My Moments in the French Quarter: Le Coeur de New Orleans

Before I left LA for my somewhat dreaded trip back to Tennesee, I told myself that I wanted our one day in New Orleans to be a day of freedom, free from my daily life in Los Angeles and free from the preoccupation of selling a business in the beat-up economy of Tennessee. Lucky for me, New Orleans would have it no other way.

It was my first time in the city and we were directed by our hosts to visit the French Quarter with the limited amount of time that we had. Anyone who has been there before can attest to the fact that this neighborhood is extremely special, to say the least. After the floods, when I saw displaced residents saying that they would return and rebuild, I thought they were crazy. But, you would hear people saying over and over again that there is no place in the world like New Orleans. After a mere half day there, I understand wholeheartedly their sentiments.

Let the earth open up and swallow Phoenix, Dallas, or Knoxville. The surviving residents can then relocate to St. Louis, Minneapolis or Houston where they will find their Best Buy/Safeway/Ross Dress For Less/McDonald's corners and ease right back into the familiarity of it all.

But, oh, to imagine having lived in the magic of the French Quarter all of one's life. To begin and end the day with cafe au lait and beignets. To walk amid jazz bands and horse drawn carriages on the way to work. To have had your first kiss beneath the crumbling balconies of Royale Street. And then, one day, to be whisked away on a crowded bus and plunked down in Lincoln or Wichita! And try as you may to search out the new loft developments and downtown revitalization projects, you would never, ever find the soul of New Orleans there. And at night you would fall asleep only to dream of its sounds and smells.

I understand now.

If you can, before the world ends, find a fabulous lover and a second story flat in the French Quarter. Stay there for at least a week. Love the food, the music, the thick air, the galleries, and a sidewalk hurricane now and then. Then tell me where else in the US of A you could possibly feel so alive.

And now... A Word of Wisdom From My Dentist

I went to the dentist for the first time in over a year yesterday. Despite brushing my teeth, on average, 1.75 times per day, I had a lot of plaque built up on my gum line. So much so, that the scraping was making my gums bleed quite a bit. Sexy, right?

Anyway, my dentist says, "I don't know if you haven't been in for a cleaning in a while because of the filling (read: large hole in one of my molars due to falling out of a faulty filling that he did the previous year) or what, but you have a lot of plaque on your teeth."

I said, "Actually I haven't had insurance for the past year, so I couldn't afford to go to the dentist". He then offered up this string of rhetorical pearls of wisdom, "So what? Is there insurance for food? NO. Do you still buy food?"

Uh, yeah.

I would have responded if he hadn't subsequently huffed out of the room. Plus, I was numbed, drooling, and bleeding. Anyway, I don't understand this logic. Based solely on the number of days that a human being can survive without food vs. without dental care, his argument is ineffective. But, he was probably just upset because he missed me while I was gone. And the 500 dollars that I chose to spend on daily nourishment.

Here's to the eventuality of free health care for all.

Jasmine is back!

If I could, I would build a winter home out of trelliced jasmine vines. I would fall asleep to the scent of night-blooming jasmine and wake to the fragrance of the Confederate variety. One of the saddest things I had to leave behind when we moved to Tennessee was the star jasmine vine I had spent the last year training and pruning, especially because I knew it was just about to bloom and I would miss all the pleasure that the flowers would bring.

But, today on my bike ride into work, I discovered a patch of road on Civic Center Drive in Beverly Hills, where for a brief second, the stellar scent of the flower almost knocks you out. I gasped a reflexive, "Oh my God!'" as I passed through it. So, it's time again for jasmine all over LA to bless us with its presence. The fragrance travels a significant distance, so even if you can't immediately spot the vines, you know they're there, maybe on the other side of a fence or around the corner.

And, alas, I am leaving for Tennessee again for two weeks starting tomorrow. Lucky for me, it has a long growing season. Get yourself one too! They are very drought resistant, grow well in containers and will climb anything. And they will fill your days with aromatherapeutic pleasure!

Here's to taking advantage of the splendid year-round gardening opportunities California has to offer!

Merry Christmas!

This fabulous piece of edible art is a Crescent Roll Christmas Tree. I took it to a potluck on Monday and I'd say it was a hit. I'll be making it as a holiday tradition from here on out. Someone remarked that it was "White Trash", but I think it's more "Midwest Christmas" than anything.

This was a really cool art piece at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion where we saw the 2008 LA Holiday Celebration. It's a three-dimensional representation of Bunker Hill, an area in Downtown Los Angeles. Before it was taken over by lofts and high rises.

Christmas Greetings from LA, the Contra-Christmas Locale

It’s Christmas Eve in LA, which makes this my 6th holiday season in a city where I have no family, have never lived in a home longer than 15 months, and haven’t purchased a Christmas tree, real or fake. Last year, we decorated a large tumbleweed we found in the Sequoia National Forest. We nailed it above our hearth (a blocked in, useless fireplace, of course). It was very minimalist and I was very fond of it. The year before was a ficus tree that I had moved from home to home with me since I got here. Ficus trees don’t support ornaments very well and I had to wrap the ugly, black plastic pot in red velvet to make it a little more presentable in its new role as a holiday centerpiece.

This year, our Christmas focal point is a lopsided, creaking fiber-optic tree rescued from the curb by my roommate. Its wiry branches are bent every which way and it’s, well, you know what fiber optic looks like. It’s not what you’d call modern, or traditional, or classy. But, somehow it’s appropriate for a Los Angeles Christmas. It fits in nicely with our dinner plans for Christmas Day – find an Indian restaurant that’s open and accepts buy one, get one free coupons from the Entertainment Guide.

It may be the weather. It could be all the Jews. It may be the hordes of displaced wanderers that inhabit this town. Or it may be that most people I know, including myself, feel the lightness of their pocketbooks more acutely this time of year. All those things combined make LA the perfect place to spend a non-traditional Christmas and be at peace with it.

If I were in Wisconsin right now and it was minus zero with wind chill, snowing outside and every place of business was closed in honor of the holiday, the fact that I was sitting in my living room without a proper tree, no presents, and no fudge would probably depress me deeply. You’d find me in a down coat at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, curiously eyeing the others eating around me and wondering how and when my fate had taken such a dismal turn.

But, here in Los Angeles, a city that caters to singles, transplants, and heathens alike, we can go to Mondo Xmas at the Silent Movie Theatre – a sort of sick and twisted film festival for the holidays. Or to Santa’s Satanic Swingers Lounge at a Flintstone themed bar for Christmas drink specials. Or, barring rain, we can just go to the beach, wander around and say “Can you believe it’s Christmas Day and we’re at the beach?” Cold weather transplants like to giddily say that kind of stuff all winter long. (“Can you believe it’s January and we’re rollerblading in shorts?!?")

For us, this year, Christmas Eve is a free 6-hour Christmas program at The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, followed by a Christmas Eve service at church. Besides the Indian food on Christmas Day, we may go see the heavily advertised Curious Case of Benjamin Button and take Penny to the dog park. On Saturday, we’re going to Pershing Square for a classical guitar concert at the outdoor ice skating rink, followed by skating until our ankles give out. So, we’re mixing in the traditional in small doses. The photo above is us at a friend’s party. They’re Jewish and look at that beautiful tree! Just another example of Angelenos bucking tradition.

Here's to a joyous day for all, no matter what you have planned!

Can I drive an El Camino and still be taken seriously?

This is a question I am pondering. The standard symbol of success in the financial business is driving around in a shiny, black, leased Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, or if you're a little edgy, a Porsche or Jaguar. As smooth and satisfying as these are to drive, they seem to me a tad bit run-of-the-mill.

I've always been a fan of old, and unfortunately, big cars. Cadillac El Dorados and Ford Rancheros being two of my favorites. My very first car was a 1977 Chrysler Newport. It was so large that I put up curtains between the front and back seat, so friends could make out undisturbed. And make out you could. The back seat was spacious enough that my friend Briana could lay out flat and fit head to toe, widthways. And to complement its silky red paisley interior, each year, I decorated it for Christmas. Golden drums, pinecones, and angels swirled and jerked at every stop, dangling from various spots on the ceiling.

So, as I contemplate what impending financial security means to me, part of it entails buying a car that I really love. And I'm leaning towards a shiny, candy apple red Ford Ranchero. Yummmm. Yummm. I'm still debating which year I like the best, plus I can't drive a stick shift to save my life, so I've got to locate an automatic. Also, any smart person would steer clear of a gas-guzzling V8 engine as well, which is mainly what I am seeing under the hoods of these beauties. (Picture me saying this wearing some dickies and a wife beater with a smear of axle grease on my cheek.)

So, can a female broker be taken seriously arriving to a client lunch in such a beast? Or is it like wearing a pink tutu to the office? Is your car an extension of your wardrobe when you're on the road meeting clients? I think if I were a designer, it would be viewed as cool irreverence. But, does an investor want an irreverent broker?

I've got a while to figure it out, because a) I'm happy with my bicycle for now, b) I'm not exactly what you'd refer to as high-powered yet, and c) once my blog gets noticed by the right people, I'll be working from home, getting paid to write about my observations on the world and I won't need a car after all.

My Letter Is FEATURED in The LA Times!

Alright! I haven't seen a hard copy yet, but a friend called this morning and said my letter (see Blog Entry, "Park it, Angelenos!") is a featured letter to the editor. This means bold-faced, boxed in, and accompanied by a photo. Excellent. Now, I am just waiting for the phone call where the editor says, "I've gone through the archive of your submissions and I'd like to ask you to begin submitting Op-Eds for us."