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And if I hadn’t gone the wrong damn way at the end, I would have finished with the astronomer.

And maybe I will later.  Hard to believe that a year ago we were all sitting in a hotel wondering what the hell was really going to happen.  We did all right and continue to do so.  We are very, very lucky people.

The hotel was packed full of people from Louisiana, and pretty much everyone sat in the common area of the lobby watching television until late into the night Sunday. Roberta and I had the boys crawl into bed with us,  and I am pretty sure I didn't sleep at all that night.  Unlike other storms we evacuated for, we knew this one would be bad.

Had a great time at the Blue Ridge Extreme yesterday with the Astronomer.  I finished the metric century in a very respectable 4:23.  The difficult climbs were, well, very difficult.  Enough so that when I got up this morning to go to the gym, I really didn't want to.  Glad I did - when I walked into the exercise studio, I heard a little Louis Armstrong being played by the instructor on the PA.  A tip of the hat to you Blaise.

During my “wild” days in New Orleans when I was still traveling and my family had yet to move down I had the chance to experience the Maple Leaf on more than a few occasions.  Always a great, great time.

If it is late on a Tuesday night, the brass band is rocking Uptown, just like before The Thing

I like knowing that, when reasonable people are turning in for the night around here, some places haven’t even fired their engines yet. My usual bedtime coincides with the hour when scores of bar backs across the region are just beginning to slice limes for the midnight rush of Coronas and gin and tonics.

I don’t take advantage of this social phenomenon very much anymore. My need to bring sunglasses with me when I go out on a Saturday night has long expired.

All the same, there’s nothing like walking out of a bar after a night of shooting pool and dancing to a juke box, into the vengeful glare of the morning sun, to remind you that you live in an alternate universe, that alternate universe being here, New Orleans.

Though I rarely indulge, I have always found a strange comfort in living in a town that never closes. I never want a drink at 4 in the morning anymore. But I like knowing that I could get one if I did.

And that I wouldn’t be alone.

The Tuesday night Rebirth gig at the Maple Leaf has iconographic standing in the lore of New Orleans nightlife, like the Thursday night zydeco stomp at Mid-City Lanes or the Sunday afternoon fais do-do at Tip’s.

Something you can count on. No need to consult a schedule.

And from NewsHour, Mr. Rose provided his view of the world.  I’ve heard similar from my friends.  I will say it’s rather weird that the folks at PBS have the word “entertainment” in the URL, but I’ll admit to finding Rose to be a pretty funny guy.

If you live here, the recurring question from family and friends is: How is New Orleans doing these days?

It gives you pause. I mean, how much time do you have? Do you really want to get into this?

This whole thing is so big and so complicated that you generally fall into the habit of deflecting the question, putting on a game face, and saying something like, “We’re getting there.” Let me try to paint a picture for you, just a small slice of life here.

Have you ever had close friends who do a major home renovation and all they ever talk about — all they ever talk about — are the hassles of dealing with contractors, roofers, permits, et cetera? Well, imagine if everyone you talked to every day — everyone — was going through that.

Do you know anyone who is ever satisfied with an insurance settlement they got for property damage? Imagine if everyone you knew felt like they were getting screwed over.

This stuff is all we talk about. We’ve probably become the most annoying people in the world.

Did you ever have a friend who lost his or her job and then, like a house of cards, their marriage collapsed, and then came the booze or the drugs, and then the depression? And then you watched this happen, and there wasn’t a damned thing in the world you could do to help? Imagine if that was almost everyone on your block.

So what you really need is to sit with your best friend over a cup of coffee and vent about all this, but your best friend has moved somewhere else.

The prevailing senses of frustration, loss and despair could kill a man here. And, in fact, they have. Many, in fact.

There's just a ton of stuff running around in my head.  While we never had any conversation about it, I've noticed that R and I are pretty low key about it around the kids - but W at least seems to be pretty aware of the whole thing.

R got to have a little "I told you so" at my expense this morning, reminding me that she was very right a year ago and it turned out to be a really good thing.  Normally, I was what my Louisiana friends would call a bit of a chicken and would book a hotel and get the hell out of town for just about anything with a name headed towards the Gulf.  For whatever the reason, I hadn't this time.  In fact, I had pretty much ignored R, looked at the models, and assumed that Pensacola was going to get spanked again.

Thankfully, R strongly encouraged me (translation "hey jackass get a hotel") and I found a room just south of Memphis. While I booked the room for Saturday so I could get the reservation, planned on a mellow five to six hour drive North.

Update: Since I confused Marco and all - I'm still in C'Ville, and maintaining my "I'm going nowhere for a full year" pledge.  This post is a "this day in history" sorta thing and I've edited the text to make this more clear. As one might expect, it's all R, some friends and I are talking about as of late so I'm probably going to forget some key contextual information.  Sorry!

Great series running in the Times Picayune about what went on at Memorial.  Unfortunately, they don't have a single page yet set up with all the links.  In the meantime:

• Part I
• Part II
• Part III
• Part IV

You'll need to check the main NOLA.com page or the T-P page for subsequent parts.

The AJC did a great twenty-two part series this past May about Charity and Tulane hospitals.   

Far too much fun roasting chiles on Saturday.  Figure out of the sixty pounds shipped, less than a third were damaged in transit.

Mark, my neighbor, had the best line after eating an especially hot one "I figured when you said hot you meant hot like temperature hot.  That was so hot it damaged my psyche." 

Added bonus - turns out the Astronomer wasn't joking about going for a bike ride this morning.  While I didn't make the 8 am start we agreed on (I did?) I was at least awake and we got on the road in short order.  While I think I may have to call it the Hangover 55, it was very enjoyable and gives me some confidence that I won't totally die next weekend. 

We had two sacks shipped from New Mexico this year as we're having a little party to share the enjoyment of fresh roasted chile.  Well, really we just needed some extra green to con people into helping us roast peel and package eighty pounds of the stuff.

Alarmingly, only one of the sacks has so far arrived. We may very well be pretending not to know you if you show up on Saturday.

I’ll admit the Rude Pundit isn’t for everyone.  But his coverage of New Orleans after Katrina was exceptional. Heck, he knew to go to Slidell.

8/15/2006 Katrina Plus One Year, Part 1 - Everywhere a Sign:

The last time the Rude Pundit visited New Orleans, back in December of 2005 (chronicled in five parts in January of this year), he saw a place that simply wasn’t a real city anymore. It was small islands of life in the middle of miles and miles of utter destruction and decimation. Ghost towns in a wasteland. The worst thing that one can say now about New Orleans, almost a year after the big storm and the broken levees, is that it looks a hell of a lot better than it did. If nothing else, you can get through the streets.

Over the next couple of days, the Rude Pundit will show you some places you’ve seen before and some you haven’t, and he’ll take you to the outside of one of the largest FEMAvilles in the country.

Is there anywhere other than Harris Teeter where a person can buy a keg of beer in Charlottesville?

Well, for me and a few others I expect.  I’ve been looking at some of the links I saved for later and there are gems to be found. I’ll post some of the better ones over the next couple of weeks.