Sunday, September 25, 2005

Countdown to Home

Looks like we are leaving back to the Crescent in a few days. All reports state that we are fine, our area is dry. The porch has continued in exile long enough, now it is time to return to the homeland. I want to go home purely for health reasons. Last couple of days been gulping the rum and ice, eating the fried out pork fat, congri, yucca at later and later hours in the day. Cramming odd Latin foods down my gullet at stranger and stranger times. That is fine if I was a Latin Jazz band leader with Machito or Tito Puente, but little old me, I am sorry. Never passed gas like this before.

So now the mad Hispanic family dash is on! The relative are leaving. For reasons that I cannot understand, no one comes to see me. Everyone wants us to come over there, a lechon here, a mojito there, pampero in Hialeah, dominoes in Kendall. Next time I either will visit Miami clandestinely, like a Communist, or wait for cloning technology to be perfected. It is impossible!

So I sit here on the virtual porch burping and farting, waiting for another invitation to calories that I have no way of burning, as my liver works like an old air conditioner in South Florida- as in barely functioning!

Monday, September 19, 2005


Alright comon, someone has a problem with me somewhere. Here in Miami, chilling all is well, with the family, porching and drinking and having a lovely time. The nights have been filled with immense amounts of Cuban food and rum. Bad news is that unlike my native town, you cannot buy liquor in any supermarket like you can in Louisiana (Catholics are such pleasant alcoholics)

(By the way Miami is odd in the way of porching, not only do houses not have porches exactly, but the people hardly use them. You see everyone in this town seemed to have been born in a very cold hospital. Air conditioning is in their blood, it permeates them. Every house in city, well the
new ones, are nothing but refridgerated boxes. Gone are the high ceilings, narrow windows, and courtyards of classical tropical architexture. No everything is made to maximize the air conditioning seal. They cannot live without it. Only problem is that it is contagious- you will note the examples I have provided. Try porching on that laboratory slide).

Then out of nowhere comes this other THING called Rita, I swear it seems like I am watching a hurricane parade during Mardi Gras. Well there is a good idea that will be put to no use, a Carnival parade of hurricanes. Just like to see the people that find humor in that!

Now Rita is battering Key West, and is probably going to turn to at least threaten New Orleans. The mayor even cancelled the repopulation. Besides, what am I going to do? Return to the city and wait for the thing to hit me right in the face? I think not. I will just simply wait here, stearing at my family's one billion movie channels on satellite and enjoy the back patio.

Oh wait those movies depend on electricity right?

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Virtual Porch, literally

So here it is, in exile, traveling from porch to porch, and kitchen to kitchen, living off the generosity of others. Waiting for Venice to again rise from the waters. The porch has become totally virtually now, where my drink and keyboard marks where I will sit and watch the world go by. Thank you to all those in New Iberia that helped us gather our energy and strength for the long drive to Miami. When the shit hits the fan it seems that everyone from the Caribbean eventually falls into this town.

To the left, is the porch that we harbored in New Iberia. Moored, we enjoyed a few days of contemplation, walking up and down Main Street. Hugs and bows of appreciation to the DuBois Family for being so kind with their own little Hurricane Relief, on a personal level. Screened in, overlooking a fantastic backyard with hammock and patio chairs. There I smoked a great San Luis Rey from City Newstand in Lafayette, lovely little cigar shop with a killer selection of magazine from all over.

Visited restaurants that serve amazing food. Little River Inn stands out among them. Great food, authentic, with a familiarity that made us question our place of residence.

Our host, an avid camping chef and hunter, cooked for us a bonanza of wild cuisine.
Case in point is to the right, this thing was an amazing duck breast wrapped in cream cheese, bacon, and jalapeno. Tasted like a small pinata of flavor had just erupted in my mouth. With that meals cooked and prepared with such care, something that the Red Cross could never even touch. Thank you oh so very much for those ten pounds I gained of Iberian hospitality.

Katrina is far behind us as I check for updates on the neighborhood. Checked the house, no problems, the storm spared us the worst of its furry. That we are thankful for in the extreme.

Miami there before us, simply waiting, the whole family wanting us to come down. We will use that place as a cocoon, gather our strength to return. I have been thinking of making a 139 court barbecue and collect money for relief. Not to worry, not my own.

Monday, September 05, 2005

Getting Better

The situation about town, so I hear, now that this porch has gone completely virtual, is that security is alot tighter. So saddened to hear about the rampant looters. I really thought that New Orleans was different, that people were much more liason fiare with their lives. Apparently I overestimated things quite a bit. Our police, bless them, are doing wonderfully. They are holding the savages back.

The casual drinking is continuuing, found an eleven dollar bottle of Bacardi Select, nice and think, sipping it with Lime club soda. Oh so very nice here in this Cajun back porch.

The odd thing is that now I know what my family went through when they went to exile. Exile sucks. Yet my family was much worse off, I mean they could never go back, ever. That must be the worst thing in the world.

Amazing how much our trivial and ritualistic lives cling to us. Just with a cup of coffee or the robe that I left behind. I am used to a life where I go until about 10 am without changing out of pajamas, just enjoying the porch for hours and hours. And now I have none of those sacred movements. Luckily we did not flood, its just a matter of waiting in that line to get into Jefferson Parish. We are waiting for the insanity of that line to die down, and making sure that security is not a problem. As much as I would love to blow a looter away, just do not want to be in that situation.

I think there are pictures in the future of this blog, I have one that I have to download from the camera. So stay tuned grab a drink and enjoy, comment as you wish, or guestbook us.

Virtually porching,


Thursday, September 01, 2005

The Soup Bowl

New Orleans is the new ground zero. 80% of New Orleans is Venice, Italy. There are looters in the streets taking from shops, why they are not shot I have no idea. Things are going really bad for us. The porch is lonely with sheets of water almost touching it. We have no idea where the porch ends and the water begins. I am not sure when New Orleans will be back to normal, if at all ever. All I know is that from these moments on time will be told by BK or AK, and when I am older, people will not be talking about Camille or Betsy anymore, just this one. And this was a big one at that. Schools are closed, no power, no electricity, martial law with people running around the streets watching for looters. It feels like Eastern Europe when the fall of the curtain happened.

The odd thing is that everyone saw it coming, but no one saw it hit. We did not know. New Orleans enjoyed a fairy tale, nearly god-like status. Much like cardiologists that smoke or psychiatrists that pop more pills than their patients. We watched storm after storm just clip us, and this one just clipped us too. But unfortunately it clipped the Lake too. Gee thanks to those original French brothers, Bienville and Iberville, for putting this city at the bottom of the bathtub.

But I have been on many forums, and the city is still alive. Aside from those accursed looters that I hear about, people are pulling together. There is a light at the end of this drain, though I cannot see it right now. The spirit of the posters is monstrous. You can see it at the forums of and That fills me with some sort of hope. Our Rome is drowning, but long live Rome.

Yes, Rome is drowning and burning, and the picture above is one of those few Neros, bless him, that can find the time and energy to fiddle as the flames kick at our heals.