Left work yesterday as a humongous red blob hung over the city via radar; torrential rain, still on foot. Bus wouldn’t come; walked over the streetcar clearly labeled Canal. Boarded it and crawled at a snail’s pace. Driver kept getting off to chat at different stops. Annoying. We get, finally, to Carrollton Avenue, and wonderful, he takes the turn away from the cemeteries to head towards City Park. I told him this is the Canal Streetcar. He replied, Canal, City Park. Yeah right. Rain was pouring like something in a western when the cattle stampede. The next stop was three blocks away. Walked back to Canal, and the next stop for the streetcar was another four blocks away. The RTA in New Orleans was once very fine, especially on Canal, to say it sucks now is an understatement. Waited in the pouring rain and saw a streetcar winding its way slowly from Carrollton. By this time I could have walked to the Cemeteries to connect to the Metairie Road bus. Suddenly the streetcar stopped three blocks away, the driver got out and slowly began fiddling with the cables. After five minutes, he back tracked the opposite direction. The tracks were flooded, my shoes and skirt were dripping wet. It’s the inefficiency on a bad afternoon that I find so annoying. The streetcar finally came and I was able to connect to the Metairie Road bus standing next to a man who constantly scratched his groin area and smoked a cigarette. Rain falling like buckets of water. And of course, no soon did I get on the Metairie Road bus, the rain stopped. But then another ten minute wait as we caught a train that reached to China. By the time I got home, it was a good thing no one else was there as I was loaded for bear. And, the Canal streetcars, unlike the St. Charles line, have no little lip to catch the rain pouring off the curbed roof. So, when you step up to get on, it’s like crossing under a damned waterfall.
This morning, my cross trainers are still wet. And the hell with it all, I drove my car in to work this morning.
Having watched “True Lies,” I did a little search re its reviews. And herein is where I enter the Oh Puhleeze factor. Roger Ebert called Jamie Lee Curtis’s dance scene, “mean and misogynistic.” Well, for Pete’s sake. I took it as a husband playing a joke on his wife, especially after he had the you know what scared out of him thinking she was having an affair she was not having, and tenderly seeing an aspect of herself he didn’t know–she needed adventure in her life. God, ya’ll, especially women, GET OVER YOURSELVES! From the time Helen Tasker transformed that fright dress she was wearing into a sexy little black number and transformed herself, it was apparent she was having fun and was up to the adventure. I suppose as one who has been a practical joker in my past, I only saw it as a joke that would obviously end up very well. We’re supposed to decry this kind of thing as misogynistic but praise absolute crap like “MP.”