(Note: this post is a rare "journal"-istic venture. The author was compelled to write the following despite the departure from the usual format.)
I'm in New Orleans, alone, for a meeting. The group of participants in the meeting all want to go into the French Quarter (Bourbon Street, of course). That visit confirmed my opinion of this city: I am simply amazed at the sorry state of Humanity in this town.
First of all, the whole city is embarrassingly dirty. The city planners should take some funds and commit a staff of 100 to use those high-power sprayers to wash away the grime.
Second, I am entirely too old for the French Quarter at night. Every balcony is packed with ugly people, all trying to convince women ages 15-65 to lift their tops. All for $.99 beads. And the women who don't usually display their breasts first look around furtively, as if they're wondering who's watching them. I just want to scream, "
You idiot! Everyone's watching you! You're either gonna do it or you're not, but the longer you wait, the more of us will be watching!" And the whole scene is like a car accident on the side of the freeway: you know you should drive on by, but you can't help but watch the disaster. Invariably, some letch has a video camera getting the whole thing, so the woman will be on the 'Net by morning.
Third, I have been asked for money by no less than 4 different men today. I have the convenient (and true) excuse that I live on plastic (i.e., debit card). Panhandlers are so
bold here, it's amazing.
Fourth, I figured out why no one washes this city down. It will just get dirty again that night. Psychologically dirty are the establishments up and down Bourbon Street. There are topless bars, bottomless bars, sex-act bars, men-as-women bars, karaoke bars (only dirty because no one can sing when they're that loaded), voodoo bars, and more. But the place is physically dirty because no one can pay attention to the environment when they lack the wherewithal to pay attention to anyone but themselves.
As I walked through the ruckus, I began to believe that there was nothing *good* in the whole Quarter. And then I see One Lone Preacher, trying to hand out scripture to the completely uninterested drunks stumbling by. Everyone else is so consumed with self-gratification and self-indulgence that they only regress into a pre-
Homo sapiens form of life. In other words, they no longer can walk in a straight line, upright, and maintain an intelligible form fo speech. And I mean
en masse. I cannot imagine another city in history that can turn a mob into such an ugly sight.
Now I must clarify one thing: when I say that there was nothing
good in the whole Quarter, I am including the people. But I separate the people while they're in the Quarter from when they are outside the Quarter. They specifically leave behind their usual decorum, sensibility and morals because everyone else has done the same thing. I would trust many of the folks in my group from this meeting with very much that is important to me. I would not hesitate to call on them in my time of need because I know they would be
there for me without a second thought. But once they cross Canal Street into Bourbon Street, their soul leaves them and they douse their systems with drink after drink until their minds leave them as well.
That One Lone Preacher was the only good thing in the French Quarter. This man was hoping against hope that someone would pay attention to what he had to offer. I don't know many men of faith who would have the same cajones. I'm afraid I could only manage to leave the fire, not stand in it.
And now I need a shower.