Be a New Orleanian

Sometimes I feel very sheltered in my professional 9-to-5 (or -8!) world. I spend most of my day talking to people in my industry, many of them white Americans, and because I like them, I often socialize with them in the evenings.

This little world feels constricting at times, which is probably why I so frequently grab my passport and head abroad. I thrive on the differences between "there" and "here." (Aside: My recently-conceived definition of an "ugly American" is someone who leaves home and wants everything to be the same somewhere else. What a waste of time, money, and passport ink!)

I was recently reminded that you don't need a passport to find something new. In New Orleans, I was humbled and inspired by our hostess. She spoke easily of her friend the crack-addicted, call-girl-frequenting oil rig worker-cum-bouncer who lived with them for a while and took their dog on daily jaunts throughout the French Quarter. She told us about her bridesmaid, a woman who couldn't finish high school because of drugs and family issues but now owns a successful bar just off Bourbon Street. Our hostess had us in stitches reflecting on how she saw herself in an Ann Taylor-wearing, brunette transvestite with a similar name. She has the gift of acknowledging people's differences without sounding mean-spirited or judgmental.

This openness and easy acceptance of people and their foibles, regardless of profession, race, age, or education, seemed to be typical of the people we met in New Orleans. They say love is blind, but maybe what's really true is that it has its eyes wide open and accepts all traits in a person, not just the positive ones.

Although the stickers and T-shirts were created for a different purpose, I'm inspired to be more accepting, less judgmental, and just plain kinder when I see the motto, "Be a New Orleanian...wherever you are."

Rest

Every morning I swear I'm going to get more sleep, and yet here I am at 1 AM.

I have even more incentive to go to bed than normal. The bed I've been talking about about for 3 years arrived this afternoon. (I always seem to mull over large purchases for a year or more before surprising everyone who's bored by the topic and actually doing it.) I've added fresh sheets, not quite as warm as flannel but as soft... Soon I'll crawl in and pull the sheets up to my chin and drift off into blessed sleep.

In the meantime, I'm keyed up over things that can't or won't be addressed tonight. I need to let it go for a few hours.

P.S. Yes, I do realize that I've already dropped my picture-a-day effort.

St. Patrick's Day Parade, Part II

St. Patrick's Day last week was anticlimactic, since we'd already celebrated the holiday several times by Tuesday. We celebrated for the second time on Saturday (the 14th), the day the Irish Channel parade petered out around our friends' house.

We woke early(-ish) and trekked off to a stranger's house for breakfast burritos. We sat in a darkened, candle-lit living room under a chandelier hung with green garters and white lace panties with shamrocks and tried to make ourselves heard over the snuffling of the host's dog (how do they sleep at night?). The bits and pieces I could hear were odd: "prison rodeo," "inmates compete," "poker chip glued to a bull's forehead," "surely the infirmary is preferable," ...

All the while, the rain came down. On the way home, I stripped off my shoes and rolled my pants. My attention was split between watching for stones on the sidewalk and observing the beginnings of the day's festivities, and I narrowly avoided stepping on a crawfish that had escaped a local barbeque and was making a run for the storm gutter.

The rain tapered off, and far off, the parade started. By the time it looped around to our vantage point, the paraders were drunk, tired, wet, and running out of tchotkes, but we still made out ok. I got enough beads that my neck felt the strain. Green garters, a beer in a green plastic bottle, a felt hat shaped like a beer mug, a stuffed frog, plastic cups,a bag, several cabbages (green and purple), and my favorite, a hot pickle in a plastic pouch.

They do know how to celebrate in New Orleans!

Lost Things

This weekend I lost a St. Patrick's Day earring and a comfortable illusion. Tonight, however, I'm reminded that there are much worse things to lose. Your life, like the soldiers I wrote about earlier. Or your son, as in The Changeling.

If you haven't seen it, The Changeling is the story of a mother whose kidnapped son is returned by the police many months later. The mother insists from the start that the boy is not her son, but the police, under intense media pressure, insist that they've solved the case. I haven't seen the rest and wouldn't want to spoil the ending, but the premise is heartbreaking.

Not as heartbreaking, however, as the story I heard recently on "This American Life" on NPR. Bobby Dunbar was another small boy who disappeared (in 1912) and was later "found" in the company of a drifter. Media reports of his reunion with the Dunbars varied. The article quotes were well-chosen for effect - the ones where the parents immediately recognized the child read like puff pieces, whereas the serious, news-like articles represented the parents' hesitation.

Tragically, another woman, Julia Anderson, stepped forward to claim the child. An unwed mother with several children by several fathers and without strong moral standing in the community, she lost her court case, and the boy was raised by the Dunbars. Imagine the agony of knowing where your kidnapped son is and not being able to take him home.

The tragedy is still echoing almost a century later. A Dunbar descendant found the old articles and began doing her own research. Against her family's wishes, she conducted DNA tests on her father and his putative cousin that proved Bobby Dunbar wasn't a Dunbar (and probably was Julia Anderson's son). Much of her family has disowned her.

Comparatively, I can't complain.

The Beltway Denuded

The original title for this post was "The Rape of the Beltway," but that seemed too strong. Not by much, though.

One of the things I've always loved about my area is how green it is. I've spent a fair amount of time looking out the window while flying into major airports, and my home airport is one of the "greenest." Instead of houses or strip malls or cloverleafs (a punny nod to St. Patrick's Day week), I'd see thousands of trees.

Now there's a massive road construction project under way to widen the roads and build toll lanes. This project involves massive clear-cutting. I cry for the trees and the environment, and I keep feeling lost in the changed landscape. Supposedly this will benefit us all in the long run, but at what cost?

Thank You

The local NPR station did a piece today on the people who meet the bodies of returning soldiers and carry them off the plane at Dover. Memorable comments included quotes about the respect inherent in remaining visibly emotionless, the power of the moment in which the soldier is returned to American soil, and the weight discrepancy between the caskets ("transfer cases") that contain entire bodies and those that don't. One man talked about knowing that a fellow Marine, a fallen Marine, would not be upset about his fate.

I cannot imagine joining the armed forces or accepting the possibility of death in the course of a day's work, but that makes me appreciate the sacrifice so much more. Sometimes understanding is unnecessary.

Thank you to all our servicemen and -women.

St. Patrick's Day Parade, Part I

I watched a St. Patrick's Day parade last night in the company of old friends and new. Two girlfriends and I are in New Orleans for a long weekend of food, talk, lots of walking, and St. Patrick's Day. We're staying with two long-time residents, friends of my friend, fitting into their lives and schedules as if I'd known them for years as well.

We arrived at a small bar just off Bourbon Street, all dressed in kelly green, and mingled with the regulars standing on the street. New Orleans doesn't have open container laws like most places, and there were shamrock-shaped tabletops bolted to the tops of the old horse hitching posts in front of the bar.

There was A.S., a New Orleans cop who retired 13 years ago. He shared the story of arresting the mayor's girlfriend for failure to adhere to the laws about displaying merchandise on Bourbon Street. He was very proud that the chief of police backed him up and that law and order triumphed over political maneuverings on that occasion. He built the bar inside and the shamrock tabletops.

There was H., the subject of several posts on a friend's blog, an oil rig worker, bouncer at a goth bar, crack addict, and dog walker extraordinaire.

There was A.N., the woman wearing the exact same dress as me. "We can't stand anywhere near her," I whispered to my friends. Shortly after, I was sucked into the openness and friendliness that is New Orleans near St. Patrick's Day (and maybe year-round). "Nice dress," I told her. We started to bond over the good deal we'd both gotten on the dress, then "Angie!!" I hear from my friend. It turns out she's someone we'd been talking about at lunch, a friend of our hostess. We ended up having pictures taken together in our matching dresses.

We talked. We drank. Best of all, we people-watched.

My favorite moment was when a drunk woman leapt atop one of the hitching posts and then launched herself onto a light post, dangling for a moment and then dropping to watch her boyfriend's clumsy attempts to do the same in the fading light. We watched with bated breath, expecting disaster at any moment. "Nothing good happens after 2AM," stated the drunk girl next to us, also waiting for someone to get impaled. "What time is it?" 6:54PM, honey. Time for you to go home.

And time for us to go home too, almost. But not until after the parade. Horse-drawn carriages with revelers throwing beads, people in large green hats, musicians with brass instruments and drums, and more men in kilts than I'd ever seen handing out fake roses in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. We all collected beads without having to "pay" for them, then, tired and happy and finally understanding the appeal of New Orleans, we headed home.

Missing the Deadline

Considering the time of day and the fact that I need to pack for a trip, it's looking less and less likely that I'm going to take/post a photo tonight.

I spent almost the entire day working on export documents for our legal department. How would you illustrate that anyway?

Although I haven't taken any pictures, I have spent plenty of time thinking about photography today. We've formed a coterie of would-be photographers at work who exchange tips in the hallway about things like step-down filters, 430EX vs. 580EX flashes, and remote shutter activation. A few of us enrolled in a composition seminar in a few weeks. Perhaps you'll see improvement in May's postings!

Good Books and Bad: An Update on The List

It's been a while since I've posted an update on my efforts on The List. I'm not making a concerted effort anymore to read books that other people think I "should have" read, but I do try to throw one in to the mix every now and then. On the original list, I've improved my score from 9 to 32 of the "best" novels ever. My best score (69 out of 100) is currently on the list with admittedly less caché than the Modern Library.

My recent favorites from The List have been surprising. Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead was much better than I'd been led to expect by fellow college students who were forced to read it for literature classes. The starkly beautiful descriptions of the modernist buildings that Howard Roark poured his soul into, his strict code of unconventional ethics, and his antagonistic but passionate love affair...they all captivated me, and I was sorry to see the novel end after 800+ pages.

The other book that fascinated me was Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. Although I've read several novels set in Africa, they've been written by American or European authors as an outsider looking in. This novel is written by a Nigerian, which leads to wonderful perspective shift as the author touches on gender and familial relationships, Nigerian folk tales, power dynamics, and religion. Everything seems completely natural and foreign at the same time.

The Washington Post recently carried a review of a book that will probably not go on my "must read" list. I followed the link from an acquaintance, who thought it sounded fascinating. And the plot was - it's the true story of an 18th century heiress who was tricked into marrying someone who then beat and abused her. She did the unthinkable (for the times) and divorced him.

Initially I was gripped by the drama described in the review, but I soon became distracted by the number of quotes used in the review to describe the plot and the characters. Maybe the reviewer was poking subtle fun at the author by including these trite-sounding phrases. Here's a sample paragraph from the review:

The fabulously wealthy 27-year-old widow was so moved by this act of gallantry that she rushed to the wounded soldier's bedside. Full of emotion, she acquiesced in "her dying hero's request: to marry him before he expired." After all, "what harm could possibly ensue from marrying a poor dying soldier who would shortly make her a widow again?" So married they were two days later, in St. James's Church, Piccadilly, with Stoney being carried in on his "makeshift bed." Mary, who had spent the night before "naked and alone" with her lover George Gray, was startled to note that once the vows were spoken, Stoney made a "rapid recovery" and appeared at the "jubilant levee in his lodgings the following morning" in "a new scarlet uniform."

As I continued to read, however, I began to suspect that the reviewer (I'm deliberately not using his name - look it up if you want) was relying on the quotes to avoid doing his own writing. The clincher was when I read this (by the reviewer, not the author): "His real name, though, was Satan. He was a monster." I don't expect to buy books by either writer.

Knowing that I intended to write about books today, I pulled out the macro filters, my tripod, and both my OED and Webster's for the first photo. I used them again on my way out the door, on one of the white crocuses that popped up the other day. With the macro filters, there's really not much in the picture that ends up on focus. Using "focus stacking," I could increase the depth of field to show more parts in focus, but I don't have the right software for that. Maybe someday.

Reflections

I love the brilliant colors of this candy machine in my mechanic's waiting room! They have a nice setup - free waters and sodas (even apple cider on good days), internet, and Andy at the desk who kept offering to send a few big mechanics to sit on either side of me to warm me up now that the temperature has plummeted again. (It sounds sleazy, but it wasn't.) This is the same guy who gave me advice recently when I called from the road, worried that the lack of power to my cigarette lighter meant my car was about to putter to a halt by the side of the road. (It was just a blown fuse, easily fixed the next day by my dad.)

My car inspection was the social highlight of my day, which started with a 6AM call that was rescheduled to 7AM and ended with another meeting at 11PM. Who decided this globalization stuff was a good idea? Clearly someone who thrives on four hours of sleep a night.

Despite the busy day, I still managed to take few photos. I was frustrated by the reflections in the first one and started puzzling over the solution. A circular polarizing filter (sitting in the bag at home)? Photoshop?

Since I don't have an extra couple hundred dollars to go back to the mechanic anytime soon, I snapped another reflection photo that I can more easily reproduce at the later date with the filter.

At first this was intended as just another reflection photo, but then I read the poster. An Indian/Asian grocery store's going in near my house! Hopefully it will be a good substitute for my dearly departed Whole Foods!

Daylight Savings

It was pitch black when I woke up this morning, thanks to Daylight Savings Time. I'm looking forward to this evening, when perhaps there will still be some light on my drive home (which will hopefully be top down, if this morning was any indication!).

When I walked out the door, I saw that a bunch of white crocuses are coming out. Amazing the difference just 24 hours makes! I decided to make them the subject of today's photo, but it was tough since it was still dark out. The tripod wasn't much use at 2 inches from the ground, so I decided to try for a deliberately blurry, artsy look.

If I'd had more time, I'd try to redo it without the sidewalk in the background, but...

Project 365

I always intend to post to this blog more often, but it's often hard to find the time, the motivation, and something "worth saying" (my biggest hurdle!). I got new inspiration today that addresses at least the second concern.

I attended part of a nature photography expo hosted by local photography clubs. I couldn't imagine devoting Friday evening through late Sunday afternoon to the same activity, but in retrospect, I should have.

The lectures left me wanting to run out and put new principles into practice, but there were barely 30 minutes between lectures, not much time to wander the gardens where the expo was hosted. And there were so many other things to do! I left a trail of drool through the vendor exhibits - macro lenses! sharpening software! exotic tours led by professional photographers! I spent an hour analyzing the members' exhibit, trying to figure out what made each photo work. Although I was tempted to buy several stunning shots, I was equally motivated to try to recreate them.

It was a packed day, but I still wanted more! Surfing the web after I came home, I found something called Project 365. The idea is to take and post one photo per day for a year. Members of the group on Flickr provide each other with positive feedback, encouragement, and ideas for the next day's subject.

I don't have the discipline to do this for an entire year, but I'd like to try it for a bit to see how the blog and photos will inspire one another. If nothing else, I'll have a brief record of my daily life for a week or so. (Perhaps you should prepare yourself now for a lot of office shots.) Today's first shot is a patch of snowdrops from the grounds of the gardens that hosted the photo expo. The second photo is from my yard, the first crocuses poking up to say hello to the recent warm weather.