A New Orleans Ritual for Aug. 29th, 2006

I've promised ya'll a diary.  But everytime I go to write one, it is difficult for me to focus on one particular aspect of post-Katrina New Orleans.  The other problem is, well, frankly, it takes alot of concentration and energy to write a diary and I'm afraid that my concentration and energy have had to go elsewhere these days.

This very evening I was sitting on the front porch when I realized that I do have something that I can write about something that I think would be important for you to read.  This ain't the one.  It'll come later.

Instead, I want to share something else with you that I ran across just a moment ago.  See, I told you, there's so many things to write about.

Today, a Cold Stone Creamery opened in our neighborhood.  My understanding is that Cold Stone Creamery is a national chain or something.  I believe I went to one in Los Angeles or Boston or someplace I can't quite remember. Anyway. New Orleans is one of the last places in this country that favors mom and pop stores, family run places and small, local businesses.  It keeps the cultcha, if you know what I mean.

It is customary to tip for just about everything in New Orleans.  I'm always amazed when I travel that there isn't a very visable tip jar at Starbucks like there is at the Starbucks in New Orleans.  Like anyone goes to Starbucks in New Orleans.

Customs, phrases and sayings are plentiful here.  (Trust me, this is going somewhere). They were long ago adopted by some event that it is often debated and often lost to history.  Take the word "creole" for instance.  In New Orleans there are people called "creole" as well as tomatoes that are called "creole".  The best explanation I ever ran across explained that the word "creole" was a bastardization of the Spanish "criollo" which was the word Spaniards used to describe French settlers in New Orleans.  It then became associated with anything that had to do with French settlers.  If someone French planted a tomatoe, it became known as a "creole tomatoe".  If someone French had slaves, the French owned slaves also became known as "creole".  Suffice it to say, I've read many explanations of the origin of the word, however, at least for now, here's the wikipedia one.

So what has this got to do with Cold Stone Creamery?  Even though it didn't look like a New Orleans place (in fact a new Ice Cream place just opened around the corner that serves Blue Bell from Texas), we decided to give it a go on this 100 degree afternoon.  By the way, this is the way a real New Orleans Ice Cream parlor looks like.

Maybe I'm just touchy.  I've seen New Orleans stuff turning up all over the place on eBay and it pisses me off.  I mean really pisses me off.  If my husband, bigbenbob hadn't stopped me, I would have spent our entire life savings buying it all back and distributing it liberally around the city, where it belongs!

Rape, pillage and plunder.

By the way, we have spent our entire life savings on renovating our house, but I won't get into that now because that's exactly what I thought about writing tonight while sitting on the front porch.  I intend to write about the fucking building trade rip-offs going on in this city.  Damn it!!!

Ice Cream.  Cold Stone Creamery.  Remember to focus.

Alright.  Even though it didn't look too "New Orleans" and, like I said, I am hypo-aware of this kind of thing these days, not to mention touchy, there was a tip jar at the end of the line, by the register.  Now THAT felt familiar so I slipped a dollar in the jar.  

We turned our back to the counter and headed for a table when all of a sudden the new owner pops up and with much enthusiastic encouragement to the soda jerk, they sing together, at the top of their lungs, "Tip Tip Hooray, Tip Tip Hooray" followed by a jingle that went to the tune of "If you're happy and you know it..."  Now, folks, I'm here to tell you, that just like it's hard to fake ghetto, this was sure as hell Not New Orleans.  Especially not Pre-K New Orleans.  I mean, we have stuff like that in New Orleans but, well, it's not so "gimacky".  It's all about the spontaneity.  Call me a sad sack, sick depresso but I don't know that, even in my best mood, I'd be up for that one.  Lord.  I felt like I'd just been goosed.

In an instant, Nagin's first plan for the CBD (Central Business District) which was the installation of a casino in every hotel, California developers putting up high rise condos in Bay St. Louis and space-age housing plans for the New and improved New Orleans flashed through my head at lightning speed and I began having pre-Katrina evacuation jitters.

So that brings me up to what this diary is really about.  It's about something that was posted tonight on the "Sound Off" forum on the nola.com website.  Please, please, please take a moment to read it.  It's New Orleans.  It's really New Orleans and I plan to do it.  I am going to have a party, at my house on Aug. 29th and you're all invited.  I mean it.  email me.  The candles are ready.