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It’s become a tradition to take a photo of Xy as she heads off to her first day of classes.

I realized this morning that we’ve been doing this for long enough that I have built up quite a little archive, going back to 2005, just a few days before Katrina.

These photos kind of recapitulate our lives over last six years. Even though I always feel a great deal of pride when she embarks on a new year of teaching, reviewing these pictures also makes me a little sad. She’s still reeling from the brutal year she had in 09-10. A year like that can really undermine one’s confidence. (Her recent surgery has not made things any easier either; she’s recovering but there have been some anxiety issues along the way.) Teachers across the country have had it rough but here in New Orleans they’ve been kicked to the curb repeatedly, used and abused, underpaid and overworked and repeatedly disrespected.

Seeing the real human toll on someone you love isn’t pleasant.

When Xy comes home exhausted and overwrought, I don’t know how to advise her. Oh, I have plenty to say. I’m brimming over with perky little self-help ideas, I’m just not sure if it helps her in any way. It might be better if I was just the “strong silent type,” but I’m more the kind of guy who wants to get in there and fix stuff. It’s a fairly typical masculine mindset, I suppose. But we have such different working environments, and our psychologies are just different enough, that I don’t know if she finds much value in anything I say. But my frustration is only a fraction of what Xy feels.

Each year starts with such high hopes, only to end deeper in discouragement and despair. I worry. Yes, I do.

But enough gloom. Teaching is hard work, but the world needs good teachers, and these teachers need our love and support. Give a teacher a hug, or a word of appreciation, or better yet a nice home-cooked meal. That’s my plan.

Twenty-five years ago —

I came home from Sweden with blue hair, much to my parents’ shock and my sister’s delight.

At least I think she was delighted. Kind of hard to tell in this photo. Certainly I was glad to be back home. It was a great experience, my year abroad, but it was also hard, the hardest year of my (admittedly easy) life, in fact — until 2005 rolled around.

The blue was already beginning to wash out by this time, revealing the bleached blond underneath.

I’m wearing a gray flannel three piece suit I picked up at a secondhand shop in Stockholm. In this getup I felt like a rock star, and I pretended to be one on the flight home. I’m not sure anyone was fooled except maybe myself.

Sometimes it’s tough working with faculty. They have the summer off, and lots of them take extended vacations. Then they come back raving about what a fantastic time they had. Which is great, except sometimes I start to get a little jealous. So I thought I’d take a moment to remind myself of some fun things I’ve done recently.

Friday night, Xy & P were away on a “camping” trip, and so I was left to fend for myself. It was raining but I didn’t let that stop me. I rode my bike to the New Orleans Museum of Art. They do special stuff on Friday nights. The goings-on are typically cool enough that I don’t even wince at the heading “Where Y’Art?” Last time there we saw Quintron. On this particular night was the opening of the new exhibition, The Elegant Image: Bronzes from the Indian Subcontinent in the Siddharth K. Bhansali Collection. In celebration, they had live music by Guy Beck. I did a double-take. I recognized that name. I once checked out his album of sacred ragas from the New Orleans Public Library. I didn’t realize he’s a local. There were also Indian women in colorful saris striking dramatic poses on the steps in the atrium. I got there just in time for an exhibit walk-through led by Lisa Rotondo-McCord (who happens to be married to the guy who once occupied my office). I’ve never done one of these before, and despite being slightly damp from the rain, I enjoyed it immensely. The bronzes are mostly figurines from Hindu, Buddhist and Jain traditions, including some of the oldest Jain bronzes in existence. Highly recommended.

Also the piece hanging in the atrium right now, Thalassa by Swoon, is worth a visit.

Saturday afternoon I made a run deep into Lakeview to visit the hardware store. It’s a shame that after six years we still don’t have a hardware store in Mid-City, but I digress. I had P with me, and on the way back home she pointed out a brick house and observed that, “Some house are made out of bricks.” Sure nuff, I said, and pointed to the large brick building across the street, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. One thing led to another, and we ended up at the 10 AM worship service the next morning. At least one friend expressed surprise at this turn of events. It’s crucially important to me that my daughter have a full and well-rounded sense of her society, and the church is clearly a part of our society. I also treasure curiosity and want to do whatever I can to nurture that. As for the experience itself, it was mostly over her head, as she’s too young to sing from the hymnal or read the liturgy or understand the scripture. The highlight for her was getting to put a couple quarters in the offering plate. For my part I’ve got say, they have some nice stained glass there, but I was unprepared for the rampant anti-Baalism of the sermon. We slipped out during the Eucharist.

One of my core values is the idea of respecting others. Sounds good, doesn’t it? But like many deeply cherished values, it tends to get a bit complicated under intense scrutiny. In fact I have often considered myself a misanthrope, which might seem to be at odds with respecting others.

It’s easy for me to feel respectful in my typical daily routine, because I have the good fortune to be surrounded by people whom I find it easy to respect. For the most part, the people closest to me are not domineering assholes nor extremely needy nor highly dysfunctional. A lot of them are in fact beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, righteous people. I love them, and it’s easy to respect those you love.

If I deviate much from my social comfort zone, however, I’m liable to encounter people where the ideal of mutual respect is much more difficult. Sometimes, such deviations are thrust up unexpectedly, and I have a crisis of conscience.

For example, Friday morning, as I rode to work, I encountered a man who appeared to be sleeping on the bike path.

The reason I started this off by writing about respect is that I realized I do not know how to act respectfully to this man. One might say that he was not treating himself with respect, and therefore not deserving of respect from others. Perhaps there’s some validity to that perspective, but my thoughts don’t tend to run that way. I feel like I should do something, but I don’t know what the respectful course of action might be.

At first glance, it would seem he had too much too drink and was sleeping it off. I don’t know that for a fact, of course. Perhaps he fainted. Perhaps he has a medical condition. Perhaps his life is in danger. At the very least, he’s in danger of being run over by a bicycle, or getting dehydrated under the Louisiana sun. It’s August, after all.

I don’t want to interact with him directly. I don’t have any medical training. I’m on my way to work. What am I going to do, prod him in the ribs? “Hey, buddy, are you OK?” I’m afraid he might be incoherent or surly or even dangerous. Again, he appears to have been engaging in behavior that is so far outside my experience that I’m at a loss. I don’t have the first clue how to approach him.

It would be nice if I could just call on someone else. After all, I live in a society, right? It seems there should be some means of helping people who are in immediate need. But calling the cops is out of the question; he’d likely end up in jail or maybe even worse. Could I call 911 and get a medic on the scene? Are they equipped to deal with this scenario, or are they going to want cops present for their own protection? If he in fact is simply drunk, is he going to be handed off to the police anyhow? I’d assert that someone who drinks to that level of excess needs medical help. Possibly he needs a home. But what are the chances he would get that if I call 911?

I keep envisioning scenarios wherein any intervention actually makes matters worse.

I mentioned I was on my way to work twice already. Maybe that’s the primary factor here. I’m going about my business, usually running a little behind the clock. I don’t want to get into someone else’s business, especially when it looks like it might get messy.

In the end, I did nothing. Well, that’s not quite true. I realized I had my camera, so I turned around and snapped a photo. But I didn’t do anything to help him. When I passed by again he was gone.

What do you do in a situation like this?

This just in from Cherri Foytlin, who will be on the Social Media, Social Justice panel at Rising Tide 6 (register now):

“thanks to all who attended – please read and share the link”

The day before yesterday, on August 4, 2011, one year after the President of our United States stood on national television and said that 75% of the oil that had spewed into our Gulf was gone, I was booked into the New Orleans Parish Police lock-up with the charge of Criminal Trespassing.

The day before, I had been called by the Louisiana State Police Department to come to a meeting with them to discuss the Non-violent Direct Action Protest that myself and a united group consisting of environmentalists, community organizers, fishermen and clean-up workers, had organized in front of the British Petroleum offices, which are on the 13th and 14th floor of 1250 Poydras in NOLA.

At that meeting, I was told that we were allowed on the sidewalk only. That there would be plain clothed officers among us, and that if we crossed a certain line, which runs from the building to the parking lot, we would be arrested. The detectives, very nicely, drew us a map to explain the exact whereabouts of that line.

When we got to the event, which at the beginning had nearly 100 in attendance, I made the announcement that I was going to cross that line. And that I was doing this in protest of the so many lines that BP has crossed, in my mind, concerning the cleaning up of their mess, the spraying of toxic chemicals in our water, the murder of 11 of our energy providers, the disrespect and economical damage to our fishermen and residents, and the denial of and lack of response to health issues and claims since April 20 of last year.

So, I intentionally crossed that invisible line and took their tar balls back to them – a box full that had been picked up our beaches that day, (with no clean-up workers in sight, I might add). At least 15 other people chose to go with me, to complete this task.

As we approached the front door, we were met immediately by a representative of the company, the building and a security guard. Together they refused us any access to the building, citing that all BP workers had been dismissed for the day – a fact I knew to be untrue, because the state police had told me at our previous meeting that although most would be sent home at 4:30 that day, some would be available until 5:30, (at the time that they had told us this, they were trying to facilitate a meeting between us and BP – to which we had said was only an option it Feinberg and Zimmer was in attendance, and to which BP had refused to consider).

Being unable to enter the building, we dropped the tar balls on the sidewalk (in plastic), and sat down directly in front of the doors, where others came to join us.

And that was where we stayed.

In the mean time, kind people from within our group brought us waters and other refreshments in order to make our stay more comfortable. So, naturally, it was not very long before I personally had to urinate.

A very respectful gentleman from the state police had come forward to negotiate, just as he had the day before at the meeting in the SBI offices. I asked him, jokingly, if he thought they would just let me in to pee. He said no and that “They were freaking out in there.”, but pointed out that there were portable toilets just beyond the fence in a nearby hotel construction site.

After a few minutes, I felt it calm enough at that moment – since all BP representatives, building security and police personnel were discussing the issue inside, (excluding the one member of the state police that, at that time, was sitting with us), I could go use the restroom quickly, and come back.

So, I did. I jumped the fence and used the facilities. Upon my return jump, I realized that the BP reps in the building had seen me go and went running to find me, perhaps thinking I had looked for an alternative route into the building.

And that they had taped me jumping the fence and notified the nearby construction site mangers of my trespassing. We believe that they had hoped that the other owners would have had me arrested for trespassing and kept the BP name out of the incident. You see, arresting and charging people for bringing to light their negligence and lack of response sort of blows that whole “making it right” image.

But, the people next door had no interest in arresting me, or anyone else. We have more allies than they, or even we, know – you see?

I then joined the others in sitting, which we continued for over all around 3 hours until a little after 8:00 pm, which is when – after negotiating tirelessly, and being very respectful with us all day, the New Orleans Police Department and the Louisiana State Police gave us one more chance to end the protest and go home before arrests were made.

At that final refusal, NOLA PD, quietly came forth and arrested the 3 of us, who had remained seated.

Truth is, I knew that I personally was going to get arrested if I stayed sitting there, I knew that. And this was a decision that had not been made lightly on my part.

Over the last year and nearly a half I have studied past movements that have worked on different levels. And thanks to those who have come before us, we have a general formula for affecting change.

According to Dr. King, mainly from his letters while he, himself, was sitting in an Alabama jail, he said that the progression includes the following:

- To find out if an injustice exists – without doubt we, the people of the Gulf, have been dealt with very unjustly with regards to this corporation and our governments handling of this event, as well as others across the Gulf.

- To negotiate – we, the residents, fishermen, clean-up workers, tourism industry workers, oil workers, community organizers, ect, have negotiated on the local, state and federal levels with the HHS, the CDC, the NOAA, the EPA, the GCERT, the CEQ, the DEQ, the Oil Spill Commission, the Administration, and BP itself for nearly 16 months – to little or no avail.

- Dr. King’s next step was to “self-purify” – each person must take this step alone. Personally, I had first interpreted this step as the ending of bad habits, such as social drinking. But on the walk I realized that he was talking about preparing your mind against egotistical illusions, self-doubt and self-pity.

- The last step is action. And in the successful civil rights movement, as well as the Eastern Indian movement for independence, that meant non-violent action and civil disobedience taken against the oppressors in order to advance the cause of, and bring to light the call for, justice and liberty.

Our being arrested, was just the first step of that last phase.

Now, while I was sitting there I had a good friend of mine, who is very sick from the toxins still in his system and our environment, say to me, “Cherri, it is not worth getting arrested.”. He was begging me not to take that final step. He did that, because he love me, and he did not wish to see me suffer, I understand that – and it warms my heart. But my response to him was, “My friend, you are so worth getting arrested for”.

You see that is what we all must understand. You, my friend, are worth it. Our ecosystem is worth it, our kids are worth it, our future is worth it.. We must understand the value of what we have and be determined in protection of that. We must take up responsibility to, and for, each other now, in these times. Because, we are all worth it.

As we sat there, we repeatedly looked across the crowd and saw testament to that notion; such as, the poster my 9-year-old had made of her depiction of Earth with pollution dotting it, and the eyes of the people who were sick from chemical poisoning and yet had still come out to take a stand, calloused hands of a fishermen, community organizers who we have all seen at events from Texas, to Florida, to D.C. – demanding, begging sometimes, to be heard on behalf of the communities and ecosystem that they love. And we saw grandmothers and grandfathers, daddies and mommies, and sisters and brothers, all united in the simple humanitarian right of clean air and water.

One person in particular, Kimberly Wolf, a warrior woman who I have had the honor of getting to know early on in this fight, and who also has terminal cancer, yet got out of her bed and joined us for as long as she could – strengthened our souls. She is the picture of strength and love in all of this – and in seeing her, I have never been so moved by an example of commitment and perseverance.

That is the epitome of what this event, and our arrest, was about. That there is hope, we have allegiance to each other, that the loss of one does not and will not end the journey of the whole for truth, justice and recompense of the human rights violations that are taking place in our homeland.

There are so many to thank for the success of the day. I would especially like to recognize Kyle Nugent and Noah Learned, who I had not met prior and yet went all the way on behalf of our people and coast. The people who helped in organizational duties, too many to name here – but in particular Karen S, Ada, Devin, Josh, Mary-Margaret, Anne, Elizabeth, Robert – there are so many. And including the people who were at the event(s) of last week, and/or are still working on this issue, or others like it.. you are all my heroes.

I would also like to make clear, that the New Orleans Police Department and the Louisiana State Police Department were very kind in their treatment of us before, during and after our arrest. The first thing I was told after getting in the car was, “Why didn’t you just go home, Miss Cherri? None of us wanted to arrest you.”

They also took the handcuffs off as soon as we arrived at the station, and made sure we were as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

So, there you have it.

I want you all to know, that we will not stop. We will not stop until our fishermen, our workers, our families, our wildlife, our waters, our region – are made whole again. Because when you love something, when you really do, you will never be silenced in protecting and fighting for it.

There will be further opportunities for those caring souls across the nation to stand with us for justice. Be ready.

You see, THAT is the greatest weapon in our tool box, that is what will win this and so many other battles we have been called to participate in, it’s our LOVE that will carry the day.

On August 4 we took our first stand. Courage, my friends, this is just a beginning.

Yours truly,

Cherri Foytlin

P.S. – BP have a response to the event, which is further proof that we made a wave, I cannot find the link at the moment but will update when I can. They said something like, “we are still here too“. It would be nice if a response was made by you to the author.. And to every journalist, and person, who needs to learn more about the truth of what is happening in America’s Gulf Coast.

Here is the link mentioned in the above paragraph.

Photo cropped from original: Adam Thomas and Cherri Foytlin / Linh Do / CC BY 2.0

Not new music, but music that’s new to me. You’ve probably heard it all before. Or have you?

These are the ten tracks I’ve been digging the most over the last couple weeks or so, including music by Henry Mancini, Damien Tavis Toman, and Devo. I love these with an insane passion. I had to share that love.

Actually there is one 2011 release here. See if you can spot it.

In other 8tracks news, my Study mix has now hit 100 plays and 62 likes. That’s almost double where it was just two months ago, which is interesting considering it’s been online for almost two years now. My other mixes are languishing in obscurity, but “Study” is picking up steam.

Tales of the Cocktail isn’t all about seminars. There are also plenty of tasting rooms and other events. But perhaps best of all, you get to meet new people who aren’t a part of any formal program.

Ryan Barker was promoting his handmade cocktail garnishes. These bourbon-vanilla cocktail cherries were sublime. They should be commercially available soon. More info on his website.

As a rule, I don’t linger at Tales of the Cocktail past 5PM or so. I’m a local, and I like to be home for dinner. I’d love to hang late one of these years for a “Spirited Dinner,” where cocktails are pared with gourmet food, but those things are expensive, and I’m on a tight budget. Actually, this year I was invited to two dinners gratis, as a blogger covering the event, but the first invitation was a mistake, subsequently retracted. The second dinner featured a lot of shrimp and crab, so I had to decline. Crustaceans don’t agree with me. But I digress.

The other evening events at Tales are parties. I love a good party, but after a full day of drinking seminars, I’m usually pretty wiped out. Nevertheless, this year, I thought I’d check one out just for laughs. I managed to get a ticket to the Diageo Happy Hour, with the theme “Cocktails from Around the World.” I didn’t really know what to expect. It was at the Cabildo, and upon arrival I was handed a pamphlet listing the 40 mixologists who were on hand serving up 40 cocktails. That’s right, 40 different cocktails. Then I was handed a “passport” booklet which listed each cocktail recipe with a blank place to be stamped at each station. “Around the World,” get it?

I went up to the third floor and worked my way down. No, I didn’t drink 40 cocktails. But I had a few. I was amused at the little signs everywhere that said, “Please drink responsibly.” But now that I think about it, I have to say this: You’d be hard-pressed to find more responsible drinkers than those who attend Tales of the Cocktail. These people can handle their liquor. This is my third year; I’ve never had a hangover. (Oh, I’ve had hangovers on my own, but never associated with Tales.) I’ve never run into anyone who seemed obviously inebriated. Given the number of people in attendance, and the number of drinks being served, I’m sure there is some overindulgence, but I’ve never seen it. Just thought that was a point worth making. But I’m digressing again.

Of all the drinks I did sample, it would be hard to pick a favorite. But if pressed, I think I’d have to go with Bernardino’s Bulleit by Misty Kalkofen of Drink (Boston).

Little did she know she was back-to-back with Shawn Soole who was also using Fernet Branca. Bartenders after my own heart. Misty, if you ever see this, I just wanted to say: Your cocktail rocked my world. Also, nice tattoo.

With any luck you’ll see some follow-up interviews with some of the above-mentioned folks in this space in the future.

More to come.

These meetings are coming up week after next. This is what FOLC has been working for these last five years. These meetings will begin to shape what the greenway will be. If you’ve got specific ideas, this is how to let them be known. Or just come to learn about the Lafitte Corridor and give your gut reactions.

Lafitte Corridor Connection Kick-Offs
Monday, August 15th – 6PM to 8PM
TWO LOCATIONS: Sojourner Truth Community Center located at 501 N. Galvez Street and Grace Episcopal Church located at 3700 Canal Street.

Lafitte Corridor Connection Open Studio and Community Focus Groups
Daily August 15th-19th – 10AM to 5:30PM
Sojourner Truth Community Center located at 501 N. Galvez Street.
(Studio hours are extended August 16th-18th to 7PM to play the Greenway Design and Land Use Chip Game)

Lafitte Corridor Connection General Community Meeting
Saturday, August 20th – 8:30AM to 12:00PM
Delgado Community College, City Park Campus – Student Life Center

Help spread the word by sharing this info with your friends and neighbors. Broad participation is key. The greenway must reflect the desires of the community if it is to succeed.

Cross-posted from FOLC website.

Tales of the Cocktail ended last week, but it’s taken me this long to sort through all my photos and videos and notes.

When I tell people about Tales of the Cocktail, they either get it right away or seem puzzled by the whole thing. To some, the idea of a conference on the subject of cocktails simply does not compute. What is there to talk about? How could this topic not be exhausted after a few minutes? Who comes to this thing anyway — bartenders? makers of spirits? aficionados? (Yes to all three, by the way.) I hope the following smattering of highlights gives some indication of the breadth of the event, but know that I have only scratched the surface.

My favorite seminar, without question, was “Beyond Punch: Colonial American Drinks.” Since I interviewed Wayne Curtis in advance, I thought I knew what to expect. I was not prepared, however, for the sight of Mr. Curtis in full colonial getup, complete with tri-cornered hat, a look he described as “Yankee Doodle Douchebag.” Nor was I prepared for the flavor of drinks like the Calibogus or the Stone Fence. (Actually, J mixed the latter way back in ’92 according to a recipe that I know now is highly suspect.) Not that I was particularly wild about any of these drinks, but they all had interesting flavors that transported me mentally to another time. Wayne Curtis was a consummate showman, managing somehow to evoke the fascination of bygone days while also maintaining a sense of (hilarious) ironic detachment.

The grand culmination of this session was the making of an old-fashioned ale flip. This involved thrusting a red hot poker into a jug filled with ale, rum and molasses. I was conscripted into service holding a second mic for the moment of truth, and it was indeed a glorious moment when the sound of boiling booze filled the air. As noted elsewhere, “the seething iron made the liquor foam and bubble and mantle high, and gave it the burnt, bitter taste so dearly loved.” I only wish I’d had the presence of mind to record it myself.

Oh wait, I did.

Ale Flip by Editor B

The recording doesn’t really do justice to the sound. I guess you had to be there. (Todd Price was there and he wrote about it too.)

Another highlight of the conference was the Negroni seminar (see previous interview). Paul Clarke made a convincing case for regarding the Negroni as the first modern cocktail, born of the collision of the European aperitif tradition and the American cocktail tradition. He event went so far as to call it a Cubist drink.

It was most enlightening to hear from Luca Picchi, in translation via Livio Lauro. Luca is probably the world’s foremost expert on the history of this cocktail, and his book should be in English available soon. Watch for it. Personally I was just grateful to learn that a Negroni really should be built on the rocks, not shaken.

Livio is no slouch either, and he endeared himself to me forever with the following remark:

The American palette has changed. We’ve gone from sweet to bitter.

Just as I suspected.

The Negroni was created by dropping soda water from the Americano in favor of gin. But what if you like the fizz? This problem was neatly resolved by the first public deployment of the Perlini system, which can carbonate cocktails just by shaking ‘em.

Stanislav Vadrna is the Guru of Swizzle.

I don’t just say that as a lame cliche. The man evinced a surprisingly spiritual approach to swizzling. It’s not something you see much in the cocktail context. Stanislav abjured his followers to find their center, feel the love, and “be here now.” And you can’t argue with the results.

More to come.

Here’s Persephone’s directorial debut.

Cast:
Xy — Snow White
Persephone — Nice Fairy
Michael — Grumpy
Therese — Dopey
Nicole — Flower
David — Prince

Cinematography by yours truly.

Obviously this was mostly improvised, but Persephone engineered the basic situation. She assigned roles and costumes. She didn’t want a Wicked Queen in her movie, for example, and she inserted the fairy and flower characters. She said she wanted to make a version of Snow White no one had ever seen before. Of course, with no Wicked Queen, she insisted that there would be no poisoned apple. I’m not sure how the story would have developed. But when the players started improvising, they couldn’t resist taking the story in that direction. Also, any student of folklore could tell you that the prince didn’t revive Snow White with a kiss. That was Sleeping Beauty. But who could argue with this prince’s roguish charm?

Lammas is rapidly approaching. It was last year at Lammas that I began making an effort to observe each holiday in the Wheel of the Year with my family. Now that we’ve seen one full revolution of the wheel, I’m taking stock and reflecting on what it means.

It’s my understanding that the Wheel of the Year is a mashup of sorts, combining Germanic and Celtic traditions. The result is eight holidays more or less equally spaced throughout the year. These consist of the solstices and equinoxes plus the four cross-quarter days, which fall approximately halfway between the solstices and equinoxes. As far as I know, putting these two sets of observances together is a modern invention, originating in Wicca. Practitioners of Wicca generally call the festivals sabbats.

The Wheel of the Year is so beautiful and compelling that it’s been embraced and adapted outside of Wicca, which is what I’m doing. It lends itself to endless variation and interpretation. Even though I’m not Wiccan, I admire many aspects of the religion, the wheel most especially. I like how the cycle of holidays connects to the changing seasons and the cycles of nature. This should come as no surprise; after all, the very first sentence I wrote here when I started this online journal was, “I’m fascinated by cycles, including the cycle of seasons.” That was over seven years ago, long before I ever heard of the Wheel of the Year. I also like how these holidays connect to the past, as they are all rooted in antiquity. Each one resonates with its own meaning and traditions, the accretions of centuries. I’ve been trying to understand how to celebrate each one in a way that is relevant and meaningful to me personally and to my family as well.

So that brings us back around to Lammas. It’s a cross-quarter day, partway between the summer solstice and the autumnal equinox. Another name for the day is Loaf Mass.

…there is some evidence of the Christian Anglo Saxon harvest festival of Loaf Mass, which is likely to have been built on a pre-existing pagan ritual of the same time, as the festival is one of the harvest…. July was commonly the hardest month of the year for a pre-industrial farming economy, and many of the poor, who could not afford to buy bread and had run through their own stocks, died during July. So the bringing in of the harvest was the first time in months that most people would have a good meal and drink.

So it’s a day for bread. My daughter loves bread.

It’s our good fortune as a family not to worry about running out of bread in July. The supermarkets around here are fully stocked, year-round. In fact, in our society obesity is a bigger problem than starvation. We also consume vast amounts of fossil fuels to ship food around the world. I certainly don’t romanticize the past, but I don’t believe our current divorce from seasonal cycles is entirely healthy.

A discussion of such matters on the naturalistic paganism group got me curious about what is really being harvested at this time in this area. I did a net search for “Louisiana harvest season.” Isn’t that a sad comment on how disconnected I am from the cycles of nature and agriculture? I have to search the net to figure out what’s in season around here! Anyhow, I found a “Louisiana Harvest Calendar” from the Louisiana Department of Agriculture & Forestry.

And so I learned that fruits and vegetables currently in season here include acorn squash, butternut squash, cushaw, pumpkins, yellow squash and zucchini, apples, figs, muscadines, peaches, pears and plums, banana peppers and hot peppers, butter beans and southern peas, cantaloupes, melons and watermelons, tomatoes, cucumbers, eggplant, okra and sweet potatoes. (Interestingly enough, my spellchecker doesn’t recognize cushaw or muscadines.) Of course, it seems something is always in season here in the subtropics. But this gives me some ideas for a seasonally appropriate Lammas feast.

I am planning to take a day off work for Lammas, bake a loaf of bread in the shape of a person, and make some corn dollies with my daughter. We’ll save them for burning at Candlemas.

Demeter is associated with the harvest, and I associate Demeter with Xy, and she’s a teacher, and this is the time of year teachers are gearing up to go back to school. My daughter will also be beginning her first year of school. So I’d like this to also be a time to honor them (the women in my life) and mark the end of summer and the beginning of the school year. Maybe we’ll make two loaves for mother and daughter.

Lammas is probably the least well-known of the eight holidays. As such, it seems like a fine starting point for learning about all this — a happy accident, but it will always have a special place in my heart. So, for me, it’s not just a celebration of the agricultural harvest but also a time to think about how we stepped into the spiral and where we’ve come since and where we’re headed. Right now I feel pretty happy that Xy has played along so far, as the interest in these holidays is primarily mine. Rituals and traditions gain power over time, as associations and resonances build. Simply doing the same thing at the same time of year can be richly rewarding. I’m looking forward to deepening our experience as we continue to move around the wheel again.

May Nothing but Maggots Come Through Your Brain by Editor B

Dear Persephone,

You are forty-one months old today. You are developing into an amazing person. Here are some indications.

Your favorite phrase over the last month is, “I changed my mind.” For example, after much deliberation, you changed your mind about your favorite colors. For at least a year, you’ve maintained that your favorite colors are purple and black. But about a month ago, you announced that you changed your mind. Your favorites are now purple, black and blue.

You often wish that your hair was purple.

For a couple weeks you reported having dreams of a dragon. A nice dragon. The dragon was, of course, purple, black and blue. This phase seems to have ended a couple weeks ago.

Speaking of phases, you went through a period of wanting your sandwich crusts removed. I think you learned this when you were in Fishville in June. Personally I found this very annoying, and I didn’t want to indulge you, but your mother didn’t see any harm in it. I’m not sure, but I think this phase may be over now.

One day you said, “I want to move to another planet.” I’m still not sure why.

One of your most endearing traits, to me anyhow, has been that you’ve started to sing nonsense songs. Funny, you used to babble nothing but nonsense, but it was because you didn’t know any different. Then slowly you learned to speak and all your efforts were focused on communicating. But now you’ve reached the point where you can babble nonsense for the sheer joy of the sound. I love that.

Once after dinner your mother remarked that some food could be saved for later. You asked, “Is that a leftover?” And when Mama confirmed, you were beside yourself — overjoyed — ecstatic. “I was right! It is a leftover. I was right!” I guess you take after me in some ways.

Another day you complimented my shirt. “I like your short, Dada.” Then you schooled me about how one should say “thanks” upon receiving a compliment.

On yet another day, our departure to the park was delayed slightly because you wanted to say goodbye to all the furniture first.

Your latest fixation is being first. You’re into racing to an extent, but your main concern is the order of procession. You are constantly asking, “Why did you get ahead of me?”

You went through a phase of wanting bedtime stories about rocketships.

What if our friend Daisy had a sister named Whoopsy? You thought that joke was just about the funniest thing you’d ever heard.

One evening you said, “Dada, I like the smell of your drink. What is it?”

Whiskey, I said.

You asked for a taste, and after that you decided you did not like it so much, not at all.

And then there was the day when you asked me, “Dada, do you still love me even when I do something wrooooong?” You’ll stretch the last word of a sentence out like that, sometimes.

Yes, I said, we all make mistakes. I make mistakes too.

You followed my logic. “But even when someone has dood a mistake, we still love each other.”

That’s right. Even Crybaby.

Last night, as I was putting you to bed, you asked, “Why can’t people be something they’re not?” Huh? That’s not the case, baby. You live in New Orleans. People can be something they’re not at least once a year. That’s why we have Mardi Gras.

Tonight I offered to tell you the story of how Barack Obama got to the White House. Turned out to be a tough story to tell, as I had to explain things like nation-states and voting. I explained the White House is where the president lives. “Is that you Dada?” No, that’s not me. “But you are the president of something aren’t you?” I was amazed to realize you know about FOLC.

Midway through you asked me to work you into the story, as you now do every night. (“I don’t want to be in any plain stories, Dada. I want to be in the special stories. Only tell me special stories.”) So I told how you ran for president. “But,” you protested, “I don’t want to be president!” Can’t say as I blame you. I started to rig the election so that you would lose. But then you changed your mind. You decided you could govern if you had help from your friends Lily and Lala and Malaysia, and of course your parents.

Last night Arnaud’s French 75 Bar hosted a blogger’s reception to kickoff Tales of the Cocktail, sponsored by the Bureau National Interprofessionnel du Cognac.

Naturally I was there.

It’s fascinating to me that blogging still seems to be on the ascendant. I met a number of local bloggers, including people I hadn’t met before such as Alan and Shercole, as well as old comrades like M Styborski.

The Cocktail Summit cocktail and the hors d’oeuvres were fantastic, and I learned that cognac flavors can be organized by season in an aroma wheel.

Posting may be a little thin here over the next few days as the program ramps up, but I’ll have a full debriefing when the conference is over.

This mix might put you to sleep. This is what we listen to here when trying to get our three-year-old daughter to lie down and take a nap.

It could also serve as a basic primer on the history of ambient music. Nine tracks including music by Basic Channel, Ginnungagap, and LAShTAL. About ninety minutes in all.

If you pinned me to the wall and demanded to know my favorite cocktail, the first word I’d blurt out would be probably “Negroni.”

(In the event that you, Dear Reader, are not familiar with this wonderful aperitivo, I urge you to have one before your next meal. Equal parts Campari, sweet vermouth, and gin; garnish with orange.)

So, when I saw that the prolific Paul Clarke was moderating a seminar at Tales of the Cocktail devoted solely to the consideration of the Negroni, I jumped on it. Paul graciously answered a few of my silly questions, which I now share with you.

I’ve noticed an uptick of interest in bitters and bitter liqueurs such as Italian amari. Is the American palate shifting, and what does that mean for cocktails like the Negroni?

I think the American palate is certainly expanding. Sure, there’s still a lot of work to do, and we may never overcome the preponderance of Big Macs and vodkapops, but the growth of interest in bitter liqueurs is absolutely happening. I think the Negroni is both aiding that, and benefiting from it — aiding it in that it’s a classic cocktail that can be made in almost any bar, so people who are discovering the pleasure of bitter can order one without much difficulty; and it’s benefiting from the growing interest in bitter flavors in that it’s a core drink like the Manhattan or the Martini: even after a person has explored the different options out there, it’s a simple yet always engaging drink that drinkers will always come back to.

The Negroni is infinitely variable. Do you have a favorite variation, and if so what is it?

I’ll always come back to a classic Negroni (equal parts, rocks, orange wheel or twist). But you’re right that there are many relatives; one I often mix for myself is an Agavoni, which is simply a Negroni made with reposado tequila, served with a grapefruit twist. Tequila and Campari are made for each other. And of course, as a dyed-in-the-wool fan of American whiskey, I think a bourbon-based Boulevardier is never a bad thing.

The last (and only) time I was in Italy, I was woefully unaware of the Negroni (not to mention underage). Is it a truly popular drink there? What are your chances of walking into a random bar and successfully ordering a Negroni in Italy versus America? (I’ve had to instruct bartenders here on how to make one, alas.)

The Negroni has a longer history (obviously) and a bigger following in Italy than in the U.S. While it’s growing in popularity here at home, in Italy (particularly in Florence), it’s a home-grown cocktail, and I think a Negroni novice will have much better luck.

The vodka Negroni (as seen in *Thank You for Not Smoking*) — pure abomination or does it have a role to play?

My vodka partisan days are (mostly) behind me; if someone really enjoys a Vodka Negroni, then more power to ‘em (though please, give the drink its own name). Campari is the ingredient in a Negroni that’s usually the hard thing for a newcomer to come to terms with; if someone wants to embrace that flavor without the moderating factor of gin, then who am I to judge?

This year I’ve found myself drawn to seminars that concentrate on exploring particular cocktails. If there is a story behind how your seminar “came to be,” I would love to hear it.

The Negroni seminar came to be for one simple reason: I like Negronis, and I know I’m not alone. The Negroni is an evergreen drink, and among bartenders there’s never a wrong time to have one (well, maybe 8:30 am, but I’m sure you could come up with a good enough reason if you tried). Since Tales of the Cocktail attracts bartenders and cocktail fans from around the country (and beyond), I knew we’d have a substantial fan base for the drink that would likely be interested in hearing what I and the other panelists have dug up about this iconic drink.

Finally, I know you did a session on aperitif wines. Sadly I missed it. I love them too. However I’ve only had the most basic and readily available ones. So I’ve got to ask if you have any hot tips on this front, any must-try recommendations?

It’s been a good couple of years for aperitif wines: after Cocchi Aperitivo Americano and Bonal came into the US last year, this year we’ve seen the arrival of Cocchi Vermouth di Torino, which is absolutely lovely, along with other aperitif drinks like Cardamaro. I’m curious to see what’s on the aperitif front for the coming year, but you’re also seeing bars and bartenders taking a greater interest in these kinds of drinks, so I think we’re just getting started on the aperitif angle.

So there you have it. If anyone was wondering what to buy me for a special present, how about some Cocchi Vermouth di Torino?

I’ll report back after the seminar itself.

Photo: Aperitivo – Negroni / Dario / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

So yesterday I was over at Dr. Tim T’s office in the music building, helping the good doctor sort through some video issues. Midway through our session it started to rain, and Dr. T and I both agreed that it was nice to be back in the pattern of afternoon showers here in the summer. Last summer these never materialized and the southeastern states have been in a drought ever since, or so it seems to me.

But soon the rain was really coming down hard and heavy, with thunder and lightning. Then a guy from the film crew shooting upstairs popped in the office and said water was gushing into the recital hall. We ran upstairs and saw indeed that rainwater was pouring down in two places. The way the place is configured it was hard to see exactly how the water was getting in, but we surmised there was roof damage. I called Physical Plant to report the issue.

The rain continued. I made my way back to my own office by dodging from building to building but I still got pretty wet. A couple hours later it was still raining when I rode my bike home. I got wet again, but of course it stopped raining as soon as I got home.

That night, Xy and I watched the third disk in the second season of Treme. We were done at midnight. I stepped outside in my robe and noted some activity at Banks Street Bar, and then I remembered: Creepy Fest! It was kicking off at Banks Street Bar, and I was missing it. I ran back inside, pulled on some shorts and an undershirt, and made my way to the bar just in time to see Nick Name & The Valmonts take the stage with a blistering cover of “C’mon Everybody.” I was drawn right up to the stage and was soon surrounded by a small crowd. Here’s a video of them doing a Sonics cover at another local bar last month.

They played that last night too, and a bunch of others like “Louie Louie” and “Surfin Bird” and “Maybeline” and “Let’s Get Fucked Up,” all in the same intense and incredibly loud amped-up punk rock style. The singer (Nick Name) was wearing a shirt that said “Rock ‘n Fucking Roll” which would seem to sum up their philosophy pretty well. The audience broke into slam dancing at one point, and I hauled my 44-year-old bones out of harm’s way right quick. There was a time when I would have been an avid participant in such shenanigans but I guess those days are gone. Besides which I was still wearing my damn Birks which I use as house slippers. Not exactly prime gear for the mosh pit.

But I loved the show these guys put on, and I was digging the crowd. I saw a young African-American man wearing an Eyehategod cap. I saw passionate and playful public displays of affection amongst beautiful people of the same sex. I saw a mohawk spiked up a good twelve inches. There was a full moon shining outside. I felt that my life was complete.

And I had a brief moment of revelation. I felt there was some deep connection between the scene unfolding around me and the thunderstorm earlier in the day. It was so clear and so interesting I resolved to write it all down.

Now, of course, I can’t remember what I was thinking.

Then The Unnaturals started to play. I guess they wiped my mind clean. From what I can tell they’ve been around for years but I’d never seen them before.

Amazing. Mostly instrumental, surfy, amazingly huge sound for a three-piece. I especially liked a grungy bluesy number wherein the barefoot bass player put down her instrument and sang. I liked her bass playing too, but appreciated the change-up. And the sounds coming out of that silver guitar refreshed my soul.

They got done about 2:00 AM.

My ears are still ringing. My soul was not feeling so fresh this morning, but that’s another story.

Later: Now that I’ve had some time to mull it over, I’m prepared to take a guess at the parallel between the rain and the rock, which I glimpsed briefly and then forgot. Perhaps it was this. I felt a comfort at returning to an old familiar pattern. The summer afternoon rainstorm, the late night punk rock show, both are old familiar patterns which I have missed. The rain reminded me of summers past here in New Orleans. The show took me back further in time, and to another place, to Second Story or Uncle Sparky’s basement in Bloomington. I remember one night counting no fewer than sixty people in the crowd whom I knew on a first-name basis. At Banks Street Thursday night, I knew no one — not a soul. Yet the vibe was much the same.

I recently got in touch with Wayne Curtis, author of And a Bottle of Rum. I was astonished to learn that he 1) lives in New Orleans and 2) reads this blog. Blow me down. He was even aware of my work with FOLC. I was momentarily disconcerted, embarrassed and abashed. Upon regaining my composure, I asked Wayne a few questions relating, more or less, to his upcoming seminar at Tales of the Cocktail. He’ll be doing a session called “Beyond Punch: Colonial American Drinks,” delving all the way back to the 18th century. That’s what I call “old school.”

If there is a story behind how your seminar “came to be,” I would love to hear it.

Not much of a story. I gathered a fair amount of information on colonial drinks when researching my rum book, but never really had time to process it and make more sense of it. Nobody seemed much interested in drink pre-Jerry Thomas. But once David Wondrich came out with his book on punch last year, the cocktail crowd seemed a lot more curious about what else folks were drinking, so I decided to dig back in and see what I could find. I’ll be curious to see if anyone thinks there’s much merit in drinks flavored with spruce sap.

Is the American palate shifting? Is there any quick and dirty way to characterize shifting tastes over the years, going back to the 18th century? Does the notion of a national palate even make sense in that context?

I’ve made the argument that late 19th century America once had a big taste for bitter — much as Italy still does — but lost it during the Prohibition when sweet was ascendent and has never regained it, at least until now. It always astounded me how many different bitters were available prior to Prohibition, and how many recipes there were in bar guides for crafting different styles of bitters. One of my favorite soft drinks is Moxie, which was a New England favorite (and is still available up north). It’s basically a gentian root soda, and sort of tastes like an Angostura soda. For years, until the 1910s, it outsold Coca Cola. And I’m willing to wager that Coke was once more bitter and less sweet than it is today. I’m glad to see that bitter is coming back, in everything ranging from cocktail bitters to Jagermeister to Starbucks Coffee to those frizzy, bitter greens now available in many supermarkets. It seems like an overdue re-discovery.

Vodka: for or against? (I tried to figure a way to relate this question to the subject of your seminar but failed.)

I used to be anti-vodka, but now I’m neutral. I realized I was reacting to the glitzy over-advertising of the big distillers, and the fact that people who argue about vodkas tend to be people I don’t want to hang out with. (BTW, have you seen the website www.douchebagslovegreygoose.com?) I agree that there is a difference in vodkas, but those differences are relatively minute and are of interest only to people who drink vodka straight, which I don’t. On the other hand, I think the I Hate Vodka meme had gotten out of hand, and threatened to alienate topers who could be allies in Better Drink if brought along to other spirit pastures more gently. And I’ve found that a little vodka added to a drink with another base spirit (like a rum) actually can work to highlight other flavors by bringing up the spiky alcohol sense without adding much flavor. So I’ll never be a vodka person, but I’ve stopped being a vodka basher.

Do you have a favorite old-time cocktail, and if so what is it?

I like lots of old, bitters-forward cocktails, far more than the sweet ones. A Sazerac is still one of the most sublime drinks ever — I usually make it Dale DeGroff style, with half/half rye and brandy, and both Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters. This summer I’ve been favoring a lapsang souchang Manhattan. I use a simple syrup made with the smoky tea, and Bitter Truth’s Xocolatl Mole bitters. Very tasty.

Hm, I’ve got some lapsang souchang at home. Great stuff, but I never thought of making syrup with it. I will have to give that a try.

Of course, the drinks we’ll be considering (and hopefully tasting) in Wayne’s seminar will be even older than Sazeracs and Manhattans. They have funny names like bombo, syllabub, switchel, and flips. No, not the more familiar flip made with an egg — that came later. The earlier flip involved a red hot poker. We actually featured one of these years ago on ROX, though I had no idea then of its antique provenance. (An individual video is not available but you can get the full episode; the flip clip begins at 16 minutes and 40 seconds.)

Photo: TOTC10 161 / Rocky Yeh / BY-NC-SA 2.0

Perils for Pedestrians episode #174 was just released today and will be appearing on stations across the country.

The first interview is with yours truly.

This was shot back in January of 2010, so some info I present is not current. For the latest, stay tuned to folc-nola.org.