“Established in 1849, Carrollton Cemetery in East Carrollton was divided into two sections: colored and white. A quick comparison of these two sections demonstrates that African Americans had smaller plots and much less elaborate fixtures on their graves. The “colored” section or “potter’s field” consists of mostly in ground graves which may explain the scattered human bones throughout this part of the cemetery, especially after Hurricane Katrina. Most of the headstones are wooden and hand written with many personal items such as teddy bears and toys. The “white” section consists of many elaborate tombs and copings. There is a small wall vault and a few temple tombs. You can feel the difference when exiting one section and entering the other. It is owned by the city of New Orleans.”—New Orleans Cemeteries
i don’t know if the girl that authored this missive heeded Coke Talk's advice, but i took her up on it since i value the opinion of someone i don't know more highly than people i know for certain are more fucked up than i am. my new therapist advised me to journal. i hate journaling, but i like my new therapist so i'm going to follow her advice as well…kind of.
from now on, my tumblr entries will consist of excerpts from my day, or my yesterdays to be more accurate. no soul-baring narratives, just “What I Did Yesterday”.*
for instance, April 1st consisted of lunch at Commander’s Palace and a stroll through the Garden District to my new therapist’s apartment. along the way i passed Trent Reznor’s old house. though he hasn’t lived there in years, many tourists seem to think it’s an attraction worthy of photographic commemoration, judging by the gaggle gathered at the gate.
later, i went to Le Petite Theatre. the last time i was there, i spied Ray Nagin in the lobby. he is very tall and his head was very shiny. last night, i saw Tennessee Williams’ Night of the Iguana.
afterward, i went to Port of Call. an institution i despise, despite its popularity. there, i got tipsy enough from one of their Monsoon cocktails that i ate my annual butterflied Filet Mignon all by myself.
less notable events: an old “friend” declared a flame war against me via e-mail citing my assertion that people who send me conservative propaganda are batshit crazy as grounds for attack. i did not participate, except to deliver the death blow, but my real friends held down the fort. (who in their right mind hits “reply to all” or for that matter, opposes healthcare for all???)
also, i got cocky in my 5” cuban heeled sandals (i’m used to stilettos), snagged one on a cobblestone and fell on my ass. actually, it was my right hand and left knee, mostly. i was completely sober when this potentially humiliating incident took place. luckily, there were no witnesses and no awkward flailing of the arms since i never saw it coming.
while scouring the interweb for a picture of Trent’s old digs, i found an one from an old i-D shoot i’d never seen before. enjoy.
Even though their website claims that they are the “best kept secret in town,” Commander’s Palace is a well known establishment on the top lists of locals and tourists alike. Located at its original 1880s Victorian home, Commander’s exudes historic, Southern charm while retaining its sense of…