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I got a late start this morning for my bike ride because I ran to get my flu shot at the synagogue. But when I was on my bike, I couldn’t help but marvel at how populated my mind was – it was like rush hour in there. Two hours later, warmer, out of breath – the curtain started to close, the denouement, all those people seemed to take their bow and leave my head.

While I was getting my flu shot, a man came over and started talking to me. When he walked away, the older woman at the table made it a point to tell me he is a pediatrician. I thought to myself, isn’t that nice, but honey, it’s too late for me to be finding a nice Jewish doctor to marry. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for Catholic boys.

A friend called when I walked in the door from my bike ride and wanted to know if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee. She said she was still reeling from an incident that happened the other day at a holiday party. I told her to let go and let god. Meaning, forgive yourself and quit giving the incident and the people involved so much power in your life.

Then I took the Bean over to my mom’s and brought a bunch of my business holiday cards so that I could start addressing them to sources. My mom said my sister is thinking of moving back home to New Orleans. And that they will look for a place to either buy or rent together. I said that would be good (but my thought bubble said, look out).

My mom had just washed her hair and was about to put it up in rollers. She has thicker hair than me, and twice as kinky, almost nappy. I asked her if she wanted me to roll it for her (a frustrated hair dresser I am) but she said she had a certain way of rolling. I walked in the bathroom after a while and sat on the edge of the tub and watched her – her hands were shaking and she was short of breath – meanwhile the ubiquitous cigarette burned in the ashtray. (Thought bubble said, fucking coffin nails.)

A bunch of New Orleans artisans got together and started Festivus to sell their wares during the holiday season. I went by there this afternoon and ran into old friends and rooted around the stalls with fleur de lis this and fleur de lis that. A weiner dog walked by wearing an army jacket. The Roller Derby girls were skating in and around. Live music was playing from two corners. Mimosas and Bloody Marys were being served. All in all, a great way to shop.

I spent my money with Heather Elizabeth – who takes photographs of New Orleans icons – streetcars, cemetery angels, St. Louis Cathedral – and then makes earrings, or ornaments, or belt buckles out of them. I also picked up some cockroach earrings from another stall for me.

I ran into L and her posse – she was sporting a nice post-Katrina tattoo – so I told her about the book I am working on and she said, count me in!

A phone call the other night with someone telling me that everyone in the South is a fucking idiot. I said I think there are idiots all over, not just here. There are more here, he said.

Looking at the headlines this morning with William Jefferson winning over Karen Carter, I feel inclined to think that maybe he is right, because only a bunch of idiots would have put that man in office.

Nagin, now Jefferson. It’s like we’re in Wonderland and things are backasswards and nobody seems outraged or for that matter moved. I had people I know, smart people, vote for Nagin. I’m sure there were some smart people who voted for Jefferson. It is just hard to believe, is all I’m trying to say. Really hard to believe.

We decided on the Bank last night to have cocktails and figure out a game plan for the rest of the evening. We saddled up to the bar and while selecting a wine, we realized why we haven’t been there in a while – the owner, Alex. First thing he said was that he didn’t have a wine that didn’t have tannins in it so our search for a nice full bodied fruity wine without tannins was a waste of our (and his) time. Then he said, “I’m getting out of here, I’m leaving this place, I can’t stand it one more minute.”

He’s been saying that since we returned from evacuation and it’s worn very thin. Get the fuck out, I wanted to scream at him right there and then. Go! Scram. If you’re not happy, quit bringing us down and just go. He stopped back a couple of times with something else negative to say and then told G that he was going to be in New York and she should look him up.

Right, yeah, let me get your number. No wait, I think I have your number, you’re miserable, right?

We walked over to Wasabi afterwards and had sushi with a dining room full of bohemians. Joe the bartender, a super nice guy, fixed me up a bitters and soda to try to calm my acid stomach from the margarita revelery of the previous night. But it was actually Alex that had soured me.

Riding up the elevator with a older couple who asked me where I went shopping since I had a full Langenstein’s grocery bag. I said I went to a Hanukkah bazaar at Temple Sinai. Blank stares. I asked where they were going when they got off with me at the 3rd floor and they said to visit their daughter and her husband. You must be T’s mom, I said. Yes! Then T’s mom said, “I love a bazaar!” Me too, I said, the more bizarre the better. Again, blank stares.

So last night’s margaritas and party fare made me virtually useless today. I went to Pilates and I suffered through a strenuous mostly core workout. I came back and walked Arlene around the bayou and dropped by the LaLa to see what was in progress – no one there but some cabinets screwed in. I then went downtown to a couple of galleries – the Soren Christensen gallery to see David Borgerding’s sculpture and then Arthur Roger’s to see Allison Stewart’s Closer underwater paintings. All nice and yet, very, very expensive. Most of Allison’s paintings were sold already. Then went by Swirl and picked up some bottles of the Dutton Estates Syrah that I tasted the other day and learned the restaurant going into Gabriel’s old space is finally opening – and they will be serving pizza from their wood fired ovens this Tuesday night at Swirl. I decided at 3:30 not to run my 5K race at 4. Meanwhile, drove back to the Can to lay around and read and try to nap.

And feel guilty for being so damn unproductive!

L called early evening and said he had had a similar day – unproductive and feeling guilty about it – he had been out with his squeeze for her birthday the night before. What is wrong with Americans? Why is it so difficult to lounge for the lord and simply be? Aren’t weekends meant for being unproductive?

G asked me to twist her arm about going out tonight because she still is not 100% over her cold and I sat here feeling neutral, particularly after last night and having just come up from walking Arlene in the freezing cold, but I said let’s rally – it might be our last holiday night out together because I leave and she leaves next week and then she comes back and heads to NY through the Christmas holiday.

Lounging for the lord will have to wait.

I was playing Jessye Norman and Kathleen Battle back to back singing O Holy Night – possibly the best Christmas song written – and as great as they both can sing it – one sweet, one earthy – you know who sings this song and makes you fall on your knees? – Irma Thomas – damn, she sings O Holy Night so damn good!!!!

fall on your knees, oh hear, the angel’s voices, oh night divine [the organ ripping in the background]

[now the chorus comes in – oh holy night, oh holy night]

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…

[the organ ramps now]

O night divine…

[Irma starts getting down]

O night when Christ was born…

[organ slides]

Fall on your knees…

[choir low and slow in the background – holy holy night, holy holy night]

[Now Irma puts the finishing touches]

night that Christ was born – little bitty baby child – holy holy holy – holy night – Mary’s only child – o holy night

I ran into Gomez at Whole Foods yesterday so he bought me a cup of coffee – a damn expensive one – and we were talking about men and women and how men tend to overlook how frightening they can be to a woman sometimes and how women live with the knowledge 24/7 that men have physical power over them and though that strength is there to help protect, the same man could potentially hurt. Of course, the conversation shifted to the way a woman can hurt a man – her ability to lure a man into her lair seeking only his sperm and once there, see ya – and behold, a child is born.

It’s dog eat dog – trust your instincts, all ye merry men and women.

I have always been so enamored with my job because I can do it from anywhere in the world as long as there is broadband – and I’ve thought of doing it elsewhere – Cuba, New York, Istanbul – but then again as my ex father-in-law is want to say – it’s sometimes nice to just think about it rather than doing it.

Nowadays, virtual offices are becoming more the norm than the exception. I just read a great article a reporter sent me that Best Buy has gone post-geographic – wireless broadband having turned the world into one giant work kibbutz – as long as the work gets done, do it from where, or when, you want – as long as it gets done.

Last night when Beth Hart was playing on the stereo, T said I love her! I said so do I! L turned me on to her. P was sitting there and said T turned her on to Beth. T laughed and said L turned me on to her. Goodness, one man is doing more to spread the gospel of Beth Hart into a lot of woman’s psyches than all her publicists combined.

And now same with Lynn Drury, which he put on the last CD he made me and who P and T loved from the get go.

I said L should scratch all those bar themed ideas and go with music as his calling.