It already seems as if it’s been a year since I left New Orleans - too much work, too few hours, and a distance in my head that doesn’t seem possible. Here’s a few lasting impressions that stand out - at least as far as I’m concerned:

* The French Quarter is much cleaner than it was last year. My friend Rock tells me the city switched contractors - obviously they’re doing a fabulous job. I’ve never seen the Quarter as cleans as it was.

* There still needs to be more foot traffic during the days to help the folks out in their post-Katrina recovery effort. There seemed to be a number of companies having conferences there last week, but, while it’s good for the restaurants and clubs at night, the shops during the day seem to still be taking a bit of a beating.

* Hurricane season has the locals on edge, and there were quite a few people I talked to that said if the city gets hit this year, that’s it - they’re calling it a day. While there’s been progress on a number of fronts, there’s obviously still a long ways to go, and many people simply can’t afford any more significant losses in terms of property - they just don’t have the strength for it.

* If you need a good locksmith in the New Orleans area, you can’t do better than Rock’s Lock Shop. He’s in the Yellow Pages. (And don’t tell him I told you he looks like actor Tommy Lee Jones from the side.)

* The meal I had at Mulate’s on Wednesday night was as good a meal as I’ve had there in all my visits - it was fabulous!

* …and you can’t beat the roumalade at Tujague’s - it’s like an old friend to The Great White Shank’s tastebuds.

* The Spotted Cat on Frenchman Street is a great place to listen to local bands away from all the tourists on Bourbon Street.

* …but I also still like Maison Bourbon and the Cajun Cabin. I just wish the CC could staff their place for more than a few hours a few nights a week; it seems kinda sad.

* If you want to get people revved up and angry, just mention the names of Mayor Ray (floating schoolbusses) Nagin and Governor Kathleen Blanco.

Warning: this post, albeit short, contains language that may be considered offensive to some. (In fact, the title probably already has!)

You want to know how screwed up this country is? Look at all the attention being paid to Paris Hilton, the celebrity socialite sentenced to jail for 45 days for violating her probation and driving ban after a drink-driving conviction. What Hilton is finding out here - and I don’t doubt Lindsay Lohan’s latest problems puts her in the same situation - is that being a celebrity - something Hilton has never hesitated for one freakin’ second to embrace - cuts both ways. The folks love you when you’re ridin’ high, but when you go down and expect different treatment BECAUSE you’re a celebrity, they’ll turn on you and eat you alive.

Here’s my problem with Paris Hilton and those like her: they contribute absolutely nothing to society - actually, in my book, they’re nothing but rich white trash that oughta be thrown out with the rest of the garbage. In Hilton’s case, she’s nothing but an empty-headed b*tch who stands for the absolute worst of American culture nowadays. And the fact that the cable networks cover her like they have when there are far more important things going on in the world, like this, and this, makes them equally reprehensible in my mind.

Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it Paris? Maybe it’s not exactly Christian for me to say, but I have no sympathy for your sorry ass. You can scream and cry all you want, but in my view, you deserve whatever you get. Maybe a few days in the cooler will make you realize that everything you stand for - a privileged publicity hound with nothing to show for but a reputation for late-night clubbing, papparazzi, champagne, and those oh-so-cute dogs you always seem to surround yourself with - puts you just above the trash I threw out last night. Time for a reality check, honey, and it couldn’t happen to a better person.

Let’s see how smug that smile looks in a couple of month’s time.

Is there a more poignant and beautiful early Beach-Boys era song than “The Warmth of the Sun”? When people talk about Beach Boys’ leader and producer Brian Wilson’s best lyricists, they’re often referring to either Tony Asher (”Pet Sounds”) or Van Dyke Parks (”SMiLE”). But often overlooked is Mike Love, Beach Boys front-man, who actually penned these lyrics the day before JFK was assassinated and completed them the day afterwards:

What good is the dawn
That grows into day?
The sunset at night
Or living this way

For I have the warmth of the sun
(Warmth of the sun)
Within me at night…
(Warmth of the sun)

The love of my life
She left me one day
I cried when she said,
“I don’t feel the same way”

Still I have the warmth of the sun
(Warmth of the sun)
Within me tonight..
(Warmth of the sun)

I’ll dream of her arms
And know they’re not real
Just like they’re still there
The way that I feel

My love’s like the warmth of the sun
(Warmth of the sun)
It won’t ever die…
(Warmth of the sun)

Beautiful lyrics augmented by a lovely and complex melody. Certainly one of the Beach Boys’ finest.

…before I depart New Orleans and return to the heat and dust of Phoenix:

* The French Quarter appears to be both more vibrant and cleaner than it seemed to me a year ago. There seems more foot traffic at night - even on weeknights - and perhaps that can be attributed to a number of corporations scheduling their conferences for New Orleans this week. Unfortunately, the lack of foot traffic during the day seems to be making things difficult for the various shops and art galleries in the FQ that simply cannot wait for weekend traffic to make up for the loss of tourism in a post-Katrina world.

* I highly recommend the char-broiled oysters at the Acme Oyster House.

* …as well as Tujague’s for as good a meal as you can get in these parts. Their roumalade sauce is to die for.

* There’s still a lot of locals here who appear to be on the fence as to whether their long-term plans include staying here. I kinda get the feeling that one more hurricane might cause more than a few to say enough is enough.

* If you want a cozy bar to simply enjoy a cocktail in while watching the foot traffic pass by, you can’t do a whole lot better than the Omni Royal Orleans’ Touche Bar on St. Louis Street.

It was a lovely week, but all good things must come to an end. See y’all on the bsackside in the Valley of the Sun!

There are few things in this life I love more than a day simply taking in the sights, sounds, and senses of New Orleans. Sprung from a three-day corporate conference around noon, I felt like The Beatles in that scene from “A Hard Day’s Night” where, after finding a way to escape temporarily from the madness of their daily existence, they tear around an open field running, jumping, and dancing to blow off steam. (Or, like The Big Nipper does when he figures out his play area gate is open and realizes he has the run of the house.) It wasn’t so much like that for me, but it was an extraordinarily joyful thing to simply spend the afternoon just being here and being alive - whether it was:

* Enjoying a cab ride over to mid-city and hearing a cabbie tell me about his boat and the seafood business he runs on the side;

* A wonderful shrimp roumalade sandwich served with an ice-cold Abita Amber over lunch at Liuzza’s, while finally being able to meet in person my good friend Rob from CrabAppleLane Blog (thanks gain for the lunch, Rob - I owe ya one if you’re ever in the Phoenix area!);

* Discussing the science of boat drinks and cocktails with the bartender at the Royal Omni Orleans’ Rib Room bar and one of the owners of Antoine’s (my favorite restauarant in the whole wide world), who just happened to have stopped in for a glass of chablis with a female friend of his;

* A fabulous dinner of blackened alligator, zydeco gumbo, and blackened Tilapia with my friend and co-worker Kerry and her husband Tim at Mulate’s - one of the best meals I’ve ever had in all my visits to the French Quarter;

* Standing outside K-Paul’s Louisiana Kitchen and enjoring the music being played street-side by Rodney Thibodeaux and Tour Les Soir (yes, you can order their music online!);

* Finishing off the night with an Abita Amber nightcap listening to Dixieland music at the Maison Bourbon;

It’s days like this that simply reinforce my inner sense that this place and my soul have been, and are forever, linked in a special relationship for some unknown reason; to me it feels like home, and if I were ever given the chance, I think my restless bones would finally have found their resting place and safe haven.

There are few things in this life I love more than a day simply taking in the sights, sounds, and senses of New Orleans. Sprung from a three-day corporate conference around noon, I felt like The Beatles in that scene from “A Hard Day’s Night” where, after finding a way to escape temporarily from the madness of their daily existence, they tear around an open field running, jumping, and dancing to blow off steam. (Or, like The Big Nipper does when he figures out his play area gate is open and realizes he has the run of the house.) It wasn’t so much like that for me, but it was an extraordinarily joyful thing to simply spend the afternoon just being here and being alive - whether it was:

* Enjoying a cab ride over to mid-city and hearing a cabbie tell me about his boat and the seafood business he runs on the side;

* A wonderful shrimp roumalade sandwich served with an ice-cold Abita Amber over lunch at Liuzza’s, while finally being able to meet in person my good friend Rob from CrabAppleLane Blog (thanks gain for the lunch, Rob - I owe ya one if you’re ever in the Phoenix area!);

* Discussing the science of boat drinks and cocktails with the bartender at the Royal Omni Orleans’ Rib Room bar and one of the owners of Antoine’s (my favorite restauarant in the whole wide world), who just happened to have stopped in for a glass of chablis with a female friend of his;

* A fabulous dinner of blackened alligator, zydeco gumbo, and blackened Tilapia with my friend and co-worker Kerry and her husband Tim at Mulate’s - one of the best meals I’ve ever had in all my visits to the French Quarter;

* Standing outside K-Paul’s Louisiana Kitchen and enjoring the music being played street-side by Rodney Thibodeaux and Tour Les Soir (yes, you can order their music online!);

* Finishing off the night with an Abita Amber nightcap listening to Dixieland music at the Maison Bourbon;

It’s days like this that simply reinforce my inner sense that this place and my soul have been, and are forever, linked in a special relationship for some unknown reason; to me it feels like home, and if I were ever given the chance, I think my restless bones would finally have found their resting place and safe haven.

One of the things that’s so cool about the French Quarter is that no matter what time you’re walking through it, you’re always bound to find something interesting. It’s so different from Gilbert, Arizona where the only time you see people out and around is in the mornings before work begins, when people are out doing their own thing (emphasis on their own thing), and even then, you’re lucky if you even get a friendly wave. Here, we’re walking on Decatur Street at 1 AM and there are people out and about: one bar we walked past seemed a kind of “internet cafe” as there were young people clustered around tables with quaint little lamps on them, nursing a cocktail or beer and their laptops opened up for business.

Just outside the Cafe du Monde, a group of young people were crowded around a telescope; when we asked them what they were looking at, they excitedly replied that Jupiter was high up above, its celestial light shining above the River City. And, of course, you had the occasional panhandler - some asking for donations in return for an on-the-spot Sam Cooke medley, others asking for 50 cents for a drink (though I’m not sure what kind of drink you can get anymore at less than a couple of dollars). And the usual sounds of bands playing from deep inside some nearby dimly-lit bar as you pass various shops and stores locked up tight for the night. There’s a soft breeze blowing by the river tonight, and the humid air is a welcome departure from the dusty, dry heat of Phoenix. The air, the town, and the river seem alive, and, as a result, so do I.

It’s past midnight here in New Orleans, and a beautiful night to be out and about.

The moon is rising over the beautiful Mississippi River as I site here typing this from my hotel room on the 25th floor of the Sheraton New Orleans on Canal Street. It’s a lovely view, and a lovely way to end the night.

Not much to say after a day of business meetings and boring presentations. Tonight, however, was a different story as we high-tailed it out of this drab and colorless corporate environment and headed over to Frenchman Street and The Spotted Cat for some New Orleans swing-jazz by the fabulous New Orleans Jazz Vipers (pictured here at the ‘Cat, BTW)…

It certainly was a joy to get out and experience a little of New Orleans, but it certainly (at least in my mind) begs the question: why would a company pay good money to fly 500 people down to New Orleans and then serve them a dinner buffet of lemon-broiled chicken, a fish dish, penne pasta and Caesar salad? I mean, if we were in Roanoke, Virginia, or Omaha, Nebraska, or Denver, Colorado - yeah, there’s nothing special from a culinary prespective in those places (with all due respect to those towns). But in New Orleans - what are they, nuts? So, a bunch of us are kissing the hotel food au revoir tomorrow night and heading over to the Gumbo Shop or the Cajun Cabin for some authentic New Orleans cuisine. And maybe a return trip to Frenchman street afterwards?

Man, I love this place!

When in Rome…

Greetings from New Orleans! I’m here for a few days of corporate meetings followed by a day and a half of leisure. A perfect opportunity to hopefully meet in person the esteemed, all-knowing and all-powerful bodhisattva of CrabAppleLane Blog, my friend Rob. And, an opportunity to see how my friend Rock is hanging in there with his lock business almost two years after the post-Katrina floods.

Every time I return here, it feels like I’m back home again. It’s not just a New Orleans thing - it’s more a Mississippi River and southern Louisiana thing, I think. I come down here, and I automatically feel myself breathing and drinking in both a different kind of atmosphere and a culture - for both good and bad - that touches me deeply. My whole body feels alive, my mindset returns to some different yet familair time and place, and I feel more like myself than I do anywhere else I’ve ever been - and that includes my home in New England. If I believed in reincarnation, I’d say that there was some kind of prior life experienced down here. But I don’t, so I content myself with keeping up to date with things down here via the Metroblogging New Orleans and Voodoo Cafe at TheMountainSplash website, making occasional calls to Rock, and trying to get down to the Gulf Coast as much as possible to renew as many acquaintences as I can in the little time I always have here.

I’ve sort of felt like staying on the sidelines since the announcement of that bi-partisan “comprehensive immigration reform” agreement hammered out by members of the U.S. Senate two weeks ago. It’s not that I don’t feel strongly opposed to the plan and digusted (although not surprised) at both President Bush’s announced support for it and his criticism of conservatives for not going along with it in lockstep - something, BTW, that amounts to a political death wish on his part. Only an arrogant and/or aloof, tone-deaf White House could not have foreseen the uproar by the President’s base and conservatives out there, but I’ve come to believe this President will probably go down in history as one of the most incompetent chiefs of state that has ever occupied the White House - something that no less an authority and historian like Newt Gingrich has said himself.

My main problem with the whole idea of “comprehensive immigration” is the fact that those who have illegally entered our country - whether it comes from north or south, I don’t care - are being given preferential treatment over those who come to this country legally and try and work within the system to become American citizens on their own. My good friend from Louisville, Marcos Lorenzo, came here from Cuba, got his work visa and worked his ass off to the point where he is now owner of Louisville’s finest Cuban restaurant and a proud U.S. citizen. If my good friend and former co-worker Karthik (from India) is not a U.S. citizen (he’s here on a H1B visa), his own preference for self-reliance and wanting to “play by the rules” remains the same. Neither Marcos or Karthik have ever asked for any handouts - and never would - and it is stories and journeys like theirs that attest to all that is good about this country and those who want to share in their little corner of the “American dream”.

I have no doubt that there are those who have crossed our southern border illegally who want the same; but it’s my sense that the majority of those here illegally pretty much want only to work hard and make money. In both cases, there should be some kind of arrangement that meets the unique needs of the U.S. econonmy and business climate down here, while providing a means where everyone knows how the game is going to be played and then follow the rules.

I don’t know how or why the whole debate has descended into this whole mess of accusing people of being xenophobic or racist - although given the stakes at work here, I’m not surprised - but it seems to me that if a country is going to stay a country, it has to have laws, and those who live within its borders have to abide by those laws. And while I hate the whole idea of giving the government any additional responsibility for the implementation of a new program, here’s The Great White Shank’s four-point plan for immigration reform:

1) The government provide everyone with a national ID card (green in color) for all current U.S. citizens. This card will also serve as a form of ID that must be presented for voting in any kind of national election.

2) Any head of a household who has come here, either illegally or legally, with the intention of becoming a U.S. citizen must file an application for same within some designated three-month period. Included on that application will be the following: a) when they came here; b) what work they have been doing since arriving; c) all the members of their family. Once approved, these people will be given a temporary ID card (yellow in color) that will enable everyone to enter a lottery by which some to-be determined number of applicants will be given American citizenship annually, upon which they will receive their national green ID card. How states want to handle the issue of benefits to those in this category - drivers licenses, health care, schooling, state programs, etc. will be up to them.

3) Any head of a household who has come here illegally and doesn’t wish to become a U.S. citizen must file a guest resident application for same within some designated three-month period. Guest residents will be given a red ID card and must reapply every two years. Those in this category will not be able to vote in any kind of elections, state or federal; neither will they have access to any federal government benefit programs. How states want to handle the issue of benefits to those in this category will also be up to them.

4) After a pre-determined date, anyone found without a valid green, yellow, or red ID card in their possession may be subject to immediate deportation based on the circumstances involved.

If you combine such a program with a tightening up of the borders, it seems to me this could work pretty well. Those who are here and have jobs can keep them, and it removes the stigma of illegal vs. legal residents. The point is, any country should be able to know at any time who is here legally and do all it can to reduce the number of people who are here illegally. I’m sure there are some flaws or weakenesses in such a program, but heck, anything would be better than the chaos we have now.