by Cameryn Moore
I have said before that I’m a poly-urbanist: I fall in love with cities rather easily, and the more I travel the harder it becomes for me to be able to answer the very common question, “What’s your favourite city?” But I would be lying if I said I didn’t have favoriteS. Plural. And definitely in that bunch is New Orleans.
my wankers need me
I don’t mean shit in the bad sense (although lord knows there is plenty of that happening, too). I mean, parties to go to, music to hear, beignets to eat, people to do, naps to take, tourists to watch, nights to run into the wee hours of the morn. This city is an endless spongy landscape of decadence and creativity; you take one step and that shit wells up around your feet and you look around and go, “holy shit, that is something delicious and/or amazing and/or something I would never get to do anywhere else, why do I need to go on to that thing that I was planning to do, when I have amazing shit right here?”
Three: I have been staying with the same friend in New Orleans now for the past three years. She did the CAFF tour in 2011; she knows about touring. She’s very well hooked into the performance scene here, so she knows what events are happening that I should be checking out. And she is a massively creative person in multiple spheres, so she knows about timelines and planning, which somehow she manages to do in this torpid heat. (Well, she’s been living here for something like 15 years, so she’s gotten used to it.) SHE is always up around the same time as me, and almost always still up when I get home from Sidewalk Smut at 2am, drafting a pattern or setting a sleeve or researching some back story or planning a new solo festival.