jars, and she does most of the other stuff to keep our residence looking good.

So, the question might beg of itself, who is this roommate of mine, and why have I voluntarily agreed to live with her. The answer is quite simple. My new roommate is my mother, and I live with her because at the moment my life is not following the GPS navigated course I had set up for it. I made a left turn a little too soon, and need to get back to the main road. Too many metaphors, I know, but think about all the symbolism I just put into two sentences. As Gob on Arrested Development would say, "C’MON!"

Now many would find the fact that I live at home sad or darkly funny. What’s even funnier is that the valedictorian of a high school is working an $8 an hour job at Borders Café, where we do brew a great cup of coffee for a quality value (Plug-in for work: Check). But I know it sounds cliché, but I’m not worried. I’d be more worried if I were one of a kind (I mean I am very unique, and my roommate has commented once that I have special eyes), but the fact of the matter is, I am one of many who has made the trek home. The prodigal son returns, for pretty much most of the suburban households I know. Out of a random sampling of 10 of my friends – whom I met at different points, all with different abilities and accomplishments, 6 of us live at home. That’s 60%. For something to be an anomaly, you would expect the percentages to be 10% or less. So while I know most of us have come to terms with rooming with old parental units again, sometimes it still saddens me a little bit, so I remind myself at those times, that it’s part of the game. It’s simply good poker strategy – wait for your big hand, and then play aggressively. If you’ve got nothing, play the blinds and then get out, and wait for the next deal. So while I wait for the next dealing of hands to come around, I have decided to pass the time with humor.

Thus, I think I need force myself to laugh more about my observations instead of getting upset – which in turn means that I will be now writing my blogs as humor entries, mixed with some insight here and there. So, first and foremost, I must credit those who are much more adept than myself, and recommend a book to everyone. It’s called “Sh*t My Dad Says.” You can find it for the low, low price of $15.99 at Borders Bookstore, where your music, media, and book needs can be fulfilled with a smile (I better be getting a goddamn promotion soon). But seriously, if I were you, don’t buy it, but go in sometime and read it for 15-20 minutes, and you’ll have a great laugh. You can also check it out online, and I’m telling you, it’s the kind of blunt, unvarnished humor that only a senile, old, yet oddly keen person would say that makes total sense to us in our 20s. Also, listen to “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire sometime this month (it is September after all), and write me back if you don’t bob your head along. I'm telling you, you can't listen to that song and not feel good. Look for the next post soon.

A Day in the Life - 2020

So, as a final project for my students, we are describing in as much detail as possible, what one day looks like for all of us in 10 years. So if we were to wake up and it was 2020, and not 2010, then what would our day entail. Here is what the 2009-2010 T.G Barr Fifth Grade and myself decided my life would be in 10 years. Enjoy

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! As my eyes open, and the world is still fuzzy, I look at the clock and see that the red letters are glowing with 5:30. I guess it’s time to get up, and feed my son. Oh Fuquan, how I wish I hadn’t lost that bet in college, and had to name him that. He’s a good kid though, and he just turned two a couple weeks ago. I turn and see that Beyonce is still sleeping, which is good, since she works so hard during the day. She doesn’t complain though, which is amazing. As I go to Fuquan’s room, I’m hoping he might say “Da-da” again today. He said it last week, and I got goose bumps. I tried to tell Beyonce about this, but she claims that I am making it up.

So I go to his room and he’s already up, playing in his crib. He got his mother’s eyes, but he got my smile – a good combination. I pick him up and take him to the kitchen and sit him on the high chair. Then I open the cabinet and take out the Gerber baby food. I remember the first time I went to the store, and how the clerk had to help me out picking the baby food. I had no idea what I was doing. I figured apple sauce was good enough, but apparently that didn’t have enough nutrition. He seems to enjoy the baby food even though I tried it one time and almost puked all over the bathroom.

So I feed him and make sure he gets some milk from the fridge, and then I take him back to his room. I go ahead and get to the bathroom quickly, while there’s still hot water left. I quickly shave, making sure to be careful around my lip because I cut it last time. A couple years ago, I tried to grow a beard, but people said I looked homeless and bits of food kept getting stuck in it, so I got rid of it. I hop in the shower, and am out in five minutes. I still refuse to use Pert Plus because of the incident when I was four years old, so I use Head and Shoulders instead.

Anyhow, I throw on some lotion when I’m out the shower to keep from getting ashy and to soothe the skin, put on some Old Spice, my shirt, tie, pants, and belt. Then I go for the final four – cell phone, keys, wallet, and watch (still the UNC watch). I check to make sure my hair is looking fresh, throw on a spray of the cologne I know is the bomb, and then I’m out the door. On the way out I kiss Beyonce on top of the head, but she just makes a soft sound and stays asleep. I put Fuquan in the car-seat, make sure his belt and my belt are on, and then it’s on the road under an orange-red sky. As I drive in the Nissan on 22s to work (actually they’re 10s, but I keep them clean though), I am still rocking out to some good tunes. Fuquan will learn from an early age to appreciate music, and he already bobs his head along. I drop him off at Daycare, with Nelly, the attendant there. She says he’s always pretty good and doesn’t really bother the other kids. Well, he doesn’t take after his old man, that’s for sure. I was a terror at daycare.

I get to work by 7:30, park the car, and take the elevator up to the 7^th floor. As I get to my desk, I see that I left lots of post-it notes for me today. They all contain different to-do lists, or tell me where things are supposed to go. Nobody else would understand the system but oddly enough, it seems to work well for me. It seems like only yesterday, I was getting hired. I remember applying for job during my last year in law school, out in San Francisco. I was worried about the job, not because I didn’t like it, but because it was in Washington DC, and I had just met Beyonce a couple months earlier. I knew that the job was what I wanted to do, but I didn’t want to be apart from her either, so that’s when I decided to ask her if she wanted to marry me.

It was just another beautiful day in the Bay Area, and we had gone out to lunch. I had called ahead to this bakery she likes and asked if they put the ring on top of a cupcake. After lunch, we were just walking, and then we stopped inside (the chef winked at me as I walked in). We were looking for some stuff that we could get in a to-go box, when the chef popped out with two cupcakes and said, “On the house for the beautiful couple.” Beyonce was about to take a bit of her cupcake when she noticed the sparkle and then she saw the ring.
So at the point, I got down on one knee. I’m not really one for the traditional stuff, so I just said point blank, “I am moving to Washington, and I want you come with me. If you eat the cupcake, I’ll know you’re for real and want to come with me for life.” She looked at me for a second, and then ate the cupcake, frosting and all, and then held out the ring for me to put it on her finger. It was an odd way to propose, but all our friends thought it was cute.

Anyhow, as I get back to work, I think about all that I have to do today. The case I have today is a big one. If I can get Gonzalez family a chance to win back their house, it will be a tremendous win for me. They were kicked out of their house because of the terms of their contract, but since it wasn’t printed in two languages, I am going to try and argue that the contract was never broken, and instead that it was not firmly acknowledged yet. I go ahead and get some coffee, and then sit down and prepare my statements for the judge. I need to be pretty baller today if I’m going to pull this off.

“Whoosh.” As the wind rushes past my hair, I let out the traditional smirk. I rocked that courtroom today; the judge didn’t even know what to say, and the other prosecutor was speechless. The look on his face was priceless. I had effectively argued that a contract can’t be upheld if people don’t know what they’re agreeing to. Even though there were signatures on the original contract, we effectively showed that people will put needs first and it was the job of the housing department to provide a translator. Anyhow, I shook hands with the Gonzales family and then got back to the office. I finished my paperwork, let my boss know about the win in the courtroom, and then left work around 5:30 pm.

As I pick up Fuquan from the day-care center, we jam out with a little Lupe Fiasco. Even though it’s like 12 years old, we still love “Superstar.” That boy is going to be a good dancer, he just lights up when he hears music. As we drive home, we stop at a Dairy Queen, and pick up one of those brownie milkshakes and 3 spoons. We make it home a little bit before Beyonce gets back. She is wearing her doctor’s coat, and still carrying her stethoscope. The patients must love her.

Anyhow, we have the milkshake together and talk about our day, and then we change real quick like, and take a walk around the neighborhood. The scarlet tinged sky is fading in the background to a cool blue dusk. Some other families are around, so we wave, and sometimes I miss the days where I would do the same thing – take a walk, but instead of thinking about my cases, I would think about my students, and what I would say to them. I don’t know if they ever listened, but sometimes I wonder what their lives have become. As Fuquan sits on my shoulders, and I see Beyonce’s hair fluttering a little bit with the wind, I think to myself, am I living a life I’m proud of? As we get to our front door, and I think about my times in North Carolina to Phoenix, to San Francisco, to Washington DC, I would have to say that if nothing else, I never stopped striving to be better. So I am proud of that, and one day I think I will start giving Fuquan little speeches here and there. In the mean time, dinner waits, and since it’s my day to cook, it looks like it will be chicken soft tacos yet again. I guess I should start cooking soon because 5:30 tomorrow morning will come faster than I know it.

THE END