The Camellia Grill is something of an institution here. We first heard about it from a couple of real estate agents we met our first weekend down when we were still considering buying a house instead of renting. The couple, two New Orleans blue bloods who told us which high schools they went to when we first met them (it matters down here -- Jesuit and Dominican, if you're interested), was honest with us; with every house we saw, they pointed out the inevitables we'd face in a few years: termite infestations, flooding, shoring the slab. (You know. Keeping your house above water and somewhat sealed against the elements. Ah, life in the swamps.)

Sort of put a damper on our thoughts of purchasing a home, as you'd imagine. It didn't help that the mayor was on the TV when we got back to our hotel room giving a thirty-minute explanation of what will happen not if but when a hurricane makes its way up the mouth of the river. (The city will be swallowed up with water and made into the next Atlantis discovered by archaeologists thousands of years from now. Don't forget your air mattress!) We needed a reason to like New Orleans since we knew we'd be moving down here regardless of our swimming skills, so when the agents told us to eat at Camellia's no matter what else we did that weekend, we followed their advice.

It's a diner through and through, with swizzle bar stools seated around an inverted bell curve of a counter. Two cooks work the grills and a handful of waiters rush about serving burgers and fries, monstrous omelettes (the chili-smothered one is truly serious), and the clincher, delicious chocolate pecan pie. The pie's not just heated for you. It's grilled in butter, both sides, and served with a mountain of vanilla ice cream. It's so good, you find yourself considering a stop by Camellia's AFTER a four course meal at another restaurant. Really. It happened to us tonight. We had dinner at Mat & Naddie's, a double-shotgun converted to a restaurant on the river bend, where we both had gumbo (!), salad, entree, and dessert, and we had to stop ourselves from pulling over at Camellia's on our drive home. It's almost embarrassing.

A couple of weeks ago we fed our urge and stopped in for a quick dinner. Besides us, the entire place was filled with women, clearly related, with matching rabbit-fuzz light-up ball crown thingies on their heads. They blinked off and on and looked something like day-glo puffy antennae. A few of the women were also dressed in turn-of-the-century southern belle costumes: tight bodiced floor-length dresses with lace-up boots and danty gloves. The women, it turned out, were there to celebrate three 40th birthdays. Among them were three generations of their family, ranging in age, I'd guess, from early thirties to seventies. They spoke with that "Yat" accent, the Brooklyn-esque oddity unique to here written about in Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces," and made famous in the Dennis Quaid movie "The Big Easy."

Yat accents, blinking poofy-ball tiaras, grilled chocolate pecan pie. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.

O if it were so.

Instead, it's part of the new reality that is our "democracy" run by gangsters (as Aaron McGruder calls the Republicans), who believe they're "righteous," one with God. General Jerry Boykin, the man in charge of the bin Laden and Hussein manhunts, is a Christian fundamentalist who found hovering over Mogadishu, Somalia, a "mysterious dark cloud," which he described as "our enemy" during a church slideshow. "It is the principalities of darkness," he told the congregation. "It is a demonic presence...that God revealed to me as the enemy."

Woa.

Imagine if he looked down on Los Angeles, or Houston, or Phoenix, or any other smog-ridden city in the United States. He'd probably see the Devil himself.

I'm sure General Boykin makes a point of avoiding New Orleans all together, given the city's love and appreciation for the darker elements of life. New Orleans loves its decorations. Halloween is second only to Mardi Gras for house costumes. Last night we took a drive around town to see the decorations, much like people do in other cities to see who's outlit who with Christmas lights. Here's a shot I took of a house that's done up a bit. That's a coffin and a ghoul on the right side of the lawn, another ghoul with a huge wheelbarrow on the left. The porch is littered with witches, mummies, assorted black cats and other objects which are difficult to see given the low light. Digital's just not quite the same...