Rockbottom Quarantine Blog
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Post #10: Saying Goodbye to Rockbottom with One Last Escape
Something’s not right. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is definitely wrong. But what? I’ve made the proper preparations for the perfect evening. My phone is completely charged, my youtube playlist is ready to go. I have a case of cold light beer chilling in the fridge, I have three separate flasks full of whiskey in three separate rooms, and I’m wearing my freshest socks to ensure some slick risky business-esque slides. Everything is primed for an epic last escape. And yet, something is off. I go and look in the mirror and see perfection smiling back at me. I look like a million bucks with my…
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Post #9: Looking For a New Home For a Hot Little Pepper
Back in the Before Times, when I used to socialize with others, I had this little trick I would use whenever I felt myself getting angry around my friends (you wouldn’t know it from this blog, but I do have a temper and on occasion I have to be sure to keep it in check). The trick is fairly simple. All I would do when I felt the heat burning underneath my collar was to just say out loud, matter-of-factly, to everyone around me: “You know what, I am a hot little pepper right now.” This is a very effective trick, I’ve learned, because it turns out it’s almost impossible…
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Post #8: The Landlady Eviction and the Online Outrage That Followed
I turn onto my street from City Park Ave and I feel better than I ever. Sure, my calves are burning like little fires and my ankles are screaming bloody murder, but I’m barely aware any of that, I’m practically floating for this final stretch. Part of this sensation has to do, I imagine, with that runner’s high that athletes love to talk about. I’m finishing up a jog that took me through the park and along the bayou, and then down to the post office and back. That’s a good five miles that definitely sent me on an endorphin rush. So sure, that undoubtedly has something to do with…
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Post #7: Writing a Novel on Privilege Pills (plus the landlady sends a spy)
It’s ten thirty in the morning, mid-April, four weeks into the madness, and I’m supposed to be writing. It’s all I really have anymore. Like millions nationwide, I’m alone with only my thoughts to keep me company. But that’s okay, for me at least, because I’m a writer, so I can write. And I’m so very close to writing, I swear. I’m even repeating my mantra in my head over and over again. Write, you stupid bastard, write! I’m working on my novel, you see. It’s called Grease Traps of Bourbon Street and it revolves around the insanity of the ghost tour world of the french quarter. I really think…
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Post # 6: The Problem with Porn in a Pandemic: an anti-essay
Me (on phone): Hey buddy, it’s Randy, how ya doing? Friend: Hey Randy! How’s it going? How’s quarantine going for you? Me: Fine, fine. You know. Friend: Yeah, yeah, I know. So what’s going on? Me: Well, um, I’m currently writing a piece about porn. Friend: You’re what? Me: I’m writing a piece on porn. You know, the online stuff with naked people who- Friend: Yeah, yeah, I fucking now what porn is. Why the hell are you doing that? Me: I don’t know… I just feel like it’s something no one talks about. Friend: Yeah… for a good reason, that shit’s private. Me: Yeah yeah, but still. I think…
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Post #5: A Fine, Bitter, Day At the Park (Thanks For Understanding)
It’s the beginning of April, three weeks since lockdown started, and City Park has become my official place of sanctuary. The wonderful, sprawling, accessible City Park. It’s only a five minute walk from my house, and it happens to be bigger than Central Park in New York City. I know this because back in the Before Time that fact seemed to be attached to any conversation about the park. “Oh you’re going to City Park? Isn’t it great? You know it’s bigger than Central Park, right?” Back then, that was just a fun fact to share whenever you wanted to feel slightly superior to those in the Big Apple. But…
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Post #4: The Last Haunted Pub Crawl Tour in the Quarter
It’s morning, two weeks into the madness, and I’ve been lying in bed for the last hour and a half terror-reading the news on my laptop. Currently, I’m “enjoying” an article that imagines the scenario that we seem to be rapidly heading for, where all the hospitals in every major U.S. city reach over-capacity. If I’m being honest, none of it sounds good. At all. Fortunately, I’m granted a brief reprieve from my terror, as I get an email notification from work. I quickly open my email, praying for a hilarious distraction, only to find my prayers answered. ATTENTION ALL TOUR GUIDES, Do not click on that link that I…
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Post #3: The Weirdness Starts at Night: plotting my escape
You know, it’s come to my attention that some of you seem to believe that my quarantine experience isn’t all that rock bottom, that it sounds more like a dream than a nightmare. Oh you poor baby, I hear you saying, stuck in a house by yourself to do whatever you like… instead of being trapped in only a handful of rooms with three children and a spouse, all of whom are either crying or screaming at all hours of the day. (Note, nobody has actually said this to me, but believe me, it’s implied in the tone, and you know who you are…) And to that I say… fair…
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Post #2: Confronting a Landlady, and Making a New Friend
It’s day six into the madness, and I’m standing at the edge of my driveway with a hose in one hand, and a bucket of soapy water- with a never-used-before kitchen sponge floating on top- in the other. Standing next to me is my new friend Clever, who wears baggy pants, a backwards hat and a great deal of gold chains that dangle from his neck. To put it frankly, he looks, and acts, like a caricature of a 90’s rap star, but I suppose that’s my fault, really (trust me, you’ll know what that means soon enough). So it’s the two of us standing there, me with my hands…
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The Rock Bottom Quarantine Blog: The Beginning
Before all this craziness started, I had a rather unique job. I was a ghost tour guide in the French Quarter of New Orleans, which meant I got paid to talk to groups of strangers about ghosts (duh). That’s gone now. Which is sad. It was actually a pretty great job, better than I even knew at the time, in fact. I’ve always had love for my job but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there would be many times over the years where I found myself wondering, “OK, when will my writing start selling so I can begin my real life?” Now that it’s gone, I miss…
