among the invisible

Once upon a time there was a movie that I fell in love with, a character story of redemption, soul-searching, story-telling, and living amongst the invisible.  Chances are if you spend any solid amount of time with me  you will hear me quote the movie. I will point out every flaw, but more than that, I will tell you everything I love about it.  I can remember being at the Ruston Movie Gallery and seeing this John Travolta and Scarlett Johansen flick on the shelves.  It was five dollars and I was bored, so I took it home.  It changed my life. It drove Dr. Snarky crazy.  I quoted. I identified, with these people who were searching for something epic, some sort of validation and redemption.  Characters that had sorted pasts littered with broken dreams, but found their way back in a place that had a past just as sorted as them.  A place that became the largest character, exaggerated, but character at that, New Orleans. 

{this is just the trailer, but I fall in love with the movie again, each and every time}

This lil’ tid bit is not meant to be a raving movie review, but more about the things we lose time for.  The invisible nights that in created no real memorable experience, except the people who you spent it with.  The stories we write in those nights.

{“she thought you were golden, so she named you after yellow flowers and corn.” cecil – love song for bobby long  Of course I would keep Pursaline in my yard.}

I have found myself so many times looking for home…I have talked of this so many times, it seems trite at this point.  So many times I heard, “Whitney a place is just geography.”  Until you realize that its not.  There is something about south Louisiana.  It is a place where you learn to dance amongst the mosquitos. You find that sitting on a levee with your best friend and a pizza is a better night than getting dressed up and hitting town.  A place where it is perfectly acceptable to talk too loud, dance horribly, eat and drink too much.  In this geographical location something exists that I have found no where else…a breed of people and friends.  A breed that is often overlooked but never stop working and dreaming, the invisible.  “Live amongst the invisible and you will see what to write.” Lawson Pines

My favorite nights are these completely unmemorable nights with my invisible friends, that so many times, I have not found time for.  How awesome, how epic, that there is time now.  So in the spirit of the invisible and unmemorable I must make a memory, I will write it down, they will be nights/days that will not be forgotten.

1. Kitchen Sink/the Un-Fun

Who knew that Chinese Beer and Bloody Mary’s could breed such laughter from two people.  My friend, Dr. Snarky, and I sat there for hours laughing our tushes off over one line. “I’m good now.” We made plans for wedding toasts, that of course would be spoken in Irish accents.  We made a deal that neither of us would get married unless we knew for a fact, that we would stay fun.  I sat in a kitchen sink.  He sat on a stove.  For such an un-memorable night, it has stuck with me over the years.  My favorite part was as people would filter in and out of my house, we would try to share the funniness that was “I’m good now,” and they would look at us like we were nuts. We probably were, but it exemplified the spirit of the invisible.

2. Fridays off Magazine

When I met the Cu-Fae she was quiet and I was not.  I walked around studio taking orders for libations with my partner in crime.  She was good friends with my boyfriend and she was sweet, but had I known the connection that would be formed, I think I would have stopped at her desk a little bit more on the 13th floor.  Forget the 80’s dancing, passing of the ice, Halloween nights at Pat-o’s.  A Friday off Magazine street took the cake.  I hadn’t seen her in a good year.  I was in town, and spur of the moment I called.  I was in NOLA that day and we were sitting on a patio drinking white wine, eating an amazing cupcake, and catching up right where we left off.  Walking up and down the street, ending at the Bulldog with a bloody mary and then a pitcher of Covington Strawberry and cigar with the boys.  It was a day that couldn’t be planned.  Not one moment of silence, not one upside down smile.  Just complete and utter joy and an introduction to awesome pink lipstick in a place of fables and illusions. 

3. Long, long walks up St. Charles

There was a night that started at Camellia Grill.  As Monkey and I sat there and ate our nutty waffles we decided we would just head right up to Fat Harry’s.  I mean, it was just 3 or 4 blocks.  Incorrect.  It was a good mile.  So in flip-flops, we made the hike, each block saying, it’s just on the next block.  We laughed and told stories the entire time, and after many more than 3 blocks we finally arrived at our destination.  We had time for one beer and a trip back up St. Charles, this time on the street car.  I will never understand what made us think that the walk was 3 blocks, or why we didn’t catch one of the many passings of the street car.  Maybe it was hope that Fat Harry’s was just one more block, or maybe our subconscious knew something we didn’t, “This is what the invisible is made of.  This is the stuff you hold on to.  This is epic. So keep on walking.”

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W


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