Food Stamps Anybody?

Let's have a food stamp party, just like the gumbo party on K-ville! But no alcohol, illegal drugs, or tobacco products...

The other day I drove down to the Convention Center to apply for food stamps. The Convention Center is humongous! What is inside there? Surely they don't need that much space. It ought to have been renovated into apartments for Katrina refugees and displaced residents of the Magnolia housing projects.

When I arrived, they sent me down an industrial-looking side street to the back of the building, which of course reminded me of that scene in Goodfellas when Jimmy Conway coaxes Karen down a scary back alley--"G'ahead" "Here?" "No, down there, keep going...G'ahead"--ostensibly for a bunch of designer dresses.

But really, the entire operation was legit. I stood in line, filled out my application, took my interview, and at the end, received my card. While filling out my application, a Latino guy asked me if I spoke Spanish, and I talked him through every question! So the way I view my experience is as a chain of mutual aid and exchanges between the government and its citizens, in which every middle man is an important contender: Gustav handed me a shit sandwich, but New Orleans rewarded me with food stamps, to buy more shit sandwiches...but no! New Orleans helped me, I helped a fellow citizen. I paid for public parking in the CBD, which helps New Orleans and prevented me from losing my car as usual and probably heaping on more parking tickets to the pile. And while I was down there, I stopped by City Hall to register to vote, which helps the federal government, and me, (hopefully) as a citizen!

What a beautiful day.