Kristin Hersh in Da House (literally)

Tuesday and Wednesday I volunteered at Habitat for Humanity, where we got an intro on our first day about the organization, including how people pay for the houses with a combination of a no interest mortgage and "sweat equity."  It took about a day for my dripping with sweat, sunburned, exhausted fellow volunteer and I to figure out what this "sweat equity" was all about.  After a day of watching the homeowner-to-be sitting around munching on crackers and calling her friends while she watched us build a home for her, I asked my new friend, "So, do you think sitting there watching us sweat counts as sweat equity?"  To which she responded, "I think it must, otherwise there's no way she could afford this house." Excellent point.

When the fun was over, I took my exhausted little self who hadn't showered in a day and a half, covered in crusty mud and glue over to Kristin Hersh's house for a refreshing lemonade date.  To my credit, I did stop at a gas station and put on a clean t-shirt to try to draw the eyes up from my mud caked legs and shorts-fashion first.  The last time I saw Kristin was over a decade ago when I was a DJ on a big alternative radio station in the northeast and after rocketing straight to indie rock stardom with the Throwing Muses, Kristin was on tour promoting her first solo album, Strange Angels (which is what she calls the people who support her work financially in exchange for her giving them free music-whether it be CDs, downloads or tickets to show).  With all the amazing women musicians I heard and met in New Orleans, I just couldn't leave without finding Kristin Hersh (who splits her time between Providence and NOLA these days) because to me she is the queen of indie rock.  

We took our lemonade out to the porch and she got me up to speed on all her current projects (which you can learn more about at http://www.kristinhersh.com/).  The lowdown: (i) she just finished recording the new 50FootWave album in LA with Mudrock, (ii) she is finalizing a new solo album (on which she plays all the instruments), (iii) she is working on several projects for CASH Music (which she started with Donita Sparks of L7, Robert Fagan and her husband/manager Billy O'Connell in her words "to take the dollar signs out of music and help artists circumvent the industry . . . which should die" http://cashmusic.org/) and (iv) she is writing her "memoirs" which she explained will really be her taking a diary she kept from when she was 18-19 and turning that into a book.

I can't wait to read this book because it covers a period of her life when the Throwing Muses were just ramping up to becoming one of the greatest indie bands to ever come out of New England, she got pregnant with her first child and she was diagnosed bipolar.  On top of that, she said "it's really all about how much I loved my car" (which she was basically living out of during this period of her life).  What's not to love?  When I asked her why she was writing this book now, she explained that for years people had been offering to ghostwrite her memoirs for her and when she eventually agreed, she realized that meant giving some guy access to her kitchen for a month or more so he could ask her about her feelings all day and all night. Cooking soup at this point, she turned to me and explained, "I don't do feelings.  So, after I basically fired like the third guy who tried to write my memoirs, I just decided to do it myself."

When I finally excused myself because I was late for a date in Lafayette that night, she walked me out to my "Sweet Ride!" and then confessed that now that she had seen my sweet ride, she wanted to come with me. It's a natural reaction to seeing my car, you just want to climb in it and never get out.  She also invited me to join her for some portion of her upcoming tour, so we promised to keep in touch and try to meet up again on the road this summer. yee ha.

Hugs were had, I got some parting advice about how I should consume something other than beef jerky and redbull when I'm on the road all day, and then I was off to a wine tasting in Lafayette hosted by the promoter of the off broadway production of the color purple that I met in Jackson that night I ended up at the hotel bar after my fruitless search for live blues.  I knew when I pulled up and saw an M5 and an S550, that I was going to like these guys (I always get along with car people). The short version is that even though I arrived after the dinner and still unshowered and generally disgusting (though I did stop at a gas station to throw on some crisp white pants to draw the eyes down from my greasy hair-I'm really mastering this whole fashion thing), I had a fabulous night with about 25 of the biggest players in the area who welcomed me in like I was part of their boys club.  We spent the night drinking several bottles of fabulous red wine and talking about every detail of my trip, while they gave me endless advice about where to go and people to contact along the way.

I was told that before I left Lafayette in the morning I had to do two things-have breakfast at Edie's where I would have the best biscuits I've ever had and then swing by Charlie G's (where Holly Goetting is the Executive Chef) for a bowl of Duck and Andoullie gumbo, which even when Charlie G left the table all these guys swore was the best gumbo in Louisiana.  I followed my instructions carefully and was glad I did because the biscuits and gumbo were amazing.  Then I was off to Austin, which for all of you Lafayette guys reading this who swore it couldn't be done in less than 7.5hrs in a regular car and 6.5 in mine, took me exactly 5.5 door-to-door.  Though, in fairness, it might've taken longer if I stopped to mourn the bird I killed on the way, which, for the record, wasn't my fault, he was flying at an unreasonably low altitude.

This is the house that "sweat equity" (not to be confused with Jack who might have actually broken a sweat) built.

Kristin Hersh and my "sweet ride"

Edie's (and owner Stanley Leece)-Best biscuits ever and deelish local organic eggs

Charlie G's-The Duck and Andouille Gumbo should not be missed if you are in these parts

Retracing my steps to Charmaine Neville

Yesterday afternoon I made a pilgrimage to the Musicians' Village in the ninth ward, created by Habitat for Humanity, Harry Connick Jr. and Branford Marsalis for musicians who lost their homes to Hurricane Katrina.  As soon as I stepped out of my car, I was greeted by Duey (pictured below) who was a very big fan of my car and whose father is a bassist with a regular gig at Preservation Hall.  After Duey's personal tour of the village and an interesting conversation with trumpet player, Kyle Hughes, I was off to Domilise's (on Mr. Charleston's must hit list with the note-"Best po boy in town") where I had an incredible fried oyster po boy.  I haven't had every po boy in town, so it's hard to confirm his claim, but it was the best I've ever had and my mouth is watering just remembering it, so it should definitely be in the running.  And, in fairness, I wasn't really giving it all my attention because I had one eye on the sketchy guys outside circling my car.    

When I made my get away without incident, I was positively giddy with relief and decided to celebrate my great escape by reliving a night I spent out on the town with my family many years ago when I was about eleven years old.  The first stop was Preservation Hall where I caught the first 2 sets of the 726 Jazz Band. Then I headed to Cafe Du Monde for beignets before making my way (one hurricane at a time) down the length of Bourbon Street en route to Snug Harbor to catch Charmaine Neville's 10pm show (her second sold out show of the night).  

The last time I saw Charmaine Neville, it was very late on some mid-week night and the only people there were Charmaine, her Piano player, my family and Terry Anderson (and a friend), who had just been released after 6 yrs of being held hostage in Lebanon by Hezbollah militants funded by the Iranian government.  I have a god awful memory, and have probably forgotten at least 90% of the noteworthy experiences I have had in my life, but I will never forget that night as long as I live because of the raw emotion that filled that room.  After Charmaine said a few poignant words to Terry acknowledging what he had been through and how grateful she was to God that he was free and alive, she dedicated the most powerful rendition of "What a Wonderful World" that I have ever heard to him, and by the time she was done, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.  When I was talking to her after the show, I asked her if she remembered that night, to which she responded, "I do. My god, I do."  Many hugs and a few pictures later, I walked my giddy self home thinking that it is indeed a wonderful world . . .

Musicians' Village

Duey

Domilise's

The 726 Jazz Band at Preservation Hall

Charmaine Neville at Snug Harbor

Jazz Fest and Cochon

So, I found Simon & Garfunkel at the jazz fest, but, sadly, Art could not find his voice and more than a few kids accompanying them had trouble finding their rhythm and the end result was not pretty.  Now, having spent countless nights of my childhood dancing the night away with my family to the tune of S&G's live in Central Park album and knowing this was their first show in six years, I do feel really lucky that I got to see them live once in my life, but it must be said that the show was a bit of a train wreck and I was happy taking off before the encore to go find some good food.

The guy I met in Charleston who sent me to Hot & Hot also gave me a must hit restaurant list for New Orleans, that included Cochon for the best authentic cajun food.  Once again, he was dead-on.  I had the hog's head cheese (a meat jelly made from parts of the pig's head) with toast points, the crawfish pie and the absolutely delicious fried alligator with chili garlic aioli that just melted in my mouth.  Also, the bartender Matty made me the best old fashioned I've ever had.  Added bonus, on my way to Cochon, I bumped into Charley Drayton (rockstar drummer/bassist who has played with everyone from Keith Richards to Janet Jackson to Neil Young to Mariah Carey), who played drums for Simon & Garfunkel that afternoon and after a brief chat about the debacle we realized that we were both friends with Adam Levy and he told me that he and Adam are going on tour with the Eagles this summer.  I might just have to go find them on the road . . .

Sunday at the Jazz Fest was a perfect day.  The food (for me, a crawfish po boy and gumbo) was delicious, Shawn Colvin was great and Ingrid brought the house down.  Then she gave me a backstage tour and talked me into going to see Keely Smith (Jazz legend and now I understand why) instead of the Allman Brothers.  The next thing I knew we were backstage after Keely Smith's set and I was standing face to face with Tim Robbins and the hottie tottie (and I have the pictures to prove it).  As for lastnight, I'm saving what I can remember about it for my book.  All I will say now is that I have a big lump on my arm and a gash on my shoulder blade and I am very much looking forward to little pieces of my memory coming back to me so that I can laugh and laugh about the story underlying my injuries.  When in New Orleans . . .

Simon & Garfunkel (and Charley Drayton on drums)

Simon & Garfunkel-"Mrs. Robinson"

Shawn Colvin-"Shotgun down the Avalanche"

 

Ingrid Lucia-"I'd Rather Be in New Orleans"

Keely Smith-"On the Sunny Side of the Street"

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.

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.

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.

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.