Airports, New Orleans Bound, Recycling and Racism

This idiot again. 

      Can you buhlee da holidays have already started? I can, because I work in retail, so don't bitch to me about "too many Christmas songs." But f'oreal. I'm currently enjoying what will assuredly be the best gift I receive this year - a paid trip to New Orleans. Initially hesitant - I don't get along with anyone, and I'm in a house with 13 other people? - I came around to the idea in a big way. History! Jazz music! Not having to go to work! Delaying the Canadian winter!

      By the way, it is a balmy 73 degrees with a light wind as I sit at my coffee table on the porch and write this. The locals all have pants and hoodies on. Ha! They've all forgotten they were Canadian. This is basically how I want to die. 

A couple minutes before touchdown in NOLA.

      After accidentally trying to smuggle a steak knife through customs in my backpack (seriously.), a calm flight led us here without event. Well, I couldn't listen to Protest the Hero's Volition, which has been my go-to lately, as the final track vividly describes death in a plane crash (it's a metaphor!), but that was a small sacrifice to make to not freak out. God, but I hate flying. Anywho, the absolutely gorgeous Fleur de Lis Mansion, walking distance from lots of the major attractions round these parts, has proven comfortable and elegant. I might be the only person in the world who finds the highway that passes over the nearby houses to be a perfect lullaby. Whatevs.

Cuz you ain't (and shouldn't) shit without a shower TV

The house is awesome and lavish, and obviously very old, tucked into a nondescript area. If you were standing on the front porch, looking out at the neighbourhood, you'd never think such a great establishment was behind you. Perhaps even better than the gracious and welcoming hostess, the proximity to attractions, and the wonderful weather is the mindfuckingly abundant amount of TVs and coffee makers in this house. Truly we live in an age of wonders.

This is my room, the Jazz Room, obvz. Someone as beautiful as me could only but appreciate the surplus of mirrors. Also, it opens on to a second floor porch where I can enjoy the breeze while I write and drink coffee,

      ...And spectate upon the neighbours. Yes, that is a hobo camp under the expressway. Sigh... Get creative, homeless people!

I wasn't quite sure how to interpret this juxtaposition. Are they telling the little porcelain man in blackface not to trespass? Or is he the one watching you 24 hours a day? I'd normally be creeped out, but instead I named him Warren and made a new friend. 

      Tripadvisor advised us to take a trip to the World War II Museum, which was only a sunny five minute walk from the house. So we did. I won't bore -does it matter? no one is reading - with my revelations on the hardships of war, but some of the other elements were absolutely fascinating. For example, I knew that wartime efforts in the U.S. redirected just about all industries, but some of the posters made it apparent just how pervasive this production effort was.

Top left: "If it'll save a second, it's a great idea; let's have it! Shortcuts can shorten the war." (One can't help but think with all the automotive recalls always popping up that maybe they never cancelled this policy)
Top right: Poster advises people to save all household fats from cooking to use for explosives.
Bottom right: Responsible motoring is part of the war effort, too. "Check your tires now"

      With some of the things (like taxes, and the military-industrial complex) that persisted after WWII, it's a shame this level of recycling didn't take and keep national hold. The world would be a very different place...and less fat. No one in any of those videos or pictures was fat. Wartime rations anyone?

      This is another poster from the same series, this one depicting Axis leaders Hitler, Mussolini, and Hirohito as bowling pins and production as the ball. Again, too bad this sort of collaborative mentality can only unite such a large and diverse country when there is a threat to point it at, but impressive nonetheless.

      Lots more to say about such an impressive museum, but I'll just leave it at a strong recommendation. One is tempted to marvel at the boats and planes and tanks, guns and knives and rocket launchers, and massive military plans, but the most affecting parts were the two minute snippets scattered all about with personal anecdotes; they succeed far better in communicating the realities. 

      At the door, we met a WWII vet, a paratrooper from the U.S 101st Airborne who had been at Normandy. One wants to be respectful with elders and veterans (especially of the less controversial wars), but my stomach turns at the kind of soldier-worship we often see. All this meant was that I tried to ask different questions from what he would be used to, but I couldn't trip him up. The old gentleman's responses were perfect.

      Vet: We were meant to land here [gestures to secure American base], but instead we wound up way up here [far to the northwest of destination, on the other side of a large Nazi base].

      Me: So you had to go through them?

      Vet: Oh, hell no. We went around.

      He also proudly displayed a picture of himself on a motorcycle he had taken off a German soldier. "I rode that thing everywhere for two months," he said. I guess even then, people could recognize superior engineering. #Benz #hahaha #SorryBig3 #didyouhavethatrecallforthekeys?alittlefuckinpieceofplasticgimmeabreak

      After the museum we returned to the house, only to find that all the young people had left for Bourbon Street to get well and truly dickered. I'd care, but I don't care. The only thing I need less than a violent hangover is a violent hangover in a foreign city. I'll go wander the French Quarter alone or something.

Back at the house, vacay chillin, nawmean?

#plentyofswag