18. The Emperor of Scent: A Story of Perfume, Obsession, and the Last Mystery of the Senses by Chandler Burr
This was an interesting read about a man obsessed with perfume who proposes a completely new mechanism of smell. At times it is difficult to concentrate on because the writing is as frenetic as the man being written about. You really need a scientific background in order not to get lost in whole chunks of the book, at least a basic knowledge of biology, chemistry, and physics (is that all, you ask). The reason Dr. Turin can propose his theory of smell (that the receptors in your nose read a smell molecule's electron bond vibrations to determine smell, not its shape) is because he is interested in EVERYTHING. His degree is in biology, but he has also taught himself quite a bit of advanced chemistry and physics. The bulk of the book concerns his fight to get his theory taken seriously, much less accepted. As of the publishing of the book (2002), neither had happened. As such, the book also emphasizes what science REALLY is and is not. Scientists have their own ideas and agendas and will fight desperately for those ideas and agendas despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Science urges the publication of "new and original" research, but only as long as it doesn't contradict a "long held" idea or rock a major financial boat. Science is not impartial.
This book takes some time to get through, but I found it interesting given my propensity to play with scents. I think this book is really only readable by people interested in either smell or "trouble-making" scientists.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Squees!
So, for my recent squees, I will start with today and then tell you about yesterday.
Today: We're getting a rottweiler puppy!!! Dad saw some pups advertized in the paper yesterday and called the guy about pricing. The guy (we'll call him N) originally said $500, and Dad understandably balked. BUT, he started chatting up N -- telling him how he was a dog handler in Vietnam, how we've had three rotties in the last 18 years who were oversized teddy bears, how we lost Rebel to cancer in December -- and N admitted that he'd priced the pups high in order to discourage the types who "want a mean dog." He told Dad to come look at the pups and see if he liked any; if he did, they'd "work a deal." Well, today Dad and Mom went to look, and apparently it all worked out, because we're getting their only girl pup in a week! Dad's stuck on the name Bismarck, so that will be her name even though she's a girl (our other girl rottie was named Rocky -- yeah, my dad's odd). I'll post pics when I have some.
Yesterday: I got my prints back from the framer (OK, so he's actually a photographer, whatever). They look awesome! With Marrus's permission, I am happy to show you my two first official adult art purchases that I've gotten in frames. You can find these prints and many other gorgeous ones to purchase for your very own over at Marrus's site.
First, I will show you pics of the prints that Marrus sent me so you can see why I couldn't put these babies in cookie cutter frames (remember, this is grown-up art), then I'll show you how they look all dressed up and hanging on my bedroom wall. First, the limited edition print I have coveted since the day I met Marrus over a year ago, "Churchstream":
Now, here it is in its framed glory:
Next is "Marriage of Heaven & Earth", a vibrant piece that mesmerizes me every time I look at it:
And in its frame:
See why I loved that green frame so much? It was worth every penny of almost $170 (frames, glass, and tax) to get those particular frames. Every time I go in my bedroom, I just SMILE!
Now I just need to get my other three Marrus pieces framed.
Today: We're getting a rottweiler puppy!!! Dad saw some pups advertized in the paper yesterday and called the guy about pricing. The guy (we'll call him N) originally said $500, and Dad understandably balked. BUT, he started chatting up N -- telling him how he was a dog handler in Vietnam, how we've had three rotties in the last 18 years who were oversized teddy bears, how we lost Rebel to cancer in December -- and N admitted that he'd priced the pups high in order to discourage the types who "want a mean dog." He told Dad to come look at the pups and see if he liked any; if he did, they'd "work a deal." Well, today Dad and Mom went to look, and apparently it all worked out, because we're getting their only girl pup in a week! Dad's stuck on the name Bismarck, so that will be her name even though she's a girl (our other girl rottie was named Rocky -- yeah, my dad's odd). I'll post pics when I have some.
Yesterday: I got my prints back from the framer (OK, so he's actually a photographer, whatever). They look awesome! With Marrus's permission, I am happy to show you my two first official adult art purchases that I've gotten in frames. You can find these prints and many other gorgeous ones to purchase for your very own over at Marrus's site.
First, I will show you pics of the prints that Marrus sent me so you can see why I couldn't put these babies in cookie cutter frames (remember, this is grown-up art), then I'll show you how they look all dressed up and hanging on my bedroom wall. First, the limited edition print I have coveted since the day I met Marrus over a year ago, "Churchstream":
Now, here it is in its framed glory:
Next is "Marriage of Heaven & Earth", a vibrant piece that mesmerizes me every time I look at it:
And in its frame:
See why I loved that green frame so much? It was worth every penny of almost $170 (frames, glass, and tax) to get those particular frames. Every time I go in my bedroom, I just SMILE!
Now I just need to get my other three Marrus pieces framed.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
What matters is giving over to what you love
17. The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd
I've owned this book for quite some time. It was given to me three and a half years ago by my good friend Diana, a woman I first met in January 2001 in a women writer's lit course. A handful of us who met in that class went on about a year later to form a book club, where one of the books we all read and adored was Sue Monk Kidd's now wildly popular The Secret Life of Bees. Before I returned to New Orleans after Katrina, Diana gave me Kidd's newest book, The Mermaid Chair, as an early birthday gift. It has languished on my bookshelves lo these many, many moons. My mother checked it out from the library three weeks ago, and I figured it was finally time to read it.
Kidd's writing is as lyrical as I remember it being in TSoB, and her exploration of the female psyche is as pointed as I remember it being in her first memoir, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter (you really should read that one, Tracie -- I think you'll get a lot out of it, especially as I know how much you loved TMC). This is the story of Jessie who has ". . . lived molded to the smallest space possible, [her] days the size of little beads that passed without passion through [her] fingers." She gets a call early one morning from one of her mother Nelle's best friends telling her that her mother has deliberately cut off her right index finger with a meat cleaver in the monastery kitchen where she has been a cook for years. Jessie hurriedly returns to Egret Island, a barrier island off the coast of South Carolina, determined to elicit the source of her mother's madness. Coupled with caring for her mother, Jessie searches for an inner independence she realizes she's lacked in her twenty years of marriage. As with most questions like these, everything has to go to hell in a handbasket before minds, hearts, and souls can be mended. I got so wrapped up in the characters that I found myself crying when Nelle's story finally comes to light. This story is a feast for the senses (Kidd's descriptions of Egret Island are beautifully detailed), but it also quietly asks the reader to search herself, to ask if she is living her life for others or for herself?
Thank you, Diana my dear, for giving me another story to treasure.
I've owned this book for quite some time. It was given to me three and a half years ago by my good friend Diana, a woman I first met in January 2001 in a women writer's lit course. A handful of us who met in that class went on about a year later to form a book club, where one of the books we all read and adored was Sue Monk Kidd's now wildly popular The Secret Life of Bees. Before I returned to New Orleans after Katrina, Diana gave me Kidd's newest book, The Mermaid Chair, as an early birthday gift. It has languished on my bookshelves lo these many, many moons. My mother checked it out from the library three weeks ago, and I figured it was finally time to read it.
Kidd's writing is as lyrical as I remember it being in TSoB, and her exploration of the female psyche is as pointed as I remember it being in her first memoir, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter (you really should read that one, Tracie -- I think you'll get a lot out of it, especially as I know how much you loved TMC). This is the story of Jessie who has ". . . lived molded to the smallest space possible, [her] days the size of little beads that passed without passion through [her] fingers." She gets a call early one morning from one of her mother Nelle's best friends telling her that her mother has deliberately cut off her right index finger with a meat cleaver in the monastery kitchen where she has been a cook for years. Jessie hurriedly returns to Egret Island, a barrier island off the coast of South Carolina, determined to elicit the source of her mother's madness. Coupled with caring for her mother, Jessie searches for an inner independence she realizes she's lacked in her twenty years of marriage. As with most questions like these, everything has to go to hell in a handbasket before minds, hearts, and souls can be mended. I got so wrapped up in the characters that I found myself crying when Nelle's story finally comes to light. This story is a feast for the senses (Kidd's descriptions of Egret Island are beautifully detailed), but it also quietly asks the reader to search herself, to ask if she is living her life for others or for herself?
Thank you, Diana my dear, for giving me another story to treasure.
Happy Mardi Gras!
Happy Mardi Gras, everyone!
*offers King Cake with purple, green, and gold sugar crystals on top*
*offers King Cake with purple, green, and gold sugar crystals on top*
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Is it sad to fancy David Tennant when you're dead?
16. Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
This was an interesting yet odd book by the author of The Time Traveler's Wife. Julia and Valentina are twins who have never met their mother Edie's twin Elspeth, so they are surprised one day when they are twenty years old to learn that their aunt has died and left her London flat and all her money to them. They will inherit the money when they turn 21, and they must live in the flat for a year before they can sell it (if they choose to sell it). Julia, the more extroverted of the two, is excited to move from Illinois to London, but Valentina agrees simply because she and Julia always do things together.
At Vautravers (the house in which their flat is located), Valentina becomes close with Robert, their downstairs neighbor who was Elspeth's partner. Julia befriends Martin, their upstairs neighbor who suffers from extreme OCD and whose wife has left him after 25 years of dealing with his ever worsening illness (he hasn't left his flat in a year). But their most interesting acquaintance is the one living with them -- Elspeth herself. At first they don't realize she's there, but Valentina can sense her and after a few months can actually see her; Julia can eventually sense her but never sees her. At the heart of the story is Elspeth's and Edie's estrangement as well as Valentina's desire to distance herself from her twin and have a life of her own. This desire for separation leads to a plan that made me go, "Wha-?" Niffenegger deftly blends the everyday with the paranormal, even if the last 50 or so pages take a left turn at Albuquerque.
This was an interesting yet odd book by the author of The Time Traveler's Wife. Julia and Valentina are twins who have never met their mother Edie's twin Elspeth, so they are surprised one day when they are twenty years old to learn that their aunt has died and left her London flat and all her money to them. They will inherit the money when they turn 21, and they must live in the flat for a year before they can sell it (if they choose to sell it). Julia, the more extroverted of the two, is excited to move from Illinois to London, but Valentina agrees simply because she and Julia always do things together.
At Vautravers (the house in which their flat is located), Valentina becomes close with Robert, their downstairs neighbor who was Elspeth's partner. Julia befriends Martin, their upstairs neighbor who suffers from extreme OCD and whose wife has left him after 25 years of dealing with his ever worsening illness (he hasn't left his flat in a year). But their most interesting acquaintance is the one living with them -- Elspeth herself. At first they don't realize she's there, but Valentina can sense her and after a few months can actually see her; Julia can eventually sense her but never sees her. At the heart of the story is Elspeth's and Edie's estrangement as well as Valentina's desire to distance herself from her twin and have a life of her own. This desire for separation leads to a plan that made me go, "Wha-?" Niffenegger deftly blends the everyday with the paranormal, even if the last 50 or so pages take a left turn at Albuquerque.
Friday, February 12, 2010
I get one movie option and you pick, pick, pick at it
15. Heat Wave by Richard Castle
Yes, this book was written by a fictional character (the male lead on ABC's "Castle"). Yes, it's short and super cheesy. I had fun reading it, mainly because I wasn't expecting "The Hound of Baskervilles." The book is very much like the series with the fun banter between characters and a not very complicated case. This book is in the realm of James Patterson (who, incidentally, has had at least one cameo on the show) in that it's not a stay-up-all-night-to-finish-it super thriller, but a fast, fun read when you're stressed out and don't want to process heavy material. It's not meant to be fine literature, and if you keep that in mind as you start it, you might like it. Or not. ::shrugs:: Whatever.
Yes, this book was written by a fictional character (the male lead on ABC's "Castle"). Yes, it's short and super cheesy. I had fun reading it, mainly because I wasn't expecting "The Hound of Baskervilles." The book is very much like the series with the fun banter between characters and a not very complicated case. This book is in the realm of James Patterson (who, incidentally, has had at least one cameo on the show) in that it's not a stay-up-all-night-to-finish-it super thriller, but a fast, fun read when you're stressed out and don't want to process heavy material. It's not meant to be fine literature, and if you keep that in mind as you start it, you might like it. Or not. ::shrugs:: Whatever.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Grooviness
Mom and I took my two bigger Marrus lithos to a framer today. The initial person she took me to see (his business is strictly framing) was out of town today. We did a 180 and were headed back to the van when Mom said, "Let's see about this place." This place was a photography studio next door that also offered framing services. I'm so glad framer #1 was out of town, because Mr. Mann was AWESOME. He really took the time to help me pick good frames for both my pieces, pulling down at least three options for each. For "The Marriage of Heaven & Earth," we decided on a dazzling electric green metal frame about half an inch wide. For "Churchstream," we picked a medium-toned brown wood frame about a quarter of an inch wide with gold undertones. Before I went in there, I would've bet money that I would NOT put "Churchstream" in a brown frame since it is abundantly brown, but the frame he showed me surprised me with how well it shows off the limited edition litho. I also made sure to get conservation glass so light doesn't damage the prints' colors. Altogether I'll spend around $150 plus tax for the framing, but I think it'll be worth it. I should have them back in about a week.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
. . . and if that pricked anyone's souls, or balls, they could scratch them with a brick
14. The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
This is a crazy good book -- and crazy crazy. Is the narrator truly a victim of a strange puppet master, or is he stark, raving mad? I haven't a friggin' clue. I know I can't intelligently discuss the plot without giving anything away, so I'll settle for this:
Zafon has written a novel that is part penny crime novel, part Grimm's grimmest. If you are into books that keep you guessing, this is the book for you. If you are bothered by a book that comes to a close and still leaves a couple of bits unsolved, this is NOT the book for you. I kind of wish I knew someone who's read it so I'd have someone with whom to discuss it. It's under my skin, niggling at me, and I'm trying to decipher fully what I've read.
Then again, given what I've read, maybe that's the point.
Five bright gold stars.
This is a crazy good book -- and crazy crazy. Is the narrator truly a victim of a strange puppet master, or is he stark, raving mad? I haven't a friggin' clue. I know I can't intelligently discuss the plot without giving anything away, so I'll settle for this:
Zafon has written a novel that is part penny crime novel, part Grimm's grimmest. If you are into books that keep you guessing, this is the book for you. If you are bothered by a book that comes to a close and still leaves a couple of bits unsolved, this is NOT the book for you. I kind of wish I knew someone who's read it so I'd have someone with whom to discuss it. It's under my skin, niggling at me, and I'm trying to decipher fully what I've read.
Then again, given what I've read, maybe that's the point.
Five bright gold stars.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Quote
"Natural talent is like an athlete's strength. You can be born with more or less ability, but nobody can become an athlete just because he or she was born tall, or strong, or fast. What makes the athlete, or the artist, is the work, the vocation, and the technique. The intelligence you are born with is just ammunition. To achieve something with it you need to transform your mind into a high-precision weapon. . . . Every work of art is aggressive . . . . And every artist's life is a small war or a large one, beginning with oneself and one's limitations. To achieve anything you must first have ambition and then talent, knowledge, and finally the opportunity."
-- The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, p. 182
The speaker in this case was talking about becoming a writer, but I think this is true for anything worth doing. A worthy vocation needs to be worked at and pounded on. Sometimes (many times) that working and pounding is hard, or tedious, or even boring, which means we have to work even harder at it. What's the fun in that? you might ask. The end product, that's what. Even if my end product (a scene for a fic, a paper for a class, a poster for a science meeting, a presentation for a symposium) receives a kind word from only one person, that makes all my work worth it.
-- The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, p. 182
The speaker in this case was talking about becoming a writer, but I think this is true for anything worth doing. A worthy vocation needs to be worked at and pounded on. Sometimes (many times) that working and pounding is hard, or tedious, or even boring, which means we have to work even harder at it. What's the fun in that? you might ask. The end product, that's what. Even if my end product (a scene for a fic, a paper for a class, a poster for a science meeting, a presentation for a symposium) receives a kind word from only one person, that makes all my work worth it.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
BOO-YAH, BABY!!!
THE SAINTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!!
THE SAINTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!!
THE SAINTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!!
::D does a crazy happy dance, complete with spinning in circles::
THE SAINTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!!
THE SAINTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!!
::D does a crazy happy dance, complete with spinning in circles::
Every girl needs a hobby
13. Flirt (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series #18) by Laurell K. Hamilton
A bonus book for the year from Ms. Hamilton who usually puts out one Anita book (around April/May/June) and one Merry Gentry book (around October/November/December) per year. This one has Anita back at her job at Animators, Inc. Her latest client, stinky rich Mr. Bennington, wants her to bring his wife Ilsa "back to life." He knows Anita is the only animator in the country who can raise his wife as a zombie and have her look alive. What Mr. Bennington is choosing to ignore is that his wife will eventually become a true zombie and begin to rot. He's deluded that she'll stay life-like forever, so Anita refuses to take the job. Problem is, Mr. Bennington won't take no for an answer.
An extra for this book is that after the story, Ms. Hamilton gives us a look into how this surprise book came to be in an effort to address probably her most often asked question, "Where do you get your ideas?" Now we know -- at least for Flirt.
A bonus book for the year from Ms. Hamilton who usually puts out one Anita book (around April/May/June) and one Merry Gentry book (around October/November/December) per year. This one has Anita back at her job at Animators, Inc. Her latest client, stinky rich Mr. Bennington, wants her to bring his wife Ilsa "back to life." He knows Anita is the only animator in the country who can raise his wife as a zombie and have her look alive. What Mr. Bennington is choosing to ignore is that his wife will eventually become a true zombie and begin to rot. He's deluded that she'll stay life-like forever, so Anita refuses to take the job. Problem is, Mr. Bennington won't take no for an answer.
An extra for this book is that after the story, Ms. Hamilton gives us a look into how this surprise book came to be in an effort to address probably her most often asked question, "Where do you get your ideas?" Now we know -- at least for Flirt.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
We're all building narratives
12. The Man Who Loved Books Too Much: The True Story of a Thief, a Detective, and a World of Literary Obsession by Allison Hoover Bartlett
I picked up this book in anticipation of reading not a detective story in a book but a detective story about books. The subtitle, at least as I interpretted it, was a bit misleading. I was anticipating that the book thief would have been far more notorious than he is -- in fact, the only truly notable thing about him is that authorities don't know where he's hidden most of his stolen books (my money says in mummy's house in plain sight). What does make this book interesting is the question Hoover Bartlett asks over and over: what drives the obsession to collect rare books, whether legally or illegally? Money does not necessarily equate to legally purchased books, but what stops a person who clearly does not have the money from stealing a coveted book either from a bookseller or a library? It put me in mind of the couple of times I checked out the second edition of Darwin's On the Origin of Species from WSU's library. Both times I found myself seriously wondering what the library's lost book charge was, but both times I turned it back in. I doubt the 1871 edition has any value, but I wanted it not for the money but to have something from close in time to when the foundation of science was being shaken, close in time to the author himself. A treasure for one person might be junk to another. But wherein does true value lie -- in the money, or in the perception of the beholder?
I picked up this book in anticipation of reading not a detective story in a book but a detective story about books. The subtitle, at least as I interpretted it, was a bit misleading. I was anticipating that the book thief would have been far more notorious than he is -- in fact, the only truly notable thing about him is that authorities don't know where he's hidden most of his stolen books (my money says in mummy's house in plain sight). What does make this book interesting is the question Hoover Bartlett asks over and over: what drives the obsession to collect rare books, whether legally or illegally? Money does not necessarily equate to legally purchased books, but what stops a person who clearly does not have the money from stealing a coveted book either from a bookseller or a library? It put me in mind of the couple of times I checked out the second edition of Darwin's On the Origin of Species from WSU's library. Both times I found myself seriously wondering what the library's lost book charge was, but both times I turned it back in. I doubt the 1871 edition has any value, but I wanted it not for the money but to have something from close in time to when the foundation of science was being shaken, close in time to the author himself. A treasure for one person might be junk to another. But wherein does true value lie -- in the money, or in the perception of the beholder?
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Il faut aller voir (We must go and see for ourselves)
How about a foray into the realm of non-fiction?
11. Jacques Cousteau: The Sea King by Brad Matsen
I remember as a kid, I was fascinated by two things that, looking back, probably started me on the path to become a conservation biologist: "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom," and the documentaries of Jacques Cousteau. I remember being thrilled, learning about wildlife and ecosystems and delicate webs of interdependence. Jacques Cousteau seemed like a kindly grandfather, showing us not only all the wonderful and amazing species that lived in the ocean but also how fragile the mighty oceans are.
This biography was an eye-opening adventure in learning about the real Cousteau. There were the awe-inspiring moments: his daring work with the French resistance in World War II, his input into the development of the Aqua Lung and its subsequent testing, the procurement of a WWII minesweeper turned ferry which would be reincarnated as the infamous and much loved Calypso, and the testing of human limits under the surface. But there were also the darker moments: his lack of financial sense, his lack of tolerance with anything but perfection, his arrogance/self-confidence, and his decades long affair with an Air France flight attendant which remained secret until his wife's death and created a rift between his first and second families that still exists today (thirteen years after his death). Matsen fairly detailed the many sides of the pioneer ocean explorer, which I appreciated. Despite his many faults, the impact Cousteau has had on our understanding of our oceans and their inhabitants is undeniable. A 4/5 star biography (deduction of one star for too few photographs).
11. Jacques Cousteau: The Sea King by Brad Matsen
I remember as a kid, I was fascinated by two things that, looking back, probably started me on the path to become a conservation biologist: "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom," and the documentaries of Jacques Cousteau. I remember being thrilled, learning about wildlife and ecosystems and delicate webs of interdependence. Jacques Cousteau seemed like a kindly grandfather, showing us not only all the wonderful and amazing species that lived in the ocean but also how fragile the mighty oceans are.
This biography was an eye-opening adventure in learning about the real Cousteau. There were the awe-inspiring moments: his daring work with the French resistance in World War II, his input into the development of the Aqua Lung and its subsequent testing, the procurement of a WWII minesweeper turned ferry which would be reincarnated as the infamous and much loved Calypso, and the testing of human limits under the surface. But there were also the darker moments: his lack of financial sense, his lack of tolerance with anything but perfection, his arrogance/self-confidence, and his decades long affair with an Air France flight attendant which remained secret until his wife's death and created a rift between his first and second families that still exists today (thirteen years after his death). Matsen fairly detailed the many sides of the pioneer ocean explorer, which I appreciated. Despite his many faults, the impact Cousteau has had on our understanding of our oceans and their inhabitants is undeniable. A 4/5 star biography (deduction of one star for too few photographs).
Monday, February 01, 2010
Received via email forward from my pal Greg
Dear Miami,
The Saints are coming and so are we; their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans. While there's still time to prepare -- although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won't arrive until Thursday or Friday -- we thought we'd give you a heads-up about what you should expect.
First things first: You need more beer.
Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don't. New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you're winning. (Who knew?) So let's just say we're thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly. And look, when we ask you for a "go-cup", be nice to us. We don't even know what "open container law" means. Is that anything like "last call"?
Second: It's Carnival season in New Orleans (that's Mardi Gras to you), and we'll be taking the celebration on the road. So don't be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that's just our way of saying hello. Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can't help ourselves.
February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami. When the dude in the 'Who Dat' T-shirt asks if you want to suck da head and pinch da tail, resist the urge to punch him. He's not propositioning you. He's inviting you to dinner.
If you see a big Cajun guy who looks exactly like an old Saints quarterback walking around town in a dress ... don't ask. It's a long story.
Third: We know that crowd control is a major concern for any Super Bowl host city. Our advice? Put away the riot gear.
Speaking of which, if you happen to see a brass band roll by, followed by a line of folks waving their handkerchiefs, you're not supposed to just stand there and watch. As our own Irma Thomas would say, get your backfield in motion.
And hey, Mister DJ! Yes, we know you've already played that stupid Ying Yang Twins song 10 times tonight, but indulge us just one more time. To us, "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" isn't just a song; it's 576 points of good memories. It's the sound of a Drew Brees touchdown pass to Devery Henderson, a Pierre Thomas dive for first down on 4th-and-1, a Garrett Hartley field goal sailing through the uprights in overtime. It's what a championship sounds like. You may get sick of hearing it. We won't. Encore, dammit.
Fourth: Inside Sun Life Stadium, you may find your ears ringing more than usual. We're louder than other fans. Seven thousand of ours sound like 70,000 of theirs. Don't believe us? Ask the 12th man in the Vikings huddle. Some people think it's just the Dome that heightens our volume. But you're about to discover a little secret: We can scream loud enough to make your head explode, indoors or out. It's not the roof. It's the heart...well, ok, and the beer.
Number 5: Don't be surprised if there are more Saints fans outside the stadium than inside. A lot of us are coming just to say we were part of history, even if we can't witness it up close. The Saints are family to us, and you know how it is with family: We want to be there for them, whether they really need us or not. Because we know our presence will mean something to them, whether they can see us or not. Come to think of it, seeing as how you're taking us in for the week, we pretty much regard you as family, too. So we're warning you now: If you're within hugging distance, you're fair game. Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win.
Sixth: We cry when we win! Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces. Hurricane Katrina? We got that under control. The Saints in the Super Bowl? SOMEBODY CALL A PARAMEDIC!!! So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just...disoriented.
OK. Let's review:
Order more beer. Throw me something, mister. Suck da heads. Wear da dress. Stand up. Get crunk. Hug it out. Protect your eardrums. Pass the Kleenex. Hoist the trophy.
See you at the victory party.
Faithfully yours,
The Who Dat Nation
The Saints are coming and so are we; their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans. While there's still time to prepare -- although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won't arrive until Thursday or Friday -- we thought we'd give you a heads-up about what you should expect.
First things first: You need more beer.
Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don't. New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you're winning. (Who knew?) So let's just say we're thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly. And look, when we ask you for a "go-cup", be nice to us. We don't even know what "open container law" means. Is that anything like "last call"?
Second: It's Carnival season in New Orleans (that's Mardi Gras to you), and we'll be taking the celebration on the road. So don't be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that's just our way of saying hello. Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can't help ourselves.
February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami. When the dude in the 'Who Dat' T-shirt asks if you want to suck da head and pinch da tail, resist the urge to punch him. He's not propositioning you. He's inviting you to dinner.
If you see a big Cajun guy who looks exactly like an old Saints quarterback walking around town in a dress ... don't ask. It's a long story.
Third: We know that crowd control is a major concern for any Super Bowl host city. Our advice? Put away the riot gear.
Reason No. 1: Indianapolis is going to lose, and their fans are way too dull to start a riot.
Reason No. 2: New Orleans showed the world on Sunday that we know how to throw a victory
party. We don't burn cars. We dance on them.
Reason No. 3: Even if we did lose, which we won't, leaving the stadium would be like leaving a
funeral, and our typical response to that is to have a special parade.
Speaking of which, if you happen to see a brass band roll by, followed by a line of folks waving their handkerchiefs, you're not supposed to just stand there and watch. As our own Irma Thomas would say, get your backfield in motion.
And hey, Mister DJ! Yes, we know you've already played that stupid Ying Yang Twins song 10 times tonight, but indulge us just one more time. To us, "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" isn't just a song; it's 576 points of good memories. It's the sound of a Drew Brees touchdown pass to Devery Henderson, a Pierre Thomas dive for first down on 4th-and-1, a Garrett Hartley field goal sailing through the uprights in overtime. It's what a championship sounds like. You may get sick of hearing it. We won't. Encore, dammit.
Fourth: Inside Sun Life Stadium, you may find your ears ringing more than usual. We're louder than other fans. Seven thousand of ours sound like 70,000 of theirs. Don't believe us? Ask the 12th man in the Vikings huddle. Some people think it's just the Dome that heightens our volume. But you're about to discover a little secret: We can scream loud enough to make your head explode, indoors or out. It's not the roof. It's the heart...well, ok, and the beer.
Number 5: Don't be surprised if there are more Saints fans outside the stadium than inside. A lot of us are coming just to say we were part of history, even if we can't witness it up close. The Saints are family to us, and you know how it is with family: We want to be there for them, whether they really need us or not. Because we know our presence will mean something to them, whether they can see us or not. Come to think of it, seeing as how you're taking us in for the week, we pretty much regard you as family, too. So we're warning you now: If you're within hugging distance, you're fair game. Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win.
Sixth: We cry when we win! Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces. Hurricane Katrina? We got that under control. The Saints in the Super Bowl? SOMEBODY CALL A PARAMEDIC!!! So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just...disoriented.
OK. Let's review:
Order more beer. Throw me something, mister. Suck da heads. Wear da dress. Stand up. Get crunk. Hug it out. Protect your eardrums. Pass the Kleenex. Hoist the trophy.
See you at the victory party.
Faithfully yours,
The Who Dat Nation
For those who don't understand
I've liked the Saints since I was a kid even though I'm loathe most of the time to actually watch a game, but one of my best-est friends, a.k.a. my evil twin Sarah, sums up pretty well the feelings all New Orleanians (that term includes natives plus those of us who lived through the Big K and thus adopted in as natives) have for our Saints.
As most of you know, I'm not a huge sports fan in general. I did go to a basketball game once when a friend gave me a ticket, but confess, I was more impressed by the t-shirt canon than the game. I have never had a ticket to a football game. It took me a long time to even be able to find the football on the tv screen! That said, you can't live in southern Louisiana, Mississippi, or east Texas and not get infected by Saints football.
Legend has it the Archbishop was asked permission to name the team and his comment was- go ahead, they'll probably need all the help they can get. Americans are always suckers for the underdog. We love a feel-good story where the little kid who has been kicked and spit on finally gets a work-out montage and his revenge. For over 40 years the Saints have been that kid. In fact, they made losing an art form. Even games where the other team was so bad and the Saints score was so high, would end in a creative defeat. Fans would go to the game, they would lose, everyone would put the paper bag they had brought for the anticipated event over their heads, go home, and say, "Maybe next year". For some reason that football team is the outward expression of New Orleans' soul. The soul that was laid bare in Katrina and was exposed to the entire world- the good and the bad.
I've lived in Louisiana since 2000 and have watched a fair share of the games. After going through the storm, for some reason they seemed just a little more important- if only a venue for family, friends, and volunteers to come together for a few hours and not think about hauling debris and sheetrocking. I still have never gone to a game, but I have watched a lot more since Katrina. Greg & I took our friend Dawn to the newly renovated Superdome for the first game after Katrina when the Saints played the Falcons and won a soul-satisfying victory. We went to the Superdome and just reveled in the feeling that the city was still alive and that people would come back after all.
We watched the NFC championship game last week at a friend's house with about 14 other people- new friends and old, people from work, from school, from my camera club, and friends they brought. It was a nail-biting tennis match. When we watch a game we aren't just saying, "Gee, I hope they win." We are saying, "This will mean so much to the city- good publicity, good tourism, good money, good everything! So much more rides on this game than just a sports team winning- the whole city needs this. Please give us a break just this once!"
I have never been so nervous in my life. As the score when toe-to-toe with the Vikings, my stomach was in knots, my fingernails were chewed off. When we went into overtime and I couldn't sit still. We won the coin toss. I thought this is it, this is our one moment to make this happen- but I still couldn't believe it when the Field Goal kick was straight as an arrow. Everyone in our group was jumping up and down, crying, hugging, laughing. Most of us are a bunch of nerdy scientist-types so it was pretty surreal! We heard yelling outside- a group of folks were parading through the street with huge banners and hanging flags on the bridge near the house. Fireworks were going off all over the city. It. Was. Amazing.
I don't think anyone in the city was able to sleep without a liberal dose of alcohol. I had to take half a unisom just to calm down at 1:30am and finally try to go to sleep. I had to teach an 8am lab the next morning. My first comment was, "I'm not going to ask how many of you are still hungover, I just want to know how many of you are still drunk!" There was a whole classroom of exhausted smiles.
Today, banners fly throughout the city and cars are painted with the slogan- "It IS next year." The most common thing I hear people say is- I wish my dad (or mom, or cousin, or brother, or priest) had lived to see this day. So Pigs are Flying, Hell has frozen over, and the Saints are in the Superbowl. Whether they win or lose, they will have the biggest parade New Orleans can throw them (and you know we know how to throw a parade!).
So, even if you're not a sports fan, even if you've never watched a football game, even if you've never been to New Orleans, next week when the Saints play the Colts in Miami whisper a "Who Dat!" for America's team.
Geaux Saints!
-Sarah Brock-Strickland (29 January 2010)
As most of you know, I'm not a huge sports fan in general. I did go to a basketball game once when a friend gave me a ticket, but confess, I was more impressed by the t-shirt canon than the game. I have never had a ticket to a football game. It took me a long time to even be able to find the football on the tv screen! That said, you can't live in southern Louisiana, Mississippi, or east Texas and not get infected by Saints football.
Legend has it the Archbishop was asked permission to name the team and his comment was- go ahead, they'll probably need all the help they can get. Americans are always suckers for the underdog. We love a feel-good story where the little kid who has been kicked and spit on finally gets a work-out montage and his revenge. For over 40 years the Saints have been that kid. In fact, they made losing an art form. Even games where the other team was so bad and the Saints score was so high, would end in a creative defeat. Fans would go to the game, they would lose, everyone would put the paper bag they had brought for the anticipated event over their heads, go home, and say, "Maybe next year". For some reason that football team is the outward expression of New Orleans' soul. The soul that was laid bare in Katrina and was exposed to the entire world- the good and the bad.
I've lived in Louisiana since 2000 and have watched a fair share of the games. After going through the storm, for some reason they seemed just a little more important- if only a venue for family, friends, and volunteers to come together for a few hours and not think about hauling debris and sheetrocking. I still have never gone to a game, but I have watched a lot more since Katrina. Greg & I took our friend Dawn to the newly renovated Superdome for the first game after Katrina when the Saints played the Falcons and won a soul-satisfying victory. We went to the Superdome and just reveled in the feeling that the city was still alive and that people would come back after all.
We watched the NFC championship game last week at a friend's house with about 14 other people- new friends and old, people from work, from school, from my camera club, and friends they brought. It was a nail-biting tennis match. When we watch a game we aren't just saying, "Gee, I hope they win." We are saying, "This will mean so much to the city- good publicity, good tourism, good money, good everything! So much more rides on this game than just a sports team winning- the whole city needs this. Please give us a break just this once!"
I have never been so nervous in my life. As the score when toe-to-toe with the Vikings, my stomach was in knots, my fingernails were chewed off. When we went into overtime and I couldn't sit still. We won the coin toss. I thought this is it, this is our one moment to make this happen- but I still couldn't believe it when the Field Goal kick was straight as an arrow. Everyone in our group was jumping up and down, crying, hugging, laughing. Most of us are a bunch of nerdy scientist-types so it was pretty surreal! We heard yelling outside- a group of folks were parading through the street with huge banners and hanging flags on the bridge near the house. Fireworks were going off all over the city. It. Was. Amazing.
I don't think anyone in the city was able to sleep without a liberal dose of alcohol. I had to take half a unisom just to calm down at 1:30am and finally try to go to sleep. I had to teach an 8am lab the next morning. My first comment was, "I'm not going to ask how many of you are still hungover, I just want to know how many of you are still drunk!" There was a whole classroom of exhausted smiles.
Today, banners fly throughout the city and cars are painted with the slogan- "It IS next year." The most common thing I hear people say is- I wish my dad (or mom, or cousin, or brother, or priest) had lived to see this day. So Pigs are Flying, Hell has frozen over, and the Saints are in the Superbowl. Whether they win or lose, they will have the biggest parade New Orleans can throw them (and you know we know how to throw a parade!).
So, even if you're not a sports fan, even if you've never watched a football game, even if you've never been to New Orleans, next week when the Saints play the Colts in Miami whisper a "Who Dat!" for America's team.
Geaux Saints!
-Sarah Brock-Strickland (29 January 2010)