From New Orleans...

Bread pudding and a tasty beverage called "Devil's Brew" at Arnaud's in New Orleans.

NOLA, Part 1: Some Spirits Can Not Be Broken.

I don't want to bring the mood down, but it is important to address the city of New Orleans's recovery since Hurricane Katrina. I've decided to write about the different aspects of this city's resurrection in a few parts. My frame of reference is very skewed as I had never before visited New Orleans. However, the devastation was apparent. While the French Quarter was relatively unscathed, the surrounding areas are still under a cloud of desperation. It must be noted that many businesses have taken this time to make improvements by way of construction and many businesses have yet to reopen. The city is in serious need for workers in all fields, especially in the construction and service industries. Most of all, though, I think they need your money. If you are thinking about a trip, go to New Orleans. The people are happy to see you and will welcome you with all the hospitality you could possibly desire. Contrary to some beliefs, it is not under water, it is not a dump (yes, it is a 'dirty' city; but it has never been known for it's clean streets, quite frankly people who Party make messes), and if you are a little forgiving, the French Quarter has much for you to do. In five days we could not accomplish everything we had thought we would. We never made it into the cathedral or to the aquarium or French Market.
The shops, boutiques and bars are all ready for you to come in and never once did I feel pressure to buy anything. I simply felt welcome.
The people of New Orleans are unlike any I have ever met. Their resilience and passion for life is infectious. Their spirits, though many bruised, are not broken. They remain alive with strength to carry on. Often those who were there for the worst -during and after the storm- are surprisingly willing to bring the subject to the table. It was much the same each time...
A bartender brings a drink and asks, "Where ya' from and what brings y'all to town?" We answer politely saying "Washington, DC; it's our anniversary." He looks us up and down, smiles big and says it's good to have people back in his city. He's lived here all his life. Then, his words trail off as his eyes glaze over in remembrance of something horrible. He wants to talk but perhaps his words fail him or he doesn't want to spoil our time. I can sense his anguish. His head shakes bringing him back to the present. I send him kind thoughts and he opens up a little. This man has seen things; horrifying, unspeakable, tragic things that no man should ever witness. And yet, he came back to a city he -quite understandably- loves so dearly.
Please don't take this post as an indicator we had a solemn time in New Orleans; quite the contrary. The Mister and I whooped it up with the best of them. There was music everywhere and when the Saints came marching in along with a few hundred thousand fans on Friday night, we got to see NOLA in all her glory. New Orleans will be fine but it will take patience. Just please don't forget about her; she needs us.

One step closer to clones and a Nola Preview:

Last night I saw a new Macy's commercial about how they are opening stores all over the country. Surely we all know by now, Macy's bought out the May Company Department Stores (including Hecht's and Marshall Fields).
Great. We'll all look the same in approximately one season.
Here in DC, we just took it in stride with a bit of nostalgia, but not so in Chicago. They threw a hissy with protests; my favorite protest quote, "Macy's Is Just Wal-Mart with Pretension".

I'm back from New Orleans, but just about to dash off to work. I've got so much to tell, but must organize my thoughts first. My system of organization revolves around the meals I ate which says a lot about my trip. Here's a taste of what's to come:
*The Mister wandering around happily telling me "It's my turn to be drunk!" (buddy, mission accomplished).
*A downpour on the way into a football game that left me soaked through to my underoos.
*Trying to get dressed for dinner and passing out, face down, on the bed; waking up four hours later and asking where we had gone to eat.