As I write this, I’m sailing on the Mississippi River. I learned to spell Mississippi in, like, the second grade whilst skipping jump rope. M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I. Mississippi.
For those of you who don’t know, here’s a little educational tidbit for you! The Mississippi River is the third largest river in the world, following The Amazon and The Nile. It has a natural depth of over 200 feet, which is like a million Huckleberry Finns standing head to head.
Anyway, there’s your eduction lesson for today, so let’s move on!
I arrived in New Orleans yesterday around 3pm. Took a stroll on Bourbon Street, saw a tonne of super original weirdness, shook that off, and had a sangria…and then a hurricane…
“The Hurricane,” is the name of the New Orleans popular rum concoction. The irony was not lost on me. Hurricanes, if you don’t know, come flying through this area annually.
Second education lesson up ahead, sorry, should of warned you..
So, anyway, half of this city is 6 feet below the water table and the other half is just 3 feet above. Prime for flooding. And if none of this sounds familiar. Google it. Hurricane Katrina. Complete Mass destruction. A travesty. A hurricane that hit over 10 years ago and wrecked total havoc and chaos on this swamp land.
I remember being 15 and watching the footage on the news. Being here, and seeing the damage that still persists, over ten years later, is a bit soul numbing.
Anyway, I felt like a hurricane hit me by the time I made it back to my hotel last night. Between the heat and the hurricane, and the sangria I was feeling a little, or a lotta unwell.
So, whatta you suppose I did? I got sick. Yep. I got sick. It wasn’t my finest moment. Let me put it to you that way. But I had a cool shower, did my make up, and chilled for ten. And I then accompanied my parents to the piano bar.
And we listened to some fabulous pianists. And, well, we watched women flash their goodies in the streets. For beads. Yep, beads. When in Rome?
And together, we read, and we watched, and we listened. We watched artists paint, read other artists writing, and listened to jazz playing in the streets.
Artists just trying to survive another day, to make another buck to live another day.
Brave enough to give up everything and start over on the streets of New Orleans.
Love from Louisiana,