Today marks 20 consecutive days now of wearing the same pants to the office -- and still no one has noticed/commented. What started out as an experiment in frugality during this recession has started getting more and more interesting.
Note: I do not wear the pants on casual Fridays because that would be unnecessarily pushing this little experiment. However, every Monday through Thursday, the pants go to work.
I initially wore the same blazer with the pants, but even I got a little sick of that early on, so I began rotating two different blazers (like the pants, from Goodwill).
I may, however, have to go back to wearing the same blazer each day, just to see if that makes a difference.
The result of this experiment so far:
1. People really don't notice all the little (and sometimes big) things about us nearly to the extent we think they do. (Even if they did, you can hardly be fired for wearing the same outfit to work each day).
2. It's kind of nice not having to wonder what I'm wearing each morning. Sure streamlines getting ready.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
I think that I will never see, something lovely as a tree ... house
Heavenly night. An hour and 15 minutes from the time I leave the New Orleans CBD (which abuts the French Quarter), I arrive back at the treehouse, where it smells divine. After 114 degree heat advisory, the rain has come. Not the torrential variety like we had last night, which created a plethora of lakes around the treehouse and makes me run to unplug everything that could possibly fry from lightning, but the steady, gentle, comforting kind that makes the air smell achingly sweet and fresh, and nourishes the staggering pines that surround me.
Several people asked me in New Orleans over the weekend when/if I was moving back to the south shore. They still don't understand that I'm bitten.
Bitten by all things small and wonderful. Like alighting from my car to see kids learn the basics of baseball on the green expanse out back. Like neighbors sitting on porches greeting me by name as I walk from my trusty Rocinante to the mailbox where a letter from my mother awaits. I know who's retired, who's working and where, and who's nuts. They, in turn, know me as the lady whose piano they hear while taking their dogs out for their nightly constitutionals. They like it, they say. So professional sounding, they say. Where could I find critics this generous in the city?
The thunder begins to rumble from a distance. The air conditioner hums contentedly. It's time to drain the pasta, have a glass of table wine, and curl up with a book from the library of children's literature at the top of the stairs. No ballet teaching tonight -- the children are enjoying a 4th of July holiday from the school all week.
A treehouse is a wonderful thing on a rainy evening in late June in Mandeville.
Several people asked me in New Orleans over the weekend when/if I was moving back to the south shore. They still don't understand that I'm bitten.
Bitten by all things small and wonderful. Like alighting from my car to see kids learn the basics of baseball on the green expanse out back. Like neighbors sitting on porches greeting me by name as I walk from my trusty Rocinante to the mailbox where a letter from my mother awaits. I know who's retired, who's working and where, and who's nuts. They, in turn, know me as the lady whose piano they hear while taking their dogs out for their nightly constitutionals. They like it, they say. So professional sounding, they say. Where could I find critics this generous in the city?
The thunder begins to rumble from a distance. The air conditioner hums contentedly. It's time to drain the pasta, have a glass of table wine, and curl up with a book from the library of children's literature at the top of the stairs. No ballet teaching tonight -- the children are enjoying a 4th of July holiday from the school all week.
A treehouse is a wonderful thing on a rainy evening in late June in Mandeville.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Saturday Part Two: Do As I Say, Not As I Do, and Please Don't Notice My Tiramisu
After teaching the tots, I took the barre portion of advanced ballet, during which I found that I actually need a whole barre these days before my feet will respond to flexing and pointing. Wow -- that taught me that I am going to have to start being religious about 'articulating' my feet on a daily basis.
I picked up "Rocinante," who was getting an oil change and tuneup, then headed down to my office on the edge of the French Quarter to take care of a little bit of business, before returning Uptown to have lunch with the school director at Reginelli's. Now I was just fine with my salad of mixed greens, tomatoes, feta cheese, grilled chicken, and green apples, but the director is the mother of all sweet tooths/teeth(????) and she twisted my arm into splitting some incredibly decadent tiramisu. Uh oh, if the children could have seen their teachers eating "bad food!"
We hung out in her Garden District home, musing over plans for the school in the fall. I must say, from all accounts elsewhere, we have been blessed. We've got two studios in the school and we could easily fill a third studio with the students who continue coming our way. Seems that there are many people who really do appreciate a genuine classical ballet school that remains true to what it first started out to be, with emphasis on a firm foundation of ballet taught in a nurturing but disciplined atmosphere, instead of competition or trophies or diversion into a million other dance forms. There are schools for that and they are fine for people who desire that, but it's nice to know there's still an appreciation for tradition, too.
I drove back over the bridge to the treehouse while listening to Steve Martin play his banjo on "Prairie Home Companion," followed by an account of the goings on in Lake Woebegon. It was truly one of Garrison Keillor's best monologues to date. The audience (and I, in my car) were howling. Catch it on tomorrow (Sunday's) repeat performance if you can.
I picked up "Rocinante," who was getting an oil change and tuneup, then headed down to my office on the edge of the French Quarter to take care of a little bit of business, before returning Uptown to have lunch with the school director at Reginelli's. Now I was just fine with my salad of mixed greens, tomatoes, feta cheese, grilled chicken, and green apples, but the director is the mother of all sweet tooths/teeth(????) and she twisted my arm into splitting some incredibly decadent tiramisu. Uh oh, if the children could have seen their teachers eating "bad food!"
We hung out in her Garden District home, musing over plans for the school in the fall. I must say, from all accounts elsewhere, we have been blessed. We've got two studios in the school and we could easily fill a third studio with the students who continue coming our way. Seems that there are many people who really do appreciate a genuine classical ballet school that remains true to what it first started out to be, with emphasis on a firm foundation of ballet taught in a nurturing but disciplined atmosphere, instead of competition or trophies or diversion into a million other dance forms. There are schools for that and they are fine for people who desire that, but it's nice to know there's still an appreciation for tradition, too.
I drove back over the bridge to the treehouse while listening to Steve Martin play his banjo on "Prairie Home Companion," followed by an account of the goings on in Lake Woebegon. It was truly one of Garrison Keillor's best monologues to date. The audience (and I, in my car) were howling. Catch it on tomorrow (Sunday's) repeat performance if you can.
There's nothing wrong with birthday cake!
That orange ball south of Cuba has burgeoned into quite something overnight, but the experts concur so far that it's heading towards Mexico or Florida, and those of us in the middle should not get our knickers in a twist just yet, so I'm going to heed their advice. Nevertheless, it's a good reminder to make sure I'm ready to leave on short notice any time in the next 3 months. And it's awfully nice to know, once again this year, that I've got my "Sarah Crewe" charming garret atop an English Tudor off Lake Michigan in Shorewood, WI, waiting for me -- all homey and furnished -- should I need to drop everything and go.
What a morning! I had summer ballet camp with my beloved curtain climbers and we had such a good time. Lots of warmups followed by their basic plies and tendus and piques, and then we marched and skipped and galloped until ALL OF US were exhausted and could not move another inch. So when they all collapsed onto the floor, laughing and gasping, I went with the flow and put on a tape of primeval forest sound effects. I let them act out frogs and snakes and birds (but "No," I said to little Alex, "I do NOT not allow tarantulas in my forest!").
While "in the woods," we walked on a log across a stream, dug a hole, gathered sticks, rubbed rocks together to generate a spark, ignited the sticks in the hole with the spark, and roasted marshmallows, after which we put out the fire with the dirt we initially dug out of the hole and left our campsite clean as a whistle. Imagination is a wonderful thing, no?
Eventually we came to the end of our creative movement portion whereby they do jetes (leaps) over sponges placed in the shape of a horse shoe and then proceed to hop on two feet like bunnies through a series of hula hoops in the middle of the horse shoe. They are supposed to line up in the letter "J" and await their turn to make their respective journeys across the sponges and through the hoops, whereupon they should return to the letter "J" -- the end of the letter "J" and move up gradually until it's their turn once again.
Quel mess!!!!!!!! They completely forgot how to keep the letter "J" moving along smoothly and it was nothing but collisions and turmoil and gridlock, not to mention children hanging like monkeys from the ballet barres or chatting in twos and threes like it was cocktail hour. And when I stopped the music and halted the exercise, they decided it was their cue to begin tearing around the studio like hooligans, "helping me" by collecting the sponges and hoops, all the while whooping it up.
Now, I know it's summer and time to chill in more than ways than one. But this is the kind of nonsense you have to put an end to right away or the class will get away from you and you'll never get it back, week after week. Since this was the last exercise right before snack time, where they sit and watch a portion of "The Nutcracker," I was able to scold and bribe accordingly.
"Snacks must be earned by dancers," I said sternly, as I proceeded to put the sponges back down. "Now that whole thing was pretty bad. So we are going to repeat this exercise and learn to do this like real dancers. No, no, no -- no more hoops. We are going to learn how to do this correctly, starting only with sponges. See this red star on the floor? That's where you each begin your turn. And show me your opening pose. Yes! We present our pointed foot and open our arms in second position each time. And you don't begin your turn until Miss Chrissy does what?"
Big chorus: "YOU TAP US ON THE SHOULDER!"
"And you have to keep moving after you finish your turn, right back into the letter 'J.' If the person in front of you stops, you have my permission to say nicely, 'Please keep moving.'"
This was followed by very sober looks as they quietly recreated the letter "J" and I proceeded to run them like little colts over and over the sponges, each one of them stepping right up to the red star, presenting their little pointed feet and working diligently at their leaps until they were truly tuckered out.
Lots of praise for all that good work followed by snacks and film, during which, I must say, they were very quiet and polite in asking for help with opening drinks and snack packs. This is why I really love working with children. You can see amazing progress in weeks instead of months or years. Wonderful.
We always conclude with crafts time. For the last couple of weeks, I have changed the 'layout' of this segment by creating two or three small circles of children, who then work on their project in their little part of the floor and I or my assistants can move from within the circle (like the hands of a clock) to have one on one time with each of them.
One of our projects today was for them to assess a half dozen cutouts of food as to whether they are good or bad for you and then paste them in the place for good food or bad food. The soda can and lollipop were pretty easy for the children to understand. But some of them looked quite concerned about the birthday cake with candles on it. "Is this REALLY bad for you?" they asked bewilderedly.
They had a point there. I thought quickly, then said, "It would be bad if it were your birthday EVERY day and you ate cake, but a little piece is a treat once a year." Man, who devised these cutouts? Couldn't they come up with something a little less controversial and a lot more obvious? Perish the thought that I should scare pre-schoolers about the potential of cardiac arrest from a traditional treat on their special day! Now here's a suggestion for the people who create the materials for these projects -- something a LOT MORE OBVIOUS!!!!!!!
Courtesy of Wikipedia: Deep-fried Twinkies
A deep-fried Twinkie involves freezing the popular Hostess Twinkie cake, dipping it into batter and deep frying it to create a variation on the traditional snack cake. According to the Hostess website, Christopher Sell, from Rugby, England, invented the "fried twinkie" in 2001 at the ChipShop, his restaurant in Brooklyn, New York.[5] According to CNN, the dish was adopted by Chris Mullen, but invented at a "Brooklyn restaurant."
It was described by a The New York Times story in this way: "Something magical occurs when the pastry hits the hot oil. The creamy white vegetable shortening filling liquefies, impregnating the sponge cake with its luscious vanilla flavor... The cake itself softens and warms, nearly melting, contrasting with the crisp, deep-fried crust in a buttery and suave way. The piece de resistance, however, is a ruby-hued berry sauce, adding a tart sophistication to all that airy sugary goodness."[6]
The deep-fried Twinkie was a runaway success after Mullen and his brother started selling it at county fairs in mid-August. "We sold 26,000 Twinkies in 18 days," By 2002, the Arkansas State Fair had introduced the fried Twinkie to great popular acclaim, and the notion spread to other state fairs across the U.S., as well as some establishments that specialize in fried foods.[7] Fried Twinkies are sold throughout the U.S. in state fairs, as well as ball park games.
What a morning! I had summer ballet camp with my beloved curtain climbers and we had such a good time. Lots of warmups followed by their basic plies and tendus and piques, and then we marched and skipped and galloped until ALL OF US were exhausted and could not move another inch. So when they all collapsed onto the floor, laughing and gasping, I went with the flow and put on a tape of primeval forest sound effects. I let them act out frogs and snakes and birds (but "No," I said to little Alex, "I do NOT not allow tarantulas in my forest!").
While "in the woods," we walked on a log across a stream, dug a hole, gathered sticks, rubbed rocks together to generate a spark, ignited the sticks in the hole with the spark, and roasted marshmallows, after which we put out the fire with the dirt we initially dug out of the hole and left our campsite clean as a whistle. Imagination is a wonderful thing, no?
Eventually we came to the end of our creative movement portion whereby they do jetes (leaps) over sponges placed in the shape of a horse shoe and then proceed to hop on two feet like bunnies through a series of hula hoops in the middle of the horse shoe. They are supposed to line up in the letter "J" and await their turn to make their respective journeys across the sponges and through the hoops, whereupon they should return to the letter "J" -- the end of the letter "J" and move up gradually until it's their turn once again.
Quel mess!!!!!!!! They completely forgot how to keep the letter "J" moving along smoothly and it was nothing but collisions and turmoil and gridlock, not to mention children hanging like monkeys from the ballet barres or chatting in twos and threes like it was cocktail hour. And when I stopped the music and halted the exercise, they decided it was their cue to begin tearing around the studio like hooligans, "helping me" by collecting the sponges and hoops, all the while whooping it up.
Now, I know it's summer and time to chill in more than ways than one. But this is the kind of nonsense you have to put an end to right away or the class will get away from you and you'll never get it back, week after week. Since this was the last exercise right before snack time, where they sit and watch a portion of "The Nutcracker," I was able to scold and bribe accordingly.
"Snacks must be earned by dancers," I said sternly, as I proceeded to put the sponges back down. "Now that whole thing was pretty bad. So we are going to repeat this exercise and learn to do this like real dancers. No, no, no -- no more hoops. We are going to learn how to do this correctly, starting only with sponges. See this red star on the floor? That's where you each begin your turn. And show me your opening pose. Yes! We present our pointed foot and open our arms in second position each time. And you don't begin your turn until Miss Chrissy does what?"
Big chorus: "YOU TAP US ON THE SHOULDER!"
"And you have to keep moving after you finish your turn, right back into the letter 'J.' If the person in front of you stops, you have my permission to say nicely, 'Please keep moving.'"
This was followed by very sober looks as they quietly recreated the letter "J" and I proceeded to run them like little colts over and over the sponges, each one of them stepping right up to the red star, presenting their little pointed feet and working diligently at their leaps until they were truly tuckered out.
Lots of praise for all that good work followed by snacks and film, during which, I must say, they were very quiet and polite in asking for help with opening drinks and snack packs. This is why I really love working with children. You can see amazing progress in weeks instead of months or years. Wonderful.
We always conclude with crafts time. For the last couple of weeks, I have changed the 'layout' of this segment by creating two or three small circles of children, who then work on their project in their little part of the floor and I or my assistants can move from within the circle (like the hands of a clock) to have one on one time with each of them.
One of our projects today was for them to assess a half dozen cutouts of food as to whether they are good or bad for you and then paste them in the place for good food or bad food. The soda can and lollipop were pretty easy for the children to understand. But some of them looked quite concerned about the birthday cake with candles on it. "Is this REALLY bad for you?" they asked bewilderedly.
They had a point there. I thought quickly, then said, "It would be bad if it were your birthday EVERY day and you ate cake, but a little piece is a treat once a year." Man, who devised these cutouts? Couldn't they come up with something a little less controversial and a lot more obvious? Perish the thought that I should scare pre-schoolers about the potential of cardiac arrest from a traditional treat on their special day! Now here's a suggestion for the people who create the materials for these projects -- something a LOT MORE OBVIOUS!!!!!!!
Courtesy of Wikipedia: Deep-fried Twinkies
A deep-fried Twinkie involves freezing the popular Hostess Twinkie cake, dipping it into batter and deep frying it to create a variation on the traditional snack cake. According to the Hostess website, Christopher Sell, from Rugby, England, invented the "fried twinkie" in 2001 at the ChipShop, his restaurant in Brooklyn, New York.[5] According to CNN, the dish was adopted by Chris Mullen, but invented at a "Brooklyn restaurant."
It was described by a The New York Times story in this way: "Something magical occurs when the pastry hits the hot oil. The creamy white vegetable shortening filling liquefies, impregnating the sponge cake with its luscious vanilla flavor... The cake itself softens and warms, nearly melting, contrasting with the crisp, deep-fried crust in a buttery and suave way. The piece de resistance, however, is a ruby-hued berry sauce, adding a tart sophistication to all that airy sugary goodness."[6]
The deep-fried Twinkie was a runaway success after Mullen and his brother started selling it at county fairs in mid-August. "We sold 26,000 Twinkies in 18 days," By 2002, the Arkansas State Fair had introduced the fried Twinkie to great popular acclaim, and the notion spread to other state fairs across the U.S., as well as some establishments that specialize in fried foods.[7] Fried Twinkies are sold throughout the U.S. in state fairs, as well as ball park games.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Tumultuous Times
Well, it's that time of year -- when folks like me in the Gulf make a daily trip to the website of Jeff Masters, "Weather Underground," to find out what kind of turbulence might be developing in the Atlantic or Pacific. That's typically followed by a stop at the National Hurricane Center website. Tonight, there's a good sized orange circle just south of Cuba. It's a little early in the season to be fixated on such things, but then again, it's been unusually hot in these parts.
Just how hot? Well, we had the hottest day ever recorded in New Orleans this past week. And what's even more peculiar about that to me is that I recall decades ago experiencing weather at least that hot in Chicago. Go figure.
So, I'll be staying tuned for the weather that's about to come on after a repeat airing of "Farrah's Story." Brave, beautiful, and very complex woman. I'm only glad for her that her ordeal was relatively short in terms of time to endure the pain and frustration. But long enough for her to make her peace with her life and loved ones. I'm also glad for her that she still had her lovely dad there for her, the love of a committed man, and a few good friends.
As a fellow dancer flatly stated to me after I came back to performing after cancer years ago, "I never understood what is meant by a mortality rate. Don't we all have a 100% mortality rate?" Yes, we do. So the most and the best we can do is treat our time as the precious commodity that it is and hope that, like Farrah, we have the support and care of family and friends. A true romantic love is the icing on the cake.
This past year, I've had a different medical issue to deal with -- one that blindsided me and pretty much stole the whole year from me as I spent an inordinate amount of time treating for it and working to pay for it ... and the rest of the time worrying about it. But it's time for that to stop. A change is going to come. That's what I'm focusing my energy on these days.
This ain't a dress rehearsal.
Just how hot? Well, we had the hottest day ever recorded in New Orleans this past week. And what's even more peculiar about that to me is that I recall decades ago experiencing weather at least that hot in Chicago. Go figure.
So, I'll be staying tuned for the weather that's about to come on after a repeat airing of "Farrah's Story." Brave, beautiful, and very complex woman. I'm only glad for her that her ordeal was relatively short in terms of time to endure the pain and frustration. But long enough for her to make her peace with her life and loved ones. I'm also glad for her that she still had her lovely dad there for her, the love of a committed man, and a few good friends.
As a fellow dancer flatly stated to me after I came back to performing after cancer years ago, "I never understood what is meant by a mortality rate. Don't we all have a 100% mortality rate?" Yes, we do. So the most and the best we can do is treat our time as the precious commodity that it is and hope that, like Farrah, we have the support and care of family and friends. A true romantic love is the icing on the cake.
This past year, I've had a different medical issue to deal with -- one that blindsided me and pretty much stole the whole year from me as I spent an inordinate amount of time treating for it and working to pay for it ... and the rest of the time worrying about it. But it's time for that to stop. A change is going to come. That's what I'm focusing my energy on these days.
This ain't a dress rehearsal.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace
It's a rare day that I find myself all the way back home in Mandeville after work before 5 p.m. But, due to having to take care of some legal biz for our firm on this side of Lake Pontchartrain, such was the case today. I started to turn into my driveway, and then thought, "Heck, why not have a little bit of a weekend on a Tuesday night?"
So, I drove right back out, turned left on Highway 22, and a few minutes later was seated overlooking the Tchefuncte River at Friends Coastal Restaurant http://www.friendscoastal.com/which, sorry to say, I had not visited since before Hurricane Gustav. The first time I ever went to Friends was in the course of doing this piece http://www.insidenorthside.com/08MarApril/0308madison.html about the charming town of Madisonville, Louisiana. I recall alighting from the ladies' room and seeing no one outside the door but Dan Aykroyd. Apparently, he had been besieged -- moments earlier -- by fans at a fundraiser held that day in the name of saving the town's lighthouse and drawing more attention to the need to halt coastal erosion. But, for just a moment he was left alone and that is how I met him and proceeded to interview him for the piece.
The restaurant is a Phoenix that has risen from the ashes more than once -- first after being reduced to nothing but rubble after Katrina, and again, after some pretty extensive damage from Gustav. I've been craving the Caribbean salad with papaya and pulled chicken for some time now, and tonight was just the perfect opportunity to head over there and relax on that waterway with a great meal, a Bloody Mary, and a good book. I just began delving into Frank ("Angela's Ashes") McCourt's "Teacher Man," his bio about the 30 years of being a public school teacher in New York prior to his "overnight" success as an author.
I love one of the things he has to say in his introduction: Now I think it time to give myself credit for at least one virtue: doggedness. Not as glamorous as ambition or talent or intellect or charm, but still the one thing that got me through the days and nights.
That is something I at least try to identify with. But I know someone who is a true testament to doggedness, and that is my dear friend and exquisite ballet dancer, Sarah. It's coming up on two years past her stroke, and I know my other friend Trina has paid her homage in her blog as of late, but just to ensure that news of this wonderful woman reaches as wide an audience as possible, forgive me if I also post the link to this recent story: http://www.wwltv.com/video/news-index.html?nvid=372781&shu=1
After my wonderful meal, I just let my trusty Rocinante take me where it would, and I drove through the backroads to the movie theater in Covington, where I pre-purchased my ticket to Sandra Bullock's "The Proposal." I had a half hour to kill, so I went to the adjacent shops and snarfed up every last box of Harry & David chocolate truffles from Marshalls, where the price is almost worth dealing with the uninspired clerks.
The movie was fun, and a great way to get out of this 100+ degree heat index we've been dealing with for weeks here (especially because so much of the movie takes place in Sitka, Alaska).
All that before 9 p.m. As da Vinci said, "A well spent day brings happy sleep."
So, I drove right back out, turned left on Highway 22, and a few minutes later was seated overlooking the Tchefuncte River at Friends Coastal Restaurant http://www.friendscoastal.com/which, sorry to say, I had not visited since before Hurricane Gustav. The first time I ever went to Friends was in the course of doing this piece http://www.insidenorthside.com/08MarApril/0308madison.html about the charming town of Madisonville, Louisiana. I recall alighting from the ladies' room and seeing no one outside the door but Dan Aykroyd. Apparently, he had been besieged -- moments earlier -- by fans at a fundraiser held that day in the name of saving the town's lighthouse and drawing more attention to the need to halt coastal erosion. But, for just a moment he was left alone and that is how I met him and proceeded to interview him for the piece.
The restaurant is a Phoenix that has risen from the ashes more than once -- first after being reduced to nothing but rubble after Katrina, and again, after some pretty extensive damage from Gustav. I've been craving the Caribbean salad with papaya and pulled chicken for some time now, and tonight was just the perfect opportunity to head over there and relax on that waterway with a great meal, a Bloody Mary, and a good book. I just began delving into Frank ("Angela's Ashes") McCourt's "Teacher Man," his bio about the 30 years of being a public school teacher in New York prior to his "overnight" success as an author.
I love one of the things he has to say in his introduction: Now I think it time to give myself credit for at least one virtue: doggedness. Not as glamorous as ambition or talent or intellect or charm, but still the one thing that got me through the days and nights.
That is something I at least try to identify with. But I know someone who is a true testament to doggedness, and that is my dear friend and exquisite ballet dancer, Sarah. It's coming up on two years past her stroke, and I know my other friend Trina has paid her homage in her blog as of late, but just to ensure that news of this wonderful woman reaches as wide an audience as possible, forgive me if I also post the link to this recent story: http://www.wwltv.com/video/news-index.html?nvid=372781&shu=1
After my wonderful meal, I just let my trusty Rocinante take me where it would, and I drove through the backroads to the movie theater in Covington, where I pre-purchased my ticket to Sandra Bullock's "The Proposal." I had a half hour to kill, so I went to the adjacent shops and snarfed up every last box of Harry & David chocolate truffles from Marshalls, where the price is almost worth dealing with the uninspired clerks.
The movie was fun, and a great way to get out of this 100+ degree heat index we've been dealing with for weeks here (especially because so much of the movie takes place in Sitka, Alaska).
All that before 9 p.m. As da Vinci said, "A well spent day brings happy sleep."
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A Trip to Bountiful???
I know. Why waste my breath? But, honestly. Ray Nagin, are you listening? Do you have any vestiges of a conscience? People in your city have been struggling for the past four years, and those challenges have been exacerbated by the current economy, and you have the stones to attempt to pull this one off?
http://www.nola.com/news/index.ssf/2009/06/nagin_says_city_paid_for_china.html
If you came up to me and my friend Christine Calkwood in Whole Foods again, all smooth and sweet, like you did pre-Katrina when you were gathering votes, do you have any idea what we would do now?
I can't help but be reminded of that scene in "A Year of Living Dangerously," when the sign is hung from a hotel window, "Sukarno, feed Your people." Ray, you've got to be aware of how you come across these days.
Please try to have an epiphany and to leave a legacy of something other than farce.
http://www.nola.com/news/index.ssf/2009/06/nagin_says_city_paid_for_china.html
If you came up to me and my friend Christine Calkwood in Whole Foods again, all smooth and sweet, like you did pre-Katrina when you were gathering votes, do you have any idea what we would do now?
I can't help but be reminded of that scene in "A Year of Living Dangerously," when the sign is hung from a hotel window, "Sukarno, feed Your people." Ray, you've got to be aware of how you come across these days.
Please try to have an epiphany and to leave a legacy of something other than farce.
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