Life 2.1

I was appalled today. I was appalled to learn that small business owners (particularly t-shirt shops and the like) in New Orleans have been receiving cease and desist letters from the NFL. Why you ask? Oh please. Let me enlighten you.

Apparently, the NFL says that the use of the words “Who Dat” and the black and gold fleur de lis are trademark infringements. I’m sorry, but are you kidding me?

I haven’t even been living here that long and this makes me so angry. I can’t even imagine the anger swirling around inside those who have been New Orleans Saints fans since the team’s inception in the late 1960s.

I will go ahead and let everyone know that I AM a Saints fan and not just because they are headed to Miami. I never paid much attention to the NFL teams when I lived in California. Growing up, I watched games but never felt akin to any particular team–certainly not the Oakland Raiders, as I’m still bitter about not getting to play certain PE games during gym in middle school because they were using the field for a practice facility. My family, for the most part, were San Francisco 49er fans (there were multiple Halloweens in which my brother donned a red #16 jersey and a gold helmet) but I never followed them closely.

Then I moved to New Orleans in the middle of the season last year and quickly learned that New Orleans (and I think it safe to say the South in general) takes their football very seriously. I went to my first Saints game on December 7, 2008 when they played the Atlanta Falcons in the Superdome and I admit it. I was hooked. The atmosphere was astounding. People who had never met bonded over this team. My last day of work at the winery, I received a black t-shirt with a gold fleur de lis on it and was informed it was mandatory attire and I quickly learned this to be true and anyone wearing black and gold was a friend.

I sat on the edge of my seat (when I was even sitting at all) at the neck-and-neck contest. NFC Championship hero Garrett Hartley knocked down a field goal just as the first half was ending to put the Saints up 16-14. Atlanta went up again on a FG of their own before the teams traded touchdowns and the Falcons were up 25-22 late in the game. Reggie Bush returned a kickoff to the Falcons 15-yard line and then Pierre Thomas found the end zone from five yards out to give New Orleans the eventual win and it was exhilarating. But more than that, I watched, almost as though watching threw a window, the entire city celebrate. It was like watching proud parents revel in their child’s victory. I am a fan of the New Orleans Saints because of the passion that they ignite in their fans and how a single sports team can unify a city. I am a fan of any team that can do that, though the Saints are the only team to which I have been exposed that have mastered the art.

And now. The NFL is trying to dampen the celebration and break the spirit of the loyal Saints fans? I’m thoroughly disgusted by them. This article was posted on a local news website this afternoon and gives a little more news weight than just my rant. (Which, fair warning, I’m about to continue below.)

You do not own the rights to the words “Who Dat”, National Football League. Nor do you own the rights to the fleur de lis. It’s a symbol of the entire city and, I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing France might have a bone to pick with you for suggesting such a thing, seeing as how it’s a symbol of the French monarchy that *I’m pretty sure* was established before you.

Not to mention the fact that if this was something of a subject of concern to the NFL, they should have taken it up with the Who Dat Nation years ago (read: when the Saints weren’t winning). Just where exactly do they get off claiming it belongs to the NFL now?

Ugh.

At the time of this post, the Facebook group ‘Hey NFL! Keep your hands off of WHO DAT & the Fleur de Lis!’ already had 5,895 members and counting. And I will tell you one other thing I have learned about living in New Orleans: the more you try and break them, the more strength the city finds and the more united the people become. I know this to be true and I’m not even from around here.

When I was in elementary school, we had to read the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and we then had to write a fictional story along the same lines. I think I wrote something about forgetting my homework, my mom making something I didn’t like for dinner and not getting any hits in my softball game. A tragic day indeed. But if I were still in contact with Mrs. Bess, I would resubmit my story, based on today’s events.

Today, I set out in my car which had a brand new front bumper (which, for the record, was busted up previously, thanks to someone else–not me). I had picked my car up from the shop on Friday night and left today having driven it pretty much for the first time since I had it back from the shop. I headed to the warehouse because I was told I had to pick up a same-day sample and deliver wine to a restaurant downtown for someone. Fail number one. Upon getting to the warehouse, my samples weren’t ready and the wine I had to deliver wasn’t there. I put in a phone call to find out what was up and I found out it was already delivered. Awesome. After leaving the warehouse, I was headed to my other account and as I sat waiting patiently to turn right (turning right on red=not allowed) the traffic to my left in the lanes that went straight (and only straight), had a green light. I still had a red.

Finally my light turned green and as I proceeded to turn, so did the Nissan Xterra in the straight lane next to me. Right into my bumper. She tore it off almost all the way. My brand-new-not-even-dinged-or-mud-splattered-yet-bumper hung by a screw and some plastic as I dragged it into a Burger King parking lot. We exchanged information and then I had to wait 2 hours for a tow truck because I couldn’t get the bumper off all the way thus making it undrivable. Then, all of my customers started calling with their orders, which I had to take while riding in Ray’s Tow Truck in which he had the windows down on the expressway. I had to apologize multiple times to my customers for having to ask them to repeat themselves.

After my drive to the body shop, where I was greeted on a first name basis because I had just seen them not but three days ago, I had to politely ask them to wait while I handled work business. They were very nice and looked at the car to assess the damage while I punched orders with their 4-year old grand daughter who offered to help me with my work if I dressed her Barbie.

I was beginning to get a smidgen hungry at this point because it was 4:45pm and I had only eaten a granola bar and a cup of coffee all day and I couldn’t tell if my headache was from the events of the day or hunger. It was a toss up.

While I waited for Enterprise Rent-A-Car to come get me, the granddaughter showed me how to walk a dog which, in reality, was a broken yo-yo tied to a plastic toy that had a flat surface that slid across the office floor.

When Enterprise arrived, I was reunited with my buddy Ed, who was also the same guy who picked me up from the exact same body shop on Thursday. He asked how business was and if I had a good time on my birthday.

When we returned to the Enterprise office where I was hoping to be reunited with the car I had just turned in, I was told to sit tight while they called the other branches because they ran.out.of.cars. I was then shuttled to the next town over where I was given the last car they had to rent out: a mini van. A mini van. Which btw, isn’t even helpful in my line of work because the trunk area is sunken in (you know, where the stroller goes?), making wine case loading and unloading not easy.

Oh and it only had 1/4 tank of gas.

Then I had to go BACK to the warehouse and fill out paperwork during rush hour traffic. I arrived home in my loser cruiser at 7:10pm.

I win Alexander. I win.

For the first time ever in my 26 years of existence, I experienced Black Friday. To get up at 4am and go shopping on the day after Thanksgiving is quite possibly one of the worst ideas I have ever had. Ever. Why didn’t someone remind me that I hate crowds of people where I can’t move without bumping into someone? It’s the reason Mardi Gras on Bourbon scares me. But I woke up, put makeup on and drove to Wal-Mart to see about a new photo printer I had been keeping my eyes on. It was $10 cheaper than Best Buy and I thought I would see if it dropped even lower on Black Friday.

I arrived at Wal-Mart and didn’t have a problem finding a parking spot. I mean, I definitely parked in the South 40 but I did get a spot fairly fast. I walked in and there were already people in the express checkout lines, having gotten their deals. And what did they rush out to buy? Three flat screen TVs from some brand I have never heard of. Three. Is that really necessary people? Apparently so.

I weaved my way to electronics, which took a solid 15 minutes to make the 25 yard trek, and spied my photo printer. It went UP in price. Seriously?!?!

I turned around and walked out and was back asleep by 5:45 before going to work.

I asked Ida to downgrade (see below) and hot damn! She’s a tropical storm, working on depression. For my CA readers:

It’s just a little rainy and windy but I’ll survive. Looks like I owe her a fruit basket. Megan, maybe we can get a group discount.

I’m going to crawl under some blankets now.

I wanted to take a moment to write an open letter to Tropical Storm Ida, which, according to all reports, is gaining on hurricane status as it makes its way to the Gulf.

Dear Ida,

I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m new to New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. That being said, I think we have something in common: we both enjoy the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. They really are splendid, I can see you have excellent taste. I mean, I don’t even have to wear a sweatsuit when I go to the beach down here like I did in California, so I can appreciate your affinity to the Gulf waters.

So now that it has been established that we are practically akin with our good taste in beaches, I would very much appreciate it if you would help a sista out and would hold off on visiting. Say, til you become less than a tropical depression? The thing of it is, I haven’t ever experienced a hurricane and I was hoping to keep that streak alive a little longer. I have seen pictures and it doesn’t look awesome. Just last night, I was setting my GPS and at a particular point in Metairie, I thought that 127 feet above sea level was high and something must be wrong with the aforementioned GPS because we are close to sea level, not a “towering” 127 feet above it. Then I thought of what 127 feet would look like and my mind went to how many of my junior prom date stacked on top of himself that would be and it occurred to me that it wasn’t very much. He was very tall. And while I enjoy the water very much, I do not enjoy driving in it or when it comes near my place of residence. I can say that with assurance because Napa is also prone to flooding and it was recalled that one time, during a particular flood (probably the Great Flood of ‘86, as I call it), water was lapping up our driveway and it was equally as un-awesome as this would be. Never mind that I was 3 and don’t remember, that’s neither here nor there.

Last week everyone was saying how you were “weakening” and “Tropical Storm Ida wouldn’t amount to much” and I can understand how that would irritate you and make you want to prove the meteorologists here wrong but Ida, don’t listen to them. They are always wrong.

The other thing that I hope you will consider before coming to visit is that I recently moved and I am so close to being done with the unpacking, it would really bum me out to have to pack it all up again. Also, I moved all 22 of my scrapbooks myself and I can assure you, they are way heavier than they look so I would really love it if I didn’t have to do that again. Especially since I’m still nursing my pulled abdominal muscle from my adventures in getting back in shape.

So if you go away, I too will send you a fruit basket from Edible Arrangements but, as my friend Megan said about your cohort Hurricane Rick, “if we happen to meet the Category 1 side of you on next week, I’ll be polite but don’t expect a welcome hug”.

Regards,

C