So, it looks like ol' New Orleans is going to get douched again. Shit. Not that we live there anymore, but the city still holds a special place in my heart. It's where the Mrs. and I got married. It's basically where we started our lives together. So, it's always disheartening to see Mother Nature fuck the "City that care forgot" over and over again.
Say what you will about NOLA but the culture and vibe of the city sinks into your being after you've lived there a while. When I first moved to the bayou I friggin' hated it. It was dirty, stinky, crowded, and full of free-loading criminal-types. However, over time I began to see the true city. There are caring, wonderful people all over the place down there that would take you in in a heartbeat and treat you as family. There are wonderful places to eat, see live music and wander around aimlessly. I love that city...the city that I once hated.
I could never live there again. Only because of Mama Nature. Not because of the city itself. I miss it often and get back to visit friends when I can. Hopefully, next year there will still be someplace to visit and at least one chef able to put bbq shrimp on my plate.
Good luck, New Orleans. You're gonna need it.
When I told my co-workers that Jenn and I were going across the mountains to visit Asheville, NC every one of them said "Enjoy the Hippies". Well, I scoffed at this. Surely, there weren't that many of the hippy variety in such a small mountain town. Once again, Josh is WRONG!
The drive over was uneventful. It's only a couple of hours across and it was actually quite beautiful scenery. So, we roll into town and look for a place to park, which we find relatively easily. Two bucks to park for the entire day is a sweet fucking deal no matter where you are. Anyway, we start walking around the downtown area and I have yet to see a hippy. I see some funky shops, many coffee houses, and a giant iron sculpture (like an Iron that you press clothes with) that was at least eight feet tall. Interesting.
Then we find the central square. Lo and behold....hippies, dude. Gathered in this little square were a flock of the pot-reeking variety. One, dressed as a tiger complete with tail, was painting the faces of his eagerly waiting customers (both of them). Others, like the guy in a dress and the biggest shock of dreadlocked hair that hasn't been seen outside of a reggae concert, were just milling about and taking in the sights.
The surreality of the scene hit me when a marching band from Winston Salem began warming up on the street. Did I mention that it was a day of an African American cultural festival? So, with the band warming up Jenn and I sat, sipped our sodas, and watched as two freaks began martial-arting one another. Let me paint the scene the best I can because it is uber-weird. Behind us, in a circle, is the marching band's drum line...who had a surprisingly loud sound from such a smallish drum line (there were only like 12 of them) warming up and "breaking it down". In front of us is the hippy scene. Two thin youngish men (mid 20's at the oldest) dressed exactly alike (bright blue paints with a fruity assed white shirt with a rainbow in the center) were performing for the crowd. At first, they were chanting some bullshit and playing homemade instruments. Then, after the inner city school band arrived, they moved to doing slow motion karate-type moves on each other complete with Matrix-style blocks and manouvers. I have no fucking idea how they didn't know how retarded they looked. The effect of mushrooms probably blocked the stares and snickers from their consciousness. So, with an entirely black marching band warming up behind me and two, white freaks doing their mating dance in front of me, I couldn't help but thinking: Dr. King would be so proud of this harmony.
The rest of the day was great. We walked through the festival (which was much bigger than I anticipated) and moseyed around the city and got to experience the downtown area. One thing can be said for the patchouli-set: they are extrememly welcoming to all. I like that.
It really was a fun and relaxing day. We'll have to go back again for the weeked and take fat dog with us.
Peace You Fucking Hippies
JR
Which side of your family do you resemble more?
I have come to believe that I am a perfect amalgam of the two folks that birthed me. Strangely enough, I look more like my uncle (dad's bro) than I do my father. Which raises questions in itself.
My sense of kindness, responsibility, practicality, and love comes from my mom. My sense of humor, incredible aloofness (is that a word?) and creativity come from my dad.
The tremendous amount of body hair comes from my mom.
Hey all. So, I was watching this morning the highlights from the O-lympics and Mr. Phelps and company during the swimming thingie*. I think it's kinda funny that the only time that anyone gives three happy-high-five-fucks about the swimming is during the O-lympics. But, watching the news and highlights were a little unsettling (as it often is). The expectations for this Mike Phelps dude are overwhelming, even for me and I'm sitting my lazy ass in my recliner, sippin' a beer watching the athletes and I feel the pressure. This guy is being put under tremendous pressure to perform at the highest level possible. I feel for him and I'm amazed he hasn't cracked yet.
Sure, he has the ability to break many records. Yes, this guy is probably one of the greatest 'merican O-lympic athletes ever. But, man, for the ol' talking heads on the tv and the interviewers and the street vendors to always, consistently raise the issue of his record setting feats is a little much. "2 gold down 5 to go": you hear that one a lot. "3 more to go, blahblahblah". Jeebus fuckme Christmus, ONE gold medal in the games is a tremendous feat and YOU ASSHOLES expect, no DEMAND, this 23 year old swmmy guy to do that SEVEN fucking times. That's preposterous.
In real-life terms, the type of expectations put on this guy are like this: You go to work on Monday and your boss comes in to say good morning, He/She then goes on to say that you, by yourself or with a small team, need to raise this quarter's profits by ten percent. Then she gives you by lunch to get it done (for the white collar sector). That is what it would be like. Or, you go to work and your boss demands you pull six hundred Slurpees in twelve seconds (to the blue-collar sector). Except M.Phelps has a boss of 300 million people and an executive of the board, called the media, placing huge expectations on such a young man.
If I were M. Phelps I would wait until my last race, my record-setting, country-unifying, tear inducing race. Then, I would purposely come in last place. I would then turn to the cameras and go "Fuck you and your expecations 'merica". But, that's just me.
Anyway, enjoy the O-lympics.
*For the record, I am really happy that the men's swimmy guys don't wear the Speedo banana-hammock suits anymore.
