Jesuit

Before I entered high school, I was as impressionable as any other thirteen or fourteen year old; however, i thought i had it all figured out.  I was the leader of my own destiny, no one could tell me what to do, and i knew everything; these were only some of the bold ideas that encapsulated my young mind.  I thought i had it all figured out.  i was going to walk into high school and own the place.  Then the biggest slap in the face of my life stopped me dead in my naive tracks.  After visiting al the local Catholic school open houses, my parents decided i was going to be a “Jesuit boy.”  The problem with this is that I bled blue and gold; thats right, I was going to be a Holy Cross Tiger.  

This change of direction threw me into a frenzy.  My brother went to Holy Cross, and I am going to go to Jesuit?  the thought of this was ludicrous at the time; but, little did i know, it would be one of the greatest moves in my life.  While attending Jesuit High School, I learned three important things that I will carry with me for the rest of my life: a respect for the Society of Jesus, AMDG, the concept of being a “man for others.”  

Almost Brad Pitt

     Yeah, I would say that I have a face worth bragging about: soft blue eyes, petite nose, toddler-like bone structure.  Whats not to love? A spectacular mane of of unkempt beauty sits atop my skull.  It is basically impossible to tame enough for an actual hairstyle, but I just like to think that it fits my shoddy, messy personality.  This mane actually creeps down my face to then carpet my cheeks, chin, and neck.  I am not going to go as far as to say that it is high quality carpet either; it may remind many of that cheap, itchy indoor-outdoor carpet that gets put where people have nothing more worthwhile to cover the area.  Yeah, the smart person would shave it off; but, without any facial hair I would likely still be able to get into the movies for free.  I would say that there is just no relief for its powerful charm.  Overall, I would say that I am the best looking guy in most of my classes that I attend at an estrogen dominated college of merely a few thousand students.  Those odds are pretty hard to beat for the average guy. 

      I like to think of myself as being one of the lucky ones in life that can be considered the total package: decently good looking and in fair physical condition.  With this gleaming evidence, I like to believe that there is slightly more right with me than wrong.  If you look at the bright side, I will look a few decades younger than everyone else in my age bracket in fifty or so years.  Thats the only way I can justify having this extreme condition of baby-face.  At least I have something to look forward to; by the time I reach the mature look I dream of nightly, my mental maturity may be in the early stages of dementia. With the aforementioned, I like to think I am a damn good looking specimen.   

Felipe's

A staple of my collegiate diet is that quaint little taqueria commonly known as Felipe's.  Tucked gently behind the South Claiborne strip mall and nuzzled close to the Papa John's, Felipe's is my go-to stop for burritos, quesadillas, nachos, and tacos. 

A twelve inch wheat tortilla coated by a warm layer of melted cheese, succulent pork, and toppings gets me thinking.  This is an amazing meal for a mere five bucks.  And the atmosphere, do not get me started on the atmosphere.  The employees all smiling, a quaint pair of dining areas, and a bar for those in need form this place into a trifecta of perfection: great sevice, food, and atmosphere.  Throw me on some jalepenos, pico de gallo, cilantro, sour cream, and maybe even a little guacamole; and I am in heaven.  This guarantees that the next two to three hours will be spent in the most satisfying full possible.   I crave this dish.  I love this food.  You want to eat this delectablely simple concoction (I have even witnessed astute professors indulging in Felpe's warm, tasty goodness).

However, this was the old Felipe's.  The Felipe's is only reminiscent of the watery mouth it has left me with.  The new Felipe's is a heartless place where sour cream and quacamole, staple condiments of any good mexican cuisine, cost extra.  A place where patrons are not even afforded a water cup to wash down the heat of a jalepeno or two.  Yes, this is not the place I formerly loved.

Bounce Biggy Bounce

New Orleans is home to many amazing artistic and entertaining creations. Perhaps one of the most exciting and fun to be a part of is the bounce music scene.  With enchanting beats and an undeniably catchy repititon, there is no music like bounce music.  The sounds are hypnotic; a D.J. and an M.C. or two get the crowd bouncing.  the beats are generally borrowed for other popular songs and scratched in a way that the beat "bounces."

The dancing is more of a talent show than a dance.  Girls can end up on tables, chairs, or even booty popping on a handstand. These really are talented dancers.  By any stretch of the imagination, booty popping sounds like a relatively natural motion; but, trust me, it takes talent. 

Bounce music was an ultra-male dominated genre until recently.  Now most of the very popular M.C.'s are cross-dressers, but this is just a temporary phenonemon.  It does not take away from the wimsy of the music though.  I am hoping to become, with the help of some others, the future face of the bounce music scene.  Thats right, bounce shows are coming to a club near you (that is if your in New Orleans).  Hopefully, this fantastic, catchy genre will spread like it should; but, until then, bop biggy biggy bounce wop wop wop wop.

I remeber going to sleep only to wake up early and watch those early morning cartoons: Gumby, Rugrats, Rocko's Modern Life.  All are classics; to this day, I can still enjoy these shows.  A cute little green guy running from and/or fighting a group of square hoodlums.  the only one he can truly trust is his faithful sidekick (pony) Pokey.  The premises are in undenyably what cartoons are at heart: imaginative.  I often felt like I was the rugrat that was not in the pen.  There were legitimate connections formed to these shows.  I would not miss an episode. 

A bowl of cereal and a quiet house at six in the morning was the perfect backdrop for this early morning imaginative interaction.  It was my time to be a kid.  No restrictions and nothing to worry about I could enjoy these worlds of wonder.  Nowadays, it happens more along the mines of three or four in the morning and plopping down on the couch.  Drunk and recovering from a long night out and my savior is reminiscing on and watching these fantasical forms of childhood entertainment.   

The cartoons of today are nothing in comparison.  A bunch af guys singing and preaching to kids about who knows what.  Oh, how far we have fallen.  What happened to a qwerky wallaby struggling to be accepted in his toonish world?   I know I would not let my kids watch these overgrown teenie-boppers sing about sharing and cleaning up.