Milwaukee, WI — The pilgrimage continues.
Fargo was kinda there. Bigger than I expected. I checked out the downtown scene. People seemed nice enough. But I got that vibe it is the kind of town where if the out of towner piped up with a negative comment about the local sports team a most savage gangland style beating would be in his future. So, to be on the safe side, Go Bison. Speaking of local sports, I hit up the Roger Maris Museum. Well, technically it’s a museum, but in reality it’s a hallway in a shopping mall. Had some of his old awards, many of the home run balls from 61, some old jerseys, a recreation of his Yankee Stadium locker and a replica of his marker from Monument Park. Can’t say that I was blown away, but it beat the hell out of the guy trying to sell those head massagers. Legal action should be taken against that guy. He (not this one guy in particular, I am referring to all head scratcher thingy salesmen as a single intentiy) walks up and just sticks that big spider hand contraption on your head and starts working it. Thanks for the lice dilweed. I never see him wash the dag blasted thing, much less disinfect it. Just a bottle of Lysol, or maybe a bottle of that blue stuff barbers use. I have no idea what’s in the jar (it could be blueberry Kool Aid for all I know) but over the years I have developed a trust with that viscous looking substance. When I see an instrument come out of that jar, I feel confident that it is now sanitary and by all legal and social parameters ready to touch my scalp.
Basically everyone I encountered was ridiculously friendly. Before leaving town, I stopped to fill up the car. When I went inside to prepay, the lady looked at me like I asked her to donate a kidney for al Qaeda. Apparently the pumps at this station don’t even have a prepay option (or maybe the clerk just didn’t know how to work the register for prepay). And what’s more, according to her and a couple of folks in line behind me, this prepay thing is catching on in other cities. And they fear (because of a few recent after dark drive offs) that this untrusting system may soon make it’s way to Fargo. For a brief moment, I wanted to move to North Dakota and raise a family. Then I stepped outside, looked at the landscape, felt the chill in the air and said “nuts to that.”
The trip across Minnesota took longer than I expected. I’m about ready to give up on Mapquest. At this point I think that site would tell me that the Millennium Falcon made the Kessel Run in less than eleven parsecs. Minneapolis did not disappoint. Well, there was one huge disappointment, no shows at First Avenue while I was there. Just a night earlier and I could have stood in that historic club and hurled insults (and maybe a beer bottle) at Evanescence. I think it would be fun to be a reverse Dead Head like that. Follow around a crappy band and sit around and talk about how the Portland show sucked more than the San Fransisco show. Then sell bootlegs of other bands and try to convert the fans to decent music. Minneapolis is a very walkable city. And when you don’t feel like it, the light rail gets you pretty much anywhere you want or need to go. I stopped by an open mic. Not only was the comedy better than expected, but the crowd was huge, and involved. Quite the shock to my little comedy system. I wanted to call up all of my Los Angeles comedian friends and bring them into the warm embrace of a Minneapolis crowd.
I found some cool bars as well. When in town I highly recommend the Imperial Room. Reasonably priced drinks, cool decor, good service and a most enjoyable mix tape (or ipod shuffle, I’m so old). It was great to be in the city that gave me (OK, and the rest of the world) Prince. I settled in for some Monday Night Football. And congrats to Brian Urlacher and his Bears for their victory over Matt Lienart and his Cardinals in the Paris Hilton Bowl. Usually staying in a hotel next to the bus station is a bad idea. On this particular night it gave me something great. I can now top pretty much anybody’s crazy homeless guy story. I saw a gentleman standing on the sidewalk, pissing into the street and yelling at his penis. I wanted to stop and admire this entertaining creation of nature. But decided to keep walking, while peeking over my shoulder.
Now it was time for the holiest of pilgrimages. The city that gave me the Violent Femmes and Miller beer. Milwaukee here I come. Another very walkable city. I made my way out and crossed the river. When in Milwaukee I stop by The Lodge (just off Water St). Good drinks, great tunes and some cool folks to have prolonged music discussions with. The next morning it was up and off to see what Milwaukee famous, and made me a complete buffoon a time or two. The Miller Brewing Company is of course a massive operation. They gave the full history from Fredrick Miller’s birth to the hundreds of thousands of bottles they now ship out daily. Walking around the gift shop gave me a few chuckles. Seeing people pay good money for the same crap the distributors have given me for free over the years (although they didn’t sale what a really wanted, the jumpsuits that employees wear). At the end of the tour there is a tasting. I was expecting to be exposed to some of the newer and/or less popular brews from the fine people at Miller. Not the case. Far be it from me to complain about free beer, but the first sample was Miller Lite, followed by Miller Genuine Draft. Lastly the served up some apple flavored thing. YUK! When will people learn that fruit and beer and not meant to interact. And I had to question the logic of providing tour takers with three beers in less than 30 minutes and then sending them off to the roads of Wisconsin. While enjoying the three beers (OK, enjoying the first two beers), the friendly people at Miller place a stack of postcards on the table and will provide the postage to send them anywhere in the world. I couldn’t remember anybody’s mailing addresses. But a couple of addresses did pop into my mind. So I sent one to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. I wished the administration a happy Halloween and told them that even though it had only been a couple of days, I already deeply missed habeous corpus. I also sent one to my old dorm room.
Time to put the states the border Canada in my rear view mirror. Well I’m southbound, lord I’m comin’ home to you.

Fargo, ND — Out on the road again. So far I’ve gone from Los Angeles to Fargo. Had to get a little further away from North Korea. And I though Employee Of The Month would be the biggest bomb of October.
Apparently people in Las Vegas just read the headlines and are Parrotheads. Yes, Jimmy got busted with a bag full of ecstasy in France, but he wasn’t jailed. So, people of Las Vegas, you can take down all of those “FREE BUFFET” signs. Also, if your casino can afford one of those gigantic 100 foot screens, I would think there would be something better in that casino to advertise on the motion billboard other than the Burger King value menu. Even the Luxor has Carrot Top. And speaking of entertainers, Penn & Teller adopted a portion of I-15. Being magicians, do they just hocus pocus the liter away?
When entering Utah, make sure the gas tank is full and the bladder is empty. There is a stretch of I-70 that has no services for 108 miles. After those services, it’s about 90 more miles to Grand Junction, Colorado before drivers have another chance to purchase anything adjacent to the interstate.
Vail is a cultural mecca. That’s a city with an abundance of character and soul. By character and soul I mean jewelry stores and pricey restaurants. The police in Vail will never be accused of racial profiling. I’ve seen more black people at a tanning salon than I saw in the city. And the entertainment leaves a bit to be desired. The local paper had an article inviting people to come check out the town’s new firetruck. I hope they have the hoses hooked up to handle crowd control.
Driving completely across Kansas in a single day is a marathon of monotony. I’d spot some lights ahead and think “cool, coming up on a city.” 45 minutes later, I would reach that city. There were at least three city’s that pronounced themselves as being the home of an astronaut. That makes perfect sense to me. Growing up in Kansas would give someone an intense desire to get as far away as humanly possible. The flat land did offer one huge benefit. I was able to get a wide variety of college football games on the radio. SEC, Big 12, PAC-10, Big 10, MWC, WAC, CUSA and D I-AA all flew through the airwaves and into my car. For several games I was able to get at least two different feeds (one for each team). This was fun to flip between agony and ecstasy. And speaking of college football, what the fuck Georgia? Loosing to Vanderbilt? Apparently I missed that announcement in the alumni newsletter declaring this year’s homecoming theme as “A Return To The Ray Goff Era.”
Kansas City is doing some upgrades to it’s freeways. And signs are posted to remind folks to operate their vehicles cautiously in these areas. And to drive that point home, the state of Missouri has posted signs letting you know that if you hit a construction worker with your car, you’ll be hit with a $10,000 fine. Just in case that vehicular homicide charge wasn’t enough of a deterrent.
Getting gas in Iowa always scares me. I spend several minutes carefully reading every single word on the pump to make sure I don’t fill my tank with ethanol and ruin my engine. There should be large letters, and pictures. Maybe a little talking corn stalk.
I have developed yet another ear infection. This time though, I know the reason. It’s from hearing people in this part of the country referring to Coke as “pop.”

Today Los Angeles tried really hard to make it seem like a changing of the seasons was occiring. There was a nip in the air. Leaves fell and covered my front porch and car. Also, a pumpkin stand between my house and Ventura Boulevard. And nothing makes me think of autumn like 9:00 AM kickoffs and 10:00 AM first pitches.

One year = 12 months = 365 days = A lifetime.
“Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And miss it each night and day
I know I’m not wrong, this feeling’s gettin’ stronger
The longer I stay away”
— Louis Armstrong
It seems weird to say the most destuctive hurricane in US history snuck up on me, but it did. Wednesday August 24 was just another day. I woke up with a hangover, took a shower, checked my e-mail and went to work. After clocking out, I met up with some friends and we shared a few drinks, as we were accustomed to doing. Thursday August 25 rolled around and it was just another day. I woke up with a hangover, took a shower, checked my e-mail and started getting my set together for a comedy show that night. After the show, I met up with my friends and we engaged in some grown up fun in the French Quarter. That entire night, nobody mentioned hurricanes or evacuations. Friday August 26 started out as just another day. I woke up with a hangover, took a shower, checked my e-mail and ran some errands. Throughout the day I would flip past The Weather Channel for updates. This wasn’t a constant watch, just flipping over during comercial breaks. That night I picked up some dinner and fell asleep on the couch.
“Well, I wish I was in New Orleans
I can see it in my dreams
Arm-in-arm down Burgundy
A bottle and my friends and me”
— Tom Waits
Saturday August 27 was not just another day. About 5:30 AM my phone rang. It was a friend who wanted to know where I was at and what I was up to (that may sound strange, but remember I lived in New Orleans). Had that call not come, I would have slept until well into the next afternoon. At that point I would’ve went into work, then decided the roads were too crowded, hunkered down and weathered the storm. Seeing as how I was awake, I rolled over and turned the TV on. And that’s when I saw it. Overnight, the storm had grown in size and intensity. And even more scary, it’s projected path had moved westward. Now, southeast Louisiana was firmly in Katrina’s sights. How was this? A storm that hit Miami days earlier as a Catagory 1 had moved across Florida and now sat in the Gulf of Mexico more menacing than before. It was time to go into research mode. TV? On. Radio? On. Computer? On. Phone? Blowing up. Looking back, it’s hard to believe I even considered staying. After a couple of hours, the decission was made and my personal evacuation process began. Destination? Dallas. Cars? Just one, not mine. Clothes? Three shirts and a couple of pairs of pants should do. I called work, told them I wouldn’t be showing up for the next couple of days. Then I called my cousin Erin to make sure she had a way out of town and a place to go. With her safety confirmed, I made the final preperations. I went to the fuse box, clicked the power off, grabbed my evacuation kit (a sack ful of cash) and took what I hoped wasn’t one last look at my home. People, luggage and animals all crammed in and headed to Texas.
“Watch the road and memorize
This life that pass before my eyes”
— R.E.M.
Upon our arrival in the Metroplex, I realized I had forgotten my toiletry bag. I was pissed off, now I’d have to buy a new toothbrush. How was I going to live for two or three days without my razor? I laugh at this now. At first we treated our time in Dallas like we always treated evacuations, as an unplanned vacation. After a night of going out to eat, getting drunk, telling stories, laughing and making new friends, we returned to the hotel. In the hours that had passed, the weather reports had gone from disaterous to appocolyptic. A friend called me from New Orleans to check on me and let me know a mandatory evacuation was going to be called in the morning. At this point, even though the storm was still 30 hours from landfall, the frantic phone calls began. I was pleading with friends to get out. I offered up my own hotel room, my families houses, anything to get them away from the coast. Sunday was much of the same, the phone hardly left my ear. I went to bed, hoping against hope the morning would bring good news (the scale on which good news was judged had been drasticly recalibrated).
“The trees bend, the cities wash away”
— R.E.M.
Monday 6:10 AM CST, Katrina makes landfall in Buras, Louisiana. Miracalulously (for me) the storm wobbled a bit east as is approached the shore. New Orleans was spared a direct hit. My heart goes out to the residents of coastal Mississippi. While it looks like Harrison and Hancock Counties are leveled, the damage in New Orleans appears to be managable. We figure it’ll take a few days to get the power back on, and we’ll be home by the weekend. I still don’t know the fate of my home. To say it had some structural problems pre-K would be putting it mildly. I try to call my landlord for an update, but phone service is still out in New Orleans. A few people call to check in. So far so good and my worries are minimal. Then, the worst of news comes. Part of me feels guilty about the way I treated Jennifer’s death. Like I didn’t properly mourn her. There was just too much to deal with. Too many people to worry about. We went out and drank our sorrows away. I was ready for the next morning to come. I was ready for an update on when I could go home. I was ready for this damn day to be over.
“So I turn on the TV again
And the world comes crashing in”
— Elvis Costello
The next afternoon, I wake up and check my phone. In my passed out state, I didn’t hear it vibrate. There’s double digit missed calls. I get ready to start checking my messages but decide to check the news first and HOLY SHIT! The media had missed the levee and floodwall breeches the day before. Now, it dominated the news coverage. My heart sank, my mind raced. Hours pass, the images flicker, the news doesn’t change. The attempt to contact unaccounted for friends becomes more frantic. I want to be there to help my friends and neighbors. But even if I was, I know there’s nothing I could do. The walls on the hotel room seem to be closing in. Every time the phone rings, I go through a slew of emotions. Please let it be good news. Please let me know someone else is safe and dry.
“Why sleep or slumber America
Land of brave and true
With castles and clothing and food for all
All belongs to you
Ev’ry man a king, ev’ry man a king
For you can be a millionaire
If there’s something belonging to others
There’s enough for all people to share
When it’s sunny June and December too
Or in the winter time or spring
There’ll be peace without end
Ev’ry neighbor a friend
And ev’ry man a king”
— Huey P Long
My hotel had an abundance of Louisiana residents. The employees of the hotel I was staying at step up and really take care of us. To everyone at the Wyndham in Adison, TX, a heartfelt thank you… again. The day after the storm hit, they dropped our room rate. They started feeding us lunch everyday. Either a cookout by the pool, or catering from a local resturant. Every couple of days they would knock on our door and hand us a couple of sacks fulls of groceries. They brought in leasing agents from near by apartment complexes that had furnished ready to move in units. They brought in representatives from the school system to help the children get registered. And they provided free passes to amusement parks to the families so they could get the children out of the hotel. We had to get out of the hotel too. We went to the mall and just walked around. After a bit of that, we decided to get haircuts. It would pass some time and maybe make us feel better. It worked, for a few minutes.
“What I heard really pissed me off
Cause now I got those fucking blues”
— Rolling Stones
I was fortunate to have kept my Georgia phone number. Because of this, my friends with 504 and 985 numbers are able to call me, but I can’t call them. I discover that we can communicate through text message. Still though, I am the communications hub for several groups of friends. People check in with me every few hours to see who I’ve heard from and what I’ve heard. I utilize all of my contacts with the federal government and in the media. They have nothing to tell me. But there are rumors. And we spread them all. I regret this now. And I curse the media for engaging in these practices. Because these rumors were broadcast and accepted as fact, rescues were halted and people no doubt died because of this. The next day, more phone calls come in. The safe and sound count grows almost by the hour. I make arrangements with my boss to transfer to Shereveport. I make arrangements to go back home to Georgia for a few days. We make arrangments to get our friend’s dog back to her (he is with us in Dallas, TX and she is in Philadelphia, PA). Even though it’s four states away, at least I know where I’ll sleep the next day. I also know I have a job. This is more security and comfort than most people from the Gulf South have. I look down at my suitcase. In it are three shirts, two pairs of pants and a pair of shoes. I come to grips with the fact that everything else I own is gone, and these meager contents are all I have to start my life over with.

Bossier City, LA — “Some people had disappeared, All my favorite places” from My City Was Gone by The Pretenders
A month ago yesterday, I fled my home. One month ago today, Katrina made landfall, and I’m sure y’all know the rest. In a few hours I will make my return to New Orleans.
It’s an anxious time. The only certainty in my life is that I have a job. As of today, my apartment is still inhabitable. I may be living at work, or I may be crashing at someone else’s place. Big on the good news front was today’s announcment that we could shower in the city’s water. The repopulation of the general citizens begins on Friday. It will be nice to have more folks around. The deserted city was surreal to see once, but I don’t want to have to deal with that on a day-to-day basis.
I look forward to being in a familiar place, but more importantly seeing familiar faces. It’s going to be like the first day of school when no one has seen each other all summer. We all have stories to tell, and will for the rest of our lives.
I’m going to try to document, and comment on, on as much of the rebuilding as I can. Over the past few weeks I have learned that the national media is good for entertainment and not much else. I’m not saying I will be Edward Murrow or anything, but I want to give a different perspective. Oh yeah, and if I see him, I promise to give Geraldo Rivera a nice uppercut to the nut sac for the sake of humanity.
My life has been changed dramaticly in the past month. And I’m sure will change even more in the coming weeks and months. Time to pack my life into the car again.
Pardon my French but LAISSEZ LES BON TEMPS ROULER!

Shreveport, LA — My heart and all my best wishes go out to the citizens of east Texas and southwest Louisiana. I hope that they do not have to deal with what I have had to deal with (much less what those less fortunate than me have had to deal with).
I am amazed that major news has not hit this topic yet, and I do not believe it to be true, but… Look at the pre-prepared response to the storm hitting Texas and Houston as opposed to LA and MS. Stupid people on the left will jump all over this eventually thus further diluting the real issue. I would prefer to focus on things like, oh I don’t know, MICHAEL BROWN IS STILL BEING PAID. The fuck? This bastard is lucky he hasn’t been drawn and quartered. And he still draws a federal salary? Make him have to call the Red Cross toll free number to get his check. God luck with that you overpromoted son of a bitch.
I had hoped to go home this weekend. I had hoped to sleep in my own bed for the first time in almost a month (as opposed to the nine other places I have slept since then). People have been so kind to me during this difficult time. I appreciate their sympathy, but that is different than empathy. I feel like an old Vietnam vet, that screams at people “You don’t know man, you weren’t there.” It is possible to find other people that have lost a loved one, a home or a job. I have been through all of that, but I lost an entire city.
After 9/11, the nation was told “resume your normal life, if you don’t, the terrorist win.” Well, if I don’t resume my normal life then what? The hurricane wins? This is a common defense mechanishm (which I have used many times), just get back to your day-to-day routine. I can’t get back to my day-to-day routine. I can’t go to my job tomorrow and immerse myself in my work, because I have no job. I can’t do household chores to keep myself busy, I have no house. I can’t go hang out with my friends and just have fun, because my friends are spread out all over the country.
I have no peer group. The only people that know what I am going through are the people that are going through what I am going through. I miss my undersized but overpriced apartment. I miss my crappy job. I miss my unreliable friends. I miss… my life. And no telethon can bring that back.

BOSSIER CITY, LA — Last week I was able to return to New Orleans for a few days. It was a surreal experience. I tried writing about my time there in narrative form, but it didn’t quite work out. So, I’m going with bullet points.
* For the first time since I moved, I felt like a tourist. This was not a city I had been to before. I took dozens of pictures that I will post when I have access to a scanner.
* One of the first things I learned is that there is no longer such a thing as a one way street in New Orleans. I would turn onto at an intersection and have a near head-on collision with an armored personel carrier.
* The military pressence is astounding. Almost every corner has armed troops. I never expected to see batallions march up Magazine Street and tanks roll down Decatur Street.
* The lack of citizens was creepy. Not seeing downtown as its usual bustling self was shocking. Nothing but military and media.
* Cash was useless. There was nothing to buy. The city has reverted back to a system of bartering and trading favors. The three most prized commodities are alcohol, gas and ice. We had two of the three and we’re able to secure the third and get much help from the military and civil servants. By the way, if you want to put a smile on the face of those working to secure the city, they like beer. Even more than that though, they like clean clothes. Some of these men and women hadn’t changed clothes in eight days.
* I did get some of the experience of living in New Orleans during these horrific conditions. I never realized that my entire life I had taken for granted cold water. Some of the New York firemen provided us with ice cold H2O. It felt so good going down. They also hooked us up with some MREs. They were suprisingly good. I recomend the ribs, poundcake and apple cider. We were staying in a fourth floor apartment. It was unbarebly hot. I decided to sleep on the roof. That was eerie. After the sun went down, the French Quarter and CBD were completely dark. The only lights you saw were from the passing police cars. It was also dead silent. The only noise you heard was from the helicopters, which fill the sky all hours of the day and night. Speaking of helicopters, I got to see Dick Cheney touch down.
* I was interviewed by several members of the international media. If you were watching the news in Europe last week good chance you saw me with some interpreter twisting my words around.
* The city was not America. It is being run by the military and there is only one radio station.
* After the thrid of fourth time swerving around downed power lines, I realized I could just drive over them. But the coolest driving expereince is when we had to abort our exit plan because I-10 was still flooded. We then turned around and drove down the wrong side of the interstate at high rates of speed.
* There were police and firemen from all around the nation. I counted at least 20 different states represented. It put a smile on my face to see these folks still being tourists. Walking around the French Quarter checking out the sights and posing for pictures just like all the other jackass tourists.
* Never in your life do you want to have to clean out a seafood resturant that hasn’t had power for two weeks. I vomited well over half a dozen times.
* There were signs of progress though. Some parts of town already had running water. And the clean-up had begun. Trash and debrit were being removed. Some blocks of the French Quarter were the cleanest I had ever seen them.
I can’t wait to return. I want to help rebuild that city and make it great again. I can’t imagine a world without New Orleans and all of the good times and great art it has brought everyone. I’ll be back, and so will that city.

Next time you are over at a buddy’s place wait until he goes to the bathroom, then grab the remote and set him a TiVo season pass for “paid programming.”

There is something rather unsettling about the casino at holiday time. I’m sitting there hoping the assclown next to me doesn’t decide to split his sixes with Jingle Bell Rock blaring over the speakers. I kept having flashbacks of the debut episode of The Simpsons, that just a few feet away from me some kid’s Christmas gift was riding on the pass bar. However it was nice of the folks running the casino to get into the spirit of the season with their decorations. All of the bright flashing lights were quite festive.

One of the more interesting aspects of my job is the large number of non-Americans I work with. They travel from all around the globe to earn a living here in the Big Easy. It’s like a UN meeting — Russia, Brazil, Mexico, UK, Australia, France, Vietnam, Puerto Rico and Hungary, just to name a few. I always find it interesting to get there perspective on foreign and domestic issues. There was an overwhelming nervousness from them in the past few days. As one of my European co-workers put it “Today you get to decide who rules the world.” This is a view-point that most of us never consider. Even more amazing was the all most universal opinion of this group that a Bush win is good for America but a Kerry win is good for the world. One of them actually said “If I was an American, I would vote for Bush, but as a Brit, I really want Kerry to win.” It’s past midnight, and CNN now seems to REALLY want to give the election to Bush, but figures they’re gonna be blasted by the Daily Show enough as it is. So they wait. Looks like we’ll have no prolonged battle for Ohio, which is good. I didn’t want Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young to have to write another song.