So, you know I’ve been riding my bike to work since May? I’m kind of impressed with myself because when I bought the bike I remember thinking to myself “gee, i hope i can keep this up.” And the fact that its October and I still ride about 10 miles a day is surprising even to myself. Especially because I grew up telling myself and anyone who would listen that I very much disliked riding bikes. I think we can blame my sister for that though since she took every chance possible to force me into riding with her. She once made me ride like 30 miles all the way to Ojai. I was so mad. Now I would gladly do that! How fun! Anyways, I have figured out that since May I have probably ridden around 880 miles total, and I’m still in love with it. Here is a view that I pass by every morning at about 7:45 am. Every morning its different but its always beautiful.
My second favorite part of New Orleans (the architecture was first, the food third) was the cemetery. According to the map, there are two main cemeteries, Lafayette One and Lafayette Two, but we only made it to the first. Cemeteries, by their nature, have an aura about them that makes me feel they should only be visited under the cover of darkness, preferably on a moonless night, with a thick layer of mist rolling over the horizon and the sound of wolves howling in the distance. So it felt odd to be walking through the tall, wrought iron gates in the blazing hot afternoon sun. Add to the oddness – then there was this guy, gravedigger Shawn. He was rounding up the few visitors for what he referred to as the last tour of the day. My first thought was, “oh, awesome, I didn’t know there was a cemetery tour, the pamphlet didn’t say anything about this…” and my second thought was “hey, the pamphlet didn’t say anything about this…” 
And although I try not discriminate against people who are missing most of their teeth, just because you have really dirty hands and are walking around a cemetery with a broom does not make you the gravedigger; it does not even prove you are the gardener, the tour guide, or the officially sanctioned welcome wagon. In his defense, he also had a pad of post-it notes with the Lafayette Cemetery logo stamped on them, a fanny pack that appeared to be stuffed full of leaves, and a laminate badge of indistinct design whose only claim to validity was the fact that it was laminated. None of that stopped Shawn from launching into what proved to be a lengthy, rambling, poorly-enunciated speech on why the bodies were stored above ground, how the headstones were unsealed, and what he would do if he accidentally got trapped inside a casket with a pretty lady. At this point, Mia and I had concluded that this guy was probably not a gravedigger, but just a resourceful individual with access to a Kinko’s, knowledge of the area, a flair for oration, and most likely a substance abuse problem. 
