Why Throw Stones? - Blog #2 New Orleans Series

Friday night we went to a block party off Music Street in St. Roch (8th Ward), which is considered to be a “bad” neighborhood. It was a surreal experience because the location of the party was between two houses across the street from each other. One of the homes was converted into a rather modern-looking artist studio. The interior walls were exposed brick and the floors were polished cement. There was a bar on the left of the entryway just before a few steps up to the main level. The main level was just a huge room with a bed in one corner and a patch cut out of the cement in the center, where the earth was exposed and a lone tree stood in a woven planter. To the right of the entry was an enclosed room, which was not open for viewing. Behind it, just before the back door of the house, was the bathroom. The bathroom was a popular topic of conversation because of its glass door, which was frosted in the center and along the edges, leaving the perfect crystal-clear rectangular frame for you to peep inside and watch whatever business someone could be conducting in there. The floor of the shower was a large, chunky wooden grid. There was a clawfoot tub set lengthwise against the back wall. The toilet and bidet were on the left and the sink was on the right. As with the rest of the studio, there were a couple of art pieces strategically placed. One of the bathroom pieces was a porcelain head on the floor next to the sink. Odd…

The artist studio belongs to Kirsha Kaechele. She is the founder of KK Projects – Life is Art Foundation (http://www.kkprojects.org/). Although Kirsha herself seems to be involved in many things at once, this KK Projects foundation has the look and feel of art exhibits housed in derelict and deteriorating houses abandoned by their previous owners after being damaged by Katrina. Local and International artists are invited to work in these houses as they are for a three month installation, during and after which time the houses are allowed to continue to naturally deteriorate – a maturation of the art piece as a whole you could say. Upon seeing a couple of these “gallery homes”, I said, ‘Hmm, this one must be in the finishing stages.’ My boss pointed at an overturned empty beer bottle lying on the floor and said, “What do you think this symbolizes?”
‘The emptiness left behind after attempts to fill an emotional void with chemical dependence.’ I shrugged. At the time, the Sazerac in my hand tasted pretty good. Unfortunately, it didn’t continue that way through the night. The Sazerac is evil! The pouring of this cocktail was so dramatic with its special steps in the proper order and whatnot. Then I took a sip and it tasted just like Jaigermeister. This block party was full of that kind of irony.

The house across the street blew me away. It was referred to as “The Safe House”. In the heart of a questionable neighborhood, you know exactly what I thought, right? Well, this house is literally a safe, complete with a round steel door with dials and knobs on the outside. The house itself is just an art spectacle. What I found really amazing was inside. Lining the walls of the house were hand-drawn 100-dollar bills. This is the FUNDRED project (http://fundred.org/). The goal is to have the equivalent of $300M in Fundred Dollar Bills to present to politicians in Washington D.C. in trade for the real thing. The money the organization hopes to receive will be spent to remove the lead from New Orleans. The dark red areas on the map are the higher concentrations ( a map which I will insert when Blogger eventually allows me upload it). - Let me insert a side note here than we also met with a representative of the New Orleans Food & Farm Network earlier in the week who had given us some interesting information about the findings of an experiment where university students removed lead from the soil in a vacant lot using sunflowers. That lot is now suitable for farming and is slated to be the next urban garden project in the Central City neighborhood. - Mel Chin, the creator of the project, expressed his concern to me that people may ignore this project because it has such a specific area that benefits from the desired outcome. “We have to start somewhere.” Indeed, Mel, we do have to start somewhere. So why not New Orleans, right? If I ever saw a place that needed a helping hand, this was it. Seriously…

The best part of FUNDRED is that they aren’t just asking for your money. I mean, sure they’d love some money. I mean, this kind of thing doesn’t happen for free, but you can make a difference by just creating your very own Fundred Dollar Bill (go to www.schoolartsonline.com to download the template). The Fundred Dollar Bill project has a WVO biodiesel armored truck that will travel to predetermined stops across the US spreading the Fundred message and collecting Fundred Dollar Bills from schools where students have been collecting and filtering vegetable oil in anticipation of their arrival. Not only do the kids get a chance to help the communities in NOLA, but they also learn about renewable fuel in the process. Check and check! Although I am not a fan of being cornered and hearing somebody drone on and on about their nonprofit organization (sorry, Mel), this is really one of my favorites so far. The highlight of Mel’s lecture was when one of the neighborhood kids (who are welcome to hang out in the house every day and often choose to become representatives of the cause) came by and asked where he could find a chair for his grandmother to sit on. The New Orleans slang that came out of Mel’s mouth (yes, he’s Chinese as one would assume by the last name Chin). I stood there patiently waiting for him to continue his presentation as if nothing out of place had transpired, but my subconscious mind went, ‘What the hell just happened? What did he say?’ It was awesome. I was already sold on the program, but I liked him so much more after that.

What I found as the most unsettling contrast was how much of an upscale feel the block party had to it. There were attendees there from the local neighborhood, but there was this palpable air of separation. In the car on the way back to the house from the party, we criticized Kirsha for having such a luxurious home (not luxury in the traditional sense, but as far as living in a style befitting a studio artist) in the middle of a poverty-stricken neighborhood. However (and my boss brought this up during our last group meeting), she could have lived in that fashion anywhere. She chose to make a house from an abandoned house and include the locals in what she is trying to accomplish. The neighbors didn’t want her there when she moved in. She won them over with her kindness and genuine concern for their wellbeing. Whether she was born into money or lived a charmed life really is irrelevant. It’s funny how those of us who do nothing have the nerve to judge those who are doing something. It’s just something to think about…

In case you wanted to know more about Kirsha, who has had an absolutely fascinating life so far, take a look at this interview: http://www.interviewmagazine.com/art/kirsha-kaechele/. To talk to her briefly in person, you really would never guess that all of that experience and thoughtfulness lies under the surface. Also, her scant way of dressing is a bit of a distraction. I was like come on, at least put on a bra to hold them up. Sheesh!

not goodbye, but see ya later - Blog #1 New Orleans Series

I'm streaming one of my classical stations on the Blackberry, cleaning some clothes and going through my things to get them ready for packing. The washer is on spin cycle - banging and clicking like there's a war happening in the laundry room. When it stops I can hear the creaks, ticks and other sounds of this enormous house behind the violin concerto playing in my palms.

I didn't bother bringing a computer. I also had no intention of watching any TV. I've been tapping away at this teeny qwerty keyboard all week trying to make notes of all the wonderful things I've heard from my 26 house mates this week. Twenty-six. That's a lot of fucking people in one house. I'm not nice enough to live with 26 people, but somehow we did it. No one hit me, and I didn't erect any new walls (to my knowledge). I laughed and joked about some things that other people didn't think were funny, but that has been happening my entire life. I have tried not to be awkward in that way, but fighting it just made it more pronounced with each attempt. I accept it now after living with it for 35 years. It amazes me that some of my fellow volunteers have done it in just one week. Perhaps it has something to do with our mission.

I could go into the whole schpeel here with the mission statement and history of In Good Company, but you have a computer and they have a Facebook page. There...

On Tuesday, some of us worked on a food garden in the Holy Cross neighborhood. For those who don't know, New Orleans is very segmented. We were taken on a tour by a delightful native named Pam. Not to say that we are all now experts, but I felt that she truly enlightened us. The neighborhoods, before Katrina, were fairly self-sufficient, and most people living within them rarely ventured beyond them for any things they needed to survive. Since the levees failed and the neighborhoods were devastated by the flooding, very little has been rebuilt in the poorer areas. Many people have no food source near where they live. There is also the issue of unemployment since the companies many people worked for have not resumed business here.

New Orleans Food and Farming is working to teach people who don't already know how to grow their own food and encouraging neighbors to work together to restore the community bond that once existed. The Guerrilla Garden in Holy Cross is in its first stages. Jenga is the garden's keeper. I worked there twice this week digging out a rain trench, sifting the dirt and hauling the rocks in wheelbarrows to line the street side of the trench. I personally prefer digging to sifting. Sifting is just another one of those tedious tasks - like removing lint from a black sweater. I got really sweaty yesterday. The inevitable exhaustion that followed was probably a key component in my raging hangover today... as was the Sezerac - a god awful anise-infused alcoholic debacle. It had mixed reviews. I suppose my alcoholic taste buds are just not refined enough to enjoy it.

During the afternoon on Tuesday and all day Thursday, everyone worked on the home of Alice Cousins. Her house is in the Hollygrove neighborhood (not too far from where Pam's Food and Farming garden project is located. The house has been in her family for generations. I spent an entire day just painting doors - speaking of tedium. There was this youngish-looking black electrician there who took an interest in me. Although he was nice, I didn't consider it an efficient use of my work time to flirt. Besides, I've seen enough gold teeth to last a lifetime. One of my coworkers tried to lead him to believe that there may have been some sort of spark, but I successfully managed to put that suspicion to rest by openly and quite obviously preferring to spend my free party time talking to everyone else. It was weird because he was also there at the club when we went out to the Blue Nile on Frenchmen St. I smell a rat.

Wednesday was heartbreaking for me. We worked with a wetlands restoration organization (I'll have to plug in their info later). We toured the bayou (via canoes) and got to see firsthand the damage done by the freight and oil industries. There seems to be no end to the work that needs to be done there. I was overwhelmed by the destruction and my eomotional reaction to it. It made me ashamed to be human and deeply depressed. I drank a lot that night, but couldn't quite get the feeling I was after. I was finally able to relax after bowling with the group, but I gotta say that I am going through the classic coping stages with this issue already. I never knew I had such a tree hugger inside me. It's weird.

Living and working with 26 people on these restoration and rebuilding projects has surely changed me. I have no doubt that most of my friends will like the changes (many of which are yet to come - I've been warned). I'm absolutely certain that Killa B will be pleasantly surprised and maybe mom will too.

As for me and New Orleans, we're not party friends. I'll never be a tourist again. This relationship is being built on sweat and tears, is sure to last at least my lifetime and may be leading me somewhere I'd never imagined going before.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Adventures in Cohabitation - Bitchfest #1

At this moment I am having a cup of drip coffee. I normally don’t do this in the afternoon, but I am exhausted. I was up late (as I have been every night this damn week) fixing yet something else in the new place. It was such a stupid thing too – setting up the digital receiver so I can watch the news from bed before getting ready for work. It’s something that helps me get up and ready to face the world. I’d asked Killa B to set it up for me on his day off yesterday. He forgot. He forgets lots of things. I guess I shouldn’t complain since I do too, but I’m going to anyway. Women…


I fully expected “shacking up” to be a difficult transition for me. I know I am very well suited to living alone. I have countless obsessive-compulsive habits that don’t bother me much, but I can see how they may drive someone else crazy. Killa B has gotten a glimpse of them during these past months that we’ve been dating. Now that we have been living under the same roof for almost a week, I am starting to think that I will be the one to go crazy, not him. I’ve managed to stop myself from incessantly nagging the poor man every hour that we spend together. However, I’m starting to feel twinges of resentment building up. We’re going to nip this in the bud now because I don’t do the passive-aggressive thing. There’s no need to play the ‘guess what’s wrong with me’ game because I’m going to tell you in plain English. Either we’re on the same team or you can kiss my entire ass.


I like to have luxurious finishes in my home: shiny granite, smooth clean floors, fluffy warm towels and beddings and everything you need within reach just by opening a closet, drawer or cabinet door. I am also obsessively clean and organized. I am ware that this is unusual. 90% of people are probably not going to have the same standard of clean as I do. This is why I carry wet wipes in my car and my gym bag contains miniature versions of just about every type of sanitary and hygiene product you can think of, separated by cosmetic and Ziploc bags. In my mind, it’s not as bad as it sounds because I don’t give it the white glove treatment every day. I usually let dust build up for a week or two. Biological waste is my main concern. I don’t like food to sit out and attract bugs. I don’t like to look into the toilet and see remnants of the last person to use it. I don’t want a nasty film of God knows what in the sink where I expect to clean my hand or dishes. I don’t want to turn the covers down on the bed and see hairs on the sheets. I especially don’t want to spend every weekend doing a thorough housecleaning when I could just spend a few seconds spot cleaning everything after I use it. I am really just as lazy as the next person, but I want to lie around in a sparkling clean apartment. It’s when the chores are done that I can truly relax. That is, in my opinion, as it should be.


I’ve realized that I do not have roommate-friendly furnishings. When I purchased my futon, I bought it for the bedroom at my mom’s house. I had some lavender paint, which I applied while home sick with strep throat for almost a week. Ok, I’m only really lazy until I get bored; then I start doing things on the “to do when there’s absolutely nothing else to do” list. I purchased the futon to brighten up the room because the lavender paint was a little darker than I expected. The futon is off white. So are the dining chairs. The walls in the new place are also off white. I really want to paint but Killa B is trying to discourage me from doing that. We’ll see who wins that debate. Keeping everything clean would be a chore even if I were living there by myself – and I normally change clothes as soon as I get home to keep “outside dirt” off the furniture. Realistically, I can’t expect Killa B to change his clothes before sitting on the couch. Hell, I can’t even keep him from sleeping on the damn thing! Basically, I am going to have replace the off-white futon cover in another 4-6 weeks. I think I’ll opt for leather next time. I may as well get rid of those dining chairs now… and the animal pelt rugs and throw pillows. I keep reminding myself that this can work. I just have to bend a little and make a few changes.


I’m such a hardass sometimes. I have a very particular and deliberate way of doing most things. It’s really bad right now because this is a new place, which was immaculate when we moved in. I want to keep from dominating Killa B at every turn. I need to leave him to do things on his own without the constant watchful eye or nitpicky criticisms. If I still feel the need to come back and clean up after he has cleaned (as he probably expects me to do since I have terrible OCD at home), then it shouldn’t be a grand exhibition. That says, ‘look at me redoing this because you are incapable of doing it correctly’. That’s just wrong. I hate it when people play the martyr.