9/4/05--1pm........ a hotel room in marietta, ga.

Not quite sure what's going on. A storm of biblical proportions in the city that forgot to care. It's as if all the warning signs were ignored. (Computer generated test drills...meteorologists...city planners... and maybe even Nostadamus) Did we need more warning or were we just tired of people crying wolf since 1969? If only WWL's retired weatherman Nash Roberts had been on television with his map of the Louisiana Purchase and his fat undry unerasable markers! It would have made great television; but deep in my heart, I doubt we would have heeded the call.

Perhaps this is nature's way of leveling the playing field? Or cosmic physics...a sort of action/reaction to global warming and mother nature's response to that bush-whacked international energy treaty? For too long we as a nation assumed that refugees and catastrophes were the arena of the Third World only... that benefits were only for Bob Geldoff, George Harrison, and people far far away. And if the images got to be too painful, at least we could turn them off or hear some united nations of singers anthemize. NOT THIS TIME. As Sally Struthers might remind us: "feed the children" because now "it's all in the family." Not to sound too sarcastic, but I find it frustrating that some people are more worried about what to call my fellow evacuees than what to do for us. Is refugee too stinging? Is the term too painful? Is the reality too true? Odd that refugee nations (Afghanistan and Indonesia) and even one so called enemy (Cuba) --are among the twenty plus nations comiiingg to our aid. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think? Don't worry about what to call us... just help us!

An act of God? Yes... according to some, especially insurance adjusters~ indeed I know two Noahs from New Orleans. In the long run, I hope this will make us rethink our holier than thou attitude. With New Orleans being perhaps the largest Catholic city in the South, NO DOUBT this will probably be the biggest test of faith since the Portuguese tsumani and earthquake way back in 1755.

NOTE: that European storm was the end of an empire and the time for lots of questions. (see Voltaire"The Lisbon Disaster")..Speaking of questions......shall we?

A failure of our government? Whose fault? Federal? State? Local? Policemen abandoning their posts... some commiting suiicide. Jefferson Parish Pres. Aaron Broussard and New Orleans Mayor Nagin losing it during interviews-CNN and the media only making matters worse by replaying the same horrible sound bites and images over and over again...even this morning Governor Blanco and George W. were acting like two middle schoolers not inviting each other to the Sadie Hawkins Day dance.No time for another press conference. No time to finger point... but an opportunity for reflection and change...recall that the Mississippi flood of 1927 fueled early Civil Rights and the Populist movement....where the hell is Huey P. when we need him?

As for myself, I may have lost job, home, property and family (my mom --- a Siciclian American-- Catherine aka Katrina died in the city last monday in an old folks home... just before the levees broke ...her body left behind as the flood waters rose. she was 81 and deathly frightened of water)

 

LUCKILY... opportunities await in New York, Los Angeles, Baton Rouge.... and here in cyberspace.

9/6/05--4pm........ on the road en route back to new orleans

The debate continues.... refugee vs. evacuee. I say it's po-tay-toe- po tah-toe all over again. Let's just call the whole thing off. If we look at the etymology, a refugee is someone who "fugere" or flees. Face it, we fled. And those who didn't should have. Evacuee comes from the Latin "evacuare" which means to "empty out." Flee. Empty out.Gone pecan.Perhaps a better term would be castaway, especially since CNN just announced that our beloved Gilligan, Bob Denver, died this weekend at the ripe old age of seventy. He's not bad company as I wander I suppose ~since the Minnow went on a three hour tour with enouigh clothes for 3 (?) seasons in B&W and color as well as 3 made-for-TV movies, including one with the Harlem Globetrotters...but I digress.

New Orleans- established 1718, sinking ever since -CNN

Perhaps I should stick with Noah and the biblical imagery instead as I venture back and forth from New Orleans to Atlanta and back again. 7 days and 7 nights, Not quite the Old Testament 40 + 40. In fact, not much rain at all. Indeed, the rain didn't even last a day. Once it was over, it all seemed fine ~ emphasis on the seem. Then "the levee broke" in a spastic, toiletesque flush in a way not even fitting for a bad Led Zeppelin cover band. Quickly the refuse-tainted water rose on a Stairway to Gilligan's Isle.

Unfortunately, I did not NO-AH what I was in for. I did not have two of every species ready, willimg, and able to repopulate the earth ~ like Noah I had forgotten the unicorns and Napoleon's mythical liger (skills will be very important in the coming days). As I sit here and take inventory of my flock, I realize that I've traveled 1000 miles with nine cats and a dog, all of whom are spayed and/or neutered. So much for the joy of repopulating. Curses on you, Bob Barker! Curses, oh S P C & A! Maybe Noah had procured a unicorn afterall, Things had just been fixed? Cruelty to animals indeed!

P.S. Gilligan.....we'll miss you, lil buddy!

9/9/05 6:15 pm …
just got electricity in Covington… home in new orleans still underwater

This not your mama's disaster film…..

The 70's was the decade of the great disaster film: The Poseidon Adventure, The Towering Inferno, and Earthquake in Sens-r-round (just very poor sub woofers and lots of them). There was also the more exotic post apocalyptic genre which included The Planet of the Apes and its four sequels, A Boy and His Dog (featuring a very young ~or is that Jung ~Don Johnson), and Soylent Green ("it's people!") ~ a wild assortment which mixed racial, cultural, and sexual paranoia into a blender which makes for an interesting allnite film fest once the power is restored and the BETA tapes dry out. In reality none could have prepared me for the past two weeks. Although scary moments in ghost towns resembled out-takes from Omega Man and the mad dash for water, gas, and internet connectivity seemed to sting of Mel Gibson meets Kevin Costner in a gumbo of Mad Max in a murky Waterworld, it's not really the end of the world- just a change in the world (perhaps for the better?).

Although the media seemed to thrive on the violence and yellow journalism (even Geraldo was in the thick of things), the good people of Georgia and Mississippi seemed to be cut from the same cloth as the good folks of Carter Country or Alice, not the eerie droids of Westworld or the hooligans of Clockwork Orange. Sure, tempers flared in gasoline lines or stuck in 3-mile-an-hour traffic jams, but the looters etc., were the exception, not the rule. AND, as we all know by now, the exceptions are what makes good television. AND when there's no good television… what's a network to do?

As the city gets drained and the bodies are counted, I hope we're all disappointed with bad TV. Not as many body bags. Schools up and running by October 3rd in Jefferson and St. Tammany. And if we need a disaster film, there's always NETFLIX (who incidentally is waiving my fees until I get resettled).

 

9/15/05 1am... still in Covington aka GOD's COUNTRY (location, location, location)

in·sur·ance: noun
1 a : the business of insuring persons or property b : coverage by contract whereby one party undertakes to indemnify or guarantee another against loss by a specified contingency or peril c : the sum for which something is insured
2 : a means of guaranteeing protection or safety <the contract is your insurance against price changes>

As of AM this morning, FEMA has unofficially "lost" my mom. Well two days ago they had her. Then they misplaced her. Now they deny they ever saw her. Is she really dead afterall? None of the coroners between New Orleans and Baton Rouge (including the fed's tent city morgue in St.Gabriel) can verify if or when she has passed through their doors. Those who claimed to have seen the corpse are now missing as well. Fox News (ala' X-Files) as well as The New York Times (ala' The New York Times??) have expressed interest in this post-geriatric odyssey of sorts. More relatives et alii are concerned now that she's passed than before she died. They'd all go visit, but noone has a clue where she is. Oh the humanity! Oh the humidity!

Good thing that we have been unable to find the alleged deceased.... because... to add insult to injury, the funeral home and cemetery in New Orleans are unable to "accommodate" her~ ironically her only insurance that was paid in full was her burial policy... she had no flood insurance or home owner's, and her house is high and dry (unlike my own). Her funeral's all paid for, BUT... even that is not guaranteed (see definitions above).

MEANWHILE, the Schoen Family (odd expression) of Funeral Homes can keep her housed temporarily at another location at an additional fee of $895 plus $100 a month rent on a tomb... this has ludicrous written all over it. I wonder if this might qualify for FEMA's temporary housing stipend! Weekend at Bernies III perhaps?.

If I don't try to laugh, I'll be unable to cry myself to sleep. But the powers in charge reassure us...

"There will not be another mandatory evacuation unless Katrina's little sister comes along and bitch slaps us"~ Aaron Broussard, Jefferson Parish President

9/18/05 10:45pm... still in Covington but not in a WAL-MART

"The only thing left are the country-and-western CDs."~ Wal-mart security guard on the looting of Garden District store

As we struggle through week three of Hurricane Katrina, I guess my own personal problem is that of patience..... Nagin and others are to be applauded for their persistence and diligence...BUT let us not be too hasty (nice use of the hortatory subjunctive???). PLEASE NOTE: Mexico City is still recovering from the of 1985, the Democrats are still recovering from 2000, and General Custer ....well he never recovered. ANYWAY, the point is that there are many preparations to be made. The water is contaminated, not that it was ever uncontaminated This was not your average storm recovery… those were not flood waters (despite what your insurance adjuster may tell you when you tell him you don't have flood insurance). There are biohazard and disease problems~ no need for a punch line there. Just imagine the long term effects on soil and plant life. There is a an icing of goop and mold everywhere. The smell can not be washed off. If Lysol can make something that removes this STANK, I'll buy it, endorse it, and sell it door to door (well where there still are doors that FEMA and the military didn't kick down while looking for survivors, looters, and bears…oh my!).

MORE IMPORTANTLY, should we attempt to live in the city without the proper precautions? As of now, the city does not have proper medical and emergency services. PLUS~ there is a storm in the gulf. We don't know what the levees can withstand. Some say a thunder storm could compromise them. Although I'm all for compromises in life, this is not one compromise I want to take part in. Should we risk a greater tragedy? (Euripides levees, Eumenides levees.)

I find it unfortunate that life in the rest of the US has gone on with a blind, or rather cataract, eye. The late night comics think comic relief is appropriate (I tend to agree, especially since neither L.A. nor NYC were affected~ OI VAY!). Just because we're not the Big Apple, the Emmys go on this year though canceled for 911. We just can't watch them here unless we have a satellite dish big enough to deflect the depressing local news broadcast beamed down from places no longer local.

How long must we look at debris, flooding, and the homeless? I suppose we must for a bit longer, especially since we've ignored them for too long. My fear is that the rest of the US is starting to move on without us or the other displaced (shhhh… better not say refugee unless you want Jesse Jackson or Tom Petty to give you a tongue lashing).

We are left behind.... like those darn country-and western CDs.

9/23/05 Covington, LA … in the midst of Hurricane Rita and all that entails

You're stuck on stupid! ~ General Honore
(when asked why the Rita evacuation plan had not been used for Katrina)

Sequels tend to be disappointing at best. The marketing plays on our fond memories of the original. The characters and plot, the thrills and spills, and the glimmer of what brought us to the first one the first time around: originality. With few exceptions the sequel is never as good as the original. Perhaps one or two of the James Bond films matched Dr. No. Some like Empire over Star Wars. The only sequel that exceeded its predecessor was Revenge of the Pink Panther~ let's not even mention the ones with Alan Arkin, Roberto Benigni, or Steve Martin~ oops I did. But most sequelization just marched a slow (or fast) decline for the fans, the fun, and the franchise. Blair Witch 2? Rocky IV? And who knows what they were thinking when the shark followed the hero on vacation in Jaws 3D? Then again we could do the time warp end around and attempt to make prequels (Cassidy and Sundance: the Early Years. Dumber and Dumber, or even the last three, I mean first three, Star Wars flicks. While I'm in a lather, don't even get me started on the latest Hollywood nonsense d' jour, the remake!

Why do I bring this up? RITA, that's why. It's as if CNN and Mother Nature saw a chance to cash in the boon known as tragedy part II (heck, the gulf war part two didn't seem to work…. perhaps the gulf hurricane part two might). We've got evacuations. flooding. and this time the government is "well prepared"---cut --take two (aspirin and call me in the morning)… This time… no in-fighting. This time… little or no death. This time it's (im)personal. Oh my, my mind has drawn a Blanco…….

se·quel ('sE-kwel) from Latin sequella, sequi to follow
the next installment (as of a speech or story); especially : a literary or
cinematic work continuing the course of a story begun in a preceding one

I remember doing a gig in Houma, La., about 12 years ago at an interesting BBQ joint called Porky's II, adorned with enough pig paraphernalia to both scare and flatter Mel Blanc and his stuttering alter ego. I enquired, "Are you called Porky's because you serve ribs?"
"Nope!" replied the owner curtly. "It's named after the movie."
"And Porky's I? Is that in Thibodeaux? Or Hammond?"
"Nope there's only one restaurant?"
"So why Porky's II?"
"The second one was a better movie!"

Now, tell me, dear hearts, who's stuck on stupid?"

9/27/05 Covington, LA - a month gone by

"My biggest mistake was not recognizing… that Louisiana was dysfunctional."
~Michael Brown, ex-FEMA director

A parent can say mean things about their kids. A boyfriend or girlfriend may talk trash about their significant other. We throw pots, pans, and "sleep single in a double wide." We talk funny and slaughter the English language at every turn; but, even though we may call the muse Clio CL-10, nobody in their right dialect really talks that N'awlins goobley goo we all hear in The Big Easy. And, if we did, the locals would be in the movies instead of the Quaids and the Costners. (Always back to Waterworld, but at least that's better than Ishtar. By the way, did I mention that I lost Kevin Costner's bed from JFK in the flood?)

I'm not denying we have are faults and foibles. Sure, we're ranked 49th in education despite the fact that Mississippi insists that we're 53rd and some folks insist that there are only 48 states. Personally I think right now there are only two states: denial and disbelief. Furthermore, we have high unemployment. Then again who doesn't? I just got my unemployment debit card in the mail today (insert Homeresque "woohoo" here - the Simpson Homer, not the poet Homer).

However, we have been number one before. Back in the 90's New Orleans had murder rates that ranked among the highest. But now we can say with confidence that in the past month those numbers have gone down along with the city's actual population - last weekend less than five hundred residents, many probably still at Johnny White's in the Quarter. Likewise, within the past five years, our great city was called the "fattest city" in America (no wonder people survived without FEMA for so long… imagine a camel with a po-boy… I doubt FEMA is distributing MRE's with red beans, gumbos, or turtle soup, although they do have those cute lil bottles of Tabasco.).

Many may consider us the butt of jokes in the form of the Saints and the politicians. I would agree these are often the topics of disappointment and humor. WE CAN call them the AINTS. WE CAN wear paper bags. However, we're proud of our dysfunctional kids. Although many don't know the history of the fleur de lis, this New Years we'll all toast to the old saint syne. Rumor has it that there's a new T-shirt for our San Antonio games that says "Remember the Superdome." Let us remember indeed.

WE CAN mock our crooked politicians. Huey Long. Earl Long. Edwin Edwards. Why didn't CNN or Geraldo interview him during the storm? Afterall, he is a bit more eloquent than Parish President Broussard. And at this point he'd probably get elected even from behind bars. Vote and vote often. My mom may have died in Katrina, but I'm sure she'll be voting in Louisiana for many years to come. Guess what? I can make fun. She's my momma. Are you talkin' 'bout my momma?

BUT , Mr. Brown, these are our children. This, Mr. Brown, is our city. We may be 49th in education, but we learn three things in English class: synonyms, antonyms, and HOW'S YOUR MOM AND DEMS. This Mr. Brown, may be a dysfunctional family. But it's our family.

10/7/05 11pm ~ en route from Baton Rouge to the North Shore

gam•ble

1 a : to play a game for money or property b : to bet on an uncertain outcome
2 : to stake something on a contingency : take a chance

Was Nagin serious when he announced his plan to jumpstart the economy in the form of a casino district? Frankly I think he’s way off base. Casinos have not worked in New Orleans in the past. Have we already forgotten the tax breaks, the questionable contracts, and the bankruptcies? How can a city on the verge of bankruptcy support a casino? As if the unemployed and homeless can afford to gamble away their FEMA checks! As if a disaster area can become a tourist attraction! I don’t remember any casinos at Hiroshima or Ground Zero. I doubt they’re building a water park in Indonesia to cash in on the post Tsunami tourism.

Then again Bugsy Malone did have a dream in the desert. Then again parts of Nevada have legalized prostitution. Is Nagin going to reopen the Storyville district to jumpstart the economy too? Remember this: Bugsy got whacked...the Canal Street Madam got arrested...and as far as Storyville, Jimmy Buffet is there, but there are no more cheeseburgers in paradise.

10/15/05 9 am En route to New Orleans for more uncertainty

Where exactly is the Second World? I think I'd rather be there now….

Pakistan: 40,000 deaths. Less than a week into the tragedy the Third World is working together and recovering…. without a televised benefit or a song featuring Michael Jackson and Kanye West… I wonder how long it took George W. to send aid there?

United States: 1500-2000 deaths. Into our sixth week most are unidentified or perhaps unfound. Fingers are cocked and pointed. Talk of lawsuits, police beatings, and FEMA (how I loathe that word!) make closure near impossible. The bodies all need to be identified and reidentified. The families need to be lied to and denied to. The dead remain un-tended in our alleged First World nation. Both the dead and the nation are too decomposed to have a proper burial. Meanwhile the funeral homes remain too greedy to do more than accept inflated payments. At least the city has pushed back its curfew. We all should drink to that. Afterall, after a few hurricanes, the beating and lies don't hurt so much.

Earthquake…no warning. Ask any Californian or even our own Will Clark whose World Series ambitions were disrupted during the now infamous Battle of the Bay Quake.

The Perfect Storm … predicted for years… need I invoke Nash Roberts? I think not.

Earthquakes anywhere… no protection available… depends on the shifting of the Earth's plates and the will of Poseidon.

Hurricanes in Louisiana…. Insufficient protection planned, built or sustained…. depends on the shifting of contracts, nepotism, and the will of bureaucrats who don't know the difference between a tax levy and a levee tax.

The earthquake was an act of nature.

The flooding and failures in Louisiana -- an act of men.

Now tell me, who lives in the third world country?

10/18/05... morning of my mom's funeral (6 weeks after her death) Covington, LA

A yabba dabba do time?

Fred is headed to New Orleans for a funeral (sort of) and Wilma awaits near the gulf. These are prehistoric times indeed. Saturday a hazmat team pumped 1200 pounds of liquid meat from the sausage factory two doors down from house. (bronto burger anyone?) Barney the dimosaur haunts me in the form of a few PH fred CD's that were salvaged from my house.... and i'm staying with my mother-in-law named Betty amidst all the Rubble of my life. The Slate roof is gone.... the storms went Bam Bam. My Bedrock has turned to Pebbles. What the Slaghoople* shall we do?

NEW ORLEANS:A MODERN STONEAGE DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY
loud, but i call it home

*Wilma's maiden name

10/18/05 9:15 AM ... eating a bowl of Quisp ...reflecting on the meaning of life (north of New Orleans)

cri·sis

Etymology: Middle English, from Latin, from Greek krisis, literally, decision, from krinein to decide -
1 a : the turning point for better or worse in an acute disease or fever b : a paroxysmal attack of pain, distress, or disordered function c : an emotionally significant event or radical change of status in a person's life
2 : the decisive moment (as in a literary plot)
3 a : an unstable or crucial time or state of affairs in which a decisive change is impending; especially : one with the distinct possibility of a highly undesirable outcome

This is a time of crisis: environmental, financial, emotional, and spiritual. The jobless have taken on the voice of Job himself: How could God do this to me? After all, when I prayed for that bicycle at Christmas, I got it. When I prayed to pass that test, I passed. When I prayed, I received. And I received in abundance in times of peace, in times of war, and in times in between in every variation of said prosperity. As Mark Twain commented, we prayed to our God to defeat theirs. Now why has He forsaken us? Or has He? As a nun told me yesterday, it seemed like God went out to breakfast on the 28th of August and never came back. Or did he? Were we just too busy to notice? Perhaps an identity crisis?

Nietzsche is often misquoted. He never said "God is dead." Rather he said. "God is deadening." Ole Friedrich was implying that the institution and the bureaucracy were keeping us down. Nietzsche wanted a God who could dance: a dance of life, a dance of hope, and a dance of everything that those words may denote and connote. The problem was and is the Harrison Bergeron-like shoes that were being issued as we stepped onto the holy dance floor.

dis·ap·point

Etymology: Middle English disapoynten, from Middle French desapointier, from des- dis- + apointier to arrange
transitive senses : to fail to meet the expectation or hope of : FRUSTRATE
intransitive senses : to cause disappointment

Now the church is caught in scandals. Now the church is firing employees. Now some are holding people to broken contracts. Now others are threatening to sue. Stop the madness! Imagine the jobless Job. Imagine the need for both jobs and Job. Questioning strengthens faith.

dis·ap·point·ment

1 : the act or an instance of disappointing : the state or emotion of being disappointed
2 : one that disappoints

We could be cynical and say, "If it wasn't for disappointments, I wouldn't have any appointments." (TMBG) Or we could be optimistic like Bill Maher's hero in True Story who claims that "artists get a receipt for their pain?" Shall we make the best of this? Laugh? Learn? Love? Turn the other cheek?

Personally I'm not disappointed in God… just in some of his employees.

10/25/05 12:22 am Covington, LA (another insomni-maniacal night)

I'll tickle your catastrophe.
Shakespeare King Henry IV. Pt II:ii.:1.

Sometimes -well actually most of the time, at least lately- I feel like the madman screaming from the mountain. The only problem is the mountain is below sea level, in actuality neither a mountain nor even a monkey hill. My screams, rants, and echoes just seem to go out into cyber space with little or no effort or effect. My hair is scraggly. My spirit is bent and dented. Perhaps I am scarred but smarter. Somehow I'm stuck on groundhog's day and forced to replay it over and over 'til it makes sense. If only it would make sense! If only it were a movie!

The army doesn't like more than one disaster in a day…looks bad in the newspapers and upsets civilians at their breakfast.
Zulu (1964)

Now we're a few disasters down the line: Rita. earthquakes (Cali and Asia), floods, terrorism, Wilma. Alpha, the Saints., and let's not forget Louisiana's bride and joy - drum roll please- Brittany Spears and her stolen baby photos. Oh the humanity! Oh the humidity! Perhaps the Saints are better off in San Antonio. Isn't he the patron saint of lost causes? Or is that Saint Jude? Things are bad in the newspaper in the city that forgot to read. Breakfast will be upsetting for a while. Breakfast of Champion indeed! Stop the presses! Call Chris Rose and St. Expedite (not necessarily in that order - perhaps not necessary at all)!

God help us; we're in the hands of engineers.
Jurassic Park

As my mind tries to look for logic in these oh so illogical times, neither Dr. Spock nor Mr. Spock can help. Was it faulty engineering? Or improper planning? Or poor execution? Are we talking about the levees or the last Saints game? Where's Buddy D and his squirrels? 'cause it's sure getting nutty around here!!!

10/26/05 6:49 am Covington (gathering my thoughts in a waterproof bucket)

What is the appropriate behavior for a man or a woman in the midst of this world, where each person is clinging to his piece of debris? What's the proper salutation between people as they pass each other in this flood? ~ Buddha

Hi.
Hello.
Bon jour.
Greetings.
Salutations.
Sorry to hear about your loss.
How much water did you get?
Hola, donde esta bibliotecha?
Do you come hear often?
What's a nice refugee like you doing in a shelter like this?
Nothing seems to take away the dull, empty feeling … a shrug… a pause… an awkward smile. Perhaps even the Buddha himself would be perplexed. Only the water dwelling fish and gilled creatures would know what to do. Or would they? FEMA: Fish Everywhere Man Ain't

There's a huge hole in the whole Flood drama, because anything that could float or swim got away scot-free, and it was the idea to wipe out everything, He didn't say, "I will kill everything, except the floating ones and the swimming ones, who will get out due to a loophole. ~ Eddie Izzard

We are all looking for loopholes I suppose. Insurance, jobs, leases, mortgages. These are a few of my favorite things. However, since that watery date in August all the rules have changed. Even good old anarchy ain't what she use to be. Whatever floats your boat as you swim with the sharks… after all we're all in the same boat. All boats are crated equally,,, just some more equally than others. Well, it all smells fishy to me. And a few things smell a little bit worse than that. By the way, what smells fishy to a fish?

Even Noah got no salary for the first six months partly on account of the weather and partly because he was learning navigation.~ Mark Twain

Did I mention a few of my favorite things? Those loopy loopholes. Toucan Uncle Sam can just follow his nose. The smell is easy to follow. Take a deep breath. The EPA swears that everything is A-OK. Yeah right. Weather? Whether or not I beliebve that. My uncle is not only can't learn navigation, but he is also can't swim. Ironically he's a 504 student... the disability, the area code, the sequel. 504? A cowinky-dink. I think not. What's so special about these accomodations of which i hear ye speaketh?

My friends, as I have discovered myself, there are no disasters, only opportunities. And, indeed, opportunities for fresh disasters. ~ Boris Johnson

Well if we start all over, rebuild, re-patch, re-re the gris-gris that we si si so well, let's start fresh. Out with the mold and in with the new. Because next time the sewer hits the oscillating ceiling fans… it might as well be fresh. As that disposal company catch phrase goes: "Business stinks but it's picking up" As Bill Cosby's reluctant Noah would respond, "RRRRRRRright!"

10/31/05 6:20 am Covington, La...................... Trick or blog?

What we have here is a failure to communicate. ~ Strother Martin, Cool in Hand Luke

I'm not sure what I'm doing, working, saying from day to day. It has been two months since that fateless day when our world got turned on its ear. The cartilage is now collar-flowered from disease, drunkenness, and abuse. Many are in denial… the river in Egypt is now flowing through the Crescent City. The 12-steps lead in all directions. The higher power is the power to hire and/ or fire us all. BUT the unemployment checks keep coming… at least something is coming… is it the end of the world as we know it… cause I don't feel so fine?

Ignore the man behind the curtain ~ the wonderful Wizard of Oz

My biggest problem (just one of a plethora) is the communication… I was told that I shall begin getting a daily e-pistle stating… THINGS ARE BETTER. Repeat after me… THINGS ARE BETTER. Say it long enough and loud enough THINGS ARE BETTER. Do you believe? THINGS ARE BETTER. I'm not believing. Peter Pan Peanut Butter? THINGS ARE BETTER? Are they? Really? Does the EPA, FEMA, and the GOV really know? Will they ever really know? Are the microbiologists telling us the truth or just giving us the data we paid for? Color me leary. Color me unimpressed. It's too soon to know the long term effects. Safe is such a relative term. With enough smoke and mirrors… FEMA will send me courage, a brain, a heart, and a home? Take two xanax and call me in the morning… oops, I forgot to mention the phones are still iffy…

Nothing to see here.~ South Park

When push came to shove and Bush came to love…the only response I heard was the following and I quote: "If you don't feel safe, move." And this from the person who told me that things are better. BTW... that person was a nun. As Strother Martin would say … a night in the box. At least in that world of black and white, there was cause and effect. Somehow even a night in the box made sense. As Cool Hand Luke would sing… "Dropkick me Jesus, through the goal posts of life/End over end, neither left nor to right./Straight through the heart of them righteous uprights." As long as that kicker isn't wearing a fleur de lis… Not sure what to believe.. be leave… move?

There is a season, turn. turn turn…~ God and Pete Seeger

On a less righteous note, I got an e-mail from Hong Kong offering me a job working for a toy company. A time to play? TURN TURN TURN? or an opportunity to communicate in another language - this time with a better chance for success… THINGS ARE BETTER over the rainbow… cause there's nothing to see here… who said that there's no place like houma? Probably some guy named Thibodeaux.

11/02/05 Covington 5:45 pm “MISSISSIPPI MUD PIE ‘R’ SQUARED”

soil noun

Middle English, from Old French souillier to wallow, soil, from soil abyss, pigpen, probably from Latin solium chair, bathtub
1 : firm land : EARTH
2 a : the upper layer of earth that may be dug or plowed and in which plants grow b : the superficial unconsolidated and usually weathered part of the mantle of a planet and especially of the earth

I saw all the people hustling early in the morning to go into the factories and the stores and the office buildings, to do their job, to get their check. But ultimately it's not office buildings or jobs that give us our checks.

It's the soil. The soil is what gives us the real income that supports us all

~ Ed Begley, Jr.

Sorry, New Orleans, but ye soil is corrupted. It is spoiled. It sperled like erster berled in earl! There is no more viable income. No more visible means of support. The underwire is busted and Victoria’s secret has been revealed. No matter how many tests the EPA conducts I shall remain firm in my suspicion. How can I trust the governments opinion on soil when it can differentiate in between good soil for building and peat soil. For Pete’s Sake? For my children’s children. Children? I don’t have any. Heck, I better get busy on that right off. Time’s a wastin’ ….

“History is largely a record of human struggle to wrest the land from nature, because man relies for

sustenance on the products of the soil. So direct is the relationship between soil erosion, the productivity

of the land, and the prosperity of people, that the history of mankind, to a considerable degree at least,

may be interpreted in terms of the soil and what has happened to it as the result of human use.”

~ Hugh H. Bennett and W.C. Lowdermilk, circa 1930s

Perhaps our attempts to wrestle and tame a river is to blame. Perhaps our pride. Perhaps our hubris. The levees were our Achille’s high heels in this cross dressed town we call home. A corp of engineeers? A krewe without a parade? More like a ship without a paddle. A joke without a punchline. An oxy without its moron. Military intelligence? Jumbo shrimp? Or shall we all just meet at the Chalmette Cultural Center for a knife show and a wrestling match? But I am at a loss about what to do upon our arrival.

The soil of any one place makes its own peculiar and inevitable sense. It is impossible to contemplate

the life of the soil for very long without seeing it as analogous to the life of the spirit

~Wendell Berry, The Unsettling of America

In most places the soil is the life. We had tomatos and cotton. LIFE. We had strawberries and sweet potatoes. LIFE. We even had crawfish. LIFE. LIVE and LIVING. What an odd concept? Most live off the soil. We off the mud. What kind of bon-temped spirit we must have! Cajun girls gone wild. BOOOOO-YAH!

The Latin name for man, homo, derived from humus, the stuff of life in the soil.”

~ Dr. Daniel Hillel

Are we the stuff of the soil, part of some sort of Gilgameshian creation story… Adam, Eve, and Ernie Ladd’s BBQ ribs? What is the stuff in our soil? What was it? What is it now? Is it safe? Is it sorry? Who’s safe? Who’s sorry? I know neither Milton nor Bradley, and I do not wish to play any of their games: sorry, life, or monopoly even with Parker and his brothers.

²soil noun
1 a : SOILAGE, STAIN b : moral defilement : CORRUPTION
2 : something that spoils or pollutes: as a : REFUSE b : SEWAGE c : DUNG, EXCREMENT

August brought one giant big-asp flush to our city. Not a royal flush. Not a high roller’s dream. The only problem was the water didn’t go down and the toilet was quite broken. No Roter. No Rooter. Just corruption, excrement, refuse, sewage, and dung. Think of all the synonyms. Fling them Darwinistically from your own monkey hill. Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s okay. Scary, but okay. A-OK.

I soiled my armor I was so scared!

~ Sir Robin, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Perhaps the biggest fear is of the unknown. We all want straight answers. They won’t be coming from the quarter. They won’t be coming from City Hall. They won’t be coming. Better chance of finding FEMA. Better chance of winning the lottery. Better chance of waking up from this dream. It all comes back to the soil. Whether we obsess about the peat or the sewage or the EPA samples. SOIL, SOIL, Soylent Green? It always comes back to people. And in this time perhaps Homer was correct as he prefered to “be tied to the soil as a serf ... than be king of all these dead and destroyed.” Dead and destroyed. Enough water to surf! Explanation non grata. Or perhaps Kellogg in his colonic-high was on the nose (or should I say on the sphincter?) when he proclaimed: “Civilization has its roots in the soil.” That sure is special…isn’t it Kay?

 

¹soil verb
1 : to stain or defile morally : CORRUPT, POLLUTE
2 : to make unclean especially superficially : DIRTY
3 : to blacken or besmirch (as a person's reputation) by word or deed

So now there is a dirty city in some ways dirtier, in some ways cleaner than before. Lenny Bruce was right. Boil the toilet and it’s still a toilet. Corrupt like a politician. Blackened like a redfish. Make it clean superficially. It’s all relative. Always back to the soil and the dirt. But as Dennis the Menace declared: “Dirt's a lot more fun when you add water!” More water more fun…more… more … more…. everything in excess… pride to call it home… living off the soil, living off the mud.

 

11/05/05 12:20 am Slidell, LA~ GREEN EGGS AND HAMLET

 

To eat or not to eat that is the question?

Whether ‘tis nobler to eat them with a fox or in a box…

~me, if I be bold enough to quote myself

 

After every death and disaster the vultures appear….fact… fiction … myth or simply a literary device. I see them circling over my old home, my old city, and my mother’s grave. The disowned, the disenfranchised, and the disinherited are all out like roaches at a rave, no fear of the lights coming back on anytime soon, living on and in ecstasy. No fear of recourse. No hope of judges, juries, or conveyances. The looters and carpet baggers search for battery powered plasma televisions. I blanch and try to walk away. There are too many roaches to walk on, spray, or smoke. Shall we join in their Dionysian dance? When in Rome, wander.

 

I received a request from a jilted heir today. He wanted money. He wanted a ransom. He wanted lies. All I want is closure. Step away from the property. Step over the bodies. Watch out for the toxic mire. There’s enough tragedy for a second rate Shakespeare, perhaps Green Eggs and Hamlet. Hamlet? Wasn’t that the one with the gravediggers offering comic relief? Or was that FEMA and the Red Cross? The red cross is on the Swiss flag, not the Danish one. Well anyway, something is still fishy… or is that just my fridge?

 

I lost house, job, etc. Now the roaches and vultures are looking to pick the bones…

Horatio, see if you can get in touch with that ghost from Elsinore. By the way, who told Shakespeare that gravediggers were so funny? Who bogarted my city? The only funny thing I can think of is the image my friend Joe Lavelle and his pet vulture as they boarded the plane…

 

Stewardess: You can’t bring a vulture on an airplane…

Joe: Why not?

Stewardess: ‘cause they eat all the “carrion luggage.”

 

Are we having pun yet?

11/06/05 noon not sure where I am anymore

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.
~R.E.M.

The signs of the end are writ large. Pirates attack cruise ship off African coast! Paris is on fire! Prince Charles in the Ninth War(d)!. The French Minister of Culture(?) visits my dead city and makes pledges. Not of allegiance. Just help. S.O. S. Save our shhhh…. culture, did you say culture? Doesn’t mold grow in a culture? A swab… a swatch … a blue ribbon pabst smear. A kah-try-nah monologue or shall I be more dramatic andsay soliloquy?

What other signs do we need? I got an e-hate mail from one of my brothers today urging me to commit suicide (I guess he wants my inheritance). He bemoaned the fact that I had caused grief to him, our family, and the world. He urged me to examine my conscience. He offered to show me the top of a bridge. Perhaps between the lines was a sharp knife, a warm bath, or some bullets. The better revenge is to live. I’ve run out of cheeks to turn. Soooo surreal…. Hello Dali! The surrealism of that e-mail and the news! Pirates on cruises? In fact the ill-fated Riverwalk declares “a shopping sensation” as the USS Sensation houses refugees and relief workers in the background. The malls are reopening like a shopper’s con looter’s con gangsta’s paradise. It’s as if George Romero was right in Dawn of the Dead. The undead shop because its so a part of us. Everything is Lakeside. Everywhere is a Riverwalk and a Canal Place. We are undead. We are so ungrateful. Pass the Cherry Garcia. I may not have a fridge, but do I have the munchies.

Maybe my brother’s invective is rather a Sixth Sense moment for me. Perhaps I’m already dead. The smells so vivid weeks ago burn my nose no longer. Parts seem to be growing numb and falling off. The chest pains, the EKGs just prerequisites for an autopsy. I see St. Gabriel beckon me to visit. Like the child in Millions I keep repeating “My Mum’s dead” half as a mantra, half in hopes of getting sympathy candy. But Pythonesquely I respond, “I’m not dead yet.” I’m waiting for a Grail. I’m waiting for the musical. I’m waiting for my fifteen minutes. Dammit, maybe an hour and fifteen, after all it’s daylight savings. After all we’ve been through. Gone through. Driven through. Make mine a large daiquiri. Arsenic and old lace. Then again gadflies prefer hemlock.

Meanwhile around the world disasters are everyday. Earth, Wind, and Fire…“gotta getcha into my life” ~ yes, I know it’s a cover of a Beatle’s song, but the elements are more important than insects now unless there’s a plague of locusts… and at this point I would not be so surprised. There’s a riot going on in my head. Paris is on fire yet again. Ironically, both New Orleans and gay Paris are the victims of racism and its benefactors: a fire , a flood~ and “a hard rains gonna fall.” This is the part where Radar announces that another chopper has arrived. Klinger stops wearing dresses. Alan Alda stops being funny. And the theme song rolls…. “painless…many changes and I can take or leave them if I please.”

Tomorrow… we realize this life is just a dream. Sh-boom.

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