Grease: The New Beer

I just got back from The Flying Fish, a lovable Little Rock establishment dedicated to southern-fried gluttony. I went with two friends, Juice and Richard, and after an hour or more of stuffing our faces full of goodness we got into a conversation regarding the glory that is southern homecookin'. Unfortunately, Richard is not from The South. He is a Kansan and therefore inferior in ways of the flesh. Juice and I, being Southern by blood and birth, felt it was our duty to enlighten our young charge.

Upon our table sat plates of hushpuppies, coleslaw, frog legs, catfish, shrimp, oysters on the half shell, tartar sauce, and pickled green tomatoes; a veritable smorgasbord of edible joy. After completing our meal with the reverence it deserved, the drunkenness began. This is a special intoxication that only worshipers in the House of Hushpuppy understand. The perfect hushpuppy is small, the size of a large kumquat. The size is important as it is imperative that the grease seep deep into the pup. The middle of the pup must be shiny and moist and when you pop the pup into your mouth, grease should slide to the back of your tongue and the top of your throat before any swallowing occurs. This provides the perfect level of slickness to aid in the slow digestion of the pup. It's a science, truly.

The hushpuppy grease, mixed with the crispy fried goodness of the frog legs/catfish/shrimp, creates a feeling of wellbeing akin to the perfect level of drunkenness. It's beautiful, heartbreaking. Every pore of your body rejoices as grease slowly replaces the blood in your veins. Every half-second you feel the pulsating of a happy heart as it joyously begins the work of keeping your fat-soaked body alive. People wonder at the slow speech of Southerners, the almost-laziness of their lives. This is the truth, my brethren, we are a loved and lovable people who know the beauty of perfectly fried dough, the power of perfectly buttered grits, the tear-soaked joy that accompanies the discovery of a kitchen stocked with oleo, karo, rotel, and okra. It is a beautiful life, and too short to be lived without a deep fryer.

*All this being said, and perhaps for this very reason, I am a Weight Watchers member. In the past month I have lost 9 lbs. Hopefully, by the grace of God, the Flying Fish did not completely screw me over. Oh the woes of food and fashion...

Thrillin' Like a Villain

Don't forget to vote on my new poll to the right of the posts. And in honor of this fantasmical celebration of death, stink, and all things crusty I have created the following poem:

I have decided to eat your brain,
with ketchup, peas, and toast.
Please enjoy your final hours,
as you'll soon become a ghost.
The squish of blood mixed in with pus
makes my tummy growl with glee.
I cannot wait to slit your throat
and sip your marrow like sweet tea.
I can't decide what to eat first,
your toes or your inner thighs
so maybe I'll make a casserole
and eat both with finger fries.
Groceries are bought, recipes made
and I'm sharpening my favorite knife
so lock your doors and hug your mommy
and prepare to lose your life.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

The Things I Miss About New Orleans

1. The Roman Candy Man
2. Lebanon's
3. Walking to Audobon Park after class and feeding the ducks with Stephanie
4. Riding my bike to Mona's for falafels
5. Reginelli's tomato sauce
6. Random parades
7. Walking down Bourbon with a Hand Grenade
8. Dancing
9. Bread Pudding at Commander's
10. 25 cent martinis at Commander's with my lady friends
11. My spot in the reading room
12. Driving across the Causeway
13. Muriel's
14. Eating beignets at Cafe du Monde at 3am
15. Standing on my porch
16. Opening my windows
17. Sweating
18. Smelling flowers all year
19. Old ladies on bicycles
20. Tipitina's
21. Complaining about how nasty the Bubble food is then going there anyway
22. Canal Place movie theatre
23. U-turns
24. My laugh (I think I left it there by accident)
25. Music coming from nowhere
26. Crawfish boils
27. Professors Davies and Houck
28. Working at the Advocacy Center
29. Going to my church
30. Orange dreamsicle flavored snoballs
31. My quilt
32. Getting new freckles every afternoon
33. Driving downtown and back while listening to Iron & Wine
34. Sitting in Katherine's apartment drinking wine
35. Watching Scrubs
36. The Bulldog
37. Riding the streetcar to the Quarter
38. Shoenami
39. Discovering new places
40. Everything

This is the Look I'm Going For

So Halloween is upon us and due to recent changes in my hair (ahem...the perm...see below), I have decided to make my hair the focal point of the holiday and dress like, no, I WILL BECOME, Miss Cyndi Lauper. This photo is my inspiration. Thus far the game plan is as follows:
1. use gold glitter spray and black hair streaks to emphasize craziness
2. tease hair until it's bigger than a regulation size basketball...swoop hair to one side
3. huge earrings, preferably in a primary color
4. ripped black tshirt worn off the shoulder
5. bright red satin bra (to show beneath ripped shirt of course...gotta have visible straps)
6. burgundy lace tutu-esque skirt
7. lace and or zigzaggy patterned stockings in a color yet to be determined
8. bangles
9. red lipstick
10. various shades of blue eyeshadow
11. hot pink heels
12. black purse that looks almost like leather
13. attitude

Elizabethtown

Heavens, where do I begin? I saw this last night. I'm a soundtrack addict, love the way a song can transform a scene. I love the way music can underscore the look on someone's face and communicate feelings that aren't verbalized. Crowe, of course, is quite good at manipulating music to fit a scene. Unfortunately, in this film he built the story around the music instead of using the music to strengthen the storyline's emotional muscles. He loved the music more than the characters, more than the journey. Juice de la Juice, my partner in crime and my date to the movie, said it perfectly when she mourned, "He totally prostituted that U2 song." And as much as I'd love to see Bono ho-ing it up in true streetwalker fashion, I would prefer for that to occur on a personal, one-on-one, candlelit basis. A true disappointment.

That being said, I will go see it again. There were some lovely moments. And I love lovely moments.

Holy Crap, I got a Perm!

Um, yeah. This is what happens when I'm bored and/or depressed and/or indecisive about my attractiveness. I always feel slightly guilty screwing with my hair because everyone's always telling me how pretty it is. And I truly appreciate that. But despite the fact that I was blessed with, I admit, gorgeous red hair (hey, we all get, at the very least, one vanity to revel in, right?) it is the same hair I've had since birth. I've had lovely red hair for 24 years and it's been painfully straight the whole time (give or take the handful of months I crimped or permed it in the 80s).

So, this salon was having a sale on perms and I just bit the bullet. I've been wanting a perm for an age but felt a bit sheepish admitting it. But I have stick straight hair and I'm tired of it so now I have CRAZY AWESOME FABULOUS red corkscrews popping out of my head. Sweet! I know, dear friends of mine, it sounds insane. It is slightly insane. But it's joyful hair and my hair was looking sad. We can't have sad hair looking back at us in the mirror. We must have masses of JOYFUL INSANE hair to look forward to every morning. And I've always had this feeling that redheads should have curly hair, a la Orphan Annie. I always felt I'd been robbed of my redheaded birthright. Just rectifying the situation.

Tripping

This morning I went to Barnes and Noble because I've become addicted to iced coffee with cinnamon. I drank half the cup and then drove to school (yes, I relocated due to Katrina. I'm currently studying at University of Arkansas-Little Rock Law School and am counting the days until I can return to N'Awlins). In the process of walking to the building from my car, while balancing my family law texts and wearing my new pink heels, my knee seemed to momentarily dissolve and I landed in the grass. This is my life. I don't know why it made me happy to fall down, but it did. I've been walking around in a semi-daze these past few weeks, missing New Orleans, missing my friends, missing a life I loved. I've been hard as nails and have maintained perfect posture in my classes and have smiled to the point of pain. It felt good to trip and spill things and be clumsy. Clumsy and comfy is what I am in New Orleans. This is so hard to explain. Here I've just been trying to maintain the status quo, try not to feel too much or I'd explode. Never stop crying. But recently I've started to relax again, be happy again.

I still haven't laughed MY laugh. It's odd to think about, that I haven't had a huge outright guffaw (those who know me know what I'm talking about) for weeks. But it's coming, I can feel it. And for some reason, getting grass stains on my knees brings me that much closer.

Much love to my roommate Stephanie, for being a friend and compatriot amidst landlord drama, boy drama, evacuation drama, cleaning-out-the-fridge drama, too-much-wine-in-the-hotel-room drama, etc. You are a blessing. And I can't wait to love New Orleans with you by my side again.