Jon’s Comments

I don’t have a lick of psychological training, never even took a basic level college course. So far as I’m concerned the base tier of Maslow’s Hierarchy is a good cup of coffee. I can’t even begin to tell you the steps of grievance - loss, denial, sorrow, something else, I don’t know. All I know is that by now I’ve felt everything I think I’m going to feel. I’ve felt the despair, the sorrow, the fear and the uncertainty. I’m tired of it and now all I feel is mad and homesick. I’m starting to miss stuff. For the first two weeks of this web log all I received were questions, people wanting to know about their homes, their businesses, their neighborhoods. It felt good to get the questions, and it felt good to answer them. It gave me hope. Now that crazy people like me are getting back in, questions are getting answered and although the news is slightly better for some, it is not really good for any of us. Although some of our individual homes might have been spared, our neighbor was not and this affects all of us equally. Although we were generally spared the horror of having our entire parish wiped out like St. Bernard we did have our share of loss. Lakeview. Gentilly. The 9th Ward. A good chunk of Mid-City. Pockets of Faubourg St. John. Gone. Our culture took a body blow and I already miss it. The one comment I keep hearing from you all is “I miss my New Orleans” and all I can say is I miss mine too and I wonder how it will look when it comes back. Does New Orleans exist despite us? I keep running into good friends at the strangest places in Baton Rouge, coffee shops, malls, gas stations. Everyone has a different story to tell, everyone has a different timeframe for when they want to get back. Yesterday I told my friend, and fellow evacuee, George Brown that the deck has been reshuffled and who knows how the cards are going to be dealt out. Who knows?



All I know is that I miss my stuff.

I miss my “Biggest Latte Ever” at Fair Grinds.

I miss my Thursday afternoon scene at the wine shop.

I miss my wine tasting group

I miss running past the Pitot House along the Bayou.

I miss Rebirth at The Maple Leaf and doing shots of Bushmills next door at Jacques-Imo’s

I miss my old house and drinking my morning coffee looking out over the Bayou.

I miss Bud Rips and I still can’t believe my wife went out on a second date with me even after I took her there for a few drinks on our first date.

I miss the Turtle Soup at Mandina’s

I miss getting my fresh La Spiga bread delivery.

I miss seeing my son’s eyes light up when I bring him to “Mrs. Bar Bar’s” house for daycare.

I miss The Chart Room and The Napoleon House.

I miss the accents and the attitudes.

I miss the pot holes.

I miss the fact that if you need to make a left turn on Airline Highway you’re screwed

I miss the Bud’s Broiler #4 with sauce

I miss Ronnie Virget’s column in The Gambit

I miss reading the Friday Lagniappe and lamenting at all the great live music I’m missing.

I miss the Radiators live at Tip’s

I miss the view of Place St. Charles looking down Royal Street, perhaps the best view of the Old and the New in our entire country

I miss the long ass red light at the corner of Esplanade and Wisner and the fact that if you need to make a left turn onto either street you’re doubly screwed.

I miss the nasty Mardi Gras beads still hanging on the trees Uptown in November.

I miss The Joint on Poland Avenue: The finest Bar-B-Que in the city of New Orleans.

I miss Crescent City Steakhouse and listening to Anthony bitch about the Saints.

I miss the tranquility of the mossy oaks along City Park Avenue.

I miss my home.

I miss my New Orleans.