Its September 11th and I feel compelled to write. I spent the morning crying on the couch, remembering the scariest day of my life (I was trapped in the subway underground on the World Trade express train that day, and late that night, once out, a crack head stole my bag with everything I had, including several hundred dollars, I had prepared for the Stone Age, and I caught him and almost killed him) So today, I spoke with some friends from New York and got to touch base, remember that it did happen, it was scary and that we did it together. We shared how we had spent our days, not then (not again) but today. One friend went with 3 other pals to the same cafe they all sat at 5 years ago today. And just sat there. Thats what they needed to do. My mom was kind enough to listen to me tell my entire 911 story tonight. It felt really good to tell everything. Im not sure if Ive ever really done that. Full out, begining to end. It took a full hour.

And now its midnight and I feel slow and pensive.

Im thinking about how Ive been in Louisiana for 12 days and I havent done a goddamn thing to help anybody on the South Shore, in the city proper. Or at least in any way that I had expected to, or planned to, or really wanted to. To be honest, I feel kinda terrible.

I re-read what Ive written so far in this blog and I just felt silly after reading it. I mean, one minute Im talking about how scary it is for me to come home and try to reintroduce myself to my long lost city and how excited I was to try and get back to my roots and then 2 days later Im waxing philosophically about what this city is going through and how the government is screwing up and how mad I am, and blah blah blah.

What the hell do I know?! Im the same guy who cant find my own relatives houses. Im the same guy who hasnt been to a Saints game in 10 years. Im the same guy who was having a gay ole time doing theatre in France when Katrina struck! Who am I to assess the citys problems? Just because Ive read some Chris Rose articles Im a freaking New Orleans specialist?!

OK. Deep Breath.

If Im honest, I came down here full of piss and vinegar 12 days ago, ready to swallow the city whole and do what I could to help, but ive had to take care of some legistical things like housing, etc. before I could start, so now, Im chomping at the bit. I feel like Im talking a big game but not packin much of a punch these days.

And to that point, after reading my first 4 entries, my brother criticized me for being (so lofty) in my goals to help the city. It struck me odd that it came off that way. Thats not how I meant it at all. I completely understand that I am just one guy. I get that. My brother asked me (Do you actually think you are going to make a difference? Do you really think New Orleans or anybody else is going to be able to tell any difference because YOUVE been here? Because YOU showed up to New Orleans?) And my answer was and still is (Yes.) If I dig a hole, than THAT is my contribution. If I do far more, than the same. Im not sure WHAT or HOW MUCH my contribution to this city WILL be, but I WILL have one. I will try and what happens happens. I do NOT expect to contribute more than a single soul can. Because I cant. I simply believe that a single soul CAN in fact make a difference. However small it may be. I HAVE to believe that. Cuz, if not, then what the hell am I doing here? What the hell is ANYONE doing here? What the hell HAS anyone been doing for the passed 12 months busting their asses?

I have to believe that one persons contribution IS worth SOMETHING. I mean, 1 afternoon from 1 person is a few more hours of help and work that this city would not have gotten otherwise. And the truth is, this city needs all the damn help it can get.

So, like I was saying, I was chomping at the bit on the plane down here and for the month before that too, and then, all of a sudden, it was so easy, once I got here to just slip back in to Down Home Mode - Lazy days and crawfish etouffee, back yard bocce ball and grits griod, jogs in the summers humid heat and Abita Amber on tap.

I admit, with a guilty heart, that since Ive been back, which is been about 12 days now, I have not volunteered a single goddamn day. Ugh, that kills me. The closest thing was a couple hours work in my moms garden and scrubbing the mold from the side of her house with bleach and a toilet brush. Nothing to write home about, as it were.

Now, to my own credit, my schedule has been quite full with special occasions since I arrived and my housing in New Orleans didnt open up till September 6th, 5 days ago. My brother flew in from Honduras with his girlfriend (he has lived in Central America the last 6 years) and my Dad had his 60th Birthday yesterday, etc. etc. So I havent just been wasting away on the porch. Its actually been wonderful to hook up with relatives and be present for such special occasions as my Dads 60th. (Ive missed lots of family events over the lat 10 years.) BUT, now that I am about to explode with anxiety and guilt, I am FINALLY moving in to my digs in the city tomorrow. I CANNOT WAIT.

And to spend a moment on that word I realize I just used, (Guilt).

I feel that I came back down here to help the victims of Katrina and since I have arrived I have not done so. For this, I feel selfish and lame. But, if I open up my spectrum a bit and give myself some credit and think outside the box a bit, I think I can say that I have actually helped New Orleans in ways that perhaps I had not thought of or expected originally.

I hope Im not giving myself a get out of jail free card with this one, but for example, my completely insane God Father, Tim Trapolin, invited myself and 5 of his friends for a New Orleans tradition, Friday lunch at Galatoires. Well, it was Labor Day Weekend and I figured it was my last opportunity of the year to bust out my white bucks, purple socks, 1950s horn rims and my 5 Button Bazooka Joe Pink Zoot Suit. (I had just bought it at a Pimp Outfittery in Brisbane, Australia and was just itchin to rock it in style, as much style as you can wring out of a Pepto Bismol 2 piece) Well, I did. At Galatoires - one of New Orleans oldest, most famous and stodgiest original haunts.

Let me just say there is no better way to silence a room of 380 half drunk New Orleanians than to strut yo stuff, Pepto Bismol Polyester a flowin, straight through the main dinning hall. Michelle Galatoire, the 4th generation owner of Galaoires, stopped by our table as did John Fontenot, Senior Waiter of 35 years, to pay homage to Tim Trapolin and his deceivingly flaming God Son. We had a hoot. And the spirit of New Orleans felt oh so much alive.

It was then kicked in to overdrive as soon as we stepped out in to the French Quarters wooly bully streets, which just so happen to be brimming with the celebrants of that weekends biggest festival, Decadence Weekend, New Orleans 2nd largest gay pride carnival, 2nd only to Mardi Gras. Slow to get the subtle hints of handle bar mustaches and buttless chaps all around, I said when in Rome and I tossed my big hair back, waved to the excited strangers and wore a devilish grin. The fine people of New Orleans were more than ok to include the Pink Panthers taylor. Cars stopped, people honked, women asked to dance, photos were snapped, introductions were made (to complete strangers with the opening lines such as (I want you to meet Dodd. He is totally amazing! I love him! I dont know him at all, but he has to be fabulous! I mean, look at his friggin suit! You guys are gonna get along so well.") And one guy even gave me his tickets to the theatre that night. (He said "Come One! Yer wearing pink fer God Sakes, youve gotta love the theatre!) The city was so willing to accept festivity, to have fun, to make friends, and to be fabulous. And I was more than willing to help everybody play the part. It felt great to not have the spot light, but instead to share it with each person willing to script a scene together. The city felt so playful that night. (A personal fav memory from the night is quite short. It goes like this, a car stops sharp in the middle of traffic, a tinted window slowly rolls down electronically and then a husky voice from inside the car simply says (Get in.) Brilliant.) We ended up at Cafe Amile that night and danced to John Boutte singin sassy Looozian tunes till we were all sweaty. What a fabulous Nawinz Night.

Perhaps, For Now, thats my simple contribution to this city. Just to bring a good spirit and an inviting-dancin attitude to the Quarter. The other folks there were obviously down and more than willing to make a happy friend.

Im very much looking forward to getting my hands dirty though. I guess I should just ease up on the pre-conceived notions of what exactly that means.