so yeah, i'm in new orleans now. place is still pretty messed up, but subtly so compared to the carnage the media had prepared me for. piles of trash and debris randomly lie in the street, houses are boarded up and in some cases slowly collapsing, and there are a lot of billboards about coming back to new orleans. i've also walked through what seemed to be an impromptu booty dance party on a sidewalk, and overheard two men trading stories about the last time (note: not only time) they were shot. and i've only been here a few hours.

SXSW was pretty crazy. saw a lot of bands, had a lot of fun, got really sick at the end. although i'm not nearly as bad as one guy in our group who got food poisoning (beware the "street meat" my friends). he spent the night crawling around the yard moaning, puking, and passing out in stages. his moans were so loud that a couple of the girls in the house thought some people were having really long drawn-out sex in the yard. if only. i also learned about putting butter in your coffee from the singer of Big Bear. apparently it tastes like a bad gas station cappucino. still not sure why you'd want that though. also had a nice chat with a dapper homeless guy about ethics in journalism.

and in a sad note, i can't say i knew him all that well, but Ian Ross will be missed. i'm reminded of him every time i load and unload the Parts & Labor van, since he built the hand-crafted equipment case in the back of the van. big blue kickball won't be the same without him.



here's a decent live recording of rock-pop group The Vines covering Outkast's "Ms. Jackson," which i am posting simply because i'm headed to atlanta tomorrow. seems appropriate enough.

• The Vines - Ms. Jackson

look ma! i got myspaced!

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  1. check out the common ground collective in NOLA
    Punks hippies anrkisseds and the locals fixin shit up and opposing the BS destruction of poor neighborhoods!

  2. we stuck around later in the day and drove through the ninth ward, upper and lower.

    unbelievable fucked-up-edness there.

    Every house with a pile of inards ripped out in front of it. In tact looking husks of homes but every open door belying a gutted interior. Many "demo" tags spraypainted everywhere.

    it was sobering.

    Then we ran into the Diamond Nights on Bourbon St, got Pat O'Brien's hurricanes in big cups, walked down to the Mississippi river and got drunk.