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Tuesday, Aug 13, 2002
Letter from New Orleans
August 13, 2002
I was in Houston last week for a technical conference, and stayed with the parental units. The old man was reasonably well behaved. His latest medical crisis seems to have been enough to get him to cut down to 2-3 glasses of wine with dinner rather than his previous stupifying pace.
Nonetheless, he still seems a bit bitter for someone who has as much as he does. While driving down a narrow part of Westheimer through the Montrose district, he was annoyed by a city bus. Having experience driving large vehicles, I thought the bus driver was doing just fine. My dad spat out "Goddamn bus. Niggers driving niggers." Oh pity the poor white man in his S-class Benz, oppressed by the employees and customers of public transit.
So perhaps you can see why I chose to spend my weekend elsewhere. I had a reservation at Rue Rocheblave in New Orleans, and was happy to make my escape.
I did my best to be a bad influence, and drug Jim out on the town on Saturday night. We culled the numerous choices down to two acts: the Breeders and a local act called the Irene Sage Band. As with cuisine, it's often best to go local.
Although Irene was not as overt as the images in this OffBeat article, her performance still has strong sexual overtones. Watching Irene's girlfriends on the dance floor was almost as much fun as watching the band. Jim and I didn't catch any of their names, but we were postulating -- Lurlene, Marlene, Maureen, Ilene ...
While I was dancing in front of the bandstand to a rendition of Muddy Waters' "Got my Mojo Workin", Maureen kept bumping into me. Don't you hate when that happens? First couple of times, I thought it might have been an accident, but after she leaned back into me a dozen times, it seemed more like it was on purpose. Later Maureen and Lurlene danced together, with Maureen resting her hands on Lurlene's hips a number of times. Just what in tarnation is going on down there in the Crescent City? Is it the tropical climate, or what?
Despite all the commotion on the dance floor the high point of the evening was a cover of an Etta James song. Irene has a voice that just won't quit. Bonnie Raitt ain't got nothin on her.