The boy and I are in New Orleans to visit a local university where everything is covered in Mardi Gras beads and smells like crawfish. It's awesome, frankly, and I briefly consider enrolling myself instead.
But, as the result of a bad decision many years ago by Richard Nixon, the boy's father and I have not managed to save
enough any money to pay the ridiculous cost of room, board, books and tuition at our local beauty college, let alone Crawfish U.
The boy has earned some scholarship money, but there's still what might be called "a gap," or less euphemistically, "a shortfall," or in academic terms, "a magna cum big fucking hurdle" between what we have and what we need.
The financial aid counselors have been extremely helpful, pointing out the various organs we are still young enough to sell and noting that if we were to sell our house and all our possessions, the Boy would be living in our basement after graduation for five or six years at most.
But they don't call it The Big Easy for nothing. I haven't even started drinking yet when I stumble into a witchcraft shop somewhere in the French Quarter, where two practitioners tell me my troubles are over.
All I have to do is purchase the right spell, light the incense and say the magic words three times. Then I have to come up with $20,000 to $30,000 a year over the next four years. Needless to say, I jump at the opportunity.
Photos: Top left, crawfish remains on the French Quarter, making magic at Esoterica Occult Goods on Rue Dumaine, and a beaded tree on the Tulane University campus.