In love again

I've been feeling pissy and pessimistic about the state of New Orleans, with good reason. I've been thinking I need to graduate and get the hell out of here.

I haven't gone out at night for a couple of months. But tonight I went to a houseparty in an elegantly decaying old house. On the back patio, underneath a palm tree and with a view of the elevated freeway, a cute young girl with a Patsy Cline hairdo sang honkytonk songs, then Miss A (my dogsitter) sang Jobim while accompanying herself on the ukelele, then O.L.D. played a set of their scatological country & western songs. Everyone at the party was funny and charming. We drank beer and ate hotdogs. It was a hot steamy night with a bit of a breeze that made it almost pleasant.

It was White Linen Night, and lots of people were out. This was sort of a Soiled Linen party.

On the way out I ran into Adam and a couple of his friends, and we hung out on the street for a while and caught up with each other. They invited me to a salsa party in Mid City, but instead I went to see the Morning 40 at Le Bon Temps. A free show, everyone packed in shoulder to shoulder, drinking and sweating and smelling of b.o., and jumping up and down and singing along to every song.

The Morning 40 have become a great band. They tour and are getting some national attention, but in New Orleans we've been watching them for years, from when they were sloppy but fun and wild, to now when they are tight but still fun and wild. We know them, they know us, we know all their songs.

I only stayed for the first set--they are still playing right now.

Just as I got home, a nighttime summer rain began to fall.

It was exactly the kind of New Orleans night that I missed so much when I was in exile. How can I think of leaving? I love New Orleans, New Orleans needs me.

However, my sentiments are subject to change when I read the night's body count in tomorrow's newspaper.