Dribble Pop

All Saints Day and Jack the Trickster

One of the most exciting days of the year is upon us and for the first time I find myself not participating in any Halloween featured event. As a result of this saddening situation I find myself proned to vent a feeling that has been bugging me weeks before this holiday had even been floating around my subconscious. I have already mentioned that I had been reading the novel "The Witches" to my students. There were a total of four students who at various points over the course of the reading of the novel informed me that they were not given permission to listen to the story because it discussed an indirect connection to the devil. They were not so eloquent but this is what it boiled down to. They explained they were not allowed to celebrate Halloween because it was the celebration of the devil's birthday. I found this extremely frustrating because I was pretty certain that Halloween has nothing to do with the devil. I acquiesced to their demands, but tonight I decided to do a little research on the origins of Halloween. According to Rumela's Web, Halloween came from the christian church in the eighth century. The church created All Saints Day to be celebrated on November first. The purpose of the day was to acknowledge and rejoice in the lives of all the saints that did not have a special day of their own set aside for them. The mass performed the night before was termed All Hallowmas which means the mass of all Hallows or saintly people. Eventually it was known as All Hallows Eve and emerged as Halloween. In the 5th Century BC, in Celtic Ireland, summer officially ended on October 31st. That day was deemed the Celtic New Year and was believed to be a day in which the disembodied spirits of all those who had died during the preceeding year were given one final chance to possess living bodies for the forthcoming year. The Celts believed that the realms of the supernatural and reality became intertwined on this night. Thus, the civilians as a means to frighten off the spirits and discourage them from finding living bodies to possess would dress up in costumes and attempt to be as destructive as possible. They would put out all the lights in and around their houses, leaving them cold and unwelcoming.

Trick-or-treating came from an old European custom where Christians would walk from village to village begging for "Soul Cakes." For every "soul cake" they received, they would say a prayer for those who had died over the past year. They believe that the prayers would help the disembodied souls get into heaven.

The jack-o-lantern came from an old Irish folktale that told the story of an Irish drunkard and trickster named Jack who was denied entrance to Heaven when he died due to the sins he had committed while alive. While living, Jack had tricked Satan into climbing a tree. When Satan had reached the top, he carved a cross into the bark, trapping the devil in the tree. He then promised to let Satan down if he agreed not to tempt him again as long as he lived. The consequence of this act resolved the devil not to let Jack into Hell either. He was cursed to wander through the darkness with only a small light place inside an empty turnip. When immigrants came to America bringing Halloween with them, the replaced the turnip with a pumpking because the pumpkin was more plentiful.

So there you have it. A brief history of Halloween. Pretty interesting stuff. My gripe remains with the ignorance of those who practice religion with such zeal and yet will contentedly develop their own uninformed beliefs from exaggerated images from pop culture. I guess the reason it irks me so badly is not the withholding of a generally enjoyable holiday from children, but from the divide it created within my classroom. I had students ostracizing other students for participation in the celebration of the devils birthday when in fact this is far from the truth. I can't blame these children because they only repeat what they hear from their parents. I guess ultimately I am saddened and frustrated by the continual emergence of fear of otherness and the actions individuals will take to impose hatred and disapproval of those who are different from themselves. I try to preach openness to my students and yet sometimes I truly believe I am preaching to a brick wall. I wonder about where all this anger that has accumulated and is so ingrained in the culture has originated from. Is it a disatisfaction with the adversity that life challenges us with. or is it something deeper that has traversed generations and penetrated the psyche of the poor South? I am afraid to assume it is the latter, because some holes are too deep to dig out of. Where do you find hope at the bottom of an abyss? I feel like Albert Camus. The sad truth is that I believe the only true escape from the repetition of such fortunes only exists in an escape from the culture and that is what I am offering these children. I am not endorsing the abandonment of family and faith, merely an release of the values that keep perpetuating the downward spiral. I do not want to come off as an elitist either. That my chosen path may be better than anyone else's. I just believe that with education comes the ability to make decisions that are not completely influenced by the past and the impending pressure that religion and family can place on one's shoulders. While I still believe in many of the morals of Jewish culture, I do not suscribe to many of the religious tenets that are the glue of judaism. My lack of faith is accompanied with a certain loneliness. I admit my own jealousy of those who possess unrestrained faith in a greater being. At times I wish that I could commit to a greater power on mere faith, but I guess I don't believe in God for the same reasons as many folks believe in Intelligent Design. They say that since life is so incredibly complicated and ultimately one cannot break down the origin of life, there must be an original design orchestrated by some intelligent being. I say, since no one has ever provided or experienced any objective proof of God, then there is no God. I guess I feel this way for the same reason that I don't believe in ghosts or supernatural power. Don't get me wrong, I want to believe. But because there has never been any recorded scientific evidence of supernatural existence, I refuse to accept it as reality.

Wow, I got deep without realizing it. And to think that I was afraid that I had nothing to talk about tonight. Always full of surprises. If anyone has anything to add to the history of Halloween, please induldge me. It's pretty fun stuff.

Goodnight, and don't let Jack get you.

Who you gonna call? Call Fema!

Oh Sweet Sweet Weekend. How I love thee. Let me count the ways.

I knew on Friday that I just needed to get to 10:25 and I would survive the day. The students had three tests to take and then Art. I would get a planning period and the rest of the day would be surmised by a Halloween Party and the volleyball game. Well, everything went pretty well. We took our tests with no incident. The Halloween party was beaucoup fun. (Beaucoup, pronounced boo-coo down here, is my favorite New Orleans slang) A bunch of students brought in way too much candy. We distributed it and then watched "The Witches." The kids loved it and I loved seeing them make all the connections between the similarities and the differences of the book and the movie. My friend Alexa also pointed out to me that Ms. Finnerty, my third grade teacher, read it to us in third grade. Weird. Then I was off to the gym for the big game. I had some pressure on me, because the coach told the girls that I was a professional beach volleyball player. They believed him! The whole school was in the gym and as soon as we entered they went nuts, banging on the bleachers and screaming at the top of their lungs. I felt like I was at an LSU game. We beat the girls twice and I broke out the jump volleyball serve and it actually went in many times. Woo Hoo! Also, at one point, the principal missed a shot and silenty dropped the F-Bomb. I'm pretty sure that every single Third through Eighth grader saw it and all hell broke loose. It was a pretty hysterical moment. She didn't even realize she had done it.

That night I went into the city with the thirty something teacher who I'm living with. We bonded over Coors Lights at the Balcony Bar on Magazine. Good times. Jon's a great guy with good morals and a weird sense of humor, but he's completely loveable. The first time I met him this year, I was in my class, setting up my room, and he walked in just talking my ear off. Within five minutes, he decided to tell me his life history, including the fact that his wife was living in Connecticut with their son while he was in Louisiana with their two daughters. He went on to explain that he and his wife were not divorced, just separated. All this within five minutes of metting him! Some people are very comfortable sharing extremely personal nuggets on a dime. But here I am blogging it with no idea who's reading my stuff, so I'm not one to talk. He also a very good pool player and we had some fun beating up on some dudes who had no idea what they were up against.

Saturday was incredibly eventful. I began the day by going to VooDoo Fest at Audubon Park. The best band I saw by far was Cowboy Mouth, a New Orleans based funk/pop band. They played a bunch of music from an upcoming album. The music was satisfying because many of their new songs were based on Katrina. Many references to the levees breaking. The last song they played was "Jenny Says" which is probably their most famous. They had the entire crowd singing along and at the very end they had everyone get on the floor and jump up into the sky singing "Let it go, Let it go, Let it go. When the world is coming down on you, let it go." That night I went to see the first show at Tipitina's featuring the Rebirth Brass Band. They rocked the house. The audience was packed. The house was an inferno. But the feeling from everyone in the room was electric. They played the Ghostbusters theme song but adjusted the lyrics appropriately. The only verse I can remember was as follows:

When your house goes down,
From a hurricane.
Who you gonna call?
Call Fema!

I danced all night and definitely appreciated the added hour courtesy of daylight savings. Teach For America members were out in full force.

Well, this is a solid post to make up for the few days I missed. Having a personal revolution starting tomorrow. Time to reflect about what I want the next few months to look like. Tomorrow they are splitting up the fourth third grade class because the teacher is going back to her school in New Orleans. I'm not thrilled because my class size will jump from 21 to 27. Those kids aren't the most well behaved ones either. It should be interesting. I need to refocus my efforts on school and my own personal health. I've been depressed the last few days. I need to turn it around. Wish me luck.

Carbon Copies and Apple Pie

Tomorrow is the big teachers versus students volleyball good. I'm looking to brush off some dust and put those eighth grade girls in their place. Eighth grade girls volleyball...it's fantastic! I scouted them out after school today and I must say that the confidence level is high. I just hope I don't look like a fool out there. My students are expecting a superhero. Last year, the faculty played the local police force in basketball. I was no Michael Jordan, but let's just say that I hit a clutch three pointer and took a dirty offensive charge. That day I did feel like a superhero as each student gave me a congradulatory remark on our victory.

Anne suggested that the dating emails I were getting were David D'Angelo. I have gone back and checked and they are in fact Mr. D'Angelo. I realize how preposterous a scheme this dating collection is, but infomercials have been tempting before. The only one I ever succumbed to was the Beach Body Pro Power 90 Workout DVD. I was sitting up late one night and the guy got on raving about his program. They showed the usual before and after photos. Something about the program got me excited and I called in, gave them my credit card and a few weeks later the DVD package showed up on my doorstep. While it was cheezy and underfunded, the program was pretty effective and stuck with it for about a month before the hurricane went and killed that routine.

I had another weird dream last night. In this one, Jack had grown a formidable tumor on his neck. It wasn't the same as the deer I had seen at Vassar that had a volleyball of a tumor hanging from its neck. It was merely a point tumor like the handle of a broomstick. When I woke up I quickly checked Jack and felt relieved when I couldn't find any evidence of a tumor.

I started to get into the first season of 24. I like the idea of a show being shot as real time and each episode adding up to the entire twenty four hour day. The show is very compelling. It's almost as good as The Shield. The only thing that doesn't translate well to DVD, is the commercial breaks. I'll watch the show and then the clock that appears every now and then will jump about three minutes. At first I was confused and felt ripped off, but then the revelation came and I got angry at commercials in general. I haven't seen a good commercial in a while. I did really like the starbucks one where the young business man "Hank" has an entire cheering section at his interview including a mascot "Hank." Good stuff.

Family politics has been weighing on my mind a bit recently. It's sad to me that money can get in the way of blood relationships sometimes. I can't really go into details, but let's just say that my dad's side of the family can be a little insane. The sad part about it is that my extended family in general is not very extended at all. All my grandparents have passed. My mom's sister and her family are basically estranged from us. My dad's younger sister and her family live in California and I haven't seen them in three years and my dad's other sister and her family are conservative looneys that have a skiewed view of morals and dignity. It's one of those situations where they believe to have a strict moral code, but are perfectly comfortable with betraying and backstabbing those who are close to them. My dad is not by any means a perfect guy and he's done some stuff over the years I'm not very proud of, but I pity him sometimes. I get worried that he's lonely. He has had plenty of girlfriends over the years, but he has difficulty letting anyone completely into his life. That's another reason that I share the sports infatuation. I hope it breaks down the loneliness. It also makes me nervous about my own future. I am a carbon copy of my Dad in a lot of ways and I'm afraid that like history I will repeat some of his mistakes. I guess it may be one of those things that when you know about it, you are more likely to avoid it and yet it already feels like it has begun. We shall see. Sorry to end on a somber note...Butterflies, Comits, Apple Pie, Orgasm...there, that's better.

Butterflies flying high, yet drug free

This week I have the priviledge of promoting drug free awareness and education. I am well aware of the irony of the situation. I dread this week each year because it usually initiates an onslaught of questions involving my own personal use of cigarettes and alchohol. I attempt to never lie to my students, but I feel this is one area of my life that they do not need to know the truth. Fortunately today I did not receive the foregone queries that typically arise. I attribute it to the wonderful children I have this year. I feel blessed( I don't use this term too often due to the religious connotations), because they make teaching a lot of fun. They always are fun just to chat with on the playground. I've quickly figured out how to interpret their behavior and how each one reacts to different forms of discipline and praise. One student explained how his family has tried to get his mother to stop her heavy drinking habits. It was an uncomfortable question for me because I didn't know how to address the question without involving the opinions of the rest of the class. I took him aside during recess and discussed it with him privately. As a teacher, I never completely understand my place in those sorts of matters. I do not want to involve myself where I do not belong, but I also care for my students' well-being. It's a difficult prospect.

So I got an email today regarding dating strategies. At first I was put off, thinking that I'd never take advice directly from a book or other commercial distribution. Then my intrigue got the best of me and I found myself reading the entire thing. It basically claimed some truths that seem to get ignored in flirting/dating situations. Mainly, women want what they can't have. He claims that it doesn't matter if you are fat, bald, ugly or all of the above. If you make a woman think that you have better options or that you're too or if you can attract her attention by being original, then she will be more attracted to you. While I believe I agree with this strategy, I have difficulty performing this in real situations. Being physically attracted to a girl definitely makes me shy or inhibited. My sister always say to me that if I acted around girls the way I do with her, they'd be lining up at the door. I think it's a confidence issue, but those issues are like an iceberg buried beneath a mountain(is that even possible?). That being said, I'd love to be able to just approach a woman in a public setting with no real agenda other than to start conversing. For instance, there's a woman sitting in the booth across from me right now studying for some class. She's not here with anyone and has been here for a half an hour. What the hell would I say to her? So...you come here often? I'm not too good with that type of stuff. I guess like everything else, you just become better with practice and eventually the awkwardness would just fly away with my butterflies. Speaking of butterflies, where did that idiom come from? I mean I understand the feeling of jitters being described as butterflies, but why butterflies? why not moths? I think moths get a bad wrap. One of my favorite cliche literary images is the moth to a flame or light. There's something magnetic about it.

Time to tick, tick away...

Brevity and Romance

I was standing in a Daquiri Bar on Airline a few Fridays ago and heard a song playing over the radio. I had remembered hearing the song before and recognized that I had enjoyed it the first time. So I inconspicuously remarked to my friend whether or not she new the mysterious musicians behind the music. She enlightened me to her best guess which was My Chemical Romance. It sounded genuine enough to me. As I drove home, I stopped off at Best Buy, craving my need for immediate gratification. I purchased the most recent album by My Chemical Romance and proceeded to take thirty minutes failing miserably to remove the band of tape that keeps the consumer from enjoying his latest financial adventure. (I'm building tension...and probably frustration) I listened to the music and it was pure crap. It sounded loud and obnoxious. Then I listened to it again on the way to school the next morning. Slightly less crappy. After about five sittings, I had the songs stuck in my head. I was noticing the subtle melodies that were shoved away beneath a pile of metal chords. This story brings me to a point.

Should I be happy that after the repeated exposure to a certain music one's feeling could transfer from those of aggreability to unbearable?

Or, Should I be sad that after the repeated exposure to a certain music it becomes redundancy and conformity?

I think the latter is a little dramatic, but the questions are legit. I am faithful to some of the behaviorists that claim the significance classical and operant conditioning. I do not like the proposal of my taste in music though is so simplex as the result of conditioning. However, recently trying to be more of a optimist, I will go on the record as saying that our musical tastes are far more complex than classical or operant conditioning.

Hypertext and Adolescence Revisited

I always remember how much anxiety I would have in school when I wasn't fully prepared. Well, it's the same deal with work. Last week I felt fairly unprepared for class and not only were the days stressful, but I dreaded going into work in the first place. It surprises me how much one student can alter the dynamics in my class. Today one of my little "trouble makers" was in In-School Suspension all day for a fight he had on Friday. His absence combined with my detailed preparations resulted in a beautifully productive day and a blatant lack of instability. These are the days I imagined when I had decided to become a teacher. We are finishing up one of my all time favorite novels in class, "The Witches" by Roald Dahl. The kids have been into it the entire time and I am rewarding them by allowing them to watch the movie version on Friday and a small Halloween party.

Random thought of the day: I enjoy having a beard or at least some sort of facial hair.
I never particpated in the age old ritual of learning how to shave with a straight edge from my dad. I got the sex speech and the drug speech, but not the coming of age shaving lesson. It's not like I was eighteen when I went through puberty either. So alas, I never developed a true shaving regimen and eventually only chose to shave my facial hair when it became gaudy. My ex-girlfriend used to hate it when I didn't shave, and I can completely understand her reasons why, but I definitely look cooler when I've got the trimmed beard going on. I would fit right into an Amish community. When I was sixteen I had a pony tail. At nineteen, during my "fat" year, I had a ridiculous set of mutton chops. Both were situtations where I thought they were great styles and in retrospect wish that someone had told me how horrible I appeared. I guess we all have our awkward phases...I'm almost out of mine. Give me until I'm twenty five.

So I participated in some receational drug activities on Sunday for the first time in a month. My friend had just returned to Louisiana from a brief respite to Jamaica. The interesting thing was that for the first time in my life I realized that I have lost interest in the experience. It makes me feel sick and useless and I just don't see the point of it anymore. I was straight edge all through High School and had my diversion into the impurities in college. I never had seemed to escape it even afterwards when I moved to New Orleans. I mean, I took a break when I knew I needed to be drug tested, but after the test I came back crawling. I guess that has been one seriously positive consequence of Katrina. I should have been done with it a long time ago, but it's been a crutch for me in the past when emotions were sometimes too much to deal with and it was easier to just repress them and numb them. People can change. I strongly believe that. Now if I can just quit smoking cigarettes. Drinking is not really an issue because I really do not like drinking in the first place.

Onto another subject, I just purchased the new Ultimate edition of "Watchmen" by Alan Moore. It's an excellent graphic novel that's based on costumed vigilantes as they grow old. It's akin to the Disney movie the "Incredibles" but had the idea first. I actually wrote my senior thesis on the novel and dissected it from a post-modernist perspective. Post-modernism isn't for everyone, but I got hooked my junior year at Vassar when I took a seminar on it with Michael Joyce. Michael was a pioneer in Hypertext. Not to trivialize hypertext, but it's basically a choose your own adventure novel on the computer that you navigate through a variety of links designed by the author. Michael has even been credited for being the grandfather of Hypertext in Norton's postmodern anthology. Pretty keen stuff. So my thesis was a bunch jargon and postmodern idioms that were fun to write but it's hard to sift through the material without a background in the subject. Favorite books on the curriculum included: Pussy King of the Pirates by Kathy Acker and Jimmy Corrigan: Smartest Kid in the World by, Chris Ware. I became hooked on the comic aspect of it after I heard a lecture on the history of comics by Art Spiegelman the author of Maus. Best lecture I've ever been to. So, I ordered the giant in depth version of Watchmen and am now counting down the days till it arrives in the mailbox. I highly recommend everyone checks it out and gives it a chance.

Well, I'm out like a New Orleans traffic light.

On the corner of Washington park and a Monopoly Board

I can see the neon light of the ferris wheel over in the Andouille Festival from the window of PJs. As I passed it on the highway, it seemed like the place to be in La Place this Saturday night. I spent last night again in New Orleans. Alex and I met up with a bunch of her Vassar friends at Washington park as they were preparing for a "girls' night out." How sexist, right? Nah, the few boys that were with them ended up joining them anyway. I met Zen and Zion, the two toddlers of the prototypical hippy, "Kim." Zion enjoyed eating dirt. I watched Alex get acupuncture performed on her by two visiting doctors. I watched Matt, a burnout from Connecticut, paint a wooden sign he found that had the word "Restaurant" engraved on it. I also talked to Ross, whose dog, Po Boy, bit the hell out of my arm because he probably smelled Jack on me. There was generally a positive vibe within the commune. They had raided the free clothes tent and decked themslves out in the poofy thrilly dresses and high heels. We went to the Hookah bar on Frenchmen which was back in action. We sat on the plush chairs and were serenaded by the various belly dancers that were seducing the patrons and flaunting the one dollar bills sticking out of their dresses like low grade strippers. We conversed with a few national guard troops that were enjoying a brief night off. They seemed to be enjoying themselves and asked politely that the pictures we had taken were censored, blacking out their faces and nametags. I was also priviledged to meet the one and only Kenya Jamar Rounds, a hilarious self-promoting injury lawyer of the New Orleans area. I cannot articulate how hysterical it was to hear the dialogue between him and one of the belly dancer/strippers when she recognized him from his billboard that lays in tatters on interstate ten. His excitement that his five thousand dollars a month had not gone to waste was like a prepubescent girl at an N'Sync concert ( I guess that simile is a little dated now, too late nineties). He stood up displaying his theatrical range and proclaimed that " The only thing I'm good at are my opening and closing statements. To be completely honest, I really don't know anything about law. That stuff in the middle puts me to sleep. As long as you have a good opening statement, you'll win the case. That's why I've won 99 percent of the cases I've tried. Here, have my business card. Bring me a case, but you better talk to me, butter me up." He was with his brother Jerome and cousin Ted. You can imagine how difficult it was to hold back tears. He actually ended up giving me his card twice. It was the quite the fun night even though I was exhausted.

I met a girl, Jessica, today at the coffee shop. I knew her name because it was tatooed on her arm. That's always been a little weird to me, people who have their names tatooed on them. She was really nice and had a thick southern accent. She had been living outside of Biloxi until her place got wrecked. She told me this crazy story about her five friends who had decided to wait for Katrina on the beach. They had been found dead around a burned out fire with their beer cans still in hand. It was frightening how easily she was able to laugh about it, but I guess people deal with tragedy in different ways. She also invited me to the local church's performance of " Heaven's Gate and Hell's Flame." I couldn't tell if she didn't know that I was Jewish or that she was subtly trying to convert me. Apparently the play asks all those souls who had not accepted Jesus in their hearts to come up on the stage at the end of it. Come to think of it, maybe her tatoo said Jesus and not Jessica. I can't help but feel intimidated by folks who are zealously religious. My religious tendenceies have dwindled over the years, and it's difficult to practice now because there isn't a synygogue within fifty miles of La Place. I probably wouldn't attend anyway though. I'll come back to God when I have children...that sounds really bad, yet true. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to go to the show or not. From my personal experience, I've found that people who are extremely dedicated to their religion don't completely understand those with a different faith, but those are only the ones I have come into contact with.

Well, the Ferris Wheel lights are still blinking. They remind me of the one and only song I ever wrote when I was back in college. The song was about some romantic date I was going to have in the future. I was going to meet some girl on the Jersey Shore and ride the Ferris Wheel. I used to go down to the boardwalk/ the amusement park when I was younger. The lyrics were as follows:

Decemeber 12th 2003,
A day carried on a Jersey Shore breeze.
After work, I wander to the shore.
Not quite certain, of what I'm searching.

I don't know where to look,
Or the signs I need to see.
I'll be the one with the smile on my face,
And you'll be the one smiling back at me.

You grab my hand,
and lead me through the crowd.
From a distance, the Ferris Wheel screams out.
We'll give a quarter to the man at the gate,
As the sun falls, the waves crash, and the Ferris wheel awaits.

As we climb into the night,
Our hearts beat fast together.
The Ferris Wheel of blue and white,
stands tall as she sheds her light.
As we look down, onthe streets below,
the city sleeps in darkness.
Another chance at star-crossed love,
The world cannot part this

December 12th 2003
You’ll hold me tight, as the descent gains speed
I’ll touch your face our eyes will lock
As our shadows dance beneath the boardwalk.

December 12th, 2003
I can’t blame you, but can you blame me?
I once had the world in the palm of my hand
And then you reduced me to what I am.

I know, I know, it's cheezy as hell. Guilty as charged. The only thing that seemed sad to me was that the date, December 12th 2003, came and went with no real consequence. I'm not claiming to be Nostradamas, but I think I had some glimmer of hope that it was a possibility. I'm not sure why I have this obsession with the Jersey Shore. I actually wrote my best short story about it too. I'll attach it to the blog for anyone who's interested. And on that note, I'm signing off.

http://gasussman.blogs.friendster.com/The%20sound%20of%20the%20quarter%20clange this is the site for the story...I hope. Sorry about the format. It may be frustrating to read.

Big Huge Ass Beers To Go...

I'm feeling a bit guilty about taking the day off today. Alex is visiting a High School for her Katrina project and I'm just sitting in the coffee shop. She's not going to be finished until 2:30 and I could have easliy gone to work today. It was nice to catch up on sleep though. Last night we went into the city and hung around Bourbon street for a few hours. The place seem to be functioning like normal again. The street was littered with frat boys and forty somethings staggering around drunk like headless chickens. The presence of national guard members enjoying themselves was blatently apparent. I saaw a few police officers on horseback enjoying a "huge ass beer" to go. A few guys had trouble getting off the beer soaked ground after having fallen like sacks of concrete. We met Zach, a resident bartender who had returned a week after ago from his Hurrication. He endured Katrina in the French Quarter and remained for a few days before being shipped by bus to the Louis Armstrong Airport and then airlifted out of the state. He seemed to enjoy flirting with Alex through self-deprication. Isn't that just the most effective way to pick up chicks? She was duly impressed. He told us that business was picking up each day and had faith that everything would be back to normal in a few weeks. There were a few separate groups of hispanic men clamoring around Alex for group photos that they would never see. They held the elongated green plastic Hand Grenades, a staple of Bourbon Street couture and an excessive amount of fake "bling." After walking up and down the street a few times, we veered over to Canal Street and scouted out some pictures for Alex's project. We found a few stores that looked like undisturbed crime scenes. One Foot Locker was strewn with empty shoe boxes and broken mannequins. The models were all looking up towards the sky. It reminded me of an old Twilight Zone that I had watched when I was younger.

On a brief tangent about the Twilight Zone. Rod Sterling had been the narrator of my youth. Instead of traditional bedtime stories, my dad had rocked me to sleep with the twisted tales of Burgess Meredith coming out of a bank safe after an atomic bomb in the US and Robert Redford playing a dashing young version of the grim reaper knocking on an old woman's door. It was one of those few instances that I really saw evidence of my dad's creativity, something more substantative than his sports fanaticism and well, sports fanaticism.

Anyway, back to the aimless wandering from last night. We also found the Land Rover that got crushed by a pile of bricks that constantly symbolizes Katrina on CNN. Alex got some cool pics. Speaking of CNN, we also ran into Anderson Cooper as we preparing to do a brief short on Bourbon Street. All in all it was a damn fun night. Probably going back tonight.

I saw a trailer for the movie RENT that's coming out in November. That brought back some serious memories. Josh Horowitz took me to the broadway production with the original cast before I had ever even heard about it. The experience definitely affected me. I became a total geek about it for the next six months. Then I forgot about it and a few years later in college went to see it again with Annie Johnson. I once again understood how emotionally powerful it was. Now with the movie coming out, I definitely got a few goosebumbs. There's that geek turning the corner.

So yeah folks, don't be hesitant to comment, it's always fascinating to hear others opinions about all this Katrina stuff. Up, up, and away!

There's something wrong with cartoon sausages that look like poop

Raise your hand if you missed me! It's been a few days and while I have kept thinking of interesting tidbits to contribute, by the time I've sat down to write, they've vanished. I wouldn't call it writer's block, but my stimulations these days are limited. Here I am on a Thursday night, tired as a dog and yet I am wired because I'm taking off of school tomorrow to spend Alex's last day with her. Ah the thrill of the weekend. Tonight we are going to Bourbon to party with the numbers of out of state individuals who are rebuilding my city by day. I haven't experienced the French Quarter since Katrina so tonight will be a type of reawakening. Yesterday they reopened Cafe Du Monde which electrifies me to the core, because not only do they have stellar coffee, but they are world known for their beignets ( I don't think I spelled that right). They are little fried dough croissants covered in sugar. MM MM good.

This morning on the way to work there were these patches of fog that hung in the air like spider web strands. The cool thing about them was that they were about eight feet in the air so it felt like we ere driving in the sky. A unique experience. Didn't win the hundred dollar door prize for displaced teachers at the faculty meeting tonight. Would've been sweet.

I want give a brief shout out to Anne and Lindsey. Thanks for the email and testimonial. It's kinda cool to know people are reading this thing.

Tomorrow night, Alex and I are going to a small Adouille Sausage Festival in La Place. If you've never had andouille sausage you haven't lived. On Airline Highway there are two andouille sausage stores that have many a things in common. Jacob's is on the left and Bailey's on the right. They are next door to each other. They both claim to be world famous. They both say that they are the best sausage in the world. They both suggest that they are the original. They both display giant sausages with eyes and mouths and sort of look like massive turds. I've never indulged in either, but if I had to chose one over the other, I would definitely go for Jacob's. His sausage is bigger and more impressive. The festival should be plenty fun. It has rides covered in neon lights, amazing food, and the whole community participates. It will easily rival the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival.

Alex took some pictures of some folks repairing the roof of the Superdome. I used to be terrified of heights. When I was seven, my parents tricked me into going on space mountain in Disney World. They had told me that there was no big drop. It could have traumaized me for the rest of my life, but I overcame my fear at the Dutch Country Amusement Park in Pennsylvania with Tim Egan when I was thirteen. Since then I've been drawn to deathdefying acts as long as I was safe ( harnass, safety rail, etc.), which is slightly oxymoronic. That being said, while I would love to try skydiving, I could never be working on the roof of the Superdome. I couldn't explain to you the rationale behind this statement. So back off! Anyway, Alex leaves Saturday morning and life begins to return to normal. I'm going to try and see if Mamina is free and then the Eagles play on Sunday. Things are going to be ok, even if it take FEMA another three months to assign me an inspector for my house. At least the teacher's union has come through with a check! Going to the races...just kidding. And yet there are people who aren't ashamed to go and gamble their FEMA money away. I just can't do it. Well I won't disappear for two days again...I hope. Love, peace and hair grease.

120 Million to 1

Even the nicest people can be dismantled by an ongoing adversity. I'm sitting back in the coffee shop and Alex is talking to a FEMA inspector who seems rather busy. We were trying to make pleasant conversation, but his answers are curt. He appears to be a friendly gentleman. I see him in here often and he always has a big smile on his face. Now I am put off by the way he's treating Alex. He's obviously busy and it's understandable that he doesn't have the time to dissolve into frivolous conversation. Maybe I judged his smile wrongly. I guess it's just as dangerous to assume that people have good intentions as it is to assume the worst. The reality is that strangers are just that, mysterious individuals who have provided no context for their entire personal history. He might be a phony in the Holden Caufield sense of the word or he might just be worn down from the same incessant questions he encounters day in and day out, like a college student who is always ask about their major. Sometimes for me, it doesn't matter what the question is, but who asks the question in the first place. I guess that's pretty revealing about me.
I decided today that I miss playing poker. Harrah's is still boarded up and I guess it would be ridiculous of me to try and gamble when I'm waiting for money from FEMA. At the same time, like many a gambler, poker just makes me feel good. It's just as much about the fantasy about hitting it big as it is the pure fun of playing the game. When the Hold Em Jackpot would hit twenty or thirty thousnd dollars, I would begin to imagine myself in the scenario of winning all that money. I used to play a game with my co-worker on the way to school everyday last year. During the commute, we always passed the same powerball billboard just before we hit the spillway. Every Thursday and Monday, it would tell us if someone had hit the jackpot the night before. I believe the chances of winning the powerball were one hundred and twenty million to one. I'd have a better chance of getting hit by lightening and being eaten by a shark at the same time. Yet, when it got above fifty million, we'd agree to begin buying our tickets. I promised to buy her a house if I won, and she'd do the same for me. Besides distributing at least half the money among charities, and my immediate family (my extended family wouldn't see a dime, most of them are bad people) I've decided to buy two houses. One normal house for my future family to live in, wife and kids, and a secret underground house in the back yard. The purpose would be an escape for me to a pimped out abode decked out with all the incredible futuristic electronic ammenities that I could imagine that would be unknown to my children. I feel that I do not want them to be spoiled. When my parents got divorced they began to spoil me even more than I had already been spoiled. It's take a long time for me to develop a strong work ethic and even now I still lack it. While I do take responsibility for my actions, being predisposed to a psychological behaviorist's perspective, I do feel that the environment you grow up in has a significant effect on the development of your personality. Thus, I would like to "shelter" my kids from that type of parenting. It will be difficult. It's always hard to play authoritarian to my students. It will probably infinitely more difficult to do it to my own children. I'll want to give them everything they could possibly want, and I know, I see everyday, the consequences of such a point of view. It's a good thing that winning the powerball is just not a probablility. But damn would it be cool. Big day tomorrow. Back to school. Weekend over. Goodnight fireflies.

Slaughterhouse V

Today I ventured back into the broken city not expecting much of a change from my previous visits. Debris piles still remained on the street corners. My house and furniture was still covered in mold. Most stores and restaurants were closed. I'm beginning to realize that it will be at least a year until everything is completely back to "normal." It all makes me reassess my future. Not that I had any idea of what I was planning on doing in the first place before this whole mess.
My options are as follows:

1) Continue teaching at Garyville/ Mt. Airy Magnet School and eventually move back to New Orleans when I deem it appropriate.

2) Teach in the same area, but as a High School English teacher.

3) Stay in New Orleans, but forego teaching altogether and get a less stressful job where I can make more money, like a bartender or waiter.

4) Move back to the Northeast possibly Massachusettes or New York and get a less stressful job there as a bartender or waiter.

5) Move to the West Coast, possibly to Portland or San Francisco.

6) Go to graduate school for:
a) English Literature
b) Fictional Composition
c) Sports Journalism (my dream job)

While I have plenty of options, I can honestly say right now that I am not leaning in one direction or the other. The first three options involve staying in New Orleans and elicit a strong temptation to continue my in a place I generally love. The problem with these scenarios is that I cannot predict how quickly and how satisfactorily the big easy will rebuild itself. I fear that when it is ressurected, it may not remotely resemble the city I'd come to love. Teaching High School would be a breath of fresh air, but teaching is a trying profession and I'm nervous about burning out. I've never worked this hard in my life, and while many aspects of the job are fulfilling, I don't know how much I have in me. I'm not saying that teaching High School will be easier, but I do believe that having more complex content and focusing on my love of the English Language might feel more rewarding. Before I came back to Louisiana after Katrina, I seriously considered the idea of leaving it behind and moving up by my sister and getting a low stress job in Amherst. This direction would not only be socially satisfying, but also financially better. Now having the opportunity to pursue it would seem worthwhile after I had completed my teaching commitment. At the same time, I would know that after a year of "bumming it," I would return to grad school and the realm of academia. Grad School is in the stars, I just need to find out what I'll be studying and I'm not sure about that. I guess this is a similar problem that most post-collegiate folks go through, but at least it's a ways off.

I'm feeling tired. I'm happy it's the weekend. I'll definitely sleep in tomorrow. Just a brief update today...as Kurt Vonnegut once said, "So it goes."

Muscle Cars and the Anniversary

Can you be too forgiving? I have a problem with people who hold grudges. Possibly because I used to be one of those people when I was in High School. I've jumped the train tracks and now I'm too forgiving. At what point does a grudge need to be maintained. Then again, grudge is such an ugly word. We need to protect ourselves from the social predators of the world. Too often in my life I have felt like I've been taken advantage of. Yet if a pattern develops you run the risk of being in perpetual dissatisfaction with your relationships. So how important must a friendship be for it to be worth severring due to "friendshipal" abuse? I'm not bringing up this dilemma in response to a certain relationship in my life. It just started needling me randomly on my drive over to the coffee shop.

For those of you who know me, I have no problems deciphering electronic technology, however when I step into the realm of automotive maintenance I'm a regular Pollyanna. Fact: I don't know how to change a tire. Fact: I don't know how to jump-start a car. I've found myself in a few demasculating situations where I'd rather maintain my male pride than admit my lack of expertise in this area. For inastance, the teacher, whose house I'm staying at, has been obsessed with a car video game. Now he thinks that it's an easy topic to bond on. So he'll talk to me for hours about how he's doing in the game and will call me over to the tube everytime he purchases a new car in the game. Frankly, I couldn't care less, but I try my best to humor him. For the last few months, I've had mild problems with the starter in my car. I'll sit in a parking lot for a half an hour before my car will finally run. Well the starter finally took a drastic change for the worse and I realized that I need to take some serious action or risk having my car out of commission for a long time. Well not having a means of transportation is not an option, so I asked my host for his advice. First off, he taught me a trick involving smacking the starter with a tire iron in order to jar it and in turn get the car started. I am not a gear head, but let's just say that I know how to smack around a starter like a circus elephant...bad joke. I did feel pretty awesome when I used his trick today and got my car to start. Boo Ya! Then I joined him in the installation of a new starter I purchased from a local auto parts store. I felt so bad ass, all covered in grease, holding that flashlight like a nascar pit crew member. He had given me some cause for anxiety when his prognostication that the operation would take an hour (and that was an overestimation in his eyes) took nearly three hours. But finally with all the hoses and bolts reattached, the car purred like a kitten and I can return to my James Dean status. I don't know enough about cars to own a muscle car, but men can dream.

Going to Baton Rouge tomorrow. Maybe I'll meet some southern belle and then I can incessantly reference one of my favorite Garth Brooks songs, "Calling Baton Rouge." Songs become infinitely more agreeable when you can acknowledge a legitimate reference point.

If I was stuck on a desert island and could only take one cd with me, it would definitely be Your Majesty, by the Anniversary. Check it out. Great music.

and a quote from the album..."At the edge of the rest of my life, at the end of a one way road, i'm losing everything. And tonight may never shine, if you never open your eyes. I keep this heart right next to mine." The Siren Sings.

Dreams Revisited/Reading out of the Psych Textbook

I've been remembering all my dreams since the hurricane. I'm pretty sure it's because I've been waking up in the middle of the night consistently. But my dreams have been incredibly vivid. For the first time since I was a kid, I've had this new reoccurring dream three or four times in the last month. I'm sitting on a boat in a winding river. The river is not very wide and the banks are covered in vegetation. It could easily be the Kennebeck in Maine, but I'm not positive about that. It's a beautiful day and I'm lazily floating along when a ghostly figure appears in the boat with me. At this point I recall a memory of a girl having died in some unfathomable way (having a memory within a dream has always been fascinating to me.) The figure turns into the girl and I at once feel a strong sense of guilt for having not aided her in averting her death. Her face becomes distorted as the guilt increases. Her mouth widens and sharp teeth protrude from her gums. Her face becomes elongated and pale gray like on a black and white television screen. Even though her face would not frighten me when I am awake, a panic and fear overcomes me to the extent that I am terrified even to look at her. I try to look away and even cover my eyes, but my gaze continues to be drawn back to her malformed face. Finally, I realize that the weather has been deteriorating and the conditions approaching are treacherous. That's when the dream ends and I wake up with Jack up in my face. Each time I've had the dream, the girl's face has been more frightening than the previous time. I'm still uncertain of my relationship to the girl, but I feel like if the dreams continue I'll be able to figure out more. There is a bit of lucidity to them and I possess a certain amount of control of my actions, not my feelings. If anyone would like to interpret it, you've got the green light.

Now for a small intimation that's not intended for those of a light heart. Last night I woke up to Jack standing over me in the bed. I decided to remain face down, and feign sleep. He then proceeded to mildly vomit onto my naked back. I heard it and felt it. Not one of my proudest moments. I then got out of bed and wiped myself off. I don't know why I felt the need to share this with the world. There you have it. Take it for what you will.

Alex is coming down to Louisiana on Saturday to do research for her Anthropology project on the effects of Katrina. Even though the timing is perfectly horrible, I'm trying my best to accomodate her. I feel like I can be a really useful resource, but I always get a little nervous when I try to take care of my friends. I never know if I'm doing enough. I mean, grades for the first nine weeks are due on Tuesday and I've got a lot on my plate, but she needs my help so I'm going to do my best to be there for her. Even though I won't be able to spend all my time with her, it will be very nice to have a familiar face around. She's one of those people who always makes me feel special when I have her undivided attention. There are people out there who are like that. I don't know what it is about them, maybe because there always seems to be others fighting for their attention and when you attain it you seem more important. I guess that's the crux of it. It's nice to feel important, to feel like a priority in someone's life.

That was always a tough thing about having divorced parents. Your parents can tell you over and over again that you are the most important person in their lives, but the divorce seems to automatically betray that trust. That's why it's always difficult for me to embrace my friends' new girlfriends or boyfriends. They may be the most amazing person in the world, but even still, at this point of my life, it consequently betrays my trust. Even though my friends have done nothing wrong by having a significant other. When I was a teenager, it was much more difficult for me. But years of experience and pot have mellowed my frustration to the point where it's a non-issue now. I guess that's a sign of maturity. It's always comforting to have that revelation that you've become mature. At the same time, it's heartbreaking when you go through a similar situation and feel like you've regressed. I feel like I haven't regressed in a long time. A little pat on the back is necessary.
Well, I've rambled on like the theme song of Deliverance. Time to set it free. By the way...I know why the cage bird sings Fiona...do you?

Autumn's coming and no leaves will be falling

Social isolation. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know what I need. What is emotionally healthy? How do I know if I'm repressing my feelings, or just don't need friends? I mean, I'm not really unhappy. My job is a lot of work, and I don't like having to yell at kids when I lose my patience, but I do enjoy going to work everyday. My situation is a significant upgrade from last year. Everyday I would go to work with a knot in my stomach and now I stride into those front doors with fresh breath and a general excitement about the upcoming events.
So yesterday we got a special treat of a McDonalds sponsored event and the only reason I'm mentioning this is that when Ronald McDonald showed up, I nearly pissed my pants. This Ronald was about 5' 6", but weighed about 300 pounds. I guess it was kind of equivalent to seeing a skinny Santa Clause. Ronald must be eating a few extra big macs a day. He toddled on over to me with a big smile on his face and actually asked me if I had anything to eat. I couldn't come up with anything clever to say in response, so I politely told him I didn't and went on my way. All that being said, fat clowns make a lot of sense to me. It's the skinny ones that seem a bit more frightening. About ten years ago, my family had gone to an annual Hannukah party and the hosts had hired a clown to entertain us kids. Well this clown had possibly the biggest button malfunction in the history of funny buttons gone wrong. My sister, who already had developed a strong fear of clowns, noticed that his button said "Hug Therapist," but the way the words were broken up on the button made it look as if it said Hug the/rapist. Needless to say, my sister cannot be in the same room as any individual with a big red smile painted on his face.
I'm so happy there is not a video camera in my classroom. No woman would ever want to date me if she'd experience what I do in front of my children. I dance, break into song, and just say silly things. Like Shabbado and sing the Love Song..." L is for the way you look at me" I'm a fool.
So I read today that Hollywood is working on producing a film version of "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This happens to be one of my favorite books of all time, and yet, it doesn't seem like the type of novel that would transition well to the big screen. So much of Marquez's style depends on his beautiful use of language. If they pull it off, I'll be forever indebted. I just can't see it happening.
Just waiting patiently to be happy again. Maybe I shouldn't wait. But pills just don't seem like the answer for me. Not depressed...just not happy. There's a difference. I'll send out some more good vibes and pray they come back tenfold. I hope you catch one.

I've got spirit yes I do! Uh...I need some coffee.

Hey there boys and girls!
So I've decided it's pretty embarrassing to try and teach my students cursive handwriting when I myself am writing on a first grade level. I was writing a capital H on the board today and it looked like a ladder in a bad cartoon where the rung is about to break and the protagonsist is about to fall into the cliche cloud of dust. It's days like these where you just need to laugh at yourself.
The Eagles lost on Sunday. Now I can't bring myself to waste my precious hours trying to read any of the articles villifying my misunderstood football team. I now have two unbearable weeks of football-free "garrett time." I plan to go on long walks and enjoy nature. I will write seven incredibly maudlin short stories. I will put together a twenty thousand piece puzzle that depicts Buckingham Palace. Ha! I'll probably just get sucked in to a bad sitcom or video game...
This Thursday is the huge GMMS(my school) football game. All the teachers will be tailgating right after school. I just can't imagine myself getting plastered in the presence of my fellow educators, let alone the various students who will most likely be at the game. All week has been a veritable carnival of school spirit. Crazy sock day on Monday, crazy hair day today, pajama day tomorrow. I just can't bring myself to participating. I know it's sad, but I'm just not feeling the spirit. So one of the scariest things for me in teaching has been interacting with parents. They intimidate me even though I know I intimidate most of them. Because of the differences in culture, I'm terrified of relaying their child's daily discretions for fear of the consequential "spankings" that the students will potentially receive. I hate feeling responsible for their transgressions, but the phone calls are necessary to maintain a productive classroom.
On another note, I am convinced that coffee sales in the La Place area has sky rocketed post-Katrina. Every single day I come to PJs after school and everyday I am surrounded by about fifteen other displaced teachers who live and die by their ability to access the internet. If I was a bettin' man, I'd buy many a shares of PJs coffee house stock. Just don't tell anyone I told you.
For those of you who are not aware, I've been living with a very nice teacher from my school and his family. I can't express enough how appreciative I am of his hospitality, but there's something to be said for teaching eight and nine-year olds all day and then coming home to a first and a second grader. While they are incredibly sweet girls, I need some serious down time after a long day. Catering to their needs seem a little much for me to handle these days. Let's just say that I am not quite ready to have children of my own yet. Give me about a half a decade and I'll begin to consider it. Dogs are not the same as children. Sure they are a huge responsibility, but they are much easier to train...or so I've been told. Jack, my puppy, is definitely keeping me happy right now. He's getting bigger everyday and he's got such a pleasant disposition about him. Someday he's a little hyper, but I believe that is a result of the puppy chow. He's about nine and a half months old and I think he's ready to graduate to big boy food. I hear it mellows dogs out. He hasn't had an accident since the hurricane. Go Jack!
Well, time to saddle up and hit that dusty trail. Hmm...Maybe I'll buy my ticket home to the Northeast for Thanksgiving tonight. I do realize that even with all this adversity I've faced in the last month, I still have a lot to be thankful for.

The human drama and the guilty pleasures that allow me to escape it

Woohoo! It's football Sunday! For anyone who knows me, I dedicate way too much of my time to following the NFL. Is it bad that sometimes I'd like to bypass the weekend just to get to the games on Sunday? So this week the Eagles play the Cowboys and I feel pretty good about the birds' chances. The sad truth is that whether they win or lose totally effects the way I feel for the rest of the week. A win will solidify my upbeat morale and a loss sends me into a downward spiral. I'm going to head to WOW Wingery and Cafe for the obligatory buffalo wings and my date with destiny.
Last night I got to fooling around with power point on my computer. I'd never tried it before and I've realized pretty quickly that it's a nifty little program and will be utilized plenty in my classroom. For this generation of children, you put anything up on a television screen and the attention I'm so desperate to attain from them is locked on my contents immediately. I'm getting giddy just thinking about how effective this will be in class. This week we are studying Forces and Motion in Science. We' re going to do a cool experiment that has the students create ramps on which they will roll marbles down and calculate the effect of increased altitude on speed and distance. I hope they enjoy it. It just takes what feels like a lifetime of preparation.
I also wasted last night watching the existential drama that is "I Heart Huckabees." It was a pretty good flick. It reminded me of "The Trial" by Kafka. A series of coincidences that are trailed through a maze of uncertainty. The troubling thing about the philosophy in the movie is a certain lack of definition and lack of information that leads to the absurdity of human drama, but I guess that's the point. It made me think of the coincidences of my own life. For instance, is it a coincidence that I was in the state of New York during 9/11 and then in Louisiana for Katrina? I guess the string ended when I wasn't in Pakistan for this horrible earthquake. I feel so much empathy for those people and yet I feel like this tragedy will get less attention than our Hurricane. Maybe that's just due to the way our media chooses to portray events outside our country that don't directly effect us. I mean it has been interesting hearing the distance people felt in Louisiana for 9/11 and the misunderstanding of folks in the Northeast for Katrina. When you're not there in the middle of it, it's nearly impossible to really identify with those going through it. Thus, I commend those who have dropped everything in their lives to come from destinations across the country to help the victims of Katrina in their time of need by donating their bodies and minds to this crisis.
Time to escape the cruelty of human drama for three solid hours of football, a meaningless form of entertainment that provides me so much goddamn happiness. Maybe that's why I could never, in good conscience, pursue my dream of being a sports journalist.
Peace out scouts.

New Beginnings

So with the great life changing event of Katrina and the recent coming of Rosh Hashanah ( god I hope I spelled it right, I'd be such a bad jew if I didn't) I think it's appropriate to start documenting what's going on with me. Kinda like a New Year's re[s/v]olution. Also I'm killing time on a Saturday with absolutely nothing to do in the small town of La Place, LA. I mean, I guess I could be cruising the aisles of WalMart, but (not to sound self righteous) I might be a little above that. I travelled into New Orleans last weekend for the first time since Katrina to check out my apartment and see the city with my own eyes. I expected a mess, but I was overwhelmed with the vast devestation that I saw. The radio broadcasters had been declaring that incredible amounts of clean up that had already occurred, but debris still lines the streets, billboards are shredded, and house are in ruins. I reached my house with guarded optimism. My landlord had gotten my hopes up a few days earlier with a confident presumption that my house had incurred no damage, but he was mistaken. About two feet of water had made its way through the front door and even though it doesn't sound like a lot, it proved to be catastrophic. That beautiful purple couch that had been a staple of my college experience was now a multicolored icon of Katrina's wrath. In fact, all of my furniture is now a decaying garbage heap. The good news was some of my belongings that were higher up in my apartment were salvageable. My personal library and the one suit that I owned were left unscathed. While I am jealous of my fellow uptown teachers whose residence were spared, I still feel guilty for applying for FEMA. There are so many others who entire livelihood had been eradicated. I had developed a sweet affinity for the big easy, but the reality is that my roots had merely burrowed into the surface. It would have been so simple to not return and get some job waitering in the northeast, but I know I would have given birth to a swarm of regrets for not returning to a region that needs my help. The one thing that did scare me though was not the initial revelation of the loss of my community, but what it would feel like months down the line when my social support had dispersed throughout the country, to Houston, Baton Rouge, the Northeast. Here I am, only a month back, and I am already feeling socially deprived. Perhaps it's selfish to have these thoughts. My work back at Garyville/ Mt. Airy Magnet School has been rewarding and I am taking a warm satisfaction in my contribution to my kids, but it's still tough. I miss all my friends. If I haven't told you personally, I am telling you now. I appreciate you. In true Garrett style, I'd like to apologize for any self-grandizing or offending exposition. I guess I shouldn't since this is my blog, but if you've gotten this far Kudos! I know my prose can be dry, but this has felt cathartic. I will do my best to continue to make entries, but I am an eternal flake, so we shall see... On that note since this natural disaster I believe I've had a [Copernican Revolution (see: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance)] ---delete, delete, delete---(ala Doogie Howser) long few weeks.