Dear Readers,
I want to apologize for the lack of blogs on my blog. I began teaching full-time after my last post, and all of my rubbish talk about balance has been dismantled. I see the sun rise over the Mississippi every morning (above) before I walk to work from the riverside lot, and I often see it set when I return home to lesson plan for the next day. In my little spare time, I sit with a drink and stare out the only window of my half-bedroom Creole apartment (below). It is pretty and quaint if you care to visit.
I write every day, but I try my best to post only the material that is worthy of your distraction, which requires me to discard many drafts. Therefore, expect a post once, perhaps twice, a month from here on out.
However, I do not want to leave you empty-handed in this blog, so I thought I would briefly introduce you to a local tradition. Birthday money.
Last month when I turned 26 I pinned a dollar bill to myself and went to the liquor store.
"Can I put money on you?" asked a very cute girl with a wine glass. I didn't have to strip or do anything unsavory, it was my birthday; therefore people pinned money to my shirt. Better yet, a stack of bills on your chest is like a Birthday flag being waved in public. Strangers yell "Happy Birthday" from car windows, bartenders serve you for free, strangers buy you drinks, and you never have to say a word. All good reason to celebrate your next birthday in the Big Easy.
The Dancing Man earned a lot more birthday money than me.
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