I wrote a post in early 2008 listing my top ten favorite NOLA reads. Since that time, I’ve read more NOLA books, some excellent, some forgettable.  So I thought I’d update my list.  But wait. There’s more.  We want YOUR list too.  What NOLA books inspire you?  To make the playing field even, Yat Pundit divided this into fiction and non-fiction.  I LOVE that since it, well, gives me TWENTY books to include.

FICTION:

1. “A Confederacy of Dunces” by John Kennedy Toole. This is the quintessential NOLA read. If you did not read, or were not assigned to read, this book in college, go buy it now. No, really, I’ll wait… Got it? Good. I picked this up just the other day to re-read (for about the third time). It just gets better each read. I am all of 10 pages in and have laughed aloud numerous times. Toole was masterful at describing New Orleans and its denizens.
2. “Lives of the Saints” by Nancy Lemann. This is a great little find. I read it years ago and still remember Lemann’s description of Claude, who broke the narrator’s heart “into a million pieces on the floor.” Lemann made me seek out several other “Voices of the South” authors. None disappointed.
3. “A Streetcar Named Desire. ” I know this is a play, but really, what list of NOLA works would be complete without Tennessee Williams’ classic? And there’s good reason this is a classic. It’s haunting and alive and lusty and depraved, just like NOLA.
4. “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin. This was written in 1899 and was scandalous. It deals with issues of race and sexuality and a woman finding herself and the tragedy that ensued. Because it was 1899. And Louisiana.
5. “Interview with a Vampire.”  Yes, Anne Rice.  But I did not read this because of Anne Rice or even because of vampires.  I read it because of Sting.  Back in the early ’90s, I was a devout fan of his, and his “Moon Over Bourbon Street” intrigued me.  Back when albums had liner notes, Sting explained that this song was inspired by Rice’s novel. I loved Rice’s descriptions of the City; I always connected more with Louis than Lestat.  And never liked the other books in this series as much as the first.
6. “The Moviegoer.”  I hadn’t read Walker Percy’s famous book by the time I was in law school.  But when my Mineral Rights professor used the story as his backdrop (oh, law school professors are an odd lot), it was a dare NOT to then read it.  And read it a did.  It is a short novel, but it was, for me, a slow read.  Not because it is boring but because it’s written as though reflecting our hot, simmering summers, where time moves more slowly.  How Percy was able to capture that tone is the genius of it.
7. “Louisiana Power and Light,” by John Dufresne.  This is set more in the swamps outside of New Orleans, but is close enough.  I enjoyed the journey Dufresne took me on here.  And I especially like how the main character finds himself in Monroe, Louisiana to begin with.
8. “The Sound of Building Coffins,” by Louis Maistros.  Ok, I am only a chapter into this one, so there’s your caveat.  But so far the writing is sharp and clear, and I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about it.  And my grandfather tells of how, as a carpenter, he’d do side jobs of building coffins.  The coffins would line his front porch and his dining room as the days passed while they were built.  So I am piqued as to what IS the sound of a coffin being built.
9. “Dinner at Antoine’s,” by Frances Parkinson Keyes.  A murder mystery set in New Orleans.  Dinner parties at Antoine’s.  Good stuff.
10. “The Grandissimes.”  George Washington Cable wrote many fine and notable works of fiction peopled with Creoles.  This is one of them.

NON-FICTION:

1. “Gumbo Ya-Ya: A Collection of Louisiana Folk Tales.” This is a must-have reference for anyone serious about Louisiana culture–it explains Creoles and Cajun; it discusses an unsolved NOLA serial killer; it talks about the history of Rex and Zulu. Plus, it’s got cool hexes and charms you can use to cure what ails ya!
2. “Frenchmen, Desire, Good Children: And Other Streets of New Orleans.” Another oldie but goodie. This one gives the history behind the (often-changing) NOLA street names. Like Canal Street was supposed to be an actual canal. Or Berlin Street was changed to General Pershing during World War I because it was “too German.”
3. “The Lost German Slave Girl: The Extraordinary True Story of the Slave Sally Miller and Her Fight for Freedom in Old New Orleans,” by John Bailey This is truly an amazing read. From the historical aspect of the history of slavery in the South to the immigration of Germans to New Orleans. A true courtroom drama that would not be believed as fiction.
4. “Gawd, I love New Orleans,” by Frank Schneider. Gawd, I love this book.  This is Schneider’s recollections of his life in New Orleans.  They are thoughtful, funny, and feel oh, so familiar.
5. “The Joy of Yat Catholicism,” by Earl J. Higgins.  This one explains it all. So many out of the City do not get that Catholicism in New Orleans is more cultural than religious.  From St. Joseph’s altars to Jews eating seafood on Friday’s during Lent, this joy of a book puts it all in perspective.
6. “Gumbo Tales,” by Sara Roahen.  Roahen is a foodie.  And one of those folks that isn’t born and raised a New Orleanian but is hardwired as one nonetheless.  She seeks out every possible foodie excursion New Orleans has to offer, and that’s a lot, and describes her experiences.  This is a love letter to New Orleans.
7. “Letters from New Orleans,” by Rob Walker.  This is another non-native writing about this weird, wonderful city he stumbled upon and fell in love with.  His love was the music and people.  Much of this was written before Katrina and is all the more precious as it was published just after.
8. “House of Dance and Feathers.”  Ronald Lewis is the curator of the museum behind his house, The House of Dance and Feathers.  This is a book about the journey Lewis took to open the museum and then to rebuild it after Katrina.  The pictures alone are worth the price of this book.
9. “Rising Tide.”  John Barry’s novel about the intentional blowing up of the levees flooding the Lower Ninth Ward and St. Bernard in 1927 is chilling in its similarities to Katrina.  I read this before Katrina.  It is a fascinating read.  Even if Katrina had never happened.
10. “Inventing New Orleans.” A collection of Lafcadio Hearn’s writings while in New Orleans.  All I will add is “the more things change, the more things stay the same.”

Now, a little lagniappe.  My top ten favorite NOLA cookbooks:

1. “The New Orleans Cookbook,” by Rima and Richard Collin.  To many, including me, the go-to NOLA cookbook. My bible.
2. “Cooking Up a Storm.”  The Times Picayune’s collection of recipes lost and most requested post-Katrina.  This is already well worn.
3. “Famous New Orleans Drinks & How to Make ‘Em,” by Stanley Clisby Arthur.  Traditional and time-withstood.
4. Junior League of New Orleans’ “Jambalaya.”  Their recipe was the one I used to make my first gumbo. It was a success.
5. “Who’s Your Mama, Are You Catholic, and Can You Make a Roux?” Marcelle Bienvenu’s delightfully-titled cookbook is not for the meek.  But it is spot-on for the tough dishes.  For example, this is the only recipe you’ll ever need for Crawfish Bisque.
6. “From Woodstoves to Microwaves, Cooking with Entergy.”  These recipes were once given away on cards on the buses and streetcars.  They are all classic, and easy to prepare, NOLA eats.
7. “Crescent City Farmers Market Cookbook.”  For the cook who wants to use all those tasty yet strange-named veggies from the Farmers Market.
8. Susan Spicer’s “Crescent City Cooking.”  The only “famous chef” book on the list.  Because her recipes are not too intimidating for the home cook (meaning, me).
9. “La Cuisine Creole.”  The collection of recipes compiled by Lafcadio Hearn.  I have a thing for him. Deal with it.
10. “Picayune Creole Cookbook.”  I have a very old one from my grandmother.  It is still in print today.  Rock solid creole recipes and some background to explain how this style of cooking became so popular in New Orleans.

Now give us your lists!  Write a post on your blog and link it here for us to come visit you.  If no blog, leave your lists in the comment.

I’m done complaining about the oil spill.  It’s safe to read again and not roll your eyes.  Really, I mean it.

I’ve switched off of reading NOLA books and am now reading James Salter’s “A Sport and a Pastime.”  I’ve read Salter’s “Light Years,” and it is still one of my favorite books.  His writing is exactly what I love: no spare words; great images and feelings conveyed with wonderful words strung together.

Here’s a description he gives of having a cup of coffee in a Paris cafe:

It’s as quiet as a doctor’s office.  The tables have chairs still upturned on them.  Beyond the thin curtains, a splitting cold.  Perhaps it will snow.  I glance at the sky.  Heavy as wet rags.  France is herself only in the winter, her naked self, without manners.  In the fine weather, all the world can love her. . . .

Heavy as wet rags! Quiet as a doctor’s office! France as herself in winter without manners! Oh, my! How does he do it? It’s lyrical.

Then there’s this passage on how our memory works:

Certain things I remember exactly as they were.  They are merely discolored a bit by time, like coins in the pocket of a forgotten suit.  Most of the details, though, have long since been transformed or rearranged to bring others of them forward.  Some, in fact, are obviously counterfeit; they are no less important.  One alters the past to form the future.  But there is a real significance to the pattern which finally appears, which resists all further change.  In fact, there is the danger that if I continue to try, the whole concert of events will begin to fall apart in my hands like old newspaper, I can’t bear to think of that.  The myriad past, it enters us and disappears.  Except that within it, somewhere, like diamonds, exist the fragments that refuse to be consumed.  Sifting through, if one dares, and collecting them, one discovers the true design.

This kind of writing knocks my socks off.  It’s so lovely.  I want to savor it.  And so I find I can read only a few pages a day.  If I rush, I don’t catch all the flavors.  It’s like guzzling a fine wine: you can, but you lose more than you gain.

So I’m only on page 57.  And since there’s only 191, I will continue to read Salter in the way I best enjoy it: as a sport and a pastime.

Bob Dylan once sang that “[W]hen you got nothing, you got nothing to lose.” Years later, he sang, “When you think you lost everything you find out you can always lose a little more.” Since they are both Dylan lyrics, the incongruity of these two lines has continued to have me scratching my head.

Dylan recorded “Like a Rolling Stone,” with the former lyric, in 1967. He was in his twenties when he wrote it. Dylan recorded “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven,” with the latter lyric, in 1997; he was over fifty.

When young, as Dylan was in the late ’60s, one’s got the world by the tail. Even when losing, one truly has nothing to lose because what one DOES have is time, time to try again and rebuild and re-establish. Whether it’s matters of business or matters of the heart.

But as one gets older, and has a mortgage and a marriage and a career, losing comes harder. Losing love is harder when children are involved; losing a house is harder than losing a lease on an apartment; losing a job, one’s reputation, is harder when one is older because there is less time to recover and more to overcome.

And I’ve realized, as I’ve aged, that there IS ALWAYS more to lose. Always. More. To lose. Things in my personal life are going very well. But I have full cognizance of just how much I have to lose, how much for which I have to be grateful.

But this question of losing, and of winning, has been on my mind lately. Probably because this weekend is BIG in New Orleans. HUGE. Saturday is the Mayor’s race. And Sunday, the Saints’ first Superbowl. Both will have a major impact on the city.

The city’s next mayor will have many challenges and is inheriting an office that’s been all but vacant for the last two plus years. The office has been plagued with scandals and malfeasance, and indictments are continuing to fly. Yet New Orleans is perched to move past the “Post-Katrina Era” of the past four-and-a-half years: to move away from the pain of the Storm and its aftermath and back to jazz and carnival and creole food and Cajun dancing. Yes, we will always have the scar of Katrina, and the change she’s made IN us, but we can be whole again without needing to explain Katrina as an everyday part of our OUTSIDE lives.

And the Saints’ hugely successful season has already meant a lot to the city. None of us will be less proud, could be less proud, of Our Boys no matter what the outcome this Sunday. Drew Brees and Sean Payton are the kings of our Carnival krewes this year; the team is the reason for a parade of their own next week. They unified the citizens of New Orleans in the way only natives CAN be united. We supported this team for SO MANY years, so many bad years, and many more WORSE years. But we always came back to them. Always loyal and optimistic. Even those Schwegmann’s bags were worn with a certain pride. We’re happy to admit now we were the Aint’s.

I always loved the Saints but never thought it was more than just a football team. But when that field goal was kicked in overtime, when Payton said that the win, the Superbowl game, was for the City of New Orleans and the fans, I felt something. And so did my neighbors, my friends, my family. We came together. Fireworks were heard throughout the city. We all joined in that moment and swelled with so much pride, it dripped like tears from our eyes.

And in the two weeks since that win, we’ve been a happier city. We laugh more; we talk to more people in line at the grocery, in elevators. We tailgate; offices celebrate. All over the city today, men, women and children were donned in black and gold. And a smile.

Because we know that come Sunday, we have nothing to lose.

Waaaay back in college, I watched Oprah.  And one day she had a guest on her show, Gayle Delaney, who was a dream interpreter.  Having always had vivid dreams, my interest was piqued.  Her theory, in general, is that your dreams are little movies that your unconscious mind produces especially for you.  Throw out those “dream dictionaries,” she advised; forget Freud.  For example, you dream about a horse.  Freud would say it’s sexually connected.  Delaney would ask you, “What’s a horse?  Pretend I am an alien and don’t know what one is.  Describe it to me.”  And if you answer, “a horse is a large animal, one that my family held in a stable when I was a child.  As a matter of fact, I once was thrown from a horse and was never so scared!” then your horse means something very different from someone whose only experience with a horse is the nag they’ve ridden at the zoo.

And so it’s all about YOU and what those dream images mean to you.

I REALLY dug her theory.  So I bought a couple of her books to help me keep a dream journal and interpret my dreams.  And it was cooool!

For example, she claims that your mind tries to pick things that are often things you are struggling with when wide awake.  Your brain uses other parts of itself to get a message to you that you otherwise can’t see wide awake.  And if that message is really important, it will repeat in your dreams and get more obvious.  And more obvious and more obvious as days pass and the message is not coming through.

So, that summer I needed to break up with my boyfriend and I struggled to cut loose a good man but not my ideal, my dreams got more and more blunt.  It started with one pool of water.  Contained emotions that needed to be released.  Before I accepted the message, I was dreaming of a house with 5 pools that was on a lake.  Yeah.  Lotsa water.  All contained.  All un-utilized and scary to me.  How does this connect to a boyfriend? Well, there were other elements to the dream that tied him in.  But what still stays with me were those growing number of pools.

Once I got into law, my dreams quieted down.  They got a lot more literal and didn’t need journaling to get.  Maybe my mind knew I had no time to deal with symbolism.

So now my dreams are just those things I see at night and forget after a few minutes of the morning have passed.

Except lately they are more.

Last week I dreamed I met Bob Dylan.  He was the man, not the legend, in my dream.  And it was so nice.  I woke up disappointed that I’d not really made that connection.

Then I dreamed about seeing something I shouldn’t have that was committed by a serial killer.  And as a result he was then after me.  And a co-worker came to save me.  And so did Brad Pitt. It felt so real. I woke up scared and shaken up.  And weirdly, I knew in the dream that my co-worker was really trying to help and that Brad was really there as an actor. I mean, I knew as I was dreaming part was a dream.

Delaney also gives guidance on dreaming about what issue you want resolved, and about returning to a dream once you’ve woken up.  I’m able to do both now.

In that serial killer dream, I woke up and against my will returned to that dream.  But at least when I returned I was more aware that I would not be killed.

I have NO idea what that dream is about!  Or the Bob Dylan dream.  And why am I dreaming about famous men I really like?

Maybe after all these years my unconscious has something good to tell me again.  Maybe I’ll dust off my dream journal.

Do you believe in your dreams?  Do you keep a dream journal?  Or do you just think I have repressed sexual energy to burn?

We had dinner tonight with two other couples.  One couple will be leaving Thursday for a big adventure: they are going to Japan for (at least) one year to teach English.  I had a friend do this after he graduated college (about the same age as these two now).  My friend sold or gave away almost everything he owned to go—it was the cheapest solution of what to do with the stuff he wasn’t bringing with him.  I ended up with a lot of his books (sssh, I’d hate for him to ask for them back these many years later).

That friend of mine also introduced me to classical Japanese writers, with Kawabata and Tanizaki (I love, love, love The Makioka Sisters) becoming my two favorites.  Tonight, we talked about these writers.  And about Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude (it is now at the top of my list of books to read).  And about Tolstoy and Dostoevsky (I really, really don’t like classic Russian literature!), and even a word about Hemingway and Faulkner.

It was such a delightful meal.  I hadn’t thought of those Japanese writers in years.  Not like I thought of them tonight.  And those of us there not leaving for Japan in two days, we couldn’t help but feel the excitement, the anticipation, that the two leaving were feeling: its electric current danced around our table like another member of our party.  Oh, youth!  To be 23 with the world at one’s feet!  To have a lifetime of unknown tomorrows in unknown countries (they plan to return to America via India, China, and other Eastern Asian countries).  Ah!

It seemed a sign when my fortune cookie read, “You are a lover of words, someday you should write a book.”  But that sign proved not to be too auspicious when another at the table read us his fortune, “You are a lover of words, someday you should write a book.”

And so it was that we stepped into the damp evening air.  Thoughts ran through my head of the Japanese books I would recommend to our young friends as they begin their big Asian adventure.  Then I saw that I had spit-up cookies dried on my shirt from Sun drooling on me earlier in the day when she was convinced she could fit an entire box of cookies in her mouth (she cannot) and having a mouth too full to chew, her saliva dissolved said cookies out of her oozing mouth and onto me.

If only the mastering of the keyboard, the typing of letters, were all there was to writing well.  I have ideas and thoughts that run through my mind when I am away from a computer (or even pen and paper).  And often, when I clear away everything and crack my knuckles and get serious about writing, I find I have nothing.

Tonight, I have turned off the TV, left all rooms that may distract me, and am focused on writing.  I am sitting in the dark on my back porch.  A mild breeze is blowing and the only sounds I hear are cicadas, distant trains, wind in the leaves, and the whir of air conditioners.

I read for the words—the stringing together of everyday words in a way that is beautiful and thoughtful and inspiring.  Sometimes I am overwhelmed with a writer’s ability to WRITE.  Some writers are good at storytelling, others are good at the stringing together of the words.  The genius is the one that can do both.

I am reading two books right now—Pat Conroy’s “Beach Music,” and Alan Moore’s “Watchmen.” To be fair, I just finished Conroy’s prologue and am further in to Watchmen.  Contrary to the fact that I LOVE attending the International Comic Convention every year and am somewhat well versed with comics (due to my hubby), I am not a huge comics fan.  The main reason is that I tend to prefer character development than action.  And a lot of the comics—at least the superhero genre—is action packed.

There are several graphic novels I have read that I consider some amazingly good reads, and not just for the comic crowd.  And Watchmen is quickly falling into that category, even with its hooded avengers.  And the reason for this is simple: The writing is strong and well crafted.  The story, although dated in that it involves the U.S.’s cold war with the Soviets, is timeless.  You could just as easily swap Iraq for the USSR and the story would be the same—our government will always have some political enemy that it behooves it to scare its people (you and me) by highlighting our differing cultures to make the other one ungodly and evil.

But I digress.

The writing.  Alan Moore‘s writing is pretty incredible.  And he’s written things you know and you just may not have ever thought of them as starting as comics—like “V for Vendetta” or “From Hell.”  But I am not here to write his biography or inform you of the great things he’s written.  I will leave you with one line from Watchmen, just one.  It is writing like this that inspires me.  It also unnerves me because I could never string everyday words together so beautifully as these.

The word “cancer” runs through the audience on a firecracker string of anxious whispers.

So I know I can’t stop gushing about the San Diego ComicCon.  I was so excited to being going and each day I looked forward to its attendance.  See, here’s the deal.  You think you KNOW what the Con is all about, don’t you?  Superman and Batman and Green Lantern and nerds dressed like Star Wars and other beloved comic characters.  Ok, sure the Con has that. In droves. But it has SO MUCH MORE.  Like what, Nola? you ask.

Well, I don’t go for the superheros so much or even the sneak peeks to upcoming comic book- (or graphic novel-) turned movie.  Sure, I like a lot of those movies but no more than the next gal.  No, what I go for is the art. Yes, art.  Not all of the art is comics.  Many of these artists do lots of other styles of art.  And going to the Con can get you in on the newest stuff these folks are doing AND you can get your piece signed and even personalized.  Further, many of they folks also write and/or illustrate books not in the comic format.  And so you can buy those too.

Enough of me telling you about it.  Let me show you.  My absolute favorite booth at the Con was the whimsical and surreal Artist Sisters.  I showed you their booth in my earlier ComicCon post:

Artist Sisters are—can you guess?—sisters that are artists.  They each have a different look but each one’s work definitely compliments the other.  Two years ago, I bought a small print of C.J. Metzger‘s, and on Day One this year I bought an original mixed media piece from her sister, Miss Mindy.

C.J. Metzger print, “Modesty.”

Miss Mindy’s “Designer Fish.”

In addition to their fabulous art, these two talents also write and illustrate children’s books.  So on Day Three, I bought their box set, one book by each sister (the box is at the bottom of the pic):

Each book is signed by the author and personalized, in this case to Sun.  Sun LOVES her new books. She actually sat quietly on my lap last night as I read one of them to her.

Day Four, we returned YET AGAIN to their booth and bought a second box set for a certain friend’s little girl for Christmas.  I am pretty certain mother and daughter are going to love it!

My only regret? I should have bought more from them!  Now I have to wait a whole year to lay my eyes on their work again to make more selections.

And I am confident the sisters work next year will not disappoint.  How will I ever have the patience to wait?

This was written in 2006 upon my return from that year’s International Comic Convention.

2006 was my first ComicCon. Let me say straight away that I was not disappointed.  I didn’t give much thought to what I expected, but looking back I realized that I expected a Star Trek-esque thing to be going on.  I thought I’d stand out for not being in costume; I did not stand out.  In fact, being one of something like 125,000 attendees, it is hard to stand out.  But one thing did stand out for me: Batton Lash’s “Tales of Supernatural Law.”

Here’s what happened.

ComicCon 2006 had 55 rows of exhibitors, and each row was divided into 4 sections.  Each section, in turn, had maybe 8 exhibitors.  That makes for over 1,500 booths in an area of 460,000 square feet.  The first walk through the Con lasted 3 hours, and we had seen no more than a third of it, and much of that, we discovered, was overlooked when we spent our second day there.

Wedged between one of the main entrances and DC Comics’ huge space was a small booth that CS and I kept passing.  It had a sign that read: “Supernatural Law.”  You have to understand that I am that annoying person in the movie theater that sighs heavily and keeps repeating “yeah, right!” during legal thrillers.  I am an attorney.  But I am not the suing kind of attorney.  So even if the legal technicalities are off, I may not notice more than the non-attorney sitting next to me.  But when the theories of law are so far-fetched, my bubbled suspension of disbelief bursts, and there is no putting it back together.  So instead of suffering through these types of movies (and novels and TV shows and comics), I usually just skip them.  And so naturally, when I saw “Supernatural Law” with the tag line “Beware the Creatures of the Night–they have lawyers!” we walked on by and by and by.

On the fourth or fifth walk-by, we had by then stopped at every other booth at least once, and it seemed that, for the sake of completeness if nothing else, we should stop here, too.  Batton Lash, the writer and artist, was signing his books.  He was very personable and, well, normal.  To his credit, he is not a lawyer.  We bought one of his trade paperbacks, had him sign it, and walked back to the hotel.

As we rested before going out to dinner, I picked up “Tales of Supernatural Law” and began reading.  This is the deal: It isn’t for lawyers.  It isn’t (really) about the law.  It is a monster book.  Good ole classic creatures.  Ed Wood monsters.  And these monsters have troubles, troubles the kind a lawyer can help with.  But the legal end of things is not far-fetched.  I mean, the far-fetched part is that monsters exist, not that if they did exist they’d have legal problems.  Why should monsters be so lucky as to avoid legal woes?  So if you can go along with the premise that monsters can exist, then the well done legal twist will not be a distraction; in fact, it is quite refreshing.  What I am saying is that I was pleasantly surprised that this trade paperback did not cause my bubbled suspension of disbelief to burst.  And that, my friends, is saying a lot.

What “Supernatural Law” has is Dracula hiring Wolff and Byrd, counselors of the macabre, to sue for the use of his name without proper compensation; a suit for damages caused by a cursed  monkey’s paw; a hexed super model; grave robbing; haunted houses; ghosts; and even a touch of romance.  For example, the first monster we meet is Sodd–he had an accident with some toxic waste and lightening and was mutated into a mangled mass of tree limbs.  During the change, he did damage to public property and was arrested.  He hires Wolff and Byrd to defend him.  Their first move is to get him out on bail.  The grounds?  Sodd’s roots (pun very much intended) in the community.  You don’t need to be Sandra Day O’Connor to get this legalese.  But Batton does have a licensed attorney as a consultant, and so he gets the “legal stuff” right.

Wolff and Byrd’s NYC offices reminded me of Jack Nicholson’s P.I. office in “Chinatown” or maybe Sam Spade’s.  Shadowy figures crossing over the etched glass door.  Batton told us the next day that he had in mind the one- and two-man ambulance chasing law firms in Brooklyn he was familiar with in his former neighborhood.  (Batton now lives in San Diego, being one of the many men that lost the long-distance romance battle over who would move).

That night, we did manage to enjoy a nice meal with friends and the milder San Diego weather.  But as soon as we were back in the hotel, I was reading again, and more again in the morning.  With just under 200 pages, “Tales of Supernatural Law” is chuck full of good, er, tales. So if you are in the mood for a romp of classic monsters and creatures with a new twist, this trade paperback is for you!

Tomorrow we return to San Diego for my second attendance of ComicCon.  I will do my best to get good pics and stories for interesting posts whilest away.  We will even get Sun out in the California sun!  Oh, the fun we will have!

CS had today off. Oh, what to do? How not to waste the day? I read the newspaper and scanned what events were going on today.  There was a book sale at one of the libraries.  That’s always a good thing to me.  Then there was a party for the streetcar beginning the route from Carrollton to St. Charles Avenue again post-Katrina.  Well, I am all about streetcars these days.

But then my eye settled on a third event.  A book reading at New Orleans Main Library.  The book was “Cooling the South: The Block Ice Era, 1875-1975,” by Elli Morris.  See, my family, way back when, was a very major player in the New Orleans block ice business.  A great-great-great uncle made a fortune in the business and sold it just before the Stock Market Crash of 1929.  And his line of the family sailed through the Great Depression flush with cash.  My great-great-grandfather had a small piece of this family business and my great-grandfather worked in the business, too, until it was sold.

So, with my curiosity piqued, we were off.  Getting off the elevator on the Main Library’s third floor brought me back in time to the countless hours I spent there researching my family.  How coincidental that that research had brought me back where I started for a book reading.

Inside the auditorium, there were few people.  Elli Morris talked for about 45 minutes.  Her family owned the Morris Ice Company in Jackson, Mississippi.  She grew up around all the machinery.  Her photographer’s eye drew her to the icehouse over and over.  Their icehouse is no longer working (like so many other block ice plants) but it is still every bit in tact.  She lived there for a year in 2001.  And explored and photographed.

Then she researched and learned that her family played a role in a much bigger piece of southern, even American, history.  And so her little story about her family’s business mushroomed into a much bigger project.  Her book is the result of her hard work.

She talked about the inventor of the first ice machine and ice deliverymen, and the ice trucks that were pulled by mules.  She explained that some trucks did not have a spot in the front for a driver; that the mule knew the route and didn’t need to be steered.  And she talked about the switch to refrigerators and the customers who returned their refrigerators because they were too noisy!

She intimated to the decline of the block ice industry, but “didn’t want to give away” the end of her tale.

Morris then opened the room for Q&A and then signed and sold her books and blank cards of her beautiful photographs.  Her book is wonderful–it is hardcover and filled with lovely photographs along with her thoroughly researched story.  The cover of her book shows a block of ice “feathering” as it freezes from the outside in.

Elli Morris will be in the New Orleans area for about a week and then she is moving on to other parts of the country with her book tour.  This is something that is truly fascinating, and hearing her tell of her story and read from it was just a delight.  Click on her site here and check out her schedule.  You won’t be disappointed.

I have been tagged by Ivy Brown. I am supposed to open the book I am currently reading and turn to page 123. Then find the 5th sentence and post the next 3 sentences.

As usual, this meme doesn’t blow my skirt up. So to compromise, I will instead give my top ten list of favorite books. And because “NOLA” is part of my site’s name, I will limit it to books about, authors from, or books set in New Orleans. Here goes:

1. “A Confederacy of Dunces” by John Kennedy Toole. This is the quintessential NOLA read. If you did not read, or were not assigned to read, this book in college, go buy it now. No, really, I’ll wait… Got it? Good. I picked this up just the other day to re-read (for about the third time). It just gets better each read. I am all of 10 pages in and have laughed aloud numerous times. Toole was masterful at describing New Orleans and its denizens.
2. “In the Land of Cocktails” by Ti Adelaie Martin and Lally Brennan. This is a new book that I have now had time to enjoy. You can read more about this book here. The only caveat is that this book will definitely leave you thirsty.
3. “Lives of the Saints” by Nancy Lemann. This is a great little find. I read it years ago and still remember Lemann’s description of Claude, who broke the narrator’s heart “into a million pieces on the floor.” Lemann made me seek out several other “Voices of the South” authors. None disappointed.
4. “Gumbo Ya-Ya: A Collection of Louisiana Folk Tales.” This is new to my library, but I am enjoying the stories it holds. At this stage in its life (it was originally published in 1945), this book is a must-have reference for anyone serious about Louisiana culture. Plus, it’s got cool hexes and charms you can use to cure what ails ya!
5. “Frenchmen, Desire, Good Children: And Other Streets of New Orleans.” Another oldie but goodie. This one gives the history behind the (often-changing) NOLA street names. Like Canal Street was supposed to be an actual canal. Or Berlin Street was changed to General Pershing during World War I because it was “too German.”
6. “The Lost German Slave Girl: The Extraordinary True Story of the Slave Sally Miller and Her Fight for Freedom in Old New Orleans.” This is truly an amazing read. From the historical aspect of the history of slavery in the South to the immigration of Germans to New Orleans. A true courtroom drama that would not be believed as fiction.
7. “French Quarter Fiction: The Newest Stories of America’s Oldest Bohemia.” This is a collection of writers writing in and about the French Quarter. Most are current authors, but some are newly discovered or newly published works of great writers. I generally do not like short stories; I tend to like long stories I can really get absorbed in. But because these are all set in the Quarter, they sort of read like one work–as though you are going from room to room, courtyard to courtyard, to hear stories told. A great summer read.
8. “A Streetcar Named Desire. ” I know this is a play, but really, what list of NOLA works would be complete without Tennessee Williams’ classic? And there’s good reason this is a classic. It’s haunting and alive and lusty and depraved, just like NOLA.
9. “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin. This was written in 1899 and was scandalous. It deals with issues of race and sexuality and a woman finding herself and the tragedy that ensued. Because it was 1899. And Louisiana.
10. “Managing Ignatius: The Lunacy of Lucky Dogs and Life in New Orleans.” I admit that I haven’t yet read this one. It is top on my “to read” list. It was recently discussed on the Twitter tube and it has been one that I want to read. It is written by a man who spent 20 years managing the famous “Lucky Dog company, whose vendors sell wienies out of the seven-foot-long hot dog-shaped carts that can be found on almost any street corner in New Orleans’ French Quarter.”

So get reading! What’s your favorite NOLA book? Or even non-NOLA book? I am always looking for a good book to read!