Anyway, I've been searching for a few good study spots since arriving down here in New Orleans for law school. I've succeeded in finding a few coffee shops I like, but most of the time they are just so crowded with other students, and that's my whole reason for not going to the library in the first place -- I don't want to be around other stressed out students.

Well, a few weeks ago, I found my diamond in the rough. It's this old mansion on historic St. Charles Avenue that a family donated to the city to turn into a library back in the 1940s. It's named the Milton H. Latter Memorial Library, in memorial of Mr. Latter who was killed in Okinawa during World War II.

When I walked into this place, I immediately felt at home. It was comfy, cozy, and there's this great little sunroom that makes a perfect study spot.

But this felt really, really comfortable, and I didn't realize why until I picked up a little brochure about the place yesterday. The home was originally built in 1907, built on its own city block. And on that block were a cow, lots of chickens and dogs. Sounds a lot like my real home.

Lots of times at the bakery, if it's not the breakfast or lunch rush, it'll just be me and one employee in there. I love the peace and quiet and the smell of stuff baking. Feels a lot like home, in fact.

Today, I got out of class at 11:15 a.m. and headed to the bakery in my car. The streets were blocked off all around it, police cars parked everywhere. Turns out someone tried rob the bakery this morning at gunpoint and there was a shootout inside. Luckily, no one was hurt, except one of the suspects was shot.

The employees, I don't know how they must feel right now. I don't know their names yet, but the three girls that work the counter are always so nice. There's the one in grad school, the other one that's trying to get some poetry published and the other gal that has the really cute dog that she brings to the bakery every once in a while.

When I moved to this city in August, I was aware that it was a big city known for its violence. But most of the time, it's not right down the street at my favorite bakery.

Here's the article from the local newspaper:

Suspect in botched Uptown robbery shot by officer
by Brendan McCarthy, The Times-Picayune
Tuesday October 14, 2008, 1:03 PM
A 16-year-old boy was wounded and his alleged partner arrested following a botched robbery attempt this morning inside an Uptown bakery.

The two would-be robbers entered the Laurel Street Bakery in the 5400 block of Laurel Street around 11 a.m. and flashed a handgun at employees, New Orleans Police Officer Janssen Valencia said.

An officer with the state probation and parole division happened to be inside the bakery, and one took aim at the suspect and fired, shooting him the abdomen, police said.

Police said the probation and parole officer fired shortly after the suspect pointed his gun at him.

The two suspects fled the scene, police said. The wounded suspect, a 16-year-old boy, was transported to a local hospital. Police did not release his condition.

The other suspect fled in a white sport-utility vehicle and was apprehended minutes after the robbery attempt, several blocks away at the intersection of Tchoupitoulas and State streets, police said.

The identities of the suspects and the officer who fired his weapon have not been released. No money or property was taken in the robbery attempt.

Police said additional details will be provided later, as the investigation continues. A police spokesman hinted that the wounded suspect may be responsible for three recent robberies in the Uptown area. Those investigations remain open, however, and no one has been booked yet.

Well, I'm not laughing now. I've learned my lesson. I've only had my new laptop for around two months and it's completely gooey and gross, like some kid with jam hands has been manhandling it. There's schmutz on the keys and the cursor pad feels like someone rubbed a lollipop on it for a solid week.

I tried to clean it up, with spit of course, but it just keeps getting stickier. Argh!

Yahoo! Real Estate, in an article titled, "Going Solo in the USA" said New Orleans is the fifth-ranked city when it comes to percentage of single people.

Fifth! And we're behind some pretty cool and hip cities -- San Francisco, Detroit, New York and Boston. Here's the list. (Sorry for the smushed table, but I just cut and pasted it in.)
The Top Ten "Solo Cities:"
Rank Metro % Single
1 San Francisco, CA 44.7
2 Detroit, MI 44
3 New York, NY 39.8
4 Boston, MA 39.2
5 New Orleans, LA 39.1
6 Los Angeles, CA 37.7
7 Fort Lauderdale, FL 37.2
8 Las Vegas, NV 37
9 Miami, FL 36.9
10 Albuquerque, NM 36.8

And, if that wasn't enough, real live celebrities are in town right now as I type this. Yesterday, there were photos of Brad Pitt riding his bike down one of the local streets. Today, there's pix of Angelina Jolie walking the kids around the French Quarter.

See:
http://www.people.com/people/gallery/0,,20231348,00.html

It ain't that bad living the Big Easy life, I guess

Its motto: We don't hold anything back.

Makes me laugh every time I see it.

There was almost a mutiny because, apparently, something happened with the printer/distributor of the New York Times in Houston, and so there are no NYTs in the city.

At least 10 different people came in to buy the Times at the coffee shop, and every time, the employees had to explain that there were none available.

This one guy was completely disgusted, "No New York Times in New Orleans?"

I told him he could simply read it online, which is what I do every day. He looked at me like I had just told him to eat his boogers.

Apparently, people down here -- or at least on the block where the bakery is -- can't get enough of the Sunday Times.

Well, pretty soon, you have three litters of kittens. It's a cat-splosion on the farm these days.

About six months ago, we were down to just three cats: Blackie, Lady Bird and Other Cat (aka O.C.) And then Lady Bird had a little of five kittens -- the cutest kittens I think I've ever seen, and I'm NOT a cat person.

I gave them beautiful and appropriate names of course. The adventurous one, well, he became Indiana Jones. The one with a thick crazy mane was Wild Thang and the one who's fur was unbelievably thick became Fuzzy. Then there was L.C. -- which stands for Last Cat -- because she was always the last cat to show up for feeding time. And then, the last cat I named, mainly because I was tired of trying to come up with names, was Cinco.

I told my Paw then and there that we needed to get someone fixed. Of course, my thought was to get the tomcat Blackie fixed, but Pop argued for the girls. It was a stand-off, and so we did nothing.

About two months ago, five more kittens showed up, courtesy of Other Cat. And I hate to break it to the previous quartet, but THESE were now the cutest set of kittens I'd ever seen.

(Sadly, after having named five kittens already, I was kind of short on names.)
I called the adventurous one -- the one that actually got in a fight with our big Lab -- James Bond. The little orange/yellow one became Sunshine. And the two little ones that I couldn't tell apart became Nola (for New Orleans, Louisiana, my new hometown) and Lola.

And then there was the fat cat. This one, a light tan, was twice as big as the others. Me and Paw named it Big Sandy, which I pointed out to Pop was definitely a girl's name.

What if Big Sandy turned out to be a boy?

He pointed out that boys can be named Sandy, too."Sandy Kofax?" he said.

Now, two months later, that cat is still twice as big as everyone else. And definitely a boy.

And so, Big Sandy Kofax he is.
**
That was the tally when I left to come to New Orleans for school. Since then, Pop's informed me that Lady Bird is pregnant again.

I guess I know what I'll be doing at Christmas break -- naming kittens.

And so, yes, I'm not as good at returning phone calls as I once was. Or e-mails. And every single birthday card I send out will probably be late.

And so I REALLY don't appreciate it when you, my friends and readers, harass me because I'm not as attentive as I used to be, back when I was a journalist and had TONS of free time.

Take this e-mail I just got from one friend. He'd e-mailed me to find out how I was doing. I said I was fine, a bit overwhelmed, but that I thought things were going well.

And he e-mails me back: "Apparently you just kind skipped the second sentence in my email." (FYI: The second sentence asked me how I was doing, to which I issued a quick, but curt reply. I'm in law school, after all. I'll catch up with folks at Christmas when I'm not studying.)

My friend's e-mail continued: "Try again and tell me what you're doing, how classes are going, how's the apartment, have you been able to settle in, what your neighbors are like, have you made any friends, are you still drinking $7-a-bottle beer, what's it like going back to college, etc., etc., etc."

So, instead of sending every one of my friends the same e-mail, I just thought I'd post my response.

I'M IN LAW SCHOOL. Get used to it! BUT, it'll be over in three years and your friend Lara will return.

I had spent WAAAAYYYY too much money on my new-found love, and so maybe it was the gods simply saying, "Lara, go buy some Bud Light." But I had drank malt liquor for about three days straight when I noticed a rash forming on my arm. By the next day, it'd moved to my stomach and legs. By the end of that day, it had moved to my scalp and face.

I called my sister who's in Med School to ask her to diagnose my rash over the phone. She said it sounded like an allergic reaction, probably something I'd ingested judging from the fact that it had spread systematically all across my body.

Had I changed my eating habits lately, she asked. And I told her I"d only added one new thing: malt liquor.

I stopped drinking, and the rash disappeared. Just to make sure it was, in fact, the malt liquor that I was allergic to, I drank another bottle this weekend. LIke clockwork, my skin started to itch soon after.

And so, farewell my sweet malt liquor. Now I've got to find something new to replace it.

I've been to Galveston numerous times throughout my life, and the newscasters are already saying this is the worst storm to hit the town since the big one in 1900.

I called one of my little sisters who lives in Houston last night and she said she wasn't evacuating. She lives in part of the city that doesn't flood and she lives on the third floor of an apartment complex, so she thought she'd be safe. But does she have power? Water?

Judging from the path of the storm, it looks like North Texas will be getting a huge chunk of rain from Ike as well. Is hurricane season EVER going to end?

I wrote a few days ago about my frustration with trying to shop for groceries post-evacuation from Gustav here in New Orleans. Things are still crazy. I was in one grocery store Sunday afternoon when several of the checkout workers were about to go on strike.

This one proclaimed to everyone in sight that she was N-O-T coming to work on Monday. She'd been working three straight days and the traffic in the store had been unbelievably tense and steady.

I went to Winn-Dixie Monday afternoon to get bacon bits and ice cream. (No lectures, please. I'm still coming off my carb-heavy evacuation diet, and I'm trying to slowly ease back in to a life of slightly more healthy fare. I haven't had grits in four days, so things are looking up.)

Anyway, the grocery store was still half-shelved with goods, and the entire ice cream section was cleaned out. Apparently, ice cream and hurricanes go together well.

Which brings me to my new-found appreciation for malt liquor. And I'm not talking Colt-45. I'm talking an expensive, it's all the way from freakin' Belgium, malt beverage.

After I left Winn-Dixie Monday, I swung by the fancy-schmancy grocery store down the block from me called Whole Foods (or as us poor folk like to call it, Whole Paycheck.) Anyway, I went in looking for ice cream, and of course, everything there was like all natural, no dairy, no taste stuff. Where's my Blue Bell? (Whole Foods is known for offering all natural/organic products. Whatever.)

And so, I found myself on the beer aisle. If I couldn't have ice cream, beer it was. But there were only fancy beers left. Up in the corner, though, an oddly shaped container, a cross between a beer bottle and a wine bottle caught my eye. I recognized the label instantly - it's what one of my Boston friends used to drink all the time. (How fancy is it, you ask? It has both a non-screw-off bottle top AND a cork.)

It's technically called a lambic. It's made by Lindemans in Belgium, which has made this kind of brew since 1811, according to the label. It tastes, in layman's terms, like you mixed wine and beer, but in a really good way, and then threw some fruit in. The malt beverages come in a variety of flavors - peach, black cherry, raspberry and green apple.

According to the label of the cherry malt liquor I drank Monday night, it is "a lambic made from local barley, unmalted wheat and wild yeast. After spontaneous fermentation, black cherries are added, creating a secondary fermentation and yielding a beer of exceptional flavor and complexity."

Translation: Yummy-D.

The only problem with getting hooked on this swanky version of malt liquor is the price tag. I can hardly even type the number, but a 12-ounce bottle is $7. ( I think I only used to pay $2 for a "forty" of Colt-45 from the bootlegger in high school.)

Yep, I'm big city now, baby. I'm drinking fancy beer. Who knows where my post-evacuation life will lead me next? Tofu? Wheat grass shakes? Soy milk?

For now.

Would it be tempting fate to start unpacking my boxes from my Gustav evacuation? I may wait just a few days more.