2005: Ten days that sucked

It was the black eyed peas. For a minute there I had convinced myself that 2004 was as screwy as it was because I had neglected to consume the obligatory legumes on January 1. This year I resolved not to make the same mistake. I woke up early one hungover New Year's morning and saw a rooster struttin by my house... I mean I threw together the mother of all pots of peas. We still have some left. How long do you think peas keep anyway? No I don't feel ill at all.
As good as the peas were, I'm beginning to suspect that their power to bestow good fortune upon their annual devourers is greatly exaggerated. To wit, here we are 10 days into the newly pea-christened year and the following things have gone horribly horribly wrong.

• My beloved Tigers lost the Capital One Bowl by paying their karmatic debt for the Bluegrass Miracle. This happened as I was finishing my first bowl of peas. While this is a pretty crappy way for Saban to go out, I can't help but wonder if things would have been different for this team if he had done the right thing and turned the starting QB job over to JaMarcuss Russell after the Oregon State game.


• Oh and the Saints tried so hard didn't they? Nothing stings more than watching your guys miss the playoffs at the same time that Mike Martz gets in. We should have known a few weeks back when I made a prediction, that it wasn't going to happen. Longtime readers have certainly noted that nothing I predict here ever comes true.


• Then there was the below mentioned return of the kitchen leak (2005 edition). Since my reporting of this, Lackey visited once and frowned at the ceiling. Perhaps this was sufficient to shame the leak into submission. I do have my doubts, however.


• And then there's this. There are three major factors at play here, none of which has been adequately addressed through the reportage of the incident. They are these. First, let us make no mistake about the fact that tourists suck. Anyone who has worked in the service industry in the French Quarter knows this. They are invariably rude and condescending. They mangle the names of our streets. They woefully misapprehend and trivialize our culture, our food, our history. They tip poorly, mistake our private property for restroom facilities, and often threaten to get people fired for not smiling at them. If your livelihood depends on the tourist industry you inevitably are made to feel like a prostitute. I know what I'm talking about. So, to begin with, any interaction between a tourist (particularly a drunken one) and a service employee necessarily takes place within a context of barely suppressed rage. Second, let's talk for a minute about how one becomes a bouncer on Bourbon Street. Remember those guys you went to high school with who liked to sleep through class and flush M-80's down the toilet? In New Orleans, they grow up to be cops. Most of them do anyway. Some of them lack the... um... social graces, ability to show up on time, read and write or meet the several other high standards required of those who wish to protect and serve the citizens of New Orleans. These people get jobs as bouncers. (Ok not all bouncers are so derived. Some of them are very nice, albeit very large, people. On the other hand, most of them are fucking scary bastards.) So any interaction between a Bourbon street bouncer and another human being takes place within a context of fiery hot rage. Third, and perhaps worst of all, this whole story was very nearly swept under the rug due to the fact that local media and law enforcement are so squarely under the thumb of the criminals who own the shameful tourist trade in this town. Until the NAACP threatened to involve the feds, there were no arrests made, and no media outlet so much as questioned Razoo's owners' statement that the incident was prompted by a violation of the club's "dress code." As most of you probably suspect, there is no dress code at Razoo. Any idiot in shorts and sandals is free to pay $8.00 for a beer there until the sun comes up. What Razoo means by "dress code" is that their bouncers eyeball individuals and exclude those who look like "suspicious characters", to quote John Toole, by informing them, rather less than politely, that they do not meet the "dress code" requirements. This is obviously a highly subjective judgement and given that many clubgoers who pass this inspection are less than nattily clad, one can see how those excluded individuals may be expected to exhibit a degree of indignance. In this case, an indignant black college student paid with his life at the hands of three overenthusiastic white bouncers. This is really the worst kind of ugliness. The club is, of course, defending its policy and, surprisingly, its employees. Given the clout the club owners wield and the stranglehold the tourism industry has on this community's institutions, I don't expect the kid's family will recieve much in the way of swift justice.


• I also want to say a few words about the sad passing of legendary New Orleans sports broadcaster, Buddy Diliberto. I'll have to make that a separate post as this one has become a bit long. Here is the reaction of Buddy's longtime friend, T-P columnist, Peter Finney. There was also a bit of discussion of this over at Timshel. For now, let's just say that I respectfully disagree with Ricky's take.

The freaking peas owe me, man!
Black Eyed Peas
Soak overnight in a big pot, 2 lbs of Camellia brand black eyes.
Remove peas from pot and brown 1 lb of Chisesi brand smoked sausage.
Set sausage aside and sautee onion, celery, garlic until onions begin to brown.
Return peas and sausage to pot. Add parsely, bay leaf, and fresh basil.
Add enough water to cover.
Season liberally with thyme, marjoram, salt and pepper. (You can add a little red pepper here if you have to. I often have to. you can even throw in a half stick of butter as long as you don't tell Consuela you have done so.)
Cover pot and let simmer for 1 to 2 hours until a milky soup is achieved.
Enjoy, and good luck.