Damn tourists

 Back before Mardi Gras, I was drinking at the Chart Room with a rather nice girl named Veronica. I'd met her the week previously and we hit it off as folks in bars often do. I don't remember how the conversation got around to this, but she said something along the lines of the following:

 "New Orleans will fool you. It will be so cool to you and then knock you on your ass just when you get comfortable." Ever since then, I've been waiting for the shoe to drop. Either someone will steal my car or I'll get mugged or someone will break in or something will happen, and them that know me best know I can worry like nobody's business. I've just been waiting on it.

 So, I get off work tonight, and after having a sandwich and cleaning up a bit, I decide to go to Cosimo's to drink a few cold beers and get some reading done. I sit around for almost two hours, shoot the shit with Lauren the bartender and head home. I get maybe 20 feet from my apartment door and notice, for no particular reason, a red Nissan Titan pick-up truck with two fratboy-looking dudes in it and a GPS system. About the time they get to the corner of Rampart and Dumaine, I hear heavy footfalls coming up behind me.

 Before I can really react, WHAM, I see stars. Some asshole just hit me in the side of the face. He runs on and the truck door opens to let him inside. I holler out, "Why'd you hit me, asshole?" To which he wittily replies, "You're the asshole." "No," I come back, "What was the point of that?" I swear, he stopped to think a bit before he jumped in and drove off. The truck was too far away and I was still seeing stars so I couldn't get the license plate and all I could see of the attacker was a baseball cap, a blue sports jersey and khaki shorts. Had I been able to make a positive ID, I would have called the cops.

 Long and short of it is I have a pretty nasty cut under my right eye and it's starting to swell a bit. Plus, I have a roaring headache. It wasn't much of a punch, frankly. He drew blood, which has already stopped bleeding, and I was staggered a bit, but I didn't go down. He obviously wasn't in the mood to hang around and didn't try to steal anything, so it was a completely pointless act of unnecessary violence that will, at most, result in a headache tomorrow morning, some jokes from my co-workers and worry from Momma.

 Welcome to New Orleans, I suppose.

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I want to pick up and move away from Athens and start my life, but I have no idea where to begin. I was wondering what you would tell someone who wants to follow in your footsteps and make a life-changing decision after 22 years in the same place -Megon

Well, for what it's worth, I personally wouldn't recommend following in my footsteps, as I can't walk a straight line on level ground without tripping over my feet. As I stumble towards middle age, I consider myself more of warning of what not to do. Still, a serious questions deserves a serious answer.

Before I start, though, I say wherever you’re planning on going, do it. Moving is stressful as hell but it’s also incredibly rewarding on so many levels, no matter where you go. A place like Athens is easy living, so just going through all the nonsense of uprooting your life will teach you so much about not only the world outside Clarke County but also about yourself, as clichéd as that might sound. And the best thing is you can always come back to Athens.

First and foremost, be deeply and thoroughly confident the reasons you're moving are valid ones. "Starting your life" is a good enough reason, but if you're running from something it will follow you and if you're looking for something you can't define you won't find it. Just be sure, and "because I'm bored where I am and it's time to go" is a good enough reason, as well. “It seems like a cool town to live in” works for me as well. Human beings are incredibly adaptable and we can exist anywhere, it’s just a matter of having fun when we’re there.

Secondly, this is a life-changing decision. After so much time in one place, you undoubtedly have roots put down, friends, habits, comfort zones, and such things. All that will be gone if you move and you'll have to start all over. It's pretty damn tough and it will change your life in ways you can't imagine now. Not ever town’s grocery stores sell your favorite brand of bread, for example.

Okay, so much for all that. First thing, pick a place to move to. I realize that sounds simplistic, but it's deceptively important. Again, this is a big decision and a huge change, so you want to make sure it's one that's rewarding. I can't tell you where to move, but find a place that appeals for some reason, be it for a career or just because it seems like a cool place to live.

Secondly, pick a date to move and stick by it. You will give yourself outs and excuses. I'd been planning to move to New Orleans since 2005 and found hundreds of reasons not to go. So, pick a date and make your plans around that date. Make it happen and do not let yourself dodge the move. If you truly want to move, you will regret waiting.

I'd recommend giving yourself at least six months and preferably a year. For one, you're going to need to save up plenty of money. Moving is ridiculously expensive, even if you do it on the cheap, and you'll have to take care of things like rent, bills and food even if you can't find an income source right off. Plus, you will want plenty of time to settle your affairs in Athens and say your goodbyes. Speaking of which, make sure you close all your doors behind you properly, both financially and personally. That stuff will chase you down if you don’t, believe you me.

Once you've picked the place and the date, start doing some research on the new place. Compared to just about any place else, living in Athens is ridiculously cheap. Many college towns are like that, granted, but bigger towns like Chicago or Boston will put a serious dent in that nest egg. Plus, the economy's pretty bad, making life that much tougher.

So do your homework. Check out the job market in your new town, especially if you have a specific career in mind. In your bigger towns, the service industry's usually a reliable bet, but many towns have busy seasons and dead seasons. Something to keep in mind. Also, learn about the new town’s layout and what part of the town has what your looking for. In New Orleans, for example, life in the French Quarter’s different from life in Bywater which is different from life the Marigny which is different from life the Garden District. Every neighborhood has a specific flavor, and living in one might turn you against the whole town.

Along with the job market and the neighborhoods, learn something about the prospective town’s history and culture. You probably have a reason why you’re moving there, but be able to back whatever emotional impulses with facts and solid information. Things like crime rate, public transportation and cultural events will also affect how you’ll feel after the move. Visit the town before the move as much as possible and connect with people you might know who live there. If you don’t know people who live there, the internet provides a myriad opportunities to get acquainted with natives.

When the moving day comes, I recommend traveling as light as possible. If possible, get rid of what you don’t need, store what you want to keep and just move with what you absolutely have to have. You know what that is better than I do, but it really does help. Not only does it cut down on the cost of moving, it gives you the opportunity to figure out what’s really important to keep and what’s just stuff. Material possessions are a drag on the soul.

Finally, and maybe most importantly, don’t lose heart. Again, this is a major life change and as exciting and exhilarating as it will be, the whole affair is pretty damn scary. You’re leaving your friends, maybe your family, your comfort zone, and all those little things that make life livable for a strange town full of strange people with absolutely no guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face. You’ll have doubts before, during and after the move, wonder if you did the right things, and consider that maybe you shouldn’t have left.

That’s perfectly natural and don’t let it worry you. Just don’t give in the first time the going gets rough. As long as you can financially make it work, stay at least a year and give the town a chance. There’s no shame in being scared, second-guessing yourself or even failing and having to move back to the comfortable so long as you give it your best shot.

Not knowing exactly who this is asking the question and what the circumstances are, I hope this pitiful gibberish is of some help. I’m assuming you grew up in Athens. It’s a great place to live and I miss it, but it’s a big ol’ world and I really believe that to fully appreciate a town you have to immerse yourself in it. We do ourselves a disservice, I think, if we look at the same scenery every day of our lives. Even if your choice turns out to be a bad one, you’ll gain so much just by trying something different and forcing yourself to learn to live in a new town.

Keep positive, make it happen, be smart, and give ‘em hell.

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How do you define love?

I have been thinking about this question since it was asked, something like two weeks, and I cannot come up with a good answer, one that either encompasses all my feelings about love or one that's sufficiently glib and humorous. So, I don't know.

I'm tempted to say that I don't define love, I just let it be, but that's a bit too flip and a bit of a cop out. Love is serious and shouldn't be passed over lightly. I could list things I love, I suppose, but that still wouldn't cover everything nor would it give a working definition. I can't think of anything better, though.

I love Momma. I love the "Anvil Chorus" from Il Trovatore. I love a good burrito. I love Golden Harvest kung fu movies. I love learning something I didn't know previously. I love to laugh. I love my friends even if I don't talk to them for years at a time. I love Hank Williams Jr.'s version of "Honky Tonkin'" that's on his MGM boxset. I love cool, sunny days when I don't have to work. I love listening to the rain. I love being part of a good groove. I love being stoned and sitting at the back of a big auditorium, as high up as possible, listening to an orchestra play. I love beagles. I love seeing my friends happy.

Are we talking romantic love? I don't think I can help you there, then. Twice in my life I've told women I loved them and I really meant it at the time, but hoo boy, am I glad both of them felt they had better things to do. I know people, friends and family, in love and I'm sure of it as I'm sure my hair's read, and I love seeing that. I just have absolutely no idea how it works.

So, I guess I don't define love. Maybe it's like what Justice Potter said about pornography, I can't define love but I know it when I see it. Sorry to whomever asked the question, but that's the best I can do.

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Be mine? Why?

 Okay, kids, serious question time.

 Does anyone actually like Valentine's Day? I mean, besides greeting card companies and florists, to derail any smarty pants.

 Now, granted, I'm not a big holiday guy in general. I never cared much for dressing up in any form or fashion, I don't understand why a special day or season is required so one can be nice to folks, and I'm not particularly religious or into any other form of idolatry. I've long been of the firm opinion that the universe doesn't give a damn what importance we mere mortals assign to a particular diurnal period and I've never been one for ritual.

 That being said, I do dig that many folks really get into different holidays for different reasons. Religious observations,  personal days, and government holidays, humans as a group really seem to like the idea of picking out certain days and deciding to make a huge deal out of them. Right now, out my window, a greater-than-average number of drunken yay-hoos are raising hell in celebration of Mardi Gras. Athens makes a big deal out of Halloween, and Savannah goes absolutely insane on St. Patrick's Day. Furthermore, I've known way too many people, family members included, who get full of the milk of human kindness come Christmastime to complete disregard that otherwise irritating time of the year.

 Before calenders, clocks and the myriad other ways we yoke ourselves to modern life, humans used to use those special days to mark the never-ending turn of life. People were married at harvest or a child's birth was marked from the Solstice for thousands of years. We're used to the idea, in other words.

 But Valentine's Day? From what I can tell, the only people who really look forward to it are those looking to make a buck off it. Sure, some folks will use any excuse to party, but does anyone get pumped up about Valentine's the first of February or get wistful for dead flowers when the 14th rolls around? From what I can tell, people either tolerate it, hate it, or they're "past it" in some form or fashion. In one of those long-running excuses to not think hard that make sometimes ashamed of my Y chromosome, guys worldwide are letting themselves be portrayed in such a manner that they begrudgingly do something nice for the person who regularly touches their individual penises in hopes said person will keep doing so. Admittedly, my experience with "normal relationships" is spotty, both as a participant and observer, but that seems to be how "normal relationships" are supposed to work. An exageration, true, but this clip from Family Guy isn't far off the mark.

 On the other hand, there are those who think the opposite. Valentine's isn't so much hated as it's held in contempt, the overt commercialization of love, romance and caring is enough to turn most folks right off of it. Even if they haven't put as much thought into it as all that, seems like the great majority is past Valentine's Day by the time they hit drinking age. Some are obnoxious about it, like them that brag about not watching television, but that's pretty rare. Sure, couples might use it as an excuse to go out to eat or do something nice for the beloved, but even then it's just an excuse, not the reason.

 And of course, Feb. 14 is flat loathed by millions of single folks and not a few attached souls, I'd wager. Being single, and worse being alone, is tough enough without having to see red satin hearts, rapidly decaying flowers and ridiculously expensive pieces of knickknackery on billboards and in advertisements at every turn. It's like being repeatedly smacked with a big cartoon mallet marked "LOSER" and even knowing that there are other poor, lonely bastards out there - some even in relationships and getting candy - doesn't help much. It's not surprising bitterness boils up.

 But does anyone really like Valentine's Day for the day itself? I'm not advocating anything nor do am I really concerned about how big a nothing it is. I'm just curious. You never hear anyone say "Oh boy, can't wait until Valentine's Day" and it just struck me as curious. I do, however, think it says a lot about modern relationships in our culture - whatever the hell that means - when the day dedicated to love and romance and relationships and commitment is at best comically tolerated and at worst hated with the heat of a million dying suns.

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If reincarnation was possible, and it happened to you, what would be your next incarnation?

Up until a few days ago, I would've said one of my old man's walker hounds. They don't have to work or worry about where their food comes from, he was always fairly nice to them, and the only thing they like doing is chasing stuff. Otherwise, they just sort of sit around, eat, sleep and bark. I could do that.

Then I read this Faulkner quote: "If I were reincarnated, I’d want to come back a buzzard. Nothing hates him or envies him or wants him or needs him. He is never bothered or in danger, and he can eat anything." That sounds like a pretty sweet deal, too, frankly.

Whatever it would be, I wouldn't want to be reincarnated as anything sentient. One trip through this veil of tears has been quite enough, thank you. Which means, of course, I could come back as a Republican, but being that actively frightened and outraged all the time seems awfully tiring.

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Would you rather vacation at the beach or in the mountains?

Mountains. Redheaded, sunburn, no fun, yadda yadda.

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What's the nicest thing someone's ever done for you?

All my life people have done things that've stopped me in my tracks when I consider my unworthiness to have someone be that nice to me. As curmudgeonly and anti-social as I am, I've always had people who not only put up with my nonsense, but regularly let me know I mean something to them. I'd hate to single out just one, it seems so ungrateful. Therefore, I'll mention the latest thing that someone's doing for me that's stopped me right in my tracks.

I won't name names, but a friend of mine is painting me a picture. This friend is an heavy art lover and really knows her stuff, but by her own admission she doesn't do a whole lot of painting. She also knows that not only do I not know a good picture from a hole in the ground, but also that I'm not really one for decorating. Anyone who's ever been to any of my domiciles know that my aesthetic tastes run to rather spartan to say the least.

Still, she's painting me a picture just because she wants me to have one now that we're no longer in the same state. Honestly, I was at a loss for words when she told me she was and I still get a goofy grin when I think about it. Ain't that sweet?

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Who Dat, indeed

  The Saints have won the Super Bowl and New Orleans has lost its collective nut. Everywhere, complete strangers who'd just as likely as not have absolutely nothing to do with each other in the cold light of sobriety are hugging, slapping high fives, and generally proclaiming the Who Dat Nation's superiority over all.

  I went to a Super Bowl party at work and can't get across Bourbon. I've taken refuge in The Chart Room, a bar on Chartes with two dollar Abita and friendly shadows. A kid named Ben, a native no older than 25 and overcome with drunken emotion has spent the last ten minutes explaining why this game, this win means so much.

  After Katrina, the Saints almost gave New Orleans up to the swamps. So did everyone else, so who could blame them. But when the team came back and began to win - particularly the first win back in the Superdome against the Falcons - it was a sign, he said. It was a sign that said that neither the town nor the team was giving up. It was a sign that New Orleans could not only rebuild but be better than ever. "We're New Orleans," Ben tells me, "and we're not fucking around. Black, white, Asian, Latino, gay, straight, whatever. We're all one tonight."

  Well, maybe so. I'm not a native and still finding my way around spiritually, and being the eternal Outside, I really don't have a dog in this hunt. Still, there's something undeniable in the cold French Quarter air tonight. Maybe it's just besotted delirium mixed with the normal human yen for tribalism and such bullshit. Or maybe it is, ad Ben claims, a sign, a line drawn in the sand for all that doubted The Big Easy wouldn't rise again and be the best place in the world. Right now in this crowded bar full incredibly happy people, I'm inclined to agree.

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Who's the most overrated musician?

They all are.

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Cats or Dogs?

I grew up around a big pack of walker hounds but I like both, frankly, my roommate's cat notwithstanding.

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