Saturday, April 24, 2010

Pick of the Night: Ingrid Lucia

Last night I did everything I came here to do-find great music, great food and a little hit of lawlessness with an emphasis on fashion.  My friend Adam Levy, a wildly talented guitarist who has jazz flowing through his veins (and who played guitar for both Tracy Chapman and Norah Jones because he can be mainstream when he really tries) said I had to see Ingrid Lucia if I was looking for great music in New Orleans. Trusting him completely, my evening began at her 6pm show at dba, which was phenomenal.  I knew if Adam liked her so much that she must be very talented, which she absolutely is, but she is also incredibly warm and fun and all about making sure the audience is loving every minute of the show as they take to the floor right in front of the stage to dance until they drop because it is impossible not to move to her music.  If you want to hear one of the best jazz vocalists around, check her out: (website: http://www.ingridlucia.com/) ("Cry" video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaRGgeQ1lP4) and if you ever get the chance to see her live, don't miss it . . . and be sure to bring your dancing shoes.

On the celebrity sighting front, after Ingrid's show I was waiting for her to join me for a drink at the spotted cat across the street, when Tim Robbins walked in with a hottie tottie and after about 10 mins of trying to get a drink, left with said hottie tottie.

Around 10:30 I headed over to Susan Spicer's Bayona to meet H and and one of her New Orleans based friends for a mind-blowing dinner (our favorites: goat cheese croutons with mushrooms and madeira cream, grilled shrimp with black bean cake and coriander sauce and kobe beef wrapped asparagus).   After a chat and photo op with Susan Spicer (recipient of the James Beard Best Chef in the Southeast award and named one of the 10 best new chefs by Food & Wine), we were off to find some lawlessness with an emphasis on fashion.

We didn't have to look far, as soon as we got out on the terrace of a gay bar down the street called the Bourbon Pub (where H met three members of the TN supreme court and their shirtless clerk the last time she stopped in), we saw an impeccably dressed, tweaked out of her mind drag queen directing traffic like there was no tomorrow in the intersection below.  Oddly enough, people actually did what she directed them to do like they were scared they were really going to get in trouble if they disobeyed the fashionista drag queen.  It was a fabulous show that went on all night and the police were nowhere to be found.  That's what I'm talking about-lawlessness with an emphasis on fashion.  Seek and you shall find.

Now I am off to seek and hopefully find Simon & Garfunkel at the jazz fest.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Jackson to New Orleans via Biloxi

Just arrived in New Orleans after a fabulous night in Biloxi.  Sadly, my pilgrimage to Jackson in the name of music was a bit of a bust.  After spending a fruitless few hours working my way through every possible music venue in town in the hopes of hearing some live blues, I ended up back at the hotel drinking the night away with the cast of an off broadway production of the Color Purple, which was a blast, but still, I was sad about the lack of blues (because I'm pretty much irony with legs).  In the morning, I was off to Biloxi to pick up my friend H at the airport and spend the night with some friends of hers from her days in New Orleans.  After a fantastic dinner of shrimp creole, rice and biscuits, H and I headed out to Beau Rivage, where I learned how to play black jack and roulette.  I hit a bit of a winning streak, but when it started to taper off and I was back to where I started after a couple hours of gambling, I decided to take my money and run.

And run we did, right on down to the gay bar down the street that one of my followers on twitter recommended, where we could drink all night long for $6.  I asked several clarifying questions when we paid the cover because, not being from Mississippi, I thought surely we were missing something in the translation of "$6 open bar all night."  We weren't and suddenly I was very disappointed that I was driving, until H explained to me that there was no reason to be sad because "you can do whatever you want in Mississippi, drink and drive, drive 120mph . . . wear a skin tight checkered shirt with ruffles down the front (pointing out a woman on the dance floor).  Welcome to Mississippi."  I was so in love with Mississippi by the time she finished enumerating all the things I could do without getting in trouble, that I was tempted to go out and buy a skin tight checkered shirt with ruffles down the front just to celebrate my freedom, but then a guy walked by with a sequin purse hanging around his neck, and I thought maybe I shouldn't take too many style cues from this particular establishment.  My hope for New Orleans, beyond endless great live music and amazing food, is that it proves equally lawless with a stronger emphasis on fashion . . .

From Montgomery to Jackson, nothing but farmland and churches (about 5 churches to every one home)


Oh, and the "world's first mower", hoisted up in the air, apparently, so you don't just blow past it thinking it's not the world's first mower.


In Biloxi, our hosts' Borzoi (Russian wolfhound) will never feel the same about laying next to the minivan again.  He will likely feel that same disappointed pang I feel every time I have to drive my jeep


The "Friendship Oak" on the Gulf Coast campus of the University of Southern MS-over five centuries old, it was a sapling when Columbus sailed into the Caribbean and fully grown by Napoleon's reign.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Friendliest Stretch of Road Ever & Deep Fried Pickles Revisited

I had my favorite driving experience yet on 85 between Atlanta and Montgomery.  I was going about 90 in the passing lane and this guy came flying up behind me on a harley, long hair blowing in the wind, leather vest, arms covered in tattoos . . . everything a biker should be.  I quickly got out of his way and then pulled out behind him to use him as a pace car/human sacrifice.  The road was pretty open, so with the exception of a few times when traffic forced us to slow down, he just cruised along at about 120-125 for a solid hour with me hanging several car lengths behind following his every move like we were a little synchronized driving team.  Finally, he pulled into the right lane and slowed down for his exit and as I pulled past him, he pumped a rock on hand sign in my direction and I put down my window and flashed one back at him, then he gave me a thumbs up and pulled away down the exit ramp.  Now there was a guy who respected the Cayman S . . . and anyone crazy enough to hang with him on the road.

About 15 minutes later, I passed a trucker who tooted a little song on his horn as I passed.  Thinking he was trying to tell me something (my CB battery was dead), I slowed down until I was right next to him and leaned over so I could see him.  He just gave me a big wave and a thumbs up, so I waved back and took off again thinking this was by far the friendliest stretch of road I had ever been on in my life.  I’m still not sure if the trucker was friends with the biker, liked my car or just got carried away in the spirit of one of the christian radio stations that dominate the airwaves in these parts, playing catchy christian rap songs about loving your neighbor, thanking christ everyday, etc. (They go a little something like this, "I'ma be a daddy who's in da mix, I'ma be a husband who stay legit, uh huh, uh huh, yo, yo" . . . couldn't make it up if I tried).  Yes, indeed, Christianity is big around here.  I was actually thinking about staying at the only B&B in Montgomery to experience a little southern hospitality firsthand, until I pulled up out front and saw the JESUS CHRIST LIVES sign in the front lawn and hit the gas as fast as I could.

As for Montgomery, there wasn't much to do there except drink in the three bars that haven’t gone out of business yet, which was fine with me because I am very good at drinking.  I spent most of the night bar hopping with Willie Nelson III, who not only has a fabulous name, but used to be a chef at Hot and Hot-small world.  Somewhere into my third drink I overheard the guy next to me talking about how great the deep fried pickles were at this bar.  Determined to like deep fried pickles (I think just because they sound like so much fun), I told him about my first deep fried pickle experience in Atlanta and was assured that the pickles at this bar were amazing and nothing like the ones I had in Atlanta.  As usual, by my fourth drink, this guy had me totally convinced and the next thing I knew I was placing my order.  He was so right, the pickles were fabulous-crisp, juicy dill spears, lightly breaded, seemed more baked than fried, not dripping with grease, a little ranch dressing to dip them in-sooo good.  I may be scared of crazy Christian people and mock Christian rap, but when it comes to deep fried pickles, I can truly say that I am a believer.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Atlanta and Autocross

So, the highlight of my time in Atlanta was definitely the Autocross competition in Marietta hosted by the Peachstate Region PCA.  I met up with Eric, my instructor from the Porsche driving school, and his daughter Erica, who was driving his GT3 and also a first timer.  Probably because we had the best, most accomplished coach out there, we both won our classes easily.  Now, Eric says a win is a win, but being the compulsively honest young lady that I am, I feel the need to clarify that the classes were broken out by gender and I actually heard a woman in my class saying (on the subject of taping her number to her car) "sug, I think a couple pieces of tape is fine . . . I'm not really gonna be drivin' all that fast."  So, it didn't really feel like a win because women never go as fast as I do, so the fact that I was going to win my class was kind of a given.  I once tried to explain this need for speed that most women lack to a fuming lady roadbiking companion whom I left behind with the wife of a guy I took off with on a group ride one day.  Oh, I was in so much trouble . . . my only defenses were "he said his wife had his cell phone number and would call if you guys had any issues" and "but I like to go fast . . ."  At any rate, lumped in with the guys, I was right in the middle of all these guys who have been doing this for years, so I think that was a solid first showing.  

As for the rest of my time in Atlanta, Saturday I hit the dogwood festival in Piedmont Park, which I'm sure I would have loved if I had a greater appreciation for mobs, screaming babies, tantrum throwing children and deep fried pickles.  I will say that I was really impressed with all the great craftsmen, you just don't see such talented craftsmen at fairs/festivals in the northeast, so I collected several cards along the way in case I ever need to furnish a house with beautiful things.  Then Saturday night I ventured out to a lesbian bar, but didn't last long.  As soon as some awkward woman tried to hit on me after staring at the side of my face for 10 minutes, I took off.  That'll teach 'em.

Reminded me of a time when I was out at a bar on Wall St with a woman I was hooking up with at my firm and these two awkward guys just kept staring at us for about an hour even though we were completely ignoring them.  They eventually came over (I'm not making this up) with a plate of wings, introduced themselves and asked if we wanted to share their wings.  We finally had to acknowledge them, so the girl I was with introduced herself as "Melissa" (not remotely her name) and declined the offer, explaining that she was a vegetarian (which she wasn't).  Leave the girls who are not remotely interested in you alone? No, no, that's crazy talk.  Instead we got, "well maybe we can just join you while we eat our wings."  To which my new vegetarian friend Melissa responded, "actually just the smell of meat makes me really nauseous, like right now I'm getting kind of sick just because you are holding them there."  She was good . . . After a painful minute of them standing there nodding in silence trying to come up with their next line, they finally retreated to the bar where they proceeded to stare at us until we left.  Well played, Melissa, well played.

Headed to Montgomery, AL later today (and for those of you who have thoughtfully pointed out that my itinerary makes no sense, it's because I had to beeline straight to Birmingham to be there in time for the Porsche driving school), then onto Jackson and Biloxi, where a friend from New Orleans has assured me that I can get a pint size glass of bourbon brought right out to my car window by a beautiful woman for $2.50.  If I never leave Biloxi, it's because my friend was telling the truth.

For those of you who asked about my favorite part of the drive so far, that would have to be Rt. 13, the Coastal Highway between Ocean City and Norfolk, those bridges over the Chesapeake Bay are breathtaking, even better than the drive to Key West in my opinion.

Eric, Erica and Eric's 2010 GT3


Out of the sea of Porsches, Eric's GT3 was definitely the sexiest car there, though the Ford GT I tweeted a picture of was a close second for sexiest car in the lot.