So a professor, a post-graduate, and and undergrad walk into a martini bar...

Surprisingly, that isn't the start of a raunchy joke. Well. It could be, but I'm too lazy to make one up, and 'raunchy' would be kind of awkward, anyway. That said, since I last wrote, I have:


- drunk my first martini (the Bombay Club in the French Quarter; pomegranate, yum. tasted weirdly like drinking jello)
- tried bourbon (in a mint julep; have yet to drink it straight)
- tried a hurricane at Pat O'Briens on Bourbon Street (ew, cherry cough syrup, but it Had To Be Done, although Pat O's was choc-full of Tulane graduates, which made standing upright difficult. Their website says "Step off the well worn path of Bourbon Street into our tranquil paradise!"; I say "HAH.")
- walked down Bourbon St on a Saturday night, which, wow. (Wow.)
- learned about Jean Lafitte and his, er, alliance with Andrew Jackson. Sometimes.
- hiked through a swamp (Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and Preserve in Marrero, just outside the city proper)
- taken a car-tour of several of the worst-hit parishes, including Lakeview and Lake Pontchartrain, and a few streets of the Ninth Ward. There are no trees left.
- spent two days carving new rows for a community garden just past I-10 (see the class blog, http://furmannola.blogspot.com/, for more details), and getting a lovely archeological cross-section of the average New Orleans housing lot at the same time. (Clay. More clay. Packed oyster shells. Bricks. Parts of bathtub.)
- been on an Abita pub crawl
- tried raw oysters in the shell
- ate brunch at Arnaud's (dear assorted deities: the original creator of Bananas Foster can be nominated for sainthood, please)
- made friends with a bass fiddle player who's been in the business for sixty-four years ("They dropped the bombs on Tuesday and Friday, and on Saturday, I got my first paying gig - I was thirteen years and eight months old, and I played for four hours and made $4.28. That's when I knew my bass fiddle and me were in this for the long haul.")
- escaped my group and ridden the trolley on my own (okay, okay, I had permission. still: silence. it's beautiful.)
- taken refuge in a Borders! woo! Which is where I'm typing from.


It's a beautiful day - thundering, pouring down rain, and quiet.

Tomorrow we're volunteering at St. Margaret's nursing home.

And I actually typed an additional paragraph here, but it was depressing me, so let's just say this is far outside my comfort zone and leave it at that. I know that the most important thing is to be present, to smile and to listen and to pay attention, and to make the residents feel like someone cares - and that is something that I can do.

That said, family, expect a phone call tomorrow night. I love you!