Gaga, ooh la la..

ive been a mystified critic for too long, of gaga's fantastical eccentricities and over- theatrical displays. i am, however, a convert. her creativity is brilliant; while this video featuring ms. B-b-beyonce is clearly more gaga's vision than sasha fierce's, i give credit to the dynamic duo for pulling off an outrageously colorful and in-your-face sexually charged performance that has us panting for more p*ssy wagon-esque antics(props and spiked louis included) and punchy gun-metal expletives.

NEW ORLEANS RISE.

grasping, feigning, groping, understanding, tryna come to grips with this blood spill thang, echoes of the sirens and the ear-shattering gun bangs. why our youth's lost the truth, is there hope? seems to be the only resounding battle cry... i try, with all my might, to fight the ig-norance, take up fight with what's right and yet my cries are silenced, like a revolver, i'm getting cold, shit's getting old, my shoulders are weary and my eyes teary... how can we try, to define the power struggle, our hands binded, mouth muzzled as we deal with all this trouble, the grime and the street stuggle, i'm so puzzled. what to do, where to turn, how to deal when all i feel is anger and disappointment inside, to the point where i'm sittin here just tongue-tied..

I have to say that one of the things that's awesome about living in new orleans are these fantastic rainstorms we get. buckets and sheets of rain, pouring over the roofs, slapping against the windowpaines with newfound easy familiarity. granted, we've witnessed our fair share of devastation in these parts due to atomic caliber hurricaines, but nothing beats the sound of murderous thunder in the sky as i sit, tucked away in my cozy southern digs, buried beneath a mountain of pillows and a stack of books perched precariously on my side. Perfection.

the place has charm, i'll have to post some pix. hardwood floors, french doors, tall ceilings. an adorable screened little balcony. the house is a delicious flamingo pink with major new orleans classic throwback appeal. the bathroom features a claw tub and a black and white checkered floor. my room is floor to ceiling windows, letting in so much natural light i could just pinch myself.

ive decided to sort of abandon the editing process in my writing and just write what comes to mind. it's interesting; i viewed another friend's blog and decided i liked her ramble musings so much i thought that some soul out there might feel the same way. people's lives are interesting, even in their placid ordineriness. for instance, in my younger days, i used to get oodles and noodles of delight in falling into the lives of the characters of Laura Ingall's Wilder's Little House on the Prairie series. God knows those days are a far cry from the technological-gadget filled, modernized world we currently occupy, but there was so much imagination! A peppermint stick would elicit cries of delight and something as seeminly benign as a gentle kiss on a woman's cheek would have all the girls' hearts cooing and fluttering with exultation. i lost myself in that era, feeling just as dainty and fine as the young ladies skipping about in their muslin and calico petticoats and fur trimmed collars. And school! Oh, how school seemed so interesting and fun. I may even dare say I attribute my teacherly aspirations to Wilder's descriptive pages by I so routinely got lost in.

The nostalgia of those times fills me with a sweet reverie. While I didn't choose to be born in this century, something about life on the homefront transports me to a time and place where things didn't matter as much as people mattered. where importance was placed on virtues or character traits. where blizzards brought people together around a warm family hearth, stories spun with animation and plumes of delicious color. Fast forward to the present: I guess storms have a way of harkening back to simpler times, when a cozy kettle and a warm quilt (let's not forget a good book) were some of life's sweetest indulgences. For now though, I have imagination...and imagination I shall readily use...

More than a Woman.

i think this video, this song, these lyrics are not only incredibly sexy, they tell one helluva love story. The song, by the timeless Angie Stone, features Joe at both their best. If you feign romantic indulgence as i do, and love it in a pictographic form, this vid's for you.

I guess I'm momentarily revived.

In the world of blogging, I meant. I came across a colleague and friend's blog on her life as a teacher living here in New Orleans, and I was struck by the austerity of my own blog, one that should very much be colored by my own strands of rich experiences living in one of the most interesting and perplexing cities of our time. So here I am, months later, again picking up the dusty cyberquill, which has, for some time now, remained unused and abandoned. I am enthused. By my life right now, which is textured with graininess and the sorts of runs you might find in a pair of weathered pantyhose (as most interesting and lived lives might contain their fair share of, I posit), but also by my experience. By the sensational act of getting up every day and going to a job that resembles something like the frontlines our American soldiers face in strange, unknown places. A job with worthiness. A job with purpose. A job that's more than just a job; it's a duty, an honor, an adventure containing tons of snares and tangles, roadblocks and other sorts of obstructions that might threaten the demise of a journey. But it's cooh, man, it's realll cool, 'cuz it's something that you believe in. Something that gets you going in the morning like a cup of mint java. Something that incites the exhale of sleepy weariness at the end of the day, the mark of a day's good work.

junk reformation.

my cutie, rockin out the new hand-painted vintage desk we salvaged!