[This is a continuation of the author's series on New Orleans lessons, to commemorate both her 10th anniversary of living in New Orleans, as well as the 2nd anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.]

D is for Debutantes and Delinquents

At right, we see the beautiful young ladies of Le Debut des Jeunes Filles de la Nouvelle Orleans. Lovely as they are, I can only assume that they exist, tucked away safe behind the damask curtains of an Uptown mansion. I've never actually seen one of these specimens in the flesh, although I get a good sampling in the Sunday society pages. The young people that I encounter tend to wear white T-shirts and belt their jeans below their boxers. Or they wear halter tops proclaiming "Sexxy" or "Baby Girl."

When I moved here, it shocked me that young people habitually stood in the street, even when confronted with an oncoming car. Had no one taught them that being hit by a moving car wasn't pleasant? So I learned to drive slowly, and sometimes to stop entirely, as I waited for the young people to eventually saunter out of my path. The longer I live here, the quicker I am to honk. Hell, I say, let 'em shoot me. I've got health insurance.

I would be remiss if I didn't point out the wild contradiction of a city who worships a small minority of their young people, turning them into princes and princesses, nursing them on lobster and truffles, and incarcerates the rest in schools without proper restrooms or books. And people wonder why we have such a crime problem.

E is for Endpoint

Sure, you can look at a map and see that the Mississippi River, America's waterway, ends here in New Orleans. But a map won't show you the visceral feeling of the river pouring into the Gulf. On a hot day, take the ferry across to Algiers, wander past Mardi Gras World and the charming homes on the Point. They can rebuild the Fischer housing projects as many times as they want, but something about Algiers, man, you can feel the river ending, there at the end of the world.