Hillman Cellular Meltdahn

First of all, sorry to all my Butter fans whom I've been neglecting. I will probably not have much time to blog in the near future...but I gotta share this one with yinz.

As has been my recent habit, I was reading (last week's) Es&Ts assignment on the 4th floor of Hillman yesterday. There are signs posted everywhere about cell phone usage. You are only supposed to use them on the G-Level, in the Cup & Chaucer cafe & in the stairwells.

Whatev. In any library, there is usually no need for me to worry about my cellie for a few reasons:
First, it's usually off.
Second, I am in the library to bust a fucking move on my workload, not chit-chat with my pals.
Third, I only have, like 5 friends, anyway. It's my dad who calls all the time. Communication is the basis for a healthy relationship, right?
Fourth, Shut the fuck up!

That said, this is what happened yesterday at the table behind me: A (blind) older man made no less than 5 consecutive phone calls; I call him blind because he obviously couldn't see the cell phone rules which are displayed ubiquitously (a word?) in this joint. As if this whole situation wasn't annoying enough, the fucking subject of these phone calls was this dude's nasty-ass colon. Yeppers, he was calling to schedule a COLONOSCOPY!

OK, I pitied my pops when he had to have one...it was even kinda funny to talk to him on the phone as he left the hospital, 'cause he was all fucked-up on drugs. And he is very prahd of being "high on life!"; "No artificial stimuli!"

But, this blind, inconsiderate assman interrupted my learning about holographic wills with concerns about his colon. Steamy topic for public conversation. I know that when I want to discuss my cooter with the folks at Planned Parenthood, I make sure to be in the quietest public place possible, so that everyone can hear about the juicy details of my snatch. It makes perfect sense.

I hope he fails his colon testing process.

Look, I am not usually this much of a biiiaach...Sorry, just releasing some stress thru blogging. Thank god there's only 3.5 hours 'til Weave.

The Lower 9th Ward

Today, after an afternoon of sitting at the legal aid table at the St. Bernard Parish DRC (Disaster Relief Center, aka "FEMA tent"), the NOLAC attorney I was working with took me on a drive through the Lower 9th Ward. This neighborhood, as you may know, was the hardest hit by Katrina. And by hardest hit, I mean that it no longer exists. At all. A nuclear holocaust would have left more buildings standing than Katrina did.

I'll let these photos do the talking, but I would like to take serious fucking issue with "President" G.W. Bush's "visit" to NO today. First, he was scheduled to stop by the St. Bernard DRC, as the Secret Service had scoped the place out last night & this morning (according to a security officer at the tent). And, well, he flaked. Su-prise, su-prise.

Secondly, all my pals working with ACORN demolishing drywall and emptying folks' houses of toxic refrigerators and furniture actually saw the motorcade drive by. Although they didn't see W, they caught a glimpse of Laura, hair helmet & all. The motorcade was reportedly 70ish vehicles long. No shit. Perhaps this is because every single resident of this town would like to personally shoot G Dubs. And the thing of the thing is...um, their SUV sped past at approximately 45 MPH. To give you some context here, it is really hard to take in the whole scene in while driving any faster than 10 MPH. To call it surreal is the understatement of the decade. So, he blasted through the 9th Ward, stopped by the Industrial Canal (which is under construction) & took a quick helicopter flight over NO. What a fucking douchebag. Period.

Enough blathering from me. I am still in shock from my experience today.

"We Thought It Was a Water Main Break"

Our cab ride to Jacques-Imo's last night was beyond real. Our cabbie told us his story of Katrina. Basically, he rode out the storm in his apartment. After it passed, he went outside and checked out the damage. He said that he was tired, so he went back inside, turned up the heat & went to bed. A few hours later, he went back outside & saw that there was some water in the streets. He & his neighbors thought that perhaps a water pipe had broken, or something like that. A few hours later, there was more water in the streets. Still, they had no idea what was coming their way. Finally, word reached this neighborhood that the levees had been breached & they instantly knew that they were screwed. He escaped...and has been living in Brownsville, Texas for the past six months. And he really did not like it much. He just "returned" to NO last week to begin working again, but he still doesn't live in the city. In fact, he lives almost an hour away, near Baton Rouge & drives in every day to drive folks around the city.

God bless Amerr-ica.

P.S. The cabbie's cellie rang while we were along for the ride. He answered, "Hello? Hell-O?" Then he started to laugh really hard. "You'll never believe who's calling me!" He turned down the radio & held the phone up so that we could all hear who was on the other end of the line...a recording of Mayor Ray Nagin pleading for his vote in the upcoming mayoral election. Christ.

This Lady's Got Some Serious Perspective

So, lunch today dahntahn was at Hobnobbers...a reccommendation from an attorney at NOLAC. Let me tell you, it was delish! So, you walk into this extremely poorly-lit bar...with a florescent-lighted cafeteria-style area in the way back of this establishment. The food was total homecookin', with a rotating list of daily specials. I had the salisbury steak with au gratin potatos. Not your average Eat n' Park wimpy-ass salisbury steak, but a Nerf football-sized ball of beef drenched in brown gravy. A. mazing.

And that's not the end of the story. Not by far. So we ate at the bar, Abita Restoration Ale (dedicated to rebuiling this city) in hand to wash down the goodness. The bartender, Lisa, inquired as to our buisness in NO & we told her about the Student Hurricane Network of law students. Then it got really interesting.

Lisa said that she has never been better. Life was treating her very well. Why, you might ask? Well, she had the foresight(?) to purchase a quarter-pound of pot around the time that Katrina hit. As a connoisseur of pot/hemp food, she whipped up a ton of pot brownies & sold them to folks after the storm. And she made a boatload of cash. And she did not have any bills or rent to pay. And she got a nice check from FEMA. And business at Hobnobbers was picking up. And her house was only missing its facade (she showed us a Christmas card/photo of her sitting in what looks like a doll house, as you can see everything inside from the outside). So, when I told her that she was the most positive person that I had met so far (as Katrina survivors go), she said that she was 99.9% happy. What constituted the tenth of a percent of unhappiness? Her boyfriend is currently in the hospital with pneumonia.

What a great outlook on life, huh?

"I'm keeping this line free for FEMA..."

In keeping with my promise to try to bring the feel of ReNew Orleans to you, I would like to relate this short ancedote. I find the most meaning and insight in the littlest things & this goes to that...

Since taking an outside smoke break in March is usually a huge pain in the cold Pittsburgh weather, I was overjoyed to sit outside of NOLAC on Common Street in the sunny afternoon & watch the traffic try to navigate the chaotic streets & intersections of this town. (Some intersections are now 4-way stops, sans stop signs...apparently, you just have to be psychic...or way cautious.)

Anyhoo, I was out on this bench getting some well-deserved nicotiene & overheard this man on the bench across from me on his cell phone with his cell service provider. His side of the conversation went something like this:

"I just need to know how many minutes I have left. I just payed, like $25 a couple of days ago."

"Oh, yeah...my number is 504-353-XXXX"

"That's 5-0-4...5-0-4...yeah, I'm in Newalins. Yup, Katrina. That's why I've gotta know how many minutes I've got left...I'm on a budget, man...belly laugh...I've gotta get off the phone with you, 'cause I'm keeping this line free for FEMA..."

And it made me wonder, just when will FEMA call this man? His whole life right now depends on a call from the government. God, W. sucks.

NO LA!

Hey y'all!

I made it to the dirrty, dirrty souf! Hooray! Granted, I'm going on like, 3 hours of sleep, but WTF? I'm in NOLA.

First impressions: From the airplane Newalins did not look that fucked up to be honest. True, there were blue FEMA roof tarps, but they covered only every fifth house or so. But perhaps we flew over a less impacted part of the city? I'm pretty sure that's what happened. From the airport to our lodging in the French Quarter, more damage was visible, especially on the taller buildings. Broken windows, missing signs, etc. But, then we passed the Superdome. And I kinda had this strange feeling in my stomach...like I had seen some real fucked up shit go down there (on TV). It was a spooky feeling. Especially since there was a huge sign on the Dome that indicated that the building will be back in operation in September - "Go Saints!"
Then we noticed that various traffic lights throughout town did not work. So, we proceeded with caution.

The French Quarter seems to be mainly suffering from a hangover from last week's Mardi Gras celebration...lots of streamers stuck in tree branches & condom wrappers in the streets (see photo above).

I will let yinz know how my first day of volunteer work goes tomorrow...I have orientation in one hour.

P.S. For lunch, I scarfed dahn some red beans & rice with sausage. Yummy! Washed that dahn with two Abita Ambers & pow: Energized Dice.

Stupid Shadyside

Yinz all know that the Steelers DVD premiere at Loews Theater in the Waterfront was interupted by a bomb threat the other night. Sad, but true. And yinz might guess that it was a Seahawks fan or Browns fan who placed the call. It's a possibility. But, last night on the news, it was revealed that the call originated from a pay phone in Shadyside.

Yeppers...uppity, high falutin', fancy-schmancy Shadyside. Fuckers. Now I have yet another reason to avoid hangin' aht in that neighborhood. Christ.

Can You Smell It?

Mmmmmmmm...it's the smell of Spring Break. And it starts (for me, at least) at 3:15pm EST tomorrow. Not so much the whole wet T-shirt contest/Booze Cruise version of S.B., but a period of time in which I do not have to think about a certain legal case for which I have read no less than 15 different briefs. Oh yeah, I get to read more of them when I get back from Newalins...but that's like, 11 days from now. All that stands between me & cleaning my apartment & packing up my shit is 14 pages of Es&Ts reading & ONE MORE BRIEF & accompanying student meeting.

Ahem, die M. L. Hosty & Dean Patricia Carter, die. You too, Steven Barbra & Jeni Porche, or whatever your name is. Fuck the Innovator & their weak-ass bi-monthly publishing schedule. Fuck prior restraints. Double fuck the qualified immunity Saucier test. And what's the fucking deal with the Governors State University lacking the possessive apostrophe? Lordy am I sick of editing 1L briefs. Can you tell?

Anyhoo, I am almost ready to do some serious cover letter action tomorrow evening, followed by Saturday's "Attack & Pack" plan, a clever name which I just may have to trademark. You know, this week has flown by, even though I haven't had the pleasure of my King's company. But that's OK. I know that he's in a better place than the Barco. And for that I am thankful...and jealous.

A quick shout out to the Hillman Library for providing me much-needed shelter/hiding me from 1Ls this week. The Cup & Chaucer rulz. Shit, I just let the cat ahtta the proverbial bag.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.