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the wedding
Saturday, October 9 1999
In the morning, Ed Nelson came by to pick us up. On a typical New Orleans social call, we went over to Lisa L@tter's place and hung out with her, doing all the usual things one does on such social calls. Lisa had a framed copy of the a Jazzfest 1999 poster in amongst her other things. Like many New Orleans folks in her position, Lisa surrounds herself with expensive hand-me-down furniture. [REDACTED] The most interesting thing that came up in conversation was the revelation that Lisa has given up her cell phone as a cost-saving measure. It was probably the only rational thing she could do after noticing that her phone bills were running higher than her rent. (She still obsessively uses cell phones, of course, relying on those belonging to friends.)
Next Ed drove us at rather high speed across town on small streets through the neighborhoods of the city. For a few blocks the scene would verge on being a bombed out ruin and the street itself would fill with potholes and ruts. Then we'd cross a thoroughfare and suddenly the houses and would bloom with fresh paint and competent leveling while the business buildings would demonstrate intact windows and apparently functional commerce. A block later, we'd be passing Commander's Palace, the fanciest restaurant in the entire South. Then, a few blocks later, we'd be back in the slums. This patchwork demographic quality is one of many interesting things about New Orleans.
Ed was in an almost manic frenzy as he drove. When he went to park, he darted around other cars and trucks, both moving and still, acting as if they were all in slow motion, saying, "Objects, so many objects!"
For whatever reason, Kim was being especially bitchy to me. I was pretty sure at the time that she was putting on some sort of show to impress Lisa L@tter. It didn't sit well with me and I quickly slid into a funk that affected my actions the rest of the day. In general it's not a good idea to take me far from home and then deliberately make me feel like an outsider.
We ended up at a place called Café Roma, at which point Ed, still in a manic state, headed back to his house, allegedly to hang out with his wife.
Kim and Lisa were decidedly unimpressed with the lunch served by our "stupid & gay" waiter, complaining that the dough in their sandwiches wasn't sufficiently cooked. Girls, especially fancy girls like these, are never happy unless the dinner is costing a king's ransom. They send stuff back to the chef just to be social. But when they really don't like the food, it's enough to cause a guy like me embarrassment. For my part, I found the shrimp & artichoke heart sandwich I ordered was perfectly delicious.
We walked about a block away to the home of one of Lisa's friends. The friend, a blond girl with thick retroglasses, was vegging out on her couch watching a Lifestyle channel made-for-women movie. Her boyfriend was still in bed. Somehow Lisa convinced the girl to let Kim use her wrapping paper to wrap a gift for the wedding we'd be attending tonight. Then Lisa went on to convince the boyfriend to drive us to our next destination, a dark bar & grill place called Port of Call. It was fairly crowded for so early on a Saturday. Amongst those at the bar were a pair of drunk & glad-handing middle-aged male acquaintances of Lisa's, complete with hard-faced blond female sidekicks. Also present was a younger gentleman who has occasionally read this journal, along with a girl I took to be his date. The gentleman ordered "Monsoons" for both Kim and me. Monsoons turn out to be rather large, rather alcoholic daiquiri-like concoctions. They were to last us until the wedding.
A cab ride later, Kim and I were back at our apartment, still sipping our Monsoons. Rain had begun to fall in ernest, always a sign of good luck on a wedding day (according to those in whose interest it is that marriages actually get carried through to completion).
Kim had a purple leopard-print outfit she'd bought especially for this wedding. I didn't have any clothes, but Kim's friend Lindsay reported that she had a sparkly green jacket I could borrow.
Lindsay was the person who provided transportation to the wedding. She picked us up in the evening, and at her place I put on the jacket and a matching tie. Things were looking good. We headed off to the wedding at the Maple Leaf Bar.
The Maple Leaf was decorated in front with two enormous fool's heads. Inside, glitter and beads were abundant. Already some locally famous funk band was on stage. The big event of the evening was to be a performance by Walter Wolfman Washington. Kim had been singing his praises for months, but not being much of a fan of funk, I wasn't particularly excited.
In some respects, the wedding was novel and interesting. For one thing, it was pretty much open to the public. Anyone could just come in off the street and participate. And, though the bride and groom were as white as the wind-driven snow, the musicians were all either black or Vietnamese. Since the musicians had brought many of their friends, fans and family, the crowd was remarkably integrated. A downside to the wedding was the rather mediocre food, but at least it was free. The worst travesty of all was the fact that we had to pay for our drinks. That's no way to have a throwdown.
For me, the best parts of the evening were the occasions when various groups of us would go outside around a corner and smoke some "cocajuana."
I was drinking exclusively "greyhounds" (Grapefruit juice and vodka), and I was drinking them at a fairly rapid rate. At first everything seemed to be going okay. There was a sweaty up mob up near the stage, but I did my little bit of dancing some distance back, under a fan. Then I climbed up to be with Kim on a bench and we could see Ashley the bride up on stage with Big Chief Bo Dollis, the person entrusted by the state of Louisiana with the task of performing the marriage.
Lindsay headed home and then Lisa L@tter, who had been vacillating all day about whether or not to even come, suddenly materialized. She and I managed to get this one elderly man to buy a round of drinks for a fairly considerable contingent near the bar.
Lisa ended up spending most of the evening in her normal habitat, that is, on the phone. She was talking with Stephanie, yet another college chum who couldn't make it to the wedding. Though Stephanie has a very prestigious job in New York doing television infotainment, she's still a middle school bitchy-bitch at heart, wanting Lisa to observe whether or not Ashley had gone fat.
My memories faded away at this point. I remember setting up candles to assist in the taking of photographs. I remember a still frame of me in the adjacent bar drunkenly playing their piano. But I don't remember some things Kim observed me doing. She claims that after a certain time I showed no interest in her whatsoever, focusing instead on Lisa L@tter. I don't really want to know all the dumb things I did while in blackout.
I don't remember Walter Wolfman Washington whatsoever.
Kim and me on the streets of New Orleans.
Left to right: Lindsay and Kim in front of the Maple Leaf Bar.
Kim, me and Lindsay in the street in front of the Maple Leaf. The girls evidently know someone in that truck behind us. The blur is an indication of how I remember most of this evening.
Kim, Ashley (the bride) and Lisa at the wedding.
Kim and me at the wedding. Obviously I'm fairly drunk. The cigarette Kim is holding might contain tobacco, but then again it might contain marijuana, cocajuana or even cocaine.
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