Nitty-Gritty

The GNO is a prosaic name for a glorious thing--the bridge that spans the Mississippi River and offers commuters a beautiful view of the New Orleans skyline silhouetted against the setting sun. I get to cross the Greater New Orleans Bridge three times a week on my way home from class, and no matter what I'm feeling before I hit that bridge, it all evaporates as I come over the rise and see my city. As lovely as this view is, however, my favorite parts are hidden in the streets and neighborhoods within that larger picture. Some days, I can't wait to get off that bridge and back on the streets. Some days, I wish I could stay on the bridge.

The streets are full of life, as well as the myriad of quirks and frustrations that make up daily life in any city. The nitty-gritty, if you will. New Orleans seems to have more than its fair share of this nitty-gritty. Sometimes these quirks are endearing, but sometimes they just piss me off. Take this weekend, for instance. My roommate A and I were trying to install a new showerhead, and we quickly discovered that our new, fancy, eco-friendly showerhead did not fit our old, crappy, sub-standard shower pipe. Not only does the old pipe not fit the new head, it apparently doesn't fit any plumbing converters, adapters, bushings, etc. etc. found in the city of New Orleans. To deepen the mystery, no one that we consulted with had heard of a pipe that didn't fit any other plumbing parts. You know the answer we got? "Well, that's New Orleans for you." Ha. Ha. The quirks are cute and charming until you've got one in your shower.

Sometimes you're on the bridge enjoying the view, and sometimes you're standing in the tub cursing your too-small pipe and resisting the urge to throw the roll of useless Teflon tape at your roommate's face. And somewhere between or within the lofty heights and the nitty-gritty, there's life.

St. Charles

Confession: I have told many of you that St. Charles Ave in New Orleans is the namesake for the St. Charles on the Monopoly board game. That is false. Very sad news since that was one of my staple "interesting facts about New Orleans," but I felt you all deserved the truth. In case you were wondering, St. Charles Place in Monopoly was actually named after a restaurant or something in Atlantic City, New Jersey. And it doesn't even exist anymore--it's now called the Showboat Casino. Laaame. I might just keep telling people that Monopoly got it from our St. Charles...it's better that way. Most of the stories told by tour guides down here are of questionable authenticity anyway; I'll just be in keeping with the local tradition.

Anyway, whether or not our St. Charles is worthy of a Monopoly square, it's still pretty glorious. I think I can safely credit this street for inspiring me to move to New Orleans. For the first month that I lived here, I was constantly holding up traffic as I gawked at the mansions that lined the street, each one more impressive than the last. I've gotten used to the houses now; after strolling innumerable times down the cracked sidewalk and admiring each at my leisure, I've grown to see them as old friends. The beauty of St. Charles for me is now in the trees--I never tire of the way that the sunlight dapples through the oaks along the avenue, shading the streetcars as they clang down the tracks. The oaks are like sentinels, an honor guard over the grandest lane in the city, escorting visitors and locals down St. Charles with quiet, unassuming style. They soften the facade of the mansions, making all that money a little less intimidating, because the oaks are so familiar and approachable. No one is intimidated by oaks.

My other favorite part of St. Charles are the beads. Beads, beads everywhere! Almost more beads than leaves, it seems. Not just during Mardi Gras--all year long. I was driving down St. Charles today and was struck by the number of beads still draped in the trees, along the streetcar line, on the power lines, even hanging on the street signs. Remember, Mardi Gras was in February--these beads are at least 6 months old, if not older. Talk about tenacity! Some might view the beads as a visual blight on the beauty of the street, but for me, the beads are the essence of New Orleans. Even on the most statuesque avenue in the city, there are still traces of a party all year long. You can never forget that you're in New Orleans, because the beads are always there to remind you. What other city can give you that?

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

The lightning is pretty standard here, though maybe perceived as brighter because of the shock you know is coming. Tremendous, sharp thunderclaps followed by a rumble that stampedes over the city till it passes through you and you feel the power of the storm in your knees. The rain is the real difference though; completely soaking, each drop containing enough water to drench you on its own (or so it seems). If you get caught without an umbrella, there's no hope. Of course, an umbrella offers little more than a semblance of protection, because the angle of the rain always sends it cascading upwards in defiance of God and gravity. My theory is that the rain here is somehow wetter than other rains. I'm pretty sure that 10 seconds in my bathroom shower would leave me less soaked than ten seconds in a New Orleans thundershower.

We're proud of our storms though, the way you're proud of the hottest temperatures or heaviest snowstorms in whatever city you call home. New Orleanians are fanatics about their city, even to a degree that impresses me, a native Texan (the state that has perfected geographical egotism). It's a little different here, though; there's also a degree of pride in what the city has endured--akin to the pride in which a soldier wears a battle wound. It's an interesting mix of festivity and fierceness. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." That's half of the attitude in a city living below sea level between a massive river and the ocean (it's crazy! every time I think of it...it's just crazy that we live here!), but the other half of the attitude is, "Restore, Rebuild, Recover." Somewhere between the fatalism and the future, that's where we live.

I've never experienced such a unique place, and there are so many moments I want to share with you. A Picasso doppelganger in pinstriped pants, a carefully buttoned blazer, and clean black Converses strolling down the street past my window seat in a smoky jazz club. The middle-aged man in a motorcycle jacket and a purple tie-dye dress whom I met in the aisle of the local grocery. The beautiful woman sitting across from me at the bar in a red dress (so tight it looks painted on) who turns her head to reveal a pronounced Adam's apple. I'm surrounded by the most interesting collection of people I've ever seen. The city is no less surprising and colorful. I can't wait to tell you about it.