So, at the end of my work day... i smell like a 13 year old female Justin bieber fan.
So... it pretty definite. I'll be moving to New Orleans at the end of August. I don't have a job lined up yet or even a place to live. Right now I am focusing on getting all my money and resources together in one spot. When I get there I will sign up with the day labor folks and wash dishes, do warehouse work, etc until I can find something I like better. I'll probably rent a room, as rent is pretty cheap & I will also be signing up with movie extra casting. I'm doing that because I found out that Louisiana, in particularly New Orleans, is filming in excess of 100 film projects a year. Therefore an experienced extra should be able to get some work.
I'm really impressed that American Horror Story will be filming in New Orleans this year even though this series of the show is actually set in Florida. Trust me. I will be on that set. If I have to take out every working extra of my physical type to make that happen, so be it. They're also currently filming NCIS New Orleans, which would be cool too. Of course, a lot of these projects are just scenes rather than complete movies, but who cares?
And that's the plan.
Haven't written much, but it not because I haven't had anything going on... one of my friends lost his mother last week and I attended the service on Friday.
They should have warned me.
I was kind of expecting a service mostly in Spanish, and I'm certainly capable of bowing my head when everybody else does and basically following along. And of course I knew that the she had attended the Iglesia Baptista, and, living in Texas, I'm certainly familiar enough with Baptist services to basically know what going on, despite any language issues.
What I didn't know is a nephew, a reverend in a fundamentalist church, would be conducting the service.
Now, I'm pretty broad minded myself, and I'm certainly willing to tolerate others beliefs and traditions at their funerals and weddings and such... I'm just a guest as I didn't have to attend after all... but if your tradition includes altar calls... and your expecting me to bow down by a casket and have unknown persons pray for my sins in Spanish... you are going to be sorely disappointed. I will stage my own little Episcopalian revolt right there... fortunately, it never came to that as I noticed the rest of the family and the other mourners seemed to be just as stubbornly sticking to the pews as I was and he moved on... a young lady sang a very good rendition of, "His Eye Is On The Sparrow" and he stood again.
Expecting that the service was winding down after the final hymn, I was disappointed.
Now he began quoting the bible, this was a verse about David & Bathsheba. He then lapsed into Spanish, so I'm afraid I cannot tell you how that adulterous relationship was relevant to the occasion, but I'm kind of fascinated to know. And then another altar call. Again, no takers... but that didn't seem to discorage him much... he's determined... finally, an hour and a half later, about the time that smokers at the back of the room had begun sneaking out, an the smokers at the front of the room were gritting their teeth, we all stood up and paraded past the casket for the final viewing.
She was a great lady. I gladly and willingly endured this terribly uncomfortable service in her memory.
But an hour and a half is pushing it. And I'm blaming that preacher. He's there comfort, not convert, and there's nothing comforting about staring at a coffin while being told the deceased is in heaven and you'd better repent right this second if you want to join her later. (I'm not making that up... that was the message. And I cannot for the life of me figure out how David and Bathsheba apply to that.)
So we joined the smokers outside and waited for the graveside service. The groundskeepers were up to something, and we finally realized they was trying to chase off a coyote who was having a grand old time leading them on a merry chase among the tombstones. We were all cheering the coyote on actually, for a few minutes there.
My friend, the son of the departed, came out, said "thank you for coming" then we walked to the graveside.
So, the coffin was there.
The pall bearers all took off their (green?) Carnations and placed them on the coffin.
Reverend stepped up and conducted a prayer.
And he started talking.
And, I kid you not, ANOTHER altar call.
I swear I could hear the sound of the entire crowd rolling there eyes.
This man was determined.
And I am not proud, but I distinctly remember thinking, "if anyone is crude enough to stand up in this cemetery and have a graveside conversion... at least their soul will be saved before I hit them upside the head with a rock and push them in the hole."
Again... no takers.
There was a lot of fingernail studying, and ladies found things to look at in their purses, and gentlemen gave serious consideration to their shoelaces.
Finally we were released.
There was of course food, in the fellowship hall of the Iglesias Baptista, and my friend informed me that none of the family, nor his mother, had particularly wanted that particular nephew to perform the service, but they were kind of trapped into it somehow, and the actual reverend of her church, who had attended, was not happy at all... but there we were...
That was my Friday.
It was an experience to say the least...
I'm in New Orleans. Due to the delays in fort worth what should have been an 11 hour trip took 21 hours. I was supposed come in through Houston. Instead, I had the longer want around... through Shreveport. No stories match kneecap tho...
I arrived at my arranged accommodations, Saint Vincent's Guest House.
Well folks... I'm off to New Orleans.
I was sitting in a greyhound station and the storm had made the bus late... and now I'm going to reveal one of my deepest, darkest, secrets...
I'm a hopeless eavesdropping. Not on anyone I know... I don't wanna take the chance of hearing anything about me, but strangers who are talking in public are fair game.
Turns out the three gentlemen I'm waiting with are all from the halfway house.
I had suspected as much already.
One had a backpack which had busted its zipper an was tied together with a belt. The second had all his possessions in a box that had origionally contained a television. The third had tripple bagged everything in garbage bags.
They were all scrubbed clean... which gave the halfway house away. The. "transitional facilities" do keep their guys clean.
Their tatoos were interesting.
One of them, the cardboard box guy, has an elaborate skull on one kneecap that seems to open and close it's mouth whenever he bends his leg. For some reason I found this fascinating.
There were no teardrop tats under their eyes, so if they'd ever killed anyone, they weren't advertising it. That's a blessing. I''ve never understood the urge to advertise one's sins, but to each his own.
As it became obvious that we were going to be more and more behind schedule, they began chatting. I can't go into the conversation here, my ability to type is seriously impeeded on an android, but as they began digging into possessions and trading jeans, shoes and such it became evident that there's each been given a voucher for goodwill and having been unable to find something that would actually fit them, they all just grabbed the best stuff they could acquire, in hopes of trading it off for something useful later.
One of them even offered to trade his reeboks to me... but they were too small.
But I'm happy to report that cardboard box with kneecap tat was able to score a really great t-shirt bearing the legend, "WORK YOUR BASS OFF" And also sporting a wonderfully rendered image of the fish in question.
He was very proud of it.
It would appear that he's been waiting for a very long time to go fishing with his dad.
I hope he catches a whopper.
Now I'm in Dallas, waiting for my next connecting bus to Shreveport, and the Dallas terminal isn't half as interesting. Actually, the Dallas terminal is a little bit seedy.
Ex cons would be a relief.