These weekly posts are intended as an episode-by-episode guide to the many psychological ailments, drunken gibberish, senseless actions, Bourbon Street mixed drinks and other embarrassments on MTV’s The Real World: New Orleans.

It contains spoilers — and who cares? You stopped watching this show several years ago — but also a lot of information that might help viewers of the series come to terms with their outrage over the cast’s cultural vandalism of New Orleans (and what was once a really lovely Uptown house), and also the bleak, black future of our society.

The emotional trauma caused by the show admittedly makes such coverage an overwhelming task, so posts may be supplemented by information culled from Wikipedia, WebMD and un-scientific polls of nearby Gambit staffers. Readers are also encouraged to submit any comments that may help us make sense of this wreckage.

When you’re living in a house occupied by feral creatures with names like “Jemmye” and, somehow, you manage to distinguish yourself as the most insane, uncivilized and flatulent one of them all, the only thing left to do is leave. So like Puck and some other people from other seasons, Ryan joins the list of Real World cast members who were called back to God before their time. Let us remember Ryan, the hairdresser with a heart of gold (and also many mental disorders).

Brother and Cousin. Just when you thought the life of Ryan couldn’t be more of a cartoon, we meet his brother and cousin — who are apparently named Brother and Cousin (this is probably because they didn’t want their names on TV, but I desperately want to believe that “Brother” and “Cousin” are their Christian names so just let me tell myself that, OK? Please let me believe that). Eric, who I guess talks now, described the three as “the Three Stooges meets All-American Rejects,” and that’s kind of perfect. Other fitting descriptions: a group of cavemen that just discovered Fall Out Boy, PacSun employees who send VHS tapes of themselves jumping off buildings to Jackass even though it doesn’t air anymore, or, just Ryan and two brown-haired versions of Ryan. When they’re around each other, they communicate only in grunts and farts.

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The tribe engages in indigenous hunting/gathering rituals.

These weekly posts are intended as an episode-by-episode guide to the many psychological ailments, drunken gibberish, senseless actions, Bourbon Street mixed drinks and other embarrassments on MTV’s The Real World: New Orleans.

It contains spoilers — and who cares? You stopped watching this show several years ago — but also a lot of information that might help viewers of the series come to terms with their outrage over the cast’s cultural vandalism of New Orleans (and what was once a really lovely Uptown house), and also the bleak, black future of our society.

The emotional trauma caused by the show admittedly makes such coverage an overwhelming task, so posts may be supplemented by information culled from Wikipedia, WebMD and un-scientific polls of nearby Gambit staffers. Readers are also encouraged to submit any comments that may help us make sense of this wreckage.

(Sorry I’m late with this one! I was busy doing important Real World-related research.)

Was it the narcotics I stole from Ashlee, or did this episode feel especially long? Wait, who am I kidding! You guys don’t even watch this anymore. Allow me to describe the horror show you missed.

The hunting/gathering rituals of the species Real World sapiens. Because the cast had neglected to earn its weekly Subway allowance (if one person attempts to escape, as Jemmye did, the whole house is punished) and they were sick of eating mosquitoes, the men of the house were left to forage for food again. They considered killing Ashlee for her meat and for her prized grey sweatshirt, the source of her strength, but it just so happened that one of the tropical fish from the house fish tank had died, so a slaughter would be unnecessary (for now). The men removed their shirts and embarked on their hunt. The women became privy to the hunting ritual and erupted into hysterics, as they are wont to do, being the more sensitive sex. The men, ravenous from a hard day’s work, coated the whole fish —skin, bones and all — in a delicious Cajun seasoning, pan-fried it and tried to distribute the meal to members of the tribe. But alas, the tribe bristled at this unfamiliar meal. Ashlee was most horrified at the sight of the offering. Little did she know it was exactly what saved her.

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Erin go barf

These weekly posts are intended as an episode-by-episode guide to the many psychological ailments, drunken gibberish, senseless actions, Bourbon Street mixed drinks and other embarrassments on MTV’s The Real World: New Orleans.

It contains spoilers — and who cares? You stopped watching this show several years ago — but also a lot of information that might help viewers of the series come to terms with their outrage over the cast’s cultural vandalism of New Orleans (and what was once a really lovely Uptown house), and also the bleak, black future of our society.

The emotional trauma caused by the show admittedly makes such coverage an overwhelming task, so posts may be supplemented by information culled from Wikipedia, WebMD and un-scientific polls of nearby Gambit staffers. Readers are also encouraged to submit any comments that may help us make sense of this wreckage.

I believe we’ve reached a pivotal juncture in the show — in which things stop being polite and start getting real. Specifically with Jemmye, who approaches a point of drunkenness somehow slouchier and naked-er than her Bourbon Street Breakdown. It’s quite embarrassing, even for a network whose main commodity is embarrassment (see also: most episodes of True Life, all episodes of Next and Parental Control). It’s time to sift through the wreckage.

Nonlinear narrative. Once upon a time there were some young people, filled with boundless optimism and creativity, who enrolled in film school to become the next David Lynch or Coen brothers or Francois Truffaut. But then the recession happened, and that low-budget remake of Metropolis didn’t really work out, so they took production jobs on reality TV shows just until they could find something else. And here they are, still working as pornographers on a television network for teenagers.

To maintain their integrity (and make their parents, who are saddled with their student debt, proud), they try to inject some artful touches on the show. They play with a nonlinear narrative, a la Christopher Nolan. The episode starts in media res with scenes of Jemmye’s drunken rampage set to dramatic film music, then a title screen says “10 hours earlier.” I hope they were proud of that.

The St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Just as Mardi Gras parade withdrawals begin to kick in, another occasion to have things thrown at us while we drink in the streets arises. I guess it’s the combination of sunlight and green food coloring that creates some sort of uniquely embarrassing state of drunkenness, and Jemmye experiences that on this episode. Add that to her latent post-traumatic stress disorder and well, Jemmye’s motor skills begin to resemble those of wilted cabbage heads on St. Charles Avenue. Allow me to describe the sequence of events:

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While we may not have Sean Penn yelling about us to the media, or Bono writing epic songs about us and singing them on top of the Superdome, and there’s no Auto-Tuned song about us sung by a truckload of annoying celebrities, we do have this: the nonprofit Air Traffic Control is releasing the Dear New Orleans benefit compilation featuring a bunch of really great artists.

I mean, some aren’t that great. Indigo Girls and Jill Sobule haven’t really done anything notable since the 90s besides appear in VH1 countdowns about, well, the 90s; Paul Sanchez conjures memories of Cowboy Mouth, and OK Go has yet to make music anywhere as good as this video. But besides that, there’s songs from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s Alec Ounsworth, Mirah and Thao Nguyen (check out a lovely duet with those two here), Bonerama, My Morning Jacket with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, and the Wrens, a band that rarely releases new music.

Air Traffic Control will release the album Aug. 24, and proceeds will go to Sweet Home New Orleans and the Gulf Restoration Network. Hit the jump for the complete track listing, via Pitchfork.

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Ambrosia. Far from an immortaility-inducing elixir of the gods, it’s a relic from the era in which “salad” was a loosely-defined term encompassing molded things made of gelatin and canned fruit. But Cat Cora makes it sing. Her version of it, which she acknowledged as that Southern dish “you only see at weddings and funerals,” gets much-needed revisions with fresh Bing cherries, grapefruit, watermelon and a honey-vanilla whipped cream topped with roasted coconut flakes. She gives a similar treatment to coleslaw — sometimes a soggy, mayonnaise-y mess resembling the “grass” you find in Easter baskets — by subbing out cabbage for julienned broccoli that stays crunchy even under a spicy vinaigrette (the secret ingredient? Tabasco sauce).

It’s this mix of Southern flavors with a modern, margarine-free consciousness that informs Cora’s new cookbook, Classics With a Twist: Fresh Takes on Favorite Dishes, which she promoted in an event at the Lakeside Mall Macy’s on Thursday. This is the third cookbook for the supremely busy chef, who splits time as a restauranteur, appearing on television, working as a spokesperson for charities and product lines and of course, battling in Kitchen Stadium on Food Network’s Iron Chef America, on which she has the distinction of being the only woman to earn the show’s coveted title.

Cora took a few minutes to talk to Gambit before signing cookbooks and whipping up the aforementioned ambrosia and broccoli slaw, as well as flank steak tacos with pineapple salsa, before an audience on the department store’s third floor.

Is this your first time in New Orleans?
No. I grew up in Jackson, Miss. and I went to college at USM, so I was in New Orleans a lot. I kinda grew up in this city. So even though I’m from Jackson, I kind of think of New Orleans as a second home, a second Southern home, because I spent so much time here.

Do you have a favorite New Orleans restaurant?
A lot of my friends have restaurants here. Donald (Link) has Cochon, and that’s great. But I also like some of the old classics — especially because I don’t get down here often — like going to Galatoire’s, Brennan’s for brunch, or whatever, and doing some of the classic places. Central Grocery for a muffaletta and cold beer, that kind of thing. A friend of mine, Scott (Boswell) owns Stella! I went to culinary school with him. I have a few newer ones I like, but I also like the old classics, as well.

Will you be dining when you’re here?
I’m only here for the night … my sons are with me, so we’re going to go down to the French Quarter and show them around, because they’ve never been here before. So, like I said, we’ll hit some of the classic places.

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