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You're reading an old entry from Michelle "Lexi Kahn" DiPoala's online diary, formerly called Jungle Sweet Jungle. Blog name changed to Low Budget Superhero in October 2005. Now I mostly go by SuperLowBudge. You can call me Lexi, Michelle or SuperLowBudge, or if you're my mom, then Shelly. Enjoy these old posts (except if you're my mom.) Please follow on Blogger at superlowbudge.blogspot.com. From there you can follow me on Twitter and some other platforms. Thanks!



Just how Big are we talkin'? And how Easy?

(April 16, 2001)

I can't focus on work today. How the shit am I expected to focus on work today when tomorrow at this time I'll be in New Orleans, a whole city I've never visited and always lusted after? New Orleans. N'awlins. The Big Easy.

With my fascination with death and penchant for the unexplainable things that lurk in the dark corners of the world, I am of course drawn to the history of the place, the "real" city that makes it unique from any other city. I don't want to see the stuff that's already been in syndication, in other words. It's kinda like when my distant friends come to Boston, and they immediately want to go drink at the Cheers bar while I want to take them to The Middle East for indie rock & falafel. The Cheers bar is crap. It was a bad show, they only shot the OUTSIDE of the bar, and nobody needs a T-shirt that might as well say "look how dumb I am, I actually gave somebody money for this shirt."

I'm just assuming (I could be 100% wrong) that enough corporate leeching has invaded New Orleans that, like any other city, its "Main Street" equivalent is indistinguishable from that of Albuquerque or San Jose or Memphis. I don't know, though, I'm totally guessing. I just know that I can feel when I'm in a tourist trap. It feels contrived. I wanna yell, "Cut!" Like when I went to Memphis on business and my co-workers just HAD to go to BB King's bar. Totally commercialized place, generic food like Chile's or Applebee's, you had to walk through a gift shop to get in, and the band played only Top Forty songs that pass for blues for the ultra-white jock crowd that don't know any better...of which comprised 70% of the clientele. I just KNOW that Memphis has a host of tiny, out-of-the-way places where we could have stuffed ourselves on some serious ribs and righteous blues played by people nobody ever heard of. But I didn't get to experience 'em.

Now, how to go about finding the New Orleans sub-cultures...

I want to get my cards read. It would be my first time (except for the years when I tried to teach MYSELF the cards and read my own all the time, which sounds as stupid as it was). I want to find the local artists. I hope it's like Provincetown or Soho, where galleries are tucked everywhere and crackling with originality. I want to go to restaurants the locals like, and find the New Orleans alternative rock that I have a feeling is just great.

Hub will be in a conference for the first three days, one of which I will spend looking for ancient crumbling cemetaries into which I will wander and explore, but don't worry, I won't carry a wallet and I'll try to avoid leaving safe, populated areas. The only trick is how to get good people-less headstone pictures without leaving peopled areas and without bringing my very expensive digital camera.

Since the opportunity to take this trip came up so fast, I haven't really prepared much. Hub looked up the weather, so I know what to bring. I sort of know where the hotel is...heeeeyyyyy, it just dawned on me that Lisa links to some Diarylanders who, I'm pretty sure, live there. Maybe THEY write about cool places to go. I will commence clicking soon...

Email me if you have any suggestions. I'll be online down there.

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