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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Ilaine who wrote (36946)	9/2/1999 12:18:00 AM
From: JF Quinnelly	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

On my mom's side my ancestor Burat was a soldier with Bienville when he established New Orleans. There's a little town below New Orleans named Buras where the family settled. My grandmother grew up there speaking French.

To: Ilaine who wrote (36946)	9/2/1999 3:12:00 AM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

I have never been to the Pacific Northwest. And even if I did, I am sure I'd have to live there for months, years before I could say I understood it. So maybe when I imagine I know what I am talking about, I know nothing. May I use that? For everywhere? It's true. Of everywhere. And wonderful, for the same reason. It's a privilege to learn a place, to have life pass like that. To go to a new one. To return. I don't know what this is called, psychologically, or culturally, but I wish I would be four hundred years old, to finish my list. And another five hundred, for the new ones it would add. Humidity and heat are different than we have here. Worse, in most ways, I think. Personally. (I don't fare well in heat and humidity, either. I am a Mediterranea Boy. Or Desert. I handle them well. Or Mountain, if I need to.) (So what the fuk am I doing here?) The climate, of Louisiana, and your history in it ~ eek. It makes you formidable opponancy. (Or some word, that's a combination of opponent and Nancy.) Hot and wet suck. Really. Cold and wet suck too. Does hot and wet make people nuts? Does it beat them to shit? Does it make them miserable? Slowly, progressively, year after year? Suicidal? (I'm not saying it doesn't; I'm asking you, an expert. And telling as an expert.) Cold and wet does. It's a fact, that suicide is a problemo here. It's a Sorter. Maybe there is an element, inside being cold, and miserable, for what seems like forever. Wet and cold and miserable. Thirty years. A dark element that hot and wet and miserable, which I admit is miserable, to me, doesn't accumulate. A really rude desperation. Maybe they're the same. And we don't belong in either. I was born in the Paradise of Pasadena, California; and maybe that's where I belong. (If they loose the H-Bomb on it.) The Mediterranean climate of LA is, to me, the best in the world. Or the same climate, in Kona, Australia, South Africa. But people tend to congregate there. So, I am a lost soul. I hate where I live; I love where I was born, and I can't go back. I live in a perfect town, in a wet cornflake, that sank to the bottom. A long, time, ago.