Like Crash Davis said, we were dealing with some heavy stuff

OK, it has been a busy six weeks since the last post, a long sabbatical from the blog.

Many things went on, preventing me from getting near the personal keyboard, all deserving comment.

In quick review:

I went to New Orleans for a work trip. New Orleans is a very odd place, but it was nicer than I expected. And of course there were adventures.

The Mets appear to be streaky and injury prone, so nothing has changed much.

I finished the semester. This was the first time I’ve tried teaching two classes in one semester, and both had more students than I’ve ever had. Grading writing assignments is time-intensive, and it was a challenging time.

I got a hard hat tour of a local federal building that was once a court house, post office and art museum. Now it’s going to become a college building after massive renovations. But in one of the rooms I discovered a plaque that revealed events transpired in that room that affected baseball for 50 years.

The Yankees are in turmoil. It looks like Jeter’s expensive new contract is going to be an anchor, and the catcher/designated hitter looks even more washed up than the rangeless one. This is good.

The Mets seem to think the games they do win, they win because they are wearing the black jerseys. This is a bad.

I had an opportunity to meet an Academy Award-winning actress and ask her just one question, which I extended to three. But I assumed she liked the Mets, so I left that particular question unasked.

And, most recently, I ran in a massive 5K race. While I arrived on time this time and didn’t have to jump over pets, I did have to try sprinting through a downpour. It’s been two days, and my shoes aren’t dry yet.

So, I was walking down Bourbon Street trying to stay out of trouble. And I’m sincere about that. Many people walk down Bourbon Street with the intention of finding trouble, and I saw a bunch of those people.

But that’s not me.

But I was walking down the street with my shopping bag wit souvenirs for my kids, and I felt something hit me on the arm. I looked down and saw white beads draped over the top of the bag and looked up.

And there, looking down from a Bourbon Street balcony, were two sweet, gray-haired grannies, smiling and waving.

It got stranger from there…but it won’t take six weeks to report back.