Somebody went to New Orleans and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

My next post was going to be about all the road construction going on in New Orleans, but before I could do that, I was over on the Yellow Blog where I discovered that things are heating up over at the French Market. Comments made by the new director, Jon Smith, have angered some French Market vendors. The vendors were already ticked off by changes made in Market rules in 2012 and they filed a lawsuit which is still pending. This article just gives more proof to how screwed up things really are at the French Market.

One sentence made me take pause: "T-shirts also are prohibited, but a number of vendors who sold them before the ban went into effect were grandfathered in." Before Katrina, many, myself included, was lamenting over the proliferation of tacky, tourist t-shirt shops in the Quarter. These stores would cram dozens of t-shirts, usually with crude sayings on them (like these), in the doorway, all the while blasting music, sometimes Cajun, sometimes not. It was really getting out of control. Since Katrina, there's been a new explosion of t-shirt shops by local companies whose New Orleans themed t-shirts are geared to locals and tourist in the know. Stores like Fleurty Girl, Dirty Coast and Storyville to name a few. T-shirts are a hot commodity so it's surprising the Market would ban them.

Tacky t-shirts are no longer the only thing that scream tourist. What are the (tourist) symbols of New Orleans? Crawfish, something playing the saxophone and beads. Beads are no longer contained to Mardi Gras. The tacky t-shirt shops also sell beads, beads, beads. Feather boas are big too. The hot trend in conferences is in addition to your big old name badge and printed bag is a fake second line. There have been several times I've been down river when a brass band comes by with a handful of people decked out in beads and feather boas stumbling down the street behind them throwing beads. Like this company says on their web site: "We go beyond shutting down Canal Street for your own “second line” parade, bringing in voodoo priestesses to conjure your future and teaching you the Cajun two-step." Under Services one of the "Program Enhancements" they offer is a Jazz Funeral. Good grief.

When you have 13-year-old car, you can expect it to break down from time to time. About a week ago I had trouble starting it. Turn the key – nothing. I checked the battery, nothing loose, wiggled some things around. After turning the key a few more time it started up. Had to turn the key a number of times to get it started at the end of day. The next morning, no problems. Didn’t have any problems until Wednesday. Took a number of times to get started. I should have taken the car into the mechanic then. Live and learn. Yesterday I had no problems. I had decided to go ahead and take it in today, and idea confirmed when it took many time to get it started. Driving along I noticed my radio kept powering off and on. All of a sudden it just turned off completely. I managed to coast over to the side. Turn the key, nothing. Mess with the battery and wires, still nothing. After a while I call AAA for a tow. I was told 45 minutes, so I sat and waited. As I’m sitting there, a trickle of very nicely dressed people start parking around me and going to the church across the street (I was broken down next to the post office on Louisiana Ave.) More and more people arrive. I’m guessing it’s a funeral. I notice men in gold blazers with “Zulu” on them. The crowd grows; a cop starts to direct traffic. I’m worried about my tow truck getting to me. I hear a brass band in the distance but I can’t see them. Now I’m kind of hoping my tow truck doesn’t show up for a while. A procession comes down LA Ave. and goes into the church. There were about 100 men in gold blazers standing on LA Ave, swaying to the dirge the band was playing, like they were marching in place. It’s been 50 minutes I call AAA. The truck is 5 miles away will be there in 20 minutes. An elderly woman walked by me asked if I needed help. I told her thank you but no, I was waiting for a tow truck. She said she read about the man who had died in the paper yesterday. “Must have been someone important, that’s a lot of people.” I agreed with her. The music stopped and slowly the men swaying in the street file into the church as other people file out. At long last the tow truck arrives and he gives the battery a jump and the car starts. He says I need a new battery and I tell him the other things that happened and that I was worried it would died again, so he says he’ll follow me to the mechanics. We go 4 blocks and my car conks out. He jumps it again. While standing there, my friend Michael, who lived near by, walks up “I saw on your Facebook status you had broken down and was wondering if you were close by.” I had posted the photo you see here to Facebook. I get in my car and we drive another 2 blocks. The tow truck driver states, “I’ll need to tow it.” No shit Sherlock.

I had not heard from my mechanic and it was getting to be the end of the day so I gave them a call. "It started right up" I was told. I was pissed and went off on a rant of the problems it gave me. They can keep it until they figure out the problem. I walked home which was good for the nerves. Monday the saga will continue.