Just pics

- - - and the briefest of captions . . . This one, obviously, is for the ladies . . ....

finalmente

A little late on the wrap-up, I realize. Something about the epic nature of the drive home (we lost the distributor on the Civic and spent 18 anxious hours at the Days Inn in Villa Rica, Georgia, waiting for the world's most kindly mechanic to put us back on the road) and the sudden jolt of snapping back into routine without the benefit of any real downtime drove the blog urge right out of me. Travel demands writing, record; home is habit - it records itself by virtue (vice?) of constant repetition. But I digress. Remember the giant FEMA tent...

Disintegration

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 . . ....

paul's poetry corner

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...

park place

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...

The Secret Life Of Plants

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....

Damaged

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....

15 minutes

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 . ....

Settling in

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 . . ....

What's Going On

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...

The new surrealism

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...

Other Voices

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...

The Chariot

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 . . ....

New Orleans Blog: Intro

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...