How I spent my spring break

Mardi Gras Day, 2011, Metairie Louisiana. Believe it or not, this is the best photo my iPhone could take.

Dear readers: Forgive the long gap between posts: It’s been a really eventful couple of months, with lots of things to write about but, conversely, no time to write about it.

Okay, that’s not technically true: as a newly minted gentleman of leisure, I’ve found myself with plenty of time to write, but all of that time (and more) has been devoted to finishing the first draft of a novel, which is almost complete. Tonight, though, the words aren’t coming, and I think it’s because there are other words, other feelings, scratching impatiently at the backstage door, demanding the chance to tell their story.

As you probably know, whether from reading the previous post, following me on Twitter or Facebook or actually knowing me in real life, the newspaper at which I worked the last six-plus years folded its tent and went quietly into that good night back at the beginning of February. There’s a lot to say about that, of course, but I don’t think enough time has passed yet. Suffice it to say that the handwriting had been on the wall (hell, it was painted on every surface and stitched into the carpet), and that when the patient finally expired, the prevailing feeling wasn’t sadness, shock or fear—we’d had time to get used to the idea—but one of relief. The waiting, the uncertainty, the anxiety of it all were gone, and those of us affected could begin to focus on what came next. Continue reading

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Saying goodbye

A little bit of housekeeping today: Since there’s no digital copy of it elsewhere on the Internet, posted below is my very last column as Editor in Chief of The Sunday Paper, which ran in its current and final issue, dated Feb. 6, 2011.KFM

Dear readers, you hold in your hands the final issue of The Sunday Paper.

As many of you know, the current economic climate is not a friendly one to print publications. And although we’ve been fortunate to enjoy a wide and dedicated readership these last several years, the fiscal challenges of putting out a quality newspaper in this environment have finally taken their toll.

Saying goodbye isn’t easy, and neither is attempting to thank everyone who’s made working at The Sunday Paper the most rewarding experience of my professional life. So I’ll keep it simple and offer a humble “thank you” to Patrick Best for the opportunity of a lifetime, to Kirsten Palladino for all of her hard work and support, and to all of our editorial, production and sales staffers, as well as all of our contributors and interns, past and present—you know who you are.

But this isn’t about us, and certainly not about me. This column, this issue, this paper, is, as it has always been, about you, our readers. I have never taken you for granted, and I’ve treated the trust you placed in The Sunday Paper as sacred, something that must be earned anew each and every week. Please know that I’ve always striven to live up to that trust, to do better, to do more, to give you a newspaper that not only informs and entertains you, but is worthy of your time. It has been my absolute honor and privilege to serve you.

Don’t shed any tears for me. I’ve had a fantastic, life-changing run the last six and a half years, the last three and a half as Editor in Chief. I’ve made many great friends and met many more amazing, wonderful, talented and driven people. I couldn’t be prouder of all of them, or of the work we’ve done. I have absolutely no regrets.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for the opportunity to be a part of your lives each week. It’s been a blast. SP

Kevin Forest Moreau was Editor-in-Chief of The Sunday Paper. You can reach out to him on Twitter @KFMoreau, on Facebook (Kevin Forest Moreau), at www.islandofkevinmoreau.com or via e-mail at kevin.moreau@gmail.com.

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Ch-ch-changes

Change is in the air: I woke up this morning without anywhere to be, unemployed for the first time in almost seven years. I got up and got dressed, just as I always do, had breakfast, grabbed the morning paper, and began my new morning commute … down the basement steps to my home office.

Can you feel the winds of change? It’s a pretty unsettling feeling to find yourself unmoored from the job and routine you’ve enjoyed for so long. But it was comforting this morning to take stock of the world beyond my lonely little island and find that, indeed, constant change is here to stay.

Game changers: The highly touted meeting of the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Green Bay Packers in last night’s Super Bowl XLV promised to result in one of the most riveting contests in memory. Instead, the match-up between these two blue-collar teams with long and storied legacies produced one of the more ho-hum contests in the big game’s recent history.

Change the channel: The Super Bowl wasn’t the only institution looking a little long in the tooth last night. This year’s much-anticipated Super Bowl commercials were a disappointing bunch, to be sure. The Baby Darth Vader ad was cute enough, and Bud Light was good for a couple of chuckles at the gathering I attended, but by and large this was an evening of retreads rather than marketing innovation, as my esteemed colleague in blogging The Classless Chap predicted before the game had even started.

Change of perception: Meanwhile, in what seemed a promising step forward, for the first time since the “Wardrobe Malfunction” debacle of 2004, the halftime entertainment was provided not by an aging soul-funk superstar or classic rock forefather, but by the Black Eyed Peas, a modern music act that actually achieved its greatest success in this century. Unfortunately, the performance was a dud. The Peas’ prominent place in popular culture probably won’t take a hit, but millions of people got a crash course in the undeniable truth that slickly produced radio hits don’t translate well to the live stage, and that the ability to write a catchy pop hook will always take a back seat to the talent it takes to write and perform a great song designed to move audiences one soul at a time.

Change your tune: Earlier in the evening, Christina Aguilera decided to change the lyrics to The Star-Spangled Banner. She would have been better served changing up her act, toning down the showy vocal acrobatics that prompted oddsmakers to take bets on how long it would take her to finish the National Anthem. Aguilera’s catching a lot of flack for flubbing the words right now, but an over-reliance on the melismatic style (stretching a single syllable out over multiple notes) that too many singers of her generation confuse for talent has already made her a caricature.

The more things change, the more they stay the same: AOL has acquired the Huffington Post. Usually, when someone gets bought out, they become less powerful, but Arianna Huffington stands to become even more omnipresent as a result of the merger, as the freshly minted editor in chief of the Huffington Post Media Group, an umbrella that encompasses all of AOL’s content.

Leopards don’t change their spots: While Huffington expands her power base, growing into the only one-woman media brand with the potential to unseat Oprah Winfrey, Sarah and Bristol Palin seek to protect their own brands by registering their names as registered trademarks. (Is it just me, or does that feel more like the move of a woman looking to cash in while the cashing is good than that of a viable presidential candidate?)

Can you spare some change? Here at home in Atlanta, even more changes are afoot. The mayor is shutting down the controversial Red Dog narcotics squad. Creative Loafing Editor in Chief Mara Shalhoup has been named editor at the esteemed Chicago Reader.

The change-up: And then there’s talk that Jon Bon Jovi is interested in buying a stake in the Atlanta Falcons. I’m not sure whether Falcons owner Arthur Blank reached out and asked JBJ to “Lay Your Hands on Me,” if Jon will ultimately tell the Falcons to “Have A Nice Day” or instead pledge that “I’ll Be There for You.” Still, it’s entirely possible that the rocker could help the Birds ride to the Super Bowl in a “Blaze of Glory.” For the time being, skeptical fans should “Keep the Faith.”

Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes: What’s that? Those puns went down like “Bad Medicine”? Too bad, because “It’s My Life.” And from down here in the Island’s new Basement Command Center, I’m feeling pretty good about it at the moment, thanks for asking. The narrative of my life isn’t being mucked with the way Huckleberry Finn’s recently was; instead, a new chapter is being penned. And as a certain formative song from my high school years named for Huck’s best friend goes: “Always hopeful yet discontent, he knows changes aren’t permanent–but change is.”

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The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame gets it right

Elected: Alice Cooper

I don’t usually pay much attention to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The whole idea just seems absurd, frankly. When I was a teenager staring up at pictures of KISS, Def Leppard and Judas Priest, I never once said to myself, “One day, I’ll be a rock god in a tuxedo playing at a formal induction ceremony to a group of stuffy media types!”

I did frequently remind myself that I needed to take down those Def Leppard pictures. I was used to the scorn my dad would direct at KISS or the Priest. (I’m not sure if he ever described either as “a bunch of crumbums,” although I wouldn’t be surprised; it’s one of his favorite phrases these days.) But that photo of Leppard frontman Joe Elliott in his sleeveless Union Jack T-shirt, ripped out of an issue of the heavy metal magazine Hit Parader, invited hoots of derision from my friends, which was another matter altogether. “Is that even a dude?” my friend Styb would ask, to which I would reply “Shut up!” Yep, I sure told him.

There are plenty of arguments against the Hall of Fame. For one thing, Halls of Fame make perfect sense for sports, since the criteria for entry—athletic achievement—is something that can be objectively measured. Continue reading

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A life lesson learned over beignets

Breakfast of champions

We’re programmed to rage against the dying of the light. You can see it in the older man quietly appreciating a lithe young woman old enough to be his granddaughter because his primal coding to procreate doesn’t come with an off switch. It’s there in the fight-or-flight reflexes of our lizard brains, in our stubborn insistence that we can climb that rickety ladder, lift that heavy load, as well as we ever could.

I was reminded of that today enjoying beignets and café au lait with my dad.

Eden and I are in New Orleans to celebrate Dad’s 75th birthday tonight. It’s a daunting undertaking. Continue reading

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The case against the human body

A couple of days ago, I promised to outline my reasons for filing a class-action lawsuit against the makers of the human body.

Well, you all know what happened next. My next post was on a completely different topic. Immediately, the stock market crashed, the polar ice caps melted, the oceans boiled over and the skies turned red with the blood of angels. Dogs and cats put aside their differences and formed an uneasy alliance.

Continue reading

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Seriously, porn guy?

From the Associated Press: “An adult film actor who tested positive for HIV says he now wishes he had known more about the risks of contracting sexually transmitted diseases in the industry and is calling for mandatory condom use in porn films.”

Seriously? What century was this moron living in? He didn’t realize there was a risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases—like AIDS—through unprotected sex? It’s not like STDs are a great mystery. It’s right there in the name. They’re called sexually transmitted diseases, for crying out loud.

This is the year 2010. We’re a decade into the 21st century. We have more information at our fingertips than at any time in human history, and we can transmit that information to every corner of the globe in seconds. And we can’t get it through our thick skulls that having unprotected sex with strangers carries a potentially lethal health risk? Especially when it comes to a disease that’s been around for almost 30 years?

I’m sure the porn industry enforces regular screening and has rigorous safeguards in place to keep its cattle—er, talent—healthy. But testing isn’t always foolproof. And things happen. At the end of the day, if your job is to engage in physical congress with artificially enhanced bimbos with daddy issues, you’re placing your life at risk. Is that really still news to some people?

I mean, for real?

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‘Tis the season

For me, the span between Thanksgiving and Christmas is hands-down the most unpleasant time of the year. What burns me most isn’t the cloying Christmas music, the inedible fruitcake or even the fact that I have to kick and scratch my way to the checkout line at Walmart just so I can send someone I don’t care about an Olive Garden gift card they’ll never use.

No, what really gets my goat (or reindeer, if you will) is the ever-present specter of catching the Holiday Bug—that seasonal affliction that reduces even the hardiest of warriors into a sniffling, sneezing, congested, dizzy-headed wretch. As of this writing, two of my co-workers (the ones who sit closest to me, natch) are battling this inevitable ailment. Every morning I have to wake up to a temperature below 40 degrees, I feel that worrisome trickle in my nasal cavities and my heart starts racing, certain I’ve once again been felled by the seasonal mucus monster.

And then I get angry, because the most galling thing about this annual attack of the yucks is that it exists at all. The fact that in the 21st century man is still susceptible to this malicious malady (laughably misnamed the common cold) should be an affront to our collective sensibilities. But, like bad service at the drive-thru, rush-hour traffic, new Adam Sandler movies and the depressingly predictable holiday shootouts over the last copy of Call of Duty: Paul Blart, Mall Cop, we just accept this venomous virus as a fact of life.

I mean, shouldn’t the human body have overcome this odious illness by now? What’s worse, the cold is just one of many annoying reminders that these sacks of skin we walk around in are the most poorly designed mechanisms ever foisted on humankind. It’s enough to shake your faith in either creationism or evolution. After all these millennia, are we still just in the beta-testing phase? Surely these fumbling, energy-inefficient and environmentally forms aren’t meant to pass for the finished product?

I’m this close to filing a class-action lawsuit against the makers of the human body. In the next post, I’ll present my case.

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Now Playing: Freedy Johnston, “The Lucky One”

Ignore the fact that in this video he looks like a scary cross between Giovanni Ribisi and a serial-killer version of Jerry Seinfeld. Also, what’s up with the blindfold? Get past all that, and this is a beautiful song.

Throughout the 1990s Freedy Johnston consistently delivered strong albums of vividly illustrated story-songs. In a review of 1999′s Blue Days Black Nights I did for a newspaper in New Orleans I compared his ability to create indelibly drawn characters to Springsteen’s. In retrospect, I think Freedy in his heyday was actually better at it. “The Lucky One,” from 1992′s Can You Fly, is a perfect example, and shows how deft he was at creating moving music that underlined and enhanced the story (the spare slide guitar here really makes the song, in my opinion).

Johnston had a minor alt-rock-radio hit with “Bad Reputation” from 1994′s major-label debut This Perfect World, which is perhaps his best-known album and earned him kudos from Rolling Stone as “Songwriter of the Year.” (The superb, haunting title track from that album also appeared on the soundtrack to the movie Kingpin.) He’s well worth getting to know better.

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Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?

Fair is fair. If professional athletes are going to give credit to God when their team wins, it’s only right that they point the finger at Him when they lose.

Enter Buffalo Bills receiver Steven Johnson, who missed the game-winning catch in overtime during yesterday’s game against the Pittsburgh Steelers. After declaring himself “devastated,” Johnson took the time to log onto Twitter and file the following grievance with the Almighty:

I PRAISE YOU 24/7!!!!!! AND THIS HOW YOU DO ME!!!!! YOU EXPECT ME TO LEARN FROM THIS??? HOW???!!! ILL NEVER FORGET THIS!! EVER!!! THX THO …

I’m not sure which part is better: Johnson’s stunned sense of betrayal, his apparent belief that good things are his rightful due for praising the Lord, or the veiled threat that he’ll “never forget this!!”

You just wait until You find Yourself needing a favor from Steve Johnson, God! Then You’ll really be sorry!

Hey, Steve, a little tip: If He was really in your corner, He wouldn’t have allowed you to be drafted by the Buffalo Bills.

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