As unbelievable as it is, my man Manny did not make the run-off. In fact, he only got 100 votes, which is a suspiciously round number - I mean, really, did they actually count the votes or just make a reasonable guess? He did get one more vote than James Arey, though, proving for all time that pot and prostitutes are indeed cooler than classical music any day. Or, at least, that New Orleanians prefer aficionados of the former as mayor compared to aficionados of the latter. He did finish 10th out of 22, which ain't bad, and I think lays a solid foundation for next time.
Let's see, what else? Wilson, despite getting national attention and invites to all the debates between the "magnificent seven" finished eighth behind Butler, proving that if you want to get elected mayor in New Orleans, it's better to be just plain bat-shit crazy rather than a right-wing reactionary nut-job. The I Quit ticket pulled off one straight-out win, and got in the run-off in two more, which is promising. There's a whole bunch of city council run-off action and some guys named, like, Landrieu and Nagin or something made the mayoral run-off, whoever they are. I guess the one guy is related to some famous people, and the second sounds vaguely familiar but I can't quite remember why. Anyway, they made the run-off and Manny didn't, so power to the people and all that.
The good news is the election itself went off about as well as could be expected. No major problems with polling places and machines and whatnot. I strolled in, showed my card and ID, walked into the booth and was out of there. Total elapsed time at polling station? Less than five minutes. The number of people voting was only a little less than usual. The African-American vote was slightly smaller than usual (30-something percent of eligible voting as opposed to just over 40% last time), which is probably due to the fact that so many African-American New Orleanians are still out of town, and perhaps planning on staying out. It does seem, however, that on the whole the measures taken - contacting everyone displaced about absentee ballots, polling places set up around the state, early voting, etc. - were enough to get the vote of most everyone who wanted to vote. It doesn't hurt that most of the votes weren't particularly close. So it seems the vote will stand and we won't go through long, protracted court battles and recounts. Take that, Florida! We kick your participatory government butt any day!
After voting, I was all full of the democratic spirit, so headed down to the French Quarter for some Festing. For those not in the know, the French Quarter Fest is this big free music festival we throw every year, and I was glad to see so many people voting for New Orleans with their appearances - the place was packed. I met up with the famous Dr. A. who brought a family of friends with her, so Dr. A. and I pushed a stroller around the Quarter for a while, and everyone thought we were this happy, pierced, tattooed, bohemian couple with child, which was quite amusing. After that, we went to a free crawfish boil/birthday party at the R Bar, where I ate all the crawfish in Louisiana. Every last one. Then it was on to Handsome Willy's to watch election returns and partake in more democratic spirits, and let me tell you, democracy can give you a mean headache if you over-indulge.
Anyway, I'm just glad that that's over with - no more signs, no more pre-recorded robo-calls, no more anguishing over platforms and positions. I have had enough of that for quite some time.
Oh, wait. Run-offs. Nooo! NOOOOO!!!!!!!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
The P&P Ticket
Election day is tomorrow, kids, heralded by everyone as the most important in New Orleans history. So as the eyes of the nation, nay, the world, focus once again on the Big Squeegee, I give you, right in the nick of time, because you know you gotta know, the Official Flood and Loathing Election Endorsements! (Plus a few anti-endorsements thrown in for kicks and grins.)
First off, let’s talk assessors. New Orleans has to be the only place that elects the people that determine the value of houses for tax purposes. That’s right, the guys who say an abode is worth half a mil or perhaps just several thousand or so need to go out and get campaign contributions from the very folks that own said houses. Not to worry, though, I’m sure there’s absolutely, positively no temptation whatsoever for just a little bit of fudging on the house values of those contributors. And we have not just one of these assessors, but seven. Chicago and New York City get by with one, but we need seven. There’s a bill in the Legislature right now to consolidate the assessors, though the last time it was tried shortly after Katrina, it was killed in committee by representatives Jeff Arnold and Alex Heaton, who – I shit you not – just happen to have close relatives that are assessors.
By the way, at the moment I could tell you exactly what 80% of the houses in New Orleans are worth without even looking at ‘em. Like my flooded and gutted skeleton, they’re worth jack squat.
Which brings us to the “I Quit” ticket, seven people who have pledged that, if elected, they will immediately quit and use their salaries to hire a professional assessor. Only in New Orleans would you get seven people running for office on the simple platform of quitting the job they’re running for, AND where that’s clearly the best choice. For that reason, Flood and Loathing endorses the whole “IQ” ticket: Maria Elliot, Jackie Farnsworth Shreves, Errol George, Chase Jones, Ron Mazier, Nancy Marshall, and Charlie Bosworth.
Consolidation is the all the buzz in New Orleans these days, so there is also a bill consolidating our criminal and civil courts, which currently are separate. We have both a criminal sheriff and a civil sheriff, and a court clerk for both, all of which need to be elected. Now, for three of these offices – both sheriffs and the civil court clerk – Flood and Loathing has no endorsements. Since we haven’t heard much about them, as in no scandals, apparently things are going fairly well with them. These people haven’t made the news, and that’s a good thing. We do need to point out, though, that one candidate for criminal sheriff, Frank Gerald DeSalvo, made the news because, as part of his campaign, he has accused the incumbent, Martin Gusman, of covering up the deaths of a couple of deputies. This made the news mostly because DeSalvo has absolutely no evidence for this. Here at Flood and Loathing, we believe that making wild accusations of heinous crimes for personal gain is NOT something we want in a sheriff, so for that reason, DeSalvo earns an anti-endorsement. Don’t vote for him.
The criminal court clerk, however, did make the news. The two essential responsibilities of the criminal court clerk are to take care of trial evidence and oversee elections (no, I don’t see the connection, either). Kimberly Williamson Butler first made the news when she bungled the last election, failing to get voting machines to polling sites. She then made the news again when she asked for help with cleaning up the evidence after the flood, got it, then complained the mayor was trying to usurp her job, disobeyed court orders, went into hiding, and was finally arrested. Happily, after she got out of jail, she announced she wasn’t running for re-election. She did, however, announce she is running for mayor. No, I’m not making that up. She made the news again when a photo of her in a nice, spruced-up looking French Quarter on her campaign website turned out to have not been taken in the French Quarter, but rather the New Orleans themed area of Disneyland. No, I’m not making that up. Needless to say, KWB is NOT Flood and Loathing’s pick for mayor. After going through the 11 candidates vying to replace her, Flood and Loathing picked two – Paul Massa because he’s the Green Party candidate, and Nick Varrechio because he’s focused on and experienced in running elections. The others we eliminated for reasons like being a Republican or having “suing the city” as part of their platform.
Next, we come to the city council, five district council members and two “at-large” members. To start off, the current council has been feuding with the mayor over all kinds of stuff like where to put trailers, which has led to our current situation of very few people having a trailer and a moratorium on any new ones. The council members blame the mayor, the mayor blames the council. Flood and Loathing has decided to act like an elementary school teacher – we don’t care who started it, everybody’s getting detention. Therefore, we’re against every incumbent council member. They’ve all earned a time-out.
The luxurious offices of Flood and Loathing (both apartment and house) are located in District B, so that’s the only one we have an endorsement for (cut us some slack – there are a lot of candidates to shift through). Of the six candidates, we eliminated Renee Gill Pratt because she’s the incumbent, and while we admire the spirit behind Quentin Brown’s hand-written “No More Bullshit” campaign signs, they don’t exactly inspire confidence in his ability to get the job done. Stacy Head seems impressive, and also appears to be the front runner, but Michael Duplantier gets our nod – he’s a retired lawyer, he’s volunteered and worked for lots of organizations we like, and in the recent televised debate he seemed to be the one who most understood just what a council member can and can’t do.
Similarly, for the at-large candidates, we were able to eliminate some of the eleven candidates because they don’t seem to understand what a council member does. For instance, while we agree that the minimum wage should be raised, if you’re running for city council on that platform, you’re running for the wrong job. We were also able to eliminate two more, Oliver Thomas and Jackie Clarkson, because they’re incumbents who have been obstacles to getting New Orleanians, particularly working class New Orleanians, back. A couple more went because they’re Republicans and stand for things Republicans stand for, which left us with five candidates for the two spots: Arnie Fielkow, Carlos Hornbrok, David Lapin, Leonard Lucas, and Roger Wilson. We like Fielkow because he got fired for telling Tom Benson, the Saints’ owner, that the Saints needed to commit to returning to New Orleans. He and Lapin both seem to have a lot of support, and Wilson was in the movie “Porky’s,” but beyond that, we here at Flood and Loathing are throwing up our hands and saying “pick two of these guys.”
Which brings us to the headliner, the mayoral race. Now, as with most of these elections, we no doubt have a run-off coming, so Flood and Loathing will have a sequel endorsement when we get there, but these here are our picks for now. In all likelihood, the run-off will be between Mitch Landrieu and C. Ray Nagin, but we will deal with that later. There are a lot of candidates we’re clearly NOT for, like Butler or Peggy Wilson, who years ago led the fight against integrating Mardi Gras parades. Apparently, the city had no business telling parade krewes that if they wanted the cops to block off public streets for them and clean up their mess, then they couldn’t exclude African-Americans. And she continues that kind of divisive rhetoric as part of her campaign, so hopefully the public will plant its collective foot firmly in her reactionary, right wing, Republican, racist ass.
There are also some candidates we like but aren’t officially endorsing, like Virginia Boulet and James Arey, who not only plays classical music on our NPR station, but is focusing his campaign on pushing the arts in New Orleans. That almost got him the Flood and Loathing nod, but not quite.
But who gets the Official Flood and Loathing mayoral endorsement? Isn’t the suspense killing you?
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a troubled man for troubled times, a man’s man, ladies’ man, man about town, and my man for mayor:
Manny “Chevrolet” Bruno!
Why him, you ask? Because he wants to legalize pot and prostitution and we here at the Flood and Loathing offices are all for it. Actually, when we were considering a run for mayor ourselves, that was going to be our platform, so it seems only right that we throw our considerable weight behind the candidate who stole our thunder.
You think I’m kidding about this, but I’m actually not; I do really think we should legalize both, regulate them mightily, tax the bejeesus out of them, and rake in the dough. I have been to Amsterdam, I have seen the promised land, and, from what I’m told, I apparently had a really good time.
New Orleans should legalize pot in the same way as Amsterdam. I suggest zoning it into the French Quarter and the Marigny, and only making it legal to be sold and smoked in hash bars, just like in Amsterdam.
I can hear the protests now – how will we keep it out of the hands of kids? I ask you, who’s more likely to card someone, the owner of a licensed hash bar or the sixteen-year-old dealer on the corner? But won’t it make the Quarter more dangerous, even more unfriendly to families and tourists? Compare a bunch of drunks to a bunch of stoners – the drunks are loud and belligerent and screaming for women to flash for beads, but the stoners, if they can be motivated to move at all, will only do so because they have the munchies. When you’re high, you don’t puke and piss on the street. I think a stoned Quarter would actually be a nicer place than a drunk Quarter.
As for prostitution, we have riverboat gambling, so how about riverboat brothels? It would still be illegal on land so we won’t have streetwalkers or even women in windows like Amsterdam, but instead patrons would just board a riverboat and set sail for a quick trip down the Mississippi. There would be required medical check-ups and no more pimps and lots of tax dollars. Everybody wins.
So there you go, because he has the cojones to run on the P&P ticket, and because I can’t resist the opportunity to back someone who is actually advocating some of the crazy liberal schemes I believe in, Flood and Loathing urges everyone to get out on Saturday and vote for Manny “Chevrolet” Bruno.
First off, let’s talk assessors. New Orleans has to be the only place that elects the people that determine the value of houses for tax purposes. That’s right, the guys who say an abode is worth half a mil or perhaps just several thousand or so need to go out and get campaign contributions from the very folks that own said houses. Not to worry, though, I’m sure there’s absolutely, positively no temptation whatsoever for just a little bit of fudging on the house values of those contributors. And we have not just one of these assessors, but seven. Chicago and New York City get by with one, but we need seven. There’s a bill in the Legislature right now to consolidate the assessors, though the last time it was tried shortly after Katrina, it was killed in committee by representatives Jeff Arnold and Alex Heaton, who – I shit you not – just happen to have close relatives that are assessors.
By the way, at the moment I could tell you exactly what 80% of the houses in New Orleans are worth without even looking at ‘em. Like my flooded and gutted skeleton, they’re worth jack squat.
Which brings us to the “I Quit” ticket, seven people who have pledged that, if elected, they will immediately quit and use their salaries to hire a professional assessor. Only in New Orleans would you get seven people running for office on the simple platform of quitting the job they’re running for, AND where that’s clearly the best choice. For that reason, Flood and Loathing endorses the whole “IQ” ticket: Maria Elliot, Jackie Farnsworth Shreves, Errol George, Chase Jones, Ron Mazier, Nancy Marshall, and Charlie Bosworth.
Consolidation is the all the buzz in New Orleans these days, so there is also a bill consolidating our criminal and civil courts, which currently are separate. We have both a criminal sheriff and a civil sheriff, and a court clerk for both, all of which need to be elected. Now, for three of these offices – both sheriffs and the civil court clerk – Flood and Loathing has no endorsements. Since we haven’t heard much about them, as in no scandals, apparently things are going fairly well with them. These people haven’t made the news, and that’s a good thing. We do need to point out, though, that one candidate for criminal sheriff, Frank Gerald DeSalvo, made the news because, as part of his campaign, he has accused the incumbent, Martin Gusman, of covering up the deaths of a couple of deputies. This made the news mostly because DeSalvo has absolutely no evidence for this. Here at Flood and Loathing, we believe that making wild accusations of heinous crimes for personal gain is NOT something we want in a sheriff, so for that reason, DeSalvo earns an anti-endorsement. Don’t vote for him.
The criminal court clerk, however, did make the news. The two essential responsibilities of the criminal court clerk are to take care of trial evidence and oversee elections (no, I don’t see the connection, either). Kimberly Williamson Butler first made the news when she bungled the last election, failing to get voting machines to polling sites. She then made the news again when she asked for help with cleaning up the evidence after the flood, got it, then complained the mayor was trying to usurp her job, disobeyed court orders, went into hiding, and was finally arrested. Happily, after she got out of jail, she announced she wasn’t running for re-election. She did, however, announce she is running for mayor. No, I’m not making that up. She made the news again when a photo of her in a nice, spruced-up looking French Quarter on her campaign website turned out to have not been taken in the French Quarter, but rather the New Orleans themed area of Disneyland. No, I’m not making that up. Needless to say, KWB is NOT Flood and Loathing’s pick for mayor. After going through the 11 candidates vying to replace her, Flood and Loathing picked two – Paul Massa because he’s the Green Party candidate, and Nick Varrechio because he’s focused on and experienced in running elections. The others we eliminated for reasons like being a Republican or having “suing the city” as part of their platform.
Next, we come to the city council, five district council members and two “at-large” members. To start off, the current council has been feuding with the mayor over all kinds of stuff like where to put trailers, which has led to our current situation of very few people having a trailer and a moratorium on any new ones. The council members blame the mayor, the mayor blames the council. Flood and Loathing has decided to act like an elementary school teacher – we don’t care who started it, everybody’s getting detention. Therefore, we’re against every incumbent council member. They’ve all earned a time-out.
The luxurious offices of Flood and Loathing (both apartment and house) are located in District B, so that’s the only one we have an endorsement for (cut us some slack – there are a lot of candidates to shift through). Of the six candidates, we eliminated Renee Gill Pratt because she’s the incumbent, and while we admire the spirit behind Quentin Brown’s hand-written “No More Bullshit” campaign signs, they don’t exactly inspire confidence in his ability to get the job done. Stacy Head seems impressive, and also appears to be the front runner, but Michael Duplantier gets our nod – he’s a retired lawyer, he’s volunteered and worked for lots of organizations we like, and in the recent televised debate he seemed to be the one who most understood just what a council member can and can’t do.
Similarly, for the at-large candidates, we were able to eliminate some of the eleven candidates because they don’t seem to understand what a council member does. For instance, while we agree that the minimum wage should be raised, if you’re running for city council on that platform, you’re running for the wrong job. We were also able to eliminate two more, Oliver Thomas and Jackie Clarkson, because they’re incumbents who have been obstacles to getting New Orleanians, particularly working class New Orleanians, back. A couple more went because they’re Republicans and stand for things Republicans stand for, which left us with five candidates for the two spots: Arnie Fielkow, Carlos Hornbrok, David Lapin, Leonard Lucas, and Roger Wilson. We like Fielkow because he got fired for telling Tom Benson, the Saints’ owner, that the Saints needed to commit to returning to New Orleans. He and Lapin both seem to have a lot of support, and Wilson was in the movie “Porky’s,” but beyond that, we here at Flood and Loathing are throwing up our hands and saying “pick two of these guys.”
Which brings us to the headliner, the mayoral race. Now, as with most of these elections, we no doubt have a run-off coming, so Flood and Loathing will have a sequel endorsement when we get there, but these here are our picks for now. In all likelihood, the run-off will be between Mitch Landrieu and C. Ray Nagin, but we will deal with that later. There are a lot of candidates we’re clearly NOT for, like Butler or Peggy Wilson, who years ago led the fight against integrating Mardi Gras parades. Apparently, the city had no business telling parade krewes that if they wanted the cops to block off public streets for them and clean up their mess, then they couldn’t exclude African-Americans. And she continues that kind of divisive rhetoric as part of her campaign, so hopefully the public will plant its collective foot firmly in her reactionary, right wing, Republican, racist ass.
There are also some candidates we like but aren’t officially endorsing, like Virginia Boulet and James Arey, who not only plays classical music on our NPR station, but is focusing his campaign on pushing the arts in New Orleans. That almost got him the Flood and Loathing nod, but not quite.
But who gets the Official Flood and Loathing mayoral endorsement? Isn’t the suspense killing you?
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a troubled man for troubled times, a man’s man, ladies’ man, man about town, and my man for mayor:
Manny “Chevrolet” Bruno!
Why him, you ask? Because he wants to legalize pot and prostitution and we here at the Flood and Loathing offices are all for it. Actually, when we were considering a run for mayor ourselves, that was going to be our platform, so it seems only right that we throw our considerable weight behind the candidate who stole our thunder.
You think I’m kidding about this, but I’m actually not; I do really think we should legalize both, regulate them mightily, tax the bejeesus out of them, and rake in the dough. I have been to Amsterdam, I have seen the promised land, and, from what I’m told, I apparently had a really good time.
New Orleans should legalize pot in the same way as Amsterdam. I suggest zoning it into the French Quarter and the Marigny, and only making it legal to be sold and smoked in hash bars, just like in Amsterdam.
I can hear the protests now – how will we keep it out of the hands of kids? I ask you, who’s more likely to card someone, the owner of a licensed hash bar or the sixteen-year-old dealer on the corner? But won’t it make the Quarter more dangerous, even more unfriendly to families and tourists? Compare a bunch of drunks to a bunch of stoners – the drunks are loud and belligerent and screaming for women to flash for beads, but the stoners, if they can be motivated to move at all, will only do so because they have the munchies. When you’re high, you don’t puke and piss on the street. I think a stoned Quarter would actually be a nicer place than a drunk Quarter.
As for prostitution, we have riverboat gambling, so how about riverboat brothels? It would still be illegal on land so we won’t have streetwalkers or even women in windows like Amsterdam, but instead patrons would just board a riverboat and set sail for a quick trip down the Mississippi. There would be required medical check-ups and no more pimps and lots of tax dollars. Everybody wins.
So there you go, because he has the cojones to run on the P&P ticket, and because I can’t resist the opportunity to back someone who is actually advocating some of the crazy liberal schemes I believe in, Flood and Loathing urges everyone to get out on Saturday and vote for Manny “Chevrolet” Bruno.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
God, Loyola, and Getting Let Go
If you happened to have read Sophmom's comments to the last post then you already know that Loyola announced it's big re-organization plan on Monday. You can read the plan here and read about student and faculty reaction here.
The (selfish) good news - the English department still exists, and I still have a job. The plan doesn't call for letting all adjunct faculty go, which I half expected it would. The bad news is that part of the reason I still have a job is that the English department lost professors who didn't come back after the flood and is losing more this summer. People are retiring and/or getting the hell out of this city, and I can't blame them. The worse news is that other departments, programs, and majors got the ax, including education, communications, and computer science, as well as City College, which is our adult education night class program.
Leading up to this, students had asked me about what was going on or what I would be teaching in the fall. I'd tell them I honestly didn't know the answer to either question, and didn't even know if I would be at Loyola come fall. Since Monday, many of my students have gone out of their way to ask if I would still be around in the fall, and I'm glad I could tell them I will (though I still won't entirely believe it until I have that signed contract in hand). I even got a relieved hug, which almost made me cry. Teaching college is a job like no other (at least no other I've ever had, and I've had more than my fair share) and I am only too aware of what a profound effect my college professors had on me. I can't imagine what it must be like for the tenured and tenure-track professors who have been at Loyola for years and years and intended to spend the rest of their careers there only to lose that because our government is too inept to build adequate levees and maintain wetlands. That the one has led to the other is just too cruel and absurd, and if I believed in God, I would have to conclude that He, She, or It has a seriously sick sense of humor. (I know, I know, an atheist teaching at a Jesuit university, that's absurd in and of itself, but that's part of what makes Loyola so cool.)
So not a good day for Loyola. Even though I still have a job, I left the "Black Monday" I had written into the 10th on the big wall calendar in our office. I don't know if this will be good for the university or not - maybe I'm too close to be objective, and it's hard to know if their plan will work in the long run. Change always sucks to a certain extent and I'm not against it in principle, but it's hard for me to see these changes as anything but harmful and even unnecessary. First off, enrollment isn't down that much - the new class next year is around 700 instead of 850 or so. Significant, but not deadly. Also, if we're trying to position ourselves as a national liberal arts institution, how does cutting programs contribute to that? Finally, what's so awful about running at a deficit for a year or two? The government has been doing it for much, much longer and corporations do it all the time. Why can't we? And if it's that bad, why not dip into the endowment? They say it's "the future of the university," but what kind of future are we planning when we cut programs and fire tenured faculty?
So as far as this goes, today I'm all questions, no answers, a state that seems to be pretty perpetual these days.
The (selfish) good news - the English department still exists, and I still have a job. The plan doesn't call for letting all adjunct faculty go, which I half expected it would. The bad news is that part of the reason I still have a job is that the English department lost professors who didn't come back after the flood and is losing more this summer. People are retiring and/or getting the hell out of this city, and I can't blame them. The worse news is that other departments, programs, and majors got the ax, including education, communications, and computer science, as well as City College, which is our adult education night class program.
Leading up to this, students had asked me about what was going on or what I would be teaching in the fall. I'd tell them I honestly didn't know the answer to either question, and didn't even know if I would be at Loyola come fall. Since Monday, many of my students have gone out of their way to ask if I would still be around in the fall, and I'm glad I could tell them I will (though I still won't entirely believe it until I have that signed contract in hand). I even got a relieved hug, which almost made me cry. Teaching college is a job like no other (at least no other I've ever had, and I've had more than my fair share) and I am only too aware of what a profound effect my college professors had on me. I can't imagine what it must be like for the tenured and tenure-track professors who have been at Loyola for years and years and intended to spend the rest of their careers there only to lose that because our government is too inept to build adequate levees and maintain wetlands. That the one has led to the other is just too cruel and absurd, and if I believed in God, I would have to conclude that He, She, or It has a seriously sick sense of humor. (I know, I know, an atheist teaching at a Jesuit university, that's absurd in and of itself, but that's part of what makes Loyola so cool.)
So not a good day for Loyola. Even though I still have a job, I left the "Black Monday" I had written into the 10th on the big wall calendar in our office. I don't know if this will be good for the university or not - maybe I'm too close to be objective, and it's hard to know if their plan will work in the long run. Change always sucks to a certain extent and I'm not against it in principle, but it's hard for me to see these changes as anything but harmful and even unnecessary. First off, enrollment isn't down that much - the new class next year is around 700 instead of 850 or so. Significant, but not deadly. Also, if we're trying to position ourselves as a national liberal arts institution, how does cutting programs contribute to that? Finally, what's so awful about running at a deficit for a year or two? The government has been doing it for much, much longer and corporations do it all the time. Why can't we? And if it's that bad, why not dip into the endowment? They say it's "the future of the university," but what kind of future are we planning when we cut programs and fire tenured faculty?
So as far as this goes, today I'm all questions, no answers, a state that seems to be pretty perpetual these days.
Friday, March 31, 2006
This Semester Has Kicked My Butt
Only three weeks left and I can't wait until it's over. I was walking across campus the other day and ran into another teacher who asked, "Are your students getting as lazy as mine?" And indeed they are, but the truth is, so are we. I, in fact, am writing this during class while I have all my students working on their web pages. Apparently, I have done all the teaching I'm going to do this semester.
I have four writing classes this semester, which really isn't that big a deal because I almost always have four writing classes even though everyone agrees four writing classes is probably two too many. Plus, two of them are classes new to me, so I have all new preps added to the two classes I have done before. For those non-teachers out there, trust me, four classes and three preps is a lot of work. Not to mention the grading, the grading, the grading, the endless endless grading ...
All of this while struggling with a multitude of bureaucracies including, but not limited to, two separate insurance companies, two mortgage companies, FEMA, the electric company, the water company, the USPS, as well as a multitude of city and state departments of this, that, and the other, all of which want stacks of paperwork signed in tripiclate and stamped and dated and verified and endorsed and notarized. My life has been reduced to a constant struggle against red tape in an immense bureacracy I can't even begin to understand. I am K.
Meanwhile, the almost-not-metaphorical Sword of Damocles at Loyola is preparing to descend. The scuttlebutt around here is that in the next two or three weeks the great "re-organization" plan shall be announced, and the next round of lay-offs shall begin. Word is, they plan on dumping entire programs, and nobody seems to know just what will happen with non-tenure track faculty like me. So in the next couple of weeks I could be told I'm out of a job. Again. It's really hard to motivate myself to grade and teach and all that stuff when I've spent the entire semester at least half-convinced I'm about to be let go.
All of which is a really long way of saying I'm sorry I haven't been updating this blog as much as I would like. I'm way behind on adding links and pictures, not to mention responding to comments, which I really appreciate, or acknowledging all those out there who apparently read this (yes, I have a counter and yes, I'm pretty surprised at the numbers - hi everyone! And thanks!) and there is a whole host of things I've been meaning to write about.
Sigh.
So, yeah, this semester has kicked my butt, and as much as I have actually loved my classes, I'm so done, though really, it's not the classes that have kicked my butt, it's all the other stuff. Unfortunately, classes actually have a end point, while it seems that the rebuilding bureacracy just stretches on endlessly into the future, never to end, so I'm in this weird position of looking forward to end of something good so I can concentrate on dealing with the crap.
Sigh.
But enough self-pity - at least I'll have more time to blog.
I have four writing classes this semester, which really isn't that big a deal because I almost always have four writing classes even though everyone agrees four writing classes is probably two too many. Plus, two of them are classes new to me, so I have all new preps added to the two classes I have done before. For those non-teachers out there, trust me, four classes and three preps is a lot of work. Not to mention the grading, the grading, the grading, the endless endless grading ...
All of this while struggling with a multitude of bureaucracies including, but not limited to, two separate insurance companies, two mortgage companies, FEMA, the electric company, the water company, the USPS, as well as a multitude of city and state departments of this, that, and the other, all of which want stacks of paperwork signed in tripiclate and stamped and dated and verified and endorsed and notarized. My life has been reduced to a constant struggle against red tape in an immense bureacracy I can't even begin to understand. I am K.
Meanwhile, the almost-not-metaphorical Sword of Damocles at Loyola is preparing to descend. The scuttlebutt around here is that in the next two or three weeks the great "re-organization" plan shall be announced, and the next round of lay-offs shall begin. Word is, they plan on dumping entire programs, and nobody seems to know just what will happen with non-tenure track faculty like me. So in the next couple of weeks I could be told I'm out of a job. Again. It's really hard to motivate myself to grade and teach and all that stuff when I've spent the entire semester at least half-convinced I'm about to be let go.
All of which is a really long way of saying I'm sorry I haven't been updating this blog as much as I would like. I'm way behind on adding links and pictures, not to mention responding to comments, which I really appreciate, or acknowledging all those out there who apparently read this (yes, I have a counter and yes, I'm pretty surprised at the numbers - hi everyone! And thanks!) and there is a whole host of things I've been meaning to write about.
Sigh.
So, yeah, this semester has kicked my butt, and as much as I have actually loved my classes, I'm so done, though really, it's not the classes that have kicked my butt, it's all the other stuff. Unfortunately, classes actually have a end point, while it seems that the rebuilding bureacracy just stretches on endlessly into the future, never to end, so I'm in this weird position of looking forward to end of something good so I can concentrate on dealing with the crap.
Sigh.
But enough self-pity - at least I'll have more time to blog.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The First Mardi Gras Post-K
Here was the plan for Mardi Gras: wear costumes, wander around the Quarter, see everyone I know, and party all day. I'm proud to say I accomplished every aspect of the plan.
Anyway, I have to say this was one of my best Carnivals ever. I already wrote about the parades, which only got better despite the fact that many of the krewes lost their floats in the flood. On Mardi Gras itself, we headed down to the Quarter in the morning and arrived in time to march with the St. Ann's walking parade, which was the usual collection of funny, sexy, and satirical costumes, everyone half-dancing, half-marching down the street to the horn blasts and drum thwacks of the brass band. Many costumes made fun of the government and the Thing (hurricanes, floods, apocalypse, etc.), though we chose not to focus on that ourselves. Besides, I did a Katrina Kostume for Halloween. Plus, I wanted to wear a silly hat, because what's the point of Mardi Gras unless you get to wear a silly hat?
Brooke had a costume emergency in that her boot was attempting to cripple her, but that was solved with a $15 pair of sandals and an extrememly large vodka tonic.
Once that was taken care of, we returned to careening around the Quarter aimlessly, which, if you've never been to Mardi Gras, is essentially like attending the biggest costume party ever that lasts all day, and I really did run into just about everyone I know since we all hit the Quarter and tend to congregrate at some point near Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. I swear I have friends I only see during Mardi Gras. There's never really any telling who you will end up hanging out with as people come and go, everyone on these crazy, looping trajectories intersecting each other, then splitting, only to come together again later - you run into someone you know dressed in a fairy costume who knows someone throwing an apartment party in the Quarter where a complete stranger convinces a handful of people that you absolutely have to bar hop down Decatur which leads you to Frenchmen where you meet up with a colleague dressed as a superhero and then ... well, you get the idea.
I know this is a strange word to apply to Mardi Gras, but it was really nice this year. Very casual and stressless (even considering the near-disaster of the boot) and a good time. Everybody was happy, and while it was definitely crowded, it was never overwhelming. Later, the city announced that arrests were way down, even taking the smaller crowd into account, so it wasn't just me. So, yay, New Orleans! Even when knocked on our ass, we can still throw one hell of a party, and if people don't think that's enough of a reason to love, cherish, and rebuild this place, well, they have no joy and no soul. Unfortunately, I think that's exactly the reason why so many people don't think New Orleans should be rebuilt.
Sure, Hastert and others like him continue to say it's because it's dangerous - we're below sea-level, after all, but that's true of most port cities located on big rivers, and it's not like other places don't have similar dangers. Yet, I don't remember there ever even being a question about rebuilding Charleston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami, etc. And while our damage is much more extensive than those places, since when has the difficulty of a task been a reason not to do it?
But if it's too much for Hastert, we'll do it without the wimp.
We do have a not-undeserved reputation for corruption, but name me one place that doesn't? If corruption were a reason to abandon a place, then given the millions of dollars the feds have wasted on useless trailers, overly expensive blue roofs, and no-bid Halliburton contracts, D.C. should be razed. Or perhaps just those neighborhoods housing the federal government, since they clearly would be best returned to green space.
But I don't think the "don't rebuild" argument is about any of the stated reasons of danger, difficulty, or corruption. I think it's actually about the unstated reason that we're a city that knows how to have a good time. We refuse to get with the American work ethic program, apologize for our hedonistic ways and come to Jesus and a life of self-denial and hard work.
Over in England, the Puritans banned the performances of plays, bringing to an end one of, if not the, greatest play cultures of Western civilization and ensuring that Shakespeare lived out his latter days and died in a place where none of his work could be seen. The British quite sensibly kicked them out, but unfortunately, they sent them here, and most of the country has been trying to throw off those self-imposed shackles ever since. Most of it.
New Orleans is the only American city I've lived in where people actually seem to work to live, rather than live to work, where we not only don't feel guilty about shutting the city down for a week to throw a big party, but celebrate it. We even have the audacity to brag about it.
We're the charming, ne'er-do-well brother that most people shake their heads over but are really a bit jealous of, but who really angers some others, like Hastert and Bush. After all, he had to give up booze, cocaine, and going AWOL, so New Orleans should, too. If we don't, we'll just see about that help we need. It's a little more subtle than the idea that God punished New Orleans for our sinful ways with Katrina, Rita, and the floods, but it boils down to the same attitude.
I'm tired of defending New Orleans with other reasons why we should be rebuilt, the oil and gas, the seafood, all the grain that goes out and coffee that comes in - the hell with it. Why should New Orleans be rebuilt? Because we throw the best party this country will ever see. Without us, you're England without Shakespeare, no joy and no soul.
Anyway, I have to say this was one of my best Carnivals ever. I already wrote about the parades, which only got better despite the fact that many of the krewes lost their floats in the flood. On Mardi Gras itself, we headed down to the Quarter in the morning and arrived in time to march with the St. Ann's walking parade, which was the usual collection of funny, sexy, and satirical costumes, everyone half-dancing, half-marching down the street to the horn blasts and drum thwacks of the brass band. Many costumes made fun of the government and the Thing (hurricanes, floods, apocalypse, etc.), though we chose not to focus on that ourselves. Besides, I did a Katrina Kostume for Halloween. Plus, I wanted to wear a silly hat, because what's the point of Mardi Gras unless you get to wear a silly hat?
Brooke had a costume emergency in that her boot was attempting to cripple her, but that was solved with a $15 pair of sandals and an extrememly large vodka tonic.
Once that was taken care of, we returned to careening around the Quarter aimlessly, which, if you've never been to Mardi Gras, is essentially like attending the biggest costume party ever that lasts all day, and I really did run into just about everyone I know since we all hit the Quarter and tend to congregrate at some point near Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. I swear I have friends I only see during Mardi Gras. There's never really any telling who you will end up hanging out with as people come and go, everyone on these crazy, looping trajectories intersecting each other, then splitting, only to come together again later - you run into someone you know dressed in a fairy costume who knows someone throwing an apartment party in the Quarter where a complete stranger convinces a handful of people that you absolutely have to bar hop down Decatur which leads you to Frenchmen where you meet up with a colleague dressed as a superhero and then ... well, you get the idea.
I know this is a strange word to apply to Mardi Gras, but it was really nice this year. Very casual and stressless (even considering the near-disaster of the boot) and a good time. Everybody was happy, and while it was definitely crowded, it was never overwhelming. Later, the city announced that arrests were way down, even taking the smaller crowd into account, so it wasn't just me. So, yay, New Orleans! Even when knocked on our ass, we can still throw one hell of a party, and if people don't think that's enough of a reason to love, cherish, and rebuild this place, well, they have no joy and no soul. Unfortunately, I think that's exactly the reason why so many people don't think New Orleans should be rebuilt.
Sure, Hastert and others like him continue to say it's because it's dangerous - we're below sea-level, after all, but that's true of most port cities located on big rivers, and it's not like other places don't have similar dangers. Yet, I don't remember there ever even being a question about rebuilding Charleston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami, etc. And while our damage is much more extensive than those places, since when has the difficulty of a task been a reason not to do it?
But if it's too much for Hastert, we'll do it without the wimp.
We do have a not-undeserved reputation for corruption, but name me one place that doesn't? If corruption were a reason to abandon a place, then given the millions of dollars the feds have wasted on useless trailers, overly expensive blue roofs, and no-bid Halliburton contracts, D.C. should be razed. Or perhaps just those neighborhoods housing the federal government, since they clearly would be best returned to green space.
But I don't think the "don't rebuild" argument is about any of the stated reasons of danger, difficulty, or corruption. I think it's actually about the unstated reason that we're a city that knows how to have a good time. We refuse to get with the American work ethic program, apologize for our hedonistic ways and come to Jesus and a life of self-denial and hard work.
Over in England, the Puritans banned the performances of plays, bringing to an end one of, if not the, greatest play cultures of Western civilization and ensuring that Shakespeare lived out his latter days and died in a place where none of his work could be seen. The British quite sensibly kicked them out, but unfortunately, they sent them here, and most of the country has been trying to throw off those self-imposed shackles ever since. Most of it.
New Orleans is the only American city I've lived in where people actually seem to work to live, rather than live to work, where we not only don't feel guilty about shutting the city down for a week to throw a big party, but celebrate it. We even have the audacity to brag about it.
We're the charming, ne'er-do-well brother that most people shake their heads over but are really a bit jealous of, but who really angers some others, like Hastert and Bush. After all, he had to give up booze, cocaine, and going AWOL, so New Orleans should, too. If we don't, we'll just see about that help we need. It's a little more subtle than the idea that God punished New Orleans for our sinful ways with Katrina, Rita, and the floods, but it boils down to the same attitude.
I'm tired of defending New Orleans with other reasons why we should be rebuilt, the oil and gas, the seafood, all the grain that goes out and coffee that comes in - the hell with it. Why should New Orleans be rebuilt? Because we throw the best party this country will ever see. Without us, you're England without Shakespeare, no joy and no soul.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Media Darlings
Okay, one last note on the media coverage of New Orleans, and then I promise I'll write about Mardi Gras and even put up pictures, and then return you to your regularly scheduled rants and venting.
Anyway, Dave Walker wrote an article in the Times-Pic today that reviewed the national media's coverage of Mardi Gras. Now, I have to admit that I actually didn't see much of the national media's coverage because I was, well, here. Dave Walker, on the other hand, as the Times-Pic's tv reporter, clearly watched a ton of it. His conclusion - they "got Mardi Gras mostly right." The article goes on to detail the nuanced reporting New Orleans got during Mardi Gras.
So bravo, people. Apparently you didn't live up to our worst fears and presented a picture of New Orleans in all our weird complexity.
Full disclosure: I get named in the article. I'm pretty sure it's the only time my name will appear in print in the same sentence as Harry Connick, Jr.'s and Mayor Nagin's, and yes, when I read it (and was completely surprised by it), I jumped up and down and shook my booty, but strictly in the privacy of my own apartment.
All that said, I'd like to mention just a few more things. When Jacki from CNN asked me what the media was doing wrong, I got in my only half-way witty moment of the interview by asking, "Before, during, or after?" I didn't get a chance to elaborate on all those, but I'm taking it now.
As for Pre-K, at a recent panel discussion at Loyola on the media and Katrina, some members of the local media criticized themselves for not hammering local politicians enough, that while we all knew the levees could fail and that New Orleans could drown, they didn't demand answers from council members, levee board members, mayors, governors, and on up, and thereby force them to address the problems we all knew were there. I would agree with that, and extend the criticism to the national media. For far too long, they have been merely passing along news briefs from politicians and not investigating enough, not pushing for answers. And that has real world consequences. In a democracy, only the public can ultimately hold politicians accountable for their corruption, lies, or simple incompetence, but the public only knows to do that if the reporters get the stories to them. And pre-K, they simply didn't ask enough questions nor demand enough answers.
I don't know if it was because of worries of being perceived as unpatriotic in the wake of September 11th, economic pressures and dwindling profits, fears of being labeled as liberal, or perhaps a combination of all those and other factors, but the media as a whole (and not just that news channel that starts with "F" that shall not be named) have been pretty toothless lately. And trust an unabashed liberal on this: there isn't a liberal bias in the media; there's a conservative one. Perhaps you could argue that if a liberal perceives a conservative bias and a conservative perceives a liberal one, than the reality is pretty neutral, but really it means I'm right and they're wrong.
Did everyone catch Jon Stewart's joke during the Oscars, the one about how both "Capote" and "Good Night and Good Luck" are stories of journalists doggedly pursuing the truth and therefore, obviously, period pieces? Good stuff.
During the disaster, everyone succumbed to hysteria and sensationalism. Granted, I'm sure it's mighty hard to cover a story in the midst of such confusion, but we're talking people that have covered war zones, genocides, and tsunamis; I think we can expect a little more than relentless repetition of the same shot of one National Guard truck driving into the city. It's true that all the misinformation about the rampant murders and rapes was coming from the usually reliable sources (city officials and the National Guard), but I wish I could see some tapes from back then and check to see how much caution was taken in passing along that misinformation. There's a huge difference between reporting "murders and rapes" and reporting "completely unconfirmed rumors of murders and rapes." How it's phrased makes all the difference in the world, and there was plenty of human suffering and tragedy without concentrating on what turned out to be untrue.
Since the disaster, everyone I know can relate the same conversation with some well-meaning friend or relative, the one that includes the friend or relative saying something quite close to, "So it seems pretty much back to normal now." Clearly there's some disconnect between what people are seeing in the news and our reality here, because we aren't anywhere near normal.
The Times-Pic has, for one, improved by leaps and bounds in my estimation. What had been a rather bland local rag that I turned to for listings of music, art, and other cultural events, has become an absolutely essential conduit of vital recovery information, and they have really come through. If you want to get some coverage of New Orleans, hit nola.com and read the Times-Pic online. NPR has kept one eye on New Orleans over the past six months, and the additional attention we have received lately because of Mardi Gras can only help.
Finally, the treatment of our leaders, both local and national, has been more hard-nosed of late, and I know it's not because the politicians suddenly turned corrupt, mendacious, and incompetent. They always were; we're just hearing about it more now. Perhaps it's just a pile-on effect, but if Katrina in some way emboldened the media, then (while I won't say it was even close to worth it) at least they learned something. Here's hoping the Mardi Gras coverage is an indicator of things to come.
Anyway, Dave Walker wrote an article in the Times-Pic today that reviewed the national media's coverage of Mardi Gras. Now, I have to admit that I actually didn't see much of the national media's coverage because I was, well, here. Dave Walker, on the other hand, as the Times-Pic's tv reporter, clearly watched a ton of it. His conclusion - they "got Mardi Gras mostly right." The article goes on to detail the nuanced reporting New Orleans got during Mardi Gras.
So bravo, people. Apparently you didn't live up to our worst fears and presented a picture of New Orleans in all our weird complexity.
Full disclosure: I get named in the article. I'm pretty sure it's the only time my name will appear in print in the same sentence as Harry Connick, Jr.'s and Mayor Nagin's, and yes, when I read it (and was completely surprised by it), I jumped up and down and shook my booty, but strictly in the privacy of my own apartment.
All that said, I'd like to mention just a few more things. When Jacki from CNN asked me what the media was doing wrong, I got in my only half-way witty moment of the interview by asking, "Before, during, or after?" I didn't get a chance to elaborate on all those, but I'm taking it now.
As for Pre-K, at a recent panel discussion at Loyola on the media and Katrina, some members of the local media criticized themselves for not hammering local politicians enough, that while we all knew the levees could fail and that New Orleans could drown, they didn't demand answers from council members, levee board members, mayors, governors, and on up, and thereby force them to address the problems we all knew were there. I would agree with that, and extend the criticism to the national media. For far too long, they have been merely passing along news briefs from politicians and not investigating enough, not pushing for answers. And that has real world consequences. In a democracy, only the public can ultimately hold politicians accountable for their corruption, lies, or simple incompetence, but the public only knows to do that if the reporters get the stories to them. And pre-K, they simply didn't ask enough questions nor demand enough answers.
I don't know if it was because of worries of being perceived as unpatriotic in the wake of September 11th, economic pressures and dwindling profits, fears of being labeled as liberal, or perhaps a combination of all those and other factors, but the media as a whole (and not just that news channel that starts with "F" that shall not be named) have been pretty toothless lately. And trust an unabashed liberal on this: there isn't a liberal bias in the media; there's a conservative one. Perhaps you could argue that if a liberal perceives a conservative bias and a conservative perceives a liberal one, than the reality is pretty neutral, but really it means I'm right and they're wrong.
Did everyone catch Jon Stewart's joke during the Oscars, the one about how both "Capote" and "Good Night and Good Luck" are stories of journalists doggedly pursuing the truth and therefore, obviously, period pieces? Good stuff.
During the disaster, everyone succumbed to hysteria and sensationalism. Granted, I'm sure it's mighty hard to cover a story in the midst of such confusion, but we're talking people that have covered war zones, genocides, and tsunamis; I think we can expect a little more than relentless repetition of the same shot of one National Guard truck driving into the city. It's true that all the misinformation about the rampant murders and rapes was coming from the usually reliable sources (city officials and the National Guard), but I wish I could see some tapes from back then and check to see how much caution was taken in passing along that misinformation. There's a huge difference between reporting "murders and rapes" and reporting "completely unconfirmed rumors of murders and rapes." How it's phrased makes all the difference in the world, and there was plenty of human suffering and tragedy without concentrating on what turned out to be untrue.
Since the disaster, everyone I know can relate the same conversation with some well-meaning friend or relative, the one that includes the friend or relative saying something quite close to, "So it seems pretty much back to normal now." Clearly there's some disconnect between what people are seeing in the news and our reality here, because we aren't anywhere near normal.
The Times-Pic has, for one, improved by leaps and bounds in my estimation. What had been a rather bland local rag that I turned to for listings of music, art, and other cultural events, has become an absolutely essential conduit of vital recovery information, and they have really come through. If you want to get some coverage of New Orleans, hit nola.com and read the Times-Pic online. NPR has kept one eye on New Orleans over the past six months, and the additional attention we have received lately because of Mardi Gras can only help.
Finally, the treatment of our leaders, both local and national, has been more hard-nosed of late, and I know it's not because the politicians suddenly turned corrupt, mendacious, and incompetent. They always were; we're just hearing about it more now. Perhaps it's just a pile-on effect, but if Katrina in some way emboldened the media, then (while I won't say it was even close to worth it) at least they learned something. Here's hoping the Mardi Gras coverage is an indicator of things to come.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Next Up: A Rain of Frogs
It's the apocalypse: Newt Gingrich and I agree on something.
My favorite fun fact from the editorial he wrote with John Barry, author of Rising Tide -
In the past two years, we've spent more on restoring Iraq's wetlands than Louisiana's.
Iraq's wetlands. Restoring them.
Who the fuck even knew Iraq had wetlands!!??!!?!
God, I hate Bush. I mean, I really, really hate him. Really.
My favorite fun fact from the editorial he wrote with John Barry, author of Rising Tide -
In the past two years, we've spent more on restoring Iraq's wetlands than Louisiana's.
Iraq's wetlands. Restoring them.
Who the fuck even knew Iraq had wetlands!!??!!?!
God, I hate Bush. I mean, I really, really hate him. Really.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
The Heart of Media Darkness
So it’s been a hectic couple of weeks for me, what with an out-of-town guest, house- and pet-sitting, teaching, and all the parades, parties, and general pomp and frivolity of Mardi Gras. As if that weren’t enough, I was also on CNN.
Yep, CNN found out about this here blog through channels that remain somewhat murky to me, and called for an interview. Seems they wanted someone to provide a New Orleanian’s perspective on what the media has done wrong (and right, I suppose) in covering Katrina and her aftermath, and I’m absolutely not going to pass up a chance to criticize CNN on CNN. Not to mention the chance to get the blog out to a much, much, much wider audience, which I’ve already noticed has made a difference (hi, CNN people!).
They mailed me out a web-cam, which I had to hook up to a friend’s computer because mine is a wheezy dinosaur incapable of supporting such technology, and had me on-hand for an interview during a taping of “On the Story” the Friday before Mardi Gras. This, by the way, while parades were going by and I was missing out on incredibly valuable beads and other throws, but these are the sacrifices I’m willing to make to get New Orleans’ story told.
Let me tell you how surreal this whole experience was. First off, once I got the camera working, it put a picture of me up on the computer that I could watch. After spending a good twenty minutes getting me placed correctly, all I could think while looking at this utterly unflattering close-up of my face was, “Wow, I am so fucking bald.” I had a good forty-five minutes of sitting there waiting for my turn to think about that. Plus, that close-up eliminated any chance of showing off my extremely cool "Defend New Orleans” sweatshirt.
Also on the computer was a shot of the woman interviewing me, Jacki Schechner, who could not have been nicer, all in this weird blurry, jumpy, slightly-delayed web-cam view. The thing about this, though, is that all the action takes place on the computer screen, while the camera is down below it, and even though I tried very hard to look at the camera while talking, I kept glancing up at the computer screen, which I could tell made it look like I was staring off into space somewhere above the audience’s heads, perhaps at the lovely art they have hanging over the back of their couch at home.
After the wait of forty-five minutes, they hit me with three questions, and I did my best to answer them intelligently, but of course I felt like I was saying all the wrong things. It’s incredibly hard to say something articulate, thoughtful, and meaningful in three minutes. All that waiting, and then bang, it’s over. Off-camera, Jacki gave me a look that was either a reassuring smile or a sign that she was a little disappointed, hopefully because we didn’t get to talk more and not because I sucked it up, though it’s hard to read expressions on a computer screen. I asked her if I did okay, and she assured me that I did, though then admitted she hadn’t been able to hear any of my answers because her producer was constantly talking in her ear. I did not find this reassuring.
Nothing against Jacki (sounds like it was more her producer's doing), but I also don’t think it’s particularly good journalism. Shouldn’t the journalist be listening to the responses given? The producer should shut up and let her listen. As a counter-example, I have been interviewed by NPR twice since the disaster. Once, when “Day by Day” talked to me and some friends about the State of the Union address, and again when I ran into an NPR reporter at a Mardi Gras party. Both times, they spent way more time talking and listening to me. During the State of the Union, Audie Cornish arrived well before the address, recorded us for at least half an hour, kept recording us during the whole speech, and interviewed us again after. It lasted for over two hours, and got edited down to about five minutes. Trust me, that five minutes is much more packed and articulate than the three minute CNN blab and dash.
That said, I actually have no real idea how I did because I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. And I certainly didn’t tell anyone else when to see it. By accident, I caught a bit of the show right before my last answer and suddenly realized that not only did they show me when actually asking me questions, but also when just referring to me, which they would do without warning. This I did not realize at the time, and I assumed I was off-camera. I can only imagine the nose-picking, beer-drinking, and crotch-scratching that went out on national television.
Oh, the horror, the horror.
As for what I said, you can read a transcript. I talked about the way New Orleans is portrayed as a polarized city – black and poor vs. rich and white – which misses a lot of complexity. Not that it doesn’t have truth to it, but it would take way more than thirty seconds, and way more space than I have on this blog, to properly discuss race, poverty, and the way those intercepted and interacted with Katrina and the on-going recovery. That’s a book I hope someone more expert than I is working on. I also talked about the portrayal of Mardi Gras as just a big party, though didn’t have time to explain what it really means, and had no chance to mention the obsession with sensationalism, the insistence on controversy, the determination to strip everything down to two opposing views. Hopefully, I’ll elaborate on all that later on this blog.
Ms. Strawberry asked me how it went, and I replied with a shrug and “eh.” Without further explanation, she said, “It lasted two minutes and they asked all the wrong questions.” Yep, pretty much.
So, if you really want my ten-second sound bite on what the media, by which I really mean television news, did wrong before, during, and after Katrina (or any story), it’s this: despite their unbelievably massive resources and serious responsibility to a properly functioning democracy, they never take the time to get the story right.
Still too long? Then I’ll give you one word: over-simplification. That’s the theme of everything I said to CNN. But then, I guess that’s why I keep blogging.
Yep, CNN found out about this here blog through channels that remain somewhat murky to me, and called for an interview. Seems they wanted someone to provide a New Orleanian’s perspective on what the media has done wrong (and right, I suppose) in covering Katrina and her aftermath, and I’m absolutely not going to pass up a chance to criticize CNN on CNN. Not to mention the chance to get the blog out to a much, much, much wider audience, which I’ve already noticed has made a difference (hi, CNN people!).
They mailed me out a web-cam, which I had to hook up to a friend’s computer because mine is a wheezy dinosaur incapable of supporting such technology, and had me on-hand for an interview during a taping of “On the Story” the Friday before Mardi Gras. This, by the way, while parades were going by and I was missing out on incredibly valuable beads and other throws, but these are the sacrifices I’m willing to make to get New Orleans’ story told.
Let me tell you how surreal this whole experience was. First off, once I got the camera working, it put a picture of me up on the computer that I could watch. After spending a good twenty minutes getting me placed correctly, all I could think while looking at this utterly unflattering close-up of my face was, “Wow, I am so fucking bald.” I had a good forty-five minutes of sitting there waiting for my turn to think about that. Plus, that close-up eliminated any chance of showing off my extremely cool "Defend New Orleans” sweatshirt.
Also on the computer was a shot of the woman interviewing me, Jacki Schechner, who could not have been nicer, all in this weird blurry, jumpy, slightly-delayed web-cam view. The thing about this, though, is that all the action takes place on the computer screen, while the camera is down below it, and even though I tried very hard to look at the camera while talking, I kept glancing up at the computer screen, which I could tell made it look like I was staring off into space somewhere above the audience’s heads, perhaps at the lovely art they have hanging over the back of their couch at home.
After the wait of forty-five minutes, they hit me with three questions, and I did my best to answer them intelligently, but of course I felt like I was saying all the wrong things. It’s incredibly hard to say something articulate, thoughtful, and meaningful in three minutes. All that waiting, and then bang, it’s over. Off-camera, Jacki gave me a look that was either a reassuring smile or a sign that she was a little disappointed, hopefully because we didn’t get to talk more and not because I sucked it up, though it’s hard to read expressions on a computer screen. I asked her if I did okay, and she assured me that I did, though then admitted she hadn’t been able to hear any of my answers because her producer was constantly talking in her ear. I did not find this reassuring.
Nothing against Jacki (sounds like it was more her producer's doing), but I also don’t think it’s particularly good journalism. Shouldn’t the journalist be listening to the responses given? The producer should shut up and let her listen. As a counter-example, I have been interviewed by NPR twice since the disaster. Once, when “Day by Day” talked to me and some friends about the State of the Union address, and again when I ran into an NPR reporter at a Mardi Gras party. Both times, they spent way more time talking and listening to me. During the State of the Union, Audie Cornish arrived well before the address, recorded us for at least half an hour, kept recording us during the whole speech, and interviewed us again after. It lasted for over two hours, and got edited down to about five minutes. Trust me, that five minutes is much more packed and articulate than the three minute CNN blab and dash.
That said, I actually have no real idea how I did because I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. And I certainly didn’t tell anyone else when to see it. By accident, I caught a bit of the show right before my last answer and suddenly realized that not only did they show me when actually asking me questions, but also when just referring to me, which they would do without warning. This I did not realize at the time, and I assumed I was off-camera. I can only imagine the nose-picking, beer-drinking, and crotch-scratching that went out on national television.
Oh, the horror, the horror.
As for what I said, you can read a transcript. I talked about the way New Orleans is portrayed as a polarized city – black and poor vs. rich and white – which misses a lot of complexity. Not that it doesn’t have truth to it, but it would take way more than thirty seconds, and way more space than I have on this blog, to properly discuss race, poverty, and the way those intercepted and interacted with Katrina and the on-going recovery. That’s a book I hope someone more expert than I is working on. I also talked about the portrayal of Mardi Gras as just a big party, though didn’t have time to explain what it really means, and had no chance to mention the obsession with sensationalism, the insistence on controversy, the determination to strip everything down to two opposing views. Hopefully, I’ll elaborate on all that later on this blog.
Ms. Strawberry asked me how it went, and I replied with a shrug and “eh.” Without further explanation, she said, “It lasted two minutes and they asked all the wrong questions.” Yep, pretty much.
So, if you really want my ten-second sound bite on what the media, by which I really mean television news, did wrong before, during, and after Katrina (or any story), it’s this: despite their unbelievably massive resources and serious responsibility to a properly functioning democracy, they never take the time to get the story right.
Still too long? Then I’ll give you one word: over-simplification. That’s the theme of everything I said to CNN. But then, I guess that’s why I keep blogging.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Throw Me Something, Mister!
In the immediate aftermath of the storm – by which I mean October, five or six weeks later – while phones were still sketchy and nobody had internet access, people started communicating by refrigerator. As the broken, stinking, duck-taped refrigerators appeared on streets all over town, people began writing on them. Despite the near-constant attention we were getting in the news those days, people still didn’t feel their voices were being heard, and so turned to graffiti on dead refrigerators to speak.
Some typical examples:
FEMA Director inside
Mail to George W. Bush c/o White House C.O.D.
Cajun Coffin
Michael Brown – Free Buffet
Decent levees: $20 million, Hurricane damage: $200 Billion, Refrigerator full of maggots: priceless
I looted after Katrina and all I got was this lousy refrigerator
New Orleanians trying to be heard by the only means available.
Similarly, right after the flood “Nagin for President” shirts popped up at a store on Magazine close to my apartment. Lately, they’ve changed to “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate City” and “No Mo’ Nagin.” Again, New Orleanians expressing ourselves perhaps because we felt our authentic voices weren’t being heard through the static of media coverage.
After Nagin made his admittedly stupid comments, a friend of mine sent a one-line email to the affect that he was worried New Orleans didn’t have the leadership it needed. In and of itself, that’s fairly innocuous, though I think only New Orleanians have the right to complain about and insult our elected officials. We earned it.
But the thing is, that was apparently the whole impression my friend had of Mayor Nagin, because that’s what got reported about him outside of New Orleans. Stupid as the comments were, they certainly aren’t the sum total of what C. Ray has done (and not done) as Mayor both before and after the deluge.
What does this have to with anything? Well, you might have heard that it’s Mardi Gras season around here, and if you haven’t – what the hell’s wrong with you? It’s Carnival, people, get on it. There has been a little controversy over whether we should have Mardi Gras or not, as if it’s something that even could be called off if we wanted, but nevertheless, it’s on. Since this is the first Mardi Gras after that other little event that put New Orleans in the national spotlight for a moment, we have more reporters than ever descending on us to send out missives to all of you about it.
I can imagine those reports now: pictures of drunken frat boys screaming for bared breasts on Bourbon juxtaposed with shots of annihilated Ninth Ward homes, accompanied by some no doubt well-meaning reporter shaking his head over our irresponsibility and hedonism in the face of disaster. In fact, according to the Times-Pic, it’s already started.
Let me tell you something – those drunken frat boys and the “Girls Gone Wild” hopefuls paired with them? Tourists. Locals don’t bother with that crap. Every time people come and visit for Mardi Gras, they inevitably ask about going to Bourbon Street, and I always tell them it will be stupid and annoying, and they always insist, so we go, and you know what? It’s stupid and annoying and packed with tourists.
Today I went to some parades. I met my neighbor up at the parade route who had a few friends with her, including one who just had a baby. The baby mostly hung out in her stroller sleeping, though she would occasionally laugh at the floats. We all yelled our heads off to get stuffed animals for her, and got plenty, and none of us had to bare any breasts to do so. We waved at neighbors as kids ran around everywhere, grabbing any beads that nobody managed to catch. Of my friends, I was the only one drinking anything, but that whisky from my flask was strictly for medicinal purposes – it was damn cold today. We also cheered mightily for the marching bands, particularly the MAX band, a combination of students from St. Mary’s, St. Augustine’s, and Xavier Prep because the schools individually don’t have enough returned students to march alone. Their parents and friends walked along next to them, no doubt many of them coming in from Baton Rouge or Houston or wherever they evacuated to just to support their kids, and one carrying a tray of hot chocolate, much appreciated by the cop standing guard on our corner.
You might think I’m laying it on a bit thick, but I’m not exaggerating even a bit. Just as the “Chocolate City” comments aren’t the sum total of Nagin, the frats boys and wild girls aren’t the sum total of Mardi Gras. New Orleans is way more complex, way more intriguing, and way more soulful than those snapshots. Just try and keep that in mind when you see the simplistic report from a journalist who hasn’t bothered to take the time to get it.
You could even print this out and magnet it to your refrigerator.
Some typical examples:
FEMA Director inside
Mail to George W. Bush c/o White House C.O.D.
Cajun Coffin
Michael Brown – Free Buffet
Decent levees: $20 million, Hurricane damage: $200 Billion, Refrigerator full of maggots: priceless
I looted after Katrina and all I got was this lousy refrigerator
New Orleanians trying to be heard by the only means available.
Similarly, right after the flood “Nagin for President” shirts popped up at a store on Magazine close to my apartment. Lately, they’ve changed to “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate City” and “No Mo’ Nagin.” Again, New Orleanians expressing ourselves perhaps because we felt our authentic voices weren’t being heard through the static of media coverage.
After Nagin made his admittedly stupid comments, a friend of mine sent a one-line email to the affect that he was worried New Orleans didn’t have the leadership it needed. In and of itself, that’s fairly innocuous, though I think only New Orleanians have the right to complain about and insult our elected officials. We earned it.
But the thing is, that was apparently the whole impression my friend had of Mayor Nagin, because that’s what got reported about him outside of New Orleans. Stupid as the comments were, they certainly aren’t the sum total of what C. Ray has done (and not done) as Mayor both before and after the deluge.
What does this have to with anything? Well, you might have heard that it’s Mardi Gras season around here, and if you haven’t – what the hell’s wrong with you? It’s Carnival, people, get on it. There has been a little controversy over whether we should have Mardi Gras or not, as if it’s something that even could be called off if we wanted, but nevertheless, it’s on. Since this is the first Mardi Gras after that other little event that put New Orleans in the national spotlight for a moment, we have more reporters than ever descending on us to send out missives to all of you about it.
I can imagine those reports now: pictures of drunken frat boys screaming for bared breasts on Bourbon juxtaposed with shots of annihilated Ninth Ward homes, accompanied by some no doubt well-meaning reporter shaking his head over our irresponsibility and hedonism in the face of disaster. In fact, according to the Times-Pic, it’s already started.
Let me tell you something – those drunken frat boys and the “Girls Gone Wild” hopefuls paired with them? Tourists. Locals don’t bother with that crap. Every time people come and visit for Mardi Gras, they inevitably ask about going to Bourbon Street, and I always tell them it will be stupid and annoying, and they always insist, so we go, and you know what? It’s stupid and annoying and packed with tourists.
Today I went to some parades. I met my neighbor up at the parade route who had a few friends with her, including one who just had a baby. The baby mostly hung out in her stroller sleeping, though she would occasionally laugh at the floats. We all yelled our heads off to get stuffed animals for her, and got plenty, and none of us had to bare any breasts to do so. We waved at neighbors as kids ran around everywhere, grabbing any beads that nobody managed to catch. Of my friends, I was the only one drinking anything, but that whisky from my flask was strictly for medicinal purposes – it was damn cold today. We also cheered mightily for the marching bands, particularly the MAX band, a combination of students from St. Mary’s, St. Augustine’s, and Xavier Prep because the schools individually don’t have enough returned students to march alone. Their parents and friends walked along next to them, no doubt many of them coming in from Baton Rouge or Houston or wherever they evacuated to just to support their kids, and one carrying a tray of hot chocolate, much appreciated by the cop standing guard on our corner.
You might think I’m laying it on a bit thick, but I’m not exaggerating even a bit. Just as the “Chocolate City” comments aren’t the sum total of Nagin, the frats boys and wild girls aren’t the sum total of Mardi Gras. New Orleans is way more complex, way more intriguing, and way more soulful than those snapshots. Just try and keep that in mind when you see the simplistic report from a journalist who hasn’t bothered to take the time to get it.
You could even print this out and magnet it to your refrigerator.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Union? What Union?
We’re going to start today with a historical pop quiz (don’t worry, I’m a teacher – licensed to quiz).
First question: While Emperor of Rome, Nero was at war with which countries/empires?
Second question: What did he do while Rome burned?
Answers will be at the end. In the meantime, let me talk about Bush’s State of the Union for a bit.
I’m going to start with the numbers: out of over 5,300 words, a scant 134 addressed the devastation of the Gulf Coast and my home. Back in early December, I wrote that living in New Orleans felt like being “forgotten, and left to rot.” Nothing Bush has done since then has changed that feeling, and his State of the Union address certainly emphasized it quite nicely.
Since it won’t take long, I’m going to take a close look at those words:
“A hopeful society comes to the aid of fellow citizens in times of suffering and emergency …”
Society, American and foreign, did indeed come to our aid during the emergency, and we are deeply grateful for it, though I don’t think I need to point out that the federal government was a tad slow in responding itself.
“… and stays at it until they're back on their feet.”
I guess that’s what a hopeful society would do, but the federal government is apparently only interested until everyone in the rest of the country gets Katrina fatigue.
“So far, the federal government has committed $85 billion to the people of the Gulf Coast and New Orleans.”
True, though he didn’t bother to mention that the vast majority of that was required by law. We actually have laws that dictate what the federal government MUST do in response to disasters, and the Bush administration has indeed obeyed the law (for a change).
“We are removing debris …”
Actually, most of the debris is still here, over five months later. A lot of what has been “removed” only got shuffled around. There’s a neutral ground in the city that FEMA turned into an impromptu dumping ground. The trash there has piled up to about 4 stories and extends for block after block after block – it’s become quite the tourist attraction. Also, FEMA will stop removing trash before the month is out, and we had to beg them to extend their time to get that.
“… and repairing highways …”
The rebuilding of the twin span is the only repair that has been completed and completed ahead of schedule, so I do have to give the federal government props for rebuilding … a federal interstate highway. Uh, thanks.
“… and rebuilding stronger levees.”
At best, he is entirely misinformed here, or he’s just lying. The Army Corps of Engineers has told us again and again and again that they are only mandated to rebuild the levees to the (clearly inadequate) strength they had before the storm. We have asked repeatedly for stronger levees, and been denied every time.
“We’re providing business loans …”
The SBA is apparently doing this, though after some guy showed up and spent a long time measuring my house and assuring me they would get money into my hands quickly, I have yet to hear from them again or been able to get a straight answer when I call them. At this point, I wish they would just tell me I’m not approved and get it over with.
On a less personal note, the farmers of Louisiana have yet to receive assistance, while in 2004 the farmers of Florida received assistance two weeks after Hurricane Charley. Two weeks vs. five months, though I’m sure that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the president’s brother being governor of Florida.
“… and housing assistance.”
Is he referring to the assistance I finally got a week ago? Or the assistance that I’m not going to get in the future? Or the way FEMA kicked people out of shelters last month? Or how it took a court order to get FEMA to pay for hotels? And that ran out two days ago and those people are now on the street? Did I mention that at least 80% of New Orleans is still uninhabitable?
“Yet, as we address these immediate needs …”
In nothing remotely resembling an immediate manner.
“… we must also address deeper challenges that existed before the storm arrived. In New Orleans and in other places,”
Thank you for using the annihilation of my city as a way to talk about problems elsewhere. How deeply respectful.
“… many of our fellow citizens have felt excluded from the promise of our country.”
Actually, at this point I’m less concerned with the country as a whole keeping its pretty vaguely defined promise, as I am with one person keeping the promise he made in Jackson Square not too long ago, the one that mentioned doing “whatever it takes” to rebuild New Orleans. Anytime he wants to keep that one is okay by me.
“The answer is not only temporary relief, but schools that teach every child, and job skills that bring upward mobility, and more opportunities to own a home and start a business.”
So to achieve that, Bush is opposing the Baker bill, the only piece of legislation aimed at actually helping the people of Louisiana with that home-ownership vision thing.
And that’s it. No mention of the nearly two thousand (so far) people who lost their lives, no serious mention of the 2 million Americans that can’t get back to their homes, and obviously no mention of anything resembling some specifics of what is to be done.
Human-animal hybrids – that demands legislation. The recovery of the Gulf Coast? Not so much.
But besides counting words or proposing legislative specifics, there are other ways of weighing the importance of the various issues Bush mentioned. For instance, you ever notice that news stories start with the most important aspect and go from there? Standard journalism style - you start with the most important thing because that’s as long as anyone can be expected to listen, and then blather on to the least important thing at the end.
By that measure, the devastation of the Gulf Coast is not the last thing that Bush wants to deal with, just next to last. Absolute last place belongs to African-Americans with AIDS. So we have that going for us, though I’m not sure where that puts African-American New Orleanians with AIDS.
Bush mentioned history a lot in his speech, and clearly was trying to put the war with Iraq into the sweep of history. After the speech, the commentariat blabbed quite a bit about Bush aiming for his place in history.
For the record, Nero warred with Britain and the Parthians, expensive conflicts that, combined with his ever more tyrannical domestic policies, so turned the Senate and the people against him that he had to commit suicide to avoid execution. The Parthian Empire, by the way, was based out of the Middle East, not that anyone but ancient history majors remembers any of that.
But despite the fact that Rome didn’t have fiddles, everyone knows Nero fiddled while Rome burned. He actually sang, but the idea is remembered.
So don’t worry, George W. Bush, your place in history is assured – you just keep fiddling.
First question: While Emperor of Rome, Nero was at war with which countries/empires?
Second question: What did he do while Rome burned?
Answers will be at the end. In the meantime, let me talk about Bush’s State of the Union for a bit.
I’m going to start with the numbers: out of over 5,300 words, a scant 134 addressed the devastation of the Gulf Coast and my home. Back in early December, I wrote that living in New Orleans felt like being “forgotten, and left to rot.” Nothing Bush has done since then has changed that feeling, and his State of the Union address certainly emphasized it quite nicely.
Since it won’t take long, I’m going to take a close look at those words:
“A hopeful society comes to the aid of fellow citizens in times of suffering and emergency …”
Society, American and foreign, did indeed come to our aid during the emergency, and we are deeply grateful for it, though I don’t think I need to point out that the federal government was a tad slow in responding itself.
“… and stays at it until they're back on their feet.”
I guess that’s what a hopeful society would do, but the federal government is apparently only interested until everyone in the rest of the country gets Katrina fatigue.
“So far, the federal government has committed $85 billion to the people of the Gulf Coast and New Orleans.”
True, though he didn’t bother to mention that the vast majority of that was required by law. We actually have laws that dictate what the federal government MUST do in response to disasters, and the Bush administration has indeed obeyed the law (for a change).
“We are removing debris …”
Actually, most of the debris is still here, over five months later. A lot of what has been “removed” only got shuffled around. There’s a neutral ground in the city that FEMA turned into an impromptu dumping ground. The trash there has piled up to about 4 stories and extends for block after block after block – it’s become quite the tourist attraction. Also, FEMA will stop removing trash before the month is out, and we had to beg them to extend their time to get that.
“… and repairing highways …”
The rebuilding of the twin span is the only repair that has been completed and completed ahead of schedule, so I do have to give the federal government props for rebuilding … a federal interstate highway. Uh, thanks.
“… and rebuilding stronger levees.”
At best, he is entirely misinformed here, or he’s just lying. The Army Corps of Engineers has told us again and again and again that they are only mandated to rebuild the levees to the (clearly inadequate) strength they had before the storm. We have asked repeatedly for stronger levees, and been denied every time.
“We’re providing business loans …”
The SBA is apparently doing this, though after some guy showed up and spent a long time measuring my house and assuring me they would get money into my hands quickly, I have yet to hear from them again or been able to get a straight answer when I call them. At this point, I wish they would just tell me I’m not approved and get it over with.
On a less personal note, the farmers of Louisiana have yet to receive assistance, while in 2004 the farmers of Florida received assistance two weeks after Hurricane Charley. Two weeks vs. five months, though I’m sure that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the president’s brother being governor of Florida.
“… and housing assistance.”
Is he referring to the assistance I finally got a week ago? Or the assistance that I’m not going to get in the future? Or the way FEMA kicked people out of shelters last month? Or how it took a court order to get FEMA to pay for hotels? And that ran out two days ago and those people are now on the street? Did I mention that at least 80% of New Orleans is still uninhabitable?
“Yet, as we address these immediate needs …”
In nothing remotely resembling an immediate manner.
“… we must also address deeper challenges that existed before the storm arrived. In New Orleans and in other places,”
Thank you for using the annihilation of my city as a way to talk about problems elsewhere. How deeply respectful.
“… many of our fellow citizens have felt excluded from the promise of our country.”
Actually, at this point I’m less concerned with the country as a whole keeping its pretty vaguely defined promise, as I am with one person keeping the promise he made in Jackson Square not too long ago, the one that mentioned doing “whatever it takes” to rebuild New Orleans. Anytime he wants to keep that one is okay by me.
“The answer is not only temporary relief, but schools that teach every child, and job skills that bring upward mobility, and more opportunities to own a home and start a business.”
So to achieve that, Bush is opposing the Baker bill, the only piece of legislation aimed at actually helping the people of Louisiana with that home-ownership vision thing.
And that’s it. No mention of the nearly two thousand (so far) people who lost their lives, no serious mention of the 2 million Americans that can’t get back to their homes, and obviously no mention of anything resembling some specifics of what is to be done.
Human-animal hybrids – that demands legislation. The recovery of the Gulf Coast? Not so much.
But besides counting words or proposing legislative specifics, there are other ways of weighing the importance of the various issues Bush mentioned. For instance, you ever notice that news stories start with the most important aspect and go from there? Standard journalism style - you start with the most important thing because that’s as long as anyone can be expected to listen, and then blather on to the least important thing at the end.
By that measure, the devastation of the Gulf Coast is not the last thing that Bush wants to deal with, just next to last. Absolute last place belongs to African-Americans with AIDS. So we have that going for us, though I’m not sure where that puts African-American New Orleanians with AIDS.
Bush mentioned history a lot in his speech, and clearly was trying to put the war with Iraq into the sweep of history. After the speech, the commentariat blabbed quite a bit about Bush aiming for his place in history.
For the record, Nero warred with Britain and the Parthians, expensive conflicts that, combined with his ever more tyrannical domestic policies, so turned the Senate and the people against him that he had to commit suicide to avoid execution. The Parthian Empire, by the way, was based out of the Middle East, not that anyone but ancient history majors remembers any of that.
But despite the fact that Rome didn’t have fiddles, everyone knows Nero fiddled while Rome burned. He actually sang, but the idea is remembered.
So don’t worry, George W. Bush, your place in history is assured – you just keep fiddling.
Katrina Fatigue
I know, I know – so what if the terror of Mr. Tumnus ranks higher on Bush’s to-do list than New Orleans? I understand – you all have Katrina fatigue. You’re tired of hearing about it and you want to move on.
You know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of waking up somewhere that isn’t my house everyday. I’m tired of waiting forever for insurance money and spending all my time sitting on hold trying to talk to FEMA, the SBA, mortgage companies, and banks. I’m tired of driving across town and standing in line for half an hour to get my mail. I’m tired of paying “estimated” electricity bills for a house that hasn’t had electricity since Aug. 29th out of fear that if I don’t pay, then when I get the wiring replaced they won’t flip the switch for me.
I’m also tired of non-working stoplights, like the one on St. Charles that constantly showed green while blinking yellow – what does that even mean? We all took it to mean we could go through the intersection, just really, really slowly. But hey, at least it’s one of the 5% of stoplights in the city that work at all. I’m tired of downed power lines and dirty water lines. They’re on everything – houses, streetlights, cars, trees. I’m tired of trash piled high on every curb and I’m tired of everyone having Katrina Kough.
The smell. Jesus, I’m sick to death of the smell.
I’m tired of bouncing between relief I have a job now and worry that next fall Loyola will have a freshman class of 5 and I’ll be out of a job. Again. With a mortgage.
I heard another grocery store was opening up, and I was so excited I dreamed about it, literally dreamed of wandering down aisles of fully stocked shelves, kicking my heels up as I rounded a corner heading from orange juice to whole wheat bread. I woke up joyous, and the truly pathetic thing is that was one of the Absolute Happiest Dreams I Have Ever Had in My Entire Life Ever.
I’m kinda fatigued over things like that.
Here’s what else I’m tired of – using September 11th to justify everything. Bush didn’t get around to mentioning the Gulf Coast until an hour into the address, but he got 9-11 in there in three minutes and then went on to brag about Iraq for an hour, despite the fact that Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with September 11th, had no ties to al Qaeda, and no weapons of mass destruction to sell to them even if he did. And yes, I’m tired of pointing that out over and over again, too. I have September 11th fatigue. Or, I’m sorry, is that in bad taste?
I’m tired of it still looking like September around here.
Everyone I know has had the conversation with some well-meaning friend from some other place who says something along the lines of “Well, sounds like everything’s pretty much back to normal.” No, it’s not back to normal. It’s so far from normal we’ll never be normal again. It’s not that the work isn’t done yet – it won’t be done for several years. It’s that the work hasn’t even really started. Despite what Bush claimed a while back, New Orleans is not a “nice place to bring your family.” There are plenty of New Orleanians who don’t want to move their families back because they’re worried their children will get sick, and I don’t blame them.
I’m tired of everything, from the beer I drink (Abita Restoration Ale – a buck from every six pack goes to the recovery effort) to the classes I teach to the small talk with strangers, absolutely everything being about the recovery. I long for the day when every conversation doesn’t start with, “So, how’d you make out?” And I’m tired of the fact that there’s no need whatsoever to explain what that question refers to.
So don’t mention Katrina fatigue to me, not unless you enjoy the feeling of my boot up your ass. I don’t have Katrina fatigue – I have Katrina complete and total fucking exhaustion. I would give anything for the luxury of having Katrina fatigue.
You know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of waking up somewhere that isn’t my house everyday. I’m tired of waiting forever for insurance money and spending all my time sitting on hold trying to talk to FEMA, the SBA, mortgage companies, and banks. I’m tired of driving across town and standing in line for half an hour to get my mail. I’m tired of paying “estimated” electricity bills for a house that hasn’t had electricity since Aug. 29th out of fear that if I don’t pay, then when I get the wiring replaced they won’t flip the switch for me.
I’m also tired of non-working stoplights, like the one on St. Charles that constantly showed green while blinking yellow – what does that even mean? We all took it to mean we could go through the intersection, just really, really slowly. But hey, at least it’s one of the 5% of stoplights in the city that work at all. I’m tired of downed power lines and dirty water lines. They’re on everything – houses, streetlights, cars, trees. I’m tired of trash piled high on every curb and I’m tired of everyone having Katrina Kough.
The smell. Jesus, I’m sick to death of the smell.
I’m tired of bouncing between relief I have a job now and worry that next fall Loyola will have a freshman class of 5 and I’ll be out of a job. Again. With a mortgage.
I heard another grocery store was opening up, and I was so excited I dreamed about it, literally dreamed of wandering down aisles of fully stocked shelves, kicking my heels up as I rounded a corner heading from orange juice to whole wheat bread. I woke up joyous, and the truly pathetic thing is that was one of the Absolute Happiest Dreams I Have Ever Had in My Entire Life Ever.
I’m kinda fatigued over things like that.
Here’s what else I’m tired of – using September 11th to justify everything. Bush didn’t get around to mentioning the Gulf Coast until an hour into the address, but he got 9-11 in there in three minutes and then went on to brag about Iraq for an hour, despite the fact that Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with September 11th, had no ties to al Qaeda, and no weapons of mass destruction to sell to them even if he did. And yes, I’m tired of pointing that out over and over again, too. I have September 11th fatigue. Or, I’m sorry, is that in bad taste?
I’m tired of it still looking like September around here.
Everyone I know has had the conversation with some well-meaning friend from some other place who says something along the lines of “Well, sounds like everything’s pretty much back to normal.” No, it’s not back to normal. It’s so far from normal we’ll never be normal again. It’s not that the work isn’t done yet – it won’t be done for several years. It’s that the work hasn’t even really started. Despite what Bush claimed a while back, New Orleans is not a “nice place to bring your family.” There are plenty of New Orleanians who don’t want to move their families back because they’re worried their children will get sick, and I don’t blame them.
I’m tired of everything, from the beer I drink (Abita Restoration Ale – a buck from every six pack goes to the recovery effort) to the classes I teach to the small talk with strangers, absolutely everything being about the recovery. I long for the day when every conversation doesn’t start with, “So, how’d you make out?” And I’m tired of the fact that there’s no need whatsoever to explain what that question refers to.
So don’t mention Katrina fatigue to me, not unless you enjoy the feeling of my boot up your ass. I don’t have Katrina fatigue – I have Katrina complete and total fucking exhaustion. I would give anything for the luxury of having Katrina fatigue.
Baker Update
Reconstruction czar Donald Powell defends the administration's opposition to the Baker bill here, a defense he didn't even have the courtesy to send to the New Orleans Times-Picayune. They had to pick it up later from the Washington Post.
The Times-Pic explains why Powell is dead wrong here and here.
I actually find this encouraging. Powell wouldn't bother trying to defend the adminstration if they thought the Baker bill was dead. Clearly they're worried it might pass.
Of course, it hasn't passed yet, and there are more hurdles, namely a unified levee board and off-shore oil revenues. More on those later.
The Times-Pic explains why Powell is dead wrong here and here.
I actually find this encouraging. Powell wouldn't bother trying to defend the adminstration if they thought the Baker bill was dead. Clearly they're worried it might pass.
Of course, it hasn't passed yet, and there are more hurdles, namely a unified levee board and off-shore oil revenues. More on those later.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
"You're Either With Us, or Against Us"
Months ago, Bush dropped in on New Orleans to assure us that the country would do “whatever it takes” to rebuild New Orleans “bigger and better.”
Fact is, we don’t even want “bigger,” just “better.” Every New Orleanian knows our beloved city is going to be half its former size, but we want what comes back to be in better shape than the whole we had before. I wouldn’t think that’s too much to ask, but apparently it is.
The White House has decided to oppose the Baker bill, a homeowner bailout bill that is essential to Louisiana’s recovery. Republican Representative Richard Baker’s bill is pretty simple: it would set up a governmental agency to buy flood-damaged homes for resale to developers. It’s meant to ensure that rebuilding is given some direction and that, despite the fact that only about half of New Orleanians are coming back, we’re not going to be surrounded by abandoned, rotting homes.
(For more on the bill and it’s history, go here, here, and/or below.)
Bush and Donald Powell, the administration’s head of hurricane recovery, maintain that the bill isn’t necessary because Louisiana is receiving block grants to address the problem. They say Mississippi is making do with the block grants, but that ignores the fact that less than half as many homes were affected in Mississippi, and the damage to hospitals, schools, businesses and other infrastructure in Louisiana is exponentially higher. And yet, the block grants are approximately the same. They say that money should be more than enough, but their math is way off.
In Louisiana, an estimated 80,000 homes without insurance were damaged by Katrina and Rita, another 140,000 with insurance. However, Bush and Powell think the block grants should be concentrated on owner-occupied homes outside the flood zone, or about 20,000 homes. Sure, if you’re limiting yourself to helping out 20,000 instead of more than ten times that, absolutely the block grant should cover it. Never mind my friends Gavin and Allison that own rental property, or my neighbors that have owned their house since it was built more than 80 years ago but live within the flood zone.
I guess the administration doesn’t want to help people that lived within the flood zone but didn’t have flood insurance because that would be rewarding people for not doing what they were supposed to. But the federal government, and flood insurance is a federal program, only requires people to have flood insurance if they have a mortgage. My neighbors, for instance, paid off their house a long time ago. They played by the rules. You want to require everyone to have flood insurance, mortgage or no? Fine. But that’s not the way it was before the federally built levees gave way.
During a press conference, Bush claimed that Louisiana needs to agree on a plan, and that’s the problem. Not to put to fine a point on it, but that’s complete bullshit. We have agreed on a plan, and the Baker bill is it. It’s a Republican bill that Democrats back. The Urban Land Institute agrees a homeowner buyout bill is necessary, and the Governor’s commission and the Mayor’s commission both came out with plans that incorporate the Baker bill. People have already started rebuilding their homes and neighborhoods with the understanding that the Baker bill, or something very much like it, would be passed. Baker has been negotiating with the administration over the bill since October, and for the administration to have allowed us to believe in this for months and then jerk it away isn’t just irresponsible and bad governing, it’s cruel.
However, it’s not sunk yet. Just because Bush doesn’t back it, doesn’t mean the bill can’t pass anyway. The bill passed a house committee last year 50-9, and has received positive feedback from House leadership. The House ran out of time before the recess last year, but Baker is bringing it back this year.
That’s where you come in. Everybody has been asking me what they can do to help, and this is it. I wish that the recovery of New Orleans, and the rest of the Gulf Coast for that matter, was something we could take care of locally, but unfortunately we need the help of the whole country. I need you to write or call your representatives and senators and urge them to pass the Baker bill. Send this to everyone you know and ask them to do the same (there’s a little email icon at the end of this – it’s so simple!).
Why do I want you to do this? Because when you come to visit, I don’t want you to be sitting in my house in the middle of stinking, dangerous, deserted blight. That would make for a pretty crappy Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest. Don’t make me beg, people.
This goes double for everyone in Virginia. Rep. Tom Davis (Republican) is chairman of the Select Committee on Katrina (for other committee members, go here), and he’s skeptical. He wants “market forces” to dictate rebuilding, but market forces will lead to exactly what we don’t need – homes rebuilt here and there, surrounded by abandoned, foreclosed rot. This guy needs to be leaned on, and let him know that if he won’t help, you’ll vote him out.
Recently, I’ve decided to be a one-issue voter. Plenty of people spend their entire lives voting on one issue, so I figure basing all my decisions on the recovery for four years is pretty reasonable. As Bush said, “You’re either with us, or against us.” And when he came out against the Baker bill, Bush demonstrated that despite his rhetoric, he’s against us.
Fact is, we don’t even want “bigger,” just “better.” Every New Orleanian knows our beloved city is going to be half its former size, but we want what comes back to be in better shape than the whole we had before. I wouldn’t think that’s too much to ask, but apparently it is.
The White House has decided to oppose the Baker bill, a homeowner bailout bill that is essential to Louisiana’s recovery. Republican Representative Richard Baker’s bill is pretty simple: it would set up a governmental agency to buy flood-damaged homes for resale to developers. It’s meant to ensure that rebuilding is given some direction and that, despite the fact that only about half of New Orleanians are coming back, we’re not going to be surrounded by abandoned, rotting homes.
(For more on the bill and it’s history, go here, here, and/or below.)
Bush and Donald Powell, the administration’s head of hurricane recovery, maintain that the bill isn’t necessary because Louisiana is receiving block grants to address the problem. They say Mississippi is making do with the block grants, but that ignores the fact that less than half as many homes were affected in Mississippi, and the damage to hospitals, schools, businesses and other infrastructure in Louisiana is exponentially higher. And yet, the block grants are approximately the same. They say that money should be more than enough, but their math is way off.
In Louisiana, an estimated 80,000 homes without insurance were damaged by Katrina and Rita, another 140,000 with insurance. However, Bush and Powell think the block grants should be concentrated on owner-occupied homes outside the flood zone, or about 20,000 homes. Sure, if you’re limiting yourself to helping out 20,000 instead of more than ten times that, absolutely the block grant should cover it. Never mind my friends Gavin and Allison that own rental property, or my neighbors that have owned their house since it was built more than 80 years ago but live within the flood zone.
I guess the administration doesn’t want to help people that lived within the flood zone but didn’t have flood insurance because that would be rewarding people for not doing what they were supposed to. But the federal government, and flood insurance is a federal program, only requires people to have flood insurance if they have a mortgage. My neighbors, for instance, paid off their house a long time ago. They played by the rules. You want to require everyone to have flood insurance, mortgage or no? Fine. But that’s not the way it was before the federally built levees gave way.
During a press conference, Bush claimed that Louisiana needs to agree on a plan, and that’s the problem. Not to put to fine a point on it, but that’s complete bullshit. We have agreed on a plan, and the Baker bill is it. It’s a Republican bill that Democrats back. The Urban Land Institute agrees a homeowner buyout bill is necessary, and the Governor’s commission and the Mayor’s commission both came out with plans that incorporate the Baker bill. People have already started rebuilding their homes and neighborhoods with the understanding that the Baker bill, or something very much like it, would be passed. Baker has been negotiating with the administration over the bill since October, and for the administration to have allowed us to believe in this for months and then jerk it away isn’t just irresponsible and bad governing, it’s cruel.
However, it’s not sunk yet. Just because Bush doesn’t back it, doesn’t mean the bill can’t pass anyway. The bill passed a house committee last year 50-9, and has received positive feedback from House leadership. The House ran out of time before the recess last year, but Baker is bringing it back this year.
That’s where you come in. Everybody has been asking me what they can do to help, and this is it. I wish that the recovery of New Orleans, and the rest of the Gulf Coast for that matter, was something we could take care of locally, but unfortunately we need the help of the whole country. I need you to write or call your representatives and senators and urge them to pass the Baker bill. Send this to everyone you know and ask them to do the same (there’s a little email icon at the end of this – it’s so simple!).
Why do I want you to do this? Because when you come to visit, I don’t want you to be sitting in my house in the middle of stinking, dangerous, deserted blight. That would make for a pretty crappy Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest. Don’t make me beg, people.
This goes double for everyone in Virginia. Rep. Tom Davis (Republican) is chairman of the Select Committee on Katrina (for other committee members, go here), and he’s skeptical. He wants “market forces” to dictate rebuilding, but market forces will lead to exactly what we don’t need – homes rebuilt here and there, surrounded by abandoned, foreclosed rot. This guy needs to be leaned on, and let him know that if he won’t help, you’ll vote him out.
Recently, I’ve decided to be a one-issue voter. Plenty of people spend their entire lives voting on one issue, so I figure basing all my decisions on the recovery for four years is pretty reasonable. As Bush said, “You’re either with us, or against us.” And when he came out against the Baker bill, Bush demonstrated that despite his rhetoric, he’s against us.
The Baker Bill
The whys and wherefores, as simply as I could do them:
First, it prevents mortgage companies from being saddled with defaulted mortgages on hundreds of worthless homes. If homeowners don’t have flood insurance and can’t rebuild, many of them will simply default and mortgage companies will be left with block after block of stinking messes.
For some homeowners, it provides them with a way out of an unwinnable situation, namely a wrecked house and no insurance money. The government would pay them no less than 60% of their equity, and pay off the mortgage. Nobody gets everything, but everybody gets something.
Additionally, since everyone agrees that New Orleans’ population is going to shrink by about half, we need to shrink the city’s size as well. If we don’t, people are going to be stuck in blighted neighborhoods, with a rebuilt house in the middle of nowhere, which would also require the city to rebuild infrastructure like roads, sewer lines, and flood prevention for an area twice the size as needed with half the tax revenue. This bill gives people who want to return to New Orleans a way to get out of unsafe, low-lying neighborhoods and into neighborhoods on higher ground.
For people like me - who have insurance, want to rebuild, and live in a relatively high, safe neighborhood - the bill assures us that we’re not going to rebuild into a blighted neighborhood. Even if all my neighbors don’t come back (and I know they’re not), this bill means something will happen to those houses and they won’t just sit next to mine and rot.
Aside from rebuilding homes, New Orleans needs to strengthen its levees, and return some land to wetlands to act as a natural hurricane barrier and flood absorber (might as well do something with those unoccupied neighborhoods). Plus, it wants to put in a light-rail commuter train that would run to Baton Rouge and Mississippi, providing a cheap, quick evacuation route. All of that is going to take land, land that homes are on now. The government would have to seize this land through eminent domain, which would entail potentially hundreds of court cases, thousands and thousands of dollars to fight those court cases, and years to settle them all. The Baker bill would hopefully speed and simplify the process.
Lastly, whenever a natural disaster hits, the feds write some checks. None of that is ever repaid. On the other hand, this bill actually will give the federal government a return on its investment when the properties are resold.
In short, everybody wins. That usually means that a bill doesn’t have the proverbial snowball’s chance in Hell, but how about, just this once, we buck tradition, give the finger to history, and make it happen anyway?
First, it prevents mortgage companies from being saddled with defaulted mortgages on hundreds of worthless homes. If homeowners don’t have flood insurance and can’t rebuild, many of them will simply default and mortgage companies will be left with block after block of stinking messes.
For some homeowners, it provides them with a way out of an unwinnable situation, namely a wrecked house and no insurance money. The government would pay them no less than 60% of their equity, and pay off the mortgage. Nobody gets everything, but everybody gets something.
Additionally, since everyone agrees that New Orleans’ population is going to shrink by about half, we need to shrink the city’s size as well. If we don’t, people are going to be stuck in blighted neighborhoods, with a rebuilt house in the middle of nowhere, which would also require the city to rebuild infrastructure like roads, sewer lines, and flood prevention for an area twice the size as needed with half the tax revenue. This bill gives people who want to return to New Orleans a way to get out of unsafe, low-lying neighborhoods and into neighborhoods on higher ground.
For people like me - who have insurance, want to rebuild, and live in a relatively high, safe neighborhood - the bill assures us that we’re not going to rebuild into a blighted neighborhood. Even if all my neighbors don’t come back (and I know they’re not), this bill means something will happen to those houses and they won’t just sit next to mine and rot.
Aside from rebuilding homes, New Orleans needs to strengthen its levees, and return some land to wetlands to act as a natural hurricane barrier and flood absorber (might as well do something with those unoccupied neighborhoods). Plus, it wants to put in a light-rail commuter train that would run to Baton Rouge and Mississippi, providing a cheap, quick evacuation route. All of that is going to take land, land that homes are on now. The government would have to seize this land through eminent domain, which would entail potentially hundreds of court cases, thousands and thousands of dollars to fight those court cases, and years to settle them all. The Baker bill would hopefully speed and simplify the process.
Lastly, whenever a natural disaster hits, the feds write some checks. None of that is ever repaid. On the other hand, this bill actually will give the federal government a return on its investment when the properties are resold.
In short, everybody wins. That usually means that a bill doesn’t have the proverbial snowball’s chance in Hell, but how about, just this once, we buck tradition, give the finger to history, and make it happen anyway?
What Nixon and I Have in Common
I am a “Daily Show” addict. I don’t mind admitting it’s where I get most of my news, and that I trust Jon Stewart more than any other newscaster. Sure, it’s the “fake” news, but it’s also more honest than any of the “real” news programs out there. We live in postmodern times, folks. The revolution already happened, but nobody noticed.
Anyway, so I’m watching it on Monday, and Jon Stewart was interviewing this guy Fred Barnes, a man who has apparently written a book that ranks Dubya as a president barely one step below George Washington in the Greatest President Ever Sweepstakes. Needless to say, the man’s judgment is seriously impaired. He tried to defend this position by explaining what a rebel Dubya is, bucking the Washington establishment and whatnot, to which Jon Stewart asked in what way is a sitting President, with his party in control of both houses of Congress and the judiciary as well as lobbyists and money, NOT the Washington establishment. The guy mumbled something about conservatives disagreeing with him on immigration and trailed off with some vague mention of “liberals,” who apparently are still somehow in control of everything even though nothing has gone the way liberals would have wanted them to in, say, about thirty years. Normally, I wouldn’t bother with Fred Barnes, since Dubya-fandom in and of itself isn’t a sin. Stupid, yes, and kind of sad, but not evil.
On the other hand, he referred to some “bumps in the road” that Bush has weathered through in the past year, bumps that led to otherwise inexplicable low points in his polls, and for which clearly Bush should bear no responsibility whatsoever. With a deprecating chuckle and a dismissive wave of his hand, he enumerated these “bumps in the road” – namely Katrina and Harriet Myers.
A Supreme Court nominee who failed because she was completely and totally unqualified, and a natural and man-made (them damn levees again – no, I’m not going to stop mentioning them) disaster of unequalled proportions in the history of our country - what exactly would be the points of similarity there? Leaving that aside, I would never refer to the deaths of well over a thousand people, the complete devastation of a major American city, and the annihilation of the Gulf Coast as a “bump in the road” of anyone’s presidency.
Fred Barnes did, however, articulate a view that I’m afraid is shared by too many conservatives and Republicans in this country. Specifically, the idea that the worst outcome of Katrina and Rita is that it unfairly reflected badly on Dubya. “Unfair” because how could he have possibly known that something so bad would have happened even though he received a memo explaining just such a bad thing happening shortly before it did? (And why does that sound vaguely familiar?) And “worst” because what could be worse than anything reflecting badly on our sainted leader?
Let me think – watching your family home getting tumbled into a canal and floating away comes to mind, or perhaps clinging to the roof of your house as your wife gets washed away and drowned while you can do nothing. Or even this one – your mother gets evacuated from the Superdome and five months later you still can’t find her. Just to name a few off the top of my head.
For a while now, I have been considering the necessity of compiling (to borrow an idea from the now-he-doesn’t-seem-so-bad Nixon) an Enemies List. An enumeration, if you will, of those that stand opposed, either directly or through inaction, to the recovery of my city and the coasts of Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida. Because of his utter insensitivity, his complete lack of compassion, and his total incomprehension when confronted with tragedy, Fred Barnes has moved me to finally do so.
I would give him the top spot, but really, Michael Brown worked way too hard to deserve that honor.
It is a list that I’m afraid isn’t going to take too long to grow.
Anyway, so I’m watching it on Monday, and Jon Stewart was interviewing this guy Fred Barnes, a man who has apparently written a book that ranks Dubya as a president barely one step below George Washington in the Greatest President Ever Sweepstakes. Needless to say, the man’s judgment is seriously impaired. He tried to defend this position by explaining what a rebel Dubya is, bucking the Washington establishment and whatnot, to which Jon Stewart asked in what way is a sitting President, with his party in control of both houses of Congress and the judiciary as well as lobbyists and money, NOT the Washington establishment. The guy mumbled something about conservatives disagreeing with him on immigration and trailed off with some vague mention of “liberals,” who apparently are still somehow in control of everything even though nothing has gone the way liberals would have wanted them to in, say, about thirty years. Normally, I wouldn’t bother with Fred Barnes, since Dubya-fandom in and of itself isn’t a sin. Stupid, yes, and kind of sad, but not evil.
On the other hand, he referred to some “bumps in the road” that Bush has weathered through in the past year, bumps that led to otherwise inexplicable low points in his polls, and for which clearly Bush should bear no responsibility whatsoever. With a deprecating chuckle and a dismissive wave of his hand, he enumerated these “bumps in the road” – namely Katrina and Harriet Myers.
A Supreme Court nominee who failed because she was completely and totally unqualified, and a natural and man-made (them damn levees again – no, I’m not going to stop mentioning them) disaster of unequalled proportions in the history of our country - what exactly would be the points of similarity there? Leaving that aside, I would never refer to the deaths of well over a thousand people, the complete devastation of a major American city, and the annihilation of the Gulf Coast as a “bump in the road” of anyone’s presidency.
Fred Barnes did, however, articulate a view that I’m afraid is shared by too many conservatives and Republicans in this country. Specifically, the idea that the worst outcome of Katrina and Rita is that it unfairly reflected badly on Dubya. “Unfair” because how could he have possibly known that something so bad would have happened even though he received a memo explaining just such a bad thing happening shortly before it did? (And why does that sound vaguely familiar?) And “worst” because what could be worse than anything reflecting badly on our sainted leader?
Let me think – watching your family home getting tumbled into a canal and floating away comes to mind, or perhaps clinging to the roof of your house as your wife gets washed away and drowned while you can do nothing. Or even this one – your mother gets evacuated from the Superdome and five months later you still can’t find her. Just to name a few off the top of my head.
For a while now, I have been considering the necessity of compiling (to borrow an idea from the now-he-doesn’t-seem-so-bad Nixon) an Enemies List. An enumeration, if you will, of those that stand opposed, either directly or through inaction, to the recovery of my city and the coasts of Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida. Because of his utter insensitivity, his complete lack of compassion, and his total incomprehension when confronted with tragedy, Fred Barnes has moved me to finally do so.
I would give him the top spot, but really, Michael Brown worked way too hard to deserve that honor.
It is a list that I’m afraid isn’t going to take too long to grow.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Don't Drink and Blog
You (by which I mean the untold hundreds, nay, thousands of faithful readers of my blog) might have noticed the addition of a link list over there on the right headed "Students." Perhaps you even thought Hmm, what's that about?
At Loyola this semester, I'm teaching a class called "Writing: Technique & Technology." As part of our investigation into the impact that technology has on writing, I have them all writing blogs - thus, the list. With the blogs, they'll get first-hand experience in what it means when the traditional avenues to getting writing in front of a potential audience are removed: no submitting, no editors, no publishers, no reviews, no long wait for a book to appear, no trying to get people to shell over 20 bucks, just write something, post it, and zing! it's instantly available for the entire to read for free. So head on over and find out if they'll learn anything besides this immortal advice I passed along on the first day of class:
Don't drink and blog - it's like drunk dialing the whole world.
At Loyola this semester, I'm teaching a class called "Writing: Technique & Technology." As part of our investigation into the impact that technology has on writing, I have them all writing blogs - thus, the list. With the blogs, they'll get first-hand experience in what it means when the traditional avenues to getting writing in front of a potential audience are removed: no submitting, no editors, no publishers, no reviews, no long wait for a book to appear, no trying to get people to shell over 20 bucks, just write something, post it, and zing! it's instantly available for the entire to read for free. So head on over and find out if they'll learn anything besides this immortal advice I passed along on the first day of class:
Don't drink and blog - it's like drunk dialing the whole world.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
February 28th
Yesterday was the 12th Night of Christmas, which, if you didn't know, also marks the beginning of the Carnival season that leads up to Mardi Gras. The Phunny Phorty Phellows, unable to ride the traditional St. Charles streetcar costumed and throwing beads, instead rode the Riverfront line - in the New New Orleans, you adapt.
Lately there's been some talk about not having Mardi Gras. Mayor Nagin was for it at first, then some New Orleanians in Atlanta protested, and he backed off a little. The celebration was shortened from twelve to six days, many parades were cancelled, and the parades had to follow the same route, but then Zulu announced they wouldn't roll if they couldn't follow their traditional route. Now nobody seems to know what the hell is going on, so I figure I might as well throw in my two cents.
Mardi Gras will happen.
I understand the folks who say the city shouldn't throw a party when many of its citizens can't get back. New Orleans does need to get its folks home. I also understand the people who say we need to have Mardi Gras to show the world we can rebuild, because we also need the tourists to come back. But they're all missing the point.
Allow me to let you all in on a little secret: New Orleans doesn't put on Mardi Gras, and by that I don't just mean that the parade Krewes are private organizations. That's true, but the parades aren't Mardi Gras. Likewise, the city does pick up all the trash and provides police security at the parades, but that's hardly all there is to Mardi Gras, either.
Back in the 1700s, the Puritans managed to get Christmas outlawed. (Yes, Bill O'Reilly, the only people who ever actually did declare a war on Christmas were fundamentalist Christians.) I guess they were worried that if they had a little bit of fun, they wouldn't be able to stop. The U.S. government didn't put up a fight at the time because Christmas was seen as a British holiday and the Brits weren't really in favor in those days. But guess what happened?
If you've ever watched "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," you know - Christmas came, just the same. People still put up their trees, and ate and drank too much, and snuck kisses under the mistletoe, and said the hell with those stuffy Puritans outlawing Christmas. Mardi Gras will come, too.
Mardi Gras - Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday. The last chance to get our ya-yas out before we are reminded that from dust we all come, and to dust we all will return, not that we down here need much reminding these days. Not a day goes by that spray-painted Xs don't snatch at our eyes and whisper oblivion in our ears. Some believe it's not right to party yet. Too mnay friends and neighbors died too short a time ago. I understand them, too. But this is the city that invented the jazz funeral. After the coffin is brought out of the church and the dirge is played, the snare drum snaps and the trombone blares and everyone dances on down the street, toasting the departed and celebrating what was rather than mourning what isn't anymore. For everything else it is, Mardi Gras at its heart is about celebrating life in the face of the death that comes for everyone and everything eventually, and if there ever was a city that knows how, with a little glitter on its eyes, to not only laugh in Death's inevitable face, but also to turn around and moon him as well, it's New Orleans.
Death came for New Orleans hard a few months ago. Almost got her, too. Almost. But she is picking herself up and knocking the mud off her dress and trust me on this - she's ready to dance.
Mardi Gras means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. For some its the balls and pageantry, for others the parades. Everyone likes the music, whether its their child marching in a school band or their favorite trumpet player still going in a dingy Marigny bar at 4 in the morning. For some its just about boiling crawfish and kicking back with their family. For me it's always been about dressing up in a silly costume and running around town with my friends.
So here's my suggestion for all New Orleanians, whether real or just at heart, who can't be here on Mardi Gras - wherever you are, put on a silly hat and feather boa, cook up some gumbo, dig out that jazz or brass band or Cajun or zydeco cd, eat and drink too much, and dance with your family and friends. Just this once, let's celebrate Mardi Gras everywhere and make it a national, even an international holiday, so everyone sees and knows and feels what it's like here. Because no matter how many Katrinas come, Mardi Gras will happen. Even if no parades roll and nary a bead gets thrown, even if their aren't any balls and no band marches, we will still be out there, dancing and laughing with glitter on our eyes. Hell, we might even moon someone.
Lately there's been some talk about not having Mardi Gras. Mayor Nagin was for it at first, then some New Orleanians in Atlanta protested, and he backed off a little. The celebration was shortened from twelve to six days, many parades were cancelled, and the parades had to follow the same route, but then Zulu announced they wouldn't roll if they couldn't follow their traditional route. Now nobody seems to know what the hell is going on, so I figure I might as well throw in my two cents.
Mardi Gras will happen.
I understand the folks who say the city shouldn't throw a party when many of its citizens can't get back. New Orleans does need to get its folks home. I also understand the people who say we need to have Mardi Gras to show the world we can rebuild, because we also need the tourists to come back. But they're all missing the point.
Allow me to let you all in on a little secret: New Orleans doesn't put on Mardi Gras, and by that I don't just mean that the parade Krewes are private organizations. That's true, but the parades aren't Mardi Gras. Likewise, the city does pick up all the trash and provides police security at the parades, but that's hardly all there is to Mardi Gras, either.
Back in the 1700s, the Puritans managed to get Christmas outlawed. (Yes, Bill O'Reilly, the only people who ever actually did declare a war on Christmas were fundamentalist Christians.) I guess they were worried that if they had a little bit of fun, they wouldn't be able to stop. The U.S. government didn't put up a fight at the time because Christmas was seen as a British holiday and the Brits weren't really in favor in those days. But guess what happened?
If you've ever watched "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," you know - Christmas came, just the same. People still put up their trees, and ate and drank too much, and snuck kisses under the mistletoe, and said the hell with those stuffy Puritans outlawing Christmas. Mardi Gras will come, too.
Mardi Gras - Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday. The last chance to get our ya-yas out before we are reminded that from dust we all come, and to dust we all will return, not that we down here need much reminding these days. Not a day goes by that spray-painted Xs don't snatch at our eyes and whisper oblivion in our ears. Some believe it's not right to party yet. Too mnay friends and neighbors died too short a time ago. I understand them, too. But this is the city that invented the jazz funeral. After the coffin is brought out of the church and the dirge is played, the snare drum snaps and the trombone blares and everyone dances on down the street, toasting the departed and celebrating what was rather than mourning what isn't anymore. For everything else it is, Mardi Gras at its heart is about celebrating life in the face of the death that comes for everyone and everything eventually, and if there ever was a city that knows how, with a little glitter on its eyes, to not only laugh in Death's inevitable face, but also to turn around and moon him as well, it's New Orleans.
Death came for New Orleans hard a few months ago. Almost got her, too. Almost. But she is picking herself up and knocking the mud off her dress and trust me on this - she's ready to dance.
Mardi Gras means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. For some its the balls and pageantry, for others the parades. Everyone likes the music, whether its their child marching in a school band or their favorite trumpet player still going in a dingy Marigny bar at 4 in the morning. For some its just about boiling crawfish and kicking back with their family. For me it's always been about dressing up in a silly costume and running around town with my friends.
So here's my suggestion for all New Orleanians, whether real or just at heart, who can't be here on Mardi Gras - wherever you are, put on a silly hat and feather boa, cook up some gumbo, dig out that jazz or brass band or Cajun or zydeco cd, eat and drink too much, and dance with your family and friends. Just this once, let's celebrate Mardi Gras everywhere and make it a national, even an international holiday, so everyone sees and knows and feels what it's like here. Because no matter how many Katrinas come, Mardi Gras will happen. Even if no parades roll and nary a bead gets thrown, even if their aren't any balls and no band marches, we will still be out there, dancing and laughing with glitter on our eyes. Hell, we might even moon someone.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
What Runs on St. Charles
Lately, in an effort to get some sort of normalcy back into my life, I’ve been running again, using the old route, up St. Charles towards Audubon Park across from Tulane and Loyola and then back. The first thing I learned was that along with everything else, Katrina has taken whatever modicum of physical fitness I had been able to achieve. I guess no exercise during 5 weeks of evacuating will do that. However, when not gasping for air, stumbling in pain, and wanting to die, I have been watching the changes on one of New Orleans’ main thoroughfares over the past three months.
(Has it really been that long? I still feel like life is frozen at the beginning of the school year and here it is the end of the non-existent semester. Einstein was more right than he knew.)
When I first went running back in October sometime, the stench was pretty pervasive, even Uptown. The French Quarter stank of the raw sewage we were dumping in the Mississippi, and the flooded places reeked of mold and death, but even Uptown smelled of rot, mostly from the duck-taped refrigerators lining the streets, including St. Charles. Even though I ran on the neutral ground (median to you non-New Orleanian uncouth masses) and the refrigerators squatted and leaned on the curbs, I would still get whacked with the smell as I passed. It was always present, but when I approached a group of dead Sub-Zeroes it would suddenly become overwhelming and I would have to hold my breath until I got by.
Most of the mansions, huge old Southern homes of columns and tall windows, that line St. Charles had plywood over all their windows, and I had to jump over tons of dead branches, downed power lines, and broken poles. The huge oaks didn’t provide the shade they usually did, stripped and broken as they were. The police had taped off several spots, so I had to run off the neutral ground and into the street. No problem, though, because there were very few cars around. Mostly I saw Humvees, camouflaged green at first, then more and more tan ones as people and equipment came back from Iraq. I waved at all of them, and they all waved back.
By Thanksgiving, the smell was mostly gone, as were most of the refrigerators. The majority of the plywood was gone, too, telling the story of who had returned and who had not. I still had to avoid tree limbs and power lines, though I pretty much ran through the taped-off spots, going over or around the fallen and forgotten tape. A lot more cars zipped up and down St. Charles, many with out-of-state plates and not much regard for speed limits or understanding of how to negotiate a 4-way stop intersection (still common here in the city of little electricity and few working stoplights). We had all mostly stopped waving at the National Guard. A FEMA/Red Cross station had opened up in the Jewish Community Center, and I wiggled through the cars and trucks that constantly crowded onto the neutral ground there. The streetcar tracks, unused since Aug. 28, had disappeared under dirt, grass, and overgrowth.
These days my biggest obstacles are the deep divots and mounds of mud left by the heavy trucks driving and parking on the neutral ground, providing runners with a path that couldn’t be better designed to twist an ankle. They’re mostly repair trucks, though plenty a Hummer or SUV driver has decided that staying on roads is a law that doesn’t apply to him in Post-K N.O. The only limbs I have to jump over or run around are the ones cut down by repair crews and I haven’t smelled rot in quite a while. Of course, St. Charles didn’t flood and marks the border of what I think of as the operating corridor of New Orleans these days – the swath of town between St. Charles and the river that is the only part of town really up and running.
The streetcar tracks remain overgrown, so much in some sports that if I didn’t know where they were, I wouldn’t be able find them. Streetcars have started running limited service on the Canal and Riverside lines already, but transit officials say they won’t be rolling past the mansions and under the oaks of Uptown for at least a year. Until then, I’ll keep running along, watching the plywood come down and the trash get hauled off as the city comes back to life, inch by slow, painful inch.
(Has it really been that long? I still feel like life is frozen at the beginning of the school year and here it is the end of the non-existent semester. Einstein was more right than he knew.)
When I first went running back in October sometime, the stench was pretty pervasive, even Uptown. The French Quarter stank of the raw sewage we were dumping in the Mississippi, and the flooded places reeked of mold and death, but even Uptown smelled of rot, mostly from the duck-taped refrigerators lining the streets, including St. Charles. Even though I ran on the neutral ground (median to you non-New Orleanian uncouth masses) and the refrigerators squatted and leaned on the curbs, I would still get whacked with the smell as I passed. It was always present, but when I approached a group of dead Sub-Zeroes it would suddenly become overwhelming and I would have to hold my breath until I got by.
Most of the mansions, huge old Southern homes of columns and tall windows, that line St. Charles had plywood over all their windows, and I had to jump over tons of dead branches, downed power lines, and broken poles. The huge oaks didn’t provide the shade they usually did, stripped and broken as they were. The police had taped off several spots, so I had to run off the neutral ground and into the street. No problem, though, because there were very few cars around. Mostly I saw Humvees, camouflaged green at first, then more and more tan ones as people and equipment came back from Iraq. I waved at all of them, and they all waved back.
By Thanksgiving, the smell was mostly gone, as were most of the refrigerators. The majority of the plywood was gone, too, telling the story of who had returned and who had not. I still had to avoid tree limbs and power lines, though I pretty much ran through the taped-off spots, going over or around the fallen and forgotten tape. A lot more cars zipped up and down St. Charles, many with out-of-state plates and not much regard for speed limits or understanding of how to negotiate a 4-way stop intersection (still common here in the city of little electricity and few working stoplights). We had all mostly stopped waving at the National Guard. A FEMA/Red Cross station had opened up in the Jewish Community Center, and I wiggled through the cars and trucks that constantly crowded onto the neutral ground there. The streetcar tracks, unused since Aug. 28, had disappeared under dirt, grass, and overgrowth.
These days my biggest obstacles are the deep divots and mounds of mud left by the heavy trucks driving and parking on the neutral ground, providing runners with a path that couldn’t be better designed to twist an ankle. They’re mostly repair trucks, though plenty a Hummer or SUV driver has decided that staying on roads is a law that doesn’t apply to him in Post-K N.O. The only limbs I have to jump over or run around are the ones cut down by repair crews and I haven’t smelled rot in quite a while. Of course, St. Charles didn’t flood and marks the border of what I think of as the operating corridor of New Orleans these days – the swath of town between St. Charles and the river that is the only part of town really up and running.
The streetcar tracks remain overgrown, so much in some sports that if I didn’t know where they were, I wouldn’t be able find them. Streetcars have started running limited service on the Canal and Riverside lines already, but transit officials say they won’t be rolling past the mansions and under the oaks of Uptown for at least a year. Until then, I’ll keep running along, watching the plywood come down and the trash get hauled off as the city comes back to life, inch by slow, painful inch.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Catch 8/29
Met with the homeowner's insurance adjustor today - a very nice man, whose constant references to my "wife" were too amusing and sweet to correct, and because explanations are, well, tiring and tiresome. As we wandered around the dirty, ravaged, gutted shell of the house, he snapping pictures of a busted window pane, me trying to think of any other damage caused by wind, he asked me where we were staying and I explained I was in an apartment in the Lower Garden while she was in Alexandria, where her patients had been sent.
"Ah," he said. "A weekend marriage. I've had to do that before. It's hard."
Indeed. As Dr. A said to me later, "Maybe we should just get married. It would make things easier."
Which is as good a reason as any, I suppose, except that it really wouldn't because nothing makes anything easier around here.
Anyway, the sympathetic insurance adjustor did his best by us - they'll pay for our roof damage and window, of course, as well as for replacing and painting the ceiling in my kitchen/dining room, and he even went in for the walls there, too, because you can't really replace a ceiling without messing up the walls, not that I have walls anymore. Unfortunately, no loss of use money.
Loss of use money is meant to cover stuff like travel costs, as well as the rent you're paying while your house in uninhabitable. I've spent the last three months trying to get this from someone, anyone, to no avail. Homeowners won't cover it because what rendered the place uninhabitable was not an "insured event" - in other words, the flood, not the hurricane. FEMA won't cover it because we have flood insurance, and flood insurance won't cover it because loss of use is covered by homeowners.
Follow that? Ah, bureaucracy. Kafka would have loved it.
Catch 8/29 - everyone's run into it in one way or another. Homeowners insurance won't cover it because the flood caused it, flood insurance won't cover it because it was caused by the hurricane, and FEMA won't cover it because you have insurance - it's perfect. Feel free to scrounge up the money somehow to take somebody to court.
I have a thought - since the flood was caused by faulty levees, not the hurricane, levees built by the federal government, I think the head of the federal government should just fork it over to me. Screw all that grant/loan/taxes yadda-yadda-yadda - let's simplify this. I'll shut up if Bush and/or Cheney just peels off the lousy two or three thousand it will take to cover my rent while my house is rebuilt. For me, that's a staggering amount of money, but they're both multi-millionaires; they probably have that much lost in the cushions of their couches.
"Ah," he said. "A weekend marriage. I've had to do that before. It's hard."
Indeed. As Dr. A said to me later, "Maybe we should just get married. It would make things easier."
Which is as good a reason as any, I suppose, except that it really wouldn't because nothing makes anything easier around here.
Anyway, the sympathetic insurance adjustor did his best by us - they'll pay for our roof damage and window, of course, as well as for replacing and painting the ceiling in my kitchen/dining room, and he even went in for the walls there, too, because you can't really replace a ceiling without messing up the walls, not that I have walls anymore. Unfortunately, no loss of use money.
Loss of use money is meant to cover stuff like travel costs, as well as the rent you're paying while your house in uninhabitable. I've spent the last three months trying to get this from someone, anyone, to no avail. Homeowners won't cover it because what rendered the place uninhabitable was not an "insured event" - in other words, the flood, not the hurricane. FEMA won't cover it because we have flood insurance, and flood insurance won't cover it because loss of use is covered by homeowners.
Follow that? Ah, bureaucracy. Kafka would have loved it.
Catch 8/29 - everyone's run into it in one way or another. Homeowners insurance won't cover it because the flood caused it, flood insurance won't cover it because it was caused by the hurricane, and FEMA won't cover it because you have insurance - it's perfect. Feel free to scrounge up the money somehow to take somebody to court.
I have a thought - since the flood was caused by faulty levees, not the hurricane, levees built by the federal government, I think the head of the federal government should just fork it over to me. Screw all that grant/loan/taxes yadda-yadda-yadda - let's simplify this. I'll shut up if Bush and/or Cheney just peels off the lousy two or three thousand it will take to cover my rent while my house is rebuilt. For me, that's a staggering amount of money, but they're both multi-millionaires; they probably have that much lost in the cushions of their couches.
Mind Vs. Muscle
So I’m sanding this floor when my cell rings (no, not my floor – we’re nowhere near that stage with our house yet). No, Gav was paying me to sand someone else’s floor. See, I met this couple in a bar and they loaned me a saws-all to use for gutting my house. They needed a contractor, so I gave them Gavin’s number, then I lost my job and since there’s not much call for teachers in New Orleans these days but plenty for construction workers, that’s how I ended up sanding their floor.
Let me toss in some advice here – if you ever find yourself sanding a floor, use an edger with wheels. The one I used on my place didn’t have wheels, and an edger weighs a good 15 or 20 pounds. Imagine crawling around your walls holding that up for hours while it has a big spinning disk of sandpaper on it that wants to catch and drag off across the floor so you have to hold it up enough that it doesn’t gouge and burn the floor, but not so much that it doesn’t scrape the crap off. And all this time it’s kicking sawdust in your eyes and up your nose. What I’m saying is – get the one with wheels.
Anyway, I’m doing this when the phone rings, not that I hear it because those sanders are loud, too, but I feel it. I don’t answer because starting and stopping the edger is something of a chore, but the next chance I get, I listen to the message and it’s the English chair from Loyola offering me four classes if I want them.
I think for a minute, considering the sander in my hands, the dust in my eyes, the satisfaction of a job well done, and wondered if I really wanted to give it all up for teaching.
OK, no, I didn’t. Not even for a millisecond. The hell with that – I will do my work in my ridiculously well-trained and horribly expensive head, and not just because I’m still paying for the education I crammed into it, but because physical labor is hard. You know that half-hour you spend at the gym every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and sometimes Sunday? Now do it everyday, all day. Yep, it’s the life of the mind for me.
I went by campus yesterday for the first time in a couple of months, and it’s much the same – mostly undamaged, but empty. Giant military vehicles still squat all over our parking lots, and the elementary school kids still run around for recess at the Catholic school on campus, though there are more of them now. Right across the street from their playground is the entrance to the human resources building with the sign on the door reading “All weapons must be cleared in the clearing chamber before entering,” whatever that means, though this time I didn’t have to show my I.D. to a helmeted, heavily-armed and camo-wearing guard to get in. The camo, by the way, is surprisingly effective in New Orleans these days – it fades right into the mud and debris.
Oh, and the other difference was I went there because I had a job, not to make arrangements because I had just lost it. So that “college English teacher” answer under “profession” in my profile is accurate once again, and when people ask me what I do, I no longer say, “Pre or post-K?” That’s about all I can ask for these days.
Let me toss in some advice here – if you ever find yourself sanding a floor, use an edger with wheels. The one I used on my place didn’t have wheels, and an edger weighs a good 15 or 20 pounds. Imagine crawling around your walls holding that up for hours while it has a big spinning disk of sandpaper on it that wants to catch and drag off across the floor so you have to hold it up enough that it doesn’t gouge and burn the floor, but not so much that it doesn’t scrape the crap off. And all this time it’s kicking sawdust in your eyes and up your nose. What I’m saying is – get the one with wheels.
Anyway, I’m doing this when the phone rings, not that I hear it because those sanders are loud, too, but I feel it. I don’t answer because starting and stopping the edger is something of a chore, but the next chance I get, I listen to the message and it’s the English chair from Loyola offering me four classes if I want them.
I think for a minute, considering the sander in my hands, the dust in my eyes, the satisfaction of a job well done, and wondered if I really wanted to give it all up for teaching.
OK, no, I didn’t. Not even for a millisecond. The hell with that – I will do my work in my ridiculously well-trained and horribly expensive head, and not just because I’m still paying for the education I crammed into it, but because physical labor is hard. You know that half-hour you spend at the gym every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and sometimes Sunday? Now do it everyday, all day. Yep, it’s the life of the mind for me.
I went by campus yesterday for the first time in a couple of months, and it’s much the same – mostly undamaged, but empty. Giant military vehicles still squat all over our parking lots, and the elementary school kids still run around for recess at the Catholic school on campus, though there are more of them now. Right across the street from their playground is the entrance to the human resources building with the sign on the door reading “All weapons must be cleared in the clearing chamber before entering,” whatever that means, though this time I didn’t have to show my I.D. to a helmeted, heavily-armed and camo-wearing guard to get in. The camo, by the way, is surprisingly effective in New Orleans these days – it fades right into the mud and debris.
Oh, and the other difference was I went there because I had a job, not to make arrangements because I had just lost it. So that “college English teacher” answer under “profession” in my profile is accurate once again, and when people ask me what I do, I no longer say, “Pre or post-K?” That’s about all I can ask for these days.
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