Gutter Talk
With the onset of autumn, Mike shares his observations of daily life in Louisiana, particularly the local weather and distinct infrastructure around him. He notes a curious lack of gutters on the surrounding houses and reflects on the risks of living inland during hurricane season.
Hello, this is Mike George coming at you from Crimson House on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon, the one right after Labor Day. I feel like I’m living in Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood right now; the mailman just stopped by, and I’m really hoping he’s got the cheque I’ve been waiting for.
It’s been raining, and I just noticed something ridiculous; this house has no gutters! Who builds a house in Louisiana without gutters?! Then again, maybe it’s a stroke of genius — no gutters means I don’t have to spend my weekends cleaning dead shit and leaves out of them. I’ve only lived here a year, and I’m still bracing for a real hurricane. Ironically, Hurricane Ida did more damage to my hometown in Ohio than it did to us here in the CLECO footprint. I’m a Midwest boy at heart; I like my four seasons and my snow, so I’m a little suspicious that nature is just saving up some huge motherfucker of a storm to humble us later this season.
If you’re wondering why I’m home on a Tuesday, let’s just say I haven't been exactly on it with the job applications. Instead of calling myself lazy, let’s go with "energy efficient". I’ve been pouring my soul into my nonprofit, Crimson Rouge Studios, and trying to figure out a mutual-aid trust. It’s basically like a mutual fund, but for actual people in need—though I should probably have paid more attention in Business 101 to explain it better.
I see Paula Fox Royale in the comments! I haven't met her in person yet, so for all I know, she’s a bot trying to sell me Viagra or a dead politician's corpse, but she’s actually out here promoting Bottoms Up, our local queer space. Speaking of which, Alexandria is a trip—98% of the people I know here I met on Grindr because we didn't have a dedicated queer space until recently. And as a 36-year-old jaded bitch, I have high standards for drag shows; if I’m giving you a five-dollar tip, you better be "selling your hunty" and giving me more than just a train wreck.
By the way, I’m still looking for a roommate! I’ll give you the "condo listing" tour: the bathroom is reasonably clean, and the available room is a corner bedroom with working air conditioning—which is the ultimate selling point in this state.
I’ve always had a thing for mazes—I even think of my electrical engineering career as just one big maze for electrons. I used to play this game after a hookup in Montreal or Columbus where I’d try to find my way home without using Google Maps just to see if I could navigate the "labyrinth". I’ll admit, I have some "Facebook after dark" fantasies involving Greek-style labyrinths and muscular Minotaurs, but since the kids are back in school, I figure I can be a little bit of a "scandalous influencer" today.
It blows my mind that I’m 36—the age where we’re supposed to be the "movers and shakers"—and my neighbor is the same age but has an 18-year-old kid! It makes me feel like I’m existing in a totally different timeline. But the rain has stopped, it’s a gorgeous 15:20, and nature’s "air conditioner" is feeling perfect. Despite everything we’ve done to mess up this planet, I can still go across the street to Albertsons and get 3 mangoes for $1. You’ve got to be thankful for the resilience of the Earth.
Take care of yourselves out there, and make sure to take care of somebody else while you're at it.
