Excelsior New Orleans!

Big Freedia

2012-01-25T22:41:00.000-05:00

I'm told Big Freedia (pronounced Frida) is going to be on the Jimmy Kimmel Show tonight. I won't be able to catch it. If you aren't able to either, here is a Big Freedia video. The skyline is New Orleans. If you've been here long enough, you know where the exterior shots were shot.

Jazz is more popular in some quarters of the city. Bounce is bigger in others.

Ursuline Concord

2012-01-24T23:04:00.000-05:00

Our Lady of Prompt Succor, hasten to help us!

From Hollygrove to Holy Cross, New Orleans glows. The city radiates a magical aura from the bend in the river to Pontchartrain Park. The sun rises in the east, a flower blossoming. The sun sets in the west, locked away in a tomb. If you can get from the West End to the Lower Ninth Ward in an evening, you will be back again the next day. Desire is a state of mind that has nothing to do with Florida, but plenty to do with sunshine and retiring from the concerns of the workaday world.

Sweat it out with Sweetheart.

2012-01-22T18:46:00.001-05:00

Our Lady of Prompt Succor. Sweetheart statue.

As we like to say in New Orleans, "Our Lady of Prompt Succor, hasten to help us."

If ever there was a city that could help itself, it is New Orleans. The ties that bind a community together are tight. Superhuman vision, and a finely attuned ear, make all the difference between a comedy and a tragedy. Five times out of six, if there is a funeral, there is sure to be a parade.

Burger King Home Delivery

2012-01-21T18:17:00.000-05:00

Burger King Home Delivery.

According to USA Today, the nation's thinly entertaining paper of record, Burger King is attempting a bid to capture the home delivery segment of the hamburger market.

Out of the bunker.

2012-01-14T20:57:00.000-05:00

Cheryl Blossom: Lifeguard.

My life bears no resemblance to two thirds of the plot lines in the typical Archie comic book. In New Orleans, though surrounded by water, there is no beach. The few people who swim off the batture... the current carries them away forever. There are no lifeguards in New Orleans. There is no drama.

The Great Jewelry Armoire Debate

2012-01-12T20:23:00.002-05:00

Some links do kiss and tell.

"Why do you call it a jewelry armoire?” he asked. “You could just as easily call it a jewelry cabinet, or a jewelry chest, or a place to keep your jewelry. Whatever it is, it is a fine-crafted piece of jewelry storage technology.”

She said, “I like to say jewelry armoire. It makes me happy.”

It was easy for him to see what made her happy. Her jewelry cabinet was a chest of jewelry treasures. It was the perfect jewelry box, with tiered jewelry storage. There was a ring drawer. There was a drawer for bracelets. There were necklace hooks in necklace cabinets. There were bangles racks. There were plush, contoured earring mounts for stud earring storage, hoop earring storage, and dangle earring storage. Her jewelry armoire has space for navel rings, nipple rings, and any other jewelry an elegant lady may own. An elegant jewelry armoire is more than a thing of beauty.

Keep jewelry in a stylish jewelry armoire.

She studied her face in the armoire mirror. She was pretty in pink. She opened a ring box drawer and chose a ring from the velvet-lined cushions. She chose her earrings from the armoire earring cabinet. She opened the velvet-lined bracelet drawer, and considered the diamonds, but she turned to the bangle tree.

An elegant, wall-mointed jewelry armoire is a lady's best friend.

“I like to say jewelry chest,” he said. “Jewelry cabinet works for me, too. Sometimes I think Best Jewelry Cabinet should be a proper name. But if you like your jewelry armoire, I like it too. I see why you like it. Your jewelry armoire is beautiful.”

She looked at him. They kissed. The armoire mirror saw it all.

New Orleans dreams

2012-01-08T15:07:00.001-05:00

New Orleans in a shot glass.

They say Hollywood is a dream factory. I see why. For different reasons, in very different ways, I think New Orleans, Louisiana is a dream factory. Living here, day after delightful day, I feel untethered from the reality that rules every other place I've lived.

I spent some years in Naples, Italy, an outsider speaking only English, in a city with more than a million inhabitants, that has only one McDonald's and two Chinese restaurants (when I lived there, least). Different rules applied to life in Naples. Different rules apply in New Orleans. It is a world like none other. The rest of the world is out there, it just doesn't matter very much. A living city is a microcosm.

When I hear a trumpet player keeping himself company along his, or her, long midnight walk home, I hear the heartbeat of a living city. It sings.

I spent a few years in Boston. That city calculates and studies. I've lived in Queens, a part of a city that schemes to make a buck. I've lived in Newport, Rhode Island, a place apart, that stuns with its beauty. I've was nurtured and came of age in New London, Connecticut, a place where no one visits, unless they mean it. I've lived in Chicago, and there was nothing wrong with that, except the weather. I've lived in Houston, and I never want to go back.

I live in New Orleans, now. I never want to live anywhere else again.

I live, alive, in New Orleans, without a care in the world. New Orleans incubates dreams. It fledges dreamers when they are ready to soar between Riverbend and Hollygrove, between Bayou Sauvage and the slippery shores of the mighty Mississippi River. If an idea has legs, it will be able to swim. New Orleans is a dream factory filled with small entrepreneurs looking to mint something more than coin. It a city in which dreams come true.

Another day in New Orleans

2012-01-07T17:57:00.000-05:00

Is it right or is it wrong? It is too close to call. While I often go about my daily routine to the tune of Yaketty-Sax, I can't say that this song is appropriate for all occasions, except when it is.

A day in the life of Whalehead King. Balaenius Rex!,

Roscoe Conklin "Fatty" Arbuckle.

2012-01-07T16:42:00.000-05:00

Roscoe Conklin "Fatty" Arbuckle

They called him "The Prince of Whales."

I believed the champagne bottle story of his downfall until recently. Like many things, it is more complicated than a telling anecdote. Everyone has a story, but we don't always write it ourselves.

He had a real name, and it wasn't Fatty. Rest in peace, Mr. Arbuckle.

Legion of Four

2012-01-06T22:29:00.000-05:00

Which one is Element Lad?

Limbo is where unbaptized infants go when they die. Sophie Wright told me this, this morning, while we were smoking cigars at the bus stop on the corner of Magazine Street and Napoleon Avenue. We sat on the bench, in the shade of Ms. Mae's awning. The oaks in the neutral ground dripped from the fog.

I keep saying, "Balaenius Rex!"

2012-01-05T22:00:00.013-05:00

If this isn't a New Yorker cartoon, I'll eat my hat.

Don't you find it strange that you don't notice something till it's obvious? All day I found myself writing 2010. It wasn't until this afternoon that I realized my autonomic nervous system is more than a year off. It is 2012 as I write this.

I met a woman named Farrah today. I said it was a popular name, for babies, when I was a boy. She said she was named after her grandmother. I said I wasn't that old.

My house guests departed this afternoon. They had stayed for nine days. Lovely folks, they kept me from my usual armchair. Seven days separated from fine furniture makes one weak. I put my feet up on an ottoman.

I was thinking about how Istanbul was once Constantinople, and old New York was once New Amsterdam. New Orleans has always been New Orleans. The city's history is silent until it gains its name, then it sings. New Orleans is a city that begins by being true. It is forever-new in a way that is eternal. It is what it is, like nowhere else. The women look prettier, and the men seem smarter, in New Orleans, Louisiana, especially at night.

How do you illustrate the passage of time? If life isn't like an S. Kelly cartoon from the Times-Picayune's editorial page, I'll eat a dozen Gulf oysters, puttin' on the ritz, just the way I like 'em. Between Calliope and Thalia, there is Erato. I was sitting between two ladies at the Two Muses, on Frenchman Street, two days ago. A night can move in strange directions in 2012 AD, you only have to wish it hard enough. I can't tell you more without switching to a romance language in la Nouvelle Orleans!

Another kind of comic art.

It isn't always easy to live a day in the life of Whalehead King.

A Salute to Dave Spinelli

2011-12-27T23:51:00.003-05:00

Shhhhhhh.....

It doesn’t matter where you put the accent, but it does matter how you tilt your hat. Everyone is a Berliner. Everyone is a pilgrim. Tying a bow tie is like tying a shoe.

An orca can devour a giant squid. I saw it in a diorama in a museum. I saw it in a movie. I saw it in a dream.

If you are going to walk like a man, come out swinging. If you are going to talk like a man, make it good. If you get better than you give, the taste of a split lip is worth it. War is a kind of poetry, and, needless to say, war is hell. When a howling commando fights the good fight, he or she earns a medal forged from the alloy of a nation's gratitude.

When you’re bowling candlepins in a private, automated, basement bowling alley on State Street, the champagne factor can go to your head. When you are rolling the bones on the bar at the veterans' club, the commotion at the shuffleboard table drowns out everything else. This is what it sounds like when gulls cry.

You can count bats in the jungle, but you can’t do it after dark. Sometimes, home ways is best ways, even when the drinks are on the house and you have two on the bar. Home is where the heart is.

A whale swims deep. A pilgrim travels far. Both play for keeps, doubling down on themselves, collecting the winnings, sharing the wealth.

Fairfield County is one part of Connecticut. New London County is its opposite. The geographic center of the Constitution State is in Berlin, Hartford County, Connecticut, USA, the Provision State. Ever heard of it?

Whatever swamp or jungle a pilgrim finds himself or herself in, there is a way to go about things. It is easy. It isn’t a secret. It is as easy as tying a shoe.

Qui Transtulit Sustinet. Who Transplants Sustains. Everyone goes where they come from.

Every playboy needs furniture.

2011-12-27T20:10:00.001-05:00

Every penthouse needs furniture.

I asked Mike if I could tell the story of the day after he moved into his new apartment in the Highland Arms on Madison Avenue. He said I could, as long as I gave him a pseudonym. Did he have any preferences? “You can call me, Kyle,” he said.

Kyle moved into his apartment in the Highland Arms on Madison Avenue on Saturday afternoon. The doorman opened the door when he arrived, and the steward followed him up the elevator, carrying Kyle’s bags. The key turned the lock of the penthouse suite, and Kyle was home to an empty flat.

“What am I going to do now?” Kyle asked me.

“Not to worry,” I replied, “Tomorrow's the eighth day of the week. Good things happen then.”

“Where will we sleep, tonight?” Kyle asked me.

“The Vanderbilt twins are having a party, tonight,” I said. “You know Candy is sweet on you, and I think I can sweet talk Amanda. If we show up, I bet they’ll let us spend the night in their guest room. Besides, they’re interior designers. I’ll bet they have plenty of suggestions of what we can buy to make your bachelor pad chic, modern, and freshly sophisticated in a comfortable way.”

“I’m sweet on both Vanderbilt sisters,” Kyle said, dreamy-eyed. “I love the South Shore Jumper Twin Mates Bedset they have in their guest room, too.”

The Vanderbilt twins know how to party.

The next morning, Sunday, Kyle and I returned to his new, empty apartment, after a night of talking about furniture in particular, and cutting-edge, yet homey, decor in general. What we learned from all this talk is that there is one way, the best way, to buy furniture at significant savings with free shipping, and exceptional customer service. High quality merchandise crafted by professional artisans from around the globe is surprisingly affordable when you know where to look. Kyle and I spent that Sunday morning at the computer, ordering furniture for his penthouse apartment at the Highland Arms on Madison Avenue in this great city we call home. There is only one way to shop for furniture online.

The first order of business was barstools, of course. Then, we selected a dining room set. It was thirsty work, but we had plenty of espresso on hand.

A floor lamp and media storage cabinet will arrive next Thursday. The future is bright with the promises of an occasional table, a sofa, an electric fireplace, and a coatrack conceived and manufactured specifically for the ideal, twenty-first century, bachelor's HQ in what may very well be the most cutting-edge city in the world.

Kyle has good taste. So do you. Live in the home you imagine.

Shopping online for furniture is an enjoyable way to spend a Sunday afternoon. When the delivery man arrives, that is another, tangible shot of satisfaction into your home. The proof is in the living. Good furniture rewards its owner every day, in many ways. There is only one way to choose wisely. Less than eight days later, Kyle’s apartment was furnished just as he imagined.

*******

If you didn't see the sweet little Ninja motorcycle in yesterday's post, scroll down, gentle reader, scroll down to see a truly beautiful thing. -WK

A Very Ninja Christmas

2011-12-24T02:00:00.000-05:00

2011 Ninja 250 on Esplanade Avenue, New Orleans, LA

We are talking about motorcycles for no reason except that two wheels set a soul free. The old, littlest Ninja, with its Reagan-era aesthetics, which carried me from Boston to New Orleans, is retired. You can read about that trip in the sidebar to your left, fourth item down.

On Christmas Eve Day, the new Ninja 250, will be careening past its 3000th milestone. That's not bad for two and a half months without a scratch. A motorcycle provides the best view on a bridge clogged with rush hour traffic. A working stiff doesn't get many hours to ride, but when New Orleans' streets offer an invitation, there is nothing to do but turn, and join the parade.

The old Ninja 250 used to happily respond to the monniker, "The Littlest Ninja in [whatever city we lived in]." The chitin of the new Ninja 250 doesn't tolerate whimsy. No stickers. No scratches. One attitude: serious. I always liked the Littlest Ninja on the East Bank of the Mississippi River. I like the new Ninja 250, too, but it's not as friendly a companion.

Somewhere, along some bend in the Mississippi River, I am going to pause and smoke a pipe, like Saint Nick. Man and machine will get to know each other, out in the middle of nowhere, over a smoke.

No matter how you spend your Christmas Eve, a very Merry Christmas to you and to yours. Even a bicycle has a motor between its wheels. Two wheels set one free. Seven days without the wind in one's hair makes one weak. A world without the lazy play of pipe tobacco would be an unhappy world, indeed.

Love's Tinderbox

2011-12-21T22:34:00.000-05:00

Even a coward can be a lion.

Have I told you about my anonymous friend who loves his thirty-inch, self-trimming, electric firebox? You can’t blame him. She is a beauty. He’s got a special name for his Dimplex Essex White Electric Indoor Transitional Fireplace. He calls it Mabel.

My anonymous friend likes to cozy up to Mabel with a good book and a snifter of brandy. “We’ve spent many romantic nights together, reading John Donne, and Portuguese sonnets, ” he says.

No man should keep a mistress, but an electric fireplace is the perfect fixture for a modern bachelor pad. You’ll always find success when it’s a Dimplex, especially the Essex. Just ask my anonymous friend who has on-demand heat from a thirty-inch, self-trimming, electric firebox.

That’s Mabel: always able. Three cents and hour with flame only. Eight cents an hour for warm flame, hour after luxurious hour.

The Dimplex Essex White Electric Indoor Transitional Fireplace. He calls it Mabel. His wife calls it May Belle.

Think outside the bar

2011-12-14T21:46:00.000-05:00

Stylish barstool

Consider the perfect barstool, and think outside the bar. The perfect barstool looks right, and works right, in every setting. The kitchen, the family room, the hallway, the living room, a backless barstool adds playful formality to any room in your beautiful home.

Today, like every day, is morning in America. A sunny kitchenette is a happier place with backless barstools in the breakfast nook. Kids love to swivel while they eat their cereal, and backless barstools prevent slouching.

Good posture is improved by the perfect barstool. Doctors recommend backless barstools for senior citizens, toddlers, day laborers, computer programmers, and surly adolescents who can benefit from better posture. There are many barstools to choose from, in many, many styles. There is one barstool that is perfect for you. You need a backless barstool.

Scandinavian style

A simple stool fits right into country decor, as easily as it does beside modern, Scandinavian design. Clean lines, never go out of style. A simple stool need not be simple. Modern engineering can elevate a stool to a higher plane. State-of-the-art, hair-trigger hydraulics combine with frictionless bearings to provide maximum comfort. Sometimes, you can mess with perfection, and it delivers the same.

When you sit on a backless barstool, you are sitting in style.

A chrome barstool looks good in the kitchen, for sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee, chatting with a neighbor. A backless barstool with classic, cherry veneer is at home in the living room, one in each corner for when a guest needs a rest. A swivel barstool is perfect for parties, where lively conversations come from every direction. A perfect stool is the center of attention.

Sit here

Wood, tubular steel, and wrought iron are the barstool materials of choice. Bare seat barstools are made for men made of stern stuff. Upholstered seats provide just the right amount of cushion, and they are made of a variety of luxurious materials. Lustrous fabric in a rainbow of colors, or rich leather tanned like mink, there is a fit and a finish that will match your beautiful home, and make it just right. Every day is a party when you think outside the bar.

An Amazing Second Line in New Orleans, LA

2011-12-08T01:04:00.000-05:00

New Orleans: a drinking town.

The night makes a kind of mask. All cats are gray in the dark. Terrence Jefferson is making his way down Frenchmen Street, a skip in his step in time with the music pouring out of the bars. The women look lovely under the streetlights.

Winter is the kindest time in New Orleans. The damp cold is bracing. People are happy to be outdoors. They are happy to be spared, for a few months, from oppressive heat. People stamp down their feet when they dance in the street. People get more romantic. The ganders snuggle the geese in City Park as lovers stroll alongside starlit lagoons.

Happiness loves company, and there is no happiness like the kind of joy a brass band brings. There is a commotion up the street, where Frenchman intersects with Royal Street. A brass band is coming, with a parade of impromptu marchers in its wake. Terrence Jefferson joins in, dancing with a beautiful redhead, before switching to a thin-boned brunette with a bob bound by a spangled headband. When the band stops in the street, playing the whole time, the bars empty out, including the musicians. They all add their share to the festivity.

For twenty minutes, spontaneous bonhomie breaks out in Faubourg Marigny. People dance on their balconies, and throw flowers into the crowd. Someone is passing out tambourines. The musicians play all the old standards, and everyone knows the words to sing out as they dance. When the brass band finally stops, all of them sweating from pouring out their hearts, everyone offers to buy them a beer.

The stage musicians get back to their gigs. The bars fill back up with patrons trying to extend the mood from the street. A young lady with blue hair bumps into Terrence Jefferson. “Excuse me,” she says. “You’re kind of cute.”

They go into the Apple Barrel for a drink. After that, they go to the Blue Nile. After that they go to the Balcony Music Club. Then it is a long walk home-ways, up Esplanade Avenue, hand-in-hand.

Terrence Jefferson lives on Barracks Street, in a pale green shotgun he shares with his girlfriend and her two sisters. The ladies of the house are out tonight, on Bourbon Street. They won’t be home until tomorrow.

Terrence Jefferson and the blue-haired young lady stop into Buffa’s for a nightcap, then they cross the street for a tropical drink at the Port o‘ Call. As they walk past L’il Dizzy’s, they realize they still have a half-mile to go.

As they cross Claiborne Avenue, the young lady says, “This is the most romantic night, ever.”

“It’s getting a bit chilly,” Terrence Jefferson says. He puts his arm around her waist and pulls her close. She follows his lead as they take a left on North Prieur Street, then a right on Bayou Road.

Where Barracks Street breaks free of Bayou Road, there is a leafy piazza surrounded by some of the most beautiful homes in New Orleans. Terrence Jefferson and the blue-haired young lady stand in the middle of the street. They look at a patch of starry sky haloed by oak branches. She rests her head against his chest. “This is like a dream,” the young lady says.

They get to North Galvez Street and Terrence Jefferson says he lives on the next block. “I live that-away,” the young lady says, extending her thumb. Terrence Jefferson walks her to her apartment just past Kerlerec Street, and he helps her unlock the door.

Terrence Jefferson walks home, alone, with a spring in his step. He is whistling. The air is so cold, it looks like he is smoking. He stamps his feet on the front steps before he opens his front door. His girlfriend and her sisters are home early, and he is very happy to see them. He will not be alone.

One of the sisters notices a blue hair on Terrence Jefferson’s lapel. All the lights in the house are on. “I was in the most amazing second line,” Terrence Jefferson says. That explains it all, and they turn off the lights before going to bed.

A bed to believe in.

2011-11-29T22:26:00.001-05:00

The season of Advent is one of joyful anticipation. On the 8th day, it was furnished...

A bed to believe in.

Imagine lying awake tucked in and sleepy, but anticipation keeps tugging you from the edge of slumber. Tomorrow will be better than your mortal mind can imagine. The Hillsdale Man will be knocking tomorrow. Free shipping is a kind of miracle. He’ll be bringing a Morgan Twin Size Duo Panel Headboard. Forty-six inches isn’t too high a point on which to pin one’s hopes.

Once upon a fortnight, a baby was born in a barn. The door was left open.

The advent calendar is full of chocolates, one for every day. Tomorrow will be a banana split. There may be more than one place in which to be born, but there is also only one way to sleep in style. The Hillsdale Man is coming tomorrow.

Anticipation makes the best sauce. When every day is already sweet, a surfeit of joy is not out place. The only thing that could make it better is a good night’s rest.

Mele Kalikimaka

The heart blooms like a tulip painted, trompe l’oeil, by a Dutch Master, when its owner slumbers peaceably in a beautiful bed. The bud has not yet burst its bloom. It may happen when you least expect it, or it may happen tomorrow. This is the season of hope. A fully-welded, tubular design mirrors the pattern of one epiphany unfolding from another. Durable, powder, dark gray finish will never be sullied by things that go bump in the night. A tree grows in Brooklyn. The American Beauty rose has no thorns.

Imagine lying in bed, knowing that tomorrow you will be sleeping like an angel, resting against a headboard as graceful as a seraphim’s wing. It could be you. Some harps have optional fretboards. The Morgan Twin Size Duo Panel Headboard does.

Every December brings gifts that nourish the spirit. This is one of them.

A simple lotus.

Thanks to everyone who is enjoying One-Way Thursday, which came early again this week. WK is loathe to commit to a One-Way Tuesday, so let's just keep calling it One-Way Thursday, knowing it will fall between Tuesday and Thursday. Every Wednesday is Sunday at Carvel. Yippee the Whale is not going to argue with Fudgey the Whale about the constraints of the calendar.

The conceptual artist's lament

2011-11-25T19:38:00.002-05:00

Living the life of Kerouac and Pottsy Webber at the same time.

A little beat poetry today. More like beat doggerel. It's against the law to beat a live dog, but you can beat a dead one to your heart's content. Keeping with the Thanksgiving theme (Ed. note: Thanksgiving was yesterday] Whalehead Amalgamated Enterprises, GmbH, etc, is proud to present.....

The Conceptual Artist's Lament.

I didn't know domesticated turkeys cannot fly,
and so my project,
the one that was supposed to make my name,
was a painful belly flop.

Now I stick to Wild Turkey.

I have plenty of ideas,
all of them impractical.
Someday,
I will die.

-With a tip of the fedora to whoever wrote that Thanksgiving episode of "WKRP in Cincinnati,"

Nothing to do with Sarkozy or Merkel.

2011-11-22T21:45:00.000-05:00

There is more than one way to be say grace... [ One Way Thursday comes early this week by popular demand. -WK]

Continental styles on American shores.

Every American should be thankful for the peace we enjoy within our shores, just as Silvio Berlusconi has plenty to be thankful for. Berlusconi knows how to do the "bunga-bunga."

After Veterans Day passes, Americans tilt our heads in the direction of Thanksgiving. On the eleventh day of the eleventh month in the eleventh year, at eleven minutes past eleven o’clock AM, 111111, 1111 in military time, peace was declared. It is right to give thanks and gratitude to Providence.

There is a penthouse suite in Rhode Island's capitol city that is called, informally, the “Berlusconi Rumpus Room.” It overlooks Brown University, up on College Hill, off Power Street. Italy’s premier bunga-bunga practitioner has often been overheard to say that Providence is his favorite place outside his mother’s arms. The people who live here understand the attraction. They live it every day.

The stalwart citizens of Providence, of good dissenting stock, gather round the table in distinctive style. No stern, puritan ways for them. Instead, their dining room set is the Legacy Classic Orleans 7pc Dining Set in Golden Brown. Rich finish, refined lines, and an open inset of tangles... We could be describing the quintessential, stereotypical New Englander. The whole picture takes on a different meaning in Silvio Berlusconi’s, presumed favorite city.

7-piece dining room set in golden brown.

It takes a special man to be head of state. Not everyone can be Roger Williams. Somebody has to be Silvio Berlusconi. A cranberry needs its sourness sweetened to make its sauce savory. A Thanksgiving meal has many flavors. Would you prefer dark meat or light? Breast or thigh? The dressing is in one's eyes.

Carve the turkey.

Brown without gold is verdigris. The heart of pine makes grown men weep, and it makes women weak in their ankles. Take six chairs and pair them with a table large enough to seat them all. That's how they do it in the Ocean State, and it is how they do it across the ocean, at Silvio Berlusconi's Thanksgiving meal. After all, he is known to love all things American.

There is always free shipping to Rhode Island.

Free ships pass in the night.

2011-11-17T21:12:00.000-05:00

There is more than one way to tell a tale...

A ladder of light.

It is funny how the night moves. No matter what you’ve heard, the heart is not a lonely hunter. It has plenty of company. When the right eyes meet, a blush will rise in your cheeks. A pear-shaped lover can be the apple of one’s eye. It is funny how the night moves.

One evening, I found myself in the middle of a lively fandango with a sprightly lass half my age. A polite Lothario can be an inoffensive Casanova. She clicked her castanets in contrapuntal time as we reeled to the guitar player’s tune. Out of breath by song’s end, I left her to continue with gentlemen closer to her age. I shared a bottle of sherry with my wife of many years. It is funny how the night moves.

In the still, quiet moments after the rest of the world is asleep, Rick Perry, who requested his real name not be used, sits at his desk in the light of his Nova Escalier Table Lamp. One thing leads to another. An adventure leads to fond recollection. It is a writer’s world when all is said and done, even if what is written is no more than a diary. Ask Samuel Pepys. How you live depends on how you shape your life. It isn’t only smoke that makes a staircase for you to ascend, it is how lightly you enter and exit your dreams. Theories must be tested through practice.

Every day, like every life, has its own rhythm. Rick Perry (not his real name) lives contentedly, within the bounds of his private aspirations. Like any earnest lover, he has an object of his chivalric affections. Her name is Norma, and she is as plain a Jane as you ever have seen. To him, she is the most beautiful woman in the world. She looks lovely in lamplight.

I’ve danced with Norma more than once. She is not a coquette, but she doesn’t mind an amiable fandango with a harmless gentleman whose wife is watching with mindful measure. Norma's eyes are as fetching as brushed nickel illuminated by one-hundred-watt bulbs. Her eyes especially sparkle when Rick Perry (not his real name) enters the room.

Every lamp has a story, and the Nova Escalier Table Lamp is no exception. Of such things, dreams are made. It is funny how the night moves.

New Orleans State of Mind.

2011-11-17T00:14:00.000-05:00

Two T-Bones, head to head, make a cross.

Four rights make a square.

Fight for your rights.

Shoot from the hip.

It is hip to be square.

Be awake. Be aware.

Dance like no one is watching.

- 'nuff said.

Balaenius Rex!

Ape Regina!

Mare Liberum.

Bicycle Second Line this Sunday!

2011-11-15T20:50:00.000-05:00

Bicycles in New Orleans.

This is going to be a good one. Click the picture for more details.

Every chair has a story.

2011-11-10T21:17:00.000-05:00

She is pretty in autumn.

Every Chair Has a Story. Poetry Inspired by One Way Furniture...

There are cities more romantic than Paris, and there are cities with more history than Rome. Where do you live? I’ll bet that it is a pretty nice place.

We reflect our surroundings through osmosis. A hardened criminal can become an upright citizen after a few months in prison. A plowman can become a painter after spending a fortnight in an atelier. Our spirits rise to our expectations. Our furnishings should reflect that.

If you aim a bit higher than you would normally be inclined, you cannot help but hit your mark. A spontaneous decision requires laying the ground rules. Shoot from the hip. Don’t follow fads. A chair is just a place to sit. You are the accent.

There are cities more stately than Washington, and there are boroughs richer than Manhattan. Even a small city can hold more than a million, naked stories, each one worth remembering. Where there is love, there are homes, and, where there are homes, there is beauty. It is human nature to surround a family with beautiful things.

Every chair has a story.

Jackson Furniture Hartwell Accent Chair in Bollywood Finish. Everyone says it proudly, and most people say it loudly. The name says it all.

A school marm in Ottumwa knows she sits on top of the world. She has the world on a string, and an engagement ring around her finger. What a town. What a life. She’s in love with the most handsome young man in all of Wapello County, Iowa. A river of opportunity will eventually deliver a perfect match upstream.

Because he is such a gentleman, everyone refers to the school marm’s fiance as “Charles of London.” He puckers up like no Frenchman would ever dare do. She longs to be held between her lover’s generously scaled arms.

Where good manners are the municipal standard, good taste will reign. A community of well-appointed homes will sleep in the comfortable bed it has made for itself. There are cities less religious than Rio de Janeiro. There are cities less populous than Beijing, or Mumbai. There is only one place where anxiety is countered by faith in the present. Home is where the heart does well. Hartwell.

The days of the week as pharmaceuticals.

2011-11-08T20:07:00.000-05:00

The last movie Groucho Marx appeared in. Go out with a bang.

Monday is an antibiotic.
Tuesday is a hormone replacement.
Wednesday is a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory, NSAID, as some people like to say.
Thursday is a an anticoagulant.
Friday is a mild sedative.
Saturday is a cathartic.
Sunday is a placebo.

'nuff said.
Balaenius Rex.