Squeaking in right under the wire, mrpeenee manages to crank out one last post in 2020, and a time related to boot. 2020, while unarguably a craptastic year, was also the 40th anniversary of my landing in New Orleans to start a really beloved spree there. I can see how lucky I am that I cannot pick one single Happiest Time in My Life, and the idea that my New Orleans life is not a hands down winner is amazing, but that’s what you get when you also have an existence in San Francisco with R Man competing against it. The burdens of a happy life.
And my time there was giddily happy. I was young, homosex was kind of hip and certainly widely available, the food was so incredible, I made wonderful friends (all of whom are dead now. Alas,) I met the love of my life, and the vivid nature of New Orleans, so bawdy and loud and colorful and above all else, happy, embraced me and I embraced it right back.
The old girl (New Orleans, not me) is full of quirks, especially in regards to traditions, and there wasn’t one I turned up my nose at. Voodoo, parades and how to navigate them, MARDI GRAS, poboy sammiches, a drag queen named Blanche whom I learned not to cross, the list goes on. I remember looking around my first French Quarter apartment and marveling at the massive cast iron hooks that latched the shutters close. When the house was built in the 1840s, the pirates those hooks had originally been designed to foil had pretty much gone the way of legend, but New Orleans does not forget easily and those hooks could come in handy. “I’m living in an antique,” I thought, but then learned to appreciate the hardware when I discovered tourists would do just about anything to peek in at my humble flat.
Yeah, it wasn’t all laughs. I was poor as a poor rat and there was that darn old AIDS, I didn’t care. I’m sure at 25 everyone is just forming their personalities and I was just lucky that I was able to develop mine under the tutelage of such exuberant old whore. New Orleans made me the slightly dented man I am today and I’ll always be glad of it.
Let the good times roll.
Dreamy, with glasses no less.
It was wonderful to find myself somewhere that the importance of naps was understood.
Oh, to be young and hedonistic once again.
Tall, dark, handsome strangers in deserted back rooms were an important part of those times.
Adieu, New Orleans, mon amour
You were so cute. So was I once upon a time.
You came to mind this morning after I was awakened by tapping. Thought I was imagining it. Listen heard nothing then tried to go back to sleep. Tapping again. It was 4:45. I got up and dressed. Going downstairs could see cop cars out front with their lights flashing. There had been an accident across the street. A pickup truck ran into my neighbors porch destroying the brick base.
At the same time another neighbor two doors down on my side of the street was out on his porch telling them that the half dressed kid on the street in front of his house had tried to get into his house three time. Knew who my tapper was.
The cops told the kid to get off the street or he would be locked up. The kid walked up the street and looked at me. Told him he wasn’t staying at my place.
That’s when you came to mind. The guy was in his twenties. His button up shirt was opened to reveal his perfect twenty something torso. No coat. It’s 30°. What would Mrpeenee do came to mind. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison. Told him to keep walking.
This makes the fourth time this has happened in the 22 years I have lived here.
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I shudder to think what mrpeenee would have done when he was in his 20s. Now mrpeenee is more sensible, but only because of the hard lessons learned in his idiotic 20s.
And what are you, a target for homing hustler boys?
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It’s no wonder homosex was on tap – you were quite the looker… As Jeffery said, however, we all were. Once. Time’s a terrible thing.
An excellent tribute to what sounds like an exciting town. I can see a couple of large hooks I could find a use for. Jx
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Time is a harsh mistress, but one that’s hard to avoid.
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Speaking of harsh Mistresses, “Happy New Year, Peenee.”
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Happy New Year, you hedonistic thing!
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And you too, sir.
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You looked like a young Phillip Schofield. Happy New Year!
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Whenever I visit England, I’m always amazed how many people look like me. It’s the beige gene. Happy New Year!
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“I’m living in an antique,”
Why, I just said that aloud, while gazing into my looking glass!
I despise January 1. It is exactly half way until my next birthday.
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You’re not an antique, you’re a collectible.
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I’m so lucky to have known you then (and well before then). And I hope to see you this year!
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I agree, you were cute!
All the best for the year ahead!
Sx
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