As we passed through Mississippi, the first thing I noticed were downed trees. A few and first. But then more. Eventually, the standing trees were the exception rather than the rule.
You don't see much but trees and billboards on the highway.
As we followed I-10 into Louisiana, and after succeeding in our goal of smoking a bowl in every state we passed through, I saw neighborhoods. In Slidell, some were abandoned. Some were piles of rubble. Some were now trailer parks. Some were Just Fine.
Every now and again, you saw cars that had clearly seen better days. They were piled up under overpasses. Most of them were stripped and rusting.
As we entered the city, the first things I noticed were:
* Dilllard University
* Xavier University
* The hospitals
I'm sure you've all heard the sad stories surrounding all of them. To naked eyes (like the currently red ones that were making the trip with me), everything might have looked like one sad story. New Orleans is a pretty sad story, but there are some highs, too. Reading the latest chapters isn't really pleasant.
The roads were in even worse shape than usual. Street lights? Nope. I saw nothing but stop signs and advertisements put out by enterprising contractors and financial predators. A lot of potholes, too.
We muted DJ Jimi as we pulled onto McAlister Drive, and I got to survey my surroundings. Tulane looked all right - you could see the water line on several buildings, and some of the quads were mud, the foliage looked sickly, but there was a new dorm, progress had been made on the University Center, and the diaspora was over.
I unloaded into the joys of on-campus housing. My three suitemates who had arrived before me were at their fraternity house, so we unpacked quickly and retreated to watch the Redskins-Seahawks game.
The nearest bar was the Boot - a legend, but not a place I like to go - but hey, we didn't have time to nitpick. It put a damper on the evening, I gotta tell you. Afterwards, we drowned our sorrows with Grey Goose and off we were to Broadway to reunite with old friends, make new ones, prey on freshmen girls, etc.
The next day, after waking up to find my air conditioning unit leaking something profusely onto the carpet, I drove with my partner, slowly beginning to forget what it means to miss New Orleans (or maybe it was the hangover), to the airport to pick up two more of the crew. For a lark, we also drove through Downtown. Downtown, Metairie, and Kenner are the definition of schizophrenia.
We turned to the French Quarter for an early dinner and drinks. The quarter smelled great. It had finally been scrubbed clean. We watched some live music. We debated going to the B.G. concert.
PSA: Jazz is alive. Soul is alive.
Things fell into a familiar college student pattern from there. Last Friday, after the first week of classes, night we assembled onto the muddy mess formerly known as UC quad. We watched a student rock band. We watched a student rap group from Loyola (boo). And then Juvenile took the stage.
Second-best live performance I've ever seen in my life.
So now I'm back. And so are a bunch of other people. There is life outside of the college campuses. There is life outside of the bars and the French Quarter. Here's a secret - there's even life in the lower 9th ward. We probably shouldn't be here, but we also probably shouldn't be living past our forties or sending cameras to Pluto. But we are here, with cold beers and plates of red beans and rice and trash cans full of boiling crawfish. It feels pretty fucking good.
You don't see much but trees and billboards on the highway.
As we followed I-10 into Louisiana, and after succeeding in our goal of smoking a bowl in every state we passed through, I saw neighborhoods. In Slidell, some were abandoned. Some were piles of rubble. Some were now trailer parks. Some were Just Fine.
Every now and again, you saw cars that had clearly seen better days. They were piled up under overpasses. Most of them were stripped and rusting.
As we entered the city, the first things I noticed were:
* Dilllard University
* Xavier University
* The hospitals
I'm sure you've all heard the sad stories surrounding all of them. To naked eyes (like the currently red ones that were making the trip with me), everything might have looked like one sad story. New Orleans is a pretty sad story, but there are some highs, too. Reading the latest chapters isn't really pleasant.
The roads were in even worse shape than usual. Street lights? Nope. I saw nothing but stop signs and advertisements put out by enterprising contractors and financial predators. A lot of potholes, too.
We muted DJ Jimi as we pulled onto McAlister Drive, and I got to survey my surroundings. Tulane looked all right - you could see the water line on several buildings, and some of the quads were mud, the foliage looked sickly, but there was a new dorm, progress had been made on the University Center, and the diaspora was over.
I unloaded into the joys of on-campus housing. My three suitemates who had arrived before me were at their fraternity house, so we unpacked quickly and retreated to watch the Redskins-Seahawks game.
The nearest bar was the Boot - a legend, but not a place I like to go - but hey, we didn't have time to nitpick. It put a damper on the evening, I gotta tell you. Afterwards, we drowned our sorrows with Grey Goose and off we were to Broadway to reunite with old friends, make new ones, prey on freshmen girls, etc.
The next day, after waking up to find my air conditioning unit leaking something profusely onto the carpet, I drove with my partner, slowly beginning to forget what it means to miss New Orleans (or maybe it was the hangover), to the airport to pick up two more of the crew. For a lark, we also drove through Downtown. Downtown, Metairie, and Kenner are the definition of schizophrenia.
We turned to the French Quarter for an early dinner and drinks. The quarter smelled great. It had finally been scrubbed clean. We watched some live music. We debated going to the B.G. concert.
PSA: Jazz is alive. Soul is alive.
Things fell into a familiar college student pattern from there. Last Friday, after the first week of classes, night we assembled onto the muddy mess formerly known as UC quad. We watched a student rock band. We watched a student rap group from Loyola (boo). And then Juvenile took the stage.
Second-best live performance I've ever seen in my life.
So now I'm back. And so are a bunch of other people. There is life outside of the college campuses. There is life outside of the bars and the French Quarter. Here's a secret - there's even life in the lower 9th ward. We probably shouldn't be here, but we also probably shouldn't be living past our forties or sending cameras to Pluto. But we are here, with cold beers and plates of red beans and rice and trash cans full of boiling crawfish. It feels pretty fucking good.
