Villere Realty Blog

I have seen the future.  And it is laced with cold Abita, mint juleps and sazeracs as one stumbles down a reborn Freret corridor.  Okay, maybe not so stereotypical on the regional alternative beverages, but you get the idea.

This year will witness a third Freret bar open its doors, this one located on the corner of Upperline and Freret.  Rumor has it, it is called Cure, The Cure, or Cur – or some variation therein.  Taking over the old formerly white brick two story building that once advertised legal and/or notary services.  I think originally it may’ve been home to a fire dept, but I’ll have to confirm that.

Once this 3rd bar opens, Freret will offer a trinity of watering holes, the others being The Box Office and Friar Tuck’s.  Somehow I think each bar will be just fine insofar as catering to its certain clientele.  In other words, I don’t know that the frat and soro set will be taking in an evening at The Comedy Conservatory next to The Box Office; conversely, I don’t see the patrons of the latter lining up for Red Headed Slut shots at Friar Tuck’s either.  But I’ve been wrong before.

My point is another viable business will soon open its doors to what many would argue is ‘the’ corridor to watch and partake in.  The annual Freret Fest and now year old Freret Market among other ongoing interests certainly complement these positive elements.  And that one may decide to indeed initiate a Freret barhop this Fall is frankly delightful.

Viva rebirth!  Viva local, new businesses!  Viva Freret!

So, I’m a new broker.  No secret there.  But this week I welcomed my 2nd agent to the fold.  And I must say I am pretty excited.  Which is why I became my own broker – to build a new real estate business in post Katrina land.

Starting out this year it was never my goal to have ‘two agents by mid July.’  Just like the origin of a business deal, I try to manage my growth organically with respect to you never know where it may come from.

So let’s talk organic.  Two years ago I answered a ‘free post’ on craigslist.  Some one, turns out my neighbor around the corner that I didn’t know, was clearing her rear yard of gravel.  I needed gravel for a project I was working on.  Upon responding to the ad - and in the hot summer heat - I slowly shoveled truckload after truckload of gravel.  Shannon was the owner.  We traded ’storm stories,’ I thanked her, and we parted ways.  Shannon has since acquired her agent license and at the beginning of the summer became Villere Realty’s premiere agent.  If I hadn’t needed gravel . . .

And now Emily.  Emily and I have known each other for quite some time.  I first met Emily when I was 18 and serving coffee at PJ’s on Maple St.  Some times I feel as if all roads lead to craigslist – and the PJ’s on Maple St – at least in the years I worked there.  Over time Emily and I have kept tabs on each other, mostly through my having waited on her at the various cafes that were my employer.  Like Shannon, Emily just acquired her license too, and well, here we are.

The takeaway then is my little brokerage has two new agents; should I expect other nubile interests?  Possibly.  Should I expect a well seasoned, top producer from a larger firm to come on board?  I don’t know.  There’s nothing on the radar, but when has that ever been a definitive bead of where a business goes?

Again, it’s no secret I’m new.  But new doesn’t necessarily translate to naive.  I – and I think Shannon and Emily would agree too – prefer new conveying a sense of the entrepreneurial.  What I lack in experience I make up for in adaptability and interest.  Insomnia helps too ~

It’s high time for une revolution, n’est-ce pas? 

Obama promises hope, change.  McCain sticks to the good ol’ boy schtick.  Jindal backtracks to appease the headhunters.  And Nagin?  Well, Nagin abides.  Not unlike The Dude in ‘The Big Lebowski.’  And while cute and not necessarily undeserving of its own annual festival which, yes, ends today.  Abiding doesn’t rebuild cities, does it?  So, WTF?

Bastille Day celebrates an uprising.  New Orleans is being rebuilt despite all levels of government failure and inadequacies, a quiet but gaining momentum uprising of a sort. 

So I invite you, nay challenge you, to celebrate our own uprising!  “How?” you ask?  You’re still displaced in Seattle?  Boston?  Telequah?  Wherever, however, get involved.  Send an email.  Gut a house.  Donate blood.  Preferably, if you’re here, email your city council person about whatever.  Not interested in putting your two cents out there?  Okay, dine at a local restaurant.  Ride the streetcar.  Grab some chalk and draw a fleur de lis on the sidewalk.

Make July 14th a Neo-Bastille Day, as it were.  Rebuild America’s Seductress.  Not everyone’s first choice in ‘things to do today,’ but despite all the poilitcal shenanigans, tomfoolery and hoo-ha, it is happening.

Tulane University boasts it’s largest incoming freshmen class this year ever.  E-v-e-r.  More restaurants are open than before the storm.  Jim Carrey (“I Love You Phillip Morris”) just wrapped shooting a movie here.  And our mayor is going to Panama to complete his world vacation tour (this year China, South Africa were added to his passport), I mean, he’s going to Panama to further sell New Orleans in reference to the impending widening of the Canal – - – really!?  We need to be further sold!?  Like we’re some upstart or IPO.

In the overused words of John Stossel: “Give me a break!”  Even Nell Carter (RIP) knows our lameduck mayor is milking the perks.  But our city moves forward despite the neglect and suggested reimbursements of overstated personal dinings and such.  See: Ray and Seletha’s Lilette anniversary getaway, once a taxpayer’s burden, since rectified as theirs to cover.  But why?  Why can’t Hizzoner know better?  Doesn’t reimbursement spell error?       

Viva la revolution!  Stop putting up with it all.  Acknowledge the opportunity to expose the ridiculous.  Complain.  Bitch.  Raise your voice.  In lieu of the aforementioned at least enjoy a plate of red beans or an oyster po-boy this Bastille Day – a sazerac or mint julep or two couldn’t hurt either.  You love New Orleans, show her how.  In revolt or a toast ~