Saturday, 11 October 2008
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I realize that this blog is horribly, terribly outdated. I was busy, and then when i found out that i wasn't going to Norway I didn't even want to write here anymore. But now I do. I want to write, and I want to stay in touch with y'all, my friends and family. So I write again! Keep my accountable, send me nasty letters promising all sorts of terrible things if I don't update. K'?
This afternoon I was driving my dad's big, ugly, rusted farm truck with the window rolled down and the sun on my arm and Keith Urban blaring and I realized, “I missed this.” I have missed the feeling of being a country girl, regardless of how little of one I may have been before. I like my huge ugly truck and my country music and my crazy fluffy hair. I even like Alabama, though I have no intention of living here forever. But right now, this is good.
Last Saturday I went to New Orleans to an open house at one of the colleges I'm considering going to next fall. To tell the truth, I was surprised. I was homeschooled, then at a tiny private school. I was not ready for a public school environment. It's old, and smelly, and a bit sad looking. But the program is sound and I like their equipment and the teacher I talked to, and the students in the film department seemed happy with what they were getting so maybe I should adjust my expectations and get over it.
New Orleans... It's a city. I'll give it that. But I'm not sure it's a city I want to live in. I was walking down in the French Quarter and the humid air recked of sweat and beer and pee and musty buildings, a smell so thick that it pushed back when I tried to breathe. The streets were covered with trash and there were drunks and adicts and homeless men on the corners. The clubs were blaring music at deafening levels, a different song attacked my ears at every doorway as the men working the doors tried to lure me inside with promises of 3 for 1 drinks or free body shots. Photos of fully nude women, and men, hung in windows at eye level, with neon signs over the doors promising “Full Bottom Nudity”, “Personal Lap Dances”, or “Female Impersonators – You Have To See Them To Believe it!”.
Don't get me wrong, there are parts of the city I love. Old shops filled with treasures, antique jewelery and first run books and plume pens. Wonderful restaurants that just catching a whiff as I walked by made my stomach growl. Beautiful buildings and parks, filled with live jazz music and art and street performers.
But there's such a terribly sad underside; nasty and rotten in places, in others simply tragic and heartbreaking. When I left, after only one day, I just felt tired. So tired. And so I ask myself, do I want to live there 4 years? Can I live there 4 years? I don't have an answer to that question yet.
Currently Reading
How to Pray
By R. A. Torrey
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