7.31.2010
7.29.2010
Taking Shots
This summer, I have had a silly little personal goal. Until now, I haven't talked much about it but there is a reason I have been on the court so much. I have always wanted to have decent basketball skills and so what began as a personal dedication has become a fun hobby. Its hard to say if I've improved - I hope I have - but the manner in which I've progressed is something I want to mention.
I've had all summer to look up guides, consult friends, talk to coaches, even seek out a trainer. However, I've done none of these things. I like to compare it to those jazz musicians who are completely self taught. Sure there's a proper way to play the fiddle, but what do they care? I haven't played organized basketball since I was 11 years old and any ball I've played in the interim has shown the complete deterioration of any skills I may have once had. That last part is generous. I remember my crowning moment in my basketball career was when I made a three pointer in a game. It was extra special because I didn't know which line to shoot from so I took it from three feet further back than was necessary. I also shot it like you would throw a soccer ball: both hands, overhead. Just goes to show how completely my soccer upbringing affected any sport I played. For God's sake, I've been playing basketball in Sambas all summer. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
Today was special. I had a breakthrough. What I could have learned from a five-minute YouTube tutorial finally clicked after two months of daily gym sessions. After observing some young guys playing ball at the opposite end of the court, I noticed they were landing on the other side of the three point line when they took their shots. Until today, I had been jumping straight up and down, landing in the same spot that I'd started. I tried their method. It worked. Next thing I knew, I was going head to head with Jordankobekareemshaqlebron. I hope this is the breakthrough I've been looking for. Until now, I've had a few false alarms. I've stumbled upon things that've helped but nothing that helped me go 16/30 like this did. Maybe my hands were just hot.
I've had all summer to look up guides, consult friends, talk to coaches, even seek out a trainer. However, I've done none of these things. I like to compare it to those jazz musicians who are completely self taught. Sure there's a proper way to play the fiddle, but what do they care? I haven't played organized basketball since I was 11 years old and any ball I've played in the interim has shown the complete deterioration of any skills I may have once had. That last part is generous. I remember my crowning moment in my basketball career was when I made a three pointer in a game. It was extra special because I didn't know which line to shoot from so I took it from three feet further back than was necessary. I also shot it like you would throw a soccer ball: both hands, overhead. Just goes to show how completely my soccer upbringing affected any sport I played. For God's sake, I've been playing basketball in Sambas all summer. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
Today was special. I had a breakthrough. What I could have learned from a five-minute YouTube tutorial finally clicked after two months of daily gym sessions. After observing some young guys playing ball at the opposite end of the court, I noticed they were landing on the other side of the three point line when they took their shots. Until today, I had been jumping straight up and down, landing in the same spot that I'd started. I tried their method. It worked. Next thing I knew, I was going head to head with Jordankobekareemshaqlebron. I hope this is the breakthrough I've been looking for. Until now, I've had a few false alarms. I've stumbled upon things that've helped but nothing that helped me go 16/30 like this did. Maybe my hands were just hot.
Weekend Preview
This weekend, the plan is to go downtown. We will be staying Friday and Saturday nights in the Holiday Inn. We'll be going on a Katrina Tour on Saturday and the Natchez Riverboat cruise on Sunday. On Sunday, I'll also be going to mass at the cathedral downtown (like last weekend) and looking for my beloved and missing Mariner's hat. I'll Let you know how it turns out.
Hot Hands, Cold Hands
My occasional report on the happenings within the NAS JRB Fitness Center Gymnasium continue below.
Outing Number One happened a few days ago. I was shooting hoops by myself when I was asked by two others if I wanted to join a game of 21. This is more or less the game I described in a much earlier post (props if you know which one I'm referring to!). The three of us lasted through a few rounds with my score never rising above 10. Before long, the game swelled to eight people. At this point, my hopes of rebounding had been dashed and shooting was simply out of the question. As I've said before, my shot quality seems to decline exponentially based on the number of eyes that are watching. I'm like the Invisible Boy in Mystery Men. You know, the one who is only Invisible when nobody is looking? That's my shot. It only goes in when I'm the only one around.
Because of this, I became more of an observer than a participant. Fortunately for me, I was in for a treat. Our eighth player was a man I've seen at the gym many times before. I saw man, and not guy, dude, bro, broham, cat, or any other synonym, because that's exactly what he was. The mustache on his face caused Burt Reynold's whiskers to take an early retirement. He was so tall, I rejected the possibility that it was a coincidence that a guy wearing an air traffic controller's shirt followed him into the gym. A mere glance at this behemoth brought me to an understanding of why wishful rappers say that they "command respect". This was all before he even touched the basketball. When he did, I felt like I was at a Harlem Globetrotters practice. Shot after shot fell straight through the net and withing five minutes of his entrance to our humble little game, he was one point shy of winning. On his way to this absurd hijacking, he put on a display like none I'd ever seen. At one point, the guy loitering around the hoop with me, waiting for loose rebounds tapped me on the arm and said "Look". I looked. Michael Jordankobekareemshaqlebron was dribbling nonchalantly in the far corner of the three point line. Three guys surrounded him on defense. My neighbor lazily added, "He's gonna shake all three of 'em". Almost unsurprisingly, he did. All it took was a quick head fake, a stutter step and the fastest pull-up I've seen all summer (not to mention a dash of accuracy mixed with some well-aged muscle memory) and the ball floated beautifully down through the net. And into my outstretched hands.
Not long after, an ambitious soul decided to take on our resident professional one on one. I'm sure his reasoning held that because he was half the age and maybe twice as fast as his opponent, he stood a chance. What ensued was an impressive duel that lasted much longer than any of us expected. The adversaries danced around the three point arc, battling back and forth. Tricky dribbling and fancy footwork finally brought them to the same corner where the three other unfortunate souls had met their demise. Their battle crescendoed and Michael Jordankobekareemshaqlebron found his opportunity. Taking a step back from the line, he pulled a fast spin move that put him another two feet back from where he started and one foot closer to the baseline. An easier visualization would be to say that he was standing in the very corner of the court with absolutely no angle of a shot. Reaching deep into the recesses of whatever black magic juju that fueled him, he let loose a high-arcing shot just as his defender reached up in vain to stop him. The ball fell perfectly through the net. The gym erupted. Every last person in the place was hollering and hooting, myself included. I can honestly say that I have never seen a person make a basket from that place on the court and he had done it. Appropriately, his opponent instituted a self-imposed time out and watched in disbelief as the next round of the game began.
Epilogue: I had the honor of competing mano-a-mano with Jordankobekareemshaqlebron today. In order to tip the scales in my favor, I kept our competition a secret. I did this by counting the number of three pointers that he made while tracking my own progress as well. This was possible because by some lucky accident, he decided to share the basket I was shooting on. Surprisingly, his shot seemed a little bit off but I'm sure it wouldn't have been had he known I was keeping track of his misses. y first game consisted of a "First to 10" match. I found myself leading 7 to 9 (granted, I was shooting many more shots than he) but, unsurprisingly, I went cold and he won.
Outing Number One happened a few days ago. I was shooting hoops by myself when I was asked by two others if I wanted to join a game of 21. This is more or less the game I described in a much earlier post (props if you know which one I'm referring to!). The three of us lasted through a few rounds with my score never rising above 10. Before long, the game swelled to eight people. At this point, my hopes of rebounding had been dashed and shooting was simply out of the question. As I've said before, my shot quality seems to decline exponentially based on the number of eyes that are watching. I'm like the Invisible Boy in Mystery Men. You know, the one who is only Invisible when nobody is looking? That's my shot. It only goes in when I'm the only one around.
Because of this, I became more of an observer than a participant. Fortunately for me, I was in for a treat. Our eighth player was a man I've seen at the gym many times before. I saw man, and not guy, dude, bro, broham, cat, or any other synonym, because that's exactly what he was. The mustache on his face caused Burt Reynold's whiskers to take an early retirement. He was so tall, I rejected the possibility that it was a coincidence that a guy wearing an air traffic controller's shirt followed him into the gym. A mere glance at this behemoth brought me to an understanding of why wishful rappers say that they "command respect". This was all before he even touched the basketball. When he did, I felt like I was at a Harlem Globetrotters practice. Shot after shot fell straight through the net and withing five minutes of his entrance to our humble little game, he was one point shy of winning. On his way to this absurd hijacking, he put on a display like none I'd ever seen. At one point, the guy loitering around the hoop with me, waiting for loose rebounds tapped me on the arm and said "Look". I looked. Michael Jordankobekareemshaqlebron was dribbling nonchalantly in the far corner of the three point line. Three guys surrounded him on defense. My neighbor lazily added, "He's gonna shake all three of 'em". Almost unsurprisingly, he did. All it took was a quick head fake, a stutter step and the fastest pull-up I've seen all summer (not to mention a dash of accuracy mixed with some well-aged muscle memory) and the ball floated beautifully down through the net. And into my outstretched hands.
Not long after, an ambitious soul decided to take on our resident professional one on one. I'm sure his reasoning held that because he was half the age and maybe twice as fast as his opponent, he stood a chance. What ensued was an impressive duel that lasted much longer than any of us expected. The adversaries danced around the three point arc, battling back and forth. Tricky dribbling and fancy footwork finally brought them to the same corner where the three other unfortunate souls had met their demise. Their battle crescendoed and Michael Jordankobekareemshaqlebron found his opportunity. Taking a step back from the line, he pulled a fast spin move that put him another two feet back from where he started and one foot closer to the baseline. An easier visualization would be to say that he was standing in the very corner of the court with absolutely no angle of a shot. Reaching deep into the recesses of whatever black magic juju that fueled him, he let loose a high-arcing shot just as his defender reached up in vain to stop him. The ball fell perfectly through the net. The gym erupted. Every last person in the place was hollering and hooting, myself included. I can honestly say that I have never seen a person make a basket from that place on the court and he had done it. Appropriately, his opponent instituted a self-imposed time out and watched in disbelief as the next round of the game began.
Epilogue: I had the honor of competing mano-a-mano with Jordankobekareemshaqlebron today. In order to tip the scales in my favor, I kept our competition a secret. I did this by counting the number of three pointers that he made while tracking my own progress as well. This was possible because by some lucky accident, he decided to share the basket I was shooting on. Surprisingly, his shot seemed a little bit off but I'm sure it wouldn't have been had he known I was keeping track of his misses. y first game consisted of a "First to 10" match. I found myself leading 7 to 9 (granted, I was shooting many more shots than he) but, unsurprisingly, I went cold and he won.
IMAX
Our second most recent field trip was to the Audubon Aquarium of the America's IMAX theatre where we saw Deep Sea narrated by Johnny Depp (or was it Depp Sea narrated by Johnny Deep?). Either way, we ran into our fair share of obstacles. This is typical. In Camp A training, we are told time and again that the most important quality a good counselor can have is to be flexible. That way, when you miss the intended showtime of your field trip's IMAX movie, you can keep the campers entertained by putting your leg behind your head. While we waited for the 11 o'clock show, we sat in the atrium of the building and played games, sang songs and milled about. I took pictures for the Dessertfest slideshow and took photo requests from the campers - Mr. Rocky Road! Take a picture of me! Take a picture of the alligator skeleton!
The movie itself was a trip. It was in 3D so all of us were decked out in our stylish (and circa 1950) special-effect glasses. Our group of 40 took up and entire row of the theater. When the film started, I was reminded why the 3D movie craze hasn't faded away like everyone thought it would. Every image on the screen was (cliche warning) jumping out at the audience. A quick glance down our row confirmed this as 80 small hands reached for the screen to pet or snatch the illusions in front of them.
Lunch was had out at the typical place. Three times now, we have eaten at this park that sits behind the aquarium on the banks of the Mississippi. It is fairly ideal except for the birds. From their behavior, it is clear that we are not the first group of ignorant souls to happily stumble upon this "perfect little picnic spot". I imagine tales of bountiful scrap-feeding have been passed down from generation to generation of seagulls and other opportunistic river birds. Fearlessly, they have dive-bombed us on each of our three field-trip lunch breaks at the park. Why do we keep coming back, you ask? The answer is simple. We have Jack. Jack is six years old. He is also a scarecrow. And a Jedi. And a robot. And a train engineer. Pretty typical stuff for a six year old but Jack is unique because he takes the role to heart and carries out each minute detail of his chosen role. Today, for example, we had four separate lightsaber battles. I digress. On this particular day, Jack stood proudly (and loudly) in defense of our precious lunch break. These birds didn't stand a chance against his pasty outstretched arms and his Cheeto grease covered face. His bravery made our lunch possible, and for that, we salute him.
The movie itself was a trip. It was in 3D so all of us were decked out in our stylish (and circa 1950) special-effect glasses. Our group of 40 took up and entire row of the theater. When the film started, I was reminded why the 3D movie craze hasn't faded away like everyone thought it would. Every image on the screen was (cliche warning) jumping out at the audience. A quick glance down our row confirmed this as 80 small hands reached for the screen to pet or snatch the illusions in front of them.
Lunch was had out at the typical place. Three times now, we have eaten at this park that sits behind the aquarium on the banks of the Mississippi. It is fairly ideal except for the birds. From their behavior, it is clear that we are not the first group of ignorant souls to happily stumble upon this "perfect little picnic spot". I imagine tales of bountiful scrap-feeding have been passed down from generation to generation of seagulls and other opportunistic river birds. Fearlessly, they have dive-bombed us on each of our three field-trip lunch breaks at the park. Why do we keep coming back, you ask? The answer is simple. We have Jack. Jack is six years old. He is also a scarecrow. And a Jedi. And a robot. And a train engineer. Pretty typical stuff for a six year old but Jack is unique because he takes the role to heart and carries out each minute detail of his chosen role. Today, for example, we had four separate lightsaber battles. I digress. On this particular day, Jack stood proudly (and loudly) in defense of our precious lunch break. These birds didn't stand a chance against his pasty outstretched arms and his Cheeto grease covered face. His bravery made our lunch possible, and for that, we salute him.
Swamp Tour
Yesterday, we went on the much anticipated swamp tour. In a last minute change of plans, the entire camp went instead of splitting up by age groups between Wednesday and Thursday. As usual, I'm not sure the duration of the ride because I was asleep. However, I was awake to see the camper next to me slide off the side of her seat and halfway into the aisle before awaking in a start. If you've seen Inception, you know why this made me think about that movie.
The tour itself was pretty interesting. Our tour guide was extremely immemorial and bland. He seemed tired, bored and the sign informing us that tips were welcome seemed more ironic than sincere. We did, however, see lots of wildlife. I took pictures (as I always do on field trips) but not many came out properly as I took the day to experiment with manual focus. Surprisingly, the alligators we saw were less interesting than the graveyard grasshoppers. These monsters were four inches long, jet black and looked like they meant business. Four inches may not sound like a lot but go look one up on Google. If you're too lazy, look at your palm. If you held one, it would overlap no matter how you positioned it.
Back on shore, we headed straight for the shaded lunch area. Before we could eat, a table of kids began screaming like the Dickens and running around wildly. One of the grasshoppers was lurking on the underside of their table. Their reaction is unsurprising. I would freak out too if a bug the size of my face decided to eat lunch with me. Lunch - and the rest of the day for that matter - was relatively uneventful. I slept on the ride back. The camper next to me nearly fell out of her seat again.
The tour itself was pretty interesting. Our tour guide was extremely immemorial and bland. He seemed tired, bored and the sign informing us that tips were welcome seemed more ironic than sincere. We did, however, see lots of wildlife. I took pictures (as I always do on field trips) but not many came out properly as I took the day to experiment with manual focus. Surprisingly, the alligators we saw were less interesting than the graveyard grasshoppers. These monsters were four inches long, jet black and looked like they meant business. Four inches may not sound like a lot but go look one up on Google. If you're too lazy, look at your palm. If you held one, it would overlap no matter how you positioned it.
Back on shore, we headed straight for the shaded lunch area. Before we could eat, a table of kids began screaming like the Dickens and running around wildly. One of the grasshoppers was lurking on the underside of their table. Their reaction is unsurprising. I would freak out too if a bug the size of my face decided to eat lunch with me. Lunch - and the rest of the day for that matter - was relatively uneventful. I slept on the ride back. The camper next to me nearly fell out of her seat again.
7.28.2010
Here is the link to my album of photos I've taken since I've been here. It is viewable to everyone regardless if you're signed up for Facebook.
That being said, if you follow the profile badge on the right side of the page, you'll be taken to my profile. The blog is sufficient to stay updated on life in New Orleans but my Facebook is more often used and more versatile. Check it out if you want.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2052214&id=1580130069&l=f90dcf760b
That being said, if you follow the profile badge on the right side of the page, you'll be taken to my profile. The blog is sufficient to stay updated on life in New Orleans but my Facebook is more often used and more versatile. Check it out if you want.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2052214&id=1580130069&l=f90dcf760b
7.25.2010
PLANTATIONS
Today, we took a weekend field trip. After seven weeks of life in the South, we finally got the history lesson I had been waiting for. We woke up early and drove about an hour northwest of the city to visit a plantation. Mindy drove us and she and I packed our cameras, ready to get some shots of the grounds, buildings or whatever presented itself.
The plantation we visited was a restored property dating back to the 1830’s. The history of the house and the families was interesting but for your sake, I won’t repeat it here. One feature was one of five of the world’s original swivel chairs. From that description, it sounds pretty lame but the magic of presentation had everyone in the tour group flitting about in a tizzy like they were looking at the Mona Lisa.
We chose this particular plantation for its preservation of the original slave quarters and schoolhouse. Small buildings in poor condition (in keeping with historical accuracy) they were in stark contrast to the opulent plantation home. Inside was a register with the names, lineage, and price of all the slaves who worked on the plantation. One of my fellow counselors pointed out the fact that all the information available on the individual was included. Name, lineage, and price? Is that how you describe a person?
DESSERTFEST
To begin, I should address the two most common questions about Dessertfest:
1) What is Dessertfest? The short answer is Dessertfest is a performance put on by people involved with Camp A for parents of people involved with Camp A.
2) Why is it called Dessertfest? It’s called this because it’s a potluck style event where each parent invited is asked to bring a dessert with them to share after the performance.
Camp A counselors take part in two types of Dessertfests. The first comes after the completion of the training sessions before counselors are sent to their placement sites. Parents of the counselors are invited to see what exactly their kids will be doing during the summer. They are subjected to “blitz” (our high-energy morning songs), skits, and closing songs (think Kum-bay-ya). While on site, the counselors who formerly participated in Dessertfest host the event. This time, the campers are the ones performing the songs and skits and the counselors are the ones in the back of the room biting their nails hoping nothing goes awry.
There is only one of these Dessertfests every summer so we do our damndest to make sure it goes right. Tears are shed (as is blood – safety scissors are an inaccurate name) as we counselors add the daunting task of making twice the regular number of decorations for the week to our already hectic workload. The stress permeates the office while campers miraculously remain oblivious to the mounting tension. Our theme was Alice in Wonderland. We painted three full color, bedsheet size murals and crafted countless knick-knacks to display around the room. Our director sacrificed Friday’s pooltime to put the finishing touches on the room before the parents began to arrive and when they did, everyone in the room was ready to pop from the anticipation.
The important thing about Dessertfest is no matter how much preparation you do, Murphy’s Law still holds. The speakers will cut out unexpectedly, campers will say “nay-da-mur-ator” instead “enlarging machine” (this actually happened. I won’t try to explain the mind of a 7 year old) and people will talk when they’re not supposed to. That being said, Dessertfest is also the time where the elusive “magic” that gets mentioned so often in our training happens. I had picked two campers to present closing songs for the end of the event.
One camper I selected, whose mother passed away less than a month ago, stepped forward into the circle we had formed around the camper’s parents. “Hello, my name is Brittany”. Camp A’s response, as always, “Hi, Brittany, welcome to Camp Adventure!” Her response came haltingly but genuinely, “I’d like to dedicate ‘God Bless the USA’ to my dad”. A collective “awww…” came up from the group but it was easy to sense the heaviness in the air as everyone was reminded of the real reason Camp Adventure exists.
The song ended and before anyone could dry their eyes, my next camper stepped forward.
“Hi, my name is Jamie”
“Hi, Jamie, welcome to Camp Adventure!”
“I’d like to dedicate ‘My Wish’ because my wish is the my mommy will come back from Iraq”
Those who could hear her soft voice were shaken. Her father got up from his seat and held his little girl in his arms as she cried. For the counselors, it was hard to watch one of our most resilient, respectful, and stoic campers break down and it was all anyone could do to follow the lyrics.
Today, we took a weekend field trip. After seven weeks of life in the South, we finally got the history lesson I had been waiting for. We woke up early and drove about an hour northwest of the city to visit a plantation. Mindy drove us and she and I packed our cameras, ready to get some shots of the grounds, buildings or whatever presented itself.
The plantation we visited was a restored property dating back to the 1830’s. The history of the house and the families was interesting but for your sake, I won’t repeat it here. One feature was one of five of the world’s original swivel chairs. From that description, it sounds pretty lame but the magic of presentation had everyone in the tour group flitting about in a tizzy like they were looking at the Mona Lisa.
We chose this particular plantation for its preservation of the original slave quarters and schoolhouse. Small buildings in poor condition (in keeping with historical accuracy) they were in stark contrast to the opulent plantation home. Inside was a register with the names, lineage, and price of all the slaves who worked on the plantation. One of my fellow counselors pointed out the fact that all the information available on the individual was included. Name, lineage, and price? Is that how you describe a person?
DESSERTFEST
To begin, I should address the two most common questions about Dessertfest:
1) What is Dessertfest? The short answer is Dessertfest is a performance put on by people involved with Camp A for parents of people involved with Camp A.
2) Why is it called Dessertfest? It’s called this because it’s a potluck style event where each parent invited is asked to bring a dessert with them to share after the performance.
Camp A counselors take part in two types of Dessertfests. The first comes after the completion of the training sessions before counselors are sent to their placement sites. Parents of the counselors are invited to see what exactly their kids will be doing during the summer. They are subjected to “blitz” (our high-energy morning songs), skits, and closing songs (think Kum-bay-ya). While on site, the counselors who formerly participated in Dessertfest host the event. This time, the campers are the ones performing the songs and skits and the counselors are the ones in the back of the room biting their nails hoping nothing goes awry.
There is only one of these Dessertfests every summer so we do our damndest to make sure it goes right. Tears are shed (as is blood – safety scissors are an inaccurate name) as we counselors add the daunting task of making twice the regular number of decorations for the week to our already hectic workload. The stress permeates the office while campers miraculously remain oblivious to the mounting tension. Our theme was Alice in Wonderland. We painted three full color, bedsheet size murals and crafted countless knick-knacks to display around the room. Our director sacrificed Friday’s pooltime to put the finishing touches on the room before the parents began to arrive and when they did, everyone in the room was ready to pop from the anticipation.
The important thing about Dessertfest is no matter how much preparation you do, Murphy’s Law still holds. The speakers will cut out unexpectedly, campers will say “nay-da-mur-ator” instead “enlarging machine” (this actually happened. I won’t try to explain the mind of a 7 year old) and people will talk when they’re not supposed to. That being said, Dessertfest is also the time where the elusive “magic” that gets mentioned so often in our training happens. I had picked two campers to present closing songs for the end of the event.
One camper I selected, whose mother passed away less than a month ago, stepped forward into the circle we had formed around the camper’s parents. “Hello, my name is Brittany”. Camp A’s response, as always, “Hi, Brittany, welcome to Camp Adventure!” Her response came haltingly but genuinely, “I’d like to dedicate ‘God Bless the USA’ to my dad”. A collective “awww…” came up from the group but it was easy to sense the heaviness in the air as everyone was reminded of the real reason Camp Adventure exists.
The song ended and before anyone could dry their eyes, my next camper stepped forward.
“Hi, my name is Jamie”
“Hi, Jamie, welcome to Camp Adventure!”
“I’d like to dedicate ‘My Wish’ because my wish is the my mommy will come back from Iraq”
Those who could hear her soft voice were shaken. Her father got up from his seat and held his little girl in his arms as she cried. For the counselors, it was hard to watch one of our most resilient, respectful, and stoic campers break down and it was all anyone could do to follow the lyrics.
7.22.2010
The Vindow Viper
| Went to see Inception. Parked next to this bad boy which is a good strategy. If a burglar is on the prowl, is he gonna choose a midsize hatchback with sports equipment in the backseat or a Viper with all manner of expensive trinkets in the glovebox? |
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Hypnosis
| This is from a hypnosis show I saw on base a while back but I'm just now posting it. Pretty poor quality but a good story: this woman was hypnotized and told that after she woke up, she would pose for anyone who wanted a picture. If they took too long or the picture was bad, she was told to either yell at them or say "take it again... My eyes were closed". I got the latter response on this picture. The post-hypnosis trance lasted about 2 minutes, time enough for me to snap this. |
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7.17.2010
7.15.2010
The difference between what I should write and what I have time to write has reached a critical status. I don't like letting this happen but it sometimes done and then all my entries result in an intro consisting of apologies for late posts. That's poor form.
My last full post was eight days ago. Since then, I've had a weekend and a mildly eventful week. The weekend consisted of a laid back Friday. Surrogate Mother and her family left for vacation leaving the Camp Adventure team to house and pet-sit. Bird-Bird, Cat-Cat, and Drew Bledsoe (yellow lab) were all very well behaved until Cat-Cat decided to express his frustrations with being cooped up inside by pooping on the kitchen floor. Other than that, having use of the house was nice. We made dinner in a proper kitchen and watched a movie on a nice big TV. Like I said, laid back. Good bonding time with the two new counselors after their first full week.
WEEKEND
Saturday, was laid back as laid back can be. I slept in then went to Hooters to watch the Germany-Uruguay third place match. Back at base, I hung around the house and waited for dinnertime. Watched another movie with the crew and then went to bed.
On Sunday, we woke early and everyone prepared for church. Typical weekend except for the fact that I somehow got the mass time confused so we had to wait an hour and a half for the next service to start. No problem though. Afterwards, the three others who had gone to the chapel on base were at the house making breakfast in the kitchen. French toast was on the menu and I helped out. Everyone enjoyed it, we cleaned and left for downtown.
Driving was an experience. As we reached the edge of the Westbank, our driver realized our severe lack of gasoline. We pulled over to a service station, I got out to pumped and instantly screwed up my face like I had just put my nose to the kitchen floor after Cat-Cat had been through. Something was wrong with our car. The unkept roads of New Orleans are famous for their waist-deep potholes and so we chalked the smell up to the water on the roadway splashing onto the bottom of the car. Hitting the road, our driver then noticed a difference in braking. Her noticing a difference consisted of a gentle tap on the brakes, not getting a response, pushing harder, still not getting a response and finally slamming the brakes down, sending my skull into the dashboard. Pulling my head out of the glove compartment, I cheerily held the line about the car's underworkings being wet and agreeing "oh, that must have been the wet brakepads, that's all". Across the bridge we trundled and after a few more nervewracking minutes, I offered to drive on the way back. Seeing we didn't have far to go, I kicked my reassurance-cheerleading into high gear. "We're almost there!", "Hey, I don't think I can smell it anymore!", "At least we haven't died yet!". Then we realized the parking brake was on.
We parked and went to the Tropical Isle to watch the World Cup final. The two new counselors went to explore the French Quarter. Arriving at the bar, I had to sweet talk my way inside: "But I'm military", I said. When that didn't work, "I'm not drinking, I'm only watching the game". Still nothing. I swallowed and looked the mid-day bouncer (this breed is about half the size of the more irritable and intimidating evening bouncer) right in the eye "Look," I said, "I was here last week and there wasn't a problem". He let me in. I was pretty happy about that.
We watched the game. I could gladly recount all the drama of the match but the quote at the end of the game summed it up nicely: "Red over Orange in a final full of yellow for some very black and blue play".
We were joined by our fellow counselors who had braved the torrential rains to meet up with us. We all went to the Hard Rock Cafe (my first experience there) for dinner and then to a few stores for browsing. Once finished, we drove back to base, decorated for the coming week and turned in for the night.
WEEK
This week has gone fast so far. Monday, I went bowling with my group. Favorite quote
New Camper: "Are you my first grade soccer coach?"
Me: "No...why?"
NC: "Because you're handsome like him"
Finally, a camper who won't tell me that I'm fat or that I have a belly. I made coffee on the alley's machine and offered some to Miss Mint. A camper overheard me and, combining the Christmas in July decorations with my offer, reached the conclusion that I am Santa Claus and Miss Mint is my wife, Mrs. Claus.
Tuesday was rough. The day started out fine when we went to the Liberty Center to watch "Night at the Museum 2" but in the afternoon it started to fall apart. My group was supposed to go swimming but due to "high levels of chemicals", the pool was closed. Next thing I knew, I had 20 hyperactive 7 and 8 year olds running around inside with nothing to do. We decided to let them spend some energy outside on the playground. The phrase "Black Flag day" was thrown around (means its too hot to go outside) but we were in a crisis. Some kids burned off their energy. Others just burned. By the time the day was over, everyone was chugging water and laying helplessly on the floor. Our plan had worked.
My last full post was eight days ago. Since then, I've had a weekend and a mildly eventful week. The weekend consisted of a laid back Friday. Surrogate Mother and her family left for vacation leaving the Camp Adventure team to house and pet-sit. Bird-Bird, Cat-Cat, and Drew Bledsoe (yellow lab) were all very well behaved until Cat-Cat decided to express his frustrations with being cooped up inside by pooping on the kitchen floor. Other than that, having use of the house was nice. We made dinner in a proper kitchen and watched a movie on a nice big TV. Like I said, laid back. Good bonding time with the two new counselors after their first full week.
WEEKEND
Saturday, was laid back as laid back can be. I slept in then went to Hooters to watch the Germany-Uruguay third place match. Back at base, I hung around the house and waited for dinnertime. Watched another movie with the crew and then went to bed.
On Sunday, we woke early and everyone prepared for church. Typical weekend except for the fact that I somehow got the mass time confused so we had to wait an hour and a half for the next service to start. No problem though. Afterwards, the three others who had gone to the chapel on base were at the house making breakfast in the kitchen. French toast was on the menu and I helped out. Everyone enjoyed it, we cleaned and left for downtown.
Driving was an experience. As we reached the edge of the Westbank, our driver realized our severe lack of gasoline. We pulled over to a service station, I got out to pumped and instantly screwed up my face like I had just put my nose to the kitchen floor after Cat-Cat had been through. Something was wrong with our car. The unkept roads of New Orleans are famous for their waist-deep potholes and so we chalked the smell up to the water on the roadway splashing onto the bottom of the car. Hitting the road, our driver then noticed a difference in braking. Her noticing a difference consisted of a gentle tap on the brakes, not getting a response, pushing harder, still not getting a response and finally slamming the brakes down, sending my skull into the dashboard. Pulling my head out of the glove compartment, I cheerily held the line about the car's underworkings being wet and agreeing "oh, that must have been the wet brakepads, that's all". Across the bridge we trundled and after a few more nervewracking minutes, I offered to drive on the way back. Seeing we didn't have far to go, I kicked my reassurance-cheerleading into high gear. "We're almost there!", "Hey, I don't think I can smell it anymore!", "At least we haven't died yet!". Then we realized the parking brake was on.
We parked and went to the Tropical Isle to watch the World Cup final. The two new counselors went to explore the French Quarter. Arriving at the bar, I had to sweet talk my way inside: "But I'm military", I said. When that didn't work, "I'm not drinking, I'm only watching the game". Still nothing. I swallowed and looked the mid-day bouncer (this breed is about half the size of the more irritable and intimidating evening bouncer) right in the eye "Look," I said, "I was here last week and there wasn't a problem". He let me in. I was pretty happy about that.
We watched the game. I could gladly recount all the drama of the match but the quote at the end of the game summed it up nicely: "Red over Orange in a final full of yellow for some very black and blue play".
We were joined by our fellow counselors who had braved the torrential rains to meet up with us. We all went to the Hard Rock Cafe (my first experience there) for dinner and then to a few stores for browsing. Once finished, we drove back to base, decorated for the coming week and turned in for the night.
WEEK
This week has gone fast so far. Monday, I went bowling with my group. Favorite quote
New Camper: "Are you my first grade soccer coach?"
Me: "No...why?"
NC: "Because you're handsome like him"
Finally, a camper who won't tell me that I'm fat or that I have a belly. I made coffee on the alley's machine and offered some to Miss Mint. A camper overheard me and, combining the Christmas in July decorations with my offer, reached the conclusion that I am Santa Claus and Miss Mint is my wife, Mrs. Claus.
Tuesday was rough. The day started out fine when we went to the Liberty Center to watch "Night at the Museum 2" but in the afternoon it started to fall apart. My group was supposed to go swimming but due to "high levels of chemicals", the pool was closed. Next thing I knew, I had 20 hyperactive 7 and 8 year olds running around inside with nothing to do. We decided to let them spend some energy outside on the playground. The phrase "Black Flag day" was thrown around (means its too hot to go outside) but we were in a crisis. Some kids burned off their energy. Others just burned. By the time the day was over, everyone was chugging water and laying helplessly on the floor. Our plan had worked.
7.14.2010
Jersey Chasin'
When telling stories, some of the most fun to share are the ones involving celebrity encounters. This is one of those.
Going on now is, the U-20 Women's World Cup. For the non-soccer fans reading this, I should explain that the tournament is exactly like the World Cup that just concluded in South Africa with a few key differences namely 1) it is held in Germany and 2) the players are all women, ages 20 and below. It is just as competitive as the more well known cup and every bit as inspiring. It is not some rag-tag event, thrown together every few years but is the preeminent showcase of young women's soccer talent the world over. It is a tournament that is prepared for by the players, coaches, organizers and everyone in between.
Having established that, I can proudly say that I know one of the players. Natalie Garcia, a friend of mine from school and a member of USD's women's soccer team is currently in Germany playing for Mexico. To think that towards the end of the year, I was kicking the ball around with someone who would take the pitch a few months later as one of the best young female soccer players in the world makes my head spin. I can say from experience that "Garce" (not Grace... Garce) has a burner of a shot. I should know. I had the misfortune of trying to stop one of them.
This isn't Sports Illustrated or ESPN Magazine so I won't go into an expose on Garce's introduction to the game or her most memorable sporting moment or her most influential coach or her shoe size or her favorite slushee flavor but sharing my pride should be enough. For once, I think I'll root for Mexico.
PHOTOS (sorry about the lack of links... Blogger isn't very link friendly. Copy and paste into your nav bar and ya should be good to go)
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102894908/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102884528/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102895644/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102895633/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102884617/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102884641/FIFA
VIDEO
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ol348RNHahc&feature=player_embedded
Going on now is, the U-20 Women's World Cup. For the non-soccer fans reading this, I should explain that the tournament is exactly like the World Cup that just concluded in South Africa with a few key differences namely 1) it is held in Germany and 2) the players are all women, ages 20 and below. It is just as competitive as the more well known cup and every bit as inspiring. It is not some rag-tag event, thrown together every few years but is the preeminent showcase of young women's soccer talent the world over. It is a tournament that is prepared for by the players, coaches, organizers and everyone in between.
Having established that, I can proudly say that I know one of the players. Natalie Garcia, a friend of mine from school and a member of USD's women's soccer team is currently in Germany playing for Mexico. To think that towards the end of the year, I was kicking the ball around with someone who would take the pitch a few months later as one of the best young female soccer players in the world makes my head spin. I can say from experience that "Garce" (not Grace... Garce) has a burner of a shot. I should know. I had the misfortune of trying to stop one of them.
This isn't Sports Illustrated or ESPN Magazine so I won't go into an expose on Garce's introduction to the game or her most memorable sporting moment or her most influential coach or her shoe size or her favorite slushee flavor but sharing my pride should be enough. For once, I think I'll root for Mexico.
PHOTOS (sorry about the lack of links... Blogger isn't very link friendly. Copy and paste into your nav bar and ya should be good to go)
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102894908/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102884528/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102895644/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102895633/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102884617/FIFA
http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/102884641/FIFA
VIDEO
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ol348RNHahc&feature=player_embedded
7.12.2010
7.07.2010
Mrs. Hippy
Sorry for the late update. Yesterday turned out to be crazy what with new counselors showing up and all so I didn't get a chance to write.
INDEPENDENCE DAY
This past weekend, we traveled to Mississippi for Independence Day. As usual, I slept in the car and when I woke, we were in Gulfport. Our hotel was about five miles from the beach which is the first place we stopped. The beach wasn't the cleanest I'd seen but it also wasn't the most crowded. We set up camp and lay out in the sun for a long while, reading, sleeping and getting burnt. When I woke, I was covered with sand (the wind had picked up) and so I went to the water to wash off. I thought to myself as I waded in that this was the first time I had set foot in the Gulf Coast since I had been to Florida as a little kid. That was at least ten years ago... probably longer. Sadly, the murky brown of the Mississippi coast wasn't comparable to the perfect blue of Florida's, but then again, there wasn't an oil spill on when I was younger. I saw a fair share of tar balls washed up on shore. If I have understood correctly, the hole spouting all that oil is only a few inches wide. Amazing that all the tar I saw up and down the beach came from there.
We packed up and checked into the hotel. Sapped of our energy by the sun, we stretched out on the beds and watched a movie on HBO. When it was done, we snapped back to reality and realized we had better eat before it got too late. We went to Sonic - my first time there - and I was pleasantly surprised. I had a BLT and a Coke with coconut flavoring. Not bad at all. Next, we staked out some real estate on the beach boardwalk near where we had been earlier in the day. I set up my tripod and began shooting. The shooting I was doing was nothing compared to the shooting everyone around me was doing. The south seems to either lack or disregard laws concerning fireworks. This is a change for me. In the Northwest, purchasing good fireworks is a hassle to do and setting them off must be done in private. In my experience, if a cop sees you launching things into the air, your humble July 4th operation will get shut down faster than you can say "missing fingers". Here though, anything goes. People shoot them off in public like its nothing. Cops stroll by as revelers blast all manner of high explosives into low-earth orbit. The ear-shattering airborne matériel seems safe compared to the handheld stuff. Pop its are thrown at people's faces, sparklers are jabbed like fencing rapiers and Black Cats are retained till the last second so that when thrown, they'll explode at eye level. No lie, I saw a guy get shot in the back with a Roman Candle and nobody batted an eye.
It was into this mess that I waded. I felt like I was living some strange version of D-Day in an alternate reality. I was heading towards the beach to from it, at night instead of day and I was armed with a camera not an M1 Garand. The beach was entirely filled with people going crazy with their arsenals and by some small miracle, I found an open area in which to set up my tripod. For what seemed like the next hour, I shoot (as best I could) the world-class fireworks show taking place at the end of the pier. When finished, I returned to my camp and the crew of us headed back to the hotel for the rest of the night.
The next day, we went to the outlet mall after checking out of our hotel. Not much to say other than Hurricane Alex continues to bring unrelenting rain despite being blown out for a few days. Our last stop on our way out of town was the Hooters near the freeway. We got some lunch and enjoyed ourselves. As we were leaving I snapped a couple pictures of the exterior on a hunch.
I slept in the car on the return journey. Updated the blog and went to bed.
COINCIDENCES
The next day, my hunch turned out to be founded. When we were leaving Hooters, I remembered that my roommate from last semester, a Frenchman, had visited the South on a previous visit to America. I couldn't remember which state he'd been in but on the off chance that it was Mississippi, I thought I'd take some pictures of the area. I also remembered that he'd been to a Hooters while visiting the South. Seeing as I had just visited a Hooters in the South, I thought I'd take a picture of the place to see if it jogged his memory. Turns out he had in fact visited Mississippi, just as I had. He too had been to Gulfport and we both had eaten at the same Hooters. Keep in mind that this was not previously planned. We ate there because it was close to the freeway. I am visiting the South - not even Gulfport, specifically - for 8 weeks and I traveled 1000 miles to do so. Guillaume spent a month here travelling all the way from France. Strange that we would have been to the same place.
Another coincidence arose just yesterday. New employees arrived and before we went out to grocery shop, I spoke with one of them. Turns out she went to Burlington-Edison High School. I went to Mark Morris. Both are in Washington. We both graduated in 2008. Our teams met in the state basketball tournament in the Tacoma Dome in 2007. She goes to WSU where many of my friends go. We have a mutual friend whom I went to high school with and who she played sports with. And as fortune would have it, we meet 1,000 miles from home and will be working together for the next six weeks. Truth is stranger than fiction.
INDEPENDENCE DAY
This past weekend, we traveled to Mississippi for Independence Day. As usual, I slept in the car and when I woke, we were in Gulfport. Our hotel was about five miles from the beach which is the first place we stopped. The beach wasn't the cleanest I'd seen but it also wasn't the most crowded. We set up camp and lay out in the sun for a long while, reading, sleeping and getting burnt. When I woke, I was covered with sand (the wind had picked up) and so I went to the water to wash off. I thought to myself as I waded in that this was the first time I had set foot in the Gulf Coast since I had been to Florida as a little kid. That was at least ten years ago... probably longer. Sadly, the murky brown of the Mississippi coast wasn't comparable to the perfect blue of Florida's, but then again, there wasn't an oil spill on when I was younger. I saw a fair share of tar balls washed up on shore. If I have understood correctly, the hole spouting all that oil is only a few inches wide. Amazing that all the tar I saw up and down the beach came from there.
We packed up and checked into the hotel. Sapped of our energy by the sun, we stretched out on the beds and watched a movie on HBO. When it was done, we snapped back to reality and realized we had better eat before it got too late. We went to Sonic - my first time there - and I was pleasantly surprised. I had a BLT and a Coke with coconut flavoring. Not bad at all. Next, we staked out some real estate on the beach boardwalk near where we had been earlier in the day. I set up my tripod and began shooting. The shooting I was doing was nothing compared to the shooting everyone around me was doing. The south seems to either lack or disregard laws concerning fireworks. This is a change for me. In the Northwest, purchasing good fireworks is a hassle to do and setting them off must be done in private. In my experience, if a cop sees you launching things into the air, your humble July 4th operation will get shut down faster than you can say "missing fingers". Here though, anything goes. People shoot them off in public like its nothing. Cops stroll by as revelers blast all manner of high explosives into low-earth orbit. The ear-shattering airborne matériel seems safe compared to the handheld stuff. Pop its are thrown at people's faces, sparklers are jabbed like fencing rapiers and Black Cats are retained till the last second so that when thrown, they'll explode at eye level. No lie, I saw a guy get shot in the back with a Roman Candle and nobody batted an eye.
It was into this mess that I waded. I felt like I was living some strange version of D-Day in an alternate reality. I was heading towards the beach to from it, at night instead of day and I was armed with a camera not an M1 Garand. The beach was entirely filled with people going crazy with their arsenals and by some small miracle, I found an open area in which to set up my tripod. For what seemed like the next hour, I shoot (as best I could) the world-class fireworks show taking place at the end of the pier. When finished, I returned to my camp and the crew of us headed back to the hotel for the rest of the night.
The next day, we went to the outlet mall after checking out of our hotel. Not much to say other than Hurricane Alex continues to bring unrelenting rain despite being blown out for a few days. Our last stop on our way out of town was the Hooters near the freeway. We got some lunch and enjoyed ourselves. As we were leaving I snapped a couple pictures of the exterior on a hunch.
I slept in the car on the return journey. Updated the blog and went to bed.
COINCIDENCES
The next day, my hunch turned out to be founded. When we were leaving Hooters, I remembered that my roommate from last semester, a Frenchman, had visited the South on a previous visit to America. I couldn't remember which state he'd been in but on the off chance that it was Mississippi, I thought I'd take some pictures of the area. I also remembered that he'd been to a Hooters while visiting the South. Seeing as I had just visited a Hooters in the South, I thought I'd take a picture of the place to see if it jogged his memory. Turns out he had in fact visited Mississippi, just as I had. He too had been to Gulfport and we both had eaten at the same Hooters. Keep in mind that this was not previously planned. We ate there because it was close to the freeway. I am visiting the South - not even Gulfport, specifically - for 8 weeks and I traveled 1000 miles to do so. Guillaume spent a month here travelling all the way from France. Strange that we would have been to the same place.
Another coincidence arose just yesterday. New employees arrived and before we went out to grocery shop, I spoke with one of them. Turns out she went to Burlington-Edison High School. I went to Mark Morris. Both are in Washington. We both graduated in 2008. Our teams met in the state basketball tournament in the Tacoma Dome in 2007. She goes to WSU where many of my friends go. We have a mutual friend whom I went to high school with and who she played sports with. And as fortune would have it, we meet 1,000 miles from home and will be working together for the next six weeks. Truth is stranger than fiction.
7.06.2010
Too Tired
I had a good weekend in Mississippi. Instead of writing about it though, I will go get my laundry and go to sleep. New hires arrive tomorrow. Should be a good day.
A Visit
MOM
It was a good weekend for visitors. Ms. Moose Tracks' friend from home came down on Tuesday night and stayed until today. This weekend, mom was also in town. Apparently, New Orleans is a popular destination on Independence Day weekend. Illustrating this point is the fact that we could only find one hotel in the entire city with an available room. Granted, booking a week in advance lessens your chances of finding accommodation, but no less... one hotel? Also, it was a 30 minute drive from downtown so its not like it was conveniently located. I'm not complaining and I don't think mom would either. It was clean, cheap and we had our fun in the city.
MINDY'S
Our surrogate mother, Mindy, invited everyone over to her house for a big shindig on Friday night. Said shindig was to attended by Mindy's immediate family (4 of them), extended family (9 of them), Camp Adventure family (5 of us - my two coworkers, Ohio friend, my mom and me). It takes a true host to tack on five extra guests at the last minute but for reasons unknown to me, Mindy did it. This made for a very merry bunch of sweet-tea drinking, rice-and-beans eating, loud conversation-having guests packed in Mindy's home. By fitting so many people into such a small space, making new friends was inevitable. I met all five of Mindy's nieces and nephews in attendance as well as their parents. Heck, I think I met just about everyone. Mom was late to the show because of a directional mix-up which took her (and her rental car) 50 miles northwest of the city. Once she got there though, she made up for lost time. As I've gotten older, I've become more aware of social situations. Instead of approaching them from the perspective of "how should I behave here?", I have added in the nuance of wondering "how do other people feel about this situation?". When I'm talking with someone, am I coming off as an idiot or as genuine? Is the other person getting a conflicting message from my posture/gestures than from what I am saying? Is the topic I am speaking of interesting to the other person? Do I have food on my shirt? In my teeth? It may sound like I am being self-conscious but I am fascinated to think what is going on in someone else's mind. This is what I was preoccupied with as I walked to the front door with mom. In my mind, I knew there were 17 people inside that I had already met. I even knew a few of them quite well. Mom, however, hadn't met a single soul in the house. I know if I were in her shoes, I would be reluctant to stay very long. My concerns didn't have time to turn into formulating solutions for awkward social situations because mom rushed in with the force of Hurricane Alex and began introducing herself, shaking hands, smiling and being generally sociable. The woman should run for president.
Dinner was great, as usual and the little kids liked me enough to part with about a half-dozen of their prized Silly Bandz on my behalf. If you don't know what these are, Google them. Or just imagine the Pokemon craze in the form of rubber band bracelets. We said our goodbyes, especially to Mindy and her family who would be leaving for a week long vacation. We're watching their house while they're gone. Mom drove us back to the hotel to get our overnight stuff and we all piled in the rental car. Mom and I dropped the crew off downtown so they could hit up the casino and the two of us found our way to the freeway and then back to the hotel for the night. I ate some reheated Popeye's chicken I had picked up at the center earlier that day and instantly, the words of one of the ladies I work with rang in my head: "Oh yes! Take some chicken home! Its great anytime of day... I've even had it in the morning and it works wonders as a pick-me-up!" There I was, at 1 am, reeling and rolling on the bed, cursing the congealed mass of fat that lay heavy in the pit of my stomach. Pick-me-up, my ass.
SATURDAY
Mom and I woke early on Saturday to head downtown and watch the Germany-Argentina game. We parked near the WWII museum and walked to Canal Street and back to the Checkered Parrot where I had gone with Sarah Mary last weekend. Again, we had the buffet, and it wasn't long before Germany had scored their first goal. For the entire game, mom and I talked soccer, reminisced about Germany in 2006 and drank coffee. We were the loudest fans in the place which isn't saying much seeing as we made up two-thirds of the soccer fan contingent.
Afterwards, we walked in the direction of the car and visited the WWII museum. I could write about the place for longer than you would care to read so I will spare you the details and say the European Theatre portion is great, the Pacific Theatre portion is even better and the special 4D show in the Victory Theatre is the best. Having spent several hours in the place, it became clear that this is NOT a good field trip for kids. This is problematic seeing as it is on our schedule of field trips. That list may need to be reworked.
Following the museum, we dropped off our swag from the gift shop in the car, mom almost got run over and we walked back in the direction of Canal Street to catch the St. Charles Streetcar for mass. We did and a few minutes later, we were on the campus of Tulane University at a cathedral mom had seen the previous day while touring the Garden District. Despite (or perhaps, because of) the mass being in a beautifully adorned cathedral, my mind wandered. I find it ironic that the priest of one of the richest parishes in New Orleans can be equally as bland as one who presides over a humble congregation numbering below 100 on a small military base. Father Billy, however, with his midsized church in Belle Chasse could command your attention while reading from the phonebook.
After mass, we toured campus. I took pictures and enthusiastically liberated Mardi Gras beads from the lower-reaching limbs of trees. Once we'd seen enough, we caught the trolley back towards Canal Street and walked a few more blocks to the Hilton by the river and to Drago's. En route, I heard someone behind me say, "Good job today!" Even though I couldn't see them, I knew they were talking to me. Pretty soon, the voice was at my side and a shrimpy guy in glasses was bustling to keep pace with mom and I. One's first reaction to a stranger striking up conversation with you whilst walking is that they are crazy. Its too bad that this is the case, but it is nonetheless. Turns out, my new friend was simply commenting on the fact that I was wearing a Germany jersey and he was referencing the game from earlier that day. We talked soccer for a while and he updated me on the game between Uruguay and Ghana. I thanked him and he turned the corner and was gone in a second.
Dinner was good, again. I got a lobster for cheap and entertained myself by savagely cracking it open and scooping out its insides. Apologies to my vegetarian readers. I think I have become more savage in my eating habits of late.
For dessert, mom and I braved the mass of people wandering the streets of downtown. Essence Fest brought an influx of people, most of them drunk thus very loud. In the French Quarter, we got some beniegts at Cafe du Monde and ate them while sitting on a fountain and watching the world go by. Once finished, mom got dad a gift at a local cigar factory and then we faced a long march back to the car. I didn't realize how tired I was until we got to the car. Our last errand - a grocery run - turned out to be impossible as Wal Mart was closing as we arrived. This was a blessing. I don't think I would have made it.
Mom dropped me off at base and we said goodbye. Six more weeks and then I'll be back in Longview. Just two weeks ago, I would have been hard-pressed to contain excitement at the prospect of going home. New Orleans has grown on me though. I could never live here permanently but it is impossible not to enjoy the people and new opportunities.
It was a good weekend for visitors. Ms. Moose Tracks' friend from home came down on Tuesday night and stayed until today. This weekend, mom was also in town. Apparently, New Orleans is a popular destination on Independence Day weekend. Illustrating this point is the fact that we could only find one hotel in the entire city with an available room. Granted, booking a week in advance lessens your chances of finding accommodation, but no less... one hotel? Also, it was a 30 minute drive from downtown so its not like it was conveniently located. I'm not complaining and I don't think mom would either. It was clean, cheap and we had our fun in the city.
MINDY'S
Our surrogate mother, Mindy, invited everyone over to her house for a big shindig on Friday night. Said shindig was to attended by Mindy's immediate family (4 of them), extended family (9 of them), Camp Adventure family (5 of us - my two coworkers, Ohio friend, my mom and me). It takes a true host to tack on five extra guests at the last minute but for reasons unknown to me, Mindy did it. This made for a very merry bunch of sweet-tea drinking, rice-and-beans eating, loud conversation-having guests packed in Mindy's home. By fitting so many people into such a small space, making new friends was inevitable. I met all five of Mindy's nieces and nephews in attendance as well as their parents. Heck, I think I met just about everyone. Mom was late to the show because of a directional mix-up which took her (and her rental car) 50 miles northwest of the city. Once she got there though, she made up for lost time. As I've gotten older, I've become more aware of social situations. Instead of approaching them from the perspective of "how should I behave here?", I have added in the nuance of wondering "how do other people feel about this situation?". When I'm talking with someone, am I coming off as an idiot or as genuine? Is the other person getting a conflicting message from my posture/gestures than from what I am saying? Is the topic I am speaking of interesting to the other person? Do I have food on my shirt? In my teeth? It may sound like I am being self-conscious but I am fascinated to think what is going on in someone else's mind. This is what I was preoccupied with as I walked to the front door with mom. In my mind, I knew there were 17 people inside that I had already met. I even knew a few of them quite well. Mom, however, hadn't met a single soul in the house. I know if I were in her shoes, I would be reluctant to stay very long. My concerns didn't have time to turn into formulating solutions for awkward social situations because mom rushed in with the force of Hurricane Alex and began introducing herself, shaking hands, smiling and being generally sociable. The woman should run for president.
Dinner was great, as usual and the little kids liked me enough to part with about a half-dozen of their prized Silly Bandz on my behalf. If you don't know what these are, Google them. Or just imagine the Pokemon craze in the form of rubber band bracelets. We said our goodbyes, especially to Mindy and her family who would be leaving for a week long vacation. We're watching their house while they're gone. Mom drove us back to the hotel to get our overnight stuff and we all piled in the rental car. Mom and I dropped the crew off downtown so they could hit up the casino and the two of us found our way to the freeway and then back to the hotel for the night. I ate some reheated Popeye's chicken I had picked up at the center earlier that day and instantly, the words of one of the ladies I work with rang in my head: "Oh yes! Take some chicken home! Its great anytime of day... I've even had it in the morning and it works wonders as a pick-me-up!" There I was, at 1 am, reeling and rolling on the bed, cursing the congealed mass of fat that lay heavy in the pit of my stomach. Pick-me-up, my ass.
SATURDAY
Mom and I woke early on Saturday to head downtown and watch the Germany-Argentina game. We parked near the WWII museum and walked to Canal Street and back to the Checkered Parrot where I had gone with Sarah Mary last weekend. Again, we had the buffet, and it wasn't long before Germany had scored their first goal. For the entire game, mom and I talked soccer, reminisced about Germany in 2006 and drank coffee. We were the loudest fans in the place which isn't saying much seeing as we made up two-thirds of the soccer fan contingent.
Afterwards, we walked in the direction of the car and visited the WWII museum. I could write about the place for longer than you would care to read so I will spare you the details and say the European Theatre portion is great, the Pacific Theatre portion is even better and the special 4D show in the Victory Theatre is the best. Having spent several hours in the place, it became clear that this is NOT a good field trip for kids. This is problematic seeing as it is on our schedule of field trips. That list may need to be reworked.
Following the museum, we dropped off our swag from the gift shop in the car, mom almost got run over and we walked back in the direction of Canal Street to catch the St. Charles Streetcar for mass. We did and a few minutes later, we were on the campus of Tulane University at a cathedral mom had seen the previous day while touring the Garden District. Despite (or perhaps, because of) the mass being in a beautifully adorned cathedral, my mind wandered. I find it ironic that the priest of one of the richest parishes in New Orleans can be equally as bland as one who presides over a humble congregation numbering below 100 on a small military base. Father Billy, however, with his midsized church in Belle Chasse could command your attention while reading from the phonebook.
After mass, we toured campus. I took pictures and enthusiastically liberated Mardi Gras beads from the lower-reaching limbs of trees. Once we'd seen enough, we caught the trolley back towards Canal Street and walked a few more blocks to the Hilton by the river and to Drago's. En route, I heard someone behind me say, "Good job today!" Even though I couldn't see them, I knew they were talking to me. Pretty soon, the voice was at my side and a shrimpy guy in glasses was bustling to keep pace with mom and I. One's first reaction to a stranger striking up conversation with you whilst walking is that they are crazy. Its too bad that this is the case, but it is nonetheless. Turns out, my new friend was simply commenting on the fact that I was wearing a Germany jersey and he was referencing the game from earlier that day. We talked soccer for a while and he updated me on the game between Uruguay and Ghana. I thanked him and he turned the corner and was gone in a second.
Dinner was good, again. I got a lobster for cheap and entertained myself by savagely cracking it open and scooping out its insides. Apologies to my vegetarian readers. I think I have become more savage in my eating habits of late.
For dessert, mom and I braved the mass of people wandering the streets of downtown. Essence Fest brought an influx of people, most of them drunk thus very loud. In the French Quarter, we got some beniegts at Cafe du Monde and ate them while sitting on a fountain and watching the world go by. Once finished, mom got dad a gift at a local cigar factory and then we faced a long march back to the car. I didn't realize how tired I was until we got to the car. Our last errand - a grocery run - turned out to be impossible as Wal Mart was closing as we arrived. This was a blessing. I don't think I would have made it.
Mom dropped me off at base and we said goodbye. Six more weeks and then I'll be back in Longview. Just two weeks ago, I would have been hard-pressed to contain excitement at the prospect of going home. New Orleans has grown on me though. I could never live here permanently but it is impossible not to enjoy the people and new opportunities.
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