My trip throught the ghetto

On Saturday night my homeboy Martin and I set of to the House of Blues to see Every Time I Die. I'm not really into that kind of music but I figured it'd be cool to jump around and mosh with a bunch of painfully thin teenagers with greasy hair and artfully messy eyeliner. Or something. It didn't really matter thought because the show sold out. We actually saw the singer of the band wandering up Decatur but he didn't have any tickets on him. Weird.

So there we were, downtown in the early evening. Nobody from Tulane was gonna show up and party until at least 11. I was totally content to wander around the quarter looking and art and browsing in voodoo stores and stuff, and then head off to Frenchman Street to see some jazz. Martin doesn't like jazz though, so we agreed to try to find a reggae club. There was a dude with a red black yellow and green hat on selling pipes and Bob Marley posters on the street so we asked him what was up. He told us Club Caribbean was a pretty cool spot, so we hopped on the streetcar and rode it to Broad street. I noticed that the buildings were getting smaller, dirtier, more covered in spray paint, and had less glass in the windows.

We hopped of the street car and headed up Broad looking for Bayou, which the reggae guy said was like 10 blocks away. I was getting kind of spooked. The street wasn't well lit, no businesses were open, and there were bars on all the windows. After a block Martin piped up, "You wanna call a cab?"

"Yes!" I was all about getting in a cab. So we waited on the corner forever next to (I think) a prostitute. She told us to be careful. The taxi finally showed up and we quickly jumped in. When we rolled up to Club Caribbean it was very obviously closed. It was supposed to open up at 9, so we walked over to a gas station and sat in the pool of light by the air pump for a freaking hour. A couple guys in a Dodge Charger revved their engine at us while I was mesmerized by their rims spinning right after the car stopped.

At 9 we went back to the club, which still wasn't open, so we called another taxi and rode back to Tulane.

That was my ghetto experience.

Victor Wooten

I've got an astronomy test in five hours. Did I stay up late last night studying? No! I went to the House of Blues! Victor Wooten!

For those sad strange little people who don't know who Victor Wooten is, he's basically the Michael Jordan of the bass guitar. When I saw that he was coming I totally didn't care that it was on a Wednesday night. So instead of staying in and doing schoolwork last night I boarded the streetcar with a couple friends and headed off for the Quarter. After getting kind of lost we eventually made it to the famous New Orleans House of Blues. It is the coolest venue ever. You have to go down this crazy alley and then through a restaurant and every surface is covered with all kinds of murals and art and paintings of awesome bluesmen. The concert hall itself is awesome too, it's a lot smaller than I imagined, so I got to get really close to Victor.

The opening band, the Lee Boys, were incredible. There was a guitar, a 7-string bass, a steel guitar, drums, and a trombone. They ripped! And when they sang, which wasn't often because they were mostly just totally jamming it was gnarly gospel! Who woulda thunk that "Jesus loves me, this I know, because the Bible tells me so" could sound so straight up cool?

After they got the crowd warmed up Mr. Wooten himself came onstage. It was just him and a drummer. V.W. and J.D.: two minds one groove, is what they kept saying. And they were throwing down some serious grooves. The stuff that dude does with his instrument is just mind blowing. Towards the end of the set he brought out 3 of his kids and they did a couple of songs. His daughters, 11 and 6, sang like little angels and his 8 year old son kept a rock solid beat on the drums. It was awesome. For the last couple songs he brought the Lee Boys back out and they just played. It was pretty incredible.

If you ever get the chance definitely go see Victor Wooten.

I'm a Creep

People use words in different ways around here than they did in good ole Boise City. 'Bro' does not mean a close male friend here. When you're called a bro at Tulane it's an insult. Bro deals with a very specific kind of dude. "Backwards fitted caps are bro," was how one guy tried to explain it to me.

Another word that I was unfamiliar with is 'creeping,' and all of its forms. Anytime someone is on facebook they're creeping. If you do something kind of awkward you're a creeper. My roommate admits to "creepin' on facebook" for many hours a day.

Some people are "master creepers." They can find out all about a person just by using the internet. Some of my bros (ha) have gone to elaborate measures to find out things about girls. Some go so far as to get on blackboard, a site that has information about the classes you're in, look up the class rosters, look up all the girls in the class on facebook, and then add the hottest ones so that they may someday have a real life conversation with them. I don't know, maybe they'll meet they're soulmate that way, but it seems a little creepy.

Yesterday at breakfast I saw a pretty girl sitting by herself and I went and talked to her. I had an actual conversation and I didn't have to spend hours coming up with elaborate ways to get to know her without actually meeting her.

I keep it real.

Extreme

Today I went for a run and got all kinds of freaky sweaty. I decided to take a shower.

I got all up in my towel and grabbed my shower things and left for the shower. I got myself all clean and whatnot and strode confidently down the hall towards my room wearing nothing but a towel. I reached my door and realized that I had forgotten something. I had no key. Terry must have left the room and locked the door. Balls.

I stood in front of the door for awhile then decided I had to go downstairs and get a new key. I got on the elevator with a group if Chinese (I think) kids. They spoke Chinese about me and laughed. I smiled agreeably. When I got to the lobby I saw that Terry was in the lounge. He saw me and brought me his key, so I didn't have to explain my situation at the front desk. So it wasn't nearly as exciting as it could have been.

That's how I roll.

It's Raining It's Pouring

It has been raining on and off here four like four days. It's the most rain I've ever seen. I haven't been able to walk on the grass since the day before yesterday because the ground is so saturated. There's standing water everywhere. I think I'm gonna have to break down and buy an umbrella one of these days. I've been going through twice as many clothes as usual because I get soaked when I go outside.

It's awesome.

Never Talk on the Phone Again!

For all of you lovely relatives who are just distraught that I'm way down here in the deep south, there's a crazy newfangled way to keep in touch. It's called Skype! (look it up yourselves, just type "skype" into your favorite search engine) It's for making video calls, so you need a webcam. You can get a good one for under 50 bucks. Mom, you definitely need to get one, so I can talk to Wilson! (and you too, of course)

Adios.

Cash Money

I spent 45 dollars on dinner this weekend. I wasn't buying dinner for the whole group. I paid 45 dollars after the bill was split 6 ways. There were two forks. There were multiple courses. The waiter said food words I didn't understand. My glass was refilled every time I took a drink. I ate alligator. It was amazing. $45 worth of amazing? I don't know. I was wearing a tie.

I walked outside. I walked to Bourbon Street. There were extremely gay men everywhere. They were participating in Southern Decadence. They weren't wearing very many clothes. A drunken foreign man poked me in the chest for emphasis while he tried to hit on my friend. I walked into a bar. A large man made me hand him my driver's license. He drew symbols on my hands. A short woman with a tray full of test tubes walked up to me. She put the bottoms of two tubes in her mouth. She tried to put the top of the tubes in my mouth. I showed her my symbols. She left. I did not have to pay $38 dollars to drink out of a woman's mouth like my friends did. I did however give a man a dollar because he put some soap in my hand and turned a faucet on. I showed two more women my symbols.

I walked outside. I saw more gay people. I got on the streetcar. A gay man got on the streetcar as well. A man, presumably a straight man, yelled at the gay man. The gay man's large woman friend yelled at the straight man. Obscenities were hurled. The proper way to express Southern Pride was debated. Chaps were recommended. Eyes were rolled.

That was my weekend. At one point I took off my shirt and swam in a fountain.

Dude

I lost my phone today. Hell of a deal. I feel so naked without it. Disconnected. Incomplete. I'm experiencing actual physical pain in the tips of my thumbs. I've developed a twitch. I'm trying hard not to cry. I wandered around campus aimlessly for hours. I'm incapable of feeling emotions. My phone is gone. My entire life is ruined.

The War of the Roaches

Freakin cockroaches, dude. One thing about New Orleans: cockroaches. They're everywhere. If you go out at night it's like you stepped into a nightmare world of cockroach madness.

Last night I was on my computer when I thought I saw a shooting star out the window. I then realized that it was a moth, and it was inside. I turned around and ascertained that it was not a moth, but was, in fact, a two inch long cockroach.

I let out a primal bellow of rage and leapt up from my chair. Terry, my roommate, also stood up, frightened by my unprovoked outburst. I pointed and comprehension spread across his face.

"Shut your closet so he doesn't go in there!" Terry shrieked. I hastened to do so, still too furious to articulate words. Terry is fairly short, so the cockroach that was now about an inch from the ceiling was out of his reach. I leapt onto my bed, shoe in hand, and crushed the life out of the monster, howling with victory. I flicked the carcass expertly onto the ground, and Terry promptly removed it.

Humans 1 Cockroaches 0

Journey Through the Inner City

I've been needing to visit my bank for awhile now. The nearest one is downtown, about 3 miles from where I live. At first I was just gonna ride my bike, but evidently there's some pretty shady neighborhoods between here and there. Today a lovely girl informed me that there's a shuttle that runs like every half hour between here and the Tulane med school downtown. I checked this shizzle out on Google Earth (the coolest program in the world) and lo and behold, the shuttle stop was only a couple blocks from my bank. Bam!

So I hop on the shuttle, which is a gigantic tour bus. It even says TOUR NEW ORLEANS! in huge letters on the side. Seeing the bus got me in a touristey kind of mood so I whipped out my camera and just started furiously taking pictures out the window. Unfortunately most of them are mostly a reflection of the flash, but a couple turned out okay. There are some ruuude churches around here, I'll have to walk around and get some decent pictures someday.

Anyway, after a short bus ride I got out in the middle of downtown New Orleans. By myself. Chill out, Mom. If I had gotten mugged or beat down or something I probably would have mentioned it in a flash forward earlier in the narrative. So I find the bank and did my bank stuff, then came back to where I remembered the bus stopping. I took a few pictures of the skyscrapers and stuff, but I was mostly concerned with not getting lost and ending up in some dark alley with a couple of crackheads.

Like I said, I got back to where I thought the bus was and sat down on this bench. If you'll look to the picture you'll notice that one of the arms was ripped off and like twisted around by some brute. I saw all kinds of interesting people. A guy was walking down the street rapping to himself about how ... well I can't really reproduce any of his rhymes on a family friendly site like mine. Suffice it to say that he had a high opinion of his fighting and women chasing skills. I noticed a lot of people here smoke cigarettes that smell really sweet and incensey. I don't know if that's a southern thing or what.

While I was sitting around watching people, I see the bus I'm supposed to be on pull up to the curb... 2 blocks down the street. So I jump up and start running. My sudden movement caused a medical student to raise his eyebrows at me. Thanks to my incredible athleticism I managed to dodge several hobos, jump over a park bench, spin around a delivery guy and parkour over a UPS van to get into the bus. It was either that or I just kind of ran down the sidewalk, I'm not sure. It all happened so fast. Anyway I got on the bus and had a safe and sane journey home.

Zebulun Anaximander Vanadium

I've got two classes in the academic quad, which is full of all these really old really beautiful buildings. The one on top is Gibson Hall, the building at the very front of the campus that people on the streetcar are always snappin' pictures of. Being a student of this fine institution I got to take a picture of the back corner of it. I suppose I could have walked around to the front and taken in the whole front of the building with the huge Tulane University sign and all that, but I had a class in like 10 minutes.

The gargoyle is above one of the side doors to Mayer Hall, where I have Ethics. He and I stared each other down for a few minutes before class. There's little fellers like him everywhere. He's only about a foot high, maybe.

In astronomy class I came up with a new 19th century gentleman who buys railroads and stuff name. My new 19th century wealthy business man name is Zebulun Anaximander Vanadium. So yeah, that's what I did on Tuesday, stared down gargoyles and came up with a 19th century mogul name.

Additionally I got a job tutoring kids at a local elementary school. I'm not entirely sure if this is gonna be the gig for me but it pays better than all the other work study positions.

Z.A.V.