The Monkey Speaks His Mind

Winter Ride—Chapter 4 and Epilogue

2012-02-12T07:37:00.001-08:00

I finally made it home around 5:30 after 8-and-a-half hours of “officially” being on the road. I spent the first hour-and-a-half searching for the Lubbock Harley, buying hand warmers, trying to find my way out of Lubbock, getting lost twice, and then finally getting back on HWY 84 heading to my first gas stop—Sweetwater, Texas. It was a helluva way to start the ride, given that all I was doing was wasting time and getting colder by the second.

Cold! Cold, cold, COLD! That’s the only way I can describe the first two hours of my trip back home. It was 23-degrees once I got on the road with a wind-chill of 7-degrees. Every part of my body was well protected except my hands and to a certain extent my face. Besides the helmet, I was wearing two nylon masks and my American Legion Riders knit cap. This had worked fine for all the miles previous, but as the temps got down to the 20’s it was apparent the wind was going to find every area that was not covered up. Face would survive the cold. Hands were the biggest problem for the first two hours.

Once the hands get cold, the ride is over. You must find a place to stop to warm them up. Unfortunately, the distance between stops on this trip seemed like 60 miles. The hand warmer packets I had wasted the first one-and-a-half hours of the trip on were useless. At times, I felt that my fingertips were going to fall off. At other times, I didn’t feel any cold on my hands at all (which seems to be a “bad” thing to me). Ironically, my hands got used to the cold. After the first hour on the road, and accidentally passing the first viable roadside stop in Snyder to warm up the hands, I felt “comfortable” enough to carry on to Sweetwater.

Did I also say it was windy? Between Lubbock and Sweetwater are literally thousands of windmills—part of the Texas green electricity project. On my way to Albuquerque these windmills were stationary except for the occasional one slowly turning. Coming home, all of these windmills were turning, and they were turning fast. I would look down at my road temperature gauge and see that it was below the 20-degree notch. Windy and Cold—wonderful!

I didn’t notice “many” bikes on the road this morning. In Lubbock, there were a few gathered at a restaurant and I speculated that they had gotten on their bikes, met up at the restaurant for a ride, and decided the better thing to do was get breakfast and then go back home. I did see two separate riders on BMW’s that looked as hugely weather protected as I was. We gave each other a high hand “thumbs up” (as opposed to the “peace sign” low wave) as we passed each other. Yes, we were the only motorcycle idiots on the road today. I sure hope they had places to go rather than just being out on a leisurely ride, but they were after all Beemer Riders and those folks can be down-right turned on by riding in inclement weather.

I gassed up in Sweetwater and parked the bike. I knew I was going to spend lots of time here to warm my hands up. My usual method to warm my hands up quickly is to go in the bathroom and turn on the hand dryer. Sure enough, the one in Sweetwater didn’t work. So I just meandered around the Travel Center store and did my best to warm them up on my own.

Truckers were coming up to me to say hello and that they had seen me on the road. That was really nice. The ones who own bikes were also reminiscing about their occasional rides either in distance or in cold conditions. Ones who knew the route I had taken to Albuquerque reminisced about that long stretch of highway between Fort Sumner and Santa Rosa and how great it felt to be on the open road like that. I had made a number of new friends at this Travel Center stop—all because they saw me on the road. That was very nice indeed.

I checked the temperature in Sweetwater and it was now 27 degrees. Wow, it had warmed up a whole 4 degrees in two hours. The temperature in Abilene, my next destination, was 27 degrees. But the temperature in Brownwood was now 33 degrees—at least I was riding towards warmer weather.

Perhaps I didn’t really notice it on the trip up to Albuquerque but the stretch of HWY 84 between Abilene and Coleman also has some incredible open road stretches. I am not prone to challenging the Texas roads too often as I am pretty aware of the Texas State Troopers and their radar guns and speed traps. But the temptation was too much, and perhaps I thought I could make up some time, so I found myself going a few miles over the speed limit on that road. I finally reached the 100mph level more than a few times over that stretch of road, and probably did a one-mile stretch at 100mph. I was very happy with the performance of my bike (who I have now named “Road Warrior”) as she pretty much perked up every time I accelerated from 80 to 100mph.

By the time I reached Brownwood, the temperature had warmed up to the 42 degrees. Summer-like conditions for me! I had been on the road for at least four hours, and had spent almost one-hour in two gas stations working to get my hands warm. Home was only two hours away, the temperatures were moderate, and I felt I had beat back Mother Nature on this trip. I was only one step ahead of her as I see this morning it’s snowing in Lubbock. But Mother Nature did kick my ass quite a bit on this last day, and all we can do as riders is compete with her knowing we can never beat her. When she beats us, we are in trouble.

Epilogue
I wouldn’t say that this trip marks one item checked off my bucket list. I really enjoy long rides on my bike and anticipate I’ll be making at least two more trips this year—one to Colorado Springs in June and one to New Orleans in August. What I can say is that I learned what not to do on long rides, how to be better prepared, and how my initial preparation helped me through 80% of my trip.

Things I learned from this trip:
1. I can ride in extreme cold weather for a short period of time. I ride my bike every single day unless its raining or below 35-degrees. I now have confidence that I can throw the temperature restriction out the door. I CAN ride to work even if the temps are below freezing. The only thing that will stop me from doing this is ice on the road.
2. Hand warmers are useless. I needed electric gloves or some glove insulation that would keep the cold off my hands.
3. I can never do an Iron-Butt. My maximum ride is probably 12 hours, weather permitting.
4. There are lots of beautiful places to see in this country. There is no better place to see them than on the seat of a bike.
5. There IS a fraternal order between bike riders and truck drivers.
6. I have a loving wife who more than tolerates my eccentricities!

This has been a great trip. I’m glad I was able to share a piece of it with all of you.

Now, when’s the next ride?

Winter Ride—Chapter 3

2012-02-11T05:02:00.001-08:00

There is a 45 mile stretch of road between Santa Rosa, New Mexico and Fort Sumner on HWY 84 that is a MUST RIDE for any motorcyclist. It is pure joy. There are few cars, no police to speak of, and the road is wide open for anything you want to do. You can see for miles ahead of you so you know when to throttle down on the bike. This is my second pass through this area as I head home, and I finally did get the bike up to 100mph! I had a few moments like that, and I averaged over 80mph the whole way. I also discovered that the Harley cruise control DOES turn off once you reach 85mph, I guess to prevent a rider from doing exactly what I wanted to do—cruise at a speed above 85. So, I left it set at 80 and enjoyed the ride.

My 8am paper presentation was a success. Of course, 8am conference sessions are rarely visited, so I was happy to see my friend Allen and one other listener in the audience. The first paper was by Ms. Bernadette Murphy who is a professor of creative writing at Antioch College in LA. Her paper focused on two chapters in her new book about her riding experience. She is an excellent writer her paper emphasized the things riding does to her identity that I have also discovered in my interviews with women riders. She had recently lost her 2010 Sportster “Izzy” to a crash in the LA mountains between The Valley and Hollywood (her son wrecked it but was not significantly injured) and was lamenting the loss of her beloved bike. I could tell she was really attached to it, as many of us become as we learn to be one with our bikes.

My paper focused on the interviews I’ve completed to date on women riders. The one thing I have taken away from this research is how much the women become attached to their bikes. This is beyond just the love for a commodity—it is a love affair with something she knows how to control. It is like a relationship one might have with a riding horse you’ve had for years. You know that every time you mount her, she will be loyal, efficient, and take you to wonderful places. It is a reciprocal relationship, as with a good horse, in that your end of the deal is to love her and take care of her because she is a part of who you are. These women feel the same way about their bikes.

The final paper was presented by Dr. Paul Nagy, and English professor at Clovis Community College. He had ridden his bike to the conference as well. He knows that stretch of HWY 84 very well. His paper focused on Thomas Jefferson’s philosophy and the act of motorcycle riding. Two Jeffersonian thoughts motivate the rider: first, we must know nature and have a love and respect for it. As riders, we know climate, terrain, and seasons. To fully grasp the riding experience, we must never underestimate nature. The second thought is Jefferson’s ethos of individualism. Riders, through the act of riding, are rebelling against everyday bondage. The bike becomes a tool of cultural resistance. The difference between people who want to own a bike and people who ride is like the difference between wanting freedom and being truly free—the gap is huge.

As the session ended, I used my “Jeffersonian” sense of nature to get back to the hotel and pack. I needed to leave the conference early because of the forecast rain for Central Texas on Sunday. I don’t have a problem riding in the rain. I do have a problem riding in the rain for over 3 hours. So once packed, I headed back home around 12:30. It would take me 6 hours to make it to Lubbock, and I am convinced now that the ride from Albuquerque to Lubbock was the best part of the trip. The wide open road! A true rush on many levels.

It is now 7:00am and I’m about to decide whether I leave in an hour or wait until it “warms up”. It currently is 21-degrees outside (“feels like 7-degrees”!!!) and the temps in Sweetwater look the same. But if I leave by 8, I can take my time and get back into Central Texas where the temps are supposed to be a whopping 47-degrees. But that meets my “40-degree rule” and the sooner I hit that zone, the better the ride will be.

This trip is best characterized as a wrestling match between the bike, myself, and the weather. In December while traveling in Tennessee, Susan and I noticed there were not bikes on the Interstate due to the extremely cold temperatures. When we did see that lone rider, we felt for him. He was either crazy or on the road due to some necessity. Today, I am that rider, and I must say I am crazy. But it's been worth the ride!

Winter Ride—Chapter 2

2012-02-10T05:50:00.001-08:00

What I continue to be amazed with on this ride is the wide open road. I have probably logged less than 150 miles on the Interstate—the rest have been on roads. There are stretches on the road where you can literally see for miles. And, with no cops in sight (I’ve only seen 6 on this trip so far) you can really let the throttle out. I haven’t hit 100mph yet, but I’ve come pretty close. And the feeling of just letting it all go is incredible.

I got ready to head out yesterday to some rain. I knew it was coming, but as I watched to the weather coverage I could see that it wouldn’t last long. I just needed to wait for the rain to pass and then I could get on my way. Temperatures were still cold, but it seems I’ve gotten used to the cold. “40-degree” rule is what I call it—if it’s over 40 degrees, I’m not going to get too cold for the ride.

I headed out first to pay my respects to Billy the Kid. Fort Sumner is just a little dot on the map, and I’ve seen places in Central Texas with more personality, but they really hype up the fact that Billy the Kid was shot and buried there. I guess it’s like Hico in that way. The gravesite is 9 miles away from town and is behind the Billy the Kid museum (there are two in Fort Sumner—look up why on Google). The graveyard is small, with some other people buried there. But Billy’s grave is now protected with an iron fence so that the headstone won’t be stolen—its been stolen a few times, as one would suspect. I would have spent a bit more time taking careful pictures there, but I needed to get on the road.

Now, the road riding was incredible. But once on I-40 heading to Albuquerque, the scenery turned majestic. As you finally get through all the flatlands, you begin to see the mountain range surrounding Albuquerque emerge. I haven’t seen mountains like that since California. There was a trace of snow on the mountains, and quite a few shacks, mansions, brush, and small trees. I felt like I was riding my bike through the stretch between San Francisco and Marin County—and I haven’t done that ride on a bike since 1984. Beautiful, breathtaking, incredible. I will pass through there again later today.

I must say, once I settled in to my room in Albuquerque and did some exploring, I was unimpressed. The city itself looks like its either on the edge of recovery or deterioration. The burbs are where all the people live, and the downtown reminds me of a very slow Mobile, Alabama. I would have to say that Mobile has a better nightlife and live music scene. I was greatly disappointed.

The one thing I did get to do was go to the local Harley dealer for their “Mens Night Out”. They were serving free food, free beer, and had a free raffle for gift cards and other things. Their HOG chapter is huge, but you would expect that in a city this large. The Chapter President told me they go on rides every month, even in the cold, and they just had a ride with over 80 bikes! Now that is impressive. I had the chance to finally pick up my winter booties there so the ride home won’t feel so cold on my feet. I had a wonderful time at this event and wished we had things like this more often in Central Texas.

Well, I’ll be presenting a paper this morning on “Why Women Ride Motorcycles”. I’m in the process of collecting interviews with women riders, and the stories have been fascinating and wonderful. But as I look at the weather, I know I’ve got to begin my ride back home this afternoon to avoid the rain on Sunday. I’ll be heading out to Lubbock this afternoon. A nice 330 mile ride—just a ride around the block! It’s all good!

Winter Ride—Chapter 1

2012-02-09T05:46:00.000-08:00

I left Harker Heights around 8am and budgeted to make stops every 120 miles or every 2 hours. I have found that when I go on long rides, the 2 hour mark is a good time to stop, stretch and recover. I was dressed in layers, with three pairs of long underwear (tops and bottoms), blue jeans, winter sweat jacket, leather jacket, two pairs of wool/nylon socks, and my outer rain gear. The rain gear helps keep your body heat and I am very happy with its performance today.

I “believe” the temperature as I left Harker Heights was in the 40’s. It was cloudy, though, and this probably brought the temps down a bit. As I got my first gas in Brownwood, I noticed that temps had dropped to the mid-30’s. My external temperature gauge on the Harley hadn’t moved past the mid-20’s, so this seemed to make sense.

I didn’t realize I was cold until I stopped….

The areas that seemed most affected were my hands and my feet. The air was just going through my boots. I could feel it go through my boot zipper and through my soles. I continue to be surprised at how little my winter gloves really protect my hands at really cold temps, even with a fairing helping guard them from the cold. I’ve got to get some better gloves.

All in all, the first 120 miles went well. Not too cold, beautiful country, and my first time going through certain places I’ve wanted to visit for years (Zephyr comes to mind). The second 160 miles, though, was a bit more uncomfortable. I had “added” my glove liners into the mix, and they were completely useless. By the time I got to Sweetwater, I was looking for a motorcycle shop to buy some boot covers and hand warmers. Amazingly, the sun came out and things began to warm up “considerably” (into the low-50s).

My original goal was Lubbock, but when I got there it was only 3:30 and it looked like I had plenty of sunlight left. New Mexico was only one hour away, and I knew the closer I got to Albuquerque today, the less of a ride I would have on Thursday. I decided to ride on and made it to Fort Sumner, home of Billy The Kid’s burial site (and not much else).

I now realize that riding with average outside temps in the mid-40s doesn’t bother me. Temps in the 50s are actually pretty wonderful. But riding in truly cold weather can be trying. It didn’t stop me from riding on, but I did question my sanity for a few hours.

Today, I’ll go visit Billy The Kid. This will be the first stop in my “Outlaw Tour” I’ve wanted to do for some time. Later this year, I’ll go visit Bonnie and Clyde, both buried in Dallas (though in separate cemetaries). I’m watching the weather and I must get out of here by 9am if I’m going to beat the rain forecast for today. Luckily, I’m looking at a line of showers. The problem is going to be riding in any weather with cold boots….

A Winter’s Ride

2012-02-08T03:26:00.000-08:00

What better way to start the riding year off than a 680 mile ride to Albuquerque—in the winter—with road temps averaging in the mid-40s.

I'm heading to a conference to present a paper on Women Motorcycle Riders, and I can think of no better way to travel up there than on a bike.

Of course, it is going to be a cold ride....

Now I do know there are a few people who I’ve told about this ride who think I am completely crazy. I can’t say that Susan is too happy about my taking the trip either. But I dove head first into the planning for this ride a few weeks ago, and I’ve prepared myself the best I can to keep warm on this trip.

Or at least I think I am fully prepared. I’ll know more after my first stop today somewhere between Lubbock and Clovis, NM….

I’ll be wearing double-layers of everything—long underwear, t-shirts, socks, 1 sweatshirt, 1 leather jacket, and full rain-gear to keep the warmth in my body. I’ve got a balaclava, and may put my mask on top of that. I’ve got insulators for my gloves. I’ve got a full tank of gas. I’m mentally prepared for this trip.

My plan is to ride as far as I can today. My goal is Lubbock, Texas. But if I still feel good, I’ll stretch out and stay on the road for another two hours to Clovis, New Mexico.

What I’m looking forward to are the sights and the sounds of the road. I imagine I’m going to be the only bike on the road out there, but if I meet anyone else, I’m sure we’ll have some good conversations.

Flickr pictures to follow daily.

A Few Days Without the Bike....

2011-10-13T22:45:00.001-07:00

Well, my bike went in the shop this week....

It wouldn't start, and after I thought it was the starter or the starter switch, it turned out to be "just" the negative battery cable. It was cut in half, though I don't know how, and this cut off all the electricity to the battery.

A $13 part, and it takes about a week to get it ordered from Harley to replace....

As I know too well, if I had known that was all it was, I could have put a wire there and it would have started just fine.

As it is, I've been without the bike for the week. I feel like I've lost my right hand....

I am sure I am the only person on the Humid list who writes about bikes. But for those of us who ride every day, losing your bike to any event can be pretty detrimental to one's mentality.

Over time, I have come to take for granted what its like to ride the bike on a daily basis. Through the coldest of weather, and through some rainy days and times when I know I shouldn't ride, I get on the bike nearly every day to ride somewhere. And right now, I feel pretty empty.

There is something to be said about feeling the "freedom" that comes with riding a bike. Especially during this wonderful Autumn days. The briskness of the cool mornings. The beautiful afternoons just to ride around for an hour during lunch. The wonderful ride home when it isn't scorching hot. And right now I have to drive a "cage" all day long. This is not a good feeling at all.

I am hoping to get the bike back before the weekend. I've got plans to ride all day Saturday to various events sponsored by various groups. There's Boozefighter's to see, BACA fundraiser's to go to, and hills to climb.

I can only hope that the bike is ready by Friday so that I can catch up on some miles on the road. Otherwise, I might just go crazy.

Such is the life. It's all good :)

The Motorcycle Accident

2011-08-05T07:18:00.000-07:00

OK, so here's what happened....

It was a bit after 9am and I begin my journey to work. I ride my Harley to work every day, as long as it isn't raining or isn't below 36-degrees outside. These recent years in Central Texas, that pretty much means every day!

Now, I've been riding for over two years. My bike of preference is a Harley Davidson. I own two—the 2004 Sportster that I literally ride every day to work, and the 2007 Fatboy which takes me on my long journeys on the weekends. Two years ago was not my first time on a bike. I began riding shortly after I turned 21. My first bike was a Suzuki GN400—a pretty big one-cylinder engine that had lots of front end pep but petered out at speeds above 70 mph. I used to ride that bike more recreationally than anything else, but I did have some adventures with it riding from Davis to San Francisco.

During one of my rides to San Francisco, I was coming up Van Ness just leaving the Ghiradelli Square area and turned right on to Bay Street. Between Bay and Franklin, some asshole in a VW pulled right out in front of me. He did not hit me, but I had no choice but to swerve hard to the left and I laid it down. Luckily, there were no cars in the left lane as I made the swerve. All the cars stopped around me, but the VW kept going. When I picked up the bike, I noticed a few damaged parts. My left leg was scratched up, my jeans torn, my helmet scraped. But I also knew I had to get home that night. So, I picked everything up, dusted myself off, and headed home via the Golden Gate Bridge. Needless to say, riding a scraped up bike with shaky knees and still in a bit of shock was something else. But I got back on the bike—and I would learn that this is the key to getting over a bike wreck if you're ever going to ride again.

So, move 30 years forward to yesterday....

About one block away from my house, I see a garbage truck parked on the left side of the road. This is normal on garbage day—it's parked somewhere as the garbage men are throwing the garbage in the back of the truck. Knowing there are garbagemen in the area, I slow down as I head near the truck. This singular fact is one reason that I'm not so hurt today.

Things now go very fast....

As I begin to pass the garbage truck—basically parallel with the driver's door—I see a garbage can fly out from the left to the right (right into my driving path). It's right there in front of me. With miliseconds to react, I ride through the garbage can. I feel my bike wobble about three times as I try to get it back stable—left, right, then left. On the right wobble, I go down.

I can see the whole event right now in my mind in technacolor. Except in my mind it seems like it was at night, though in reality it was during the early morning and the sun is up.

I feel myself and the bike go down, and as everything stops, I hear voices around me. I know I'm in a bit of shock because I know I'm down but everything seems a bit surreal. I'm thinking “wow, I've just had a bike accident.” The bike has pinned my right leg as it lies flat against it. I look up, I see the bike, and I begin to see three people coming to my aid. One of them is the garbage man who threw the garbage can. The other two are the driver of the garbage truck and a resident in the neighborhood who saw the whole thing because he was standing outside his house.

It's funny how people come to your aid in a bike accident. They first come to see if you're ok. Now this is “ok,” but my leg is pinned on top of my leg. I yell out “Can you take the bike off my leg?” With this, the three men lift the bike off of my leg. It's at this time that I begin rolling around the blacktop and start laughing....

For being such a careful motorcyclist, I never imagined or would have anticipated a garbage can flying across the street from behind a garbage truck....

I finally settle down and begin to view the damage. I notice my left jean leg is opened wide up. My knee is cut, and there are lacerations on my left calf. Not bad, I think to myself. I am surprised, but I wasn't going that fast. I notice blood coming from my elbow, though. I can't really see how bad that is. The neighbor who witnessed the accident tells me that it looks pretty deep. I take his word for it. The garbage man who threw the can is all shook up (more than me) and saying “Oh God, I know I'm gonna lose my job.”

I look at my bike, now parked on its kickstand. The right side isn't too messed up, but I love this bike. The damage to the bike really hurts me more than my own body damage. Brake cable is broken, the brake pedal has been driven into my engine casing, my pipes are pretty scratched up, and my windshield is damaged and scraped. The brake pedal and my right leg pretty much saved the bike. As I looked at the “scene” this morning on my walk, I noticed the deep gashes the bike made in the asphalt as it went down. I will say one thing—Harley makes a pretty strong bike. Nothing broke off, and though much is damaged and will need replacing, the bike saved further damage to my leg and arm.

The rest of the morning is filled with police and EMT sirens, police interviews among all the witnesses, EMT care in the ambulance (they did not take me to the emergency room by my choice), and a few calls to the insurance companies. Once I get the police report number, and after I get my claim number from my insurance company, I am pretty much ready to head back home. I've called Susan and told her that I was in an accident, but that was so long ago that she thinks I must be ok, the incident was minor, and I've gone to work.

The neighbor who witnessed the accident is going to follow me home to make sure I make it. I successfully start the Harley up, turn it around, and head back home. I have no rear brake, it feels weird to ride without the right front peg (it has been significantly bent up), but it rides fine and I get it home and in to the garage. I walk into the house and once Susan sees me she gets this scared look on her face. “Oh My God! I didn't think you were hurt!” She sees my leg and elbow, and we head into the bathroom for care beyond what the EMT's were able to provide. Once patched up by Nurse Susan, I begin what seems like already a way-too-long process of communication with Waste Management's insurance company.

I have since secured the service of an attorney, and I visited my doctor (not the ER) to get a better idea of how hurt I am. Again, nothing major, and the soreness in my shoulder, neck and knee will be with me for a few more days. I can handle that. My elbow still doesn't look “right” so I probably will go back to the doctor on Monday to see what else needs to be done with it.

I survived this accident. But certain things were reinforced by this event. First, never ride without a helmet. Yes, I've done it before, and yes I rationalize that I'll be OK because I'm a safe rider. But you can't anticipate some of the stupid things that happen around you, and if I wasn't wearing a helmet I would have taken a gash to the forehead above the right eye (as evidenced by the damage to my helmet in that area). Second, never ride without good pants. If I had leathers on, I probably wouldn't have had any damage to my leg. Third, ride with gloves. My right glove took some damage, and I can only imagine what my hand would look like if they weren't on. Hamburger palms comes to mind.... Finally, long sleeves would have helped protect the arms. My arms were uncovered since I had my long-sleeve denim shirt rolled up, and my elbow was unprotected from the fall.

All in all, I was lucky. I wasn't going too fast and still got hurt. Going faster, reacting in a different way, falling closer to the concrete sidewalk—all of this could have made the situation worse. I did the only thing I felt “comfortable doing”--ride through the garbage can. I guess I would do the same next time if it was an animal, human, or something else smaller than my bike. Otherwise, I'll swerve if I have time enough to think.

It's all good :)

The New Google+

2011-07-11T12:02:00.001-07:00

I have successfully secured a Google+ account and am currently playing around in their environment. Supposedly, it is supposed to challenge Facebook's social networking medium, though I am sure it will only rival it at best, especially in the early stages. What I'm trying to do, though, is see how much I can do within the Google environment, including social networking, without really shifting to other web-pages or browsers.

Now, I haven't had much to squabble with when it comes to Facebook. I have many "friends" there, though I like the idea of Google+ setting up different communities of friends so they're not bumping into each other. Still, I enjoy the fact that my biker friends get a "chance" to actually read some fairly liberal or leftist news at times, though I know they don't click on it (as I don't click on their conservative news either).

What I do use Google for is academic research. It is this platform, as well as Google docs, that I could see some real relevancy for. That and the live video-chats (which I am going to see if I can use today) may make this a pretty good platform for my work. Do some research, look up some articles, post my thoughts on Google docs, request a chat with a co-author, have them look over the material in live time, and discuss. Knowing that I could do this from the comforts of a bar in New Orleans makes this REALLY attractive ;)

So, here I go, diving into Google+ with some gusto.

Wish me luck ;)

ROT—Day 1

2011-06-09T09:36:00.001-07:00

I successfully packed my bike with everything I needed for the ROT Rally. Needless to say, I know there are some things I didn’t need to pack and they will be coming home with me later today so I have less to carry back home on Sunday. But the bike made the trip to Austin just fine—and I did everything I could to miss all the bumps in the road for fear that the weight of the pack would break the sissy bar (I’ve heard stories about things like this happening).

I took the 6-person tent with me on this trip to test it out. Once I set it up, I was glad that I did. It has more room inside than imaginable, and with Susan coming down on Friday we will have lots of room to spread out. I feel like I’m in a cabin, and if I had a portable table it would very much feel like home. I can store everything inside and still have room to stand in and sleep in. It’s very nice—I’m glad we bought this last year.

Once set up and with all the initial “hellos” to fellow SOBer’s (that’s what this group I’m with is called), I set out for Austin. It’s a real easy ride from the Event Center to East Austin—about 8 miles. East Austin is changing almost everytime I travel through there. It reminds me the most of New Orleans, and it is getting a real “Marigny/Bywater” funkyness about it. Probably my favorite place in Austin now, and if we were to move to Austin it definitely would be in the East. Lots of small local restaurants and shops, I also passed a place advertising “free” comedy during the week. I’m going to eat at a few of the local joints in East Austin during the Rally—I’d rather do that than pay high prices to corporate chains at the Rally.

There is a certain “block” in East Austin that catches my fancy—East 6th between Onion and Comal. That’s where the Volstead and the Gypsy bars are located. I didn’t go to the Gypsy last night because I was trying to get back to the campground in time to hand with the other SOBer’s. But I did get a chance to hang at the Volstead, and honestly this is my favorite bar in Austin.

Not many folks in the Volstead when I got there, but the jukebox was playing some great music and they’ve got Abita Amber in bottles! The bartender (Mark?) even conjured up an excellent Sazerac for me, and you know I’ll be back there every night this weekend ;) I put on a few tunes from the Treme soundtrack on the jukebox (now how many jukeboxes in Austin has the Treme soundtrack?) and got a chance to spend some time with the owner Sarah. I felt like I was truly home, and it’s good to hang with folks who actually speak and understand YAT! For those in Austin who are New Orleans exiles, THIS is the place to be every night!

As I hit my two drink limit, I headed back to the ROT Rally. For all the moaning and groaning we all have about prices going up this year for ROT, once I got there and began mingling with friends, I knew it was worth every penny. I met the folks I camp with for the first time last year. New stories, new adventures, broken relationships—all the things that go on over a year were talked about at the campsite. The social area is just outside my tent’s front opening, so I’m right in the middle of the action. Around 10:30 we all headed over to Bebop’s Bus to get ready for the nightly “midnight toast”.

Bebop’s Bus makes ROT for me. Good people, drinks galore, jokes and loud talking, and some stuff that only happens behind closed bus doors! On this Wednesday night, the bus was moderately packed, making us all wonder what it will look like by Saturday (last year, there was a line going out the door). Bebop is a great host, and his brothers and dad are a hoot. My signature was still on the roof, as were many of our signatures and various paintings of female body parts. Hey, it’s a biker rally—what were you expecting? We stayed into the early morning hours, and then it was time for me to catch some sleep prior to coming to work.

I will head back down to the Rally later today. Until then, I’ve got good memories of the first day at ROT. It’s all good :)

Motorcycle Diaries—Prelude II

2011-06-07T06:27:00.001-07:00

Susan just made the commitment to go to ROT again this year. This time she'll be spending two nights with me (not just one night like last year). It will be nice to have my best friend with me down there—we always have lots of fun together, and there are a few things in Austin that I want to introduce to her. We couldn't do this without the great support of our friends Kat and Cheryl. They know Susan and I need a weekend out alone every once in a blue-moon. This will be a special weekend now.

Getting ready for the Rally is like getting ready for Jazzfest. In many ways, you're scoping out the food, music and entertainment taking place within the Event Center, but you're also looking at what is taking place around the city as well. Ironically, this year seems to be full of “New Orleans” food vendors. Not that they will be any good, but I find it interesting. Also, there will be a “street-car” roaming the Event grounds from Community Coffee. They'll be handing out free coffee (so they say) and THAT will make my mornings even better. Of course, you can always find free coffee at the Motorcycle Church area....

The checklist includes things to make the camping experience a bit more enjoyable. Ear-plugs are necessary, since I'll be drinking and thus that means I'll be snoring loudly. They will also help for the noise generated near the campground by the bikers riding the parade route into the wee-hours of the morning. We also have our gel-filled neck wraps. They are essential for this hot weather. Basically, you let them sit in water overnight and they fill up into an all-day cool neck wrap. I've survived many a Jazzfest with these things. I had to get Susan an inflatable mattress, though I can sleep on the ground just fine (even with my bad back). Tent, tarp, chairs, and ice chest, and we're ready to go. Imagine all of this, and our clothes for three days, on one Harley. I'll take pictures of the packed bike once I hit the road :)

Friday is the only evening we'll be heading out of the Event area to Austin. Not only will we see the largest bike parade in the world—but I'll be taking Susan to her first East Austin experience. Two bars are my favorites—and they are right next door to each other. The Volstead, and the Gypsy are on East 6th Street between Onion and Comal. I hear the Volstead is hosting music these days, as is the Gypsy. I'm looking forward to spending a few hours and having a few Abitas here with Susan on Friday.

On Saturday, there are a few things that caught my eye: The Working Man's Motorcycle and Art Show is taking place at the Mexitas Event Center. This looks very interesting. And later in the evening, there are two events that might be worth going to. The first is something at the Gypsy called "Arabian Nights" that looks pretty cool. The other is a CD release party at ND 501 Studios that begins at 8. All in all, lots to do on Saturday, and we still need to be back at the ROT rally before midnight for the final midnight toast.

It will be nice to rumble into Austin this weekend with thousands of other bikers. It's all looking good :)

Motorcycle Diaries, The Prelude

2011-06-06T06:31:00.001-07:00

This marks the second year that I will ride down to Austin and spend three days at the Republic of Texas bike rally. Last year was an enjoyable experience (at least what I remember from it), and I met many wonderful people. This year, I'm staying with the group I met last year, and I am sure there will be much drinking and chatting into the early morning hours. I wanted to chronicle this year's event as a way of “kickstarting” (pardon the pun) this blog back up again

I learned a few things last year that help with my preparation for this year's event:
1). Don't drink liquor
It's too damn hot, and it's too damn easy to get drunk really quick. Now, I'm not one to “not” like a few cocktails that put me over the top, but I didn't get much of a chance to enjoy as much of the music and the rally last year because I had either passed out or was hung-over. This year, I'm sticking with beer and water, and though I might imbibe on a toddy every now and then, it won't be my primary choice of adult beverage.

2). Get OUT of the Expo Area
OK, so the Rally is supposed to be all inclusive. You've got friends, music, bikes, vendors, free coffee, food, and all the comforts of a campground. But, seriously, Austin is just 8 miles down the road. I will take an excursion or two down to some of my favorite music and drinking spots in East Austin and enjoy some Live Local Music.

3). Walk around the Parade Route
I learned last year that riding the bike around the Parade Route can be a bit “hazardous.” It really depends on the time, and the amount the other riders have been drinking. No doubt, it will be very hot during the day, but walking around the area gives you a chance to catch up with friends who are not staying in your camp area. This year, I plan on visiting the folks who are setting up their RV sites or tent sites along the parade route—Joker's Icehouse, the local American Legion Post, and anyone else who I see that I know. I also need to find the OK Boys Bus so that we can all enjoy the midnight toast every night.

4). Enjoy the local musicians who are playing at the Expo
The “Headliners” for bike rallies tend to be the artists one might hear on a “classic vinyl” show. This year is no different—Eddie Money on Friday night, and the Doobie Brothers on Saturday. There's nothing wrong with this, and the Rally managers know their market pretty well, but what I really enjoyed last year was hearing some of the local and regional bands playing in the smaller venues within the rally grounds. There are fewer people at these venues (which I am sure the bands do not enjoy), but the music is good and at times played with incredible passion. Seeing these local artists perform will satisfy my continuing need to hear good local music in the area. It's not jazz, but it isn't country either, and I'll take most of what I can get given that we live here now.

I've started to pack for the ride down on Wednesday and I'll be logging in daily once I settle in there to update my thoughts on the event. I'll try to post some “PG” pics from the Rally too. It should be a good time! Yeah you right!

One Year Ago this week....

2011-01-24T18:36:00.001-08:00

1. The Saints won the NFC Championship
It was an incredible time to be a Saints fan. The noise in the Superdome was off the charts. The game was tight throughout, and without all the Vikings mistakes we were sunk. The interception by Tracy Porter, the first of two incredibly important picks in his career, put us in a position to win. The field goal by Garrett Hartley sealed our ticket to Miami. Our household was screaming—a neighbor told me you could hear it down the street. Hell had indeed froze over. My son David and I began thinking about the kind of dress we were going to buy in honor of Buddy D, and we all wished we were in the Quarter to celebrate.

After watching both games this last weekend, they just didn't feel as “electric” as last year's NFC Championship game. No doubt, the Packers haven't won in a long time and their fans deserve to see another Lombardi. I am happy for both the Steelers and Packers' fans—I know how they feel right now. I hope that New Orleans is in the Super Bowl next year—if there is a season next year.

2. I was on my way to Arizona....
I had learned the day before the NFC Championship game that my mother had taken a turn for the worse in her health and was indeed on her death-bed. My sister told me that if I wanted to see her one last time that now was the time to come. I had time to “relax” during the NFC Championship game, but soon afterwards I was packing for the trip noone is prepared for.

I was able to spend one wonderful week with my mother—actually it was only three days before she basically went into a semi-conscious state. I chronicled all my thoughts here:

That week taught me quite a bit. Indeed, it was the final few lessons in life my mother taught me. First, I never want to die like that—I'm too much of a real wimp when it comes to prolonged pain. And I know she was on morphine, but once she fell into that semi-conscious state, who knew whether she really was in pain or not. Second, you only have so many years on this earth—make the best of those years. My mom had her ups and downs, but I truly believe she had done most of the things she wanted to do in life, with the final thing being to see my son David graduate from High School. I appreciate her spirit in life, and I still hope she is happy with how she raised me, even though I know I disappointed her more than I should have. Welcome to Japanese guilt.

One year ago this week.... And so much has happened since that time. The Saints won the Super Bowl, the Giants won the World Series, and I am so in love with my family that I sometimes wonder how one person could be so lucky in life. Life is good—it is truly good. And I have much to be thankful for right now.

Most of all, I am thankful for all that both my mother and father taught me. And I see some of those lessons passing on to Devin. And I really do see some of the spirit of my mother in my daughter Cece, and I see the my mother's empathy for mankind in my son David.

The New Harley

2011-01-07T05:46:00.001-08:00

I picked up a new motorcycle on Tuesday. No, I didn't trade in my Fatboy—she's still in the garage ready to go. But the sad part is that I sold my Caddy to get it. I don't want to dwell on selling the Caddy—she had been part of my life for the past 11 years. And all of us had spent wonderful times in that Caddy. But she was really just parked in the garage for the past five years, rarely getting out due to one problem or another, and it was time to pass her on to someone else who I hope will get as much joy out of her as I did.

In my strange “practical” side of thinking, I bought a new Harley Sportster today. “Practical” in that my reason for getting a Sporty was to use it as my everyday rider—one that will get over 50 miles-per-gallon. And with gas prices over the $3.00 mark locally, it was probably a good time to pick one up. Weather-permitting, I will ride the Sporty daily to work, leaving the Fatboy for weekend ventures.

Riding it home this week has been a bit strange. First, I had really forgotten how “small” the Sportser is—or at least how “small” it feels. The novice wouldn't notice this if they just saw me riding it on the street. But the rider knows the difference. It has a much lower profile than my Fatboy, it is thinner, it feels “lighter”, and it just feels “small.” To be sure, it gets up to freeway speeds pretty quickly. It is quite the perky bike. It has more than enough power too to fully compete with freeway traffic. But because of the frame-mounted engine, it shakes like crazy and is clearly not as “smooth” of a ride as I get on my Fatboy.

Because it's a 2004 model, it also has a “choke” that I need to use when starting it up. Interesting process. I haven't used a choke since I drove my dad's 1936 Ford pickup (there's a story behind that truck). I'm sure I'll get the hang of that, but I know I'll be off the mark more than once over the next few weeks. I'm just glad that the bike is garage-kept—that will keep it from getting too cold to start properly.

At this time, I don't have many plans to “modify” the bike in any way. I am sure I'll add a small detachable windshield, and I may end up putting a pair of bags on it. My hope is that eventually Susan will get her license and ride the Sporty with me on trips—with Devin on my bike riding with me. She seems ready for this, though I know she still loves riding on the back of the Fatboy with me. I also plan to give this bike to Devin when he turns 15. I really want Devin to be my riding partner in the future. I think we could have some real fun with it.

It's a good way to start off the New Year—with a new motorcycle. I'm really looking forward to riding it a bit more over the next few weeks. I just hope the weather holds out—it's been beautiful, but cold.

The “Final” Katrina Anniversary

2011-01-05T04:42:00.001-08:00

Five years ago, Susan and I began our journey to Central Texas. On January 6, 2006, we moved into a rental house in Harker Heights with literally nothing. We had our “final” insurance adjustment check, and this would provide for our furniture, television, and other necessary items for a normal household. But during the first few weeks in the new home, we were living on air mattresses and stadium chairs. It was an interesting reminder of all we had lost with Katrina.

It has taken me literally five years to recover from that storm....

This holiday season, I have spent quite a bit of time reflecting on these last five years. The two things that remains ever important to me are family and friends. Without both, our recovery would have been impossible. We spent the months after the storm living with Susan's parents in Tennessee. This last December, we again journeyed up to Tennessee to engage in much socializing and fellowship with her family. They probably don't know how deeply I feel indebted to their hospitality after the storm. Over the years, we have all become closer. This last visit up there was our second consecutive Holiday Season visit, and we intend on making this our annual tradition.

The friends we have made here in Central Texas have truly been wonderful. Many would get a glimpse of our interpretation of New Orleans when we threw our first Mardi Gras party in 2006. Dinner parties, movie nights, and spontaneous drinking and celebration have become our trade-mark. I have come to appreciate how our real close friends know that they can come right on in to our house without knocking—something that I really like. Our dog Stella doesn't even bark when they come into the house. Now that's true friendship.

I have struggled over the past five years with meeting people or getting too involved with any activities here in Central Texas. Once we settled in here five years ago, we started our frequent trips back to New Orleans. On average, we return home every three months. It was through the kindness of two special friends in New Orleans that helped make possible these frequent trips. They don't know how important their help was in recentering me on what is important in life. But New Orleans really kept us from totally connecting to this area. Frankly, I know that my family will never be fully invested in this region. But year-by-year, we do and will become more personally grounded here. It is our new home, and we truly realize we are not going back to New Orleans for many, many years.

These last few months, probably since August, Susan and I have begun to get more active in the Central Texas community. No doubt, most of that activity has centered in Austin—the one city that comes closest to replicating our New Orleans experience. The music and culture are completely different, but at least there is music and culture :)

And I keep meeting more people. The one thing that helped with this over the last year was the motorcycle. This has opened all kinds of new doors to Susan and I. The people I've met through this network have been wonderful. Very down to earth. They like to drink and have fun—two things that bring us back to New Orleans :) As I've written previously, this will be a network we will further tap in to this year.

As I reflect on this last bit of Katrina memory, I guess I am thankful that we have landed on our feet here in Central Texas. Who would have thought we would ever land here. I was born in Texas as an Air Force brat. My family moved away from Texas when I was one year old when my father became stationed in Sacramento. It took over 40 years, but I eventually landed only 2-and-a-half hours away from my birthplace.

In the final assessment, this really isn't a bad place. The politics suck, but that is becoming true for the rest of the country as well. The schools are ok, but when they start teaching Devin about alternative biology or cooked up history, we will pull him out and home-school him. The job is challenging and at times exciting. The friends are great. The music is close. And I can get most ingredients for all my cooking needs.

It has taken me five years to kill that bitch Katrina. Though she will continue to haunt me at times, I believe I have laid that bitch to rest.

It's all good :)

The New Year's Blog

2011-01-01T08:45:00.001-08:00

I do not “do” New Year's Resolutions. What I have done in the past, though, is look back at my year and determine which of my goals I achieved and which, if not attained, need to be moved to the top of my “to do” list or totally discarded for lack of either effort or interest.

Work
I have worked hard this year to further develop the curriculum within my college. I have many hard working colleagues who have helped the college achieve this goal. It has come with some significant headaches and perhaps the fracturing of what once was a very good personal friendship. In the end, though, my effort will help build a solid foundation for the College of Arts and Sciences.

My goal this year is to branch out to local community colleges and develop partnerships with them.

Academia
I wanted to have a book under contract at this time. The excuse I have for not achieving this goal is the heavy load I carried as an administrator. I also taught too many classes to do anything with my research.

My goal this year is to probably drop the book idea and submit three papers for publication. I think this is more of an achievable goal as long as I don't teach more than my normal load.

Family
This has been a very good year with my current nuclear family. Devin, Susan and I have continued to build a healthy and fun household. David and Cece seem more distant now, given that David no longer lives with us and will soon be joining the Navy. Cece and I had a wonderful two weeks in New Orleans, but she is so similar to me in that she can narrowly focus on those in her current close networks and neglect those who are outside or at a distance. I fully understand these new relationships with my older children, but it still doesn't feel good to me. Susan and I continue to live like best-friends “with benefits” and I am so happy she is in my life.

My goal this year is to play with Devin more outside. I want to teach him baseball, and also work on his soccer. I also want to work with his schoolwork more. If this is a priority, then I've got to rearrange some of my other current priorities that take time away from him and my family.

“The Bike”
My one outlet right now is riding my motorcycle. For those who don't ride, I don't think you will understand this feeling. For those who do ride, you know exactly what I mean. Over the past year, I've participated in rallies and events, gone on more organized rides, and have “hung out” in biker related places and have thoroughly enjoyed it. When Susan is with me, it is all the better. Riding the bike has become my “substitute” for my strolls in the French Quarter. It centers me to a certain extent.

My goal this year is to continue to dive into the motorcycle culture. I plan to use my field experiences to write an article on motorcycle culture in this area. I plan on joining some motorcycle club—most probably the local Harley Owner's Group, but I may start a biker club for academics. That latter idea is probably something to do next year.

Social Life
We seem to throw a party every week, in one form or another. Susan and I have successfully brought this part of New Orleans to Central Texas.

My goal here is not to increase the number of parties but to increase the number of people who participate. I've written off my suburban neighbors, but perhaps more of my biker friends will come over and have a drink and enjoy some good food and company.

There are other things that are part of my life that I should evaluate, but these topics will do for now. I feel pretty good about what we achieved and where we went as a family in 2010. We have our health, our love, and good friends. I don't think we should or can ask for anything more.

"Final" Katrina Thoughts....

2010-09-02T04:26:00.001-07:00

Almost five years ago, I was given a chance to land on my feet after Katrina. I didn't know it then, but I had a hunch that what I was getting myself into would be a worthwhile venture—something that would keep me from going back to New Orleans. I would often think about ways to get back home, but the opportunity to build a University basically from the ground-up would be too much to resist.

That and teaching to a great student-body....

This has been a difficult week-and a-half for me. My colleagues have been very kind in asking me how I am doing this week. I am grateful for their thoughts. They continue to be kind to me, just as they were in January 2006. But I explain that I haven't watched any of the news coverage. As one of my friends from New Orleans stated so very well, we're all dying of Katrina fatigue right now. Thankfully, we've laid that bitch to rest this week. I honestly don't think we'll be doing another event like this in 5 more years.

To relive the experience of Katrina takes me to a place where I don't like to be. My mental health wasn't exactly “right” for over a year after the storm. And to see the images again today on various mediums sends me toward that unhappy place. I am not alone in this feeling. Thousands of people are experiencing what I am experiencing right now. Some even live in New Orleans today. For those of us who still live in Exile, we have, I believe, the similar desire to return home. But for one reason or another we have either landed on our feet somewhere else, or we do not have the resources to return home. To be sure, I have met those who have relocated to other places, such as Austin, and are very happy in their new homes. I have met others, though, including friends, who have told me they would never return to New Orleans for a variety of reasons. Still, I can tell that we all miss being back home, and where we find ourselves together usually are at places and events that celebrate the culture of New Orleans, or we find ourselves together in New Orleans proper.

I have studied the recovery, those who were exiled, and those who have returned. Those who have returned realized early that they would be responsible on their own to rebuild the city. They have invested in the rebuilding of their homes, their neighborhoods, their communities, and the culture with their sweat, hard work, determination, resiliency, and anger. Anger is a driving force in the recovery. That and pride. And these characteristics describe the cement that holds the city together today, towards a shared sense of commitment to not only rebuild but to build better. Those who have returned are not ignorant to the limits of what they can do. They can rebuild all they want—but if the levees and the protection system is not built up to adequately defend the city from another major storm, then their work may be rather futile.

Yet the power of culture not only brings them back—it keeps them there.

Susan, Devin and I have gone back to New Orleans almost every three months since the storm. We average about 6 to 8 weeks a year in the city with all our travels back home. One time, a friend of mine stated that he saw me so much in the Quarter after the storm that he honestly thought we had moved back home. I enjoy the fact that we have been able to return often to the city. We have done quite a bit to keep the ties we had to the city alive. I still dj on WWOZ when I can. I travel similar paths as before the storm. I know I have more close friends in New Orleans than I do here in Killeen because I have made efforts to keep my ties to New Orleans alive. But I am thankful for the friends I have in Killeen—they get New Orleans and our relationship to that city.

New Orleans began “turning the corner” about two years ago. You could see it in the city, and you could feel it among the residents. Nagin was term-limited out of office, and there was a real sense that the new Mayor (Mitch Landrieu) would at least have a better vision of how New Orleans could rebuild for the 21st Century. By April of this year, with the Saints Super Bowl victory as the crown jewel, the city was mentally at a place to begin moving in a new direction. And then, the BP disaster took place.

In the months after BP, my new observations include a view of how the spill did not affect New Orleans as much as I thought it would. Time will tell, but this summer tourist season was “normal” and didn't fall off like many of us imagined. The students are back in town, and the Saints are ready to kick off another season. Ironically, during Saints games most of the businesses (outside of bars) weren't busy because everyone was at home (or in bars) watching the games. Perhaps this year people will venture out into the Quarter after the games and spend some more money. Those who I know who have businesses beyond the tourist industry are talking about the non-industrial “brain-powered” businesses that are starting or relocating in the city. The music industry is moving in a “new” direction, attracting more independent rock artists, while the local music scene continues to struggle to recapture the “little” capital they made prior to the Storm. It is a time of great flux right now in New Orleans, with the city perhaps at a crossroads.

Where the city goes from here is anyone's guess. All I know at this time is that I will continue to travel back to the place I call home, and I will continue to study its recovery. I truly feel that Susan and I will find our way back home, but it may not be until Devin graduates from High School.

And I'm ok with this.

We're ok with this.

Devin knows where his roots are—they run deep in New Orleans. And as we continue to travel home he will become more immersed in the culture. As he gets older, he will come with me when I spend a week or more in the city. My friends in New Orleans will see him grow, as they saw David, Cece, Jason and Caitlin grow. And who knows—perhaps he'll choose to go to school at Tulane or UNO. And if he does that, then I am sure Susan and I will permanently move back to New Orleans.

But for right now, we're ok being where we are, doing what we are doing, having our New Orleans parties about once a month, and traveling back home when we can. It's the best we can do right now, but it has pretty much sustained us for the past five years.

It's all good.

October 2005

2010-08-30T05:08:00.000-07:00

Note: I have pretty much not viewed any “Katrina-5” shows during this last week, except for Spike Lee's excellent post-Katrina documentary “If God Is Willing and the Creek Don't Rise.” I find myself turning the channels pretty quickly if I see any K-5 show come on. I've been doing research on this recovery since October 2005 and I feel pretty confident I know as much if not more than any news agency on the level of recovery taking place in New Orleans today.

Over the past two days, I've been immersed in the planning and execution of one of the best parties we have ever held at our house since we moved here in January 2006. Our Annual Katrina Party was a hit on Saturday, and Susan and I were able to successfully put Katrina to rest, at least for a little while. Next year, I would rather just throw the Huey P. Long birthday party (Huey was born on August 30th) and not another Katrina party....

Note 2: One thing that I am most thankful for are all my friends who helped Susan and I out after the storm. We received cards, phone calls, cash, checks, music cds, clothes for the kids, and a number of other things that we had good use for. I will never forget this. You all are true Saints, and I will return the favor if you ever find yourself in a similar type of predicament.

I returned to New Orleans for the first time after the storm on Tuesday, October 4. It was a bit later than I had anticipated, but it was still a few days earlier than the official re-opening up of the city. My friend JC had already been back since mid-September and he kept many of us from the neighborhood abreast of the status of our houses. I had a “pass” to get into the city if I needed it. I just hoped it would actually work. JC had told us how to get back into the City, and I was using his “map” effeciently.

I was filled with anxiety when I drove down River Road in Jefferson Parish. I knew there would be a military check-point at the Parish border, but when I arrived there the military vehicles were there but there were no personnel at the check-point to stop me. Whew—no need to use the pass here. I proceeded down Oak Street to Carrollton Avenue.

Right off the bat, I noticed the chilling quiet of the city. That, and the fact that everything was grey. The city lacked color. You could hear the dried mud cracking under the weight of the car, and there were debris from trees to electric lines littering the whole ride back to my house. You could see that no one was back yet—I was literally one of the few people driving up Carrollton Avenue to Walmsley.

As I turned onto Walmsley, the level of destruction became more “personal.” Streets I had walked down were significantly damaged. Houses were damaged. I knew the people who lived in these homes. I was still filled with too much anxiety, though, to wonder what had happened to these people and whether they would return to the neighborhood.

As I parked in front of my house, I noticed a few things. My red Escort was in the driveway, but I knew it was destroyed. Miss Lee's car was on the road. Up on the balcony of her house was a white sheet still attached to the rails that I learned later Miss Tony used to flag down helicopters to get her and her son James evacuated out. My house looked like it was listing to the right a bit. The tree in our front yard was gone. The railings on our front porch was gone. And by some miracle, there was a Heineken bottle with cap intact standing upright on the front porch near the door. THAT brought a smile to my face.

When I got out of the car, I was again taken aback by the significant silence in the neighborhood. When I closed the door, the echo of that sound traveled for blocks. The sound of the mud cracking under my feed echoed for blocks. What I didn't hear were the sounds of anything else—no birds, no dogs, no kids, no cars—nothing. No sound at all. I will never forget this. Nor will I forget the smell of mold that permeated everything.

I had to open the door to the house with a shovel since the water had swelled the door tightly shut. Once inside, the smell of mold was overpowering, even with a respirator. Furniture was in disarray, things were in places they weren't supposed to be, books that had been contaminated by the dirty water had turned completely black. Devin's crib was on its side, and all his toys were still soaked and strewn all over the bedroom. Caitlin's room was covered in mold—it seemed the mold liked attaching itself easier on wallpaper than on plaster walls. The water line in the house was at the 3 foot level. The water line on the fence outside was above my head, and we were at least two feet above the ground.

For the next month, I would spend nearly every day cleaning out the house with the help of my friend John. John was an active WWOZ volunteer and lived in the French Quarter, and he had offered not only to help me but to also put me up at his condo for as long as I needed. Without his help, I could not have gotten our refrigerator out the door and onto the curb. And as much as we tried to seal the damn thing shut, it was still able to open up a bit as we lowered it down the front steps and envelope us with that incredible smell that only a half-full refrigerator/freezer can give you after it's been sitting in a house without electricity for two weeks at above 100-degree temperatures.

New Orleans, though, is never a city that is all about work 24-7. No no, that will not do. The nights in New Orleans in October 2005 were magical! Even with a curfew set at midnight, that would later be extended to 2am, and then finally lifted before month's end, many of us found our way back at night to the Quarter, which was the only place in the city with electricity. The only people in the Quarter were New Orleanians back in town to clean up their houses and the many first-responders including the Army. Humvees patrolled the streets and were parked at various intersections such as Esplanade and Decatur Street in the Quarter.

It was the best of times in the worst of times. To be around other New Orleanians was the kind of therapy many of us needed at that time. The Jazz Vipers were playing every night at Angeli's and Decatur. They were the first band organized and playing after the storm. Then the Palm Court opened up on the weekends. The musicians who were back in town were cleaning out their houses too, but they were also able to “relax” with all of us in the evening hours playing their music for us—for our souls. We danced in the streets, we reconnected with old friends, we ate good food once again, and we probably drank too much as usual. And in the morning near sunrise, we would all venture back into our old neighborhoods to continue to work of cleaning out and gutting our houses. Life was grand.

Though I wished I could stay longer, I went back to Tennessee near the end of October to be back with Susan and Devin. I had pretty much cleaned out the house as much as I could, and I was bringing back to Tennessee some of the things that were salvageable. One of the things I was not able to salvage was a box of photos and negatives that were under our bed. I thought I had taken the box of photos with us when we evacuated, but that box was full of bills and receipts. The box under the bed was full of pictures of my two children David and Cece, and they were totally destroyed by the flood waters.

New Orleans is about holidays and celebrations, and though the city was destroyed, residents were still able to celebrate the first Halloween after the storm in as grand a style as could be mustered given the circumstances. I wanted to “be in that number,” but unfortunately we were up in Tennessee, and rural Tennessee at that, and we didn't know anyone who lived in the area we were staying. We took Devin to the local mall where they were giving out treats to kids on Halloween night. It was pitiful, though I am sure Devin didn't notice a thing at all. But it would be the first of many New Orleans holidays that we would miss for the next five years. The culture of New Orleans would gradually work to reemerge after the storm, and it is the culture and lifestyle of New Orleans that made me feel most truly myself.

I had begun to get some bites on the job applications around the country. There was no guarantee that UNO would have a job waiting for me if we returned home, and we didn't have a house to return to yet that was inhabitable. I had to seriously look at the option of moving away at least for the short term in order to get our feet on the ground again. By November I had interviewed at a couple of universities. In late- November, I flew to Killeen, Texas for an interview I had never anticipated to be anything more than a dress-rehearsal for other job interviews at places where I really wanted to “be” if I couldn't be in New Orleans. I was taken in, though, by the small size of the university, it's proximity to Austin, and the “sell” given me by the university's executive director that we all would be building a new university literally from the ground up. I jumped at the potential challenge, and was offered the position on my way back to Tennessee. After a discussion with Susan, I decided to take the job and was given the opportunity to begin in January 2006. By early January, we were on our way to Killeen, Texas to restart our lives.

Five years after the storm, we are still here in Killeen.

To be continued....

A Short Pause

2010-08-27T09:39:00.001-07:00

I will upload my thoughts on Katrina 5 later Friday night. I had to take a "mental" break last night from this project. More tonight, though.

To be continued…

Monday, August 29, 2005

2010-08-26T04:53:00.000-07:00

I woke up early again, at 5am-ish, deep with anxiety about where the storm would make landfall. Everyone was still asleep in the room, so I wandered down to the hotel lobby to watch the news. Katrina had not yet made it on shore, but she was already bringing lots of rain and the power of high winds to the city.

The Storm would eventually make “landfall” around 6am just East of New Orleans, and the rest of the day was spent by all of us watching the coverage. Mississippi was taking the brunt of the storm, and though New Orleans was taking its fair share of wind, rain and the damage from the storm (a piece of the Superdome roof came off), it was clear that the city had pretty much dodged another bullet and would come out of this relatively intact.

I got a call around 4pm from my friend Marc Stone who lived down the street from us and he reported that a neighbor had called him and said everything looked fine in the neighborhood. A few limbs down, lots of debris from the wind and the rain, but things looked pretty good. We all decided to take a break from the coverage and go out to get something to eat. As we made it down to the lobby, I asked others what they had heard about their neighborhoods. Most did not know too much, but one person from East New Orleans said he had heard that his whole neighborhood was under water. Wow. Some of us weren't going to be so lucky, I thought to myself. I could see in his face that he was very troubled by the news he had heard. I was very anxious to head back home on Tuesday to see for myself the extent of the damage in Ne w Orleans. I knew, though, that we could at least go back home, whereas the person in the lobby knew he could not.

We went out to dinner at the Golden Corral. Lots of food variety, and dirty cheap. It seemed every restaurant, bar, and shop in Lafayette had the tvs on covering the storm. I remember hearing on the tv something about “levees breached”.... I turned to focus on the coverage when I heard this. Sure enough, it was now being reported that there were a number of canals and levees in New Orleans that had breached due to the powerful storm surge as it pushed water into Lake Ponchatrain.

I got a very deep sinking feeling in my gut when I heard this news....

I remember coming back to the table where we were all sitting and telling everyone that the levees had breached. We all pretty much got up from the table right then and there and got back to the hotel as fast as we could. Watching the coverage with a bit more concern, it became known quickly that the levees had not only breached but the water from Lake Ponchatrain was filling the city up quickly with water.

I looked at Susan and said it was over. We weren't going back to New Orleans.

We discussed for a bit where we would be going from here. Our two choices were California or Tennessee. Tennessee was closer, and Susan got on the phone and called her parents to see if we could evacuate to their house. Then, Susan got on the phone and called her former husband Troy to see when (not if) we could pick up Jason and Caitlin to take them to Tennessee with us. Miss Lee got on the phone to see if she could stay with her daughter in Houston, and Kaya called her parents in New Mexico to tell them she would be flying home on Tuesday. I tried to work with the Hotel for one extra night, but they were already booked for the week. We would be heading to Crossville, Tennessee on Tuesday morning, with one overnight stop in Birmingham.

After a few hours of rest, I took Miss Lee and Kaya to Houston. It would be a 9-hour round trip drive from Lafayette to Houston and back, but I was so full of adrenaline and anxiety that when I returned to the hotel room at 10am, I was still “awake” enough to repack the car and head to Birmingham.

Our caravan had lost two people but gained two people. Jason and Caitlin would join us. And at 11am Tuesday, August 30, 2005, we all would begin our journey to Tennessee as bona-fide Katrina evacuees.

Ever since I can remember, I've had these two bumper stickers on my cars—a WWOZ bumper sticker, and another that states “New Orleans—Proud to Call It Home.” As we headed North and then East on the Interstate, we began seeing people in cars waving to us with sad looks on their faces. Some thumbs up, all positive vibes. They knew we were from New Orleans, and I had a strong sense they could feel our pain. It was another layer to an already surreal experience that had started earlier in the week.

The trip itself was eventful. We almost ran out of gas in Birmingham, since the area between Jackson Mississippi and Birmingham had also been ravaged by the winds and rains of Katrina. Power was out everywhere. By the time we made it to a hotel, I was exhausted and didn't know if I could drive another mile.

I had my first of what would become many “Katrina moments” when we got to the hotel. I had made a reservation earlier in the day at the hotel we had stopped at in Birmingham, but for some reason the reservation was not being honored for one reason or another. They had overbooked the hotel for the University of Alabama-Birmingham versus Alabama football game! You gotta be kidding me. Here we were, Katrina evacuees, who had made a bone-fide reservation for a room, being “bumped” by football fans!!! I ranted, I raved, I demanded a room for our family, I shouted, I made a scene, I made threats to call the tv stations. There were others from New Orleans who were there who were ready to join me. Eventually, they gave me some “coupons” to redeem at another hotel, and we finally found another hotel to stay in farther up the highway to stay in. I was pissed, but I was also tired, and I knew we all needed a place to get some sleep. We all left and headed to the other hotel.

On my way out, I saw a number of people outside walking their dogs. It was a large number of people. When I asked them about the dogs, they informed me that they were heading to New Orleans and that the dogs were “cadaver” dogs—they were going down to help search for bodies in the city. This chilled me to the bone, but I knew that they would be needed in the early days of the recovery.

We traveled as far as we could on our way to the next hotel, but somewhere along the way I found myself falling asleep on the road, and we turned off onto a nearby rest stop where we tried to sleep for a few hours. But it was hot outside, and it was incredibly difficult to get any sleep, though I was able to sleep for one hour on top of the jeep, and eventually we were able to get back on the road and get to our next hotel destination.

We finally arrived at Susan's parents' house on Wednesday, August 31. Among family and friendly faces, we sat down on the back porch and drank and talked.

And drank....

And drank some more....

Within days, events would forge an anger in me that still festers to this day. The coverage on tv showed a city and a people desperate for help. Water, food, refuge. Simple things, really, if one could imagine we were actually living in the United States. Still, water, food, and refuge seemed to take an eternity to find it's way to those left behind in New Orleans. On Friday, September 1, the USA Network aired a documentary by Michael Murphy called “Make It Funky” about the music of New Orleans. I had been at the original screening of the documentary at NOCCA earlier in the summer. It is a great documentary that illustrates the power and magic of the music community in New Orleans. Michael had been “farming” out the documentary to various networks to see if anyone would pick it up. It took the tragedy of Katrina to bring it to the public. It still is one of my favorite musical documentaries to date. Once we saw it on tv, Susan and I began crying....

Little things over the next few weeks would cause Susan and I to cry. NPR did a show on Fresh Air that rebroadcast an interview with Dr. John where he played a slow, piano solo of Tipitina. Susan and I heard the song while we were driving in Crossville and had to pull over to cry.

We got our FEMA registration and called them nearly every day once we didn't get any response from them. We filed our Insurance claim and received a little living cash from them. We were thankful for the $2000 from FEMA that came pretty quickly and helped bridge the gap until I received my first paycheck for the semester from UNO. But if we weren't living with Susan's parents, we would have really struggled financially. Their kindness, and the kindness of Susan's family, really left a lasting impression on me. I am happy to call them family today.

For the next three months, we found refuge in Crossville, Tennessee. Family centered us again. Jason and Caitlin were able to register for classes at the local schools, and one of the first things we did was celebrate Caitlin's 16th birthday at a local restaurant. Not what Caitlin imagined as the proper celebration for her “sweet 16”, but it was the best we could do given the circumstances. Her friends, too, were scattered to the four winds, and we had no idea when or if we would ever make it back to New Orleans.

Impressions at that time were, once again, surreal. While we were shopping for clothes (since we evacuated with only two-days worth of clothes) we encountered a young cashier who, when noticing we were from New Orleans from our driver's licenses, got tears in her eyes and gave Susan $20. The woman was embarrassed that she could only give us $20, but she explained that she had not met any evacuees personally until she met us, and she wanted to express to us how much she wanted to help those who were forced out of the city by the Storm. It was a touching, personal, and surreal moment.

I am not sure when Susan's job came back online, but she was able to get back to work relatively quickly. Her job was still secure, and she could “telecommute” from Crossville. She still has that job today, still telecommuting from Texas. UNO contacted me to let me know that they were going to start classes up on October 1 for an accelerated 8 week session, and instead of four courses I would be teaching one “large” course online.

In early October I returned to New Orleans to begin the cleaning out process with our house. I was to meet with the insurance adjustors at that time, and it would give me a good glimpse at the wounded city. It would be the best of times and the worst of times....

To be continued....

Saturday, August 27, 2005

2010-08-25T05:36:00.001-07:00

I woke up early Saturday morning to see the NOAA 5am projections. The Storm was heading 30 by 90. It was time to prepare to get out of New Orleans.

Before everyone got up, I took the car to the gas station to fill it up with gas. I headed down Claiborne Avenue to the Chevron station at the corner of Carollton and Claiborne. There were just a few cars in line, and those of us filling up were doing so for the same reason. We were all getting ready to head out of town. Where were we heading? I was going to Lafayette, others were going to Baton Rouge, and still others were heading to family members houses throughout Louisiana. It was time to go back to our houses and board them up.

I had no illusions as to the severity of the storm or what might be left behind if the storm followed its current track. I still had hope that it would jog to the East and we would avoid the full brunt of the storm, as many storms had done over the past few years. Still, I wasn't going to stay behind and watch the results. I had a family to protect, and we were heading out of town.

Susan had done a good job on Friday night of packing all the important pictures and documents and had placed the boxes in the front room. By the time I got back home with both the car and the jeep full of gas, she was going through a second round of making sure we had everything important ready to take with us on this evacuation. We packed clothes, and I made sure I had one set of “interview” clothes to use when (not if) I began looking for a new job after the storm. I packed my current CV's and previous published works for my interview packets. I was methodically assessing the jobs option before me in academia, and I had begun searching the various Higher Education job sites for places to send my materials. Devin was oblivious to all that was going on, as many 18 month olds were probably doing that day.

People in the neighborhood were boarding up and packing cars like we were. One neighbor passed by our front yard as we were packing and asked where we were heading. “Lafayette” I told him. I asked him what his plans were. He mentioned that he was a very religious man and would leave his fate in God's hands. He was going to stay behind in his house. I found out later that he had to be airlifted out of the neighborhood four days after the flood. I walked over to the Rendon Grocery store, just down the corner from our house, to pick up some food for the trip to Lafayette. The owners of the grocery, Cuban immigrants who had put together a great business here in the neighborhood, told me that they would leave too if they could, but they were going to stay behind to “protect” the business from the storm. They gave me their cell phone numbers so that I could call them at some point in time to get their assessment of how the neighborhood weathered the storm.

We insisted that Miss Lee evacuate with us, since her sister Miss Tony was going to have to stay behind. Tony was a nurse at Lindy Boggs Hospital and was required to stay behind. We found out later that Tony had been relieved early Monday morning after the storm appeared to have brushed the city and was back in her house when the water started to rise quickly in our neighborhood Monday afternoon. She and her son James would also be airlifted out of the neighborhood four days after the storm.

My plan was to leave early Sunday morning for Lafayette. By the time Saturday night came around, we were pretty much packed and ready to head out. As normal as we tried to make the night, it was all pretty surreal.

Around 9pm I received a call from my friend Kaya Martinez about whether she should evacuate. I told her emphatically that she should. She then informed me that she had no car to leave, at which point I told her I would come to her house in the Marigny to pick her up and take her to Lafayette with us.

Shortly after the call, we left Devin in the care of Miss Lee and Susan and I drove to the Marigny to pick up Kaya. Once secured, the three of us drove through the Quarter on our way back to our house in Broadmoor. Driving down Royal Street was unbelieveable. I was surprised by how many people were still on the streets and how many businesses were not boarded up. Was I the only one who thought this storm could potentially destroy the city? As we looked around at all the activity taking place around us in the Quarter, I told Kaya and Susan that this might be the last time we would see the Quarter.

At 4am, Sunday August 28, 2005, Susan, Devin and I, along with Miss Lee, Kaya, and our cat Serenity, started on our 9 hour trek to Lafayette. Susan had called her former husband Troy to see what plans he had with her two children Jason and Caitlin for the evacuation. He had taken them on a trip to Florida and was heading to Lafayette as well to stay with his family. Knowing we would all be together later in the day, Susan breathed a sigh of relief.

Susan made one more run through the house, and took some pictures of Jason and Caitlin that she had not seen before. She also took a yellow plastic dragon we had bought the previous year in San Francisco. It was on top of the TV. I gave Susan one of my raised eyebrow looks, and she said she was just throwing anything she saw into the last box.

As we locked the door and walked out the house, I told Susan to take a good look at the house. It would probably be the last time we would ever see it, I told her. She broke down in tears in my arms, and though we would again see it later, and indeed see it flourish in the neighborhood today, it would definitely be the last time we would leave the house as its residents.

The nine hour trip to Lafayette (normally a 2 hour trip) was long but relatively easy. At 9am, we heard Nagin give the order to evacuate the city. By noon, we had reached Lafayette and after a while we settled into the room. Downstairs in the lobby, other New Orleanians were huddled around the tv watching the progress of the storm.

It was going to be a long two days....

To be continued....

Friday, August 26, 2005

2010-08-24T05:35:00.000-07:00

As the week progressed settling into school, I also had a show to do at WWOZ. I had moved my show back to Monday mornings from 6am to 9am so that I could teach my classes. I didn't realize that the Monday August 22 show would be my last show at WWOZ. That Monday morning I had no clue about Katrina. She was just a depression that was heading our way, and I kept hoping it would turn North at some point in time and not hit Florida or enter the Gulf.

Tuesday night was our normal poker night at JC's house. The discussion centered on music and the neighborhood and not the storm, and I remember seeing Donald Harrison walking down the street once I had lost all my money and headed home. We talked music and his two new CDs which were about to hit the stores, and how he was heading that night to Los Angeles to do some studio work on a tv project. Things were pretty normal in the neighborhood. Poker games, walks in the neighborhood, and pleasantly hot and humid nights in New Orleans.

On Thursday, August 25, 2005, Hurricane Katrina made her first landfall in South Florida and had entered the Gulf by that evening. The track placed it moving from the Gulf towards the Florida Panhandle, but New Orleans was still in the cone of potential landfall and I decided to book a hotel room in Lafayette for Sunday and Monday “just in case.” I still had some room on our debit card to cover the room, and I had pretty much intentionally not paid the electricity and water bill to keep some money in our account if we needed to evacuate. At this time it looked like Katrina would totally miss us, but after years of evacuating for “near misses” only to find congestion on the roads and no place to stay once we got off the road, I decided this year we would have a place to stay no matter what. Lafayette was two-hours away, so it was close enough for us to get back home quickly if the storm didn't hit New Orleans, but far enough away that it might not feel the brunt of the storm.

Friday morning I woke up and logged on to the Weather Underground site to see where the storm was heading. It was still projected to hit the Panhandle, but the forecast kept jogging it to the West towards New Orleans. It came out stronger, though, than I liked. It already was a CAT 2 storm, nearing 100 mph sustained winds. I didn't like the pressure system that was hovering over New Orleans that would attract the storm our way and kept hoping that pressure cell would move East. As Susan was getting ready for work, she asked me what I thought. I told her we looked good, but I was still worried and would know more probably later in the day. On my way to work to the University, I couldn't get my mind off the storm.

I only had one class for Friday—the Urban Sociology course. It was an 11:00 to Noon course. The topic for the day was a discussion of the two articles the students had read (Orum's “Centrality of Place” and Long's “The Paradox of a Community of Transients”) and their research on New Orleans communities. The questions I raised in the discussion were what does community and neighborhood mean to them, and how does New Orleans foster this sense of community and neighborhood meaning. It really got the students thinking about the importance of their places in the New Orleans region, and how many of them had never really ventured too far out of the area. Family, friends, and culture kept them close to home. They hated the poverty and crime, but they loved the culture and the closeness to family.

While I was an affordable housing advocate in New Orleans in 2002, I had completed an analysis of the 2000 Census data for the New Orleans region and was stunned to discover that nearly 90% of all New Orleans residents had never left the region—ever. When they moved, it was from one neighborhood to another, but never away. The roots run deep here in New Orleans, and for all of our complaints about this city, we still choose to live here over anywhere else in the country.

As we completed the discussion and the students turned in their papers, I told them to watch the news about the storm in the Gulf. It looked very bad, but it also looked like it would not come our way. I told them if anything, the University might close down Monday and Tuesday and that they should monitor the University web-site for news updates. I also implored them that given the strength of the storm they should seriously consider evacuating should the storm head to New Orleans. Our levees could handle a CAT 3 storm (I believed), but anything bigger than that would devastate the city. As the class dispersed, I went back to my office, worked on some grades, and by 2:30pm was ready to head back home and pick up Devin for our Friday afternoon walks through the Quarter.

Since purchasing our house in the Broadmoor neighborhood in October 2002 (and evacuating to Mobile of all places shortly after moving in because of Hurricane Lili), I had pretty much spent most Friday afternoons going for walks in the French Quarter. It had become a strong tradition in my everyday life. I met many business-owners and bartenders on those walks that I still have strong relationships with. So many memories from these walks, and when Devin was born in December 2003 it wasn't too long before he would join me on those walks. By August 2005 these walks with Devin through the Quarter were part of my normal routine, and this Friday would be no different. Our neighbor Miss Lee was Devin's nanny, and she loved him as if she had given birth to him. To this day Miss Lee calls Devin every Sunday. EVERY SUNDAY. And she always knew that I would be home early on those Fridays to pick Devin up for our special time together. She had him ready to go for our walk.

There were no updates from the 11am report earlier in the day as to Katrina's new track....

Devin and I made it down to the Quarter, but I had a bad feeling in my gut about the storm. The walk through the Quarter today was a bit more methodical and meaningful. I was talking more to him about “things.” The architecture and the history behind the various types that line the Quarter. The River (“Old Man River”) and how we have to respect it for it's power and what it can give to and take away from New Orleans. I made a conscious effort to seek out friends in the Quarter to say hello. The discussions with my friends in the Quarter centered on whether they would evacuate if the storm headed our way. It was pretty much “50-50” on who was going to stay and who had plans to leave. No one was boarding up their businesses yet, but they were ready to do so if they had to. I spent a long time with my friend Harry Anderson at his magic shop on Chartres Street across the street from Harry's Corner. He was tasting some rum he was going to showcase at his new club at the corner of Esplanade and Decatur and urged me to try it out with him. We talked about his new club, which was finally doing well after all the chaos of refurbishing the place for almost two years. We talked magic tricks, which he helped me learn. Devin was asleep in the stroller so I could spend a bit more time there than at the other places I stopped.

By the time 6pm got around, I received a call from Susan asking me when I might be coming home. I took that as a sign that I had better go home, and so I packed Devin into the car and we headed back towards Broadmoor.

The 5pm NOAA report placed the storm further West AGAIN, this time forecast to hit the Gulfport/Biloxi area. It was still a CAT 2 storm, but it was gaining strength. With three days left before it was projected for landfall, and the fact that it just seemed to keep heading West, I pretty much knew we needed to start packing the important stuff and do what we needed to do to evacuate “just in case.” I took my Cadillac to Susan's workplace in Metairie and parked it in the 5 story covered lot there so it would be relatively safe from the storm, and then we all went out for dinner at Bud's Broiler.

The 11pm NOAA report placed the center of the storm just east of Lake Ponchatrain....

The 5am Saturday NOAA report placed the center of the storm right over New Orleans.... It was now a CAT 3 storm, and growing in intensity....

To be continued....

Monday, August 21, 2005

2010-08-23T06:05:00.001-07:00

One week before the 5th year anniversary of Katrina.....

I want to chronicle my thoughts during this week leading up to the storm.

On Monday, August 21, 2005 I began teaching at the University of New Orleans on a full-time basis—the first full-time academic job for me since 2002.

I had moved to New Orleans from Mobile, Alabama in July 2001. By September, Susan and I were married. By December I was DJ'ing at WWOZ, and in April 2002 I would leave academia to take a job in New Orleans as an affordable housing advocate for a local housing non-profit. The politics of New Orleans would chew me up and spit me out like a bad piece of meat, and I returned to academia in the Spring of 2003 as a “full-time adjunct.” Basically, I was hustling for work at any university that would have me. Lucky for me, there are seven colleges and universities in New Orleans.

After all that work and teaching as many as 9 courses a semester between Dillard, Xavier, Tulane, and UNO, I was offered a full-time tenure-track gig from UNO in August 2005. I was ready to teach and to do my New Orleans research.

My first week at the University was a bit surreal. I was teaching four courses—Intro to Sociology, The “University Experience” Class for incoming Freshmen, Urban Sociology, and a graduate course in Social Statistics. I was finally being paid a “normal” salary, without teaching 9 courses a semester. I had health insurance. I felt like a “professor” again.

The most interesting courses that week were the Urban Sociology course and the University Experience class. My intention with the University Experience class was to actually scare the hell out of the students—to prepare them about the rigor of the University but to also inform them of the fun they could have at UNO. With just one week under my belt, this is the type of "evaluation" I received from some of the students.

For the Urban Sociology course, I had my students work on identifying not only the neighborhoods they were from but the others in the City. I had a hunch that many of my students were from Jefferson Parish, so I wanted to inject them with a bit of “New Orleans” in their thinking. The first assignment included reading two articles on the concept of “place” in an urban setting. Those two articles would lay the foundation for my research on how New Orleans recovered after the storm.

On Monday, we all had no real idea of what Katrina would become. She had merged with another storm in the Atlantic, and it looked like it would cross into the Gulf through Florida. As we all know, anything that enters the Gulf is fair-game for concern. I would monitor it's progress once it entered the Gulf. 30-by-90.

Things were looking up for us in August 2005. My kids had spent a good part of the summer with me, and we had enjoyed one of our best summers in New Orleans together. We didn't have much money, but you really don't need money to enjoy New Orleans. The kids and I got caught in the rain one day as we were walking along the Riverwalk. Boat captains would blow their horns at us and wave as we casually walked through one of New Orleans' summer downpours. Another weekend we had biked down to the Quarter, and after getting caught in another summer downpour, we parked ourselves on the corner of Decatur and Conti and had some sandwiches for lunch. The Aquarium was always a great place to visit with the kids that summer, and we seemed to know all the penguins' names at the end of the summer. With this full-time position at UNO, Susan and I could breath a sigh of relief about finances for the first time in a long time.

As I drove to work that first day in late August, I continued to notice the damage still left behind earlier in the summer by Hurricane Cindy. She had made landfall in early July and though she was only a CAT 1 storm, and a minor one at that, she had downed many trees and left parts of the city without power for weeks. We all feared what a CAT 4 or higher storm would do to the city—but we all felt relatively safe that anything at the CAT 3 or lower level would not harm the city too much. Hurricane Cindy opened many of our eyes about the damage even a small storm could do to the city.

At the beginning of my work week, with the feeling that we had finally gotten back on our feet, I couldn't help but think about what a major storm would do to the City and to us. Once I got to the University, though, I had other things to think about. I had classes to prep for.

To be continued tomorrow....

Going “Suburban”

2010-08-13T05:46:00.001-07:00

OK—I must admit, Susan and I have “officially” gone “Suburban” as of last night. I can come up with a number of “excuses” on why we did this, but the fact of the matter is we went “suburban” and somehow the “excuses” still don't make me feel totally good.

We broke down and bought a “big-ass” 50-inch plasma TV....

For Saints games....

For Movie Nights....

For watching Treme....

For …. Well, the reality is we just don't get out of the house all that much when we stay here in Harker Heights. Sure, Austin is about an hour away just south of us, and there are always things to do there. But I hate driving at night and if you're going out to see music in the clubs you're bound to hit the road around 1am and be back home close to 2:30am. Not unusual for New Orleans, but the drive at night just kills me.

So, our entertaining will continue to take place in our house, with a Big-Ass TV....

I am looking forward to seeing the Saints, though, “larger than life” in my living room. It will add a new dimension to our Saints parties that begin in earnest on September 9. And, I am afraid that the next time I watch Treme, I'll feel like I can walk right into the tv into the 7th Ward.

But the TV has “limited” value in our house, when it comes right down to it. Sure, it's going to add a whole new dimension to our football experience. But really—I prefer listening to WWOZ at night once Devin has gone to bed. I can do without the TV most of the time, and actually prefer to not have it on.

So, we bought a Big-Ass tv.... For Saints games.... And the more I say that, the better I'm going to feel about this huge purchase. As long as it's for Saints games, then I don't have to reflect too much on how I feel we've gone “suburban.”

I can hardly wait for tonight when I get home. I'll make me a Sazerac, turn on the stereo and listen to WWOZ with Susan in the Red Room.... Yeah You Right!!!

Harley Dude

2010-08-07T05:25:00.000-07:00

Summers in Central Texas bring intense “hair dryer” heat that occasionally get relieved by brief but torrential rains. It is not the time of year that encourages one to spend time outside doing anything, unless it's by a pool and comes with a bounty of cold drinks. This weekend is no different, and as I walk Miss Stella this early morning I find the heat “tolerable”.

Yet, it is the first weekend I've been back to Texas, and I have a desire to take the Harley out for a long ride....

My excuse—to go to Austin to pick up things for my “Satchofest Central Texas” party tonight.

It's a good excuse—really....

As long as I get out before 8am, I am going to be ok. The heat will not become blazing until after noon, and I intend to be back home before 2pm to get started with cooking.

My weekend rides consist of taking as many back roads as I can to get to my destination. One normally takes I-35 to get to Austin, but there are a number of small roads along I-35 that can get you there as well. I call it “meandering” through the Hill Country. When I'm on the Harley, I'm never in a hurry anyway.

This morning's ride is going to take me along Highway 95 from Belton to Taylor, and then south to Barton Creek Square in South Austin.

Biking—to a Mall?

Well, they are opening up a LEGO Store in the Mall, and I've got some things to get for my special guy before I see him on Monday.

That, and it's Susan's birthday on Tuesday.

I've got lots to do in a short amount of time—bike ride, buying of presents, cleaning of the house (not much on that front), and cooking.

It's going to be a great start to the weekend.

It keeps me alive while I live in Exile....

Happy Birthday Louis Armstrong

2010-08-04T06:03:00.000-07:00

As New Orleans prepares for it's 10th Annual Satchmofest, it is fitting that today's birthdays include not just Satchmo but our President Barak Obama. And for all you haters out there, the birth certificate is legit--get over it.

One of the best things to do at Satchmofest is the Club Strut (which this year goes for $80 for the VIP pass, and it's worth every penny). I had been to every Satchmofest between 2000 and 2005, and then would occassionally visit just for the event. If I had planned better ("meaning" if I had chose Satchmofest over Tales of the Cocktail this year), I would be there this weekend.

And what a wonderful weekend it could be. You got Satchmofest. You got White Linen Night (though I personally prefer Dirty Linen Night--just who I am). You got hot summer nights. Nothing could be better.

In honor of Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong, I believe I may just have my own Satchmofest right here at my house. I'll play Louis all day long on Saturday, and I'll cook up some Red Beans and Rice. I'll give Kat and Cheryl a call to see if they can join me, and perhaps Allen will be back in town to help me with a few Sazeracs.

When you live in Exile, you create the culture in your house. And without Susan and Devin here this week, I know I need me some socializing of some sort.

It's only Wednesday--that gives me time to contact folks and get the music set up.

It's all good :) Yeah you right!!!

Enjoy your Satchmofest, New Orleans. Wish I was there with you.

A Night And Day of Cleanup

2010-08-03T07:03:00.000-07:00

Since coming back to Texas, I have been busy completing Susan's "honey-do" list. I'll post my blog on Tuesday night.

The New Normal--Day One

2010-08-02T05:41:00.000-07:00

The "New Normal"--I heard this term a few times while in New Orleans. You get a sense that there are new cultural forces at work in the city that will begin to solidify in the post-Katrina era. One of the most intriguing things I heard about was the Friday Night Fights on Freret Street.

I am not sure how often these events take place, but my friend Elise informed me that someone has written a short story about them recently. If anyone can turn me on to a copy of this, I would appreciate it. Now, I am not one for boxing, and I really didn't want to take Cece to this event (nor did she want to go, really). But the idea of neighborhood “men” getting into the ring to fight each other in an “organized” way was rather “intriguing” to me. It seemed like a New Orleans version of “good, clean fun.” Yeah you right! Something else we have taken as our own and turned it on its head.

For me, my “new Normal” was coming back to Texas and landing in the world of everyday “reality.” My experience with work in New Orleans was never really normal—an academic does not have to live a “9-5” day. Teach, do some research and writing, advise students, grade papers, prep. Much of this can be done from the convenience of the coffee shop. Luckily for me, my research was New Orleans, so I could get on the streets and absorb my research.

My “new Normal” is getting back into a daily “routine,” without Devin and Susan here for the time-being. That includes walking Stella, making coffee, feeding Stella, taking a shower, going to work, working, then coming home. Every day. Now, there is no doubt that we all do variations of this every day, but when you live and work in New Orleans, each of these “tasks” are filled with the possibility of the unexpected. And I mean this in a good (smile on your face) way.

When you walk your dog, you might actually run into someone you know, and actually say hello, and might even have a conversation. We are not necessarily in a hurry when walking the dog. And we might just say hello to someone walking down the street. And we might compliment them on something (like a pleasant smile, or a nice dog-leash, or nice and crazy colored shoes)....

Here, when you do see people, even in this “neighborhood”, they rarely look you in the eye. When I am able to catch them and say hello (with a smile on my face), they look a bit startled. I am waiting for the day when someone calls the police on me here because I smile too much....

Today is the first day of my “new” normal. I find my coffee is not as strong as the coffee I bought at Satsuma's. Wow—how is that possible? I thought I made some pretty strong coffee. I guess I'll add an extra scoop to the brew tomorrow. I find the morning air not so humid and hot (not necessarily bad, by the way). I find the quiet of the morning a bit unpleasant.

I've got so many thoughts in my head right now, but I gotta get ready for work. More of the “new” normal later tonight.

Still, today's new normal is going to include riding the Harley to work....

Now not everyone can do that every morning!

Yeah you right!!!

New Orleans Thoughts

2010-08-01T06:06:00.000-07:00

As I begin packing to head back to Texas, I have a few thoughts and reflections about these wonderful two weeks in New Orleans:

1. I have become closer to my daughter. I think it is difficult for any parent to be “close” to their teen children. The challenge with Cece and me has been the distance and the fact that I have not tried to intrude in her active life. I could have insisted that she visit with me once or twice a month, which we were able to do for a year after the Storm. But as she entered High School, become part of a rich friendship network, and then took on a part-time job, there was no way I wanted to be an intrusion on her life.

This trip has brought us so much closer. We learned some things about each other, we cleared up some issues, and in the end she and I were able to spend lots of time together without getting on each other’s nerves. That says a lot right there. She is a wonderful person, and I am happy to be a part of her life—again.

2. I have great friends in New Orleans. My friend Rhonda basically gave her house to Cece and I to use for two weeks. She is a Saint, and it is through her friendship that I was able to bring Cece here for two weeks for her internship.

My friend Blake who offered Cece the opportunity to be a part of one of the greatest entrepreneurial machines in this city. He is like a brother to me, and I am happy that I can still be a part of what he works on.

Dwayne offered me a chance to get back on the air at WWOZ. He was able to get me three shows during these two weeks. Sitting in the studio really made me feel back home. I hope I can do this again in a more permanent way in the future.

I had the opportunity to visit with many friends on this trip, and though there were some that I was not able to see, I am happy to have at least shared a bit of my trip with all of them through this blog. I am truly blessed with all these friends. You all share a piece of my soul.

3. At some point in time, we will move back to New Orleans. A part of me wants to take a big chance and get back here right now. My “responsible” side tells me I must do what is best for Susan and Devin. Somewhere in the middle, I am sure we will find a way back home before too long. I think the first thing we need to do is buy a condo in the Bywater. That way, we will always have a place to stay, and we can come down whenever we want.

4. I will continue to write in this blog, on a nearly daily basis.

Writing my thoughts about this trip has fueled in me the desire to write again. My muse has been awoken. I come away from this trip with one grant idea, a book idea, and commitments to write liner notes for two musicians.

As I settle back into the mundane daily life in Texas, I believe I will focus more on my thoughts as they race with me down the road on my Harley. The “Harley Chronicles” perhaps.

Thank you all for reading these accounts for the last two weeks. I have appreciated the comments. I hope I was able to share this time in my life with all of you. This has been an incredible year so far.

WHO DAT!!! Yeah You Right!!! It’s All Good!!!

Day Fourteen

2010-07-31T06:28:00.000-07:00

Two weeks in New Orleans. Our time here is about to end. We will leave for Texas on Sunday, and I am really not sure what sort of mental state I will find myself when I go in to “work” on Monday. Honestly, I will feel like I have “moved” away again from New Orleans. Killeen is the place where I work. Then again, I am sure I will be asking Kat, Cheryl and Alicia over for dinner. I need to cook some gumbo and some red beans and rice and I’ll have way too much food just for me. Cooking brings me back home to New Orleans all the time. That, and listening to WWOZ on the internet.

Friday morning began with breakfast with my father, Mr. Bob French. We meet at Li’l Dizzy’s, the great restaurant in the Treme. It was also featured quite a bit in the series “Treme.” Bob commands a large presence, and everyone greets him like a king at Dizzy’s. Everyone also asks when he will be back on the air—they miss his honest “on-the-air” commentary that they say is lacking on radio these days. Bob chuckles and says he’s done with radio. Still, people come by the table and practically beg Bob to come back on the air.

I am not going to go into any detail as to why Bob is not on the air, though I know why. After talking with Bob often after the April incident, I am convinced he is relishing his time off the air. I believe him when he says he doesn’t want to go back. I’ve talked with others who are close to Bob while here the past two weeks and opinions are mixed. Some say that he “needs” to be back on the air for his career’s sake. Others say that Bob is agonizing over the fact that he is not on the air. Still others concur with me that they believe he is happier off the radio. He tells me that he enjoys his free mornings, and he’s actually getting more things done now.

Cece begins the interview with Bob and he tells of his evacuation out of the city to Washington, D.C. He had a room at a hotel for the storm because he had a gig the night before downtown. He decided against staying, though, when he realized the severity of the storm. He remembers Betsy very well—he and his whole family got caught behind with Betsy and nearly lost all their lives in that storm. Modest as ever, Bob believes the “best bite” in New Orleans is at his house—he makes the best gumbo in the whole city. I’ve had it before—it’s pretty damn good. He doesn’t believe things have changed all that much in the last five years, and I concur with this observation. Physically, I believe the city is seeing some progress in rebuilding, though I have observed often over the past two weeks blocks of communities still devastated after the storm. There is no beauty in whole neighborhoods dressed in “decay and neglect.”

When Cece asks the question about Ray Nagin, Bob let’s out a big and loud laugh and says he can’t say what comes to mind first because Cece is only 16. When pressed, he says “stupid.” He also says that he hates Ray Nagin. Bob is one who doesn’t mince his words. When asked to complete the sentence “New Orleans will….”—Bob replies “New Orleans will survive.” It always has—it’s been around for a long time, survived many other calamities, and will be around long after we are all dead and gone.

As we end the interview, we see our friends Bill and Pat taking their morning run through the block. They are friends with Bob as well. Bill and Pat live in Galveston, but have a house in New Orleans that they come back to every other weekend. Bill and Pat’s nephew went to school with Cece in Houston. This world is truly small. They’re here to attend a friend’s wedding. They invite all of us to Chickie-Wah-Wah later tonight where the wonderful Paul Sanchez holds court every Friday. We all say we might attend, though I am not likely to be locked into any plan for our last two days here in New Orleans.

We say our goodbyes to Bill, Pat and Bob and head to Cece’s work. With her interviews complete, she will download all the information to Blake’s computer. I head out to Magazine Street—I need to get to Aiden Gill to pick up some cologne and a fleur-de-lis bow tie. It’s a tradition with me—I buy one bow tie at the beginning of every school year. My “costume” as a professor is completed with the bow tie. I’ve been looking for some new cologne as well, and I know that Aiden Gill carries great lines for men. Once I make my purchase, I grab an late morning margarita from Juan’s Flying Burrito (it is, after all, 5 O’Clock somewhere) and wander aimlessly down Magazine to Jackson Street. Before too long, I find myself all the way to Pop-City Uptown. I chat a bit with Dave and Rhonda, who are having their morning coffee at Roux de la Course, and I thank Rhonda specifically for her hospitality and for providing me the chance to spend two weeks with my daughter. This has been a great time for Cece and I to fully reconnect.

Cece finally calls, and I get in the car to go pick her up. I get a chance to chat with Blake about events for the weekend, and he mentions the Friday Night Fights on Freret Street. I’m not one for “fights”, but the topic of organized fighting events on Freret Street intrigues me. Blake tells me that it would be a great photographic event. I agree, though I am not sure I will make it out there. Throughout the rest of the day, I will roll around in my mind the possibility of going out there for the fights. In the end, Cece and I choose to stay in the Quarter.

Cece and I head out to Hansen’s for quite possibly our last Hot Rod for the visit, though there’s always a chance we’ll get another one on Saturday. It’s damn hot these days, and nothing better to survive the heat than a Hansen’s SnowBliz. We get there as they open at 1pm. There is already a line out the door when we get there. As we place our order, the woman behind the counter relays to Cece the message that Ashley was really impressed with Cece’s interview. Ashley’s been interviewed by many people since the storm, but Cece impressed Ashley with the way she delivered her questions and with the fact that she presented so much maturity for a 16-year-old. Cece is very thankful. I am extremely proud. I am sure that Ashley will remember Cece every time she comes back to visit Hansen’s.

Outside of Hansen’s, we say hello to a group of tourists who I’ve noticed not only here at Hansen’s but earlier in the morning at Li’l Dizzy’s. I tell them that I’m impressed that they’ve strayed from the “usual” tourist places and find themselves in neighborhood gems. They explain to me that they are from Chicago, but have a condo here in New Orleans. They have brought their sister and nephews from Colorado to New Orleans for a visit. Yeah you right—showing them the “real” New Orleans. Somehow the discussion comes around to the Storm, how I’m in Texas, and when will I come back.

I have heard that question over and over on this trip….

We say goodbye to the tourists and make our way back to the house for a short rest. We may need the rest to handle the rest of the night.

Friday Night Fights doesn’t materialize for us, though I continue to be intrigued by the idea. Cece and I find ourselves once again in the Quarter, walking down Royal Street with no particular place to go. Shops are still open, though they are getting ready to close. We walk all the way to Iberville, and then make our way back down Chartres. I pick up a Sazerac at the Chart Room, and Cece picks up an antique book from the bookstore. Another slow walk through the Plaza de Armes, and we see Bike Guy getting ready to head out with a whole pack of bikers for Friday’s “Critical Mass” ride. The organizer tells us that they are going to ride out to the East so that others can see the closeness of the oil damage in the region. I am not sure if I will see Bike Guy again, but I have promised him once again he can rest at our house in Killeen if he makes it up that far during his Austin leg of his travels.

The only other place outside of Hansen’s where we eat for a second time is Fiorella’s. After all of their changes and turmoil since the Storm, they really have their cooking act together. Cece has the angel hair pasta, and I have (once again) the three-piece dark. Once again, I am fully satisfied. It’s all good.

We head out to hear the street music on Frenchman Street, and once again I find myself on the corner of Frenchman and Royal listening to the brass band playing great second-line music. There is a convention of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority taking place in town, and it seems quite a few have found themselves to Frenchman. The brass band commands their interest and respect, as they should. There are deep roots in brass band music, and many Delta’s realize this. I’m happy to see this interaction taking place on the street.

Though Kermit Ruffins is going on stage at the Blue Nile at 11, Cece and I are both tired from a long day. We head back to the house and relax. We don’t actually fall asleep for a while, but I am once again content knowing that the city is alive all around us, and I close my eyes knowing that I am more alive with this reality.

This is probably my last long blog chronicling this visit until late Sunday night when I return to Texas. I now that Saturday brings us an early morning visit to the Quarter to take pictures, and then lunch with Miss Lee, Devin’s former nanny and our former next-door neighbor in the Broadmoor. I am not sure what the rest of the day holds for us, but one never plans for things in New Orleans. One let’s New Orleans happen.

I am honestly getting emotional right now about the thought of leaving Sunday. I had better let this go for now.

Eh La Bas!!!

Day Thirteen

2010-07-30T05:40:00.000-07:00

Today’s essay I’ve got to run through quickly because I’ve got an 8am breakfast date with my father, Mr. Bob French. We’re meeting him at Lil’ Dizzy’s in the Treme, and I am sure this is going to be a very long breakfast. I will post my thoughts on this on Saturday.

Thursday was the most casual day of this trip, yet Cece and I accomplished so much. After a much needed night of sleep, we ventured to City Park to go to the New Orleans Museum of Art. I love spending time in this place, and I wanted to show Cece a few particular items in the gallery. It was nice to learn that they have “all day free” Wednesdays, and they stay open on those days all the way up to 9pm. What a great opportunity to see some great art collections for free. But since this was Thursday, Cece and I paid “out of state” ticket prices. Must be an aftereffect of the storm.

In the modern art gallery, I introduced Cece to one of my favorite pieces—Picasso’s “Woman In An Armchair.” I was always impressed by the painting and by the fact that it was in the New Orleans Museum of Art. I would come down to the museum at lunch sometimes just to view this piece. It is worth the price of admission. On the same floor, there is a Jackson Pollack piece. I don’t remember what it is called, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen it. As much as I try, I still can’t quite figure it out. Art, like Jazz, is an expression of one’s emotion through a medium. It is an expressive art form. Coltrane’s “Father, Son, Holy Ghost” reminds me of how something completely abstract can make perfect sense to me. Still, Pollack’s work is a bit too “easy” to seem abstract. Lines and swirls are indeed filled with expressive potential. Yet, if the expression is only “understandable” to the artist, I am not sure if it makes much sense.

After the Museum, Cece and I head to Parkway Tavern for their famous poboys. I choose the Roast Beef with Debris, while Cece chooses the Shrimp. Once we get our sandwiches, she is amazed by how much shrimp is on her sandwich. There is no way she can eat the whole thing, and we only ordered a “half” sandwich. I try to tell her that one of the great selling points of New Orleans food is the bounty of it all. Pure gluttony at times. She looks at me like she understands, but she also takes half the shrimp and sets it aside to eat later.

Fully stuffed from the Parkway Tavern, we head back to the house to rest up for an early afternoon outing. Cece is going to enjoy the Quarter while I’m doing my show at WWOZ. It takes me only “two hours” today to put the show together—and even with this effort I know I’m only going to use a few cuts from the music I select.

Doing this third and final show at WWOZ seemed rather melancholy to me. I enjoy getting the phone calls and the email messages from listeners, and it is always satisfying to know that people are enjoying the selections. There is lots of “funky” jazz on the current set list for today. And, as usual, I put in lots of classic jazz like Coltrane, Monk, Mingus, and Davis. I thought I would end my show with some vocals, and I play one cut by Kaya Martinez off of her recording Embrace. Cece had interviewed Kaya earlier this week. It was a wonderful show, and it ended much too quickly for me. Indeed, this whole trip has been such a quick and indeed beautiful time to be back home.

I really enjoy playing this music, and I believe I can do it on a weekly basis. The biggest problem is that there are no opportunities to play Jazz on the radio in close proximity to where I currently live. I have tried internet radio, but that is expensive. I have to buy much of the current music, and the subscription price I must maintain for the use of the internet radio station kept getting more expensive. I finally had to drop my show last year. But after doing three shows back at WWOZ, I am tempted to revisit the idea of doing an online show once again. I guess I’ll sleep on this a bit when I get back to Texas.

We end our early evening interviewing my former graduate student Elise about her experiences during Katrina and her thoughts about Katrina-5. She and her boyfriend Justin own a bar in the Hospital District in the CBD. They’ve had this bar since February 2005. The cinder-block and brick building sustained minimal damage during the storm—nothing that couldn’t be repaired relatively quickly once they had the chance to get back to clean up and once their insurance money came in. Their house in Mid-City, though, took a bit longer to repair. Only recently have they been able to move out of their backyard apartment and into the main house. It has taken them nearly 5 years to complete the work on their house.

Elise’s story is very similar to the others we have heard on this trip. Basically, the city has “recovered” at a much slower pace than we thought, but it has gotten back on it’s feet. We are all hopeful that the city will continue to recover. Elise’s first words that come to mind when she hears the name “Ray Nagin” is “crazy.” She thoroughly believes he went crazy mental after the storm. She raises a good point—I believe he did as well.

Cece and I decide after the interview that we are going to call it a night. She wants to spend some time with Bike Guy, and I “chaperone” a meeting they have close by that lasts until midnight. I’m falling asleep during this time, and I finally tell them I need to go to bed. He departs, but I promise him a warm meal and a place to stay for a bit if he ever finds his way up to Killeen. I am sure he won’t take me up on that offer, but you never know.

As Cece and I head into our last two days in New Orleans, I am trying to keep as open an agenda as I can. We’ll meet with Bob French on Friday morning, and then we’ll meet with Miss Lee on Saturday afternoon. Cece is going out with Camera Guy on Saturday morning for lessons on how to shoot the Quarter, and I must find a Wal-Mart to pick up this year’s Saints shirt and hat. When it comes right down to it, I see lots of walking and photography in my two days ahead. That and one more Hansen’s and one more Sazerac.

Yeah you right!!!

Day Twelve

2010-07-29T06:56:00.000-07:00

Much of the early part of Wednesday was dedicated to “recovery.” I am not one to stay up too many times after 3am, so the previous night did slow me down on Wednesday. I am just glad I didn’t have too much to drink or else I would have been nursing a hangover too, and that would have done me in for the whole day. But with an occasional cat-nap in the afternoon, I was able to bounce back and capture another incredible day in New Orleans.

I took Cece to her first interview in the late morning. She had arranged an interview with Ashley Hansen, and we arrived just before Noon at the greatest place in the whole-wide-world—Hansen’s Snowballs. I already knew much of Ashley’s evacuation story, but her retelling of this for the first time face-to-face with me would remind me of the many who experienced great pain in the evacuation.

Cece has a tendency to be a bit shy in her interviews, especially with those who she doesn’t know. She started asking Ashley basic questions about background (name, neighborhood, occupation), and there is one question she reads through a bit too fast—the evacuation question. “Did you evacuate?” and “What did you do when you first got back?” Ashley answered “yes” to the evacuation question, and after answering that she went to the shop to see what damages it experienced when she first got back, she asked Cece if she could answer the evacuation question again. “How much depth do you want for this answer” Ashley asked. Cece stated “as much as you want.”

Ashley recounted how she and her family had never evacuated for a storm before. This would be no different, and the possibility of evacuating this time was compounded by the fact that her grandmother was already hospitalized in Touro Infirmary. But after watching the news and seeing the potential severity of the storm, Ashley urged her father and her grandfather to come with her to evacuate. The elder Mr. Hansen (Earnest—the originator of the Hansen Snobliz machine) declined to evacuate and chose instead to spend his time with his ailing wife Mary. He checked in to Touro, which according to Ashley was already looking chaotic. It was her grandfather’s birthday, and she gave him his presents as she dropped him off at Touro.

She evacuated with as many of her prized possessions she could fit into her air-condition-less VW Golf. She had to make room as well for her father’s belongings and two of her neighbor’s cats. Her father was bringing his dog as well. They had originally planned on evacuating to Alexandria, but the traffic and getting on the wrong contra-flow out of the city pushed them to Jackson, MS. After over 12 hours on the road, they settled in Jackson.

It is in Jackson that they hear the levees have broken.

As for many of us who learned of that fatal news late Monday afternoon, she knew her city was in peril. More important for Ashley, her grandparents were at Touro and in danger for their lives.

Ashley and her father turned around and headed back to New Orleans.

Ashley would not find her grandparents for one more week.

They had been airlifted out of Touro by the Coast Guard, and they were placed in separate hospitals in another state. As Ashley confided, they had never spent any time separated from each other, and now in all this chaos they were to be separated without knowing where each other was. In reality, they were in two hospitals in the same town just miles from each other. Still, the fact that they could not see each other was taxing on their condition.

Ashley was able to find and reunite them. But for Earnest and Mary Hansen, a couple that adored each other and had never been without each other, all the events of the evacuation would take it’s toll. Mary died a few days after being discovered by Ashley, on September 8, 2005. Earnest would pass away on May 30, 2006.

The smile on Ashley’s face has long faded during this interview. I find myself holding back tears as she talks about this story. Again, it is a story I am familiar with—in my neighborhood, my next door neighbor experienced the same tragedy of sorts, and I spent the better half of September helping her find her ailing diabetic son. Ashley brings me back to that time with vivid and personal detail. Katrina turned all of our lives upside down—even for those of us who have recovered in five years.

Ashley continues to answer Cece’s questions—she is optimistic about the future of New Orleans, but there is so much more that needs to be done. Her favorite “bite” is a Hansen’s Snowbliz with Nectar. Who can argue with that. And when she is asked about what comes to mind when she hears the name “Ray Nagin,” she is quick with a response. “Scoundrel”, she says. I couldn’t agree with her more.

Ashley’s interview was the deepest and most personal of the interviews we have heard in the past two weeks. Mr. David’s interview is up there too. I can see that the questions have made Ashley think about a time she really is uncomfortable talking about. I can also see that she finds it important to talk about this time to others.

Ashley invites us to have a Snowbliz after the interview, but they aren’t open yet and I beg off for another day. I am sure that we will stop by there Thursday or Friday for another Hot Rod. It will be the only food place I will go to over three times on this trip. Yeah you right!!!

Cece and I decide on “Slice” for lunch. They’ve opened up a new restaurant on Magazine Street, across from the Whole Foods. We’ve heard that it is the best pizza in town, and once we get our slices, there is no doubt to me that the stories are accurate. My “meat lovers” slice is incredible, and Cece’s “white pizza” slice is equally great. Prices are extremely reasonable, and we may come back here before the end of the trip as well for one more bite.

We head to Rouses after lunch where I collect the ingredients I need to make gumbo today for my neighbors in Broadmoor. Two pounds of shrimp and one pound of andouille should do us fine. And after a bit of a rest back at the house, I begin putting my gumbo together.

Making roux in someone else’s kitchen with someone else’s pots and utensils is like wearing someone else’s underwear. It “fits,” but it just doesn’t feel right.

I can’t find the proper spoon to make roux with—it’s too small, and it’s not metal. As I mix the butter and flour together, my hand gets occasionally splattered with the hot roux. As I turn the pot, the metal handles are hot and burn too. Making roux is not supposed to be a joyful experience anyway, and this only adds to the labor. Still, after a while I’ve got the right color roux, and I begin making my gumbo. One hour later, and a few tastes along the way, it’s ready to go. We pack it up and head over to Jack and Sherry’s.

Cece is going to interview my friend JC about his experience during the storm. I let her settle in to the interview while Jack, Sherry and I begin having our gumbo. I am happy that Jack and Sherry love the gumbo. JC concurs once the interview is through, and much to my amazement Cece is not only having some—she also likes it! Cece’s doesn’t deviate far in her culinary tastes—and the fact that she likes my gumbo implies that there is still some hope that I’ll get her to love the rest of my New Orleans cooking. One can only hope.

We talk about the Saints and the HBO series Treme while at Jack’s house. I tell everyone about some of my “superstitions” for the games, including not calling JC ever before a game. I’ve still got to get a new shirt and hat from Wal-Mart—an important part of the superstition from last year. “Treme” conjures up a good conversation about how the writers and directors got it “right,” but it still puzzles us how anyone outside of New Orleans would “get” the show. The stories of each character we are familiar with, but what does it mean to folks in Michigan? We all concur, though, that is was a great series. I’m still curious what “new” stories they will come up with in the next season.

After dinner, Cece and I head to the Quarter. We intend to walk around the Quarter with no particular plan or purpose. It’s the type of walks we used to take in our neighborhood or in other parts of New Orleans. To a certain extent, it reminds me of the times Susan and I would venture out on Wednesday nights in the Jeep with the top down. Our neighbor Miss Lee would babysit Devin, and Susan and I would stop by the Daiquiri shop on Carrollton to get our drinks, drive through Uptown on Magazine, follow Magazine into the Quarter as it turns into Chartres Street, roll down through Decatur Street, and then come back along Royal Street, back to our house. A trip with no particular purpose—other than to enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of the City.

Nightime walks in the Quarter are beautiful this time of year. Once again, Cece and I own the Quarter. Few tourists are out. Some shops are still open. Restaurants all seem full, though. We casually find ourselves at Café Envie on Decatur Street, and Cece is happy to find that “Camera Guy” is working behind the counter.

Camera Guy is named “Bob”, and he looks much too clean cut to be working at Café Envie. He is a photographer, but he has had to work “real jobs” in order to have time for his art-form. He enjoys talking about photography, and he especially enjoys teaching Cece about photographic theory. He goes to his car and brings us his Nikon Medium Format camera. It’s one of the largest cameras I’ve ever seen, and he sets it up on his tripod so that Cece can work with it. I’m impressed by the pictures he’s taken with it. He likes to work in Black and Whites, though he’s starting to work more in color these days. Bob also has his own darkroom, and this helps with the ease of his photographic work. Cece is beginning to see that there is a vibrant artists community here in New Orleans. They may not yet be “famous,” but they are working passionately on their art.

I find myself sitting at the counter with an Abita, reading the latest Offbeat, and enjoying the cool air-conditioning inside Envie. The sounds of the street come in from the open door, and the “kay-rack-ters” of Decatur Street come in and out of the Café. I find myself truly at peace in the Café, and I feel like I could live here forever.

Cece and I are now into our last three days in New Orleans. There are two people on my list I must see, and there is at least one place I still need to take Cece too. I’ve got a show to do this afternoon, and I am looking forward to this as well. It’s going to be another great day back home. I’ve got to find a way back, I just know it.

Day Eleven

2010-07-28T07:18:00.000-07:00

New Orleans has a way of forgiving people who turn in at 3:00 in the morning. It’s relative neglect for time follows one to the next day where “being late” is acceptable at least once a week. Sometimes, we find that “not coming to work” is acceptable every once in a while as well. I love New Orleans for this. Last night was one of those nights where I would like to use my “being late” cards today.

Tuesdays in New Orleans are slow, and yesterday was no exception. The city is full of locals—the tourists are few and the neon-green t-shirt clad Lutherans are long gone. A bit of excitement takes place in the neighborhood early in the morning—police cars race through the neighborhood at 8am and I know that this means trouble. Sure enough—reading the morning news online, I discover that there has been a murder in our neighborhood just five blocks down the street. It is a drug related murder. I am surprised at how “ho-hum” I actually take the news when I find out. This is New Orleans, I rationalize.

Cece and I start the day at work, and by noon we find ourselves reconnecting to conduct interviews and to catch up with Allen and Jacob. We decide to direct Allen and Jacob to lunch at Domilise’s—one of the best po-boy shops in the city. Parkway Tavern and Domilise’s are my favorite places, but Parkway is closed on Tuesdays (for some unknown reason). I am the only person who does not order a shrimp poboy—I choose the incredible roast beef poboy, smothered in may-o-naze and debris. I save a good part of it for lunch later in the week.

Next, we head to Hansen’s for Allen and Jacob’s first bona-fide New Orleans snowball. We are there at 1pm (opening) and the line is already out the door. This is my second visit to Hansen’s, and I am sure it is not my last on this trip. Today, Ashley is there with her sincere “sweet as sugar pie” smile. If there is a nicer person in the whole world, I would like to know. Her wonderful energy is contagious. Cece secures an interview with Ashley for Wednesday, and we order our round of Hansen’s Hot Rod’s.

Allen and Jacob find themselves in heaven, and I am happy that I have led new people to an insider’s paradise. There aren’t many tourists on this side of town—Hansen’s, though, is an institution and will attract the tourists through word-of-mouth. Allen and Jacob thank me for this bit of insider New Orleans, and they head out of town with Hot Rod’s in hand back to Texas.

Cece and I continue with the afternoon running some errands. The evening will be filled with an interview with my friend Kaya, and then Zephyr baseball with Jason. I get a call from Lynn Drury that she wants us to see her new apartment in the Bywater. Her tone informs me that she really wants us to see her new apartment, and I promise to call her when we get back from baseball.

Kaya works at McDonough 15. She is one of their music teachers. She shows us her room, which is set up as a small stage with seating and lighting in a cabaret style. She is very proud of the work she has done with her room, and I get an idea that my students in Texas could be part of this school with their service work next summer. Cece completes the interview, and then after our goodbyes we are on our way to Metairie to pick up Jason for the baseball game.

Cece informs me of how much the Zephyrs game reminds her of times we had together in New Orleans prior to the storm. Of all the things that she says that spark her pre-Katrina memories of us, this one touches my heart the most. I am glad I was successful in turning something I love so much—baseball—into a wonderful memory for her. Over the years, I have had lots of fun with all the kids taking them to baseball games. I am glad it is a time full of memories for all of them.

Jason and I talk baseball during the whole game. He has become more than a good player—he has become a true fan of the game. He knows the history and the strategy. He knows the passion as well. He admires players who play with all their hearts, and has a disdain for those who don’t take the game seriously. Jason plans to walk-on this year at UNO, and I truly believe he can make the team. I hope to see him play next year for UNO—I will travel to his road games if he does make the team.

The game is a pitcher’s duel, and the Z’s win 1-to-nothing in a game that takes just two hours to play. I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed such a short game. But it turns out to be a great time with Jason. I am very happy I got the chance to see him today.

On the way to the house, I call Lynn to let her know we would like to come by and see her. It’s not late, due to the short game, and we finally connect at 10:30 to go see her new apartment.

She lives in the “new” Artist’s Lofts in the Bywater. I am not sure who put this site together, but it is one of the best conceptual living and art spaces I have ever seen. It can be a significant housing anchor for the area, and it provides real affordable housing for the kind of people New Orleans needs to attract and retain as it recovers after Katrina. Lynn has every right to be proud of her new space. The artists all feed off of each other—the passion for their work motivates others to be creative. It is a safe and secure sight, with lots of space for collaboration and the use of shared resources. There needs to be more housing like this in New Orleans. I need to find out more about this space.

Cece eventually falls asleep in the living room, and as Lynn and I talk about her upcoming recording and tour, she begins to make cookies for us. It is nearly 3am, and once the cookies are finished I realize that Cece and I must get back home.

This is our longest night out, but one that is worth every moment. I am happy that Lynn finds herself in such a creative venue, and I hope that she can use the energy of this site to further her career.

In New Orleans, a night that lasts to 3am is not too unusual, even for the early week. I am glad I didn’t drink during the night—I know that all I will be suffering from on Wednesday will be a bit of fatigue.

We have another day full of interviews today. Hopefully, I’ll find the time for a nap too!

Day Ten

2010-07-27T06:36:00.001-07:00

There are certain places where we know we belong. The symbiosis of place, image, interaction, and culture create an environment where we feel natural and truly an integral part. New Orleans is that place for me—it is truly who I am. During the last 10 days, I have once again been reassured that this is the place I must ultimately live in for my final days. At least the cognizant days—with or without liquor. I honestly feel like I have more friends here than I do in Killeen where I have lived for almost 5 years. I do not really know nor do I really interact with my neighbors. Attempts are made, but no long-standing relationships emerge. I can count on one hand my true friendships in Killeen. Here, I have had the opportunity to reconnect with many friends over the nearly two week period. The reality of life makes it difficult for Susan and I to move back to New Orleans, but there is a strong piece of me right now that longs to buy one of these old shops or bars in the Bywater and reopen it. We could take the upstairs part and live in it. I could live out my final days “holding court” behind my bar—lecturing on sociology if anyone would listen. It is a fantasy thought, but fantasies do come true every once in a while in New Orleans.

This Monday was similar to last Monday—a pleasant and slow day. I spent the morning grading papers and attending to administrative work, and Cece spent a few hours at her internship. In the late afternoon, I helped hustle some of my friends for her to interview. The week is filling up with folks to speak with, and we begin on Tuesday with my dear friend Kaya, a teacher at McDonough 15 in the French Quarter. I believe she teaches music there, but she may have her own 2nd Grade class as well. She is also a local vocalist and percussionist. Kaya evacuated with us during Katrina, and I ended up driving her all the way to Houston so she could catch a plane back to her home in Arizona. She has an interesting story to tell, I am sure.

My colleague Allen is in town with his son Jacob, and I go down to the Quarter to give them a quick walking tour. Jacob has been convinced by Allen that I am an expert on the Quarter. I only really know the bars, though (right). Allen and Jacob are only in town for the night—they leave to go back to Killeen on Tuesday. New Orleans is a beautiful city, but a one day visit does not do it justice. I can handle a quick one-day visit because I know what to do and who to see on a quick visit. I’m not sure what a tourist can see if they only have 24 hours to do New Orleans in.

Earlier in the day, Cece convinced me that we should go see a movie. Her choice is the new Leonardo di Caprio movie “Inception.” Since it’s playing at the Prytania Theater, I agree. She hasn’t seen a movie there since before the storm. Honestly, I think that’s the last time I saw one there too. The Prytania Theater is one of the last truly neighborhood theaters in the country. A neighborhood moviehouse—wow, what a novel concept! Tonight’s show draws a pretty large crowd, and Cece has invited “Bike Guy” to come along. He’s now staying with a friend in St. Roch. He is truly living a frontier lifestyle now.

The movie is very good and very captivating. Some might call it a “sci-fi” thriller, though the only “sci-fi” element to the movie is the way people are invoked into a dream state. It is pure thriller, with multiple layers of activity taking place. This is the second movie I’ve seen where Di Caprio plays someone who is out of touch with reality—“Shutter Island” was an excellent movie, though somewhat predictable. I’m impressed with his new work.

Though there is lots to do that is “free” on Monday, Cece and I turn in early tonight. We drive home through the Quarter, and I see a number of friends out for walks. I say hello to Jacques Morial and will give him a call later on Tuesday. I also see my friend John, who is out walking his two very big Rotweiler’s. I am glad we are turning in early, because as we settle in, the heaven’s open up again with a downpour.

This has been a wonderful visit for me, not just to be back in New Orleans, but also to spend so much quality time with my daughter. Before my divorce, I had so many “plans” for my interactions with her. So much of that was lost in the distance (both physical and mental) that became part of our relationship. I know she remembers very little of how I would read to her at night, or how I would swing her in my arms as if I were a big tree and toss her back down onto her bed after the reading. I was not there for her on a daily basis when I should have been. Now that she is a young woman, I am honored to hear her open up with her dreams, aspirations, and intellectual ideas. She is very similar to me in many ways, including holding one’s emotions close to the heart. But I can feel that we are getting so much closer from this time together, and this is probably the best thing that has come from this trip for me.

Today intends to be another slow day. I have begun to upload my pictures to my flickr site, and I hope to get out into the streets a bit today to take more pictures, especially in a neighborhood I have very few pictures of—the Bywater. I am nearly finished with grading papers. My administrative tasks can be taken care of daily. I might just call a realtor up today about a certain bar for sale in the Bywater. You never know what new opportunities might be just around the corner.

Yeah you right!!!

Day Nine

2010-07-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

When was the last time you walked through your neighborhood and something, indeed many things, brought a smile to your face? These Bywater morning walks continue to amuse me. The beauty of decay and neglect abound, but it’s the little things that make me smile. The advertisement for “Pie Ho” Pizza, the painting on the outside wall at Frady’s warning of a local mugger, the beautiful roses and other flower bushes in people’s yards, the occasional small child’s toy or bike on the front porch, the cat in the window…. I am enjoying these morning walks. They bring me back to life.

I got out to a later start Sunday morning, due in large part to a wonderful but “late” Saturday night. “Late” is relative—the fact that we left the Blue Nile after one set, and that set did not end until 1am, and it appeared that we were the only ones leaving, tells the true story of what I consider “late” and what New Orleans considers “late.” My friend Lisa had been out the night before all the way to sunrise, and perhaps even later. That “might” be considered late in New Orleans….

Once infused with early afternoon coffee, Cece and I venture back to Simon’s shop on Magazine and Jackson. She is interested in interviewing him for her project. Once again, I am amazed at the “cordial” response Simon gives when describing how he feels about Ray Nagin. He too must pause for quite a long time before he responds with “in the end, Nagin will be remembered for doing something good.” I can’t think of a thing Nagin did “good” for the city, but perhaps Simon knows more than I. Still, Simone cannot name a good thing either.

Cece heads out on Magazine Street in search of another interview. I remain behind and intend to spend a wonderful afternoon discussing life with Simon. I have brought my six-pack of Heinecken, and I am sure we both will do our level best to finish the whole thing off in less than an hour. We are joined in our discussion this afternoon by a neighbor named John. John lives in Atlanta but owns a small “condo” on Jackson and Laurel. He, and occasionally his wife, comes down to the city once a month. His children are out of the house now, though his son goes to school at McNeese State and he finds time to visit his son in Lake Charles when he can. John also volunteers at the Jazz Fest (at the drink booths). I really hope that Susan and I can do something like this very soon—buy or rent something small in New Orleans that we can call home while here. If anyone knows of a cheap but safe efficiency apartment for rent, I would like to talk with you.

Simon’s new paintings continue to be “signs” of sayings or commissions to mark special events. His non-commission work goes out the door almost immediately after it’s completed. A couple come in to commission three pieces to help commemorate their lives in New Orleans. They have lived here for three years, but their work is transferring them to Los Angeles. They are not happy with the move, but they know they will come back someday. I believe they will—you can hear the passion for New Orleans in their voices. After they leave, Simon confides in me that his job is “non-stop.” What a wonderful thing in life when you are doing what you love to do on your own terms.

After about an hour, Cece comes back but has been refused her first interview. She thought she had a lead, but it turns out the person didn’t want to participate. She wants to complete three interviews today, and though this might be a bit ambitious, she is determined to get it done. We tell Simon and John goodbye. I know I will see Simon once again before we leave.

Next stop—on a whim, Cece decides to interview “anyone” at Dirty Coast. It’s close to closing time, and we are able to corner Anika into an interview. I know her story too. Anika is originally from Germany, but her sister lived in New Orleans so she decided to come and visit. She arrived in New Orleans a few weeks before the storm. She STAYED during the storm! You can see in her face that the experience for her was not too bad, but that it was “interesting.” Once the city got back on it’s feet in late 2005, Anika returned to Europe. She was back in New Orleans one year later to stay. I do not hear what she said about Nagin, but it wasn’t bad.

We get back in the car and head to my neighborhood, Broadmoor. We’re really on our way to City Park, but I figure we can get there “quicker” going through my neighborhood. Honestly, I love driving through the neighborhood whenever I can. It still is home for me. As we leave the neighborhood and head up Jeff Davis towards City Park, I notice that the car next to me has Jack and Sherry in it—neighbors from across the street in Broadmoor. We roll our windows down and say hello, and it turns out they are heading to the new Dog Park at City Park to walk their beautiful brown lab named “Cooty” (“Mardi Cooty Fiyo—Indian Red, Indian Red”). Cece and I follow them there so we can sit and catch up. Cece gets a chance to interview Jack. Sherry and I catch up on what’s been going on since I last saw them in May. We make plans to do something this week—whether that be a poker game, or a cookout. I volunteer to make Gumbo. Jack and Sherry love my gumbo. Ironically, the last time I made Gumbo for Jack and Sherry was for a poker night on Tuesday, August 25, 2005—the Tuesday before the Storm. We had all just learned about Katrina forming off the eastern coast of Florida—really two tropical disturbances joining up into one very big and ugly storm.

Jack is kind, too, to Nagin during Cece’s interview. Jack thought Nagin was the wrong person in the wrong situation at the wrong time. We had lots of hope for Nagin, but he never fulfilled his potential.

Wow—am I the only person that HATES Nagin so much that I can honestly find no redeeming qualities to his pitiful little self? I guess there is something wrong with me—or perhaps I need some therapy for this deep hatred I have of Nagin!

We all agree that we all must do something together before Cece and I head out of town. I imagine it will indeed be Poker Night on Tuesday. We say our goodbyes and Cece and I drive around City Park.

City Park is beautiful, and it has come back relatively well. I don’t believe the golf course is back online—it doesn’t look like it. But the Museum has been going strong since shortly after the Storm and the grounds look wonderful again. Cece informs me that the young man he met a few nights ago—the one who is traveling by bike across country—spent the night in City Park. He has his own tent and sleeping bag, and he found City Park to be a good venue since it was far enough from the Quarter to be out of the way of potential muggers, homeless people, and curious police officers. Honestly, I admire his frontier attitude with his trip. I am not sure I could spend the night alone in a tent in City Park, but the thought does make me think of trying it out someday when I ride my motorcycle into town.

Cece also informs me that she and “Bike Guy” are going to attend the free dinner at the Hari Krishna temple on Esplanade….

I love my daughter. She reminds me of me so much….

I don’t have a problem with this date, and I’m actually curious about what her experience will be at the Hari Krishna dinner. After a short rest back at the house, we are on our way to our respective dinners—she to the Temple with Bike Guy, and me to Mandina’s by myself.

We get to the Temple and Bike Guy is waiting for her there. I tell Cece that I’ll be back in an hour to pick her up. She has a look on her face that is both smile and smirk. Hard to describe, but it seems that she is both thanking me for letting her do this, and wishing that I would vanish quickly.

Mandina’s is one of my favorite restaurants in New Orleans. It seems that I have beaten the late crowd since I find a table relatively easily, and mid-way through dinner the line is outside the door. I am in full anticipation of two things here—a Sazerac and their Trout Meuniere. The waitress informs me that they are out of Trout tonight!!! They can put the Meuniere sauce on their Soft Shell Crabs, but I have my heart set on trout. I settle for the Fried Oysters instead.

The waitress assures me that the oysters are from PJ’s. This is good to know. The helping of oysters is large once I get my plate. The problem is that the oysters are small—smaller than I’m used to seeing. And they taste “bland”—no real salty, muddy taste to them. I am sure I’m imagining things, but it seems that these oysters are a bit immature to be on the table. Still, I save enough to put on a po-boy sandwich tomorrow. The waitress brings me another Sazerac and some of Mandina’s wonderful Bread Pudding. This IS a nice way to end the meal.

On my way back to pick up Cece, I find her and Bike Guy on the corner by the Temple sitting and talking. I can tell she is having a great time. I tell them both I’ll be back later, and I end up driving down the street to Jared’s new house and parking the car. It is a beautiful night, and I feel like walking.

Walking…. In a neighborhood…. At night…. A neighborhood with life….

I could hear distant sounds of music, some rap and some jazz. I could hear WWOZ on the air. Sounds of voices coming from the living rooms. Smells of barbeques that had ended a few hours before. Mardi Gras beads on fences. A light pole with hand-made “Saints” signs with different sayings that seemed to be added with every significant victory in 2009. I had once again died and gone to heaven. I do believe I have done that every day while we’ve been here.

Finally, I go back and pick Cece up. She is ready to go back to the house. I am sure she will see Bike Guy again later this week. I am also sure I will get another chance to walk through a neighborhood with life. And I know I will see something that will bring another smile to my face.

I have no plans for Monday other than grading papers and attending to work issues in the early morning. I do believe, though, I will try to go with Cece on the Street Car to City Park. We have a date at the New Orleans Museum of Art. There’s an original Picasso I want her to see there.

Yeah you right!!!

Day Eight

2010-07-25T11:28:00.000-07:00

It is 12:30 as I start writing this blog. PM. Early afternoon…. Cece and I had ourselves a time last night, starting off at Lucy’s in the CBD and then closing the night down at the Blue Nile on Frenchman.

Bonnie came and went in a whimper—an insignificant version of what she could have been. The rain that began in the early evening was welcome on a warm summer day, but she would later douse Cece and I on Frenchman Street with the typical summer “opening of the heavens” downpour. I didn’t mind being wet from head to toe. It actually felt great.

Saturday was a nice, leisurely day. Cece was in search of interviews, and I had a few ideas. We started off the day with breakfast at Clover Grill. That is Cece’s favorite place in New Orleans—she has a weakness for their waffles. I love the “kay-rack-ters” that work there, but the staff has noticeably become more tame since the Storm. The food, though, is still top notch. Cece makes reference that we are sitting the very table that Brad Pitt sat in during the scene in Benjamin Button. I point out to her that the scene was completed in a set, not at the Clover Grill. It is a shame that they were not able to film at Clover Grill, but I am not sure why that is the case. I am sure Brad loves him some Clover Grill every once in a while. He lives just up the street.

Our first potential interview takes us back to “Road Kill,” a shop owned by my friend John in the French Quarter. John is not in, though, so we decide we will head out to the Musician’s Village to see if we can catch Bob French or George Ingmire. I take the LONG way to the Musician’s Village—north up Elysian Fields to Gentilly, then past Gentilly to Florida Avenue. I wanted to see how much remediation work had been done on this side of the canal since the storm. Not surprisingly we find that very little has been done. We stop to take some pictures of an abandoned NOFD truck and an NOPD cruiser at the apparently abandoned Central Maintenance Garage in the Industrial District of the Upper Ninth Ward. I can’t imagine these vehicles have been here since Katrina, but then again it wouldn’t surprise me. I will upload these pictures to my flickr site later today (www.flickr.com/banzaibill).

We make it to the Musician’s Village, which Cece has never seen. Bob French is not home, but Smokey Johnson is holding court on his front porch. I see one of the neighborhood kay-rack-ters who I know, David, and we begin to have a pleasant chat with him. David owns the “wild house” on Bartholomew Street—a two house lot with drum sets sitting on poles in the front yard, a big cowboy hat in the garage that looks like it came of a Harry Lee mardi gras float, and a crew of mannequins in the front yard, one of which emulates, he says, his current girlfriend. People are always looking at this collection of artifacts n his yard, and David is always happy to talk with them. He agrees to an interview, and Cece begins to ask the questions.

He stayed in his house during the storm, and after three days of living in a house under 10 feet of water he was evacuated to the Super Dome. Once there, he was put on a bus to Houston, where he remained for a long while until his son picked him up. Like many of us, he found his way back into the city in October 2005. He began repairing the damage to his house, and eventually was compensated by Road Home, FEMA an Insurance money. I would have to classify him as one of the lucky one’s when it came to compensation. He has used the money, though, to fully repair his house and the house next door. He fully admits, though, that the best thing to happen to his neighborhood is the Musician’s Village. It has been the catalyst for the rebuilding and repairing of so many other houses in the neighborhood. He is a wonderful and empathetic person with a smile that never leaves his face, and when it comes to answering the question about Nagin, he ponders a bit and says he never says anything bad about anyone. So he has to think a bit about his response, which finally is the only positive thing I can think of myself—Nagin stayed here throughout the storm.

We say goodbye to David, and head back to the Bywater where we walk throughout the neighborhood to take pictures. So many wonderfully unique homes here, and I realize that this is one neighborhood I could really enjoy living in. On the 900 block of Piety I discovered ANOTHER neighborhood bar—Bud Rip’s. This is a classic neighborhood bar, and it’s only four blocks from where we’re staying. I will be going back to visit this bar during the last week of our stay. Within walking distance of Rhonda’s house we have access to a neighborhood grocery, and great coffee shop, wonderful second-hand stores, a neighborhood bar, and a music shop. Piety Street studios is not far away as well. I would have to walk two miles to get to the closest “anything” in my “neighborhood” in Texas….

After resting up in the afternoon, Cece and I head out to hear Rotary Downs play at Lucy’s in the CBD. On the way there, I get a text message from my friend Sherry that she, her husband Jack, JC and Maggie are heading to a new club opening in the CBD. The club is called “12 Bars” and its named in reference to the 12-bar chords in a blues song. I’m able to walk between both events, and I get a chance to say hello to Maggie and JC at 12 Bars, but ultimately Cece and I find ourselves back at Lucy’s.

Lucy’s is not a place I frequent. I would never recommend it to friends. It has a feel of a Tulane fraternity party. In fact, my friends who DO like Lucy’s graduated from Tulane. They’re having their annual street “lu-owe” party, and other than the stage the street is blocked off with a slip-and-slide and a water slide. Beach balls are flying everywhere, and I somehow imagine I’m at a Jimmy Buffett concert. We meet Blake, Patrick and Jamie there. I discover that Jamie worked at McDonough 15 prior to her current teaching gig in the Upper Ninth Ward (Carver Elementary). She knows Gina and Kaya. New Orleans is such a small town.

Rotary Downs is playing a great set, but Cece and I need a break before we head down to Frenchman Street later in the night. We intend to catch up with Blake, Patrick and Jamie at the Blue Nile. Mike Dillon of Garage-A-Tois fame is playing there tonight, and this is sure to be a great show. After heading home and changing clothes, Cece and I meet the crew at Blue Nile. Between parking the car and getting to the club, Bonnie decides to drench us with the “opening of heavens” downpour…. So much for our changed clothes.

What a set!!! Mike Dillon is on vibes and percussion, and he’s tearing the house apart. He’s backed by a drummer and an electric bass player. Solid percussion, and it is incredible. Dillon is bending the music with a wah-wah, and his “last” piece before the first set break lasts nearly one hour!!! I would love to stay for more, but I see that it’s already past 1am and I am sure we need to get home. Cece and I say our goodbyes.

Needless to say, I got up late today.

We’re about to head out for another day of interviews. Simon is on the agenda. After that, there is no plan. Who plans for anything in New Orleans? Just take whatever she gives you. Yeah you right!

Day Seven

2010-07-24T08:15:00.001-07:00

It takes a certain kind of person to truly live in New Orleans. Each of us are “kay-rack-ters” in every sense of the word. Those who live in an organized, time oriented schedule do not do well here. Those who seek drastic change from the slow, laissez-faire lifestyle of this town will only find frustration. True, there are those who always complain about one thing or another, including our slow pace of life at times. And we all know that “Mayor” (sic) Nagin gave many of us lots to complain about. But we shrug off complainers because we know they wouldn’t live anywhere else—New Orleans gives them the stage to not only complain but become “kay-rack-ters” in the neighborhood and community-wide soundtrack of the city. As one person put it to me yesterday, she wouldn’t feel normal living anywhere else. And I knew what she was talking about. For many of us to live somewhere else, we would be seen by others as “abnormal” Here, we turn things on their sides, upside down. Here, the social “abnormal” is very normal, and we wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

I had designs on not doing any work on Friday, but I quickly found myself working for four hours while at the coffeehouse. Catching up with grading papers was paramount, and it seemed that “work” at the University had slowed down. Fridays at the University are the quietest days of the week, especially in the summer. I let my Administrative Assistant off early so that she could study for a test and gather research on her final paper. I had electronically signed all of my morning’s paperwork. I had begun the process of setting up my adjuncts with their online course accounts. Once the papers were graded and I had answered all my emails, I was pretty much done for the day. I had also consumed four hours of work.

As I traveled back to the house, I intended to park myself in the Quarter and take advantage of at least one day of Tales of the Cocktail. It was nice that this event was “conveniently” taking place during this trip, but as I have reintegrated myself into everyday New Orleans, I found solace in knowing that the event was taking place and I have the opportunity to participate. For some of us, we know this feeling as residents in this geat city. We know there is so much activity taking place in this city, and at times we go home knowing that we can go out at any time and take advantage of it. We fall asleep knowing that there is so much we could do.

Where I currently “stay,” all we are sure of is that tomorrow will be a work day when we get up. There is little going on during any day that goes beyond the boredom of everyday life. Thankfully, I have a wonderfully creative wife and a truly beautiful little boy to spend my time with at home. Between the sounds of WWOZ on the radio, or Susan playing piano, or Devin drawing or playing legos with me, I find that I’ve done a pretty good job of creating a bit of New Orleans in our home. This is what I crave for during the day—and if I weren’t in New Orleans right now I would anticipate with great anxiety the fact that I am going home to my “little” New Orleans and the ones I love every day after work. Its as close as we are going to get to New Orleans for the time being.

I pass on going to Tales of the Cocktail, and choose instead to go to the house and rest.

Cece calls me to inform me it is time for my interview for Humidbeings.com. She’s working on a project with Blake Haney to interview residents about their pre- and post-Katrina experiences. She comes to the house with Michael, her intern coordinator, and Sean, the other intern. They’ve just interviewed the owner of “Island of Salvation” botanica here in the Bywater. They settle into the house and get their equipment ready. As Cece begins to ask her questions, I believe she will hear things she has never heard before.

“When did you evacuate for the storm?” “What were your thoughts during the evacuation?” “What did you do when you first came back to New Orleans?” I tell her the story of how I picked up Kaya Martinez from her Marigny apartment the day before we evacuated because she had no way out of town, and how we then traveled down Royal Street throughthe Quarter and I was amazed at how many people were still on the streets and how many businesses were not boarded up. I told her about how Susan cried as we left our house, knowing that we probably wouldn’t be back. I tell her about the sound of dried mud under my feet echoing for blocks when I get out of my car in October 2005 when I return to clean out the house.

“How do you feel about the oil catastrophe?” “Why should the rest of the country be concerned about what is happening in the Gulf?” Questions that are so familiar to us from a Katrina perspective.

Finally, the last question throws me for a real curve ball. “How do you feel about Ray Nagin?”

The first things out of my mouth are “Mother Fucker!!!” The next thing is “Fuck You You Fucking Fuck!!!” That pretty much summarizes how I feel about Ray Nagin. Everyone laughs—I imagine I won’t be the last person to state these feelings about our former “Mayor” (sic).

Cece and I don’t have any real plans for the day—though we really do have a plan. Only in New Orleans would that make sense. We head out to the Bywater for some lunch and whatever we might experience. She chooses a sandwich from Satsuma. I choose a Roast Beef PoBoy from Frady’s Grocery. I’ve been searching for a great neighborhood grocery since finding out that Verti Marte in the Quarter was damaged by a fire a few weeks ago. I find that Frady’s is going to be my sandwich shop of choice for the rest of the visit. Eclectic like the Bywater, Frady’s has a real neighborhood feel. “Kay-rack-ters” abound inside, both patrons and workers. Smiles and warm feelings are equally bountiful, and I feel right at home here. They make a pretty good Roast Beef poboy too!

Cece and I browse through the local second-hand stores, take pictures of some houses and buildings, and walk our way back to the house. I try to get some rest (I didn’t get any rest like I intended earlier due to Cece’s unexpected interview) and am somewhat successful. By 7pm, we’re ready to head out the door to my friend Alli’s birthday party at the Le Bon Temps Roule on Magazine Street. We stop at a bookstore along the way so that I can pick up two books for Alli—Tom Piazza’s “Why New Orleans Matters” and Dan Baum’s “Nine Lives—Death and Life in New Orleans.” I consider these two very important books about New Orleans today, and I know it will help aid in Alli’s New Orleans knowledge-base. It is the professor in me that motivates this gift.

Alli loves the books—she informs me that she hasn’t read them yet. I buy her a birthday drink—a pint of New Orleans “Brown”, a local beer on tap at the Bon Temps. I have one too, and we all talk about her new job (per se) at the Food Coop. Shortly, we are joined by others. I finally meet “face-to-face” fellow Blogger Adastros and his lovely wife Grace. I am happy about this very much. Patrick is here—a close friend of Alli’s and we talk about their collective “wild night” celebrating the NFC Championship game victory. Suffice it to say that Alli ended that night at the emergency room at Touro with a wound inflicted in her foot by an errant nail on the street. Gina and her boyfriend Greg Peters are there as well. Greg informs me that he is working on projects with Humidbeings.com, and I realize how small this world is, especially in New Orleans. You may remember Greg as the cartoonist with the Gambit.

Two hours pass quickly, and before we know it it’s time for Cece and I to head out to our next adventure. Where, we don’t exactly know, but we have designs on going to Mimi’s for a late-night dance party. It is so grat to be around these friends again—I can’t wait to see them all when I return in late August for the Rising Tide Conference. We say our goodbyes and Cece and I head down towards the Marigny.

Knowing it might be difficult getting Cece “in” to Mimi’s, we veer off course and head down to Frenchman Street. The crowd is thick on the street, and the music from the clubs is alive and wonderful. My ears hear a Brass Band playing on the corner, and sure enough the Young Fellas Brass Band is entertaining a lively and large street crowd on the corner of Frenchman and Chartres. Though Cece and I will continue to make one “lap” on Frenchman, I choose ultimately to settle here and enjoy the Brass Band. Dancing. With others. On the Street. In New Orleans. Yeah You Right!!!

There is something magical about hearing brass bands play live on the streets. It is nearly as magical as being in a second line parade. But Second Line season is over, and this is as close as we’re going to get to a real second-line parade during our visit. My friend Lisa Palumbo is there as well, and she and I share stories of taking our teen daughters out to experience New Orleans culture. I also know that Lisa is bound to be out late tonight, and though I am ambitious, I know I could never keep up with her on her musical journeys. Cece finds herself writing poems for the street poet on Frenchman, and then she meets a young man who is riding his bike across country. He’s originally from Minnesota, and now finds himself in New Orleans. His ultimate destination is Portland, Oregon. He’s 18 years old. I really admire his drive to see the country on his bicycle. I am pretty sure Cece is impressed as well.

Two hours pass on Frenchman Street, and Cece and I decide it’s time to head back to the house. Once again, I find myself in before 2am. Not a late night, and I know I can actually sleep in Saturday morning (though I am sure I will be up by 6am no matter what). This has been a wonderful and magical day in New Orleans. They all have been.

Today, we have no plans other than to try to get some interviews and take some pictures in the Bywater. Tonight, we hope to get down to Lucy’s in the CBD to catch Rotary Downs. It seems that Bonnie is going to whimper out, though her cool rains and winds will be much appreciated later today. I don’t think the rain will keep Cece from seeing Rotary Downs tonight. THAT is a long story in of itself.

Life is good.

Day Six

2010-07-23T08:21:00.001-07:00

Walking through the Bywater is like walking through a small Havana neighborhood. If the cars weren’t here, it would look exactly like Havana. New Orleans neighborhoods possess the beauty of “neglect and decay.” Some houses are so run down they look beautiful. Some houses are just plain beautiful. Each house is an extension of the occupant’s personality. The Bywater is full of housing gems. Colorful houses, large commercial venues that have be turned into houses, small businesses that occupy former residential homes. Small Shotguns. Small setbacks. Small alleys. Large dogs. Chickens crowing at sunrise. I find these morning walks a wonderful way to start the day. I must take pictures of the neighborhood this weekend.

I knew full well coming to New Orleans in the summer there was always a chance of a tropical front forming in the gulf. This weekend, New Orleans and the greater Louisiana coast will be host to Tropical Storm Bonnie. She may make landfall sometime Sunday afternoon. I don’t believe it will get any stronger than a Cat 1 hurricane, so we’re standing pat. I just need to look in Rhonda’s yard to see what needs to be tied down for the storm. But that pretty much is the “icing” on the cake for this long visit back home. Not only are we being treated to all the delights the city can present—we are also going to experience our first Tropical Storm since leaving for Katrina. The last “Cat 1” we rode out was Cindy in July 2005. Cece and David were spending the week with us then as well. The winds were modestly strong (75mph), the rain was relatively light for a Hurricane, but the damage was significant for a storm this “small.” To a certain extent it was a dress rehearsal for Katrina. Cindy made a direct hit on New Orleans, and she tore up trees and electrical lines like I had not seen before. A transformer blew out in our neighborhood causing a loud explosion sound just down the block that brought Cece out of her room and into our bedroom. She spent the night with Susan and I (I believe I ended up on the couch). New Orleans would be dealing with the damage and the electricity outages for weeks to come. By the time we had cleaned up after Cindy, Katrina came knocking on our door.

I looked up Hurricane Bonnie this morning and discovered that she last wreaked havoc in North Carolina in 1998. She was a Cat 3 storm, causing over $1 billion in damage to the North Carolina coast. I hope THIS Bonnie remains a smaller, insignificant version of it’s former self. But I am thinking about how much “oil” will find its way to the streets of New Orleans as the Storm picks it up in the gulf. Right now, the track of the storm puts it right over the oil leak! If there is a god, she is a cruel bitch to treat us this way.

I spent a good day at work yesterday. I was able to sit down for more than two hours and answer messages, deal with student issues, and make certain decisions about course offerings. I also graded papers, though I am still behind in that area. Once I finished my morning work, I headed home to prepare for my show on WWOZ.

I used to spend hours prepping for my shows. I found myself falling into the same pattern this afternoon. I use the current Jazz charts to get an idea of what is popular for the week. I choose from that list those artists I know and whose work I really enjoy listening to. Then, assuming that they won’t be at the station, I begin to actually listen to those recordings and make a decision on what to play. I choose 10 contemporary cuts, and then download them to my computer. That completes my “contemporary” jazz set. Next, I select some New Orleans musicians’ music to play. Again, about 10 albums should do the trick. If I have time (and I didn’t have time today), I will take a look at the World Jazz charts and find another 10 cuts to listen to and record. I don’t spend much time with the Classic Jazz cuts because I will bring in all of my best cds to the station and select from them once in the studio.

I spend the next three hours prepping for my show….

And I am loving it….

I’m fully prepared for the show, but I still get in about 30 minutes early to see what current cds ARE on the shelves at WWOZ. It also gives me a chance to catch up with old friends at the station. Scott is there, just back from a well deserved vacation. Mr. David Torkanowsky is hosting his “Blues Bash” show—one of the best shows on OZ. I choose to start the show with John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps.” It will give me 8 minutes to settle into my first set. Cece and I work on how she will promote her new project on the air—she needs volunteers to be interviewed about their pre- and post-Katrina experiences. Humidbeings.com is going to use the interviews (stories, pictures, and videotape) as part of their 5 year Katrina anniversary collection. Cece and I settle on a focus, and we are ready to go.

It doesn’t take long for a three hour show—time passes very quickly. I get phone calls from friends who used to listen to the show. I get one in particular call, though, that really makes me feel great. My friend P. J. calls in from Baghdad. He’s a true New Orleanian who is currently stationed there with the Army. It is great to hear his voice. They are 8 hours ahead of us, so he’s listening in at 1am his time. We formed a New Orleans bond in Killeen, and he came over to the house often to enjoy the Saints march to the Super Bowl. He was deployed in January 2010, but I could see the big smile on his face when the Saints won the Super Bowl. I bet he was “second-lining” with all of us in his barracks that day!

I get a call from Ms. Dana Abbot who wants me to announce that her band (the Something Something's) is playing at BJ’s Lounge in the Bywater starting at 10pm. I would later go and hear the gig since it was only 6 blocks down the street from where Cece and I are staying. Sandy calls from Houston. Keith calls in, stating how much he misses hearing Cece’s voice on the air. He also says I helped shape his love and appreciation for jazz music. Tarik Hassan comes in to promote his new self-titled CD. He will release it on Sunday at Snug Harbor. It sounds good and I hope to get over there on Sunday to see the show. Damn storm might get in the way of that, though.

Cece does a very good job announcing her project and her need for volunteers. One of her co-workers calls Cece to say they’ve taken a few calls after Cece’s announcement. I can see Cece is happy to hear that her announcement worked.

Once the show is done, we head out to the Quarter for a walk and some food. I’m still a bit keyed up after the show and I find walking is a great way to come down. Summer Thursdays in the Quarter are slow, so we walk the streets as if we own them. I remind Cece of our times coming down to the Quarter on Christmas Day, to find the streets all to ourselves just like this. I know New Orleans needs the tourist dollars to survive, but I do enjoy these times when the city is all ours. We finally settle in to Fiorella’s for dinner. I need me some Fiorella’s fried chicken. Towards the end of the meal, I show the waiter my picture of the neon Fiorella’s sign that is in our house. He takes the picture back to show his manager. They are amazed that I have the sign. Still, they aren’t asking for it back.

After dinner, Cece and I go to Frenchman Street to hear some music. Traffic here is starting to look like a weekend, and weekends do start early here in New Orleans. After about an hour, we head back to the house. Cece turns in for the night, but I end up going to hear Dana Abbott at her BJ’s Lounge gig.

BJ’s Lounge is the “home” of Little Freddie King. They just threw his 70th birthday party a few weeks ago. You have to ring the doorbell to get in, but that’s not atypical for small neighborhood bars in other cities. Dana’s band consists of four members, including herself, and plays a mix of rock/folk covers and original material. She has a great voice—its deep and heavy. The bar is moderately busy, making it a very comfortable place to hear music. The man next to me looks like Santa Claus, with one tooth missing. He is just as jovial as Santa, and he informs me that he comes to New Orleans often. His name is Art, and it looks like he’s been in BJ’s for a few hours. The music and the company entices him to buy a round for the bar! I thank him for his great generosity, and I buy him a drink as well. Of the many things I miss about New Orleans, I miss these truly unique neighborhood moments. We don’t have a bar in my neighborhood in Harker Heights. We don’t have a neighborhood grocery store, nor do we have a neighborhood book store. We really don’t have a neighborhood in the sense I am most familiar with. People just live there. Suburbs miss out on so much there is to offer in a real neighborhood. Unfortunately, most of America lives in suburbs….

After one set, I head back to the house. I’m reminded that tomorrow will be Friday in New Orleans—with a storm knocking on the door. Though I have lots of work to catch up with, I might just take the day off and enjoy the bounty of the city. It is, after all, Friday in New Orleans.

Yeah You Right!!!

Day Five

2010-07-22T08:16:00.001-07:00

You can cut the humidity with a knife right now in New Orleans. It is humid 24 hours a day. The air is heavy and hot. And I love it!

I am one of those strange folks who adjusted to Southern humidity pretty easily. I never minded it. New Orleans offers enough opportunities to get out of the humidity—the businesses and restaurants compete with each other it seems to see which is “colder” in the summer. But whether I’m on an early morning walk to Satsuma or a late night stroll down Frenchman, I can count on the heavy humidity. It truly is a sign that I am home.

After five days with my daughter, I fully realize how similar we are. She has a dry, emotionless expression when she talks in sarcastic tones. She hides her sarcasm well. She also has a difficult time expressing herself emotionally. It seems like a “task” to show her emotions, even small ones, to me. Yet, when it comes to interacting with people, she’s a charmer. She speaks well, she has a vibrant smile, and she pays relative attention to conversations. She enjoys walks—alone. She appreciates the arts, and participates in them as much as she can. She likes being around people, but she also equally likes being by herself. I expect to learn more about her over the next week, but I pretty much already know her—she is me. And I am her.

My day at UNO was once again rewarding. They are going through so many cuts right now, and I heard that the University may lay-off even more faculty and staff before September 1. There is a cloud of depression in the Sociology Department. These are dark days for higher education in New Orleans and in Louisiana. But the fact that I can hire my former students as adjuncts does make an opportunity for some happiness within the Department. I always enjoyed the sense of family within the Department. They provided for me a great job while I was in New Orleans. I will always be grateful to them for this.

I have hired two of my former students to be adjuncts for me. I cannot tell you how rewarding this is for me. They are excellent students and scholars, and I am so very proud of them. Elise was my graduate student—she helped me through Statistics at UNO. In this very small world we live in here in New Orleans, her sister Henna was my next door neighbor as well. I never knew this until I saw her across the street from our house in Broadmoor visiting her sister. We both were very surprised. She is going to help me with the Environmental Sociology course. With the oil catastrophe so current and close, I can anticipate her using many contemporary sources as examples in the course.

The other student I hired was Ashley. She took one of my classes during her first year at UNO. I believe it was 2004. She must have been impressed with all of us in UNO Sociology because she just graduated with her Master’s in Sociology. She was one of my best students. She not only got all her work done, but she wrote with a strong critical voice. I enjoyed reading her writings. I am very happy that she not only received her Master’s but also that she will be teaching for me. I am also very proud of her. She has achieved so much over the past few years.

Once I complete my work at UNO, I get a call from Cece to pick her up. It seems that Zack has taken all the photo equipment with him, and the interviews they all plan to start must wait one more day. As I travel back through the CBD, I see Anderson Cooper strolling down Camp Street at a brisk pace. Cece doesn’t believe that I’ve seen Anderson, so I turn around and we both see him as he saunters past Poydras Street. He must be here covering the oil catastrophe. I haven’t been watching the news at all since leaving Killeen on Saturday, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was here for work and not pleasure. He is a great advocate of the Gulf Coast—he must be anguishing as much as all of us about this oil spill.

Today, I get to treat Cece to a Hansen’s Snowball. Over all the years, she has never had one. I’m not sure where she’s had her snowballs before, but I am SURE she will never experience one like this ever again. I love Hansen’s—they are originals. And once you’ve had one of their Snowballs, you won’t look at “snow-cones” the same again. I recommend the Hot Rod. Cece orders hers with a chocolate scoop and with cherry syrup. I order my usual Hot Rod with vanilla and covered in Nectar. Nothing better to cut the heat and humidity of New Orleans. The line is long, the air is hot, but we will all gladly wait for our Hansen’s—the reward is great in the end. Cece loves her Hot Rod, and I know we’ll be back there at least one more time before the end of our trip.

Our next venture is to Dirty Coast t-shirts on Magazine. I’ve got way too many t-shirts, as my wife Susan can attest to. In fact, I’m in the process of sending many to Goodwill. But I know there are at least “two” that I need from Dirty Coast. I’m also looking for some shirts for Devin as he starts 1st Grade in a few weeks. He’s gotta represent! It’s nice to see Patrick at the store, and we all agree on meeting up at Lucy’s in the CBD this Saturday night to see Rotary Downs. I find the t-shirts I’m looking for—a new WWOZ t-shirt, and the anti-BP t-shirt. Cece chooses these as well, but also picks up the great “Beauty of Entropy” shirt. This is one of Caitlin and Susan’s favorites too. With these new purchases, we go exploring on this end of Magazine street for the rest of the afternoon. Cece loves the boutiques, and I love the St. Joseph Bar, but St. Joe’s isn’t open, so I find myself going into the toy store in search of Legos!

This is perhaps our most casual afternoon of this trip. We have settled into a routine during the day. Work, and then leisurely walks. We usually have “plans” for the evening, but they aren’t written in stone. Today would be no different—our initial plans call for a night at the Candlelight Lounge in the Treme, but I am still hesitant to take Cece out into the late night (the show doesn’t start until 10), so when I get a call from my friend Cindy that she’s playing at a blues club in Metairie, I convince Cece that we should go. But this ultimately turns into a bust, and we head back to Frenchman Street. Still early, we are able to catch a latin-jazz band at Maison, and we stay for the funk band that follows it. I get an email from Lynn Drury about her show at the Bayou Blues Bar on Jefferson Davis, and Cece and I again wander to see music outside of the Quarter and Frenchman.

Lynn Drury is one of the most talented singer-songwriters in the country. She is also the most underappreciated. Perhaps it’s because she performs a “folk-country” type of music in a city known for Jazz, Funk and R&B. I’ve always thought she would be better musically suited in a city like Austin, Nashville, or Memphis. But I have a hunch that New Orleans has as strong of an influence on her identity as it does for many of us, and the thought of leaving is just out of the question. Still, she confides that she may return to Italy to tour with her friends there, and I cannot honestly see why she doesn’t go ahead and do that. I still hope someone will “discover” her and turn her into the recording star she deserves to be. It is so sad to know that her talent is being missed by so many people.

It’s a work night, so we get home at a reasonable hour. I am enjoying these days with Cece and New Orleans. I am happy to be home.

Our agenda for today includes sneaking in at Tales of the Cocktail, and perhaps a late-night burlesque show at the Big Top. We shall see. Oh, and I’ll be on the air at WWOZ from 4-7 with Jazz from the French Market! It’s all good!

Day Four

2010-07-21T06:45:00.000-07:00

Potholes—I am reminded daily of the “natural” speed bumps that make up large parts of the ride to UNO on Elysian Fields Avenue. I think they’ve gotten worse—they score nearly every block of my ride to the UNO campus. Large ones, shallow ones, bumps in the road, deep cracks, and every other shape and divet you can imagine. My poor car will need a new suspension system by the time I get home in two weeks. Some things never change here in New Orleans.

I had another wonderful day at UNO today. I got to see Vern Baxter and David Allen—two former colleagues who have helped me so much while I was at the University prior to the Storm. It was good to see Deliliah, our Administrative Assistant, is still there. Vern asked me about my new job, which isn’t so new anymore given that I’ve been an “administrator” for over two years. I find myself saying the same thing many times to folks I haven’t seen in years—that Susan and I have landed on our feet in Killeen. We are fortunate to have found a job so quickly after the storm that has kept us in Texas. On the other hand, I tell them, we come back home often, at least 4 times a year, and our hearts are still in New Orleans. Many say we’ll be back home to stay someday, but I’m a realist and I understand the job probably just isn’t going to be here for me to up and leave Killeen. We’re in Killeen for the long run, I hear myself telling people these days, but we’ll be here when we retire in 12 years.

I spend much of this day walking through our University’s Blackboard online course delivery system with a recent Graduate Student, Michelle, who I’ve hired to teach for me online in the Fall Semester. She is eager to try teaching online, and she comes to me with high recommendations. I know she is going to do fine for me and our students, and I need to get her account setup by the end of this week so she can begin setting her course up.

At some point, Michelle asks me about my research, and this turns into both of us discussing our Katrina experiences. She is a New Orleanian and had to evacuate all the way to Pennsylvania with her husband and child. They eventually found their way back to New Orleans, in large part due to the fact she was living in her family’s house near Mid-City that was fully paid for. Low housing costs brought her back, but she strongly asserted that the culture of the city, as well as strong and long family ties, brought her back. She knows all the “bad” that New Orleans has to offer, but she also realizes the “good” offsets the bad, at least for the time-being. The one thing that may take her and her family away will be if she pursues her Ph.D. in Sociology. With no programs available any longer in the City, the closest program is in Baton Rouge. I really hope this online teaching gig works for her—it might be just enough to keep her in New Orleans for a while.

Once I finish my afternoon at UNO, I go to visit my former graduate student Elise. She, too, will be teaching for me online this Fall, but she and I turn our “orientation” into a great welcome-home lunch—lunch over beer—lunch IS beer! We meet at the Mid-City Yacht Club and discuss her course syllabus. Our beer of choice is the new Abita SOS which had just hit the shelves and bars of New Orleans that day. The SOS beer is dedicated to Saving Our Shores, and a large part of the proceeds of every sale go to Coastal Cleanup. For me, there is no better choice of beer on this trip that this one.

The bartender at the Mid-City Yacht Club, Nancy, looks like she’s really the manager, and she tells me about her work as a freelance reporter working the BP oil spill story. I take her number and email, and promise her that if I hear of any good leads while I’m here I will direct the calls to her. She already had one story that morning—that the boats skimming the water right now are able to “agitate” the water so that the oil rises to the surface. This makes it easier to skim the oil off the top. Unfortunately, they’ve been told not to use this strategy by the Coast Guard. No reason was given why to stop. Nancy hopes to followup on this story later in the week. I hope she can discover a bit more about this.

Elise’s and my discussion of the syllabus quickly falls to the wayside as we discuss all the events that have happened to us years after the Storm. It is so ironic how I am still engaged in conversations about this nearly 5 years after the storm. Then again, I haven’t seen some friends like Elise since that time. The Storm interrupted her journey to the Ph.D. program at UCDavis she had just been accepted to in the Fall 2005. She decided to hold off for a year and “work” at UNO to help out. She also needed to help begin the rebuilding on the house she and her boyfriend own in Mid-City. After one year, though, she did make it out to UCDavis (my undergraduate alma mater) where she completed her coursework on time and is now back home working on her dissertation on Culture. She and her boyfriend Justin are JUST NOW moving out of their small backyard apartment into their main house. The rebuilding and repairs are complete “enough” for them to return back into the house. I may see if Elise wants to rent out her small apartment to Susan and I so that we have a more “permanent” place to stay whenever we come back home.

Cece calls me while Elise and I are meeting to let me know that her day is once again done, though a bit later than on Monday. Instead of 12 noon, they are now out at 2pm. Her intern coordinator, though, can drive her to a spot near me. I choose the Flying Burrito on Carrolton, and I will catch up with Cece there. I say my goodbye’s to Elise, but I will meet up with her again to go over a “real” Blackboard orientation with another of my former students at UNO on Wednesday morning.

Cece and have lunch at the Flying Burrito, and then we head down to Magazine Street to do a bit of window shopping. Magazine Street is probably my “second” favorite shopping area in New Orleans. The problem with Magazine Street is it is so spread out. Not a bad problem, but it isn’t the most walking friendly place to shop. We decide to descend down on the blocks between Napoleon and Louisiana. I’ve wanted to visit Fleurty Girl’s shop, and Cece wants to visit Buffalo Exchange. I pick up one item at Fleurty Girl that I KNOW I must have for football season—a Saints Prayer Candle. I will light it up every game-day—my new superstition for this year. I hope it works!

After Magazine Street, we hop in the car and head back to the Quarter to see my friend and hero Mr. John Sinclair give a reading from his new book about Sun Ra at the Louisiana Music Factory. True to form, I do see friends and meet some new ones at this event. I finally meet Stephanie from my Facebook friends for the first time face-to-face. We discuss music and New Orleans, evacuations and mutual friends. It is nice to finally put a face to my friend, and I am sure we will meet up again during this visit. Stephanie introduces me to her friend, Joe Crachiola. He’s a local photographer who also has connections with John Sinclair from the Detroit days. I’ve seen his work—he has photographed another one of my Facebook friends, the beautiful NOLA Girl. Joe also informs me that he plays a bit of saxophone and will be sitting in with the Treme Brass Band at the Candlelight Lounge on Wednesday night. I fully intend on seeing him there—I need me a dose of Uncle Lionel and the Treme Brass Band. I also want to introduce Cece to the greatest historically black musical community in the world.

I see other friends at the event—Hild and Tom Morgan, who has just published a great collection of photographs of New Orleans Jazz artists but finds himself in a major conflict with Bob about one particular photo and whether it can be used in the book. I am not going to get in the middle of this conflict, but I did promise Tom I would try to talk to Bob while I’m here to see what I can do to mediate. I am aware that another effort had taken place a few weeks ago—this fell apart, though, and I must really think of a way to work this out. I also see John’s daughter, Celia, who gives me a nice warm hug. She’s doing well with her graphic design work, and I know she will continue to thrive in that area.

I save my special hugs for John. I introduce him to Cece, who he remembers as a little girl of 6 or 7 coming in with me at WWOZ. He is amazed at how much she has grown up. I love the smile on his face as he talks with her. I first met John at WWOZ in 2001 when I hosted my first show Sunday mornings from 5am to 8:30am. John had the classic Blues show that ran from midnight to 5am earlier in the morning. As with all the “giants” who worked at WWOZ, I was initially intimidated by his presence. His knowledge of music was deep, and his work as an activist and promoter I admired dearly. As the years went by of meeting in the early mornings, we forged a bit of a bond in conversation and in addressing issues we mutually cared deeply about—especially political issues. It was those special Sunday mornings between 4:15am and 5am that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

John began reading from his book, first with a selection written by Rick Steiger entitled “Arkestra in Residence,” a lively tale of Sun Ra’s concert in Detroit in late 1980. He then chose a selection by Wayne Kramer entitled “My Night as a Tone Scientist,” an truly passionate rememberance of a night sitting in with the Arkestra while performing in Los Angeles in 2006. Finally, John ended with his own piece entitled “Sun Ra Memories” in which John relates his varied experiences with Sun Ra and the Arkestra. I found myself smiling throughout each reading, nodding my head to familiar names, imagining myself in those places, hearing the “art” that was and still is Sun Ra. I could listen to the stories all night long. The end of the reading came much too quick.

Though only 7:30, I can feel in my bones that I am done for the day. Cece and I head back to the Bywater and though I have “designs” on going to Brocatta’s once I clean myself up, I find that as I lay down to rest my legs on the bed the pillow beckons to me. I end up falling asleep by 9pm.

My plans for Wednesday include another trip to UNO and then the Treme Brass Band this evening. If Cece gets out of work early again today, then we are heading to Hansen’s for her first Snowball there. Yeah you right!

Day Three

2010-07-20T06:55:00.000-07:00

I am still amazed as I drive to UNO how many homes remain abandoned nearly 5 years after the storm. From Lakeview to Gentilly, you can still see the signs that many have not returned, for one reason or another. There is still so much work that needs to be done, and the oil spill only adds to it. As much as I am enjoying my time here with Cece and friends, Katrina still haunts my visits….

Cece began her internship on Monday with Blake Haney (of Dirty Coast t-shirts and the gallery Canary on Julia Street). As I drop her off at Canary, I get a chance to visit with two of my most favorite people in the whole world—Blake Haney and Zack Smith. Zack is a great photographer—he recently organized a show at Canary that showcased some of his work. He inspires me to make better photos. Blake is just a superhuman entrepreneur. Everything he touches turns to gold. Blake inspires me more than he realizes. I admire how he can do so many things well and still be a “normal” (in a New Orleans way) and wonderful person.

Cece is very excited about this opportunity, and apparently her first tasks include interviewing New Orleanians about their post-Katrina experiences in rebuilding their lives and the city. Blake intends to put these interviews up on the web as part of his Five-Year Katrina Anniversary rememberance. I am looking forward to being interviewed for this by Cece. I am sure she has heard it all before, of how we basically landed on our feet once I got the job in Texas. No doubt—Killeen has been good to us, and I have seen my responsibilities grow up there. I don’t think I would be a Dean if I had stayed at UNO after the storm. Hell, I probably would be looking for a job again this year if I stayed at UNO. But our hearts are still in New Orleans, and it amazes me when I tell people that basically we’ve been coming home every three or four months since the storm. There is no other place I want to be. I just “work” in Killeen.

I spent much of the day “working.” I am trying to work at least 4 hours a day from the internet. I can’t fall behind with work, and I find that I can keep up with it from the computer. I found myself answering email, phone calls, and grading papers from the convenience of various coffee shops in town.

This “work” reminded me of the last time I really did this—during the Fall Semester 2005 at UNO. UNO was the only university still holding classes after the storm. They were all online. I ended up teaching an Intro to Sociology course with 250 students in it—all ONLINE. I had taught online before, but THIS course really tested my organization and online course delivery skills. During that time, I would find myself like I did today at Café Envie in the Quarter downloading papers and grading them. Managing a course of over 200 students, no matter how the course is delivered, is no easy task. But a good cup of coffee and the sounds of New Orleans street-life does help.

Cece got out of work early on Monday—a rather “normal” phenomenon here in New Orleans. We work when we need to, and stop when we’re done. There is no such thing as clock-time in New Orleans. That is what frustrates outsiders the most. For some outsiders, it is so confusing that they end up leaving the city or never coming back. To a certain extent, that’s ok. New Orleans takes a certain kind of unique person to live here.

We ended up back in the Quarter. There is so much to do and catch up with there. We started to do the things that were so much of how we spent summers in New Orleans before. Walk down the Moonwalk. Take the elevator to the top of the W Hotel. Gaze at the city from the wide great window in the W Lobby. Avoid getting drenched by the afternoon rain. Give directions to tourists. Enjoy being truly ourselves.

I eventually find myself at Louisiana Music Factory. Cece goes down the street to Beckham Books. I am looking for a few things, of which I find two—Trombone Shorty’s new recording “Backatown,” and Stanton Moore’s “Groove Alchemy.” I’ll be spinning these later this week on WWOZ. I also pick up the documentary “Fauberg Treme” which I’ve heard so much about. I can’t find Christian Scott’s new album, but I’ll keep looking. Cece enjoys browsing through Beckham Books—she’s collecting old books now. She is the smart one in the family—much smarter than me. Only us nerds love to read and collect books these days. I find a book about Jewish Pirates in the Caribbean and I just might get it later to give to my son David who has now joined the Navy.

Today seems once again very normal. We are merely ambling through the Quarter—not as tourists but as residents. I tell Cece about the various architectural styles throughout the Quarter and how they reflect the various changes in colonial governments, recoveries from fires, and rebuilding after years of neglect and decay. I am still struck at how “odd” the houses on Barracks Street between Royal and Bourbon look when compared to the rest of the block. They are classic bungalow houses and though they are very beautiful they are uniquely out of place in a block anchored by old Spanish Style buildings.

After some rest back home, we begin our journey into the night to see some friends. First on the agenda is Mr. Bob French. He’s playing tonight at Irvin Mayfield’s club in the Royal Sonesta Hotel. His band tonight includes the excellent trumpeter Mario Abney. One of my favorite jazz pianists, Mr. Fred Saunders, is also part of the band. I freely admit—I love Bob like my father. I know his best and worst attributes, and though many people talk about his, I still love him as my father. He is floored by how much Cece has grown up. Though Susan and I visit the city every three or four months, Cece rarely comes with us. Her teen social and school schedule is such that it is difficult to bring her along on our trips. The last time I was able to spend a good few days with Cece in New Orleans was late December 2008. We were able to see Bob then during his Friday show at WWOZ (which he no longer hosts). I am sure Bob does not remember seeing Cece then.

Between sets, Cece gets a chance to spend some time with Bob. She’s hoping to interview him for her project as well. I tell Bob that I will cook him dinner some time while I’m in town. I believe he’ll take me up on this, or perhaps we’ll all go out for breakfast at Lil Dizzy’s later. I know I’ll see him again on this visit, and we let Bob get back to the bandstand.

Our next stop is a few blocks down the Quarter to see Lynn Drury perform at the Kerry Irish Pub (on Decatur Street). Lynn hasn’t started yet (she’s a bit “late”), so we get to see her perform one set as well. Lynn is one of my dearest friends in this city, and she too is amazed how much Cece has grown up. Lynn has not seen Cece since before the storm—Cece was 10 years old then. Five years makes a significant difference in both looks and maturity, and I am proud of how mature Cece has become. Lynn is working on a new album right now and the new cuts she performs sound great. Cece is taking lots of pictures of this performance, and she gets Lynn to easily agree to be part of Cece’s project as well. Lynn is living in the Marigny these days, not too far from where Cece and I are staying. I will catch up with her again during this trip too. It’s going to be nice to visit with everyone again.

We get back home before midnight—not a bad Monday night in New Orleans. My plans for Tuesday include another day at UNO to interview some of my former students to be online adjuncts for us at TAMU-CT. I will grade more papers too at a coffee shop of my choice. And there’s one more friend to visit with today—Mr. John Sinclair is in town, and he’ll be doing a reading from his new book about Sun Ra at the Louisiana Music Factory at 6pm tonight. I am sure I will also see many friends at this event. I can hardly wait for the smiles and hugs.

Day Two

2010-07-19T06:46:00.001-07:00

If today represents a normal day, then I have died and gone to heaven.

I love the smell of New Orleans after a fresh rain. It seems that today the rains came down at the appropriate times—keeping things cool and comfortable in these hot summer days. It rained at least three times—the kind of rain where the heavens open up. Cece and I didn’t get caught in it, but we enjoyed the after-effects of the rain. Today was a beautiful day, and I am enjoying the “normality” of stepping right back into my New Orleans life.

I started my day at Satsuma, a local coffee-shop here in the Marigny. A very nice place, I probably will settle in there for the next many days. I enjoyed people watching there, but my work will keep me focused until I make it up to UNO later today. The coffee is pretty good too.

Cece and I started our day with Susan’s art (www.myspace.com/sazerac_art). Our first stop was Simon’s shop on Jackson and Magazine to see if his wife Maria would like to display two of Susan’s big pieces. We thought they would fit in with Simon’s motif, but Maria’s side of the shop just isn’t the right place for Susan’s colorful pieces. I fully understood this, so we packed up the pieces and headed down to the Quarter to drop off 10 large and small pieces at Pop-City. Just as I was parking, Simon calls me back and lets me know that someone was in his shop who had an interest in purchasing Susan’s two big pieces. Apparently, there is a new Home Decorating store going into the old Hollywood Video on Magazine, and the new buyer was intrigued with the idea of putting local art in the display. With this news, I head out of the Quarter back to Simon’s shop.

I amaze myself sometimes at how well I know how to get around in this city. I pretty much know where to and where not to drive. It doesn’t’ take me too long to get from the Quarter to Uptown—though at times street-closings throw me for a loop. It takes me about 10 minutes to get back to Simon’s shop, and the buyer for the Home Decorating store falls in love with Susan’s two large pieces. Her name is Andrea, and she will put Susan’s art in the new store, which opens on August 6, on display for sale. Susan now has another art connection in the city, and I know this is going to make her very happy. I have spent the better part of the last hour driving to and from different parts of the city, but in the end it is all worth it.

With that first task complete, Cece and I head back to the Quarter where we drop off about 10 small art pieces by Susan at Pop-City. Cece has her eye on some clothes there, and as she tries on what she likes, I head out into the Quarter for a walk. A lazy Sunday afternoon in the Quarter.

The city is being invaded by a Lutheran Youth convention this weekend. Many young people with florescent green shirts and backpacks are all over the Quarter. The backpacks say “I Believe” and if they weren’t florescent green, you would think they were all rooting for the Saints! The idea of what these kids and their parents are doing in New Orleans brings a smile to my face. Oh, the possibilities. I would love to do some research in Strip Clubs to see if there are any florescent green t-shirt clad “parents” in those places. Of course, I am sure none of the folks found their way to strip clubs or bars in our fair city….

Once back at Pop-City, Cece has settled on her new ensemble. A nice outfit, too. It has been far too long where I’ve spent money on my daughter. Though she wants to pay me back, I have now bought her an outfit and new shoes. We need to go out this week so she can show off all her new stuff. Not that I’m not eyeing some things to buy myself. I know I need Trombone Shorty’s new cd, and I’ve seen the Harley Davidson shirt I’ve been looking for at the Harley store in the Quarter.

We meet a young man named “Parker” who is hitch-hiking across the country interviewing people on their reactions to the BP oil spill. He and his friend Ryan are from Oregon, and he is hurt and concerned about this epic catastrophe. His web-site is www.theroadreporter.com. He has found various reactions to the oil spill. In his native Oregon, people are disturbed. In Arizona and Texas (Houston in particular), people tend to have a laizze-faire attitude, at best. In the latter two areas, people are wed to their cars and really aren’t concerned with anything that will raise their gas prices or deny them the opportunity to drive. I can tell in his face he was disturbed by these interviews, and it only makes me feel more strongly that we are on our own, once again, in the Gulf. It also adds a second day where I question how our society will survive if we don’t get our heads out of the sand on major social, economic and political issues. It is truly sad how self-centered and individualist our society has become, and this will ultimately destroy this country. Parker seems like a great person to be doing these road interviews, and I will follow his work for the rest of the summer.

Once back on the streets in the Quarter, we avoid the long lines of florescent green folks and head up to Chartres Street. It is ironic how tourists have only two streets they venture when in the Quarter—St. Peter’s/Decatur Street, and Bourbon Street. I rarely find myself on Bourbon Street, but I know today I will eventually make my way to the Red Fish Grille for my “traditional” plate of barbeque oysters (which at this moment I was hoping they would have) and one of the most perfect Sazeracs in the city. On this leg of our journey, we are headed to the Gallery of Fine Photography. Cece has a strong interest in photography, and I know she will be impressed by the work displayed here.

The Gallery is located on the corner of Chartres and Bienville. I’ve always enjoyed spending time in this Gallery—but the last time I was here was before the Storm. I would spend some of my lunch-times in the Quarter, and this is one place I would go to. I love the Herman Leonard pieces, but I am once again re-acquainted with the Ansel Adams pieces, among others. The current display is of Rock and Roll artists, and though it seems the presentation is a bit small, I still enjoy seeing the portraits and concert stills on display. Cece is a bit “disturbed” by the perverted shop-keeper who stalks her in the store (follows her upstairs and then proceeds to ask her some personal questions). I don’t find out about this until we are back on the streets heading to the Red Fish, but I continue to discover that people view Cece as an adult well beyond her 16-years. Unfortunately, this experience may well mark my view of the Gallery in the future.

As we head up Iberville to Bourbon Street, I notice that Acme AND Felix’s are open! The only thing that is unusual about the sight is that Acme does not have ANY line to get in. I have never seen an empty que at Acme. I don’t look inside to see if they have oysters—I imagine they do. But I speculate that visitors are perhaps not interested in eating oysters they believe might be tainted with oil. Still, it is good to see these two restaurants open. I will get down to Felix’s later today for a half-dozen.

Ah, the Red Fish Grille. I love their Barbeque Oysters. I first fell in love with this delicacy when Red Fish sold Barbeque Oyster po-boys at the Jazz Fest. I would venture down to the Quarter during my lunch-times just for these delights! And today would be no different. I ask for a table with Ike, and lucky for me he is working today.

Now, if you follow the series Treme, you will recognize Ike as one of the cab-drivers who has a difficult time getting a straight fare from Antoine Batiste. Ike is in the first episode, though not the first cabbie to face this dilemma with Batiste. As I remember it, Batiste stiffs the cabbie for $6, promising to pay him back. Ike seems to be Batiste’s favorite cabbie because he ends up in Ike’s cab three times in the series. In the final episode, Ike is on the street watching Damon’s second line. Ike asks someone “Who died?” of which there is just a shrug of the shoulders. When we have the chance, we honor and celebrate the passing of everyone in this city, even if we don’t know them. As the band disembarks, the camera pans to a scene with Ike and Antoine laughing together—but you can tell they are arguing about that $6! We don’t hear the discussion, but you can tell on their faces that is what they are talking about. Classic scene.

Ike is a waiter at Red Fish Grille. He is a great person, has a great New Orleans accent, and treats everyone as if they were his family. Susan and I first met him before the Treme series. When we saw him on the tv screen, we were floored. It is good to be at his table today, and I ask him about the Second Season. Just like the “bad cop” I met the day before, Ike has been signed on for the Second Season. I imagine he will continue to be Batiste’s favorite cabby, and I do believe he will be short changed many more times on the screen.

I order a half-dozen of the Barbeque Oysters, and just to add to this I also order the Barbeque Oyster po-boy. And, of course, I order a Sazerac! Cece tries one of the oysters, but she does not like it. Not surprising—she pretty much eats like a bird and I wonder how the hell she stays alive. But that means more for me, and I gladly enjoy all the oysters to myself. Cece has the shrimp-bacon wrap, which she actually enjoys and eats. Ike is at other tables now, and I am not the only person who recognizes him from Treme. One person asks for a picture with him. It’s all good!

Once finished with this late lunch, Cece and I head back into the Quarter to the car to get my cds. I will be subbing today for the 4-6 show on WWOZ, and I am honestly looking forward to this. Many of us have multiple levels of identities within us—different roles we play that come to the surface in different situations. Sociologically, we call these “nested identities” and they range for me from Professor, to Father, to Husband, to Harley dude, to WWOZ personality! When I’m in New Orleans, I am never far from the WWOZ self. And, honestly, it is one of those identities I miss assuming the most.

With cds in hand, we head to WWOZ, where Cousin Dimitri greets us hurriedly at the station door. Traditional Blues cuts average about 2 minutes in length, and that’s about as much time Dimitri has to drop what he’s doing and travel two flights of stairs down to let me in the station. I’m “early”, as I always am—I’ve got 30 minutes to put my show together.

Once on the air it is like riding a bicycle—you never forget what to do. From the first sign-on, I feel like I have never left the station. Calls start coming in. People who used to listen to my shows, asking me how I’m doing, if I’ve moved back, and where are we living now. Friends begin to text me, Susan texts me to say hello to Devin on the air. I enjoy spinning great classic cuts, and I love putting Cece on the air with me so we can go back and forth like we used to. She informs me that it’s been 5 years since she’s really been on one of my shows. July 2005—my last Monday show before the storm. Right after the show, I took her and David back to their mother’s in Houston. They were supposed to be back with me the next weekend, but Katrina got in the way…. During the last show, Cece was 11 years old. She is so much more a woman today than a little girl, and I am going to enjoy chatting with her this Thursday on my next show. I hear from Susan that Devin enjoyed hearing me on the air. I also hear that my dog Stella was a bit confused hearing my voice come out of the stereo!

I cannot thank Dwayne and WWOZ enough for finding me some slots to sub on while I’m in town. This really means so much to me to be back on the air. It doesn’t take long before this Sunday show is over (as opposed to Blues cuts, Classic Jazz cuts average about 7 minutes and I end up playing less than 15 cuts for the whole two hours). I get a text from my friend JC about a party at Jared’s house. After the show, Cece and I are on our way to Mid-City.

Jared produces the Bayou Boogaloo, among other things. He is young and energetic, and he is, in my opinion, only one year away from producing a “profitable” Boogaloo. The party is already in full force when we get there, but it’s a family-friendly party. Jared has a wonderful family, and Cece gets along immediately with Jared’s daughter Lauren who is 10. Lauren actually reminds me a bit of Devin—bright, happy, and very clingy to daddy. Jared invites everyone to see his new house he’s building near the Fairgrounds in Mid-City. And what a house it is. From it’s bright green exterior to it’s height, it is a grand structure build to Green Standards. I am sure Jared and Jen will be there for many years. I’m looking forward to seeing it when its finally complete in September.

On the way over my friend JC exclaims “You know what? The Saints won the Super Bowl for the 20th time this week!!! Amazing, isn’t it!!!” Now, this seems like an inside joke, but JC has done exactly what I’ve done for the past many months—he has watched the Super Bowl game over and over again. In fact, I just watched it again last weekend, and I knew exactly what JC was talking about because I’ve probably watched it myself 20 times!!! We both discussed how, even with knowing the outcome, the 4th Quarter still is suspenseful. You don’t want Payton Manning with the ball down one touchdown in the 4th Quarter. The pick by Tracy Porter is classic and timely. And it still sends chills up and down my arms!!!

The Saints WIN!!! Again!!!

After the party, Cece and I head to Rouses to make groceries. What a normal way to end the day. We’ve got lunches and dinners set for the rest of the week, and though I may not be cooking like I usually do here at Rhonda’s house, I feel like I’ll get a chance to cook somewhere before we leave in two weeks.

On the agenda for Monday is Cece’s first day at the internship, and me going to UNO to interview folks who will be teaching online for me next semester. I’ll be on campus in the mornings for the next three days. I’m looking forward to that as well.

Day One

2010-07-18T08:04:00.001-07:00

It’s an early morning wake-up, with a bit of a lagniappe, that gets me out of bed today. Today really has been about Lagniappe, though I would expect this on any New Orleans morning. It is difficult really to get headed out the door to New Orleans without my love and my boy, but we’ve been planning on this for months. It doesn’t make the drive down the road any easier. Once the car is packed, Susan emerges from our room to help out with the little things. It’s like a checklist of all the things I really need for New Orleans—Rum, check. Camera, check. Hat, check. Artwork, check. Laptop, check. I am ready for the road, and I head into Devin’s room to get him out of his bed and place him in what was my space in my bed. He is willingly lifted out of bed, and I smother him with kisses and tell him what little things I will buy for him on this trip—a Saints shirt, some other small toys, and hopefully some new shoes for school  As I place him in my bed, he rolls over, still acknowledging how sleepy he is but also telling me he loves me and will miss me. Hours later I find out on the road that he won’t remember a thing....

I give Susan one last kiss and hug and let her know how much I’m going to miss her. She and I know how much we will miss each other, but we also know how much I’m looking forward to spending two weeks with my daughter Cece who I have not spent long periods of time with. This is going to be a great trip for many reasons. Susan waves goodbye to me as I pull out of the driveway. I am going to miss them both very much.

Three hours later, I’m in Houston picking Cece up. The drive to New Orleans is quicker than I remember, perhaps due to anxiety. Cece and I are able to spend good conversation with each other on this drive, and I am very happy about how this trip starts off.

As we head into New Orleans to see my friend Simon, after a side-trip to drop off things to Caitlin she forgot on her move back home, I am once again deeply happy to see the skyline of the city emerge as we leave the I-10/610 split. I am home.

Simon is happy to see us, but he has a patron there who is a tea-bagger. As I grab my ceremonial Heinecken from Simon’s frig, I am confronted by Mr. Teabagger about Government authority. This takes me aback, but I stand my ground when it comes to what I feel are the appropriate levels of government service and action in today’s society. Arguments ensue, and I must have struck some sort of responsive chord since Teabag Man shakes my hand and tells me he respects me. I find out later that Mr. Teabag doesn’t shake “anybody’s” hand. I am not sure if this makes me special or a fool.

We move on to see Rhonda on Magazine Street, and Cece is in heaven with all the great shops that seem to be thriving here. I learn how business is down this summer, more than in previous years after the storm. I will hear this story again when I travel down to the Quarter later in the day.

Funrockin’ Uptown (Bootsie’s) has “expanded” to a certain extent—one side is apparel “ala” Popcity—and the other side is the old Funrockin’, with it’s wide selection of crazy toys and “stuff.” I love this place. I had to pick up a great yellow giabra (spell). Cece was eyeing dresses, but she’ll have to wait until Saturday to pick one up.

As we walked to the car, we went into a sweets shop called “Sucre”. If you haven’t been there yet, you must visit. They’ve got some incredible chocolates and truffles, pedifores, and other delicacies. Cece and I bought four little chocolates, and of course one of mine was the “Absinthe” chocolate. The woman who helped us, though, was the actress in Treme who plays the waitress in Jenelle’s restaurant. We talked about the show and how she ended up in New Orleans to take the role. She’s not been signed up for the second season yet, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be in the series again.

Once we leave Magazine and drop our bags off in the Marigny, we head to the French Quarter, via the Convention Center (???). Well, I mixed my dates up for a Rotary Downs gig at Lucy’s. I thought it was this Saturday, but it’s really next Saturday. So after wasting our time in an area I rarely venture to, we found ourselves in the Quarter.

The Quarter is like my second home, really. It’s the bars, shops, restaurants, and street people that I am most familiar with. It’s not too long that I’ve seen one of my favorite solo artists, Dominick sitting with two lovely ladies at the Balcony Music Club. We say hello, catch up a bit, and then I head down the street to catch up with Cece. There’s a beautiful white carriage strolling down Decatur Street with a wedding couple, and the beauty is somewhat interrupted by a fire truck blaring it’s sirens to get to an emergency. People on the street, though, are still in a bit of awe at the beautiful carriage. I hear the sarcastic statement “You don’t know what you’re in for” on the street—typical. A woman on the street asks me why I’m smiling so much and wonders aloud if I find her attractive! I tell her that I’m always smiling when I’m in New Orleans and that I find everyone looking good in New Orleans. She smiles, asks me for some cigarettes, of which I miraculously have, and wishes me a pleasant visit. I tell her that I’m a local and I’m home, which brings a bigger smile to her face as she divulges a story of how bad and ugly tourists can be to folks on the street. I know—I’ve seen it first hand before.

When I finally catch up with Cece, she’s at my friend John’s shop “Road Kill” on Decatur Street. John and I discuss more of the slow summer, and how it’s a combination of many things this summer that adds to the slow business. It’s not just the oil spill, though that has added to the total discomfort of the region. The economy is beginning to finally catch up with New Orleans, and people in general are not traveling here as much as before. If they are in town, they aren’t spending as much. And there is a plethora of “boutique” shops opening up all over the Quarter and the competition is tight. It seems that entrepreneurial immigrants from Asia are buying up buildings and businesses in the Quarter, and they are bringing their capital to invest here. Their direct connections with manufacturers in Asia allows for the easy delivery of goods to the Quarter, at a price much lower than what John could get. They are also bringing in cheap co-ethnic labor, keeping production costs down. I studied this very phenomena as Enclave Economies began to emerge in Atlanta in the late 1980’s. I suspect this is taking place in New Orleans now.

Though John is doing well, even with a slower economy, he concedes that it is difficult to compete against the low-end boutiques and current consumer trends of purchasing goods over the internet. The essence of small business here in New Orleans, and indeed all over the country, is based on the shared interactions of community members. If we no longer patronize our local businesses, they will cease to exist. I don’t think it’s something to immediately panic about, but I am not happy to hear the various observations today of challenges to small business survival in New Orleans. I intend to investigate this more as I visit with friends over the next two weeks.

Cece eyes some shoes, and then she bats her beautiful eyes at me, and before you know it I’ve purchased some new (and I must say really cool) two-tone shoes. I am catching up with lost time with her—and we are both enjoying it 

We leave Road Kill and head to Frenchman Street to see John Boutte at dba. We hope to meet up with my friends Leigh, John, and Shay there. I didn’t anticipate how “packed” dba would be—but I guess John’s success is fully in blossom after Treme. I know that Cece and I won’t be able to get in, but we are hoping to hear the music. Unfortunately, the band is in a break, so we venture to get some dinner.

We actually have a pretty good meal at Tomatilla’s. I had the steak, which I always like there, and Cece had tacos made-to-order. I notice as we walk down there how many people are actually in the Quarter and on Frenchman tonight. There are actually lines at most of the restaurants—and with all the talk about a slow summer I am still impressed with the number of people in town. We also notice that most of them look like they’re part of a Baptist Convention, so I am sure they will not be going to the bars later in the evening. Too bad—perhaps the experience would open up their eyes ;)

As we head back up to dba, I run into another Treme actor—the “bad” cop in the series. He makes a few appearances in the series, first at Lil Dizzy’s when he confronts Tony about the fact that she has sued him for police brutality the year previous, and then later when he confronts and busts the young Delmond Lambreaux outside of dba (ironically) for smoking pot. He finally shows up in the last episode as the cop who confronts Big Chief Lambreux on St. Joe’s night.

I tell the actor that he had a really tough role and he did a great job with it. He thanks me, and says that he got good advice on how to play the character from his police friends in the city. He invites us in to the club he’s doing stand-up comedy in that night, but I beg off due to the fact that I am sure Cece will not be allowed in. I’ll have to catch his act later, though.

We finally make it back to dba where we catch up with Leigh, John, and Shay. It’s nice to see them, and Shay has just moved “back” to New Orleans for a job at Tulane. I am familiar with her job and her new responsibilities, and I wish her the best of luck in that part of academic affairs. She is in a very tenuous job, but I am sure she will do the best while she’s in the position.

I’ve now been up for almost 21 hours, and I can tell I’m ready to crash. Cece and I say our goodbye’s, and we head back to our house.

It’s nice to be back home. It’s a raniny morning today, but the sun is making attempts to come out. Today, Cece and I will go back to the Quarter to visit the Gallery of Fine Photography, among other things. I’m finding that I cannot find a reliable internet connection right now, so I may have to sit down and work a bit more today than I wanted to once I find a good connection. But no matter what, it is good to be back home. And though I miss Susan and Devin very much right now, I am sure I will have a productive visit here in New Orleans.

Testing the Iphone

2010-07-16T17:55:00.000-07:00

On the road again. Can't wait to get back home to New orleans. Hope y'all are ready for me!!! :)

Mr. Pitiful

2010-03-03T05:39:00.001-08:00

That could characterize the whole state of Texas….

Rick Perry won the GOP nomination for Governor, running for an unprecedented FOURTH term as Governor. His challenger in the General Election will be Democrat Bill White, the great mayor from Houston. Though I will pouring lots of money and energy in Bill White’s campaign, I believe the STUPIDITY of the great many Texans will vote for Bush-Clone Perry once again.

It is difficult living in a state that is proud of its stupidity. Over half of the state’s residents don’t believe in evolution. Over half believe humans (homo sapiens) walked with dinosaurs. Over half do not understand how much the state is dependent on Federal dollars to keep what’s left of its infrastructure in place.

I am content being a “short-timer” in Tex-ASS. We have plans to return to New Orleans in the next three years—with or without a job. It is just going to be a trying time as this “state” reverses itself into the stone age on many levels. Sure there’s Austin and its relatively progressive scene. But there isn’t much else, and it gets lonely being the only progressive in the immediate area. Thank god for alcohol is all I gotta say….

Mardi Gras, Here We Come

2010-02-09T18:16:00.001-08:00

Yes indeed. It has been an incredible few weeks for me. The highs and lows, and then the highs again.... I am on an emotional roller coaster. No better time for me to "recharge" my batteries than a trip back home to New Orleans and Mardi Gras. This is our first trip back to Mardi Gras since the Federal Flood. What makes this trip back so important is that it will be Devin's first Mardi Gras of significance in his life.

Devin was born in 2003. He celebrated his first Mardi Gras at the tender age of 11 weeks old.

Somewhere on Canal Street during the Muse's parade, he was given a pink scarf by the "Rolling Elvis'", a sub-krewe comprised of Elvis impersonators riding various types of bicycles that could only exist in New Orleans. That special throw still adorns his dresser-mirror to this day.

In 2005, at the age of 14 months, he celebrated his second Mardi Gras.

He marched with us in St. Anne, and it was a very special time for Susan and I to begin sharing this holiday with him.

And then came the Federal Flood....

We get home often. I am thankful for that. We are able to make it back at least three or four times a year, and we have been able to stay in touch with friends through our visits and through the blogosphere. And we've been able to treat Devin to New Orleans in a way that is special every trip.

But he hasn't "consciously" experienced a Mardi Gras yet. Not the way he should have all these years.

This year, he will sit on my shoulders and learn how to catch beads and yell "throw me something." He will learn how much fun it is to be part of Mardi Gras. He will march with us in St. Anne on Mardi Gras day. He will learn that his father is as much of a bead hound as the rest of them. He will learn, indeed, that his father is a great big kid and it all comes to life during Mardi Gras.

He will begin to learn that Mardi Gras is a family holiday. It is an important part of who we are as New Orleanians. He will begin to learn it is part of the culture I want him to fully embrace as he gets older. He will truly drink the water this year.

This will be our first Mardi Gras back since Katrina. It will now be an annual mecca back home.

FINISH STRONG!!!

2010-02-07T08:08:00.001-08:00

This is a great day on so many fronts. First, the Saints are in the Super Bowl. This is more than just a game for us New Orleanian’s—the team is part of our culture, and we are so intertwined with the team that we are all there in spirit with the team. They win for us, but they win with us. They are us in many ways, and what I like is that so many of the players and coaches fully understand it. There will be a great parade in New Orleans on Tuesday, and more than that—there will be a great party in the streets of New Orleans tonight.

The other thing is that Mitch Landrieu was elected Mayor of New Orleans last night. There is lots of pressure on him to undo all the bad things Nagin did over the past four years, but I am confident he can put New Orleans on track to being a fully-rebuilt city. I am with Mitch for this process.

This is a great day for New Orleans.

Now—GEAUX SAINTS—FINISH STRONG!!!

The New Economic Reality of the US

2010-02-02T05:45:00.001-08:00

A disturbing but realistic forecast for America's future. The New York Times published an article that states, in part, that:

"Unless miraculous growth, or miraculous political compromises, creates some unforeseen change over the next decade, there is virtually no room for new domestic initiatives for Mr. Obama or his successors. Beyond that lies the possibility that the United States could begin to suffer the same disease that has afflicted Japan over the past decade. As debt grew more rapidly than income, that country’s influence around the world eroded."

I am hoping that this economic crisis will bring the non-partisan minds in Congress together to do some difficult but necessary things to our economy to help reduce the damage of this forecast. But I'm not holding my breath....

Life Returns to Normal

2010-02-01T18:27:00.000-08:00

Once again, I wanted to say how much I appreciate all the kind words from the readers here—they have consoled me in a way you can’t imagine. Thank you very very much.

My mother passed away yesterday evening at 7pm my time. I was boarding a plane on the final leg of my trip back home when my sister called me. She was there when mom breathed her final breath. For my sister, it was a surreal experience. I am sure she will remember that special moment for the rest of her life.

My sister and I have grown closer during this last week together. We plan to see each other more, and for this I can once again thank my mother for bringing Patty and I together.

Now, it is time for me to return to the “real world.” I enjoyed being with Devin, Caitlin and Susan last night. It was nice to kiss their cheeks and feel their hugs. When it comes down to it, all we really have is family. I have a great family. For this, I am truly thankful.

I have a busy week ahead, even though I kept up with as much work as possible during the last week. We’ve got to plan for our Super Saints Super Bowl party on Sunday, and I’ve got to get to the thrift stores to find me a dress ;) I’ve been through a very reflective and somewhat sad personal week—I really need the normality of work and the “high” of the Saints and New Orleans to bring me back.

I can’t wait for this weekend—I’ve got a real good feeling about the game.

The Long Goodbye

2010-01-30T22:59:00.001-08:00

I told my mother goodbye tonight. I kissed her on the cheek many times, and I am sure she heard me and understood me. The hospice workers believe she will pass away in the night. They admit that her heart is strong, but her body is breaking down incredibly fast.

Who was my mother? These words come to my mind: stoic, stubborn, honorable, humorous, a fighter, humble, generous, kind, dignified, simple tastes, cultured, able to deal with adversity, a civilian survivor of war, strong, strong willed, angry with injustices against people, and very proud. I have so many memories of her dancing in my mind right now. The good and the bad. All good memories now.

I still cannot believe how much I was able to communicate to her for the first two days of this week. She was able to talk to me, smile, and discuss frankly her fear of death but also the fact that she was ready to go. When she said to me “I think I am going to die,” I was honest with her and said “yes, I think you will—very soon.” I told her it was ok to die, and that we would be here for her. My last words to her while she was still able to talk to me were “oyasumi nasai”—good night. It is a saying that was heard every night in our house when she put us to bed.

These last two days have been difficult because of her constant state of distance in her eyes and her inability to talk in these last two days. It has been taxing on me and my sister. I have seen my hair turn noticeably grey. I have found myself wanting to be alone to reflect on her life. I am hoping that she is not in any pain as she flies away. She does not deserve to be in pain right now.

I once again spent time with her today, assuring her that it was ok to fly away. I told her that I loved her, I wished her good night, and I said “sayonara” to her for the first and last time in my life. I told her that I loved her with all my heart, and that I will be seeing her again. I believe that I will see her again in my dreams very soon.

Good night, mom. Oyasumi nasai. Sayonara.

Thank You All

2010-01-29T18:20:00.000-08:00

I am overwhelmed by the internet response to my post yesterday. Thank you all for your thoughts.

Today was a better day—mom no longer had the distant look, but she can no longer garner the energy to talk. So I talked to her. I told her how proud I was to be her son. I told her that she had taught me so much—especially about human justice and the injustice of prejudice and discrimination. I told her that she meant so much to me. I spoke in broken Japanese to her. I reminisced about funny memories from my childhood. And she would smile and her eyes would brighten up. I sang to her, and hummed Japanese songs that I didn't know the words to. When she finally fell asleep, I left.

Each day is different. I have come to expect that. I am not sure what tomorrow brings. But I want to keep assuring her that she can fly away, and that she means so much to me—and always will.

Yesterday was my birthday. I will never forget it....

A Very Difficult Day

2010-01-28T14:27:00.001-08:00

Today was difficult. I visited mom this morning with my sister and mom was unresponsive. She wasn't there—we could tell. Her eyes would occasionally open, but she had the most distant look I have ever seen. At one point, her eyes opened wide and she scanned us there and asked “Everyone Here?” But then she quickly fell back in to that distant state. I am trying to be strong, but this was difficult to handle. I am glad that I saw here wen I did and didn' delay coming out here—I have a feeling her mind and sprit are now gone.

What does death look like?

2010-01-26T20:41:00.000-08:00

That is the question I have right now. I saw death tonight—I am sure of it. My mother saw it too. She got scared and said so. I stared into Moms' eyes all night long. I'm not sure what I am looking for. I am going through the same feelings I had during October 2005 when I returned home to New Orleans to examine our house. I am looking at my mother almost with academic inquiry--”what does death look like?” On the other hand, I know this “separatedness” keeps me stable while I am with her. I must not show sad emotion here—it is not the Japanese way.

I will read her the Bible tomorrow. If you know me very well, you know how much personal sacrifice this represents that I will go through to ease her journey. I understand the importance of ritual and culture here. It would be significantly important to me. “When I Die, You Better Second-Line.”

I really want to be there when she passes on. I want to be the last voice she hears, one that soothes her. Perhaps that is selfish—but I think that is my place in the Bushido order.

Saints Win--But Mom Is On My Mind

2010-01-26T06:22:00.000-08:00

After the Saints victory on Sunday, I barely had time to celebrate. I knew that I would be on a plane Monday morning to visit my mom for one last time. She has been deteriorating for the last few weeks to the point that she is really no longer eating and barely drinking. She will not be put on life-support, and she is on morphine to ease the physical pain.

I saw her last night once I got into town. My sister Patty has been an angel taking care of mom for the last year—she picked me up and we both went to visit mom. Mom looked so frail—skeletal and ashen. But she did lighten up when I arrived, and I was happy to see this. I will visit her daily this week.

I hope I help ease her pain and quicken her journey to the other side. She is so strong—but I know she really wants to die. I just want her to go in peace. I hope my visit enables that to happen.

So Much for National Health Care

2010-01-20T05:31:00.001-08:00

Of all the legacies to leave behind for Ted Kennedy in Massachusetts, one would have thought the Health Care battle victory would be one of them. But due to an inept campaign on the Democratic front (never take campaigns for granted--never) and a strong national surge against Obama, the Republicans have taken Kennedy's seat in the Senate.

There are two road that the Obama administration can go down now--either be aggressive in pursuing a progressive agenda, or wallow in a middle-of-the-road treading of water until 2012. At this early point in his administration, my assessment of the national pulse is that we are lurching back towards a right-wing society and that our only chance for any progressive change will have to come in this year. Democrats are bound to lose control of one or both houses of Congress, and Obama will be a figurehead in office.

There is no doubt that the right wing has turned "fear" into a franchise. That and an ability to bamboozle the public. If I were to theorize and hypothesize on the direction of our society in the future, I would mix a bit of "anti"-Marx (we are a social animal--but to turn it on its head the less social we become, the less likely for species survival) and pure Weber (consumed in self-interest, society will simply disintegrate, thus ending the species). No armageddon stories here, but dangerous fractures in an already fragmented society.

It is not a pretty picture I wake up to today.

Ray Nagin IS A FRAUD

2010-01-15T21:22:00.001-08:00

He has done NOTHING for Blacks in New Orleans. NOTHING!!! I have never been sure what his agenda was as mayor--maybe he just jerks off to porn in his office. I'm not sure. But he didn't do a damn thing for anyone--black or white--in New Orleans.

What A Fraud!!!

Help Needed For Haiti

2010-01-14T04:35:00.001-08:00

Here is a list of agencies that you can contact to donate money to help Haiti. Please, give anything you can. Link courtesy of the Rachel Maddow Show

Help Haiti

Mitch Makes the News in New York City

2010-01-12T12:42:00.000-08:00

It seems that the New York Times is interested in our upcoming local mayorial election. The Headline is "Racial Divide Tested in New Orleans Vote." The under-headline reads "Race Assumes Central Role in New Orleans Mayor's contest." The article goes on to state that Mitch has a resounding lead, in part due to Senator Murray's dropping out of the race.

My money (literally) is with Mitch Landrieu. I really hope he wins this time. I know the limitations of the powers of a mayor in any city, but I think he will inject a sense of relief among all who have struggled so much to rebuild New Orleans.

"Hey Now It's Carnival Time...."

2010-01-06T04:41:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Al "Carnival Time" Johnson for today's inspirational song ;)

I finished one paper yesterday, and now it's in the hands of two able editors here at home--Susan and my friend Allen. I should have a pretty well polished paper before it gets sent out to the wolves in publication land on Friday.

This morning, I will venture out to my local HEB to see if they have King Cakes. Surprisingly, they have King Cakes every 12th Night. I just always am surprised and touched to see them here. It is funny how little things like that can spark emotion in me. It's the New Orleans in me, I guess.

Good news on the Mardi Gras front. Our friend Rhonda will host us for Mardi Gras weekend. We finally get to come home for Mardi Gras, and we get to once again march with St. Anne on Mardi Gras day. My costume is complete (it has been for four years)--it's just been waiting for its inagural appearance in New Orleans :)

The Search for Publishers Begins

2010-01-05T05:33:00.000-08:00

If there is anything "good" to come from the post-Katrina life, its that I've had an opportunity to document the rebuilding of my former neighborhood in New Orleans (Broadmoor). I've interviewed friends, seen quite a few of the houses getting refurbished, and measure the progress of my neighborhood with the progress of the City. Nearly rebuilt, patches of significant need, patches of missed opportunity, but for those who have returned both a sense of Resiliancy and ANGER that dominates the rebuilding effort of the "new" New Orleans.

I've completed basically two chapters of my book on rebuilding neighborhood in New Orleans (three if you count the introduction). It's now time for me to submit a complete book proposal to potential publishers to get this thing out the door by next year. I want to tell a story of how a neighborhood rebuilds after disaster--how the draw of both New Orleans AND the neighborhood brought people back, and how much our identities are imbedded in both the neighborhood and the City that we find it totally natural to come back to New Orleans. Where else would we go.

As I reflect on this, I realize that today (Jan. 5) marks the 4 year anniversary of my move to Harker Heights, Texas. On January 5, 2006, we were driving from Crossville, TN to Harker Heights and had made it finally into our new house. I would start my new job within a week--a faculty position at Tarleton State University Central Texas, and the reality that I would have an opportunity to build a new University. I was going to give the job five years at most before I would seek out opportunities back in New Orleans.

This has been a good move for my family, and given the current state of higher education in New Orleans and Louisiana, I fully understand that we probably will be here for more than the five-year plan I had initially proposed. I am now a "dean" equivalent at my school, and it would be difficult for me to find something similar to this in New Orleans. We have, as so many people tell us, "landed on our feet."

Still, the pull of New Orleans is strong. I guess I can accept the fact that I will be an expatriate for a number of more years. But I am looking for new ways to bring me back to New Orleans for longer periods of time. This summer, I hope to bring my daughter Cecelia down for a four-week internship in the City. This will give me an opportunity to catch up with her and to be in New Orleans for a long period of time. If this works, then I intend to do it every year.

These little things "will do" for the time-being. I only hope that something ultimately helps bring me back to New Orleans.

Oh no, Mrs. Dollar Bill....

2010-01-04T18:16:00.000-08:00

I am a bit saddened at the thought that Mrs. William "Dollar Bill" Jefferson feels "entitled" to some of the money Dollar Bill handled in illegal activities.

I guess it's ok to receive illegal money if your partner earned it "fair and square." I guess I'd be entitled to half the money stolen from a bank that was robbed by a family member. Jeez--is this really happening? Only in New Orleans, y'all....

Personal Log

2010-01-04T05:34:00.000-08:00

To a certain extent....

I have to say that I honestly "hate" the idea of going back to work today. This has been one of my most enjoyable breaks over the past few years, and the simultaneous trips to New Orleans and Tennessee really helped revive the soul. Being back home for the final week helped further relax the brain and soul, and I wish I could just work from the house for the rest of my working life.

But, I am a realist and I know I must go back to work today. I am hoping for a very quiet work week. All is good.

I had trouble sleeping last night because I was "dreaming" about who the Saints were going to play in the playoffs. Wow--that's a bit too intense for me. But I will begin planning the Playoff Party(s) here at the house in two weeks. I am very happy with this season, though my only disappointment was the loss to the Cowboys. Best season ever--and I have confidence they will dominate in the playoffs. The key will be to score on their first possessions.

News today in the New York Times about the South (Alabama specifically) turning into a solid Republican region. There are times when I so hate living in the deep south. The conservatism and the religious-fanaticism drive me crazy. If you want to see a real dumbing-down of America, come visit the deep south. I enjoy bringing out the critical thinking skills of the students in my classes, but it significantly challenges them to think beyond their taken-for-granted perspectives on the world. It is a sad state of the nation right now, and I am fearful that the country will move further to the Right over the next few years.

I've got lots to work on today. I've got a paper to present in New Orleans in April, and another that I must send out for publication. Those two pieces of work are my end-goals for this week. Close the door and don't answer the phone :)

Banzai

Time For A New Direction

2010-01-03T00:56:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I haven't written a thing since April. I have so much on my mind, and so many things have taken place in the world, in the US, and in my life since then. I will try to post something (even if it is a brief note) on a daily basis for this year. THAT IS my New Year's Resolution. Banzai

Springtime in New Orleans

2009-04-13T04:18:00.001-07:00

With Easter, "Spring" has officially begun in New Orleans. We were home this weekend, since I had a conference presentation to make at the American Cultural Association meetings. It was a wonderful conference, and my presentation on the "new" culture emerging in post-Katrina New Orleans was extremely well received. Gwinnett College would like me to come up there to make the presentation. The Conference also is interested in having me do a showcase presentation on my research next year. I am working to finish the paper and submit it for publication.

More than the conference, though, it was nice to be back home and feel like we were back home. I hate being a tourist in my own city, so we did more of the "normal" things this time--had a cookout with Maggie and JC and the gang in Broadmoor, visited with friends in the Quarter, took Devin back to the Aquarium (ok, so that is touristy), watched the Crescent City Classic on our front porch, went to Antoinette's Wake Party at the Mother-In-Law, and had some good food. What I need now is to stay at a place with a kitchen so I can cook my own meals.

What I realize is that as I grow professionally, I must be able to get back home as often as I want--perhaps once a month, perhaps in time with a job back in New Orleans. The city, the culture, and my friends are too embedded in my soul. I appreciate my place in New Orleans. I find my soul in the city.

I have the patience to see how time and opportunities take us back to New Orleans. Baby-steps back home. If it becomes the once-a-month journeys back home, I'm ok with this right now. This is a good starting point.

Antoinette K-Doe's Passing

2009-02-26T05:45:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday, Feb. 24, Ms. Antoninette K-Doe passed away in her sleep. We have lost another New Orleans cultural icon and community rebuilder. I will miss seeing her in New Orleans, and I will try to be there for her second line. She needs to be honored for all her work in the city. She was recently awarded the "Heartbeat Award" by Offbeat Magazine. Here is the article.

I will miss you very much. You have done so much for New Orleans.

An Incredible Political Loss for New Orleans

2009-01-30T05:28:00.000-08:00

New Orleans Inspector General Robert Cerasoli quits post, citing health issues

Change We Can Believe In

2009-01-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

It didn't take Ms. Napolitano as Director of Homeland Security long to begin reviewing the mess left behind by Bush, Chertoff and Brownie.

Here is the link.

Is It Time to Leave New Orleans?

2009-01-25T23:47:00.000-08:00

I have been troubled at the volume of murders happening in New Orleans at the beginning of 2009. There seems to be more of it taking place now than even before the Federal Flood. Keith Spera writes in today's Times Picayune an excellent reflective piece.

I think it is important to read

Spera writes:
"Until now, my wife and I have chosen to remain in the neighborhood and accept whatever risk that entails. But what of our responsibility to our child?

Does it make sense to raise her in a neighborhood, or a city, where killing is routine?

If not, when do we leave? And how far do we go?

How many other New Orleanians -- natives, like myself, and relative newcomers, like my wife -- ask themselves this same question?

Or do we all live in a state of denial?"

Something has to be done to make New Orleans safer. It will take more than good schools and an economic development program that truly distributes more jobs to residents beyond the tourist sector. Multiple systems have fallen apart and need to be repaired or replaced. Indeed, a whole culture may have to change on multiple fronts--political, social, community.

How we got here--historically there are numerous points we can find. How we go forward--if the will exists, it will still take time and more importantly for the disenfranchised there will need to be "proof" that viable alternatives to hopeless life exists.

I hate to see my city decay in this way, but it may be time for those who do have families to reconsider if it is worth it to LIVE in the city.

Hallelujah!!!

2009-01-19T20:14:00.000-08:00

The 44th President of the United States....

I have not been so hopeful about the direction of America since 1968. In that year, two of my heroes were murdered--Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy. It would shape my critical attitude towards the United States and its politics up to this point in my life.

These last eight years have been nothing but a nightmare for me. Year after year, things only got worse. How Shrub got "elected" in 2004 was incomprehensible to me--a real low-point in politics in this country. How could so many people be so wrong?

Barack Obama will take the oath of office at Noon. It is an incredible event on so many fronts. I am filled with lots of emotions right now.

I am happy to say that I will support my President with all my heart.

My President

President Barack Obama
The 44th President of the United States
Thank God

Lift Every Voice And Sing

2009-01-19T09:06:00.000-08:00

Remember....

And let us MOVE to Change.

One more day....

George Bush can Kiss My Ass

2009-01-13T08:18:00.001-08:00

I have now lived in Harker Heights, TX for 3 years. We have landed on our feet and we have, with hesitancy, moved on. It took me a while to do that, and I honestly know that there is no other place for me to live in the world than New Orleans. Someday, I know we will find our way back. But for the long-term, we will be here in Central Texas. Good job, a “peaceful” life, beginning to collect good friends, and throwing some good parties. Susan and I are enjoying our Blue Room nights more and more—it’s like relaxing at Zots on Royal St. back in the day.

This is all good and fine, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get mad as hell when Katrina is brought up, especially by the Village Idiot from Crawford, Texas.

George, not only was the Federal response “slow” during Hurricane Katrina—it was non-existent. Yes, the Coast Guard worked vigilantly to rescue people from their homes. But we needed more help, even while the Coast Guard was doing its job! How many people died in the hospitals? How many people died in the nursing homes? How many people died while waiting to be evacuated from the highways and airport? How many days did it take for ANY concerted Federal response to hit the city? How many days before Michael fucking Brown admitted that there was even a goddamn problem in New Orleans?

I could go on, and ask any of us who experienced Katrina firsthand what we think about Bush and Katrina—we can go down our own personal checklists of unmet federal promises to make our lives whole again. I just traveled through the Lakeview and Lower Ninth Ward neighborhoods and am now numb at the lack of visible signs of rebuilding in those areas. Drive through many of our neighborhoods, and you still see one occupied house among 10 in a block, the occasional FEMA trailer, and houses destroyed by the storm still lying vacant and unrepaired. To date, the Federal Response has been “at best” SLOW—AT A SNAIL’S PACE, and truly INADEQUATE. Both of those truths indicate how serious you never were in helping rebuild our city. Look at Galveston today and you see a continuation of this total neglect for the safety and rebuilding of communities destroyed by disasters in our own country by your fuckingly inept administration.

I will be happy to see you go in 6 days. The clock cannot tick fast enough. And I hope I can say hello to you in Crawford, TX, just a few miles north of me where I now live because of your lack of help to New Orleans. I want to give you my own personal one-finger salute. You are a sorry excuse for human life.

Nice to be home

2009-01-03T14:15:00.000-08:00

It is difficult updating anything on the road when all you have is a minicomputer and a phone pc!!! But that's what I brought with me, and it will have to do.

I was surprised with the quality of the food at Fiorella's last night. They finally got it right (or back to the way it was before the storm). Chicken was excellent, and so were the fried pickles. I would highly recommend it, especially to those who have been there after it was bought two years ago by the folks at Whirling Dirvish.

Cece and I walked through the Quarter last night after dinner, and I felt like I was home. Window browsing on Royal St. is a joy, though I continue to see shops closing every time I come back. The Quarter was alive, though, and that is what I needed.

We actually packed lots in for the evening. The Quarter, Frenchman St., Rock & Bowl to see Kermit, and then a drive down Magazine St. It was again as if I had never left.

Cece appreciates this visit very much. She especially appreciates the diversity here among the young men she sees. She is having fun, and that's really what this trip is all about.

Heading to New Orleans

2009-01-02T05:31:00.001-08:00

Should be there by tonight. Dinner at Mandina's with Cece, then off to Brocata's. Yum :)

Happy New Year

2009-01-01T18:13:00.000-08:00

Here's to all of you, wishing you the best for 2009. Here's to Hope, and Change, and New Beginnings that will make a better life for working people in America.

Snow in New Orleans?

2008-12-11T19:51:00.001-08:00

Hey, folks. I want to see pix ;)

Why I Voted For Senator Barack Obama

2008-11-04T07:49:00.000-08:00

These are the issues that are most important to me as I made my decision to vote for Barack Obama. Though all four issues are important, I have placed them in my order of importance.

1. The Supreme Court
I believe that an Obama administration AND a Democratically held Senate will be able to keep the Supreme Court moderate at best. The Obama Court will not overturn Roe v. Wade, and this is important to me.

2. Fairness Doctrine
I believe an Obama administration will reinstate the Fairness Doctrine in communications. I believe it should be the first Executive Order he signs once he is inaugurated. I believe that the airwaves are dominated by Right-Wing hate mongers and that there is a need today for a balanced and educated voice for the listening public. We need to get rid of the hate on the air and use the media to educate citizenship.

3. National Health Care
I believe an Obama administration will move quickly to create a National Health Care system. We need this to become more competitive in the Global labor market so that we can better keep jobs in the US.

4. Ending the Iraq War
I believe the Obama administration will move quickly to get our troops out of Iraq. It is about time to get out of this conflict so symbolic of the Bush debacle.

These issues are paramount in my decision. They completely separate the two candidates in this race.

Hurricane Ike--Part 1

2008-09-06T19:51:00.000-07:00

Alrighty then....

I've had it already with Hurricane season....

I want all my friends to know that we have a place for you all to stay that won't cost you a dime. I'll cook some of the best food you will every have. Real home cookin'.

Don't waste more money than gas money to get up here.

It's boring, but it's safe.

If you need a plan, come on up to Harker Heights.

Banzai

Conservative Republican Double-speak

2008-09-05T04:52:00.000-07:00

And which is it? Experienced, inexperience? Private issue, or issue for public scorn? Sexist, or female candidates open for criticism?

You gotta see this.

And then, make your contribution to Obama. We gotta win this one.

Trying to Help

2008-09-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

I've been on Twitter for the past two days trying to help friends keep up with the news coming out of New Orleans. Here is the link to the newsfeeds.

It has been an incredible resource. If you want to see what I'm up to, go to twitter and look for Banzaibill.

Someone should write an article about this.

The Sunday Morning Track

2008-08-31T09:38:00.001-07:00

24 hours to landfall

Still not looking good. New Orleans to the East of the storm--barely.

Thankfully, most of my friends are either out of town or heading out.

Lots are using Twitter to send messages about road conditions. A nice resource.

Why can't this storm go to Texas?

More later....

Gustav, Go Away

2008-08-30T06:31:00.000-07:00

11:00am. Gustav's forecast at 11am moves it back to the East closer to New Orleans.

I would now be planning on leaving by Sunday, if not sooner....

Don't take the chance. Head to Florida, or North and enjoy the Labor Day weekend.

My philosophy when I see these things enter the gulf is watch it closely because it can do anything once there. This is nothing to mess with--it's a Cat 3, and it's moving slowly. It is still very unpredictable.

30 x 90 folks--30 x 90. It's got to be deep in the gulf and steadily moving west before I decide to STAY.

The Tropical Storm force winds will extend all around New Orleans. That is going to cause some storm surge into Lake Pontchatrain and the Mississippi River (which is already high). This enough will test the levee system.

Look--schools are out until next week, I'm sure businesses have made plans to close.... What I'm saying is just be smart about this. Be wise and be careful.

My thoughts are with you all. More updates later.

OBAMA

2008-08-29T05:20:00.000-07:00

Take a good look at the next President of the United States.

I like the part in his speech when he said "Enough!" And we've had ENOUGH of Bush failures. On this third year anniversary of Katrina, I want to remind you of the MANY signifant failures of Bush and Republicans over the past 7 1/2 years. Using an old Reagan line, consider: "Are you better off now than you were 4 years ago?"

Barak Obama will lead us into the future. And he will change America--more than he even has so far.

Wake up to a new Morning. It's a new America today.

Hurricane Gustav

2008-08-26T08:07:00.001-07:00

Friday Update:
Gustav continues to track west this morning, but the models "split" between an eastern or western turn. By tomorrow, we should have a much better idea of where this nasty storm will hit.

And, as many of you know--keep an eye out for Hanna. She looks like she'll make a turn with no clear indication of which direction it might go.

Its the three year anniversary of Katrina--that and Gustav are heavy on my mind right now.

Keep wishing it towards Texas--we need the rain.

It' Getting "Stinky" in New Orleans....

2008-08-15T08:07:00.000-07:00

And it ain't because of overflowing garbage trucks running through da Quarter....

C-Ray is going to get an award for (I can hardly believe I'm writing this) "Distinction for Recovery, Courage and Leadership." What a crock of shit that is (pardon my language).

But Adastros has exposed the real moving force for the event. In essence, its a Fundraiser for C-Ray. And there are some folks who are not too happy to be associated with this event--bascially, they were sold a bill of goods for an event they knew nothing about.

Yeah, C-Ray--that's the way to do it. Keep foolin' folks for your own purposes. You are such a piece of low political life--I can't believe you are still in office. Get him out, folks--please, get him out!!!!

Happy Dirty Linen Night

2008-08-09T20:56:00.000-07:00

Wish we could be there....

But, I'm drinking lots tonight in hopes that I can recreate the thoughts :)

Banzai

Mayor Nagin IS a NO SHOW

2008-08-07T06:32:00.000-07:00

It's not surprising to me that Mayor Nagin not show up at the City Council chambers this morning. He's been a "no-show" throughout the rebuilding process.

He IS probably having breakfast at some fancy restaurant this morning.

Hey, don't we have access to his schedule? Oh, I forgot, that might be too personal of an issue with C-Ray (not lately)....

Ray Nagin, you sorry excuse for a Mayor….

Here is this morning's story in the TP. "Prior scheduling commitments" my ass....

Here is the feckless mayor hard at work:

Imagine--the next time you open your eyes, C-Ray, you'll be looking at a warrant for your arrest....

Tropical Storm Edouard

2008-08-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

Well, we could use the RAIN here in Central Texas....

I'm not so sure that Houston has to panic about this one. I'm more worried about the other storm that could be in the Gulf next week.... It's Hurricane Season....

Don't Underestimate Citizen Activist Blogs!!!

2008-08-02T07:17:00.001-07:00

Don’t ever underestimate the power of the citizen activists using Blogs. Today’s TP ran a story entitled New Orleans suspends home rehab operation and credited Karen Gadbois and her work at her blog Squandered Heritage with exposing the corruption at NOAH.

Great Job Karen—I know you work really hard on this project. And you do it for all the right reasons. And you don’t get enough credit. And you need all of our support.

If you want to know the value of Blogs and activism, read The Nation’s recent article on MOVEON.COM’s 10 year anniversary.

Blogs mobilize the new “silent majority” in ways never experienced before. We are all making a change happen.

How exciting is this!!!

Our Feckless Mayor

2008-07-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

And while I’m on a Rant….

Ray Nagin, you sorry excuse for a Mayor….

The Gambit this week hit the mark on our Paranoid, Mentally Challenged mayor. How the hell he won that second term, well, I guess we have lots of folks UPTOWN to thank for that, aye?

Here is the feckless mayor hard at work:

Picture credits go Crosswordgrl. She is a Super Hero to Community Activists everywhere.

Oil Companies Score Huge Profits

2008-07-31T06:57:00.000-07:00

This REALLY PISSES ME OFF. In May these same oil companies were on Capital Hill trying to justify their huge profits at times of great consumer need. J. Stephen Simon, executive vice president of Exxon Mobil, had the “gall” to say at that time that these profits were needed to invest in long-term growth. BULLSHIT. Return your profits back to consumers in the way of lowered costs, you pig!!!

I’m tired of paying for gas to these asswipes. But I can’t afford a New Prius, so I’ll settle for something like this:

In the meantime, I’ll send my GAS money to another country—where potentially they might spend it on something like, oh, national health care?

What A Wonderful World....

2008-07-28T13:45:00.001-07:00

It's here--the first "trailer" for Oliver Stone's "W."

And I'm very happy he didn't use Louis Armstrong's version of "What A Wonderful World." That would not have been appropriate.

Fiorella's and the Bingo Show

2008-07-27T12:07:00.000-07:00

I was "cruising" on the net, when I should've been grading papers, and I googled "Fiorella's" to see if there were any posts about its closing (it closed in June).

Well, I found Clint Maedegon's "Complicated" video and I know you all have seen it before, but for Cece and David (who do occasionally lurk here) I just wanted you to see a wonderful portrait of our walks through the Quarter. Start to finish, I think you'll see lots of familiar places and faces.

By the way....

I bought the Fiorella's Neon Sign last time I was in New Orleans. Yeah you right!

Makes You Think

2008-07-14T13:20:00.000-07:00

I just ran across this piece on YouTube and it struck a chord with me:

What do you think?

On Another Note....

2008-06-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

Susan and I are going to see Tom Waits in Houston on Sunday!!! We can't wait for the incredible and rare show. We'll bring back what pix we can take.

I live with Demons in my head

2008-06-06T20:34:00.001-07:00

I guess over the past few weeks there were many things I could have written about on this Blog that would entertain and inform better than this post could.

I could have lamented about the disease taking over the life of Ted Kennedy. This saddens me to no end….

I could have written about actually meeting Hana Morris at her house for her daughter’s 6th year birthday, and all the wonderful people I met there as well. Thank you Hana for a wonderful time.

I could have written about meeting Ray Shea and sharing a po-boy with him after we watched the Mardi Gras Indians march on Bayou St. John on Memorial Day—what a lagniappe that was.

I could have written (more) about Hillary’s obvious breakdown—mental and political.

I could have written about how elated I am that my “second” choice for President actually “won” the Democratic nomination—Geauxbama!!!

I could have written about the fact that I got an incredible job promotion—finally after all these years in academia.

I could have written about how much I miss Susan and Devin as they visit Susan’s parents in Tennessee, and have been gone for two weeks.

I could write right now about how happy I am to see Cece and that I am very happy that she is here visiting—I miss her so very much.

I need to catch up on my blog, but what I write about tonight are my demons….

Perhaps brought on by the second rum and coke tonight….

And a little bit of Terrance Blanchard’s “A Tale of God’s Will” on the radio….

The Demons….

They Still Haunt Me….

I wish I was home….

I have it so good right now. Good job, good house, not so great neighborhood, but people are getting used to me now after one year in this new place, and we’re actually making friends of sorts—but not the kind we had in New Orleans. The job is great, and I’m moving up and helping build a University. Incredible. All good.

But I guess I have and am constantly now thinking about “survivor’s guilt.” About how we are doing better than ok away from New Orleans, but that I would rather be there doing what I know I can do there, making a difference and helping rebuild.

During my last visit to New Orleans, I finally found the word that summed up the many interviews I’ve conducted since the storm and the observations in the field of the friends and people who have returned to New Orleans to rebuild.

DEFIANCE

Blake—that’s a word you should put on one of your t-shirts—honestly!!!

DEFIANCE

New Orleans has been rebuilt on the backs and from the sweat of all those who have returned.

With little help from the government and insurance companies, people who have returned (not all, but many who I know) have been able to recapture a part if not a large part of their houses, lives, and quality of life. They have done it on their own.

SINN FEIN!!!

And I am so very proud of my city now more than ever.

And I am so unhappy that I am not there to help and participate in this incredible process.

Survivor’s Guilt.

I will always be a New Orleanian—always.

Time for that second rum and coke.

Hillary Has Officially "Lost It"

2008-05-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

And I'm not talking about the election....

Politico.com reports that Hillary is comparing the fight to seat Florida and Michigan delegates as a Civil Rights Movement.

BOCA RATON, Fla. - Hillary Clinton compared her effort to seat Florida and Michigan delegates to epic American struggles, including those to free the slaves and win the right to vote for blacks and women.

The current stalemate over the two states' primary votes threatens to replicate the disputed 2000 presidential election in Florida, she warned an elderly crowd in Palm Beach County - one of the jurisdictions where Democrats allege voters were disenfranchised in 2000.

The pointed speech marked the kick-off of a last-gasp effort by Clinton to prolong her Democratic presidential campaign by making the states count, which would cut into rival Barack Obama's leads in popular votes and pledged delegates.

"In Florida, you learned the hard way what happens when your votes aren't counted and the candidate with fewer votes is declared the winner," she said. "The lesson of 2000 here in Florida is crystal clear: if any votes aren't count, the will of the people isn't realized and our democracy is diminished."

Clinton, at times sounding like a modern history professor, praised the abolitionists, suffragettes and civil rights pioneers and talked about her own efforts to fight legislative redistricting and voter identification initiatives that she said dilute minority voting power.

"This work to extend the franchise to all of our citizens is a core mission of the modern Democratic party," she said. "From signing the Voting Rights Act and fighting racial discrimination at the ballot box to lowering the voting age so those old enough to fight and die in war would have the right to choose their commander in chief, to fighting for multi-lingual ballots so you can make your voice heard no matter what language you speak."

Incredible....

Who Is Helping the Lower 9th Today?

2008-05-20T09:41:00.000-07:00

While volunteering this weekend at the Broadmoor Fest, many of my students came away with a sense that Broadmoor had gotten on its feet and was moving forward in its rebuilding effort. They were told of the fundraising efforts for both the Library and the School, and were told by residents as well of their individual rebuilding efforts (and headaches). Given these observations, they wanted to know if all the money raised by Broadmoor this weekend was going to the Lower 9th Ward to help them recover. They were surprised when I told them that what funds might be left-over from the Festival after paying bills would probably go towards the Library. They wanted to know why Broadmoor (and other neighborhoods) aren’t helping other worse-off neighborhoods get back on their feet.

I tried to answer their questions critically, trying to dispel their “taken-for-granted” approach that Broadmoor had received Federal and State Aid (and insurance money) to recover. Many of you who have experienced the Road Home or FEMA or Insurance Adjustors or the SBA know that the “recovery” has been born on YOUR shoulders. New Orleans residents have, for the most part, been totally ignored by the Federal and State governments. What my students see in Broadmoor, I told them, is a reflection of the work by many residents who were first challenged and threatened by the prospect that Broadmoor didn’t matter and was going to be turned into one big Greenspace. We in Broadmoor defended ourselves from outside threats to a community we all felt a strong sense of place and identity in. We cared about not only how we were going to recover but also how our neighbors were going to recover and how we all would work to bring back our neighbors and our neighborhood. The students also heard that the level of recovery needed in the City was beyond the level that even neighborhoods and their residents should bare totally by themselves. Non-profits also cannot completely rebuild New Orleans—it takes a gargantuan national will and funding effort through governmental institutions to make the city fully recovered and safe again.

What I also told the students is the incredible injustice the Lower 9th Ward experienced before and after the storm. The dispersal of these residents makes it incredibly difficult to organize efforts to rebuild the neighborhood and community. The fact that many are still fighting the government(s) and insurance for restitution is another example of this injustice. I told the students that there were other significant impediments to rebuilding the Lower 9th Ward. But when it came to Broadmoor, we were in the middle of a fight for our own neighborhood and this occupied much if not all of our efforts.

For the “occasional” readers of the Blog—those of you who I call friends from New Orleans--what can I tell my students about how you feel about Broadmoor’s (or any New Orleans neighborhood’s) relationship to the Lower 9th Ward in their recovery efforts? What role do other New Orleans neighborhoods have or need to have in helping advocate for the rebuilding of the Lower 9th Ward and other devastated areas in New Orleans?

Broadmoor Fest and My Students

2008-05-18T07:16:00.000-07:00

I am back in New Orleans this weekend with 25 student volunteers for the weekend. Our project—helping set up and work the Broadmoor Festival. Isn’t it nice to have power?  Anyway, we got in on Thursday night and will be heading back to Killeen on Monday. The students are in my annual Community Development course. It is my little contribution to making more people learn the story of Katrina and how New Orleans is recovering post-Katrina. There is no better place to study how to “develop” community than in a place that lost so much but has worked so hard to rebuild and recover.

You all know what makes New Orleans special. But for me, it is great to see others get it. It doesn’t take long for the students to begin commenting on what an incredible place this is. The variety and historical significance of the housing and buildings. The incredible food (we’ve had po-boys at Parkway, snoballs at Hansen’s, and dinner at Jacque-imos for example). The friendly and helpful people. The great music (I took them to Vaughan’s on Thursday night). The “free” lifestyle. Many of them “get it.” And, for a class this large, it is nice to see so many of them get it.

We worked the Broadmoor Fest as our service project for the trip. And, though some might say that having them work to help repair houses might have more significance, I would say that this has been the first time I have been able to help MY neighborhood with my students. And, given the comments by my friends who organized the event, we were much appreciated. It was great for me to see so many friends. The students got a chance to sit and talk with many residents about their struggles and joys in the recovery. I am really looking forward to reading their journals next week.

I will post more later, with pictures. It has been rather “exhausting” managing a group this size (at times, its like herding cats). But as I begin my walk through the Quarter today, I will let the sun and the river help me recover.

It’s all good.

We Have Lost A Great Warrior for New Orleans

2008-04-03T22:26:00.001-07:00

I can’t believe it….

We’ve lost another great patron of the City we all love so much….

Dr. Ashley Morris passed away yesterday, and I learned of his passing when I went to log on to his daily diatribes that kept me so in touch with the city.

I never met Ashley, though I thought we might touch base during my last visit back home during St. Pat’s. We conversed on the internet, through his blog and through e-mail. I was happy when he said he would’ve voted for me if I ran for City Council. And I would’ve needed his support to make it and to be a fighter on that dysfunctional institution.

He was my hero….

His rants were classic. I should link to them here, but if you’re here, you know all the ones that count. I remember back in May 2006 reading aloud his “Fuck you you Fucking Fucks” to my class. It was classic. They laughed, not even knowing what New Orleans was about. And I wanted to give him a big fat kiss for that post.

His rants against Chicago when the Saints lost up there….

His great tattoo for the Saints….

His photo-voodoo—how anyone taking a pix with him that might have been in politics would be forever contaminated….

His Kreux de Vieux pix…. “Buy us back, Chirac….”

I wanted to be a professor like Ashley….

To be a family person like Ashley….

To be fighting for New Orleans like Ashley….

I do my best, my friend, to keep the story of New Orleans alive outside of the Great State of Louisiana. And I gotta say that I’ve done a good job. And that’s in part to your motivation and your edge.

I will miss you. And I will keep you in my thoughts always.

Banzai

Good Trip Back Home

2008-03-19T21:31:00.000-07:00

Just got back from 5 days in New Orleans. Saw lots of people, Devin got to see three parades, and he gave out flowers and kissed the girls. He's learning young. It was nice to be back home, and I'm beginning to see some progress in the city's reemergence. Bits and pieces of neighborhoods coming back, usually differentiated by the amount of money available for rebuilding. I continue to be impressed with the development of the Musician's Village. I also saw other non-profit homebuilding in various areas (Central City for one). It won't be the same, but I do see some progress.

P. O.'d

2008-03-03T12:12:00.000-08:00

The Monkey Speaks His Mind....

And he's pissed off....

I am so tired of Conservative rants these days. On any medium (blogs, radio, tv, webcasts). I SO WANT the Democrats to win in November--just to see Conservatives whine like never before (actually, like they did when Billary I was in office).

Why can't we just give Conservatives Texas? Please? And that's really generous, if you think about it. They get a territory the size of a country (ask Texans--it IS a country "still") with the stipulation that they stay right where they are and inflict no harm on the remaining United States. Let them play Free Market Monopoly all day long, and let them do whatever they want to their social structure. Gun loving, freedom loving, paranoid schitzophrenic drug using, conservative-land.

There....

Now I feel better :)