Non-presents for dad

As I stood in an antique clock shop in downtown New Orleans inspecting more closely an iron cowboy clock, whose lasso turns along with the second hand, I realized that maybe I'm bad at getting birthday presents for my dad.

Seriously, what DO you get for dad?!?! 

It’s a very common problem. It's why The Sharper Image and SkyMall exists. 

But my dad is especially hard, because what DO you get the smartest person you know???

I remember growing up, we used to buy him ties.

The staple Christmas tie, MATH tie, the tie with animals, the tie with all the fleur de lis, etc.

And then he stopped wearing ties, and we didn't know what to get him. 

So, we overloaded him with shirts because he mentioned once that he liked the " henley " style that didn't compete for neck space with his beard. 

So then presents became  Henley  shirt after  Henley  shirt after  Henley  shirt MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!! Henly shirt after Henly shirt.

In high school, we moved on to buying him the same cologne every year, at his request, purchased by our mom at the mall department store.

When the three of us children went off to college, our dad got various purple and yellow LSU merchandise for every present-giving occasion, along with maroon  College  of  Charleston  “DAD” items and UT Austin shirts. 

But now that we’re ADULTS, I've been trying to get my dad things that are more thoughtful, and things he'll actually like.

But the problem is, he never says that he wants anything! Other than a framed photograph here or a backup hard drive there (backup hard drive… least fun birthday present ever)

Over the years, my brother Franklin, twin sister Joy and I have tried to take mental notes of things we remember our dad pointing out as interesting or funny while window shopping.

Like…uhhh…a quirky antique clock?

(Spoiler alert: I did not buy the cowboy lasso clock, because I found out it costs $450.)

But you know, I'm still not convinced he'd even like that very much. 

I say this with experience -- we've had a few fails...new tennis shoes have been pushed aside because "there's nothing wrong with my white sneakers." 

A grilling basket for shish kabobs - "Who needs that?? My vegetables never fall off. What kind of shish kabobs are you people making?"

OMG and the worst – a gift for my parent’s anniversary, I got them a nightlight that had their photo on it. Which made them look like skeletons with big teeth when plugged in. (Speaking of, I need to be removed from that company's email list.)

So, this year, as my mom and I take dad out to a super fancy dinner tonight on his 71^st birthday, as a "non-present present," I’d like to present him with the things I wish I could give my dad for his birthday:

Video of volleyball.

You often hear stories about your parents when they were close to your age, and some of them really stick.

One I heard recently about my dad was when he and my mom and several of their French Quarter neighbors all played volleyball in a park in the quarter.

They played every week, much like I play kickball, and my mom said my dad was hilarious and lighthearted and made everyone laugh during the game.

When they’d change sides with the other team, usually people would slap hands as they passed, but sometimes our dad would joke, “Don’t touch the losers!’” she recalls.

We all genuinely laughed at that, some 40 years after the fact.

I wish I had a video or pictures of that, and I’m sure he does too. So I’d like to give him that for his birthday.

I’ll just keep having to remind him about it so he can picture it himself.    

I'd bottle my memories. 

Harry Potter nerd alert – do y’all know that PENSIVE ("pen-seeve") that’s in Professor Dumbledore’s office, where he can extract memories with his wand and keep them inside the watery substance?

And then anyone can put their head in the pensive, and re-live that memory exactly as if they were that person, at that moment?

Well, I’d like to give my dad all my pensive moments from when my friends – many of his former students – have told me how awesome he was as a person and teacher.

I tell him about these comments, but I'd like him to hear it for himself...uh, as me...

He was so so so well-loved by the people he taught, there should be a medal. 

In fact, this past Monday I ran into an old friend who reminded me again that my dad was her favorite teacher of all time and she would sneak into his study hall and actually enjoy math.

Our own newspaper

I'd say 95 percent of the reason I'm a journalist is because of my dad. 

He’s a former journalist, a former photojournalist and current volunteer editor of many of my own articles before they’re published in the newspaper. 

There’s a special bond over the craft among journalists, and I am constantly calling my dad bouncing ideas off him, freaking out about anytime anyone ever has a problem with something that was printed in the paper.

When I had the dream of starting my own newspaper (well, now website, you computer-obsessed people), I envisioned my dad as the editor-in-chief looking over people’s articles, writing humorous columns and having his picture in the paper every week. 

Oh, and getting paid for it.

I actually had this hilarious idea that since he’s a mathematician, he could have a “math for blondes” column, like explain how to easily calculate percentages. 

“Dear. Mr. Frank, This shirt is $20 and its 25 percent off. How do I figure this out?”

Basically, I’d repeat all the questions I ask him about math.

When I win the lottery, I’m going to make this happen.

Until then, dad, please accept the book review you wrote of the Y’at Dictionary. It was hilarious, and published today on on page 6. Best I can do at the moment.

Me shrinking to the size of a seven-year-old 

Ok, this is sort of one of those, I know it’s your birthday, but this is really a present for me, too, thing, but I wish I could shrink to the size of my seven-year-old self, and then when my dad would come home from a long business trip, I could run to the door as fast as I could and jump in his arms and he’d pick me up.

I remember never being so happy to see someone, and I’d like to pen-seeve that memory, too, please.

And I wish I could be so small that when I’d get tucked into bed, my dad could stretch me out by one arm and the opposite leg at the same time, like a stretch Armstrong toy.

That was the best stretch ever.

Ugh, now I need to find a giant with a five-foot-long arm span. 

(Hagrid???)

I'd also like to be seven and have him read me Italian Folktales as a bedtime story. With voices.

My present would be to go back to that time, I hope he'd like it, too.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!!!! I hope these non-presents are better than an iron cowboy clock with twirling lasso.

But honestly, there really is no present I could give to my dad today that could properly sum up how much he means to me. 

I could not be the person I am today without you dad!! 

So thank YOU. 

You’ve been the best present ever. :)

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Sometimes a year seems like it was just a day ago. 

This is especially the case with Christmas, Mardi Gras, your friends' birthdays (it's been a YEAR since we went to that bowling alley?!!?) and (cue dramatic voice) my late 20s.

AND HOW IS IT PRACTICALLY SUMMER ALREADY?? 

Maybe you have a whacked out internal clock, too, where you think that it's still early in 2013 when it's definitely the halfway point.  

And then you remember that your friend who announced that she was pregnant last year on July 4 weekend has already given birth. (Yikes. Definitely not just a day ago.)

Clearly...even though something may feel like yesterday, it's not, OK????

Someone should give that memo to Ryan, this guy who my friend Alicia dated for a few weeks…A YEAR AGO. 

Apparently, Ryan doesn't think a year is too long to reach out to a past hook-up, even though they ended things on account of him being a D-bag. 

(Time does not heal all toolbags.)

Ryan and Alicia met while both on vacation last year and things ended when Ryan told her that he didn't want to be in a long-distance relationship AFTER they had engaged in a month-long, long-distance flirtation and slept together, typical.

"Sorry babe, I'm not ready for a long distance relationship, but thanks for the overnight!"

Ugh.

Ryan was a hard nut to crack. 

He seemed super into Alicia despite their 3-hour distance. He sent flowers to her work (swoon), video chatted her all the time, even discussed relocating to be with her. 

On their second face-to-face meeting after the beach, he drove to her town, took her out to the nicest restaurant in town, properly wine-ing and dining her like they do in romantic movies. 

Ryan then spent the night and promptly left the next day with a "I can't do long-distance" attitude.

So Alicia was basically the most expensive one-night stand ever. 

Alicia said she was confused and hurt when Ryan visibly pulled away after his trip to see her.

It was her birthday the following week and Ryan could only muster a "Happy birthday" text. (UHHH WHERE ARE THE FLOWERS RYAN)

Alicia called him out a week later, and when he repeated he didn't want long-distance, she said,  "You knew from day one that we didn't live in the same place and it didn't bother you, but now after you came here and got some you don't want long-distance??"

He had no response, so she called him a dick. 

Ryan didn't respond to that either, which was fine with everyone. 

We all forgot about him, with his different area code and all.

That is until this past weekend. 

Alicia returned to the beach for our annual girls' weekend vacation, the same vacation where she had met Ryan. 

Since it had been A YEAR, Alicia was now off the market and properly dating someone who lived less than five miles from her house.

As all of us were all winding down from the day, trying to figure out dinner plans, Alicia's phone buzzed. It was Ryan.

"Ryan who??" we asked. 

"Ryan, from last year!" Alicia said.

WHAT?? THAT GUY??  

What does he want??

Alicia looked at her phone: "Hey baby, you around the beach this weekend? I am, let's meet up."

!!!!!

It takes a special kind of guy to write to a girl like nothing's wrong when during their last conversation, she called him a dick. 

Was she supposed to repeat her mistakes of 2012!!!!!!???

Speaking of, this text was the first communication they had in a year. 

A YEAR!!!  365 whole days. 

Who knows what she's been up to! She could have given birth in that time!! (And the kid could be crawling.) 

I tried to point out that wow, he's desperate, grasping at last year's straws for a hook-up and/or companionship. (Silver lining?)

As we all laughed at the situation, Alicia wrote back saying she was actually seeing someone serious, ThankYouVeryMuch and not to text her anymore.

On any day, in any year.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

My dad says there's a lifestyle among some people in New Orleans where they don't work that hard or often, because they don't have to.

"This is a city where you can do the absolute minimum and still survive," he says.  

It's not hard to accomplish. In New Orleans, rent is cheap (if you're not picky), beer is even cheaper and there's a free outdoor party every single weekend that requires no money. 

I know several people in New Orleans who fit into this "only do the minimum" stereotype. I'm sure they exist in other cities, too. 

These are people who don't need to make a lot of money in order to cover living expenses, and have no real additional aspirations other than getting drunk. 

Good for them. They usually post hilarious Facebook pictures.

There's nothing wrong with that lifestyle I suppose, but there is something wrong with insulting people who…uh…maybe don't want to be your girlfriend because of it. 

Joe, this guy my friend Maria dated, was one of those people. 

He unapologetically worked twice a week at a casino and made enough money to drink.

Maria, on the other hand, was getting her Masters and had an office job.

Despite their different life goals, they had a connection and went out together, had sleepovers and watched football.  

Maria noted that their "going out" lifestyle was just as casual as their relationship.

Joe didn't take her out to fancy dinners or buy her elaborate things. …because he barely worked part-time.

Maria didn't care. She's on the compete opposite end of being high-maintenance and/or needing nice things. 

So for those couple of months, she happily went to neighborhood bars and drank cheap beer, didn't say anything when Joe would show up at her house in a different friend's car each week. 

The carefree relationship ended when Joe told Maria one day that he loved her.

It was out of left field, she said, and not at all indicative of the casual nature of their relationship. 

Did she like him? Yes. 

But did she want to invest in someone who had moved twice in the past four months because of "rent issues?" 

Who only worked twice a week? And who just celebrated his 35th birthday? Not really.

Maria admitted she could have blurted out a more polite reaction to him saying that he loved her. But she could only muster up responding, "Get your shit together."

Hahahahaha 

Sign up for a 401K!

Joe flipped out, even as Maria said she tried to explain, "that the next person I'm letting myself fall in love with is someone I may want to marry, and your life is currently too unstable for that."

"...So get your shit together."

Maria thought for a second that the ultimatum might have been what Joe needed to change his lifestyle - a kick in the ass reality check - and he'd at least pick up additional shifts, maybe move out of the Worst Neighborhood In The World.

You know, something to impress her, the woman he was in love with. 

But he didn't. 

Instead, Joe told her that she was shallow and only cared about money (ed note: HAHAHAHAHAHAA)  and they broke up.

…and then he went to the bar for his $2 beers.

(YOU CAN'T FIX MINIMUM!!!)

Now, it's a common rule that you don't talk to your ex's friends about the details of your breakup, because:

1.) they will undoubtedly be on their FRIEND'S side (duh) and 

2.) they don't care.

It's even worse when you not only talk about, but insult your ex to her friends. 

But that's exactly what Joe did. He couldn't consider any truth in Maria's response to him, and decided to unleash on one of her friends who was at the bar.

"Well, isn't your friend Maria just a GOD DAMN PRINCESS?" Joe said.

Hahahahahaha 

Leave it to Joe to make calling someone a princess an insult. He should never visit…uh, Tulane University. 

"No, she's not," her friend replied. "She's actually the opposite of that."

"Well, she acts like she's too GOOD for everybody," Joe said. "All she cares about is MONEY." 

And then OMG, he mocked Maria to her friend, pretending as if he were her, a snotty princess waving a scepter over everyone.

It was hysterical.

Joe couldn't even for a second get his head out of his ass and realize that maybe he could stand to make some lifestyle changes if he wanted someone to take him seriously.

I told Maria her new rule should be to only date people who treat her like royalty. 

At minimum.

-Jenny

Another order of Jazz Fest, please

Whenever my family eats at this Thai place in New Orleans, my twin sister Joy always orders the wrong thing. Haha.

She's a picky vegetarian, and therefore uninterested in fish with any sort of head still attached to it, or shrimp with legs still on, or cold seafood in general. 

"Just order the noodles," we keep saying, but she doesn't listen. 

She always orders an exotic-sounding appetizer from the Tolstoy novel of a menu and it remains cold on the table while we give her little plates of our noodle dishes.

"They should tell you that the shrimp are going to be COLD…" she said at our most recent outing there, enthusiatically suggesting we all get dessert because she's still starving.

Haha.

I know how she feels. I've ordered the wrong thing before. 

Take last year, when I ordered the wrong thing at a fancy restaurant with my best friend Meredith. 

I chose the duck because nom nom nom nom ILoveBirds, but Meredith's fish dish with its crystal hot sauce "beurre-blanc" was hands down way more tasty than my duck, especially when I found out that foie gras was not French for figs.

Anyway. 

It's hard to figure out what to order all the time. Figuring out the absolute best option when you're presented with a million of them. 

This was the challenge for Jazz Fest, and any music festival, really, where there are literally hundreds of options in terms of food, music, art, stages, modes of transportation, type of alcohol you plan to sneak into the fairgrounds ….

(uh, for example.)

AND GUESS WHAT??? I ORDERED ALL THE RIGHT THINGS THIS YEAR!!!!  (No heads on shrimp)

(haha sorry joy)

For those who don't know, the food at Jazz Fest is a close second to the music. 

I don't know if this is the case at other big music festivals, but probably not. This is New Orleans. We must offer good food options or else no one would show up.

(What do they serve at Coachella? Kale smoothies? Twig peppermints?!??)

For the four days I attended Jazz Fest, I had, in no particular order: Pecan Catfish, Crawfish Strudel, shrimp and grits, yakamein, Crawfish Monica and a mango freeze.

All good choices!!  And aside from the crawfish Monica, it was all food I had never eaten at Jazz Fest before, a big move for someone slightly less picky than my twin sister. 

A friend recommended the crawfish strudel, but everything else I ate was just by chance. Oh, look, I like pecans. Pecan Catfish it is!  And it was actually the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. Truth. 

I will dream about it for the next 365 days.

Several people I talked to didn't order the right thing.

An Australian guy I met said he ordered a fried pork chop po-boy and it was dry and gross. 

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU ORDER THAT???" I asked, imaging a bone-in pork resting on a bun. "BLECH!!!!!" 

(WHO APPROVED THAT ITEM???)

Another friend said he was disappointed with the soft shell crab poboy because the crabs were small and it cost $10 this year. Ain't nobody got time fa that! 

But aside from the food, I also ordered the right things in who I saw perform, too. (I know! I HATE ME TOO!)

The week leading up to the festival, I poured through all the artists on the schedule (YouTube-ing some even) and made a list of the ones I wanted to see. 

Being from New Orleans and living in New Orleans, I tried to choose artists I've never seen before and who I might never see again. 

As such, blues legend Taj Mahal beat out local Trombone Shorty to close out the fest for me. 

Local Kermit Ruffins I told myself  to catch later that weekend playing at the bowling alley and instead salsa danced at the Congo Square stage during his set.

Unlike years past, where I've watched artists while saying WTF to myself (Simon and Garfunkel minus Garfunkel's voice??? Wyclef, have you been using a voice double all these years?? Bruce Hornsby…wait, no, he was actually really good) 

I never once thought WTF this year, even though people did say The Black Keys dropped the ball. 

(I'm not a super fan, I couldn't tell.)

Walking into Jazz Fest is so nostalgic, like going to the same summer camp every year and you remember what all the bunk beds look like and the figuration of the paddle boats or whatever. 

I've been to more Jazz Fests in my life than not, and could walk to every stage with my eyes closed if I wanted to.  

I hopped around to almost every stage, certainly every tent and saw, in chronological order: Voices of The Wetlands, Lost Bayou Ramblers, Magary Lord of Bahia - Brazil, Mississippi Rail Company, Big Sam's Funky Nation, Juan Luis Guerra y 440, Dave Matthews Band, B.B. King (epic), Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes, Henry Butler and Friends, an African Dance Performance from kids through the non-profit I worked at, Theresa Andersson, Shamar Allen and the Underdawgs, a special reprise of a play One Mo' Time (went with my parents, cute), Val and Love at the gospel tent (with my mom, cute), The Pine Leaf Boys, The Black Keys and Taj Mahal.  

Ask me about them! They were all great.

But my favorite, favorite, favorite moment of jazz fest was on the "locals" Thursday. 

One band I'm particularly fond of -- uhhhhh to a point of being creepy groupie gagagagagaga -- is a band called Johnny Sketch and The Dirty Notes. 

I see them play almost every time they have a show, and they were one local act I was looking forward to hearing on the glorious Jazz Fest stage. 

On that Thursday, all of our friends descended upon that stage to hear them as a meeting place because that day served as a memorial and tribute to Meredith's dad, who passed away exactly one year ago on that day.  

(The Jazz Fest tribute to Mr. John had been decided months in advance. One big second line. We all took off work, Meredith's brother and his wife drove to town from Memphis.)

Members of Johnny Sketch know Meredith, and knew about our gathering. 

It was almost at the end of their set when they surprised everyone by dedicating a song to Meredith and her family. 

We all froze when we heard the name "Meredith" through the speakers and the words "special" and OMG the song was about sun coming through and shining down on special people and that was just a perfect metaphor for Meredith and her dad and no effing joke, the sun actually peeked out from the rain clouds when the song was played. 

It was magical. It was a magical Jazz Fest moment.

So yea. We totally ordered the right thing. 

I should have bought the whole band some pecan catfish.

:)

Until next year. 

Crawfish strudel!!!!

Taj Mahal and 10 tubas, blues tent 

Me and my mamma at Taj Mahal

xoxo Meredith

-Jenny