This past week has been wonderfully refreshing. We're talking windows open and cool breezes lofting through the house. An unbelievably amazing contrast to the exaggerated presence of summer's oppressive heat. Not to mention Monday night's Ratatat show and all the beauty of the full moon. SO GOOD.

A Low Impact Woodland Home is an inspirational example of a dream come true. It shares the tale of a family in Wales that constructed this beautiful home to fulfill their goal of a low-cost, permaculture lifestyle. What they lacked in previous carpentry experience they compensated for with perseverance, and they documented their story step by step as a resource for us all.

"The house was built with maximum regard for the environment and by reciprocation gives us a unique opportunity to live close to nature. Being your own (have a go) architect is a lot of fun and allows you to create and enjoy something which is part of yourself and the land rather than, at worst, a mass produced box designed for maximum profit and convenience of the construction industry. Building from natural materials does away with producers profits and the cocktail of carcinogenic poisons that fill most modern building."

The concept and execution of such a project is truly fascinating. In a culture so increasingly and apparently inescapably dependent on fossil fuels, their story is a refreshing contrast that reminds us of the basic necessities in life.

I'm so infatuated with this adorable true story and equally breathtaking house (as well as similar houses built with the same conscience) that I went to bed consumed by my own Thoreau-esque fantasies, only to have an unexpected epiphany that David The Gnome was right all along! Oh man, that was SUCH a great show!

After hosting some friends during their hurrication from Gustav last week, Margaret and I took the unexpected opportunity to follow them back for an impromptu visit to New Orleans. Being from the land of snowstorms and hibernation, I'm intrigued by the trials and tribulations of hurricane season. Giving into our curiosity, we took to the streets of the French Quarter to mingle with locals and gain a first hand account of the city's morale.


Last weekend's mandatory evacuation caused a clusterfuck of contraflow exiting the gulf, which has seemingly left citizens with mixed reviews. While the government's response was successful, the storm slowed down to a category two hurricane once reaching the gulf. The physical damage to New Orleans appears minimal. Previously flawed infrastructures were expectantly the most susceptive to Gustav's wrath, but the most notable impact is the massive power outage, which has left some without electricity for days and/or weeks to come.


The outage has given the presence of the Army Corps a lengthened purpose as the city has imposed curfew to deter mischief. However, some might argue that the men in uniform are preoccupied hanging out and flirting with locals.


Like millions of evacuees, my friends left New Orleans last Saturday night packed in their car with two dogs and a cat to embark on a miserable, crawling, twenty hour car ride to Austin. Residents have been vocal about their frustrations with the evacuation. Bar-side conversations yesterday consistently turned into individual recounts of horror stories resulting in a common conclusion apprehensive of future warnings. In this immediate aftermath, the event appears to many as a fire drill to compensate for the epic governmental failures of Katrina.


There's no doubt that New Orleans houses a special breed. For some reason every time I visit I am strangely reminded of the movie Big Fish. There is something inescapably enchanting about this city, from the colorful characters nestled into mundane storefronts to the overgrown subtropical plants sprouting through and bringing life to cracks and crevices of dilapidated buildings. I think it is that same unique contrast that spills into a culture that refuses to surrender in the face of adversity.


A recent discussion with a friend of mine questioned the habitability of New Orleans. He said that instead of evacuating countless times, people should take a cue to permanently relocate to less threatened locations. I argued that such a concept seems anti-American. Heritage, pride, and tradition have always trumped practicality.


Now the city's focus is on the next tropical storm destined for the gulf shores, Ike. What happens next is anyone's guess. One thing that is for certain is the strength of a society which continues to withstand despite the odds. For a city in the throws of uncertain weather and impending catastrophe, no one seems bitter. There is an overwhelming presence of community that unites and strengthens individuals with each shared experiences, and that's a beautiful occurrence.

Today I sat in the park and read my roommate passages from Emerson's essay on The Over-Soul. It sounds awfully romantic, but I assure you we felt pretty silly as sunbathers around us perused the pages of Star and US Weekly. I should have paid more attention to that memo on inappropriate reading material.

I picked up mid-essay and obliged to Margaret's request for me to read her something inspiring.

The soul knows only the soul; the web of events is the flowing robe in which she is clothed.
After it's own law and not by arithmetic is the rate of its progress to be computed. The soul's advances are not made by gradation, such as can be represented by motion in a straight line, but rather by ascension of state, such as can be represented by metamorphosis.

To me, this reinforces the importance of change and progression as constants in life. I think that's a critical consideration as we often become complacent in routines and forfeit our dreams for fear of challenge. I identify with this through and through, as I suppose my current standing is at the crossroads.

I recently left my waitressing gig. I deduced it to be somewhat counterproductive considering the expense of the daily drive and the lackluster of it all. A girl's got to stay focused, right?