Son House Of The New Day Rising Sun

Hey, I left New Orleans. THi town is beautiful, and culturally fascinating, and inundated with all forms of madness that you've ever seen and many you haven't and won't. I think it's just not the right time right now. It's too hard to find a job in the summer. It's too damn hot. The communities are too damn insular. The creative communities are only concerned with making the same fucking death folk banjo music they've been making for years. I don't know, it's hard to explain. It just wasn't good juju. Here's some pictures.

I forgot to mention, we've been staying at this place called India House. It's the greatest hostel I've ever stayed in. It's basically Tank co-op, only with really awesome art everywhere, no bullshit fighting, more sex and drinking, and old hippies and babies...and it's $40 a night for a private 2 bed room with a/c. It's got the craziest people living in it, like this guy Melvin. Melvin is a pretty renowned head chef for a couple major cruise lines. He's in his forties, but has slept with half the young European women in the hostel, and scores us weed. He cooks meals for everybody in the house every night. I wish we could just live here all summer, but it's kind of out of the way and expensive.

Arden is in the city, too. Weird story. When I was working at McSweeney's, this dude Craig was co-authoring a book about Sudanese refugees with Dave Eggers, and I did a bunch of transcription work for him. Last year, when Arden was studying in Greece, she met Craig, who I guess was vacationing there. Now, Craig lives in New Orleans, and is dating Arden. She says she's not sure if she's staying, but it would be cool if she does, because my crew needs to be plentiful. It's really dangerous riding a bike around this city alone, or even in small numbers. People get shot all the time when they're alone. Uh oh. Also, I need a job really bad. I'm going to work on that tomorrow.

Po Boys

New Orleans fucking rules! It's so hot here, though, and the bugs are the size of windshield wipers. We got here two days ago. The first night, Katie informed us she was moving, because her landlord was a bastard, the other tenants were crackheads, and the neighborhood was rapey. So, we're staying at this hostel called India House, which is wonderful and has a swimming pool. We spent all of yesterday drinking on the streets while walking around the bywater looking for apartments. The bywater has a parameter of four streets (St. Claude, North Peters, Poland, and this other street I forgot the name of). I found a bunch of spots that were like $300 a month a couple blocks outside the bywater, but as I was walking around I realized they're so cheap for a reason. A couple blocks makes a huge difference in this city. The bywater is beautiful and hip or whatever; it looks a lot like Isla Vista in Santa Barbara, and everyone we've met has been really cool and interesting. However, like two blocks north of St. Claude, it's a fucking demilitarized zone. But, yesterday I met this dude Omar who's friends with the owner of Flora's, this coffee shop we go to, and he's renovating an apartment in his house that he's going to let us live in for $650, which is cheaper than most of the housing we've found. I don't know, Michael might be coming here, so I can't sign a lease until I find out how many rooms we'll need.

Yesterday, within the course of eight hours, Nikhil got burned twice trying to buy pot on the street, which isn't surprising at all, and holy shit New Orleans cops are corrupt. We were walking to buy beer last night, and a squad car stopped us to search us randomly until we talked our way out of it. It's a pretty shady town, but I love it. Everything is super cheap. I just ate a really delicious $3 falafel sandwhich, and then walked down the street drinking a tallboy of Budweiser. Everybody should try to come visit. When we have an apartment you're welcome to stay with us. It's beautiful, and so fun, and somehow simultaneously laid back and raucous at all times. Come, come! I have to go buy a used bike right now. Everyone bikes everywhere, and 1/6 of the population dresses like Kalan. I'm keeping a journal of all the weirdness. It's going to be like Emerson's English Traits, only with beer, and in New Orleans.

Big River In My Backyard

Click on the title. This what we're doing. Also, I was sitting on the dock behind my house last night, and all of my influences and educational experiences converged into one giant Stoppardian mongoloid monster, and I suddenly had a grand vision for a screenplay. When I leave New Orleans, or when it's finished, whatever comes first, I want to make a movie on the cheap and cheap. All of my talented friends: At some point in the next year, I will be contacting people for DOP, sound, and acting positions. It's kind of about old people. There's no dialogue, only narration. Well, that's mostly true, as of right now.

Canal Fatale!

Last night Nikhil and I got loaded and bought two one way tickets to New Orleans for next tuesday. But first, a preface, and who wouldn't lurv one except for some hideous incarnation of half-salamander, half Tanya Harding. Preface: Aimless, graduation from Oberlin imminent, planning to move to the San Francisco Bay area sans employment, my highschool friend Katie sends me a message and says to me (to be read in girl accent): "I'm moving to New Orleans and starting a non-profit writer's collective. You should come down, rent is cheap." I've never been to New Orleans, but heard of it's plentiful treasures of loose women, (to be read with jazz hands) jazz, and it's dearth of open container laws I have.  I'm going against my better judgment and predilection towards whiskey-addled shenanigans.  My friend Nikhil is coming, too. He's one of the smartest and most sensitive guys I've ever met...and he has a staff infection. Alas, the world is too much with him.  Wordsworth said that! About someone else.  I don't know much about this city famed for the intensity and frequency of it's carjacking, or about this writer's collective I'm about to join for that matter, but nevertheless, like rocketized intergalactic falcons pumping out abrasive fuck-jams from their sinuous beaks upon clouds most high, we will destroy whatever obstacles should happen to cross our paths (we're buying sweet knives) (big, big heavy knives covered in blood!!!). We can fight, we can fly, we can Sk-kraw, Sk-kraw, Sk-kraw!!!