We have returned from Nu Yawk, where I've visited with family and friends, trolled the city some (see the last post), recoiled in horror at some of the gifts bestowed on the little guy that we had to haul back on the plane, in carry-on and in checked baggage (I dare any of y'all to haul a sizeable bubble machine named the Typhoon through security without incident. In fact, I triple-dog dare ya...), and just generally had a nice visit to the northeast. I did my best to temper my stories of the bleak landscape of recovery with loving anecdotes of our home and admonishments to come on down and visit, especially since JazzFest is coming down the pike.

However, I know that to at least one person, I sounded like a Gloomy Gus (or maybe, as Sheckrastos would put it, like Mr Gloomy Pants, but that's really not quite the same). "What will be my breaking point?" I said, listening to myself talk about insurance companies trying to bail out of the Gulf Coast, about idiotic leadership on all levels of government, about the reality of having an evacuation destination set in case of the worst happening again. I got caught up in my words and must have sounded thoroughly despondent. It made our "Come On Down!" talk sound a tad bizarre.

So I've come home after some exhausting plane rides. I got my second wind when I was trolling the little guy around on one of those luggage carts at the airport waiting for Dan to bring the car around, and I carried that burst of energy with me home, where I immediately sat down and trolled the NOLA blogosphere, and it was there, at 11 PM, that I found this post.

And, you know, I'm feeling much better now. Thanks, Dr (?) Roux!

It has also galvanized my resolve. I am now prepared to tell a story of epic (well, epic for the blogosphere) proportions. It's been bumping around in my head for most of the time I've been up in Nu Yawk. My history with that metropolis has been so long, so seductive, so crushing in certain aspects, that I cannot resist taking it on at this point in time. There are risks we are all willing to take in our lives, and I learned, at twenty-two, that my willingness to take on anything and everything at that time in my life was admirable at best and dumber than dumb at worst. On one fateful weekend, it all came together, and I ended up in New Orleans a month later. It'll begin with the next post...

That's all for now. Hope everybody had a happy Easter and/or a Pesach Sameach. I must be excused now, as, through a weird series of events, I am now locked inside my house and must frantically lobby my neighbors for the keys. It's either that or I must wait for Dan to come home from Baton Rouge.

Yep. Home sweet home.


Update: I got hold of my keys from my neighbor, unlocked my door to head out with the little guy, and beheld the return of the pothole from hell. I came back to the house later on in the day and found the pothole filled in, once again, with cement, and the sidewalk in front of my neighbors' repaired as well (it wasn't last time, maybe because it was Mardi Gras and there wasn't time for such frivolity as making street repairs).

Oh, and if anyone in the New Orleans area gets hold of the latest Gambit Weekly, check out Bunny Matthews' Vic and Nat'ly cartoon...bloggers will find it especially relevant. I haven't been able to find an online link to it, otherwise I'd be posting it for all to behold.