http://www.tinglealley.com/?p=956 a quasi-literary weblog Sat, 15 Sep 2007 11:45:20 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.1 hourly 1 http://www.tinglealley.com/?p=956&cpage=1#comment-52924 mia boynton Sat, 14 Jan 2006 22:28:14 +0000 http://www.tinglealley.com/?p=956#comment-52924 I have just read My Cold, War, Tom Piazza's novel about wierd strange cold America. It occurs to me that he is the right man to write on why New Orleans Matters not just because of the fact that he lives there and is a jazz critic, but because of how he sees, thinks, and writes. There is a bad case of the blues in My Cold War, and it desribes and prepares for a lot of what we are going through now in this matter of our favorite southern music city and what is becoming of it. My Cold War is about certain things that can't be restituted, and others that maybe can, if we are lucky. I have just read My Cold, War, Tom Piazza’s novel about wierd strange cold America. It occurs to me that he is the right man to write on why New Orleans Matters not just because of the fact that he lives there and is a jazz critic, but because of how he sees, thinks, and writes. There is a bad case of the blues in My Cold War, and it desribes and prepares for a lot of what we are going through now in this matter of our favorite southern music city and what is becoming of it. My Cold War is about certain things that can’t be restituted, and others that maybe can, if we are lucky.

]]> http://www.tinglealley.com/?p=956&cpage=1#comment-52892 Chuck Lowry Wed, 21 Dec 2005 03:26:47 +0000 http://www.tinglealley.com/?p=956#comment-52892 Any of you who have ever randomly wandered into fancy or tattered jazz clubs on Frenchman Street or St. Claude Avenue, or who have stopped for an oyster po-boy at Mena's, or who have sat in the French Market at 3:00 in the morning, looking out into Decatur Street trying to decide if you have a soul, or have looked forward from about lunchtime Tuesday to having oysters and cold beer on Magazine Street on Friday night, any of you who have wandered out St. Charles Avenue and wondered how much learning went on behind those handsome facades, or if the students--well, yes, and the faculty--were there more for the steamy, weather-induced lassitude and decadence, any of you who have felt the prick of conscience while sitting in the calm quiet of Mater Dolorosa, any of you who have ever imagined yourselves as Binx Bolling or Ignatius J. Reilly, now is the time, all of you (and I surely mean all of us, because I am part of this group, of course), to do what we can: to spend and to encourage and to speak up. It is not Disneyland on Bourbon Street, it is a real city. Let us help her as we can. Thanks to Tom Piazza for reminding us why we must. Any of you who have ever randomly wandered into fancy or tattered jazz clubs on Frenchman Street or St. Claude Avenue, or who have stopped for an oyster po-boy at Mena’s, or who have sat in the French Market at 3:00 in the morning, looking out into Decatur Street trying to decide if you have a soul, or have looked forward from about lunchtime Tuesday to having oysters and cold beer on Magazine Street on Friday night, any of you who have wandered out St. Charles Avenue and wondered how much learning went on behind those handsome facades, or if the students–well, yes, and the faculty–were there more for the steamy, weather-induced lassitude and decadence, any of you who have felt the prick of conscience while sitting in the calm quiet of Mater Dolorosa, any of you who have ever imagined yourselves as Binx Bolling or Ignatius J. Reilly, now is the time, all of you (and I surely mean all of us, because I am part of this group, of course), to do what we can: to spend and to encourage and to speak up. It is not Disneyland on Bourbon Street, it is a real city. Let us help her as we can. Thanks to Tom Piazza for reminding us why we must.

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