Last Blog. It’s dark/stark.

I have a lot to cover and my attention span has been hampered by a severe personality disorder called weakness of self worth and hygiene. I tread lightly.







The Mckenna Museum of African Art had an exhibition of local artist, Ayo Y. Scott, son of the late John T. Scott. The museum is in a beautiful Antebellum house in a quiet neighborhood Uptown. The place is worth checking out for it’s other installations alone, including a series of pictures from Africa during the 1960’s.



Ayo’s work was a lot of fun, much of the time not taking itself to seriously, which was nice, unapologetically bright colors and very recent pop culture references made for a casual viewing. He did have more serious work, as seen in this piece about the overall rebuilding process.





The curator of the museum, was excited about the opening and was drumming up support for future shows the gallery is planning on having. Keep track of the rotating exhibits, as this one was a clear success, and worthwhile investment of time.


Amelia, a fellow UMASS student has just moved to New Orleans, increasing our alumni viola presence 700%. She has been hired by the LA Philharmonic, pretty impressive stuff if you like music or the word viola. She was generous enough to invite me to the season opener at Loyola this last Friday. The place was packed, sold out I’m told and the grand opening of their old venue, which has been in a rebuilding phase since Katrina will be opening in December, that show is already sold out as well, but worth noting. So look out for the philharmonic, riding a wave of momentum with Amelia firmly in there somewhere.



Nate and I got back a little early on Thursday night, so he decided to meet up with a friend for some quality socializing time; this invitation was not extended to me. I sat in the house, tipsy and annoyed with lack of doing something, I have a habit of getting furious with myself if I feel I should be doing something as a young man on a Thursday night. Parlaying this aggression, I grabbed my camera and walked around the neighborhood, snapping pictures as I clumsily walked through the dark streets.









It was hot that night and I had left my pants at home, opting for boxer briefs. Ironically the pictures were not that great, and I can’t help but feel the best picture was the one not takin, me in my boxer briefs terrorizing the locals with my bright flash and slurred speech, but who knows?





Friday, the presidential debate party; which, after much fuss thanks to the Senator from Arizona, ended up happening. The event was at LePhare, a trendy, pricey bar in downtown New Orleans. Two projectors presented wall sized images of the two candidates in all their former glory.















I’d say about 200 people showed up, donations at the door were either directed to the Obama or McCain movement, and while I won’t divulge the end count, McCain would have trouble if he had to go buy something from the Gap.
Lot’s of people who are paying attention, it’s a scene.



Success!



Megan (above), one of the good guys.





The next day we were invited to a funeral service in the French Quarter. There was a second line parade that marched through the streets, picking up stray tourists like an interesting-thing-to-take-pictures-of snowball, present company included.
This was amazing. It was.













end second line.



Ate at Theo’s last night, had a Tomato, Mozzarella and Basil pizza, it was very good. I mean, it’s pizza, you know? Hard to mess up and hard to reinvent the wheel here, but this was definitely on the better end of the limited pendulum I allow for pizza places. Also helps if you’re starving.



National day of action at Lafayette square. They're trying to promote the increase of "green collar" jobs in New Orleans and beyond.



My plane leaves from Louis Armstrong International at 11:10 am this Monday, it’s a non stop flight on jet blue to Logan International in Boston, the place were I grew up. It’s perfect really, I’ve been away long enough that the time lapse in itself is reason enough to be welcomed like a hero.

But I am kind of a hero, after all I spent a month in New Orleans. The place that had Katrina, I went through a hurricane myself in Gustav. What are heroes? I don’t know the exact definition, but I’ve gotta be close. Taking pictures, going to parties and dealing with second hand smoke, I’m not going to win any awards or accolades apart from the ones I make for myself, but the story will grow in its fantasticism with time, the parties getting ever bigger, the second hand smoke ever thicker and you are in there somewhere I'm sure. thanks.