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Weather And Football
It is not indicative of a state of boredom that I refresh the National Weather Service website periodically throughout the day. My duties as caretaker require a certain "step ahead" approach to the possibilities of inclimate weather. Rap a few hose bibs here, run a little water there, make sure the house animal does not escape to the outside and become a frozen catcicle. The last bit was really a joke. The cat is probably snuggled up under somebody's covers in one of those upstairs beds. He doesn't have any motivation to escape.
Also, it has been fifteen years or so since I have seen snow, since that Cool Breeze tour of 87 (that's right, I used to name my road trips; you can take the boy from wherever he is but you can't make him give up his irony), which had me living for a few months in Great Falls, VA, just up the road from Oliver North and other superstars from the politcal/industrial/military complex. It snowed five or six inches once. It was neato. And what a long chapter that was between then and now, where I sit in Rappahannock waiting for snow or ice.
A bunch of ya'll aren't from the South and so probably don't consider snow and ice all that neato. It probably isn't that neat and will be very un-neat if frozen tree limbs crash the power lines and I lose heat, and get all cold to my close to the surface bone and my spine starts feeling like railroad spikes are being driven into it with a ten pound sledge hammer.
What I wanted to talk about yesterday but didn't was the success of Eddie Green, a New Orleans kid who used to live across from me on Dumaine, who I watched for a couple of years as his nationally ranked high school basketball team went to state championships (and won once). He went to Southern University in Baton Rouge on a football scholarship. He's a senior now, six feet and one inch tall and 250 pounds heavy. His number is 44. He worked for the NO Recreation Dept. over the summer mentoring young kids. He's a linebacker mostly. He's really good at hitting people on the field. He likes to talk trash on the field too. It's part of the game. Messing with your opponents head. He's having a really good last half of his senior year, recovering fumbles and getting five or six tackles a game and Southern is having their best season in several years. I think they are 10-1 or 11-1. Eddie has been spending his New Orleans time--holidays, game weekends (the big Bayou Classic game at the Superdome against Grambling every year) and summers at the Dumaine house with M (his mom loves him is why she pushed him out of her nest), so hopefully I'll see him soon, and he can tell me stories. There will be no snow.
How He Cheers Up
There are things I have seen (crooked spines and autonomy-threatening infirmities) which make me question the wisdom of attaining old age and other things I have seen (the twinkling eyes of a ten-year-old in a seventy-year-old body) which make me think boy oh boy what a great thing the future will be. The fun really will never stop.
One may question my use of the word "ghetto" in describing the neighborhoods I haunt and live in--in New Orleans--but a few of you have been there and I think will agree that ghetto in this case is not an unfairly used noun/adjective. Unless for you "ghetto" is only evocative of the negative aspects of the condition and then I have to tell you, no, that's not what I'm talking about. Ghetto for me is synonymous with those who are surviving it on a daily basis with laughter and tears. The strength of its citizens inspires me way way beyond the words to describe it.
I don't know what it means for you. I don't know how much depravity you have seen. I don't know what you consider hardship. The words don't tell it and neither do the pictures. The gutter, the vomit, the blood, the needles, the vials, the baggies, the children pulling triggers, the crumbling schools, the children pulling triggers, the children pulling triggers, the dead, the walking wounded, all those single mothers and fatherless children. And the graceful, confident, intelligent, beautiful, lovely, eleven-year-old girl who responded matter-of-factly to my suggestion that the world was full of possibilities, with the words--"I'll never get out of here," with a tone and maturity that implied, "end of discussion."
Everyday in the ghetto can be like that, the two ideas colliding: I'm going to live life to the fullest, then die in the gutter.
So for me, the temporary citizen with the ability to come or go, the taster of alternate realities not just through drug use, I find it comforting that there is a place where all the vain, silly complexities of life are boiled down to the simple idea of surviving the day in front of you. Do something, love someone, hate someone, try, fail, fuck, be celibate, dig deeply. Don't brood, but don't forget, Death awaits. It doesn't get much simpler than that. Cheer up.