PennDOT Sucks: A Euphemism

I recently experienced a rush hour nightmare on my way from P-Burgh to WashPa. And, as a faithful reader of the Post-Gazette column, "Getting Around," I submitted an email to Joe Grata, the writer of said column. Here it is in its entirety:

"Dear Mr. Grata,

To begin, I love your "Getting Around" column. It speaks the truth about PennDOT and other transportation woes in the Pittsburgh region. A feat that is unduplicated around these parts.

As a Pittsburgher who commutes to Washington, PA for work via the Parkway West and Interstate 79 South, I was wondering if you could shed some light on a particularly confounding PennDOT practice I have suffered through time and time again. Why, oh, why does PennDOT choose the morning rush hour to accomplish a relatively small project that could be completed, say, after 10 a.m. and before 3 p.m.?

The most recent example of this foolishness which caused hundreds, if not a few thousands, of folks to be late for work on Wednesday, October 10 began shortly after the Bridgeville exit on 79 South. Slowing from 65 mph (yes, I know that the speed limit is only 55 on 79; this is another source of my commuter angst), I passed a construction sign that flashed something to the the effect of "LEFT LANE CLOSED NEXT 20 MILES." Um, what? I was traveling in the left lane. And I continued to travel in the left lane for the next 12 or so miles at approximately 10-15 mph in stop-and-go traffic. I couldn't figure out what PennDOT could possibly be doing for 20 miles without some type of advanced notice. When I appraoched Canonsburg, there appeared to be a plume of dark smoke, and then my hypothesis changed to: well, maybe it isn't PennDOT, but a horrible fiery accident. Alas, the smoke was coming from the valley, not from the roadside. Finally, a slowly-moving PennDOT truck with one of those blinking arrows pointing to the right became visible, and the merging commenced. Between this arrow truck and the next, there were two PA State Police vehicles, then more PennDOT trucks slowly meandering southbound in the left lane. And when I was in view of the reason for the whole darn traffic snarl, I could not believe what I saw: two workers jumping on and off of the truck quickly replacing those reflector thingys along the white broken center lane dividing line. At 8:30 in the morning.

I am a veteran commuter. I always build at least 15 extra minutes into my trip in case of heavy traffic, accidents, etc. However, I was still 15 minutes late for work Wednesday. And that just gets the day off to a bad start.

We both know that this project did not take these workers longer than a portion of the morning to complete. However, I am baffled as to why they could not just wait until 10 a.m. to begin this work. (Case in point: I had Columbus Day off and I traveled from the South Side Slopes to IKEA in Robinson Township in just 15 minutes in very light traffic at 10 in the morning.) It would increase the safety of the workers, their vehicles, other motorists, preclude the possiblilty of higher blood pressure and stress in motorists, and well, allow us all to get to work on time.

This episode is not unusual. There have been bridge inspections and other justified nonsense which, again, could take place at a later hour. Is their scheduling designed to cause road rage and other medical and emotional distress in the citizens of this fair Commonwealth? Or does this have something to do with the ridiculously early shifts that PennDOT schedules so that their workers can get home in time to catch the afternoon soap opera lineup? I mean, really, we already put up with an un-Godly number of simultaneous construction projects and are forced to remember which road is closed at what time and which detour to take. This rush hour junk is simply over the top.

Please advise."

Two days later, Joe emailed me back with this:

"thanks for your note. let's ask penndot about this. tnx, joe grata"

Joe had forwarded my concerns to a bureaucrat named James Struzzi. However, I have not yet received a response from Mr. Struzzi. WTF? I know that he has better things to do than email pissed off commuters, but I have better things to do than be late for work for no good reason.

I'll let you know what happens...

I'm Baaaack.

So you thought Hot Pink Butter was dead, didn't you?

Actually, so did I, that is, for some time. That, my friends, is due to a number of reasons. The most prominent in my mind being the fact that I thought that if I was going to be a marketable young attorney with a spankin' clean reputation and outward appearance of professionalism, that I could no longer post to this blog with the same artistic freedom and candidness as before (read: freedom to cuss). Also, I was busy living in a place known as Washington, PeeA, where there was plenty to blog about, but due to small-tahn syndrome, I was sure that someone with an Internet connection would get wind of my ranting and I would be forever shunned. And no one wants to be shunned.

Well, some things have changed, and others have not. To summarize the progress in my life, I will use a list format, as I do with most things in my life:

1. I graduated from Pitt Law in May 2006.
2. I am now burdened by two monthly law school loan payments (the feds get the big check & the bank gets the small check).
3. I passed the Pennsylvania Bar Exam & was admitted to said Bar in October 2006.
4. I have been working as a Law Clerk for a Washington County Judge for 14 months.
5. For the first 12 of those 14 months, I rented a duplex in the City of Washington across from a drug dealer.
6. The highlight of my law clerkship so far was experiencing a 1st Degree Murder jury trial, with sharp object as definite murder weapon, fecal matter-covered flashlight as possible murder weapon, crackhead homeless violent Defendant, 63-year old naked murder victim, and all. (BTW, yes, Randy Douglas Reese was found guilty beyond a reasonable doubt and will reside at SCI Camp Hill for the duration of his natural life.)
7. I purchased my first home (FSBO) in the Souf Side Slopes!
8. I have been living out years of my dreams (& nightmares) of TLC/HGTV by rehabbing the cosmetics of the aforesaid home.
9. I sold my nine-year old Dodge Durango & bought Skafta's grandmother's 1999 green Honda Civic so that I could afford the student loan payments, mortgage, and bills while living on the equivalent of minimum wage for lawyers AND filling my vehicle with enough gas to drive 330 miles each week to and from work.
10. I continue to work for my Judge by commuting 33 miles south each day to Wash Cow (a job that I would love all the more if if were (1) in Pittsburgh and (2) paid me $5-10k more per year).
11. Travel in the past 16 months included Florida, Colorado and Aruba. Fantastic!
12. I re-immersed myself in tap dancing by taking Advanced Tap once a week at my cousin's studio, Kickline Dance Center. I dance alongside high schoolers who think that I am nuts. Funny, but nuts. And, yes, I danced in the recital. In a costume. And forced everyone, including the Judge & our staff to come and see it.

Ummmmmm, so I think that about catches everyone up on my life. Now, I can post about normal things, funny things, political things (well, except for politics in Wash Cow, because as an employee of an elected official, I am prohibited on many levels from doing so).

Hooray!

P.S. I hope that you like the new look of the Butter.

Holy Electronic Voting Machines, Batman!

The time has finally arrived. Springtime equals primary elections. Maybe that's why I received my glossy "How to Vote on an Electronic Voting Machine for Dummies" brochure in the mail just last week. I obviously did not have enough time to properly study its contents.

Upon entering my usual polling place, I was overcome with a sad nostalgia (but first, I checked to see if my favorite same 6 senior citizens were running the show); for where those faded mint green metal monsters with the sweet automatic curtains once stood, there were 2 black plastic oversized pop-up screens.

As a MegaTouch Photo Hunt fan, I was sure that these silly things would be no match for my kickass touch-screen skillz. And they weren't. But, something strange caught my eye while voting...

The first screen listed the ballots for the top positions, e.g. Governor, Lt. Gov., Senator. Then, the second page listed the candidates for State Representatives, Committe Members, etc. But, um, the second page not only listed the names of the candidates, but their genders, too! What's up with that? Why don't you have Gov. Rendell listed as a "male"? But, in order to elect committe members, we have to know what version of genitals they possess?

Am I totally nuts, or is this the first time genders have been listed on the ballot? Or is that some type of freaky Committe requirement - half dudes, half broads? AYFKM?, quoting Throck.

Oh, whatever, I'm too busy studying for the PAB MS with PMBR that I don't have the strength to rant abaht the entire electronic voting pro-cess. Change is good, right? Um, right.

As long as we get Tricky Ricky in the fall...

I CAN SEE!

Yes, indeed. I can see. Without glasses. For the first time in almost 18 years. It is really trippy, to be honest. I feel kinda naked without my glasses, but fortunately, I get to wear these pimp sunglasses (or "solarshields" as the LASIK folks call them) for the next few days. I have an appointment later today to make sure all is kosher with my corneas.

The LASIK procedure was painless, except for the sinking feeling that I was experiencing an alien brain removal on a padded table, while being forced to stare at this blinky orange light. The famous Dr. Whitten kept saying things like "You're doing great. Focus on the light. (Sounds of an electronic blade whirring in the background) Now, the light will disappear for a second. Now, the light will be blurry. Good. Good. Doing great. (Sounds of a laser melting my corneas, complete with the smell of burning tissue) Now, the light will be clearer. OK, almost done. (I can see a tiny spatula smoothing out my corneal flap). OK, next eye." Repeat.

Granted, the whole thing took like, 4 minutes, but holy, holy, holy. Thank gawd for the Valium. And the squishy stress ball that I was kneading in my right hand.

The only part that sucked was that the numbing eye drops wore off after thirty minutes, as my mom & I were approaching the Soufside. And, I became instantly miserable. So, I swallowed the Tylenol PM, smoked a square, taped the hard plastic eye patches to my face & pounced into bed. Apparently, the most painful part of LASIK is the 6 hours following the procedure. They highly recommend sleeping during this phase. So, I did. Then, you're fine. Perfectly fine. But, I did wake up about 3 hours into my nap. And I made the huge mistake of briefly opening my eyes. For a nanosecond. AND IT KILLED. Imagine a burning, aching, gravel-in-your-eyes sensation. So, I shut them, but the burning continued. So I slept some more. And I can see.

So, to all you nay-sayers out there...I can see. Time will only tell if this is just a passing sensation.

New wardrobe of sunglasses, here I come!

LASIK = Waiving My Right to Trial?

In preparation for my LASIK surgery (while simultaneously procrastinating in re: the Copyright memo), I sat down with the 8-page "Informed Consent" form. I was told to read it carefully before coming in for the procedure tomorrow. Since I have already endured 2 appointments to prepare me for this disturbing, yet desirable event, I thought that this document would just reiterate all the things I've been told by my doctors & technicians. But, no. Pages 5 & 6 of the form contain an Arbitration Agreement (read like a Pirate, "arrrrgh-bit-tration"), which states:

Arbitration is the resolution of a dispute by an impartial third person whose decision is binding on the parties. (duh) We have found that resolving disputes by arbitration is a quick & efficient alternative to the court system. (I'm still with ya) As a result, we request that all patients receiving services at TLC sign this agreement. (you are requesting? really? or is it more like forcing?) By signing this Arbitration Agreement & consenting to treatment, you agree that:
1. Any dispute you have arising out of the diagnosis, treatment & services you received by TLC or your surgeon or personal eye care doctor, including treatment & services you received before the date of this Arbitration Agreement, or the applicability & scope of this Arbitration Agreement will be resolved exclusively & finally by binding arbitration except for (a) judicial review of the arbitration proceedings or (b) claims within the jurisdictional limit of small claims court. (Judge Judy, here I come)
Etc. etc. etc.
The undersigned agrees that he/she waives his/her right to trial in court for any future malpractice claim he/she may have against TLC, your surgeon &/or personal eye care provider.

Um, whoa pardner. TLC, I thought that we had a trusting relationship. I mean, I pay you $4,600 & you hook me up with good vision for life. Oh, & some valium & Tylenol PM. But, no. You want to take away my Constitutionally-protected right to sue your ass & replace it with some bullshit Arrrrrgh-bit-tration Clause. I'm gonna have to sleep on this one.

The Love Test? Fer real?

Folks, I need some help here. I have Googled & Asked, & my question remains unanswered by this great invention called the Internet(s).

The question is: Which movie contains the scene where a dude walks up to his car, unlocks the passenger side door & lets his girl get in...as he walks around the car to his door, she has already leaned over to unlock his door? Somewhere along in the movie, her act is discussed & considered to be extrinsic proof that she truly loves him. (Of course, the car did not have automatic locks, so he would've had to use his key again to unlock his own door.)

Does this little humane act equal true love? Not in my modern world, but it may mean that the passenger lady cares. Actually, I always do this in cars without automatic locks...does that mean that I should marry each person I ride with, whose car is sans auto unlocking systems?

C'mon, please help me settle this bet...

Arigato gozimasu.

51A Freak of the Week

So, this morning I had to grab a bus to take me into tahn for my job interview. Of course, I was running a bit behind my preplanned schedule. See, Pittsburgh buses (& traffic & detours & people) are rather unpredictible. Thus, I wanted to build in a 30 minute buffer for traveling to a place I could walk to in 35 minutes. And the cardinal rule of job interviews is to be on time, if not early. Anyhoo, I (miraculously) caught the 51A at 11:30am, with 30 minutes until the interview. Things were looking up. The bus was pretty empty, so instead of heading to the back of the bus & sitting in the U-shaped section (as I usually do), I sat in one of the doubles along the left side of the bus. I placed my briefcase on the aisle seat next to me & began rehearsing interview answers in my head.

Approximately 3 blocks later, a man who I always see riding the buses, dressed in his life uniform of jeans, denim jacket & Pirates ball cap, boarded the bus. He took forever to pay his $1.75, digging around in his pockets & wallet, and we missed the light at 20th. This makes me a tad annoyed on days like this where time is of the essence. And then he jammed the change-thingy by pushing his quarters in the slot until the driver told him to "Stop it." Then, denim man walked back & stood over me until I got the message that he wanted to sit where my briefcase was. So, I gave him a look & politely (but, internally begrudgingly) moved my bag onto my lap. He sat down, making sure to rub up against me at least three times. (Remember, the bus had, like 25 empty seats, many of them without anyone to share; further, I was the only professionally-dressed woman on the bus, i.e. pantyhose (no undies, T!), suit, high heels, etc.) So, this sleazeball sits down next to me, real close like, and keeps giving me this look. And he was sitting soooooo very close. Ugh. But, I was trapped by the window & couldn't really escape & change seats without looking like a total bitch. So, I closed my eyes & waited to get the hell across the Mon River so that I could jump off this bus. I can easily say that this was one of the most uncomfortable bus rides in recent memory. Especially since I was kinda nervous about the interview and really did not need a freak to be all up in my personal space. I had this wierd feeling that he was getting off from sitting so close to me, but I could not bring myself to check to see if he had an erection.

I survived, por supuesto, but, seriously I am putting the PAT bus freaks on notice: there is no need to sit virtually on top of the one normal-looking person on the bus. None. My relative normalcy/sanity will not rub off on you during the 15 minute ride dahntahn. It is physically impossible. Try therapy. I need some, myself.

Enough ranting. The interview went well, but I was informed that he was interviewing another 8 candidates. Hooray. Now onto conquer the world of secondary copyright liability. Joy.

48 Hours, Backwards & Forwards

Well, howdy there. Bet you weren't expecting to see a new post on the Butter. And here I am.

Here I am, fresh from a wedding roadtrip to northeast Philly. Suburban Philly. Meaning a place where the road is split into, like 4 sets of 3 lanes, the ones in the middle being for folks who do not want to make any turns & the outer ones for people like us who are staying at the Radisson & brunching at IHOP. With Walgreens & Wawas on every corner.

In brief, it was a quick trip across Pee-Ay & back, with kudos to the Turnpike Commission & PennDOT. Psych! Total cost of tolls: $34.50. What a (monopolistic) bargain. The ceremony was held at this little old covered bridge in Bucks County under sunny skies. I had the refreshing opportunity to reunite with some old high school & college pals & dance my pants off with all the older ladies & little kids in the bride's family's beautiful yard.

So, I am back in the Burgh, facing down the last 1/2 of a copyright memo. This memo is the last fucking thing I have to do for law school. THE LAST. Pretty sweet, huh? I researched & wrote the first half almost 2 weeks ago. Then, of course, Nona passed & I had to study for Es&Ts & finish my seminar paper. This puppy is due Tuesday at noon. Um, that's like 15 minutes before I am scheduled to have Lasik surgery on my eyeballs. Of which I am psychologically terrified. Oh, and I have my first job interview in a year tomorrow at noon. Big gulp.

I, like BFF TMcC, simply yearn to have the freedom to clean my apartment & chill out before I begin studying for the bar exam on May 15. Yep, PMBR starts in ONE WEEK. Then, BarBri starts on the 22nd. And, well, it's all downhill from there.

Wish me luck.

My Perfect Job, As Imagined

OK, this is a BIG "what-if", but...

This January, I had lunch with a Professor to brainstorm about enviro law non-profit job opportunities/ideas/whatev. Over huevos rancheros, Silverfox joked that if I could come up with my own salary, LITERALLY PAY MYSELF TO WORK THERE, he would hire me at PF. Like, get myself a grant or "ask Daddy to pay your salary." Um, WHAT? A little insulting, I must say. But this was all in jest. He was just trying to lighten what seemed to be an extremely bleek situation; there are so few prospsects for a fresh, young enviro law grad who wants to remain in her beloved P-burgh. (Gawd, I just used the 3rd person in referring to myself.) And practice enviro law, or any type of law at all, for that matter.

Here's the "what-if?" portion of the idea...that's if you're being pessimistic, though.

I'll do better than pay my own measly salary to work at PF.

I WILL WIN POWERBALL.

Then, I will buy King's Court across from the Barco & turn it into a HUMONGOUS Legal Clinic! I will buy some sweet new technology so that we can keep up with the resources of big firms and represent even more pro se litigants. I will provide salaries for staff attorneys for each clinic so that we can really get some work done. And then, I will buy some great professors to work in it! It will be the smoothest, pimpist law school clinic on the planet. Trust me.

And, of course, I will have a job there, too. As a "good-side-of-the-lawsuit" enviro hippie gansta attorney. And I will pay my own salary. Hooray.

Don't worry, though. Seymour will get his comeuppance once the whole Powerball thing comes through in the form of some sweet mountain woods.

So, there. That's my plan.
Happy Holidays!

This Weather Rocks!

If I could experience intermittent lightning/thunderstorms every night throughout the spring & summer, life would be perfect. It would be a nice warm day, followed by a refreshing evening storm to rinse away afternoon.

Well, maybe eventually I would begin to take it for granted. Begin to forget how cool it is. Like a sunrise or sunset. Or like the people who live in places where you can see the Aurora Borealis.

It's probably better this way. Yeah, it's good that thunderstorms only happen now & again.

Nice work, weather patterns.

Big Weave Plus One (More)

Last night, I attended my first ever "Boot Camp" at Naka Fitness. Basically, this amounted to 2 hours of heart-pounding hip hop aerobics, supplemented with tons of abs & weights. Suffice it to say that I am really sore this morning. But, the most important news of the night was that Weave ran out of the class at 8:30pm (after class, but before stretching) to go to the hospital because his wife was having a baby! GO BIG WEAVE! Procreate! Good job!

Weave, you are such an amazing person & asset to this town. You are a great father, teacher & role model. I am so happy that you are having another kid, cause that means that there will be another kickass dancer in the Burgh. And that kid will have a father who we all adore.

Congrats!

T.C. + IC Light = Happy Days

If you aren't familiar with T.C., then you are not a Pittsburgh sports fan. Or, you simply have never been to a Steelers, Pirates or Penguins game. No matter. Just watch this slideshow from the PP-G about my favorite vendor on Opening Day 2006.

Editor's Note: Call it a coincidence, but two different people emailed me this link today. They used to be married to each other. I'll leave the sleuthing to yinz.

Just Call Me "Shit for Brains"

Hi there. Um, today when I posted for the first time in, like, 3 weeks, I tried to be all "oh, sorry I've been too busy to blog." Then, I mumbled (Query: Can you mumble while blogging, since it is really an audible act?) something about procrastination, which was my brain's passive-aggressive way to complain about my seminar paper about how nasty waste coal flyash is for "remediation" of acid mine drainage. ANYHOO, I was not being completely straight with you about why I have not been posting on the Butter.

This is really embarrassing...what's even more embarassing is the fact that I have actually sought help from other bloggers about my "problem with Blogger."

Um, yeah, I forgot what my Blogger username was. Yep. I kept trying to log in as "Diceburgh" instead of "candacestockey." To add to the confusion, every time I logged in as Diceburgh, I existed. Although there was no blog attached to that username, nor was there a complete profile, Diceburgh (with my corresponding password) lived. But not with the Butter. Confused? Me, too.

So, this went on for. like. two. weeks.

Long story short, it occurred to me on the bus yesterday that perhaps I had been using the wrong username. And I was (obviously) correct in my well-overdue hypothesis.

An aside: In this age of multiple online accounts (email(s), school, banking, eBay, NYT, photo services, etc.), how in the hell are we supposed to keep all of our usernames & passwords straight? I only ask because it is considered poor form to always use the same username &/or password. Lordy. My brain is way too overloaded sometimes, I guess. So there. I'm not perfect. Ha!

P.S. Buccos won tonight!! We're 2 and 7, bitches. Watch aht, Cubbies! And T's loverboy, C.Dubs had a homer. Excellent!

Let's Go Bucs!

Sorry for the prolonged absence. Since I am supposed to be writing my seminar paper right now, I am obviously using the Butter as a procrastination device.

I would just like to say that the Pirates are off to a sad start, yet again. 1-7 with an embarassing home opener, yet again. Silly errors & a collective inability to judge how balls will riccochet off the outfield wall. These dudes need some more Spring Training. But, this critique is expected from any devoted fan.

I would like to publicly complain about the Pirates' score cards, which are available for $1.00 at PNC Park. This year, some morons decided to make the entire score card glossy, instead of just the outside. Writing with a little pencil does not work very well on a glossy surface. Further, the eraser removes the carbon, but since you have to press so hard to write on it, the indentations remain after you erase. Thus, I must insist that they stop printing the score cards like that & go back to the old format. OK, it was good to get that off of my chest.

Yesterday was the first official day of spring according to the book of Dice. My own personal federal holiday of sorts. The weather was glorious, the beer was cold and I was surrounded by friendly faces. I suppose making it onto the Jumbo-tron TWICE in one game could be considered to be an accomplishment. Oh, and scaling a 15-foot tall lamp post to steal a humungous yellow balloon without getting arrested could also be seen as a great endeavor. Or just drunken stupidity? Whatever you call it, yesterday rocked! Thanks everyone for blowing off school/work/etc. for some well-deserved celebration.

Now, all we've gotta do is win some freeking games.
Go Buccos!

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.