It's a neighborly day in this beautywood. Wood you be my neighbor?

Having a giant "FREAKS WELCOME" tattoo on my forehead has guaranteed that I will meet (and sometimes marry) all of the sociopaths, recently released mental institution patients, social abortions and garden variety freak-a-zoids in a 100 mile radius. Of course this puts a huge burden on my social life because each special personality has their own unique needs such as hourly meds, rides to the electroshock clinic or just a friend to drool on who will listen without casting stones. Living in New Orleans, which happens to be a Freak Mecca (which is the reason the 3 wise voices in my head told me to follow yon star with my camel caravan to the Garden District) brought many blithe spirits into my life and some even into my home. There was the Tourret's Syndrome Skinny Santa (a good information tidbit to store away if one ever parties with a turret's santa: mixing tourret's meds and alcohol will cause severe lockjaw), the bisexual bipolar artist in angst known only as Mamie (I spent over 12 hours with her at Big Charity hospital as she was treated for lockjaw) and the coffee swilling, cigarette rolling trust fund baby who had a touch of Reduplicative Paramnesia (we could fritter away the days going between the real New Orleans and his New Orleans that was located in his butler's pantry) After finishing college I knew I was due a change - I needed to expand my social circle to include the sane yet still interesting citizens of the Big Easy.

My meeting Andrew Wood was like having a succulent whiff of Jean-Louis Fargeon scented demimonde accouter enter my life. We met working at Bauerlein a slick glossy advertising agency during the reign of 30something on network TV. The ad agency was just bursting at the seams with 30something wannabes and me. These co-workers were not the lively creative psyches that I was hoping to attract. These were people trying to mimic their real life after a TV show I had never even viewed. As a result of my disillusion, I spent a lot of time holed up in my windowless "office"* with Scotchguard spray mount as my only companion. Then on one fabulous day Mr. Wood was my office neighbor.

Being an amateur stalker at heart, I watched Andrew Wood closely. How I admired his deftly mischievous rapport with the other creatives, his seamless use of rubber cement and above all his intellectual artistic talent. How could I, a homespun redneck from the shores of small town Mississippi ever hope to be friends with such a wonderful creature? We finally met when Andrew took pity on me and told me I was indulging in dangerous spray adhesive practices. He could sense I needed a mentor and a friend who was not criminally ill. That day amongst the sticky glue molecules and toxic fumes wafting through my "office" forever changed my artistic soul.

Walking into Andrew's life is a bit like finding yourself in Mr. Rogers make-believe land. His friends included a midget sophisticate, the radical fairies and a bevy of intellects and designers. His home off the street car line on Carondelet Street was a mystical outpost filled with objects d'art, flea market funk and the aroma of creative freedom. The madcap fun was non-stop whether we were craving an Elvis bust from spam or mailing bologna to pen pals in Brazil and Eartha Kitty was always on paw to act as a feline muse along with our cocktails du jour. Everyone at Chez Wood was having a neighborly day in the beautywood.

Though we have both moved on from our New Orleans days, I still relish the time that I get to spend with Andrew. He has shared with me the Atlanta that is soulful and crusty, who else but Mr. Wood would take me to the Martin Luther Shrine District Sweet Auburn Fest to sip loaded daiquiris bought from a street vendors while we watched young African American girls dance Afro-centric routines followed by a visit to Margret Mitchell's grave site. He always has the time to stop and shoot a round of goofy golf or eat a rainbow snow cone. It's always a beautiful day in his neighborhood. Oh, Wood you be my neighbor....


I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you,
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.

So let's make the most of this beautiful day,
Since we're together, we might as well say,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?

Won't you please,
Won't you please,
Please won't you be my neighbor?



* my "office" was also the maintenance closet housing mops, sweepers and cleaning chemicals