Over the Hump and Reaching for Home

Last week was miserable, namely because I drove around Michigan. But the week ended with a wonderful retreat to Minneapolis, where I spent the weekend at Jack and Ryan's apartment in Uptown. Friday night we enjoyed pizza and beers at Dulono's Pizza as some old folks played bluegrass. Saturday morning I woke up well before my pals and headed to Dunn Brothers Coffee to finish reading The Sun Also Rises. That night I headed to an "Ugly Sweater Party." I took no pictures, but my sweater was indeed ugly.

I guess the only fun pictures I have of my weekend are these pre-party shots of Jack and Ryan playing True Love Travels on a Gravel Road:


Right now I'm in Rochester where it's been snowing all day. The weather is about -5 degrees and I guess the schools are closing early. I should be out of here in about half-an-hour to drive on to Madison, WI. I'm not going crazy because I've survived Michigan, I've drank beer in Nashville, and I'm finally on the home-stretch to a three-week vacation in two more days. Things aren't so bad once one is over the hump and headed for home.

Another Weekend in Nashville...Parades, Dancing, and a Quiet Six Pack of Bush Light

In the past week I've crisscrossed the Eastern half of the U.S., starting in Richmond and ending up in Music City, where I decided to spend another weekend in another dumpy motel in the margins of town. The Knights Inn on Spring Avenue and N. 1st Street is not a place for enjoying Nashville. While there is some charm in rude front desk attendants and bed covers sprinkled with dog hair, the real enjoyment seems to come from a pack of Marlboro Reds and a six-pack of Bush Light.

The opened door leading to darkness was my room...

Friday night I put on my best shirt and called the cab driver I met earlier, Bobby, who said as he first dropped me off at the motel, "Day or night, you call and ten minutes later I'm here for you Mike." On the phone, Bobby explained in his thick Ethiopian accent that the police were everywhere and he didn't know what was going on but it would probably be two hours until he could come pick me up. I told him it was okay and I'd find another way to get Downtown. "I'm sorry Mike," he replied. The dispacher at Allied Cabs had a guy in my area, and in ten minutes we were headed to Tootsie's, joking about all the security being for Barack Obama. Eight blocks from Downtown, traffic on the sidewalk was moving faster than on the street so I had my driver drop me off.

A parade marched down Broadway Avenue to 2nd Street! That explained all the blocked off streets and pedestrians, strollers and collapseable chairs in tow. Below are images from the parade, that stretched back for what seemed like miles:


It was damned cold outside and I don't know how the participants marching down the street could stand it, let alone the onlookers on the sidewalk. I enjoyed about 15 minutes of the floats, baton twirlers and marching bands before I headed into The Stage to watch a group that sounded very much like Kenny Chesney charm the Wrangler cladded, cowboy hat wearing music lovers into a very Western heel-toe type of dance. It was nothing new and I decided to go back to my industrial palace to read a bit and go to bed.

I had a fine time in Nashville, but the novelty of the road has worn down to an old hat routine and I find more fun being alone in my room with a good book and some Gerry Mulligan than trying to find something new and different in a new and different town. I'm starting to feel like those moments are reserved for the energy of a familiar group of pals that you can get in some loud trouble with when you have the confidence to ask a cowgirl to dance. There's something about a being alone that cuts the fun factor in half...but that doesn't necessarly make the moment less worthy, as I found out in the morning when I didn't have a headache!

Now I'm stuck in the Washington-Dulles airport having missed my connection due to what the gate agent said was "a strong Westerly wind." It's been two hours since we landed and it'll be two hours until I depart, but I have a cup of coffee, two books, and the Sunday NY Times next to me, these things having become best friends for a Nickel-Plated Wayfarer like me. Tomorrow I think I'll do some laundry as the machine at the Knights Inn was out of order.

Thanksgiving Weekend

While I love holidays, commuting by plane is no fun when families storm airport security with keys in their pockets and liquids and gels that give TSA officials nightmares and high blood pressure. Tuesday night Andy picked me up from the airport, where I had flown in from Albany. I woke up at my leisure on Wednesday and enjoyed a couple of hours with the newspaper until Andy woke up and we shared a pot of coffee:


Thanksgiving day I double-booked turkey dinner and suffered very much heartburn for it. Adam and Kelsey were gracious hosts for my brother and I, having cooked a huge (cage free) turkey with all the trimmings (and a delicious piece of pecan pie with ice cream).

Andy and I ate as much as we could and enjoyed a couple of beers before we all sat on the couch and dozed in front of the television as a college football game couldn't capture our interest.

Andy and I enjoying beers with our turkey

After much time and digestion, my brother and I headed for Gabe's house, where his traditional Thanksgiving involves slaving over the kitchen all day for a late night meal. We started with the duck, then dove into the turkey, all the while munching on some amazing sweet potato dish with pecans on the top.

Thanksgiving weekend was a much needed vacation from all this travel. I was reminded how lucky I am to have friends and family in Seattle who are a part of redefining traditions like Thanksgiving. As I get older and loved ones disperse throughout the country, I've learned that home has become less of a place and more of an exchange of warmth and hospitality. Lucky to have so many friends.

Last night I flew to Richmond, VA from Seattle with a layover in stormy Chicago O'Hare, where my flight was one of the few that was on time. Now I'm sitting outside the conference room at the hotel where Christmas music drones on in the house speakers. I'm thinking about the next three weeks and how much holiday music I'll have to suffer through. And the worst part is when there is silence and I find myself whistling Jingle Bells.

Driving and Eating In New York City

The past week has been another mini-tour of New York, starting off in Albany and ending up in Long Island, with one detour to Connecticut. It was a good week with no tight flight departures or luggage hassels, but I caught some horrible cold and usually fell asleep by nine.

Friday ended in Long Island. People in New York City, while very friendly and always willing to help, always seem to have a chip on their shoulder. Their demeanor can be mistaken for rude: there are no responses to my well meaning "Good Morning!" or cheery door holding, and it's not that they don't appreciate it, I guess it's just expected that strangers be nice only when approached. Now this is only on the basis of one-on-one, personal contact. The rules change when a New Yorker gets behind the wheel of his or her car. Driving in the city is like a cross between racing in Nascar and fighting the Imperial Forces in Star Wars. Those white stripey lines on the road that designate lanes have no meaning in New York. Driving in the right lane is only a good idea if you're about to double-park, and when you do, you don't use any sort of signal: you just stop the car and get out. The cars behind you can fend for themselves, and they do so without complaint. Unless honking is complaining, but the honking in New York is as natural as birds chirping. You don't only honk if someone is about to crash into you or if someone doesn't notice the stop light turned green. Drivers in New York just honk. Maybe they honk because the sky is blue and the sun is shining. Maybe it's a mating call. Maybe New Yorkers just like to be noisy and sometimes the only noise to be made is a good old honk of the horn. Anyhow, I saw no reason for it.

My weekend in New York was nice and uneventful. I showed up at my old pal Mitch's apartment on Friday night around 8pm where I met his roommate Jim. They live in a neighborhood called "Washington Heights" which is on W. 170th Street. It's also known as "Uptown," but they say "way up town." Most of the residents in the area are Dominican, and everyone spoke Spanish and English with perfect New York accents. We spent Friday night drinking beers in the apartment and heading down to the general store to buy more beer where a bunch of Dominicans hang around inside drinking beer and listening to loud music, escaping the cold. They were a festive bunch who laughed at my dancing.

Saturday morning I headed to the East Village to get good and cultured. My first lesson was that in New York, everything is done outside, even in Winter weather: ordering coffee, eating, and catching up with neighbors on the front stoop.

I enjoyed a cup of soup outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art before heading in to appreciate paintings I've only seen on postcards. I think my favorite works were a bunch of lithographs designed by Cyril E. Power:

The Tube Train, Cyril E. Power
This image summed up New York for me: a whole lotta people and no one to talk to

My Weekend in Phoenix

Thursday night I arrived at the Phoenix airport and took a cab to Mesa, the location of our Friday's seminar. My room had a squeaky bed and a few cobwebs, but there was a microwave and a refrigerator so I headed to the closest place to buy food and ended up at Walgreens where I picked up a Hot Pockets Calzone and some Gardettos:


After my work day I took another cab to my mini-vacation hotel downtown Phoenix, which I guess was a mistake because all the cab drivers said the parties are all in Scottsdale, which is a 20 minute drive away. Also, there was a huge convention happening: the Society for Hispanic Engineers, a group of over 1,000 college students from all across the country all dressed up for interviews with such companies as Boeing, Lockheed Martin, and 3M. If the lobby was bad, the elevators were even worse.


I didn't mind, however, because my room was poolside and there was beer to drink and latina college babes to talk to hanging out in the Arizona sun. Saturday night I decided I was partied out from too much laying around on patio furniture and decided to head to the orchestra, where I caught Brahms: Symphony No. 1 performed by the Phoenix Symphony. I told the folks at the box office I was a student and got a $72 ticket for 10 bucks! First tier first row baby! It was a great way to lull my mini-vacation to a nice, quiet end. Still, I couldn't help but dance with the statues of naked ballet dancers (and a homeless lady) after the performance:


This morning I packed up all my stuff and took one last look at the pool before heading off to the airport for a long flight to Albany, NY. I'm sitting in the bar having my free glass of wine and ready for sleep. I miss that dry desert heat already and sort of wish I had brought some long johns.

A Weekend of Rememberance and Snakin' the Drain (of my Minivan)

Saturday morning my good friend Adam Bale and I headed to a memorial for Edward McMichael, better know in Seattle as The Tuba Man. He was a street musician prolific in this town: from the Ballet to a Seahawks game he could be seen on the sidewalk blowing notes into his tarnished tuba. Adam and I had spent the past month, cameras in tow, tracking him down at one of his local stations and recording a bit of his performances, interviews with fans, and discussions with the man himself. I got a phone call from Adam last week that Ed had died; the result of a beating from three kids for the little money he collected in his old tin garbage can each night.

Link to Adam's story on Ed McMichael here (the story starts on 14:00)

The memorial was something Ed would've been proud of. It started of with a handful of brass players, and then a banjo showed up, a couple of fiddles, and soon there was a large group of musicians blowing Take Me Out to the Ball Game, Danny Boy, and When the Saints Go Marching In.

Link to Seattle Times story here

My highlight of the weekend was fixing the minivan. For over a year my car would leak water from Seattle's constant rain right onto the feet of whomever sat in the passenger seat. Sometimes I'd have a cooking pot sitting in the front, and I'd ask my uncomfortable passenger to collect some of the water from the gushing mystery leak as we drove down the street. Many first dates quickly became lasts on these drives in the minivan. This weekend I resolved to fix the problem by purchasing a tarp to drape over the general problem-area whenever it rained. Still, something deep inside me said it was an easy fix. Adam and I pulled off the windshield wipers and then some plastic panel attached by many screws with unfamiliar holes. Then we got a stick and jammed it into what appeared to be a drain for the water. We then flushed it out with hose water, reattached everything, and the car hasn't leaked since! With a screwdriver, a stick, and google, one man can accomplish so much.

I'm also very excited about the new glasses I bought over the weekend, after losing my old pair on a drunken pontoon ride in Wisconsin over Independence Day. I found a frame similar to the ones I had in college: sort of a mix between intellectual, nerd, and hipster:

Ba-rockin' Grant Park on Election Night

Click here to see more pictures from my night at Grant Park

I will never forget Election Day in Grant Park. An estimated 150,000 people showed up to watch the fate of the 2008 Presidential Election, the culmination of two years of hard campaigning that finally brought Senators John McCain and Barack Obama to the political ring.

The "USA" on the building to the left was florescent office lights situated from about 10 floors

I thought it would take days, or even weeks to get a definite answer on the outcome. I didn't expect to watch McCain address his fans in Arizona to conceed defeat. I never expected to be among the crowds of a hometown hero and the first "official" black American President as he gave his acceptance speech.

I'll never forget the optimism of the mass group of supporters. So many different faces, all with equal anticipation of celebration, and a true spirit of love: for eachother, for America. I've never caught so many acknowledging smiles so many times in one night.

Even the CPD serving as crowd control smiled before and after the election results

Before Pennsylvania's electorate announced their decision, the Chicago crowd's energy pointed to blue. The same went for Virginia. And then California. And then, somehow, Obama won. It's funny how people respond to hope's manifestation of reality. After so long, with such a volitile American identity through the spirit of the campaign trail, the answer came.


The energy from this crowd was contagious. Everyone was hugging and kissing and crying with the collective catharsis of relief and gratitiude to the constituents who voted for something new and different. When Barack finally walked on the stage, those of us outside the tickets-only section huddled around the Jumbotrons stationed on some of Downtown Chicago's busiest blocks:

"This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing - Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old. She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin. And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can. At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can. When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can. When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can. She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can. A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can. America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made? "

Cigarettes and Big Buck Hunter in PA

Pennsylvania is one of those states that can't decide what color to wear today (Election Day). Last night I headed to a bar that had both smoking and Big Buck Hunter to quietly enjoy a glass of the delicious beer they have out here called Yuengling Lager. Sitting at the bar, Nicki, the pretty blond who served me my pint, was discussing with Mike, the Pall Mall smoking Vietnam War vet, about how it's bad to talk politics and religion at the bar. They went on to discuss why they both were voting for McCain. Mike said he thought Palin was hot, and that clinched his decision. Nicki said she read an email with 7 points about why Obama was a bad choice. She showed me the list and it included his misinterpretation of the Bible, the choice for change not resonating with Senator Joe "the" Biden, and his lack of experience.

At the corner of the bar sat Dave, a grouchy young businessman who doesn't care who wins, though his opinions for both candidates were strong indeed: "If Obama wins, he'll be assassinated and that Joe guy, whoever the hell he is, will take his place. If McCain wins, he'll croak, and we'll have a broad for a president." Nicki expressed her concern as well for the notions of a female president: "I saw this movie about Queen Elizabeth, and she ruined the country because she lead by her emotions."

I finished my beer and ordered another. I played a game of Big Buck Hunter and then offered one of my American Spirit cigarettes to Mike. He liked them, but said they pulled too hard and went back to his pack of Pall Malls.

Ice Packs and Pooper Scoopers: My Fourth Week On The Road

This week has been a whirlwind of cross-country flights, near concussions, and a dog show in Dallas. I said goodbye to Seattle on Sunday morning and headed to Atlanta, arriving at 8pm and getting to bed after a cheeseburger and some sweet tea. Tuesday morning in Chicago the turnout was expected to exceed 120 people, the largest event I've managed this year. The sun was rising and I was collating handbooks for all the teachers, Gram Parsons cheering me up on my headphones when I smashed my head on a dubious metal chair which caused a golf ball sized bump to appear in seconds on my forehead. Just then, my old friend Rose from one of last year's events appeared from Kelly Temp Services to help me collate handbooks and talk about the politics of traffic in Chicago.

The angel Rose, keeping me sane after a hectic Tuesday morning in Chicago

The rest of the day added insult to injury, with a broken microphone, Chicago teachers disgruntled about a shortage of stalls in the womens' restroom, and a late cab for our early flight to Dallas.

Things picked up the next day in Dallas (or Arlington, TX). The turnout was much smaller and the staff a pair of friendly Mexicans who were assigned exclusively to Meeting Room Six, our modest seminar, which was across the hall from the grand ballroom where the English Springer Spaniel Field Trial Association hosted the 2008 National Dog Show:

Highlights from the 2008 National Dog Show in Arlington, TX

Into the third round: Spaniels Suzie and Princess await judging and a chance to win "Best Bitch in Show"

One of the bennies of this job is the chance to see different and amazing things I never would've experienced; my very first dog show was a spectacular event to witness in person

Well, that's been my week so far. Today I'm working in El Paso, TX at the Radisson Hotel, where the weather is hot and dry. I think I might lay by the pool during lunch and finally ice my forehead.

My day off...

Saturdays in Seattle are the only time I can recoup after living out of a suitcase for the week (or two). Today I am doing laundry. I also got a haircut and bought a pack of t-shirts. Tonight I'll have a few beers with my good friends and get to bed at a reasonable time so I can catch my flight to Atlanta in the early morning.

My New Friends at B3W and a Four-Alarm Non-Fire...

Virginia is one of those states that's gone from Red to Purple in the closing days of the election, but I'd say in a dispassioned, bored, and perhaps frustrated sort of way. It seems the South cares more about the end of annoying campaign advertisements during commercial breaks of football and baseball games. The only real clue I got with regards to who's voting for whom came from a few good old boys at the bar in Buffalo Wild Wings who insisted only that global warming was a lie. "It's simply a shift in weather patterns." We also talked about how Southern women are pleasantly plump: "Ain't nuthin' better than a Southern sweater," as T.J. put it.

While the bored voters of Virginia saw only a minor distraction from the campaigns, Republicans and Democrats alike are trying to rally its constituents. Walking home from B3W (Buffalo Wild Wings), I passed a "Straight Talk Express" bus parked in the Holiday Inn parking lot:

A mirage or politics in Virginia? No! The Straight Talk Express rolls on here in Roanoke, VA

After seeing one of the GOP's fleet out in full force, I suddenly became very self-aware and fearful, rushing into the elevator and up to my fifth floor room where I fell fast asleep. Around 4am I woke up to a droning buzz coming from the hallway. In my underwear, I opened the door and saw the grouchy Nascar fans from Sunday's race in Martinsville file through the hallway and down the stair in their pajamas. I threw on some clothes and followed them outside:

A 4am wake-up call that brought the guests of the Holiday Inn out into the night's cold air

Later in the day I noticed Virginia's Women for Obama would be holding an event in Ballroom C here at the Holiday Inn. I thought I might catch them before driving down to Greensboro, but they were arriving three hours after I'd be gone. Still, it was nice to see the name Obama in a state of signs stating"Virginia is McCain Country."

No, I am not a woman!

Tonight I'm off to Madison, WI and then Chicago, both of which I am sure are "Obama Country." Still, I'll miss the Nascar fans and my new pals in the South. Perhaps one day we can at least cheer for the same football team.

Mini-vactions with friends in Texas and family 'back home'

In my first week traveling since last May I've already packed in some fun times partying down from Texas to good old Minneapolis. On Thursday night I got to spend some good times in Arlington, TX eating Tex-Mex and drinking the authentic Texan double-whammy: a beer and a shot of tequila. Old Aaron Bale picked me up at my hotel with his friend Rusty (or Kyle) and we drove across the freeway to Mariano's, the "birthplace of the frozen margarita," where we met the wonderful Anita, who served us up some extra-hot salsa that she whipped up custom made after Aaron requested it in perfect Spanish:

Rusty, Anita, myself and Aaron Bale enjoying frozen Margaritas at Mariono's

After some amazing fajitas and margaritas we made our way to TJ's, an authentic dive bar, where we smoked cigarettes (indoors!) and drank shots of tequila as we watched Game Five of the ALCS, where the Boston Red Sox rallied in the 7th inning, beating Tampa Bay in the ninth. I also sang my trademark 'In the Ghetto' by Elvis on the karaoke stage, toning down the atmosphere of the night for everyone else who belted out hits from Garth Brooks and 50 Cent...whoops!

The next day after an easy flight to Minneapolis, I met up with my folks for a weekend in Burnsville. Saturday was spent moving a bunch of my little sister's furniture into a storage space, along with a bunch of my boxes, the contents of which cluttered a few closets and the basement with junk I've accrued since college. There was also the dog, who is supposedly in his "teenage years" and the rebellion shows.

Misbehaving Murphy during the big move

Summer Recap and What's to Come...

My travels ended on May 22nd in Cleveland, Ohio. It was good to come home to Seattle and embark on an incredible Summer, kicking off in full force at my going away party before heading for Chicago:


Chicago turned out to be Evanston. While I got to spend a bit of time exploring the fruits of the Second City, most of it was spent in the basement or the backyard of the house I lived in writing to-do lists that consisted of enjoying the sun, drinking beer and going to movies.

Reading Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville" in the basement of my Evanston palace

Soon I was flying to Minneapolis. In my three weeks home, I spent a lot of time wondering where the rest of my summer would take me. There was the two days my dad and I headed up to Canada for a father-son fishing trip. No fish were caught, but I finally understood what it meant to be seasick. I had a fabulous Fourth of July with my family in Wisconsin, where we enjoyed a quiet night watching the neighbor's fireworks as we sipped wine by the fire. I also got to flaunt my newfound carpentry talents and built a fence...I didn't even hammer my thumb once!

One of my dad's oldest friends, Charlie, and I, on the whitecaps of a stormy lake in Canada, where the fish were safe from our lack of experience and patience for the big lunkers...

My old man and I enjoying the fruits of my labor

The Timmer and his master Murphy in Wisconsin on our pontoon over Independence Day

It was difficult to decide where to go after my trip home. While I loved Chicago, I ended up moving there for the wrong reasons and decided to repair back to something familiar. Seattle kept calling from the West, and Adam Bale had just bought a Panasonic HVX.

Saying I enjoyed the rest of my summer would be an understatement. There was the second trip home to Minneapolis for my brother's 25th birthday. I got to spend four days in Austin, TX where I drank beer by the pool in the sun and tried to get over a horrible cold. And how can I forget the projects I worked on with Adam Bale that supplemented my meager income working occasionally as a brand ambassador promoting cell phones, chocolate, and the Army?

Summer Lovin: Drinking PBR in Austin, TX

I'll never forget all the experiences I've packed into the past few months. Thinking back, it seems like so much time has passed since the spring, when I thought my days managing teachers' seminars were over. I find myself once again darting around the country and meeting the faces of America. It's lucky I have a job like this waiting for me when the money runs dry. So, from Raleigh to Newark, I look forward to another season writing this blog for friends and family who want to see where I've been and where I'm going. Thanks for reading.

From Raleigh, NC, the adventure continues...

Thoughts on my last short weekend home...

It's a warm and sunny Saturday here in Seattle and I am happy to be sitting in the living room in my dirty white robe thinking about one more week as a Nickel-Plated Wayfarer. I hadn't been back for a good month, since that first weekend in New Orleans which seems like so long ago. I got to visit Niagra Falls again, this time from the Canadian side, which is much more misty and beautiful:

Niagara Falls is great for honeymooners and swinging singles alike!

I also had a great time spending a weekend in Minneapolis, where I celebrated Mother's Day with my wonderful family.

Grandma Alice May, who was all the rage and Bennigan's for a late lunch and 2-fers.

It was good to see nothing much has changed in my hometown besides the slow and progressive changes that come with time: toasting my little sister Betsy's last remaining weeks of college, toasting my dad for the end of a chapter putting three kids through college, toasting my old friend Jody's birthday party during a surprise visit Tuesday night:

Justin drinking a blow-up bottle of rum at his lover's birthday party in Minneapolis

Coming home to my friends in Seattle has been the best part of this job. In my few days home I've grilled hot dogs at dusk around a bonfire at Golden Gardens and chugged beer at a ragin' kegger.

My fake brother and my real brother in front of the Buckaroo in Fremont

We'll see you in Ohio for my last four days of work.

Springtime in New York Doesn't Smell as Sweet

Well, back in New York. Two more weeks and my travels are through! I need the break. Having been gone from friends and family for the past three weeks has been rough...even though I don't have my own bed to sleep in, backslapping and wisecracks are all I need to feel at home. I miss all my pals and look forward to returning to Seattle in about a week to catch up (and pick up my long overdue drycleaning). But what perfect timing to be home in Minneapolis this weekend! I'm looking forward to a fabulous Mother's Day with my mom and Granny Alice May, along with my dad and Lil' Betsy.

A lonely dinner last night at Max's in Buffalo

Yesterday morning I opened up my window shades and saw ten stories below me some picketing protesters marching in front of my hotel and felt like I was at an abortion clinic. When I approached them, the protesters politely gave me shit for patronizing a hotel that wouldn't allow its employees to discuss unionizing. I thanked them for their time and had my lunch across the street at a Chinese buffet.

Rise up against the evil forces of the Rochester Plaza Hotel!

Also this week, I got an email from Adam Bale linking his first feature story on "The Film School" for the Seattle Channel's TV show, CityStream. I was impressed by his ability to use a journalistic voice in his narration and know I'll whip his butt when I get back into the production scene.

Jazzfest and the ghost of Mark Essex

A dock broken from Katrina on Lake Ponchatrain

Thursday evening we flew into New Orleans, my third time visiting in the past nine months. Friday's workday began off Lake Ponchatrain, which was a $25 cab ride from Burbon Street and led through parts of the city still untouched since Hurricane Katrina. Houses still bore faded orange spray painted symbols of #'s dead, # of survivors, and other information for rescue teams. The watermarks on trees and houses in this area came up to about 6-feet high, and dropped as we continued toward the lake. The damage there was less from the levies but from the actual storm, its wind knocking down structures and tearing down light poles. The picture above is a dock that I crossed from a 2"x12" board. The folks fishing in the background were nice, quiet folks who hadn't caught anything since morning.

My room was poolside! The view from my sliding glass doors

The eerie hallway of 330 Loyola's 18th floor

After work I took another cab to my new lodgings for the weekend! The cab driver, a nice local named Bill, remarked as we pulled in to the Holiday Inn Superdome: "Hey, this used to be the Howard Johnson back in the seventies. Did you hear about the Second Battle of New Orleans?" He described in detail how a Black Panther came to this hotel guns ablazin' and didn't stop until a police helicopter riddled his body with more than 200 rounds. Sure enough, wikipedia confirmed Bill's story, including information on where the shootings took place. The first shots were fired outside room 1839, which is now a Concierge Lounge. I made the picture above in black-and-white so it would seem more dramatic (you can see the ghost of Mark Essex peeking out of the housekeeping closet if you look really closely).

My entire Friday night

Friday night I kicked back and enjoyed my new diggs, listened to some good music and got a whole lot of relaxing in, taking advantage of my own private paradise at my room and the pool. I realized that pools are the ultimate in leisure, as just sitting next to them drinking a beer is all one needs to make it a vacation and lime it up!

Gearin' up for Jazzfest! It was around 11am and I had only drank one bottle of wine!

So fine. I was geared up for my Saturday afternoon touring a big chunk of New Orleans history of celebration at Jazzfest so I drank a whole bottle of Pinot Grigio. I didn't intend on drinking that much, but my glass kept refilling itself as the morning hours wore away.

The Porta-Party at Jazzfest

Unfortunately Jazzfest turned out to be a great disappointment. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the $50 ticket, which excluded entry for those poor and suffering enough to make some really moving music. The beignets were amazing, but the pork chop sandwiches sucked! Everyone was white and retired, white and teenage, or black and picking up trash (among the few black musicians). I left after about three hours and went home for a much needed nap.

That night I went to the French Quarters, where local friends Kristin and Rhiannan showed me around town. The highlight of the night was a show at a club called d.b.a. where local group The Happy Talk Band took to the stage drunk and howling. Their songs reminded me of David Lowry (from Cracker) with subtexts all about Katrina and being poor and in love in New Orleans. Of which I was neither...but could still somehow relate.