"Begrüßen Sie an Bord, ist dieses Füllermaterial, weil es dieser Verfasser könnte verstehen was ich sagte, und zweifellos nahm nicht Anmerkungen unmöglich ist. Mindestens, nicht bis später. Der Film auf dieser Reise ist ... Akeelah..."
Wait, what was that last thing he said?
"...And the Bee."
Of course. I had a chuckle at this, and a few of my fellow passengers were amused, as well. There would be more hurdles to cross after landing, but for now we could relax a little.
My decidedly undemocratic survey of our conversations suggests the vast majority of travelers are leading rich lives. And we did't even fly first class.
I do love blogborygmi, of course, but in the same way I'm fond of that old buddy from school, who taught me how to approach girls. He was really valuable to me at one time, helped me out a lot, but circumstances intervened and new we're just not so close. Every now and then I think of him, and give him a call, but if we stay on the phone too long it just reminds me of all the new priorities and obligations that occupy my time.
The best recent commentary I've read on the city actually comes from today's Grand Rounds host, Dr. Michael Hebert, who writes:
And finally, from Douglas McCollam of Slate, we have this: "It's fair to ask why, in a city where vast swaths remain uninhabitable, all this money is being spent to fix a stadium. You won't hear that question in New Orleans . . . If they can fix the Dome up after all it endured, then perhaps other things can be fixed as well. Perhaps, after all, the city need not die."
This angst is real, the conflict between tragedy and frivolity. New Orleanians feel it too, just as they felt it before as they celebrated the first Mardi Gras after Katrina. But in this town, tragedy and frivolity have always walked hand in hand. Name another city where cemeteries are promoted as a major tourist attraction. Where its most famous holiday (Mardi Gras), a celebration devoted to excess and debauchery, is counter-levered against the most solemn religious period on the calendar, Lent, and on purpose. In New Orleans, the jazz funeral starts with a dirge and ends with a riotous party at the gravesite. We don’t sweat it here. Maybe because we ignore tragedy. Or maybe because we are so used to it that we understand that if you don’t dance at somebody’s grave there is nowhere to dance at all.
A town where tragedy and frivolity walk hand in hand... No wonder so many emergency medicine conferences are scheduled here -- it's a natural fit for our practice environment.
And, speaking of dancing at the gravesite, I've got a parade to get to...