Coming October 2022: "The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson"


Spent my day in New Orleans—above are two of the scenes I recorded. Man, what an amazing place. So soulful. So colorful. So lively. The people there have had their asses kicked repeatedly, and yet they somehow maintain their passion and compassion. Remarkable.

Ate beignets at the Cafe Du Monde in the Franch Quarter (scrumptious, as advertised). Then consumed the best sandwich I’ve ever had with my friend Rick Jervis at a place called Stanley’s. Cruised the streets, listening to music, tasting this and that, just embracing a city with so much to embrace.

Actually wrote the following this morning while sitting outside. Reflected my mood …

As I write this, I am sitting outside of Café Du Monde in New Orleans’ French Quarter. I have just dined on three scrumptious beignets and a cold bottle of chocolate milk.
I am very happy.
I wonder—can the omnipotent famous know this sort of glee? The Café is buzzing with activity. People eating. People chatting. It’s a humid morning, with a very slight breeze, and we’re all in shorts and T-shirts. A kid stands to my left, bouncing around as a jazz version of If I Were a Rich Man plays from the PA system. Birds are chirping. A man in front of me sits contentedly with his cup of coffee, staring off into the crowd. The sun is shining. The mood is upbeat.
Does LeBron James know such happiness? Yes, he will be paid millions upon millions of dollars. Yes, he is a global icon. Yes, he can probably own anything—any object, any woman, any house, any car. But does that matter? And I’m not asking in the spiritual sense. I mean it literally—does it matter if you make $1 million or $100 million? Do the tattoos sprawled across your body speak of self-confidence, or raging insecurity? Do you enjoy a life where everybody says you’re amazing; you’re great; you’re the best? Or is it narrow and sheltered and alone?
I wouldn’t trade my life for LeBron James’ any day of the week. I like anonymity and human contact and grace.
I like beignets in the sun.

PS: On my flight home, sat next to a cool tattooed lawyer named Allison. She’s holding a fundraiser in honor of her dead dog, Hunter. She was very sincere. This is her site.