A little late here with the final entries from N.O. . . . there's not wireless access at the Days Inn in Villa Rica, GA. I'm back in New York and it feels like I see everything with brand new eyes. Truly, I was in a different environment the last week, one replete with sun, southern accents, Southern Comfort, and sweat. Thursday night, most of all, I sweat for beads . . ....
And now here it is, folks: that long-awaited contribution from our very own modern-day Yeats, Mr. M Paul O'Brien (born County Limerick, 1975). American Pie A car in a drunken eyeless house, That’s puked onto the street, An empty corner where the kids used to meet, A dirty teddy bear, a new bike with flat tyres, Watermarks where the roof should be, Front doors ajar – no need for a key. ‘I drove my Chevy to the Levy’ as the song goes, But what happens when the Levy breaks to all the fleeing souls, Cracked painted on sun-beaten wood, People walk with small mouths, How can they bear the silence of strife. East Orleans a ghost town, intolerable views, The residue of a hurricane gives me the blues, But soon Mardi Gras and the chance to party, To wash away last years nightmare, and re-forge the spirit, To taste a piece of American pie, to laugh to sing And reach up to the sky. 23 Feb 2006...
Finally got some dirt under my fingernails, and it's only, what? Thursday? Gotta stop complaining so much . . . But not yet. Anybody out there addicted to this show? Not that I think you would or should be, mind - I'm a little ambivalent about the whole idea myself - it just seems like the kind of niche reality TV that those who watch might watch religiously. Anyway, just since the one consistent aspect of this trip seems to be the constant lurking presence of endlessly grinding PR engines, these are the folks who will be selling the fruits of our free labor to advertisers on ABC sometime in the near future. And what fruits they are, no? See for yourself: Nice, eh? Now here's a couple of images that probably won't be heavily featured on commercial television . . ....
Ray Nagin has a big head, quite literally, especially on a billboard. We scrubbed down a school auditorium yesterday to be used in a press conference for him (he's tha maya) as well as Governor Blanco (sic?). As much as this put a bad gumbo taste in my mouth, maybe some kids will dig having a cleaner auditorium. I spoke with a sixth grader named Devante and the one thing he wants you to know about New Orleans is that "It's just so much fun." When I asked him why, he said, "My mom takes me lots of places." Believedat. Another kid said what's up, dude, to me in the car and asked if I had a grille while squinting his eyes. Sadly, I believe it's just the gold looking teeth that coffee has provided me. In a strange turn of events, I was really excited to be around kids again and I began to miss the little [ones] back at school. Today, we worked with a ton of other volunteers and a landscaping school from Brandon, Mi-Ser-y on a park and playground in St. Bernard's Parish....
No longer piggybacking on Dan's username, here I am, alive and well and a fully functional human being. Yesterday, woke up and starred in the Renegade That Overslept and headed out to work with three cool-as-Clyde teachers from New York City (while Dan and Paul went elsewhere). Later that afternoon, I tore into a bathroom wall with a hatchet for such a prolonged and intense period that I forgot where I was . . . the 9th Ward. Therein, Boschian is an ideal and devastation is an understatement....
This appears to be the sum total of my accomplishments in New Orleans so far (honestly though, would I put up the link if it didn't do something for my raging ego? This is what it's like to be all growed up . . .). I suppose there's a place for PR in this world. The fact that the appearance of action has in so many cases become more important than the actuality is what I find a little distressing. If I get the opportunity to break a sweat before the week is up, I'll count myself lucky . . . -Dan...
Computer woes continue. Never trust any merchandise with an NYC Department of Education stamp on it . . . Yet we soldier on. Kantor slept in and got his hands dirty; O'Brien and I got up early for a date with the mayor. That nondescript blur somewhere near the center of the frame is The Honorable Ray Nagin, handsome devil that he is. Still gettin' the kinks worked out on the new digital camera. I promise the pics on the other end of this link are of much higher quality . . ....
Sunday, woke in Asheville, was made homesick by an airbrushed Tony Montana jacket in Mobile, marveled at the gentry in Biloxi Central Station, and then . . . St. Bernard, LA. My general thoughts were that God has no mercy and I wondered who has the heart for true religion. What's goin' on? No music for this, no words. My escape from self-indictment--I live in Fantasyland--is that we now live in Netherworld. We shower and sleep at Camp Algiers, which (to the best of my knowledge) is a cross between a moon colony, the Army, Rykers Island, going camping, and a community center. The people are friendly, will cut your hair and sing you Gospel, but as Joey Ramone might say, "The smell of death is all around." Worked in N.O. proper today and got educated--FYI, most of New Orleans is still wrecked and from what I understand, as the water levels rose, so did a lot of the South. The water's now down but the crackers are up . . . "And miles to go until I freak." --Dylan Thomas -Matt...
So far, so totally bizarre. The lack of images is due to a little issue with getting a connection up and running at Camp Algiers - a little place not unlike Camp Grenada, except that there are a hundred campers to a tent rather than the standard dozen. I'll put a pic up as soon as possible - it's an image to make even the most battle-hardened European hostel-goer cringe (god's only mercy in this case being that the shower facilities are extensive and well-utilized). As for the city, it's every bit the nightmare vision you've imagined it, even six months after the fact. Byzantine bureaucracy and manic disorganization exist alongside dizzying waste and human misery. Oh, and Mardi Gras. We're all stocking up on beads . . . To tide you over, here's a link to the organization we're working with. Such nice people . . . www.mardigrasservicecorps.com -Dan...
Vultures trail us. What's in the trunk? Time and state troopers will tell. Question: Is Paul a con man or positively Japanese in his enthusiasm? Answer: I like him either way and hope to be forced to fight on-leave Marines to save his life. "I hear the Wal-Mart workers singing." --Walt Whitman -Matt...
Here's why the trip has taken on epic proportions: The red beauty up front is my baby; she gets me where I need to go. The pic is deceptive, though . . ....
I’m going to New Orleans on Saturday. Mostly it’s because I want to experience the most significant event in recent American History firsthand. To make it feel a little less ghoulish and voyeuristic, I’ve arranged to spend the week painting public schools with an organization out of Tulane; to make it feel a little less Travels with Charley, I’ve replaced my imaginary poodle with the all too real Paul O’Brien (equity derivatives analyst for JP Morgan, London) and Matthew Kantor (fellow New York City public school teacher). I’m also recording the experience in a blog. I’m pretty confident about my reasons for the trip; I’m less sure about why I want to write it all down. And take pictures of it, presumably. And have those words read (and pictures scrutinized) by a select audience. Frankly, it reeks of egotism. It’s not journalism – given the fact that everyone reading this probably knows me, there’s no way this can be about objectivity, since every word you read is filtered through the lens of our pre-existing relationship, intimate or distant as it may be. So I think it’s best just to be honest: this is for me, basically. I need something to...
