Under a House

Here are some things you will probably find while doing renovation work under a house in New Orleans. It is supported with anecdotal evidence.

• Car tires, some still on rims.
• Tricycle parts
• Pepsi bottles with the old, foam shrinkwrap labels on them. You remember those? They used to have them at the Chinese place on Palm Street in San Luis Obispo. I used to try to tear off the foam label in one long spiral.
• Chip bags with the graphics you remember from when you were a kid. Man, Chester Cheetah has really changed.
• Broken, antique bottles that would be worth something if they were whole.
• Old pipe that they replaced and then just left there.
• Thousands of plastic shopping bags whose integrity has broken down. They create a sort of distopian mat of dirty, fluttery snow flakes. And they always conceal broken bottles.

Saturday

This Saturday I am performing my first marriage ceremony. It's actually quite easy to be able to do this. Well, I mean to become a legal officiant is easy. What's not easy is getting up in front of the family and friends of the bride and groom and quite possibly botching one of the most important days of their life (I hope they don't read this).

How did this all come about? I think it started as a joke. "Hey, why don't I do it?" "Yeah, that would be fun." "Haha." "Haha." And then somehow I was on the computer, ordaining myself at themonastery.org and ordering my official certificate to take to the notary and parish clerk of courts. About $100 and a few trips to the Sears for their notary services, and I was able to perform weddings in Orleans and Jefferson Parish.

That all happened months ago, but now... Now it's real. I am possession of their marriage license. I have a black leather binder with the ceremony printed out in big font. I have a dress to wear -- I decided to skip the vestments. And on Saturday at 3:30 I will stand up in front of some people and perform a marriage. One of the most sacred acts in all of human ritual, and I am permitted to do it.

What does that say about the state of our culture?

Six Things Sunday -- movies on TV

I'm a bit wonky when it comes to certain movies. I have to watch them if they are on TV -- even when edited for time and content. No matter what, if I'm flipping stations and I see one of these films is on, I have to stop and watch it. So I thought today we'd do a "six things Sunday" of my must-watch movies.

You may question my taste, but these are all great for procrastinating the weekend away. I don't own any of the DVDs, nor would I rent them. There's no need, because they are all on some sort of Spike/ FX/ AMC rotation, it seems.

These are in no particular order.

1. Pitch Black. Damn good sci fi, really, and you haters can keep quiet. I do put my fingers in my ears and say "Lalala" whenever the term "Furian" comes up. Really? That's the best they could do when coming up with a name for a people know for their, well, fury?
2. Chronicles of Riddick. It's got Dame Judi Dench in it... and you know you want to know how Riddick did with his five-year plan.
3. Hellboy. One of the best comic concepts turned movie. Plus, I'll watch anything with Ron Perlman in it. Problem is, he's in everything! (Tangled is great, by the way)
4. Hellboy II: The Golden Army. See above.
5. Constantine. This has been the longest running must-watch movie on the list. Even Shia LaBeouf couldn't ruin this for me. I love Tilda Swinton as the androgynous, really evil angel. I was excited to see on IMDB that a sequel is in the planning stages.
6. Serenity. This one is even on Watch it Now on Netflix, but I'll still watch it on TV. I kneel at the alter of Firefly.

Parrots

When I first bought my house, I took a picture of the front. On later inspection, I saw perched on one of the wires -- phone or cable -- a green bird. I treated it like some sort of cryptozoological study. I had a jeweler's loop out in moments, saw it was some sort of parakeet or maybe a lovebird. I assumed at the time that someone's pet had become free.

Later I learned that New Orleans has a population of parrots. My bird book suggests they are monk parrots, a feral population established from escaped pets.

For the last decade, I've treated my occasional sightings of them with joy and wonder. I would see them in palm trees, hear them as they perched on wires or squabbled in the neighbor's magnolia tree. Most of the time, I saw them up around Elysian Fields, near UNO, in the palms that lined the median, bright flashes of green midst the dark foliage.

This year, though, it seems a population has finally made the permanent move into the Bywater. I see and hear them everyday now. I love it. It makes me feel as if I'm truly in a tropical setting. I munch on my pina colada snow ball and watch them dance on the power lines and try to invade the purple martin nesting boxes. They eat dates from a laden tree. Their shrieking -- not as articulate or ensnaring as a trained macaw's -- fills the air.

I know I shouldn't enjoy invasive species, but could something so cute and comical really deserve my rancor? I'll save it for the starlings.

Moving forward

I wrote a short story this week, which is great because I haven't written anything in a while. It's part of Magpie's story, and can be added to that book when I get back to working on it, but it stands alone. I just need to up the magical realism a smidge more before it's done.

Tomorrow is my first day back at work after a pretty good summer vacation. Coincidentally, I just started watching season four of The Wire, in which Pres has become a middle school math teacher in the Baltimore Public School System. Watching what he goes through reminds me a lot of my first two years in Orleans Parish. It's also making me nervous about my first day with kids in a couple of weeks. I spent the last three years with the same class of students, moving up with them, so it's weird having a new group.

I hope to get back to work on some longer writing soon. Hopefully finish Magpie one of these days. The second book is really the hardest, I think. It's taking me forever.

I'm in Silverthorne, Colorado right now for a work trip. Going from about six feet below sea level yesterday to about ten thousand feet was a bit of a shock to  my system. I could have probably gone to bed at about six thirty, but we had to do introductions and what not.

I had a dream last night that for some reason crying blood was a sign of altitude sickness. Of course, I was crying blood. It was not a nice dream.

The setting here is beautiful: rushing rivers, waterfalls, snow-capped mountains all viewable from the bus on the freeway here. I'm sleeping on a rollaway bed right under the hotel room window, and I opened the drapes this morning to golden sun streaming through silver clouds. The effect has finished, but it was nice while it lasted.

bitches gotta eat.: summer beauty tips for the gross and lazy.

bitches gotta eat.: summer beauty tips for the gross and lazy.: "this is my real sink. and i want you to know that because i'm so well-mannered and considerate i wiped down all of the toothpaste spots and..."

This is quite possibly the funniest beauty article I've ever read.