
New Orleans City Council Chamber, December 15, 2011.

New Orleans City Council Chamber, December 15, 2011.
Nola.com reveals that “navigating the city’s zoning process might be the hardest part of making liquor.”

Mark zooms around the corner of the office.
The scene: Fuzzy and Kojak are standing at the rail of notorious bar in the French Quarter. The topic of absinthe comes up, giving rise to the following spirited discussion.
FUZZY
So, chief, what is this absinthe? Is it legal? Does it make you hallucinate? Where do I get some?
KOJAK
Ahh, sporto. Absinthe is a natural thing. It’s made from natural botanicals and of course alcohol.
FUZZY
But does it make you see green fairies?
KOJAK
No! Of course not! That is absolute balderdash that was put out by tea-totaling nut cases. Generally, absinthe is a high alcohol content, anise-flavored distilled spirits product derived from certain herbs, including Artemisia absinthium, or wormwood. Wormwood contains trace quantities of the substance thujone, which is alleged to have hallucinogenic or psychotropic effects. Absinthe was popular in the late 19th century and early 20th century, particularly in France, and was often portrayed as an addictive and psychotropic beverage due to the presence of the substance thujone.
FUZZY
So does it have a lot of this evil thujone stuff in it?
KOJAK
No, that is a bunch of foolishness. Today, absinthe is thujone-free.
FUZZY
What does that mean?
KOJAK
The Feds approve the use of the term “absinthe” on the label of a distilled spirits product and in related advertisements only if the product is “thujone-free” pursuant to the Food and Drug Administration’s regulation at 21 CFR 172.510. Based upon the level of detection of FDA’s prescribed method for testing for the presence of thujone, the Federal Government considers a product to be “thujone-free” if it contains less than 10 parts per million of thujone.
FUZZY
That’s not very much, is it now?
KOJAK
Most definitely not. And should the FDA set a new standard for “thujone-free,” in accordance with 27 CFR 13.51, certificates of label approval that are not in compliance with that revised standard will be revoked by operation of regulation.
FUZZY
In other words, they will be yanked like an inflamed appendix?
KOJAK
Something like that. On top of that, any artwork or graphics on the label, advertising, and point of sale materials using the term “absinthe” may not project images of hallucinogenic, psychotropic, or mind-altering effects.
FUZZY
So, we have to drink this absinthe in moderation?
KOJAK
That is correct. Drink up, carefully!
GOVERNMENT WARNING: (1) According to the Surgeon General, women should not drink alcoholic beverages during pregnancy because of the risk of birth defects. (2) Consumption of alcoholic beverages impairs your ability to drive a car or operate machinery, and may cause health problems.
Henri stood at the shore of Lake Pontchartrain with a stout deep-sea rod in his hands. The reel was letting out 6 pound line at a steady clip.
Offshore, a cormorant circled back and forth over the water. Then the bird plunged. Splashing in and out, the cormorant emerged with a large fish in his beak.
“Merci, chien sauvage,” Henri murmured to himself, as he reversed the reel and wound in the line. Pulled by an invisible hand, the bird flapped spastically as he winged to the shore. With a baleful glance at Henri, the great feathered fisherman was landed on the cement barricade of the lake.
Henri reached down and took the fish from the bird’s beak. He tossed the fish in a nearby cooler, then picked up his bird of prey, roosting it on a large leather gauntlet that covered his left hand and wrist. The cormorant flapped back at Henri a bit, but calmed down as Henri flicked excess water droplets from his wings.
He inspected the surgical tubing attached the bird’s leg, and the connection to his fishing line. Everything was in order and the bird pulsed in satisfaction.
“Now go get one for yourself,” Henri whispered, and released the bird.
Les moyens de production d’absinthe sont pleines de la paperasserie. The ways of absinthe production are fraught with red tape.
I just broke a nail typing this story and it was all the fault of the Supermodel.
I was downtown, riding my Vespa, when who should I see but Henri. There he was, standing on the sidewalk, gaping at a woman painted entirely in silver who was posing in the street.
A bored photographer circled the Supermodel, snapping her every grimace and gesture, as she pranced on his command. The supermodel sashayed her hair and mouthed off.
“Break time, Jackson. Your ideas are so bizaare. Where will you shoot me next, under the Broad Street overpass? How about on the tracks that run along Earhart. Make it exciting.”
“Exciting?” Jackson looked up from the microscopic screen of his digital camera.
“Oh, you know, stand beside the railroad track as the Amtrak Superliner comes passing back and forth. Those nutty train engineers in New Orleans can’t figure out if they’re coming or going.”
“Here we go,” Jackson cried, as he scooped the Supermodel into his minivan and headed to the next shooting location.
Meanwhile, Henri paced on towards the Permits room. I snuck up close to eavesdrop as he talked to himself. Maybe he was going to the Health Department? Then he started muttering about the Fire Marshal. Finally he checked his wallet and asked a cop where the Revenue room was situated.
He got out of sight and I didn’t hear the rest.
Skylark and Currency of Tears were out late carousing one night at one of the hundreds of Irish pubs in the area. “Look, the streetcar” shouted Skylark, as he fumbled in his pocket for five quarters. “Damn, not enough, brah. Stop here for a minute.”
At the stop a short figure bounded down from the red electrain. He had to cross the street right in front of them. He walked slowly through the light traffic and scowled the carousers as he grunted his way past them.
His phone rang and he pressed the flat chunk of it to his ear. Immediately, a torrent of works poured out at maximum volume. “Henri, henri hear, you scoundrel. You scallywag, you scampering snagglepuss…”
Henri endured this onslaught, and kept walking, finally shutting off the sound somewhere further down the street.