After a while, perhaps three weeks, it becomes difficult not to think of a New Orleans as being "home."  This set of pictures is more a reflection on New Orleans as a "home" then as a city I am visiting.  

I have stopped and talked to people here.  One home owner was watering her plants and talking to her cats.  I had to stop.  One of her cats is black and white, a lot like my cat "Baby" back home in that far away distant place, San Jose, CA.

My brother Don is watching my cat and he told me recently, that every night he has to coax her in off of her driveway post.  She does that when she is waiting for me to come home.  I wish there was some way to explain to my cat that I haven't abandoned her.  Where's Dr. Dolittle when you need him?

I was telling this nice lady that I also have a black and white cat and how strange it is that a lot of black and white cats have similar yet distinctive markings.  I love my cats perfectly pink  paws for instance.  Like cotton candy and just as sweet.  Not the blue kind of cotton candy, the pink kind.  She walks on them all day long and they are still perfectly pink.  Ain't that weird?

It didn't take long and this lady dropped the name "Ann Rice" into our conversation.  "I bought this home from Ann Rice."  It was non stop Ann Rice this, Ann Rice that, until she was convinced that I was convinced, she knew Ann Rice and that I knew who Ann Rice is.

Her only complaint about Ann Rice?  Her parties were too big and they made her feel uncomfortable.  How big?  Two thousand plus, according to her.

I wonder if Ann Rice knows her?  And hell yes, if I were a successful

author I would have two thousand of my closest friends over for a party also.

Funny thing about who you know.  I have been getting comments from the locals about how much I look like a certain ex president.  They wont say his name.  They wait for me to comment.  My comment to them is, "I wonder if anybody has told Jimmy Carter that he looks like Jim Huffman."  That comment always breaks the ice and gets a laugh or three.

I got my first ever "Whitey!" comment yesterday.    Four teenagers were waiting to cross the street at the same place I parked and got out of my car to rob a convenience store  (Not really, actually just trying to quench my thirst.).  I am not sure what the entire comment was,  All I heard was "Whitey."  they didn't look threatening and this kid was obviously posturing in front of his friends, strutting his stuff so to speak.  They were maybe in the fourteen or fifteen age range.  I bantered back and forth with him with the "Hey man, Whas up?" and finally it was obvious his friends were embarrassed  enough for him and they crossed the street without even a backwards glance.  I get the feeling this kid, the one who made the "Whitey" comment, is on the gangster fast track.  I think that's what happens when you objectify people, especially at that young an age.  

Here lies Les Moore, shot by a forty four, No Less, No More.  I want to know if this kid's name is Les Moore and if he knows his destiny and where is his Mother?

I wish that there were enough employment opportunities in New Orleans to keep up with the demand, then maybe some of these kids could think of doing something besides gangstering.
 

This is what living is like for me while here in new Orleans.  It is a huge step up from camping but short of having a motel room.  I have the basic amenities: a twin bed and my very own bathroom with a tub and shower butt no linen or linen service.

The room was a little unkempt when I took it over but a good scrubbing and scraping pretty much is all it needed.  I went to Target for some sheets and got some killer 300 thread count sheets for only twenty bucks.  Queen size of course, so that I can continue using them when I return home.

I purchased the blue rug from Wall Mart for twenty bucks and a room size refrigerator for 60 bucks off of Craigs List.  I wanted some comfort so that I would be psyched up for doing volunteer work.

I made a night stand out of my camp stove and the support for the camp stove, pretty clever, huh?  The fly swatter is to help stave off the Cock Roaches.  I also need to tell you about what works really good on a long trip.  That little radio on the night stand for instance.

The electric fluorescent lamp on my improvised night stand is a standard part of my camp gear as a lot of camping places (KOA for instance) have electrical outlets even in the tenting area.  Besides, the electric desk lamp is a lot easier to deal with when camping then the gas lantern which I also carry.  

The paper back book on the bed is a Dean Koontz novel titled "Fear Nothing".  It is about a pasty white boy forced to live nocturnally because of a genetic defect, whose Mother invented the means to end the world.  Not on purpose mind you, but she left a legacy of monsters behind for her nocturnal son to deal with.  Great characters, even greater story development.  I couldn't put this book down, which is rare for me.

You thought I was kidding about la cocka rocha!  Throw your bare feet on the floor in the dark of night and feel this wiggle between your tootsies.  Then you will know the real thrill of being in New Orleans.  A full 1 1/2" long with wings.  Bzzzzz.  This one can really jump too, giving it an additional edge at being creepy.

On Bucknall Road, close to where I live in San Jose, CA, there are curve ahead warning signs posted "Slow, 18 MPH."  Finally, another city with an even more absurd guidance sign.  I had to travel to New Orleans to find it.  A sign properly punctuated with bullets, in a school area of course.  "Hey officer, it was only 7:29 so it was legal to do fifty when I hit that kid."

I am still bothered by the rate of homicides here in New Orleans.  It seems the blacker you are or the more affluent you are or the immigrant, then you need to be extra cautious.  A recent home invasion took the life of one immigrant worker from Mexico and two of his friends were shot multiple times.  They are targeted because they resist reporting crimes for fear of being deported.  The immigrants are also known not to have bank accounts and usually carrying lots of cash.  Another immigrant from Honduras, tried to protect himself with a knife.  Everybody knows, you don't bring a knife to a gun fight.  He is dead also.  So senseless.  So wasteful.  Why can't these people just behave?

Disclaimer:  No animals or humans were hurt in the making of these photos.

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