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NEW ORLEANS, 19 FEBRUARY, 2002 - While I was away from the world, working my way through the Mardi Gras marathon of work and little sleep, the three Fates went to the gods and goddesses and joked that it was time to play with my life.
Besides needing to move to a new apartment within the next ten days ‚- and thus escape the junkie infestation around Dauphine and Franklin Streets (more on that below),
Our relationship with Ugo.com has gone kablooey and Ugo didn't even show the good grace to let me know about it. I only found out when my e-mail suddenly stopped coming. Worst yet, those pricks kept my Web site up and running for the meagre ad impressions they could add to their coffers, while not allowing me to update it. And they never said a word. I had to try to track them down through a maze of Audex and VoiceMail. Sheesh!
The gods and goddesses chuckle over their nectar and ambrosia while I am forced to go into Major Throwdown Mode. I have to juggle as fast as I can on multiple fronts and hope I only drop a ball here or there. It just ain't right! Makes me want to holler. Throw up both my hands!
My roommate Caio told the ever-malleable other roommate Matt that he was going to get Methadone treatment. His lips were moving. If you're a regular reader, you know what that means in the case of a confirmed junkie.
Caio comes into the living room and asks Matt and I a question. He nods out, standing up in the center of the room. I answer him, even though I know he only vaguely hears me. He rocks slowly and nods. He tries to move his lips but no words come out.
I look at Matt.
Matt looks at me.
I am seeing Matt as a pathetic basset hound at that moment, but he doesn't know it.
Matt continues to make excuses for Caio ... That gives Matt the chance to continue making excuses for himself. Matt says he is looking for a backbone. I wish him luck. While they sort out their "issues", I'll be working, storing acorns and finding a decent place to live.
Later in the week, Caio explains that he cannot enter the Methodone treatment program because the doctors' hours conflict with his job. I'm not surprised, of course. He is sinking quickly. He makes $2000 a month, $1200 of which goes to his heroin addiction. His cell phone has been cut off. The company financing his car is always calling the apartment leaving messages. He is always hanging out at one club or another with his Junkie Contingent (J.C.) friends.
I never let my laptop out of my sight. I will carry it everywhere with me until I move out of Casa de Caca.
Cameron, the major supplier of the J.C. for the longest time, has been thrown back in jail. I figured it was only a matter of time on that one. I don't think his absence will make one bit of difference ... other than to rachet up the desperation of the junkies around Dauphine and Franklin.
Matt says I'm a sonuvabitch when I talk about these people this way, but I can't abide people who willingly kill their own souls. So I can't abide junkies. That's why I have to move away from Casa de Caca.
I got to see mayoral candidate Ray Nagin "up close and personal" last night. Matt corralled me into going down to Molly's On the Market where mayor-aspirant Ray was playing Guest Bartender. Matt bought a drink from him. He said it tasted okay.
I got my Scotches from one of the regular bartenders. They were hefty.
A good time was had by all. Especially the rolling cameras of the press flacks. I was the only brother in the place without a tie because I was the only brother who wasn't working on the Nagin campaign. Our mayor-aspirant was being down with the people on Decatur Street, as long as they weren't from the 'hood.
He's the candidate of Business after all ...
Old Ray's shiney bald pate and cinematic smile were all over the joint. Lots of the hoi polloi were out to bask in the glory reflected from the camera lights hitting his dome. He wasn't the liar, pettifogger and scoundral mayor-aspirant (former Police Chief) Pennington says he is. He was The Man. He didn't do shady financial deals (unless he personally pocketed that dollar tip Matt gave him) like Pennington claims he did to become the millionaire he is today. He poured drinks for about an hour. He laughed and glad-handed. As long as drinks were flowing, here on the banks of the Mississippi, Ray Nagin was just a regular guy.
That's the kind of New Orleans event that reminds you of Norman Mailer running for mayor of New York, or the Kennedy years when it was cool to be hip, if you get my drift. Even though a lot of it seems put on now, orchestrated, it's a breath of fresh air to see a politician take the chance of talking to people who aren't millionaires.
They don't do it enough these days.
That said. I still wish New Orleans had decided to put the landscaper into this mayoral run-off.
The horses or mules which draw the carriages usually have bouquets of red and white flowers on either side of their necks. They leave paddies in the streets where the carriages pass.
25 February, 2002 ‚ Lots has gone on. All of it work. I have had time for nothing else except sleep until yesterday, my first day off in a while. I tried to work on forms to better organize my life, but didn't get very far with that even. I'm still playing catch-up with my own life.
The job thang is getting really hairy. Got up at 4 a.m. Friday and went to my moonlighting job, then to my normal Day Job at 9. My boss at the Day Job kept me in the office until 11 p.m. Friday night. That left me just enough time to grab a sandwich, as I'd done the night before, go home, eat the sandwich and hit the hay before returning to my other job. This is no way to live. I have to hope things start to normalize soon ...
The Good News is that this week I begin my third job, God willing, and on Saturday --- after my shift at the Pub ‚ I move out of Casa de Caca and in with my friend Carlos, mid-city. I'll be in walking distance of the bayou then.
3 March, 2002 - I'm now in my new digs on Olga Street. I moved in yesterday and began unpacking a bit today. My new roomie, Carlos, is part of a Playstation 2 coven. I'm trying to make myself get used to that. It's not too hard, their quieter than the Decatur Street gutter punks and they don't do smack or crack. Ahh-h-h!
My boss from the Day Job gave me a Coca-Cola "Superbowl SuperParty" flag that is acting as great insulation for the window in my room during this new cold snap here in Nawlins. What is up with this? It's supposed to be subtropical here, NOT ARCTIC! I'm upset.
I also have the Heinken/Amstel "Mardi Gras 2002" banner on my wall, right beside a great Benoit print from the Louvre of a semi-nude sister looking down at me as a type with thoughtful and challenging eyes. This from Carlos. He promises to share pictures from his own travels, in Europe and South America, with me for TheWorld's Magazine.
Virginia Woolf was right. Every writer needs"... a room of one's own."
But tomorrow I have to be up at 4 a.m. again to do my janitorial thang at O'Flaherty's. Then there's the regular Day Job, where I've decided I need to ask for a raise... And then there's the issue of my impending 50th birthday, only twenty-one days away as I write. I bought a barbecue grill at a garage sale before I moved. I asked all my bosses for the day after my birthday off. I have about $3 to my name right now, but don't complete regret it... Maybe one of my bosses will give me an advance so I can eat and have busfare this week, after the expense of the move.
I was creeped out about turning 50 a couple of months back, but now it doesn't bother me that much. I'm too tired to be bothered.
"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching..."
Rod
Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was also principal writer and Editor for IT Manager's Journal, where he reviewed technology issues weekly, producing 383 editorials. He became the Managing Editor for Electronic Mail/Newsletter Publications at Andover.net at the end of February, 2000, and left in September of the same year. He was a contributing writer for ACCESS magazine, which appears both on- and offline for 10 million readers in 100 newspapers like the San Francisco Chronicle, New York Post, Boston Herald, Austin American-Statesman, Denver Post and Orlando Sentinel, among others. Rod was the US reporter for Silicon.com, a division of Network Multimedia Television in London, UK, reaching 3.5 million European readers, until May, 2001.
Rod lives in New Orleans, Louisiana, right now. The new home of the magazine. But he plans to return to Serbia next year.
He continues to be committed to integrity, chastity and a dose of humility.
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