David Brooks has written a fine and funny commentary on the spirit of New Orleans.
Now we lead lives in which everything is a pallid parody of itself: fat-free yogurt, salt-free pretzels, milk-free milk…
But at least we have New Orleans.
Actually, he writes not so much about the city itself as what New Orleans might stand for “in the age of the lily-livered.” It’s the stuff that tourist dreams are made of. But I love living in a city invested with such mythic qualities.
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