This is the first year since the Federal Levee Failure that I haven't been to New Orleans. (I went twice last year.) I'm not an expert. I'm a tourist. I visit and revisit for the food, the music, the art, the architecture, the decadence, the cemeteries, the bridges, the waterways, and, sure, the alcohol. Every trip, except one, I've been with Julie. Sometimes just the two of us; sometimes in a group.
I wish I were there. Maybe not today, exactly, as a storm named Isaac is battering and threatening the city on the seventh anniversary of Katrina's birth. But I wish I were there at some point. There's only so long I can go without eating at the Green Goddess. Or grabbing late-night snacks at the Quartermaster. Or hearing amazing music (from out on the sidewalk or inside with a seat) coming from Snug Harbor. Or covering myself with powdered sugar from Café du Monde. Or watching as Julie eats Acme oysters, which I think is about the strangest thing she does.
Isaac is not Katrina. Not nearly as mature. A little under-developed, in fact. But we'll read about how Isaac is like Katrina, and how Isaac has a more attentive upbringing than Katrina did, acting as though, with this second child, we've become better parents.
Katrina is the real star. She's still not that good of a swimmer; but she has learned to talk like an adult.