The Big One’s coming and it’s going to wash us all away and I don’t know what you’re doing to prepare for it, people, but I’ve got my own plan: I’m building an ark.
The way I see it, some pissant Category 2 storm is going to drown this whole place this summer and New Orleans as we know it will cease to exist.
So I’m going to load up an ark and sail to an alien, distant shore with a pair of everything that makes New Orleans what it is—so unique, charming, and eccentric—and we’re going to start all over again, two by two.
We’ll go wherever the fates and currents take us—the Caribbean, the Indian Ocean, Toledo Bend Reservoir; I don’t know. I just know we’re going to load the ark and sail away, and—when the deluge is over—we’re going to start from scratch, just like that Noah guy did.
Just call us Nola’s Ark.
We’re going to need a king and queen wherever we go, so I’m bringing Ella Brennan and Norman Francis. I’m bringing Leah Chase and Paul Prudhomme to run the ship’s galley.
Al Copeland and Chris Owens will board the ship together in the hope that their union will produce a legion of offspring who inhabit their quintessentially New Orleans spirit—that certain je ne croissant pas.
We’re going to bring Bob Breck and Margaret Orr for our AccuWeather needs, because Lord knows we need AccuWeather. Our new false idol in this strange new land will be a Super Doppler.
I’m going to pair up Becky Allen and Ricky Graham to promulgate a new generation of New Orleans theater. We’ll bring John Scott and Mignon Faget because we need pretty things—very thoughtful pretty things.
Dr. John and Irma Thomas will board this ship to create a new legacy of New Orleans musicians and we’re bringing along Theresa Andersson also but she can’t bring anyone with her because, well . . . because I said so.
I’m going to bring Blaine Kern and Quint Davis to rebuild the city’s two most cherished public celebrations. And because I can’t think of any suitable female companions for this pair, I guess we’re going to allow gay marriage in this new New Orleans so their progeny will bring us JazzFest and Mardi Gras in perpetuity.
I guess that means David Vitter’s not coming with us. And that’s just as well. There will be tolerance and science where we’re going. I realize those are outrageous notions, but keep in mind, this is just a fantasy.
We’ll bring the Neville Brothers if they will join us.
But in this strange, new land where we are going there will be no Corps of Engineers, insurance adjusters, meter maids, assessors, or people who park their SUVs in two spaces at the Ochsner parking garage.
It will be paradise.
We’re going to bring Bill Jefferson and Cleo Fields because we’re going to need a lot of disposable cash on hand and—as far as I can tell—they’ve got more disposable cash on hand than anyone else around here.
I’m going to load up seedlings of celery, onions, and bell peppers to plant in this new Utopia. I’m going to bring two old guys who look like serial killers dressed in soda fountain vests to sell Lucky Dogs and I guess we’ll need to bring some cows and pigs to make those hot dogs.
Lucky Dogs are made of cows and pigs, aren’t they?
Whatever. I’m going to load up two mosquitoes, two mimes, two indifferent waiters from Napoleon House, two strippers, and two United Cab drivers. It will be New Orleans again!
Two by two, New Orleans will survive. Deuce and Reggie. Garland and Angela. Frankie and Johnny. Crawfish and Monica.
We’re going to need a pharmacist, I guess. Definitely need a pharmacist. And that guy who runs Creole Creamery because we’re going to need ice cream.
Before we leave, we’ll swing by Lee Circle and pick up two guys hanging out by the Shell station in case we need any roofing work done on our voyage.
I thought about bringing Frank Davis and Jackie Clarkson, but I’m afraid they’d just chat and natter on the whole darn voyage and we wouldn’t get any peace at all. Besides, I want fish and music in the streets where we’re going, and with them around I don’t think either would last very long.
I’ll bring Ron Forman, but he’s not allowed to run for office; we just need someone to keep the animals in line. We’re going to bring lots of animals but no animal rescue people because they’ll end up spray-painting the whole damn ark.
And no blue dogs.
That blue dog drives me bonkers.
Where we’re going will have neatly trimmed grass in public places and no dog poop on the sidewalk and nice playgrounds and regular garbage pickup and everyone’s weight will be proportional to their height.
Then again, that doesn’t sound much like New Orleans, so scratch that.
So I guess we’re ready to go. Onward to Utopia. Oh, wait . . . I see through my field glasses that there’s one more pair standing in the rain waiting to board.
Why, it’s Ray and Kathleen!
Sorry, guys. This boat’s full. You can wait for one of the buses.
They’ll be here any minute. You just wait and see.