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Fire on the Bayou October 26, 2007

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, Hurricane Katrina, New Orelans, New Orleans, NOLA, Toulouse Street.
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I feel for California, but . . .

What is the percentage of New Orleanians for whom relocation to the Qualcomm evacuation center would STILL represent an increase in quality of life?

Hey, Mr. Blakely: I found your cranes October 20, 2007

Posted by The Typist in Cranes, cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, Debrisville, Katrina, New Orelans, New Orleans, New York, NOLA, Rebirth, Recovery, Remember, Toulouse Street, We Are Not OK.
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Cranes Over Ground Zero

I found them towering over Ground Zero, what our esteemed mayor once referred to as “a big hole in the ground”.

Thoroughly Modern Monk October 15, 2007

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, New Orleans, New York, NOLA, oddities.
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Last night in Time Square, I saw a monk in full saffron and purple, head neatly shaven, walking into the Olive Garden carrying nearly half a dozen shopping bags with an Old Navy the outermost with a visible label. I tried to get the camera and run him down, but my wife and daughter thought better of it.

New York, like San Francisos (and New Orleans for that matter) has its compliment of professional or sem-pro oddballs haunting each places most public spaces, but New York so far seems to have a higher compliment of genuine, accidental oddities of the human species.

I seem to have gotten a handle on navigating the city mostly due to a remembered fragment of lyric: “New York, New York/It’s a helluva town./The Bronx is up/And the Battery’s down” which enables me to remember which train to get on. It helps that I can seem to get to just about anyplace I want on the Yellow line trains, and there’s a stop right outside my hotel at Harold Square (Broadway and 32nd). I have to get my daughter up to see Columbia tomorrow, but I’ve stared at the map long enough to figure out the main transfer point, the equivalent of DC’s Metro Center, where we can hop onto the red trains uptown.

If you’re wondering why I was near an Olive Garden, remember I’m travelling with kids and seem to keep tossing off 20 dollar bills like a drunk float rider unloading the last of his throws at the end of Canal Street. I’ve reconciled myself (or at least keep repeating to myself) that this is not an eating vacation. (This is not an eating vacation. This is not an eating vacation. Ok, that’s enough for now).

Today I will get into one of the recomended deli’s. And will make reservations this time for Carmine’s for my pasta and sauce obsessed German-Irish-French clan. I have to eat something decent, because tomorrow night is shows and I suspect I will stuff some Subway or something in the kids before we head out rather than try to squeeze in a proper meal, since the girl’s curtain time for Wicked is 7:30. Matt and I passed on that in favor of Spamalot.

Ok, enough postcard drivel. I need to get myself some coffee and a proper bagel somewhere