April 27th, 2005

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

Elliptical Rose Pigs

First, a photo of Ben on the elliptical machine, being coached by Theo.

Second, some roses in my garden. Scratch-n-sniff your screen for a quick pick-me-up.

Lastly, a photo from the Pigface concert last night. Those of you not born in the 80s may remember them from their pioneering Wax Trax industrial days. Still a great show.

My friend called yesterday and told me about the concert, urging me to go. Then, my puzzling chum called shortly after to inform me that he was actually playing with Pigface, and would I like to be on the list. Well, DUH, yah!

Anyhoo, as I said, the show was absolutely amazing, with some good opening bands as well. Enigma and I cooked up a little scheme to bring everyone back to Clifford for a late-late-late-night absinthe party, but by the time I actually got home (3:30am) and saw that white fluffy pillow and that sleeping, fluffy cat, I knew it was over for me.

So I canceled my Pigface party.

I must be getting older, and quickly. In college, I would never have turned down such an opportunity.
I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

Ghetto Bob's

Our local grocery is called Robért's (roe-BEARS) and is curiously situated on the corner of St. Claude and Elysian Fields — curious because it is on the periphery of the Marigny/Bywater, populated by nice little neighborhood Quarter Rats and DINK fags, and on the other side of St. Claude is the trashy ghetto.

The produce section is quite decent, but they have those annoying poles outside the store that prevent one from stealing the carts — and also prevent one from conveniently loading heavy bags into one's car.

Ben has said, on several occasions, "I hate going to my local grocery store and being treated like a criminal."

So there I was, in line with my three boxes of Slim-Fast, talking to my friend Sharon who happened to be in front of me.

I followed her out with my little hand-held basket and as we were walking to my car, another car pulled up next to me, honked for attention, and the wedding-cake-hair-do'd security lady behind the wheel said, "You be takin' dat basket back in da sto'." (What's that — imperative-infinitive tense? Wow! French doesn't even have that one. Neither does English, come to think.)

Already touchy on the subject of not being able to easily load your car at Ghetto Bob's, I glared at her and said, "May I unload my heavy groceries please?"

She reiterated, "When you done, you be takin' dat basket BACK!" She nearly z-snapped at me.

Sharon and I bitched loudly enough for the woman to hear us as she drove off.

Me: "You know, I was going to take the basket back. But now I'm pissed."
Sharon: "She's not even working! She's driving home! She needs to get off her high horse."
Me: "But it's her one job in life — to make sure the baskets stay at Robért's. How would you feel if you had one simple job in life and you fucked it up?"
Sharon: "Horrible. Because that would be my life!"

We parted. I tossed the basket onto the lawn, got into the car and drove off. Behind me, the security harpy suddenly showed up in her car, noticed where the basket was, and snarled at me from behind her windscreen.

I put on clueless-suburban-housewife-face and drove merrily off, thinking, maybe she's not driving home. Maybe she patrols the one small square block sized parking lot in a car. Maybe she's actually so lazy that covering a 100' x 40' space on foot is just not happening.

Fuck Ghetto Bob's, maaaan.