My New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina Blogs

Several people have recently asked me for links to my New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina Escape blogs that I have on my old MySpace blog. I considered reposting them, but then thought that giving you a link of the blogs (in the correct order that they should be read) would be the easiest thing to do.

Enjoy! I know we didn't :-)

Escape from New Orleans Part I--Saturday, August 27th


Escape from New Orleans Part II--Sunday Morning and Afternoon

Escape from New Orleans Part III--Sunday Night


Escape from New Orleans Part IV--Monday Morning and Afternoon


Escape from New Orleans Part V--Monday Night: The Obnoxious New Yorker Surfaces


Escape from New Orleans Part VI--Tuesday: The Emancipation


Escape from New Orleans Part VII--The Final Installment


New Orleans Louis Armstrong Airport Pictures:


New Orleans Fun Pictures

Today is...

A very important day. It's the first day of the year that I'm wearing a skirt without knee-high boots and two pairs of tights. It's supposed to be 58 degrees in NYC today, so I busted out a pair of my super-cute new shoes, brand new stockings, and a flair skirt just below the knee...

For many women, the first day they wear a skirt with shoes happens a lot sooner; women that are lawyers, or in the corporate world don't have the luxury of wearing jeans until it's finally warm enough to bare your legs to the world again and the temperature rises above 50 degrees. I'm lucky I suppose, but I also have an inordinate fear of freezing my ass off in the cold. That is probably because I went to a Catholic elementary/junior high school, so 8 years in a skirt is enough to make any woman a little shy about bare legs in the winter.

Spring is officially 31 days away, but according to my legs, it is definitely on its way.

My love affair...

I'm completely and utterly in love with the New York Public Library. I recently decided that I absolutely had to stop purchasing so many books. In addition to running out of shelf space, I have to admit that most of the books I've bought in the last two years are of the "read once and never touch again" categories. A waste of money and space if you ask me--so I decided to head over to the NYPL, just two blocks from my job. Mind you, the St. Agnes Branch is not the best--it's a little stuffy and has a limited selection, but it more that serves its purpose--it's simply the place to pick up my book orders. You see, my favorite thing about the library is their website and their very modern keychain swipe library cards. I go online, do a quick search for what I want to read, request it, and in a couple of days, an e-mail is sent notifying me that my books have arrived. You can do all sorts of nifty things on their website like look up NYTimes bestsellers, the most notable books of the last few years, and even see what kinds of movies and cds they have available. Who said the library is outdated? Not I!

The Final Countdown...

Click on above...
This has to be one of the funniest freaking things I've ever seen...takes me back to those high school talent show memories (no James, I'm not talking about you). Some of that stuff they made us sit through was excruciating. I wonder how bad I screwed up my hearing going to see friend's bands play shows that had bands playing that sounded like this. Now if that isn't a waste of ear damage, I don't know what is.

Blanket Fetish...

I'm a certifiable crochet-aholic...I crochet everywhere--at home, on the train, at my mom's house, even at restaurants and movies. I'm addicted. And it's a good thing too, since this means that my entire family now has homemade scarves, and I've just completed my very first blanket. I made it for my brother G (we all call him G, though his full name is George. Since he hates the name, we call him G--it makes him sound like a hoody kid, but he's not). I didn't make it for him because I chose to; it's more like he nagged me to death about me making him a blanket. He's got a bit of a blanket fetish. He gets very, very attached to blankets. He still has his baby blanket (though now it looks more like a rag) and keeps it on his futon. Twenty-six years old and he still uses his baby blanket. He also has this big San Francisco 49er blanket that looks sort of like fur, but isn't. He calls it a picky blanket because he likes to lay under it and watch tv while picking little pieces of lint off of it. It's amazing that there is anything left of the damned thing. G really wants a new picky blanket, but for now, he'll have to be satisfied with this:

Building a snowman in Brooklyn...

When I woke up at 11 a.m. today, it was still snowing--the northeaster was going strong, and it had already dumped over 16 inches of snow on New York City and the surrounding area. The last serious snowstorm occured last January '05, and instead of doing fun things like sleding or having a snowball fight, my husband and brother spent most of the day moving us from one apartment in Brooklyn to another. Moving is difficult under any circumstances--doing it in the snow is a nightmare. My biggest gripe that day wasn't moving though; it was that I didn't get to enjoy the snow and do anything fun. Looking out my window I was determined to enjoy the snowfall this time.

My husband and I ventured out to meet my mom for lunch. On our way back we did some obligatory snowball throwing, but were still not satisfied--I wanted to roll around in the snow and have freezing cold hands that warrent taking off soaking wet clothes, huddling under a blanket, and drinking hot chocolates...so we decided to build a snowman outside our house. I got on my knees and started making the mound of snow that would make the base. A bunch of kids hanging out and doing normal kid things in the snow noticed what we were doing and asked if they could help...so there I was, on my knees outside my house, surrounded by kids half my age, building the first snowman I've made in over ten years. It was awesome. I think the kids were as surprised as I was. Between my husband and I and all of them, we got all the elements we needed--the coal (It was charcoal used for burning incense), the carrot, and the scarf--and if I do say so myself, we did an awesome job on our snowman.

Mother-in-Law...

My husband and I are pretty lucky in the in-law department--we both love our respective mothers-in-law, and occasionally go so far as to say we get along better with out mother-in-laws than with our own mothers. This is probably because we never got mad and screamed at our mothers-in-law during our teenage years, and the same cannot be said for our mothers. A little bit of distance goes a long way in creating a good relationship--at least these particular ones.

I can't help but be very grateful that Brad gets along so well with my mother. Recently my mom went for spinal fusion surgery, and the first week she was home from the hospital was also the week that Brad was between his old job and his current one. They were attached at the hip. At one point Brad called me to tell me that he was having breakfast at the diner near our house with my mom and her friend Pat! He was her personal chauffeur, taking her back and forth to doctor appointments, and if she had been up to it (she was still very much recovering at the time) they had an Ikea excursion planned. I think they both would have loved that. Now that Brad is busy with his new job, I barely get e-mails or calls from him, which is the opposite of what used to happen (he finally admitted that he understands why I told him sometimes I just don't have time to e-mail him back because I'm just too effing busy). I think my mom is feeling it even more...she just called me up to tell me that she misses my husband and wants to get together soon because she misses talking to him. She also informed me that her printer isn't working and that she needs Brad to go by and fix it. I have a hard time deciding if there is something actually wrong with it, or if she's creating an excuse to see my husband...if I had to put money on it, I'd definitely go with the latter.

Cheese if you please...

An article in this morning's NY Metro (the free newspaper) titled "Italian's Blood Curdles at Kraft's Parmesan Plan" talks about Kraft's plan to cut the aging process of Parmigiano-Reggiano from the norm of 10 months (the U.S. standard) to a year, down to a mere 6 months. The article makes mention of how insulted the Italians are about this idea--and how though cost is cut and profit is marked up, the overall quality of the cheese is simply not there. They go so far as to say that cheese that is aged only 6 months is not Parmigiano cheese. I'd have to agree with them--but I'm wondering if this step--and the claim that Kraft makes that they "have found excellent consumer acceptance of the new product" says anything about American's blind acceptance of mass consumption. If products are packaged the same, sold the same, and the price is the same or less than what we're used to paying for an item, does that mean that our taste has changed? Or that we're willing to have our tastes determined for us conglomerate corportations? Though the article is about cheese--something I'm fairly certain that the average American doesn't give a second though to in the course of a day--I believe it says something more about the culture of consumerism that the U.S. is a part of and how willing we are, as a culture, to stop questioning the powers that be.

Why I'm Anti-Valentine's Day...

There are several reasons why I think Valentine's Day is a load of huey, and it has nothing to do with how much I love my hubby and appreciate him, because as anyone who knows me knows, that is a given--a big one. I hate that it is a manufactured holiday that is basically created by greeting card companies and other “romantic” retail producers that tell you that you are supposed to appreciate your significant other on a certain day of the year. It’s bullshit. If you’re with someone, then you should appreciate them all year long, not just on days that you’re “supposed” to. But let me back up and give you some background about my venom towards this so-called “holiday.”

From around 14 years old through college graduation (I graduated at 22--I was in college for 5 years instead of 4 because I transferred from SUNY--New Paltz to Brooklyn College and got royally screwed in the process) I worked as a floral designer. I first started this "mini-career" under my father’s tutelage (I call it a mini-career because I was quite good at it and it lasted for a number of years, and helped fund my education and everything else that I did through college, including my Euro-trip with Jenn. Believe it or not, I actually took 2nd place in the table arrangement, non-centerpiece, category at the New York Orchid Show when I was 20 years old--the youngest person to ever place). Anyone who knows my father or has heard me speak of him knows that this situation could not possibly be a good thing—and it wasn’t. He was the most obnoxious boss I’ve ever had—and I’ve had some doozies let me tell you. My father is the biggest perfectionist that I’ve ever met—he exceeds my anal-retentive nature a thousand fold. He’s also verbally abusive. I worked with him until I went away to college my first year, and helped out over the winter break. I was ordered down from college two days before Valentine’s day to help out in our family shop—in spite of the fact that I missed classes and a quiz by doing so.

But I’m getting away from the topic. Valentine’s day is the biggest holiday of the year for florists—it exceeds Mother’s Day (the 2nd biggest) and Christmas by more than half in terms of profit. Many shops base their yearly intake on how well they do on Valentine’s Day. Some shops (like my family’s) took in more than half the year’s profits on the days leading up to, and the actual day. That is an enormous amount of pressure to be working under. Things like the weather (try delivering flowers in the snow or getting a delivery of flowers from a wholesaler in the snow—these things are perishable please remember), traffic, and even the day of the week (more flowers are bought during the week than on weekends—a Sunday Valentine’s day is the kiss of death for a year’s profits for many florists—especially those that do a big walk-in clientele) have a huge impact on the shop’s business.

Most shops spend the weeks up until Valentine’s Day preparing—this involves prepping the various containers, making bows, assembling boxes (both gift boxes and delivery boxes), selecting stock, placing orders for secondary items (like balloons, stuffed animals, and all those other do-dads), taking orders, decorating the shop, and promoting any specials that are running in local newspapers or newsletters. The week before the dreaded event, your hands begin to hate you—you see, each individual rose must be de-thorned. If you were taught by an old school florist like I was, this means wet cold hands using a very sharp Swiss Army Knife to take the thorns off each stem. On average, I’d personally clean over 2,000 roses—and I was a designer, so that wasn’t my main focus. Your hands would hurt, they’d often bleed, you’d get infections from the cuts sustained not healing properly because you’re hands would be immersed in water—and there was nothing to be done about it because you’d have to keep a quick pace and do all the rose cleaning right before the holiday. Roses only stay alive for so long—and no decent florist is going to sell old roses on Valentine’s Day. The day before and day of are a horror show—you’d start Feb 13th at 6 in the morning, and if you managed to go home at all (I worked straight through the night on several V-days) you’d sleep a total of 2 or 3 hours. The shop won’t close until the last rose was sold—and at a few shops, that meant that the shop didn’t close until after 10 at night. The pace was insane. By the time I finished my last arrangement, I’d be so tired I could barely stand up. And god help you if you had a psycho bridezilla on Valentine’s day. I’ve had a few and God, how I hated those women. It’s a double-edged sword—you can’t say no to charging double or triple what you would normally charge for bridal bouquets and arrangements—but will you be able to get enough help to actually pull it off? There were actually a few funerals that happened on Valentine’s Day—and that is even worse than a Valentine’s day wedding because there is no way to prepare for a funeral. You’ve simply got to make whatever the family and loved ones want at that time. How are you supposed to know when someone is going to die? You can’t prepare for it—it’s just not possible.

It’s a grueling business. People have often asked me why I decided not to pursue it as my career. Every once in a while I think about it—I love making beautiful things with my hands, interacting with brides (when they’re sane of course), and the sense of accomplishment I’d feel after making something especially beautiful—but then I think of Valentine’s Day, the most dreaded and loved day of the year for any florist, and I remind myself that I’ve already got arthritis thanks to my first career and I’d better quit while I’m ahead.

Needless to say, all of these things have made Valentine’s Day far less sweet to me than to other women. I’d much rather be treated well all year long because Brad feels like doing it, than having him go nuts on that one certain day because Hallmark says so. We go along with it, go to dinner, do something nice for one another, get little presents—but it’s not the most important day in the world to me by any stretch of the imagination. And Brad knows better than to buy me roses on Valentine’s Day...

As long as she doesn't poop her pants...

My boss is going to be in late tomorrow because he's taking his daughter to a preschool audition. Basically, because she's born in November, she'd be starting the class at a younger age than the rest of the toddlers in the class, so the teachers have to observe her interact with children and all that sort of thing. Since her older brother is already enrolled in the school (one of the coveted progressive elementary schools of upper New Jersey), she's a shoe-in--as long as she doesn't poop her pants while she's there. I've got my fingers crossed for her...though I'm not sure that's going to help her in the pooping department. My suggestion to my boss before he left for the night was to make sure he and his wife don't feed her peas--or any other food that would run through her.

Imagine getting into college were that easy: "I'll do great as long as I don't poop my pants during the interview!"

Carnivore...

When I was 14 years old, I discovered how veal gets to be veal--boxing baby calves into crates and nailing them shut so that their muscles never develop and get tough. They stay this way their entire short lives until they are slaughtered. I haven't eaten veal since I was 14. I cut out pigs and cows when I was 18. All flesh (including fish), at 19. I was a strict vegetarian for 5 years. After passing out everywhere (and I do mean everywhere--waking up on a then-B train into the city halfway between 36th Street and Pacific was not fun), I incorporated fish back into my diet. Fast forward 2 more years, and I started eating poultry because the passing out was back with a vengeance. I've been okay since then--up until recently that is, when I started passing out again. I've been on a mission to figure out how to get my IDA under control (see my now-hypocritical blog, about not eating cows for more info).

Last night, I was on the brink of passing out 3 times while in yoga. Admittedly it was hot in there and my period is due any day now, but those aren't the reasons. Over the past month, I've passed out a lot--sometimes 3 or 4 times in one day. So last night, I caved in...sort of. Brad added a tiny amount of beef broth to my mulligatawny soup--the first cow-product I've consciously consumed in 12 years. I'm really torn about the cow-eating. On the one hand, I still feel very much against eating cows--all animals actually. (I've been on an I-don't-eat-anything-that-walks-on-four-legs kick since I started eating poultry; it's the easiest way to explain my eating habits.) I hate the thought of killing anything because I need to eat. I know that I wouldn't be able to kill anything myself, so I don't feel justified in being a coward and having a meat industry slaughter animals for me to consume (not to mention how filthy that industry is). On the other hand, with the stomach problems I have, iron supplements are not working. They haven't worked for me in 12 years, and I'm really tired of passing out all the time. I hate feeling weak. So I'm going to eat cows. Not often, and certainly not right away...I'll start with the beef broth, and work my way up to a very small portion of beef sometime in the next couple of weeks. I'm also only going to consume organic beef whenever possible (obviously, I can't control that in restaurants, but I doubt I'll be eating that much beef anyway).

There are many, many people who are thrilled that I'm going to eat beef again--mostly those who have seen me pass out all the time like Brad, my mom, and my brother. Brad and G are taking me to Peter Luger's soon so I can have my first steak. I'm not as excited about it as they are, but I realize that it means something that every time I smell cooking beef, I get hungry. I've always believed that when your body craves a certain food, and that food is not junk like chips or French fries, it's because its missing a nutrient that the food contains. I've craved all sorts of things--broccoli, oranges, lemons, vinegar...and now, I'm craving beef. I guess thats my bodys way of telling me that its time to change my veggie-ways and have a burger.

Crow Pose Victory?

I went to Laughing Lotus Yoga with Maria this past Saturday, and I am so glad that I did. I've been doing yoga for a little over two years, but haven't really been serious about my practice. Since one of my new year's resolutions was to get my body more physically fit and decrease negativity in my life, it seems like deepening my practice is a good way to implement this.

Laughing Lotus was great--I really enjoyed the vibe from the studio and the people who work there. The Saturday class was a good amount of vigor, chanting, and focus, and I was really happy that I went (thanks again Maria!). The teacher, Tovah, was insturmental to me finally being able to do crow pose. It's a difficult pose that I've been trying to both overcome my fear of and master--with little luck on either front. Tovah's approach was fantastic! Much in the way that you can use the wall to guide you into a headstand, she advised us to get our feet and butts against the wall before attempting to put our legs on our arms--it would add to our feeling of security (since we'd be able to shift our weight backwards and lean against the wall if we felt like we'd topple over). She was totally right! I attempted the pose very slowly, but managed to balance on my arms for over 10 seconds the first time up! It was like someone flicked a lightswitch! I was so excited and happy about it, I immediately attempted it again as soon as I came down out of the pose and, in hindsight, I realize that I rushed into it...since I wound up slamming, chin-first, into my mat. Talk about a clue to make you slow down! Luckily I'm able to laugh at myself when I make an idiot of myself, so I left class with a feeling of accomplishment (since I managed to successfully do the pose two more times after the chin-slamming incident) instead of being down on myself for looking like an ass. I was able to learn both how to successfully get into the pose, and also to realize that I must take my damned time because, if I don't, I'll wind up with another bruised chin.