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Doce me faces voluntarem tuam quia Deus meus es tu

Tuesday, June 01, 2004
I spent Sunday morning in a New Orleans suite watching Nancy Pelosi slander the President with weak rhetoric. Anthony Zinni took time on ABC to ramble on and on. Rhetoric and little more. It was boring and vain, sort of like Bourbon Street.

It was block after block of simple-minded indulgence, a strong odor as though every bodily-secretion had blended with beer and fried oysters to make a disgusting perfume. The same bar as far as you could see; if there were unique establishments tonight, no one could find them amid the throng of inebriated patrons. Saturday night we caught our breath in a courtyard outside O'Flaherty's, catching the score of the Lakers/Timberwolves games and listening to an Irishman sing a song about a wake and a keg. A fun half hour, but the whole thing seemed out of sorts in a French-American city. The city makes me sad in a lot of respects. One good local restaurant becomes indistinguishable from a tourist trap, and most folks can't tell the difference between a fine local shop and a junk mart full of t-shirts reading "I'm only horny on days that end in "y"." Cute, no?

On the other hand, the city has limitless romantic possibilities, what with all the coffee and fine food and the river. The National D-Day Museum is a must see for any lover of history and the American nation. New Olreans remains a fine city, however imperfect.
9:34 AM :: ::
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