Oh, I suppose I might have mentioned this earlier (like to my parole officer), but it is easier to apologize than to seek permission. About a week ago I slid into New Orleans, as easily as a sliver of remembered dream. Oh, it is a lovely city. Deep with mystery and mayhem, history and new ideals.
The Crescent City has an odd relationship with ecological and ideals; it is a green place, but that refers more to the herb and the foliage than to ecology. And yet, this is a place where people make do, reuse, and hold a deep relationship with the land.
On a personal level, in my fervor of living out the concepts of sustainability, when I went into a drugstore, I turned down the bag they offered for my legal script. Buoyed by that small success, when I went to procure my self-prescribed meds (no, I am not a doctor, but I play one in my mind), I asked my freelance pharmacologist if the goods came with minimal packaging. "Not to worry," he said. I felt better already.
No, New Orleans does not have many blue bins (yet), but it does recycle beads, hopes, and I've noticed that many of my past amours have been passed from hand to hand (so to speak) and are all the better for it!
Also, as I was there for a gathering of poets (or at least that's the story I'm giving to my P.O.) I put a bright red dot on a five-dollar bill and my marked money is now traveling those old streets, from second-hand bookshop, to bottom shelf liquor shelf, from band box to stripper’s garter, farmers' market to po'boy stand. ‘Round and round it goes, where it’ll stop, nobody knows.
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| Lucky Dogs -- Feeding Drunk Tourists for Decades! |
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