Orleans and Claiborne
Joe came to take care of some garden work for me and commented that a) he does not like my hair and thinks it does not look like me, and b) that I have certainly been gaining weight. Thanks Joe. As a matter of fact, Scott did exactly what I asked him to do – tone down the blonde, cut off the long shag and give me bang-tox (his word) and when he was done my hair look great but I wanted him to fix my face – too full, too fair. Alas, he’s only a hair stylist. Meanwhile, everyone but Joe seems to love my hair this way and maybe I’m just reluctant to see myself any other way. As for the weight, I told Joe that he needs glasses since he’s one year older than me.
But I digress on all of that because what I wanted to say is that I asked him if he was going to Mardi Gras and he said he was staying home and barbecuing because he didn’t want to get shot at. I said where do you go to Mardi Gras and he said Orleans & Claiborne. He said, “I bet you never went there before.” I just gave him a look because most certainly I have. He said, “All them kids are always turf fighting – this Ward wants to kill that Ward and on and on.” Sad but true.
Yet nothing invokes an image in my mind like those two words: Orleans and Claiborne.