MONDAY, 10 APRIL, 2000, SOMEWHERE OVER ALABAMA

The Marquis as a Young Boy: “Maman, where are the oxygen masks?” “Zay are in zee overhead compartemahn, my leetle marquis.” “How do they know when to drop them down?” “Zay just know vhen you ahh in trouble.” The little marquis thinks about this a while, then starts making sicky-faces. Faux-dry-heaves. Mock-dizzy-spells. Dramatic-heart-clutches. All to no avail. Nary an oxygen masks drops jauntily from the ceiling. “Maman, why aren’t they dropping the oxygen mask?” “Becoz you ahh being a reediculous and annoyink leetle shit, marquis.” Hello there. I am aloft. This whole portable technology thing is still somewhat new to me. I have yet to make a web page while flying over Mississippi. It’s making me confused — like whether I should like the 21st c. or think it’s just too silly. I mean, c’mon, I can write this stupid thing, then upload it to the net right in my seat via the GTE Airfone. Who needs to be a land-lubber with all these tools at our disposal? “Scuse me, waitress?” “Umm, that’s ‘Flight Attendant’, if you don’t m… oh! You’re the Marquis Déjà Dû! I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you in civilian garb. May I have your autograph?” “Sure, sure. Hitch up your skirts.” The Marquis scribbles on the waitress’ ass. “Now listen, I hope I’m the first to tell y’all this, cos it’s kinda embarrassing, but did you know that GTE spelled ‘phone’ wrong on this here fancy contraption? You might want to send a memo to someone about screening the copyeditors a little better, hmm?” I am leaving New Orleans, and not a moment too soon. Every time I get to the same point by the end of my trip where I have two choices — either to a)leave quick with a little bit of sanity and liver left or b)find a house and a job and move back. Last night was weepy for me. Popped by the Half Moon for pool, cocktails and banter (it’s a damn holy trinity). Ran into TallMark among other friends. Debbie took a picture of us and accidentally cut off TallMark’s head. That’s because he’s tall. He’s TallMark. I had a revelation of sorts last night talking to TallMark. He’s about 6’8” I’d guess. I’m 6’3” and shrinking. I had to look up to talk to him. And it felt really, really weird since I rarely look up to talk to people. And I thought, how does anyone talk to me, ‘cos this feels wrong! I’m going to make a point of sitting down a lot more when conversing. Plus, I just like to sit down. I called a cab and sat outside the Half Moon waiting for it, reminiscing about the autumn night some years ago when Genevieve and I witnessed the spontaneous drama unfold on the sidewalk there. It pretty much sums up the Half Moon Bar & Restaurant. You should go read my little play entitled: Sophie Wright Place. Yah, that’s what you should do. After my Shim Sham website meeting (I want all my clients to schedule midnight meetings in bars), I hung out there with Patti, Michele, Debz, Portia + Anthony, et al. And lo, around 2ish I finally ran out of steam, 5 days later. I anointed Patti’s neck with a few tears and hopped a cab back uptown. Spent the morning grocery shopping for all the stuff I have a hard time finding in bland PA. Hot pickled okra, Café du Monde coffee & chicory, the really weird Tabasco flavours, a king cake, etc., etc. It was one of the most beautiful days I’ve ever seen in New Orleans. (Okay, smart asses, you go ahead and say it: “But you’ve never seen a day there, marquis!”) I’ll overlook that little outbreak and wax rhapsodic for a mo’ about the cool fresh breeze bringing magnolia and every kind of food arome to my thirsty probiscus. The smell on Coliseum street is alive and vibrant and sweet and sultry, yet at the same time dark and decaying and foreboding and stinky-pooh-pooh-ca-ca. I’m such a poet. I. Am. Exhausted. I should really sleep on this damn plane, but I always have a hard time doing that. Those silly waitresses willzhls insist on jamming their drink carts into my limbs as the typo earlier in this sentence can testify. (That one’s gonna leave a bruise.) I feel like someone has taken a marrow scoop to my soul. Empty, hollow, ruined, absent. Those are four adjectives that I know. I’m clever enough to arrange flights from N.O. to arrive home early evening, which allows both a leisurely awakening from a last debauch in LA, and a full evening to relax in PA. I tell ya, I got it goin’ oan! A snack has been delivered to my chair. Let’s see what we have today. Oh, a tiny chicken breast sammich and what appears to be a crabapple. Lovely. Welp, best get to that then. Back to the dumb ole’ grind tomorrow I guess… You’ve been a marvelous audience. The Marquis has left the building.