Last night I went to a Christmas Eve party at the Mid-City home of the couple who stayed in my house while I was gone. Their house was beautiful and they were so happy to be back in it and have it full of people. It was so good to be at a house party in New Orleans. But outside there were blocks and blocks and blocks of darkness and piles of debris.
You can exist in an illusion of semi-normalcy in the "sliver by the river." But beyond that the destruction is so endless and overwhelming, it's hard to see how this city is going to get back on its feet again. And why bother trying when the next hurricane season is going to knock it back down again?
Yet I love it more than ever.
But now I temporarily leave behind the drama of life in post-Katrina New Orleans for the semi-tragic saga of Mr. M and Miss H. I am leaving for the frozen tundra of the upper Midwest this afternoon.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Rock and Bowl
The Rock and Bowl got about 12 feet of water during the flood. The surrounding neighborhood is pretty much abandoned. But, miraculously and perhaps foolishly, it's open. And the adorable Geno Delafose (& The French Rockin Boogie!) played zydeco night last Thursday. It was packed. I parked on the dark street, next to a pile of ruined televisions and appliances.
It smells a bit moldy coming up the stairs. The dance floor was crowded, and 98 percent of the dancers knew what they are doing (zydeco dancing seems kinda hard to me.) But when the dancers start stomping on the floor during the fast songs, the floor sways noticably and the speakers rock back and forth. It was alarming, but then I thought that to die in the collapse of the Rock and Bowl would be a worthy way to go out.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
The Corps
I stopped by my old office today to see how everyone was doing (more or less okay, mostly.) The old office is close to the Corps of Engineers building. They said that the Corps is having pep rallys every day to keep up morale now that they are the most reviled organization in New Orleans.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
New Orleans is alive
New Orleans is still New Orleans, and I can't express how happy I am to be back. I had red beans for lunch yesterday and a shrimp poboy at Domilise's today. People are riding their bikes up and down the street and hanging out on the corner. WWOZ and WTUL are on the air. Rue de la Course is open.
But if you'd talked to me Sunday night I would have said that it's much, much, much worse than it looks on television. The scale of destruction is inexpressible. Driving west on I-10 from Mobile it gets more and more post-apocalyptic. Steel billboards bent over like willow trees. Abandoned cars by the side of the road. Blue tarps on every roof that's still there. The twin span is now the single span. You creep over it, one lane in each direction, and contemplate its collapsed twin beside you. New Orleans East is abandoned. There are still upturned boats on the median, cars in the canal, brick buildings collapsed, big box stores smashed in by their fallen signs. Driving on the elevated highway over the 9th Ward, 7th Ward, it's dark and abandoned. Claiborne Avenue is torn apart. Tulane Avenue and North Carrollton are worse. Even in comparatively lightly hit uptown, there's destruction everywhere. On St. Charles, street lights have fallen over and there's no streetcar. There's a blue tarp on the roof of my old building. Most of the stop lights are not working. There's piles of debris everywhere. A lot of people are living in campers in their yard.
But the parts of town that are occupied are busy. A lot of stores and restaurants are open, though they close early and selection is spotty in the stores. Magazine Street is jumping. The Quarter is quiet, but it's almost kind of nice to have it to ourselves without 9 million tourists all over the place. I've seen a lot of familiar faces of people I don't really but used to see all the time.
My house is untouched, except that the tree in the back yard is uprooted and is leaning oh so lightly on the roof of the house behind me. The peach tree in the front has been cut down. And like everyone, there are cryptic symbols spray-painted on the front of my house. But I have been spared the experience of having to deal with wet moldy stuff, wet moldy house. Except my mail is wet and moldy and old. No sign of any new mail for months and months. And no land-line phone.
The rumor that there aren't any black people left in New Orleans is not at all true. But if you enjoy getting hit on relentlessly by Mexican guys, this is now the place to be.
The best analogy I can make is that New Orleans is like someone who just got the living crap beat out of it in an accident or a fight. It's been horribly, gravely injured. It's going to be a long, long road to recovery and it's never going to be the same again. But there's no reason to think that the injuries it's sustained so far are going to kill it. But there's no way it can survive another blow.
People, we need Category 5 levees and a major reengineering of the river and wetlands restoration. It's true that from a practical standpoint maybe there shouldn't be a town here at all, but there is a town here and it's a town like no other, and in any case it's wrong, it's deeply immoral, to say you're going to save it and then do nothing or far too little.
It's true that the local and state governments are largely corrupt or incompetent, but even in the best case this is not the job for a state government. Only the federal government has the money and the power to fix this right. So please, please let's do this.
There's idle rumor about drafting Bill Clinton into running for mayor. He was here talking about how the city can be saved. He mentioned this was the first town he ever saw with buildings over two stories tall. Wags say it's the first place he ever got a blow job. But New Orleans needs someone like that, who has vision and national and international power.
Make levees not war!
But if you'd talked to me Sunday night I would have said that it's much, much, much worse than it looks on television. The scale of destruction is inexpressible. Driving west on I-10 from Mobile it gets more and more post-apocalyptic. Steel billboards bent over like willow trees. Abandoned cars by the side of the road. Blue tarps on every roof that's still there. The twin span is now the single span. You creep over it, one lane in each direction, and contemplate its collapsed twin beside you. New Orleans East is abandoned. There are still upturned boats on the median, cars in the canal, brick buildings collapsed, big box stores smashed in by their fallen signs. Driving on the elevated highway over the 9th Ward, 7th Ward, it's dark and abandoned. Claiborne Avenue is torn apart. Tulane Avenue and North Carrollton are worse. Even in comparatively lightly hit uptown, there's destruction everywhere. On St. Charles, street lights have fallen over and there's no streetcar. There's a blue tarp on the roof of my old building. Most of the stop lights are not working. There's piles of debris everywhere. A lot of people are living in campers in their yard.
But the parts of town that are occupied are busy. A lot of stores and restaurants are open, though they close early and selection is spotty in the stores. Magazine Street is jumping. The Quarter is quiet, but it's almost kind of nice to have it to ourselves without 9 million tourists all over the place. I've seen a lot of familiar faces of people I don't really but used to see all the time.
My house is untouched, except that the tree in the back yard is uprooted and is leaning oh so lightly on the roof of the house behind me. The peach tree in the front has been cut down. And like everyone, there are cryptic symbols spray-painted on the front of my house. But I have been spared the experience of having to deal with wet moldy stuff, wet moldy house. Except my mail is wet and moldy and old. No sign of any new mail for months and months. And no land-line phone.
The rumor that there aren't any black people left in New Orleans is not at all true. But if you enjoy getting hit on relentlessly by Mexican guys, this is now the place to be.
The best analogy I can make is that New Orleans is like someone who just got the living crap beat out of it in an accident or a fight. It's been horribly, gravely injured. It's going to be a long, long road to recovery and it's never going to be the same again. But there's no reason to think that the injuries it's sustained so far are going to kill it. But there's no way it can survive another blow.
People, we need Category 5 levees and a major reengineering of the river and wetlands restoration. It's true that from a practical standpoint maybe there shouldn't be a town here at all, but there is a town here and it's a town like no other, and in any case it's wrong, it's deeply immoral, to say you're going to save it and then do nothing or far too little.
It's true that the local and state governments are largely corrupt or incompetent, but even in the best case this is not the job for a state government. Only the federal government has the money and the power to fix this right. So please, please let's do this.
There's idle rumor about drafting Bill Clinton into running for mayor. He was here talking about how the city can be saved. He mentioned this was the first town he ever saw with buildings over two stories tall. Wags say it's the first place he ever got a blow job. But New Orleans needs someone like that, who has vision and national and international power.
Make levees not war!
Monday, December 19, 2005
It's still home. I still love it. I'm glad to be back.
But it's a mess.
The old lady next door is still there and doing fine. I'll write more when I have time to sit down and figure out how to articulate what this is like. But I just wanted to report that I'm home and I'm okay and my car will do 105 without breaking a sweat.
The old lady next door is still there and doing fine. I'll write more when I have time to sit down and figure out how to articulate what this is like. But I just wanted to report that I'm home and I'm okay and my car will do 105 without breaking a sweat.
Friday, December 09, 2005
It may be different, but it will be worse.
I'm watching The Leopard, directed by Visconti in the 60's and set in Sicily in the 19th century. It's atmospheric but way too slow and talky, and I don't find Burt Lancaster convincing as a Sicilian prince. But there's a scene about two hours into it (out of a total of three) that grabbed me. Some sort of government stooge comes to Sicily, which he finds shockingly backward and squalid, to talk Lancaster's prince into accepting the position of senator in the new government. The stooge gives Lancaster a pep talk about how things are going to change, and surely Sicilians want change. Lancaster says that they don't want change, because they think they're perfect already, and that something in the atmosphere intoxicates and oppresses them into stasis, and that the beauty is dependent on the squalor. At the end of their meeting, he walks the stooge to his coach through the decrepitude and the stooge says just wait and see, this new modern government is going to change all of this...
And Lancaster says it's never going to change, or rather it might change in a few hundred years "After that it may be different, but it will be worse."
He could have been describing New Orleans, anytime before the diaspora, with perfect accuracy. It may be that believing it so made it so. Still, I'm skeptical that its future will be better than its past.
And Lancaster says it's never going to change, or rather it might change in a few hundred years "After that it may be different, but it will be worse."
He could have been describing New Orleans, anytime before the diaspora, with perfect accuracy. It may be that believing it so made it so. Still, I'm skeptical that its future will be better than its past.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Bold Renewal
Today Tulane announced a "bold renewal plan" that basically amounts to getting rid of the engineering school, downsizing the medical school, and adjusting to a smaller student body rather than lower admission standards. I can't blame them for any of it, though I hate the cheesy rhetoric and I feel for the people who are losing their jobs.
I don't have it in me to regret quitting my job, though the future seems hazy and I wonder how I'll pay my rent next summer. I'm still scared of turning into yet another unhappy lawyer, but this internship has given me confidence that I can do the work well.
I finally read John McPhee's "Atchafalaya" essay, about the Corps of Engineers' doomed battle with the river in Louisiana, from The Control of Nature. Oliver Houck, big honcho in Tulane's environmental law program and my criminal law professor, turns out to be a major figure in the essay. It was heartening to find him there--I do see him as a kind of role model. But I'm not really that much of a fan of McPhee's style, though it may be heresy to say so. He's obviously smart and thughtful and he chooses interesting subjects, but he leaves me cold.
I also find myself relieved to be out of the literary game, though I can possibly seem myself as a legal journalist a la Nina Totenberg or Dahlia Lithwick, and also as a sporadic essayist, and as a compulsive but unread blogger.
I don't have it in me to regret quitting my job, though the future seems hazy and I wonder how I'll pay my rent next summer. I'm still scared of turning into yet another unhappy lawyer, but this internship has given me confidence that I can do the work well.
I finally read John McPhee's "Atchafalaya" essay, about the Corps of Engineers' doomed battle with the river in Louisiana, from The Control of Nature. Oliver Houck, big honcho in Tulane's environmental law program and my criminal law professor, turns out to be a major figure in the essay. It was heartening to find him there--I do see him as a kind of role model. But I'm not really that much of a fan of McPhee's style, though it may be heresy to say so. He's obviously smart and thughtful and he chooses interesting subjects, but he leaves me cold.
I also find myself relieved to be out of the literary game, though I can possibly seem myself as a legal journalist a la Nina Totenberg or Dahlia Lithwick, and also as a sporadic essayist, and as a compulsive but unread blogger.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
The Great Depression
I read today that the suicide rate in the New Orleans area has doubled though the population is much smaller, and that half that population is clinically depressed, crying in the grocery store. Am I ready for that? I still cry a few times a week myself, randomly, on the train or over my lunchtime sandwich. At least down there people will understand why I'm crying. Miss S is going back for a week's visit. She left today, I think.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Did I mention I want to go home?
Okay, there was one positive event today: after I got some of that snow off my car and completed the laborious process of getting to work, where I handed in a memo I'd been working on since last week, the attorney complemented my work, saying I had done a very good and very thorough job, especially considering I had only a semester of law school. Only a week of law school, I told him. Even more impressive, then, he said. So, good going Miss H, give yourself a pat on the back. I can do this. I have an attorney-approved writing sample that I can send out with my summer job applications. I'm going to try to do a big batch tomorrow.
But I'm tired and sick and driving in the snow is no fun. That allegedly wasn't a lot of snow, but it seemed like too much to me. Anyway, we got more in the far-south suburbs than they did in the district, oddly enough. My aunt and uncle, both school teachers, had a snow day today. But not me. More snow on Thursday night, they say.
Maybe Friday I'll get a snow day. Only a week and a half to go. The song that made me cry today: "Take Me to the Mardi Gras," Paul Simon with the Dixie Hummingbirds
I'm congested and headachy and exhausted, but nevertheless I was going to go to afternoon arguments at the Supreme Court today--but their website lied: there are no afternoon arguments, and morning arguments get seated at 7 a.m., according to the nice SCOTUS police officer. Screw that. I did witness a bunch of people congregated outside, waving signs having to do with today's argument about federal funds for
universities being contingent on full support of military recruiting on campus, despite the fact that the military discriminates against homosexuals. Tomorrow
will be the last day of arguments while I am here, but I don't think it's worth getting up at 4:30 on a cold winter morning. I hate early morning and I hate winter.
I want to go home, but I know it's going to be bad when the formerly cheerful and unapologetically shallow columnist Chris Rose is writing columns about suicide, despair and tragedy: http://www.nola.com/living/t-p/index.ssf?/base/living-5/1133851880209270.xml
But soon enough I will see for myself.
My aunt thinks I'm deep.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Snowflakes
They really do cling to your nose and eyelashes, but it's beyond me why they'd be on anyone's list of favorite things. I cannot express how much I want to go home.
Last year it snowed in New Orleans on Christmas day. It seemed a portent of something magical, but it was really an omen of freaky bad destructive weather.
Last year it snowed in New Orleans on Christmas day. It seemed a portent of something magical, but it was really an omen of freaky bad destructive weather.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Romantic brain infection
The thing I hate about romantic relationships is that being in one seems to change me for the worse. When I'm alone and uncontaminated by love's brain chemistry, I am confident and sane. I may have moments of self-doubt and I may be lonely, but I don't walk around feeling the need for the approval and acceptance of the world, or of anyone in it.
But once I know someone likes me and is attracted to me, I simply can't stand the idea of losing that, even as I know I inevitably will, and it makes me insane. So I can't just appreciate the attention and care MM gives me. I want more, more, more. Yet I know nothing hastens the end of love like the constant need for reassurance.
Worse, even the attentions of a man I'm not really interested in can spur this cycle. I never wanted J to fall in love with me, for example, and I wasn't ever going to sleep with him or run off with him or whatever he wanted. Yet I didn't really want him to get over me, did I? I didn't consciously plan it out, but I inadvertantly behaved in a way guaranteed to keep him frustrated but hot for me. I'd avoid him for long stretches of time, but not too long. Then I'd seem him and flirt, but not too much, so that he might have doubts about whether I was flirting at all. And I'd duck out before he could make a move. Again, none of this was deliberate, but still--bad, bad, bad Miss H.
The thing is, if you want to cultivate a man's undying affection, or at least his undying lust, that tease and retreat method is infinitely more effective than chasing him and nagging him for more attention and affection. Yet I don't want to use any method at all. I hate, hate, hate tactical romance. I don't want to play these stupid fucking games, yet it seems necessary, seems built into our brains.
I want to be with someone, yet I hate it, and this is why. Because something so tenuous and fragile rises to primary importance and I can't stand the idea of losing it but know that I likely will. But I don't want to manipulate someone into loving me, and I don't want to turn into a cynical and iron-armored old maid just for the sake of avoiding pain.
I have to remember that I'm strong inside and fundamentally sound, and that I can survive, and that pain is inevitable no matter what, which is why its important to enjoy and embrace the good things that life has on offer--like good-night phone calls from Mr. M, whom I'd long ago given up on. I don't need to try to get more, by trick or by chase. I can just savor what's on offer.
Well, I can in theory. Whether I can in practice remains to be seen.
But once I know someone likes me and is attracted to me, I simply can't stand the idea of losing that, even as I know I inevitably will, and it makes me insane. So I can't just appreciate the attention and care MM gives me. I want more, more, more. Yet I know nothing hastens the end of love like the constant need for reassurance.
Worse, even the attentions of a man I'm not really interested in can spur this cycle. I never wanted J to fall in love with me, for example, and I wasn't ever going to sleep with him or run off with him or whatever he wanted. Yet I didn't really want him to get over me, did I? I didn't consciously plan it out, but I inadvertantly behaved in a way guaranteed to keep him frustrated but hot for me. I'd avoid him for long stretches of time, but not too long. Then I'd seem him and flirt, but not too much, so that he might have doubts about whether I was flirting at all. And I'd duck out before he could make a move. Again, none of this was deliberate, but still--bad, bad, bad Miss H.
The thing is, if you want to cultivate a man's undying affection, or at least his undying lust, that tease and retreat method is infinitely more effective than chasing him and nagging him for more attention and affection. Yet I don't want to use any method at all. I hate, hate, hate tactical romance. I don't want to play these stupid fucking games, yet it seems necessary, seems built into our brains.
I want to be with someone, yet I hate it, and this is why. Because something so tenuous and fragile rises to primary importance and I can't stand the idea of losing it but know that I likely will. But I don't want to manipulate someone into loving me, and I don't want to turn into a cynical and iron-armored old maid just for the sake of avoiding pain.
I have to remember that I'm strong inside and fundamentally sound, and that I can survive, and that pain is inevitable no matter what, which is why its important to enjoy and embrace the good things that life has on offer--like good-night phone calls from Mr. M, whom I'd long ago given up on. I don't need to try to get more, by trick or by chase. I can just savor what's on offer.
Well, I can in theory. Whether I can in practice remains to be seen.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Dream
Last night, I had a vivid dream of being back in New Orleans. It was like a charred and destroyed European city at the end of the second World War. There was a thin crust of almost-normalcy along the river, but even there random buildings were in rubble, the air was toxic, and it was deserted and eerily quiet. When you came to the edge, there was an abrubt line beyond which miles and miles of smoking bombed out shells of buildings lay dark as far as vision extended. I was looking out at this through a window of a bar. I started to cry and a group of black guys made fun of me as if I was a gawker and tourist and I started to hit them with a stick and shout that I just got home and New Orleans is my home and I love New Orleans.
Except for the last part about hitting people with sticks, that's probably not far from the way it will really be.
Except for the last part about hitting people with sticks, that's probably not far from the way it will really be.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Emotional tornados
I peed in a cup for my government today. It was somehat less than dignified. My internship is three-quarters finished and they're just getting around to giving me a drug test.
I went back to PA for the second half of the Thanksgiving weekend and it was fun. My sister is in a better frame of mind about getting married, I think her fiance is a sweetie and a good cook, and she asked me to be the maid of honor.
But. It's cold. I'm liking DC less and less. I want to go back to New Orleans and stay, if there's still a recognizable New Orleans to live in. After all, wasn't my law school adventure partly motivated by the urge to "Defend New Orleans? I know it's going to be hard--intellectually I recognize that emotionally it's going to be harder than I can imagine right now. I talked to AD a few days ago. He's back and he sounded pretty low.
I'm trying to get a summer job, despite the best efforts of the workers in the Kinko's across the street from my office, who are so slow and incompentent it reminds me of Louisiana. I'd like to work for the Natural Resources Defense Council over the summer, if I could get the job I want.
I'll be on my way home in two weeks, but (speaking of cold) I'll be going up to the frozen tundra of the upper Midwest for Christmas through New Years. Mr. M was not blowing me off after all and I am going to see him. Such a tornado of confused emotions about that. Oh, I'm happy, definitely, happy, happy, happy. But gun-shy and doubtful and intermittently paranoid. And wasn't I recently lecturing myself and everyone else about how romance and commitment and so forth was all a crock of shit? I don't exactly take it back, either. But he's the only one who makes it seem like it might be worth the risk and bother.
He does really appreciate me, for one thing, in the way that I've always been offended that most guys don't. He makes me feel heard and understood, not always and not perfectly, but more than anyone else does. And there's the crackle and the buzz and the click and the pet names and the laughing. He can be an utter sweetheart and so adorable.
But there's a lot to be cautious about, too, most especially that he has some anger and meanness in him. Not that you can exactly blame him, considering what he's been through. But some people have a capacity for that and some don't, and I don't want to be anyone's emotional chew toy. And, too, his future is all up in the air. Maybe he'll have his operation and go on a quest for all the pussy he missed out on in the last half-dozen years, and I couldn't exactly blame him for that, either, though it would hurt. Plus I'm skeptical in general of the human capacity to retain appreciation for a good thing over time. But all I can do is wait and see...
Anyway, I think I ought not write about this too much, for the sake of his privacy and mine, at least until things are more settled. Things are too delicate right now for too much poking and prodding.
I went back to PA for the second half of the Thanksgiving weekend and it was fun. My sister is in a better frame of mind about getting married, I think her fiance is a sweetie and a good cook, and she asked me to be the maid of honor.
But. It's cold. I'm liking DC less and less. I want to go back to New Orleans and stay, if there's still a recognizable New Orleans to live in. After all, wasn't my law school adventure partly motivated by the urge to "Defend New Orleans? I know it's going to be hard--intellectually I recognize that emotionally it's going to be harder than I can imagine right now. I talked to AD a few days ago. He's back and he sounded pretty low.
I'm trying to get a summer job, despite the best efforts of the workers in the Kinko's across the street from my office, who are so slow and incompentent it reminds me of Louisiana. I'd like to work for the Natural Resources Defense Council over the summer, if I could get the job I want.
I'll be on my way home in two weeks, but (speaking of cold) I'll be going up to the frozen tundra of the upper Midwest for Christmas through New Years. Mr. M was not blowing me off after all and I am going to see him. Such a tornado of confused emotions about that. Oh, I'm happy, definitely, happy, happy, happy. But gun-shy and doubtful and intermittently paranoid. And wasn't I recently lecturing myself and everyone else about how romance and commitment and so forth was all a crock of shit? I don't exactly take it back, either. But he's the only one who makes it seem like it might be worth the risk and bother.
He does really appreciate me, for one thing, in the way that I've always been offended that most guys don't. He makes me feel heard and understood, not always and not perfectly, but more than anyone else does. And there's the crackle and the buzz and the click and the pet names and the laughing. He can be an utter sweetheart and so adorable.
But there's a lot to be cautious about, too, most especially that he has some anger and meanness in him. Not that you can exactly blame him, considering what he's been through. But some people have a capacity for that and some don't, and I don't want to be anyone's emotional chew toy. And, too, his future is all up in the air. Maybe he'll have his operation and go on a quest for all the pussy he missed out on in the last half-dozen years, and I couldn't exactly blame him for that, either, though it would hurt. Plus I'm skeptical in general of the human capacity to retain appreciation for a good thing over time. But all I can do is wait and see...
Anyway, I think I ought not write about this too much, for the sake of his privacy and mine, at least until things are more settled. Things are too delicate right now for too much poking and prodding.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Happy Flipping Thanksgiving
I am very much aware that I have much to be grateful for, but this Thanksgiving finds me on the edge of depression. It didn't help that I woke up this morning to a story on NPR about displaced New Orleans residents missing their food on Thanksgiving. One of the guys they interviewed was clearly bullshitting the interviewer, though. I'd like to say for the record that it is not common practice to eat nutria for Thanksgiving or otherwise in New Orleans. A couple of years ago, I did cook a rabbit for Easter which the brother of the IRMS had shot in his backyard. I felt very down-home coon-ass and a little guilty.
According to the Weather Channel, the expected high temperature today in New Orleans is 77. The expected high temperature here is 47. It snowed last night, but it didn't stick except for a little on the cars. I shouldn't whine, but I am just so weary of the cold and the traffic and the commute and sleeping in a bed that isn't mine. I mostly like the work I'm doing except for sometimes when I feel like I'm screwed something up and I get no feedback whatsoever. But four hours of commuting a day is too much.
People have been very sweet to me, but I'm lonely for the people who really know me. I miss privacy. I'm worried about money. And I have a paranoid fear that MM is bailing on me again. I do hope that it's only that. You'd think I'd be immune to him by now.
Johnny Fasullo, WWOZ's Ragin Cajun, died last week. When I first moved down there, his voice on the radio was one of the things that made me feel I was somewhere strange and exotic. I could barely understand what he was saying. His show was a bit cheesy--the guy who came on after him played better Cajun music. But he was a sweety and a character, Catholic and socially stunted and devoted to his mama, from across the pond in Marrero.
Also, I read that Irvin Mayfield's dad died in the flood. But I ought not make a list of things to feel sad about.
According to the Weather Channel, the expected high temperature today in New Orleans is 77. The expected high temperature here is 47. It snowed last night, but it didn't stick except for a little on the cars. I shouldn't whine, but I am just so weary of the cold and the traffic and the commute and sleeping in a bed that isn't mine. I mostly like the work I'm doing except for sometimes when I feel like I'm screwed something up and I get no feedback whatsoever. But four hours of commuting a day is too much.
People have been very sweet to me, but I'm lonely for the people who really know me. I miss privacy. I'm worried about money. And I have a paranoid fear that MM is bailing on me again. I do hope that it's only that. You'd think I'd be immune to him by now.
Johnny Fasullo, WWOZ's Ragin Cajun, died last week. When I first moved down there, his voice on the radio was one of the things that made me feel I was somewhere strange and exotic. I could barely understand what he was saying. His show was a bit cheesy--the guy who came on after him played better Cajun music. But he was a sweety and a character, Catholic and socially stunted and devoted to his mama, from across the pond in Marrero.
Also, I read that Irvin Mayfield's dad died in the flood. But I ought not make a list of things to feel sad about.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
The 12th Anniversary of my 25th Birthday
Today was my birthday. I wasn't prepared, I had no plans. I'd been thinking about going to NYC, but I have nowhere to stay and a hotel isn't in the budget. I'm starting to worry about money again as my return to New Orleans gets closer. I'm not sure, after my last DOJ paycheck, when I'll have income again.
A low-key and slightly lonely birthday, but not really a bad one. Actually, I feel a little guilty because my aunt and cousin had wanted to take me to lunch (I didn't know till this evening) but I snuck out on my own. That, for better or worse, is typical of me--it's pretty much my m.o. I do everything to avoid people and be alone, and then feel lonely.
But, for better or worse, I'm picky about whose company I want. And the person whose company I want the most right now is MM. I don't know what to say about him, or what I should say. He's made himself a presence, once again. I'm happy about it, really happy. Happy for him, happy for me. But afraid of being a fool, a sucker, a chump, a glutton for punishment.
I learned a lot of painful lessons courtesy of the gentleman in question. I learned to let go of him, and to not take it too, too personally when he disappeared or when he got angry and bitter. To accept that I might never see or talk to him again, and I had no control of the matter, and that I just had to get on with my own life. And so I did. But he never let go of me--he never vacated my consciousness. He's never too far toward the back of my mind. I'm thrilled to have the real MM back, but I'm afraid I'm a fool to be thrilled.
He might come to visit me here before I go. All I can do is wait and see--that's all I've been doing for quite awhile.
Oh, my birthday--I went to the Corcoran Gallery and the more-depressing-than-I-remember National Zoo. It was a nice, sunny, almost-warm day. The picture was taken early in the afternoon on the Metro. I think I'm holding up okay for my advanced age, but there's no denying the forehead line. Last weekend, with my sister, we were looking at pictures from when she used to visit me in Memphis. I was stunning and I didn't even know it.
Mount Joy
This picture was taken inside the bar of a strange and wonderful bar/restaurant/hotel in Mount Joy, Pennsylvania. It's decorated in an over-the-top decadent nouveau Victorian style. I was there last week with my Aunt and my sister and her fiance and Miss S. The night before, I was drinking in a VFW with all of the above except Miss S. It was a strange but fun weekend. I went to the market and got my Martin's potato chips fresh in white paper bags, my sweet bologna, my apple butter
My sister's fella is attractive, sweet, and completely devoted to her. He's a good cook and a good mechanic. He's not an intellectual heavyweight, but I don't know that she requires one. Really, it seems like she hit the guy jackpot and she doesn't appreciate it. She's never really happy, and neither is my mother, come to think of it. Accentuate the negative is their motto. I'm nowhere near as bad as them--I don't think so. But I see similar tendencies in myself. I'm reluctant to ever be too happy about anything for fear of losing it or being disappointed.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Holiday
Ah, federal holidays--I'm off today and I'm going to Pennsylvania to visit my sister and other relatives and meeet my future brother in law. Miss S is going to meet me there tomorrow. The last time I saw her I was on my front porch waving goodbye after my last night out in New Orleans.
People have pretty much forgotten all about Katrina here, except for us uprooted wanderers.
I like DC. Some days I like it more than others. One day this week, my commuter train was stopped in Alexandria so that a bomb-sniffing dog could smell us all. (It was a yellow lab--why can't Hank do something useful like that?) (Actually, I miss big ole Hank and petite Miss P something terrible.)
I went to venerate the sacred documents at the National Archives, and on the way out "Mardi Gras Mambo" as done by (I think) Los Hombres Calientes, was playing in the gift shop. Odd.
I've made three short visits to the National Gallery but I haven't seen it all. I'm not that sophisticated about art, anyway. I'm interested in it but not sure what one is supposed to think when looking at, say, the only Da Vinci in North America, or what sense it makes to look at a Warhol soup can in the same afternoon. But I keep going back.
MM did send me a crate of Mallo Cups, which pleased me very much. Things are some significant hopeful signs in his life, but I don't want to write about it for fear of jinxing it, plus maybe it's not my business to write about anyway. But I'm tentatively very happy for him.
People have pretty much forgotten all about Katrina here, except for us uprooted wanderers.
I like DC. Some days I like it more than others. One day this week, my commuter train was stopped in Alexandria so that a bomb-sniffing dog could smell us all. (It was a yellow lab--why can't Hank do something useful like that?) (Actually, I miss big ole Hank and petite Miss P something terrible.)
I went to venerate the sacred documents at the National Archives, and on the way out "Mardi Gras Mambo" as done by (I think) Los Hombres Calientes, was playing in the gift shop. Odd.
I've made three short visits to the National Gallery but I haven't seen it all. I'm not that sophisticated about art, anyway. I'm interested in it but not sure what one is supposed to think when looking at, say, the only Da Vinci in North America, or what sense it makes to look at a Warhol soup can in the same afternoon. But I keep going back.
MM did send me a crate of Mallo Cups, which pleased me very much. Things are some significant hopeful signs in his life, but I don't want to write about it for fear of jinxing it, plus maybe it's not my business to write about anyway. But I'm tentatively very happy for him.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
A good day
Now that I'm sort of semi-settled here, I'm more aware and appreciative of what an amazing opportunity this is. I had only one week of law school, and I'm working at the Justice Department. And I like it. I'm enough of a dork to find the work fun. I guess I'm in a good mood because an attorney is very happy with me for finding a case that he overlooked that helps him a lot. But I was in a good mood this morning, too, walking to work with the Capitol and the Washington Monument in view. DC is growing on me.
Without Katrina I wouldn't have this opportunity. I can't say the price was worth it, but since Katrina has happened and can't be undone, there's nothing wrong with appreciating the silver lining.
Also, I haven't had any sinus problems since I left New Orleans. Unfortunately, now I'm getting a cold.
Without Katrina I wouldn't have this opportunity. I can't say the price was worth it, but since Katrina has happened and can't be undone, there's nothing wrong with appreciating the silver lining.
Also, I haven't had any sinus problems since I left New Orleans. Unfortunately, now I'm getting a cold.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Making it legal
My sister, it seems, is not totally overwhelmingly enthusiastic about getting married.
I feel like I can't say anything. I'm cynical about love, and demonstrably crappy at relationships. Whatever I say would either be a bummer or bad advice or both. Also, I want her to get married for selfish reasons, to take the pressure off me.
My mutually fat, married-for-almost-forty-years aunt and uncle seem to be having sex right now which is a.) gross; and b.)a counter to my bad opinions about marriage.
Coincidentally, my fellow intern/refugee bought an engagement ring this weekend with the intention of proposing to his girlfriend. And you thought it was frivolous for me to buy a used BMW with my FEMA money.
Today, a paper in which I wrote one and a half paragraphs was filed in a federal court. I'm figuring out my projects, probably the hard way, but eventually I seem to get them done right. I think I'm pretty good at legal writing and I find it oddly entertaining--I feel like I'm engaged in parody.
I feel like I can't say anything. I'm cynical about love, and demonstrably crappy at relationships. Whatever I say would either be a bummer or bad advice or both. Also, I want her to get married for selfish reasons, to take the pressure off me.
My mutually fat, married-for-almost-forty-years aunt and uncle seem to be having sex right now which is a.) gross; and b.)a counter to my bad opinions about marriage.
Coincidentally, my fellow intern/refugee bought an engagement ring this weekend with the intention of proposing to his girlfriend. And you thought it was frivolous for me to buy a used BMW with my FEMA money.
Today, a paper in which I wrote one and a half paragraphs was filed in a federal court. I'm figuring out my projects, probably the hard way, but eventually I seem to get them done right. I think I'm pretty good at legal writing and I find it oddly entertaining--I feel like I'm engaged in parody.
Monday, October 31, 2005
The news of the day
Is that my sister is going to marry her Pennsyltucky beau. I've not actually met him in person, but the signs suggest he is a good guy. Also, he looks cute in the pictures I've seen. On the phone, he has that bizarre York County accent.
So, I'm happy for her. Also, a little bit relieved. And just the tiniest bit jealous. Even though I get skeevy at the thought of the state of marriage, I'm envious that someone, a good guy, wants to marry her, has chosen her. It's kind of hollow for me to say that I don't want to get married when no one's asking anyway.
However, MM has promised to send me a case of Mallo Cups, and I'll be thrilled if he follows through. Of course I could buy my own box of Mallo Cups, but that seems either too decadent or too pathetic. And besides... oh, well, nevermind, let's not go there.
Miss S called today to say that she saw the Hot 8 brass band playing in Times Square today when she was on her way to work. She said they were adorable and they made her cry. They're playing a benefit for New Orleans tonight in New York.
In an odd coincidence, there was a man outside my office this afternoon playing "St. James Infirmary" on the trumpet. But he was playing from sheet music and it was not exactly the same. It just made me feel ten trillion miles away from New Orleans, where Glenn David Andrews used to belt it ghetto-style.
So, I'm happy for her. Also, a little bit relieved. And just the tiniest bit jealous. Even though I get skeevy at the thought of the state of marriage, I'm envious that someone, a good guy, wants to marry her, has chosen her. It's kind of hollow for me to say that I don't want to get married when no one's asking anyway.
However, MM has promised to send me a case of Mallo Cups, and I'll be thrilled if he follows through. Of course I could buy my own box of Mallo Cups, but that seems either too decadent or too pathetic. And besides... oh, well, nevermind, let's not go there.
Miss S called today to say that she saw the Hot 8 brass band playing in Times Square today when she was on her way to work. She said they were adorable and they made her cry. They're playing a benefit for New Orleans tonight in New York.
In an odd coincidence, there was a man outside my office this afternoon playing "St. James Infirmary" on the trumpet. But he was playing from sheet music and it was not exactly the same. It just made me feel ten trillion miles away from New Orleans, where Glenn David Andrews used to belt it ghetto-style.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Flaming marshmallows
During my very brief time in law school, I'd started to make friends with a young married couple who were (both) in my class. I'll call them Mr. & Ms. K. They're a little younger than me, but probably thirtyish, and they own a double a few blocks from my new house.
They were in DC for the Justice Works conference and we had drinks and dinner together last night. It was really good to talk to people who truly understand what this experience has been like. They enrolled in UT Austin, and they really don't like it. UT is higher than Tulane in the rankings, but they are unimpressed with it and feel much more appreciative of Tulane. They also don't like Austin.
We walked around and ate and drank in Adams Morgan and Dupont Circle. It was a nice night and lots of people were out in Halloween costumes. The parts of DC that I've seen are very pretty. I understand that much of the eastern quadrants are heavy ghetto.
I'll qualify what I said about DC's lack of vibrance or energy. It did seem nicely lively last night, it's just not like New York or London. But there's an up side to that, too. I find that people are pretty friendly in an almost southern manner, unlike the brusqueness of New Yorkers. Of course, their personalities change when they get behind the wheel of a car. But if this is where I end up, that's fine, it could be much, much, much worse.
Mr. & Ms. K are a bit jealous of my internship. They like DC, too, but we all miss New Orleans.
We stopped the Cosi on Connecticut Avenue for coffee and dessert and ordered make-it-yourself s'mores. The waiter brings you a little kettle filled with sterno and lights it and you roast your own marshmallows at the table. It was fun, though it seems like a bit of fire hazard, what with the leaping flames and burning marshmallows. I'm surprised you don't have to sign a release when you order it.
They were in DC for the Justice Works conference and we had drinks and dinner together last night. It was really good to talk to people who truly understand what this experience has been like. They enrolled in UT Austin, and they really don't like it. UT is higher than Tulane in the rankings, but they are unimpressed with it and feel much more appreciative of Tulane. They also don't like Austin.
We walked around and ate and drank in Adams Morgan and Dupont Circle. It was a nice night and lots of people were out in Halloween costumes. The parts of DC that I've seen are very pretty. I understand that much of the eastern quadrants are heavy ghetto.
I'll qualify what I said about DC's lack of vibrance or energy. It did seem nicely lively last night, it's just not like New York or London. But there's an up side to that, too. I find that people are pretty friendly in an almost southern manner, unlike the brusqueness of New Yorkers. Of course, their personalities change when they get behind the wheel of a car. But if this is where I end up, that's fine, it could be much, much, much worse.
Mr. & Ms. K are a bit jealous of my internship. They like DC, too, but we all miss New Orleans.
We stopped the Cosi on Connecticut Avenue for coffee and dessert and ordered make-it-yourself s'mores. The waiter brings you a little kettle filled with sterno and lights it and you roast your own marshmallows at the table. It was fun, though it seems like a bit of fire hazard, what with the leaping flames and burning marshmallows. I'm surprised you don't have to sign a release when you order it.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
My current theme song
"Government Center," Modern Lovers. They've got a lot of great desks and chairs at the government center...
I leave the house in the dark and come back in the dark. On the train on the way out, I can see into the offices of the thousands of people who are working late.
In New Orleans, Halloween parties, the Voodoofest and the Independent Book Fair are going on, and people who said they wouldn't move back are changing their minds. And it's a festival of getting laid.
I leave the house in the dark and come back in the dark. On the train on the way out, I can see into the offices of the thousands of people who are working late.
In New Orleans, Halloween parties, the Voodoofest and the Independent Book Fair are going on, and people who said they wouldn't move back are changing their minds. And it's a festival of getting laid.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Workaholic World
I'm in DC. I drove here in the rain, through the hills of eastern Ohio and Pennsylvania, the landscape that's most deeply imprinted on my psyche. It's where I grew up. It's beautiful, I love it, but in a melancholy way. It was a drive through rainy cold fall weather, which is the way it always is in my dreams and imagination.
Our nation's capitol: I like it but I don't love it. It's a definite improvement over STL, but it's not quite as lively and vibrant as you might expect of the capitol of the most powerful nation on earth. I could live here and be happy if New Orleans was not an option, but I do miss New Orleans terribly, still. You appreciate it more in these cities that are many times larger and yet don't have the energy and atmosphere and music.
I like my job so far, but I haven't really done any work yet, just gone to orientations and trainings. The people in the office seem happier and quirkier than I expected.
What I don't like, and will find hard to take, is the commute. I'm staying with an aunt and uncle in Woodbridge, VA. It's about 22 miles from the capitol building, which is less than the distance from my parent's house to the Gateway Arch in downtown STL. But it takes me a half an hour to drive five miles to a commuter train, which takes 50 minutes to get to Union Station, and then I walk for 15-20 minutes or get on the metro and ride to the next stop and then walk for 10 minutes. I don't mind the walking or the train ride, but I do mind the sitting at endless lights in the suburbs and the big chunk the whole process takes out of the day. I don't like being the tired-looking no-longer-young lady in the tan trenchcoat and black pumps on the commuter train.
But I am told that it would take even longer to drive. I didn't enjoy my single experience on the beltway and am not anxious to repeat it daily. How the hell do people do this everyday for months and years on end? Well, it goes without saying that if I moved here permanently, I'd live in the city, or at least somewhere close to the metro.
I think everyone here is a workaholic. I want to work, but I want to have fun when it's over, not sit on a train in my grey suit. The last train leaves at 7:00, so if I'm going to stay in the city after work, I'll have to find another way to get in and out. I'm told I have to get on the freeway and go up three exits to get to the closest outermost metro stop. It might be worth the freeway traffic on Fridays, at least.
I feel old as dirt and over the hill, with my ever-deepening forehead lines. Yet men are looking at me and flirting.
The one rule my uncle only half-jokingly made for staying with them is that only married people can have sex in the house. Who am I going to have sex with, anyway? But I would like to spark with someone, and get laid. There are good-looking guys at the job, but they all wear wedding rings.
Thank god I got a BMW so I can fit in with the other kids here.
Our nation's capitol: I like it but I don't love it. It's a definite improvement over STL, but it's not quite as lively and vibrant as you might expect of the capitol of the most powerful nation on earth. I could live here and be happy if New Orleans was not an option, but I do miss New Orleans terribly, still. You appreciate it more in these cities that are many times larger and yet don't have the energy and atmosphere and music.
I like my job so far, but I haven't really done any work yet, just gone to orientations and trainings. The people in the office seem happier and quirkier than I expected.
What I don't like, and will find hard to take, is the commute. I'm staying with an aunt and uncle in Woodbridge, VA. It's about 22 miles from the capitol building, which is less than the distance from my parent's house to the Gateway Arch in downtown STL. But it takes me a half an hour to drive five miles to a commuter train, which takes 50 minutes to get to Union Station, and then I walk for 15-20 minutes or get on the metro and ride to the next stop and then walk for 10 minutes. I don't mind the walking or the train ride, but I do mind the sitting at endless lights in the suburbs and the big chunk the whole process takes out of the day. I don't like being the tired-looking no-longer-young lady in the tan trenchcoat and black pumps on the commuter train.
But I am told that it would take even longer to drive. I didn't enjoy my single experience on the beltway and am not anxious to repeat it daily. How the hell do people do this everyday for months and years on end? Well, it goes without saying that if I moved here permanently, I'd live in the city, or at least somewhere close to the metro.
I think everyone here is a workaholic. I want to work, but I want to have fun when it's over, not sit on a train in my grey suit. The last train leaves at 7:00, so if I'm going to stay in the city after work, I'll have to find another way to get in and out. I'm told I have to get on the freeway and go up three exits to get to the closest outermost metro stop. It might be worth the freeway traffic on Fridays, at least.
I feel old as dirt and over the hill, with my ever-deepening forehead lines. Yet men are looking at me and flirting.
The one rule my uncle only half-jokingly made for staying with them is that only married people can have sex in the house. Who am I going to have sex with, anyway? But I would like to spark with someone, and get laid. There are good-looking guys at the job, but they all wear wedding rings.
Thank god I got a BMW so I can fit in with the other kids here.
Friday, October 21, 2005
And I'm off...
Finally, at long last, I'm leaving for DC tomorrow. I don't know what to expect of the job and I should be nervous, but I can only worry about what's in front of me and I'm not there yet. I'm sure it will be an interesting experience and I can only hope that I don't prove to be totally incompetent at the work.
I think I'm going to go to NYC for my birthday and to Pennyslvania to see my sister and other assorted relatives for Thanksgiving.
In the meantime, Miss S has been to New Orleans and and back. On the way back, she left with the feeling that she was making a collossal mistake, that New Orleans is home and she didn't want to leave. But of course, it's not like she's banished forever. She can come back when she's ready. Right now there's not many options for making a living there.
I feel reassured by her reluctance to leave--it means New Orleans still has some of its old power to draw you in and hold you there. The main reason she didn't want to leave, though, is because she met two guys there in one week, and she thought one of them was particularly promising.
The other one is living in what used to be Miss L's old apartment, next door to my old apartment. It's a small town, after all, and now it's even smaller.
I think I'm going to go to NYC for my birthday and to Pennyslvania to see my sister and other assorted relatives for Thanksgiving.
In the meantime, Miss S has been to New Orleans and and back. On the way back, she left with the feeling that she was making a collossal mistake, that New Orleans is home and she didn't want to leave. But of course, it's not like she's banished forever. She can come back when she's ready. Right now there's not many options for making a living there.
I feel reassured by her reluctance to leave--it means New Orleans still has some of its old power to draw you in and hold you there. The main reason she didn't want to leave, though, is because she met two guys there in one week, and she thought one of them was particularly promising.
The other one is living in what used to be Miss L's old apartment, next door to my old apartment. It's a small town, after all, and now it's even smaller.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Where I'm at
St. Charles County, Missouri (aka the State of Misery) is a hellish vision of suburbia gone mad. But the town of St. Charles was originally built by the French, and the old part reminds me a little bit (I said a LITTLE bit) of New Orleans. Or at least, it's visually attractive and it kinda feels like a real town.
I took a walk down there tonight and smoked some Sherman MCDs, the pretentious cigarette of my tragic youth. No, I don't really smoke, but I'm regressing. Now I have a cigarette hangover and I smell unpleasantly like stale cigarette smoke.
While walking, I saw an odd, shaggy-looking rat run down an alley. It looked like a nutria--made me feel right at home--but nutria haven't made it this far north, have they?
I was going to have a cocktail to go with my cigarettes, but all the bars seemed to be sports oriented and filled with lathered-up Cardinals fans watching the game.
So, I don't know if there's any culture down there to speak of, but still that's where you'd want to live if you had to live around here. And it's surrounded by rings and layers of strip malls and tacky-looking subdivisions.
About ten years or so, the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers flooded badly around here and some areas were under several feet of water for months. It would have been a New Orleans-scale disaster, except that not much had been built in the flood plains. But now, development has sprung up all over the place in those areas that were badly flooded a decade ago. Since I've been here, they approved another mall to be built in a flood plain here in St. Charles County. Of course they're going to prevent it from flooding again by building new, bigger, higher levees. And you wonder if these people are aware of recent events a few hundred miles south on this same river, or if they can't connect the dots. Anyway, it's not like this place needs another fucking mall, strip mall or big box development. I don't think there's anyplace in the Greater St. Louis area where you're more than two miles from a Target, a Wal-Mart, a Steak n Shake (not a bad thing), a Home Depot, a Best Buy, a Circuit City, an Olive Garden, etc, etc. Real estate developers = Satan.
On another subject, I wasn't going to brag about my car but... I really, really love it. It's a ten-year-old 318is--an aged starter BMW, so it's not quite the height of decadent luxury. It's a "luxury compact" with a 5-speed manual transmission and a 1.8 liter 4-cylinder engine, which is not a terrifically fast accelerator. But that's about the only bad thing I have to say about it--and anyway, my last car was a 1972 Beetle, so what do I know about acceleration? And if you give it a couple minutes it can get pretty fast. It's great at high speeds, very solid and smooth, with a little bit of that European-car engine whine. It handles like you think a BMW oughta, I definitely have gained an understanding of what the hype is about. The interior is clean tan leather, the exterior is dark green and at first glance looks pretty cherry, though closer inspection reveals that the clearcoat is rubbing off the back bumper and the baseboard on the driver's side is cracked from an accident. Still, it's the best car I've ever owned. It almost seems like a life-changer. People do think of you differently if you're driving a BMW--they think you're a bitch. (But that's just cause they're jealous or intimidated, of course.) I don't think I'll be able to get any slacker hipster boys in that car, but that's probably for the best.
Speaking of boys, men, dating, sex, etc.--I had a chance to see 9 1/2 Weeks a few days ago (don't ask). I was really creeped out by Mickey Rourke (as well as Kim Basinger's "acting" and 80s fashions)--but it was a relief, a feeling of great freedom, to feel turned off by him. The good thing about the debacle with the Insane Republican Med Student is that it cured me of my perverse attraction to creepy misogynistic control freaks. That night I had a very pleasant dream about being in my bed in my house in New Orleans with sweet, likeable John Cusack. I didn't want to wake up.
I still think romance is a crock of shit, but if I again find myself all tangled up over someone, I hope it will be someone more like the typical John Cusack character (unless we're talking Grosse Pointe Blank)(Being John Malkovich wasn't typical) and less like the typical cocky, creepy Mickey Rourke character--not even Mickey Rourke in Diner, which was the closest he ever came to being likeable.
I can hear you all laughing at me, but I don't care.
I took a walk down there tonight and smoked some Sherman MCDs, the pretentious cigarette of my tragic youth. No, I don't really smoke, but I'm regressing. Now I have a cigarette hangover and I smell unpleasantly like stale cigarette smoke.
While walking, I saw an odd, shaggy-looking rat run down an alley. It looked like a nutria--made me feel right at home--but nutria haven't made it this far north, have they?
I was going to have a cocktail to go with my cigarettes, but all the bars seemed to be sports oriented and filled with lathered-up Cardinals fans watching the game.
So, I don't know if there's any culture down there to speak of, but still that's where you'd want to live if you had to live around here. And it's surrounded by rings and layers of strip malls and tacky-looking subdivisions.
About ten years or so, the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers flooded badly around here and some areas were under several feet of water for months. It would have been a New Orleans-scale disaster, except that not much had been built in the flood plains. But now, development has sprung up all over the place in those areas that were badly flooded a decade ago. Since I've been here, they approved another mall to be built in a flood plain here in St. Charles County. Of course they're going to prevent it from flooding again by building new, bigger, higher levees. And you wonder if these people are aware of recent events a few hundred miles south on this same river, or if they can't connect the dots. Anyway, it's not like this place needs another fucking mall, strip mall or big box development. I don't think there's anyplace in the Greater St. Louis area where you're more than two miles from a Target, a Wal-Mart, a Steak n Shake (not a bad thing), a Home Depot, a Best Buy, a Circuit City, an Olive Garden, etc, etc. Real estate developers = Satan.
On another subject, I wasn't going to brag about my car but... I really, really love it. It's a ten-year-old 318is--an aged starter BMW, so it's not quite the height of decadent luxury. It's a "luxury compact" with a 5-speed manual transmission and a 1.8 liter 4-cylinder engine, which is not a terrifically fast accelerator. But that's about the only bad thing I have to say about it--and anyway, my last car was a 1972 Beetle, so what do I know about acceleration? And if you give it a couple minutes it can get pretty fast. It's great at high speeds, very solid and smooth, with a little bit of that European-car engine whine. It handles like you think a BMW oughta, I definitely have gained an understanding of what the hype is about. The interior is clean tan leather, the exterior is dark green and at first glance looks pretty cherry, though closer inspection reveals that the clearcoat is rubbing off the back bumper and the baseboard on the driver's side is cracked from an accident. Still, it's the best car I've ever owned. It almost seems like a life-changer. People do think of you differently if you're driving a BMW--they think you're a bitch. (But that's just cause they're jealous or intimidated, of course.) I don't think I'll be able to get any slacker hipster boys in that car, but that's probably for the best.
Speaking of boys, men, dating, sex, etc.--I had a chance to see 9 1/2 Weeks a few days ago (don't ask). I was really creeped out by Mickey Rourke (as well as Kim Basinger's "acting" and 80s fashions)--but it was a relief, a feeling of great freedom, to feel turned off by him. The good thing about the debacle with the Insane Republican Med Student is that it cured me of my perverse attraction to creepy misogynistic control freaks. That night I had a very pleasant dream about being in my bed in my house in New Orleans with sweet, likeable John Cusack. I didn't want to wake up.
I still think romance is a crock of shit, but if I again find myself all tangled up over someone, I hope it will be someone more like the typical John Cusack character (unless we're talking Grosse Pointe Blank)(Being John Malkovich wasn't typical) and less like the typical cocky, creepy Mickey Rourke character--not even Mickey Rourke in Diner, which was the closest he ever came to being likeable.
I can hear you all laughing at me, but I don't care.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Friday, October 14, 2005
Still waiting
Miss S is in New Orleans, packing up. She says it's sad and strange and too quiet. Even in the relatively untouched Irish Channel, there are random spots of devastation. The brick building on the corner of Magazine and Jackson, that housed a florist and upstairs apartments, crumbled under a collapsed roof.
But Slice, Juan's Flying Burrito, Parasol's, the Creole Creamery, the Sav-A-Center on Tchoupitoulas and the A&P on Magazine are all open. Thus, pizza, tacos, cocktails, ice cream and groceries are available. I've also read that Cafe du Monde will reopen next week. Also, I hear men now outnumber women there by about ten to one. So if I liked the National Guard type, I guess I'd be set.
I want to go back. Instead I'm still waiting. I've been talking to a guy from Tulane's career services who is working out of an office at Washington University. He says give the DOJ till the 20th! Jeez. In addition to the paranoia of imagining what they're going to find objectionable about me, it's frustrating because that's my way out of this house, and it keeps getting pushed back. I can't go back to New Orleans just yet because someone else is staying in my house, and there's nowhere else for me to stay there.
I'm lonely here, and I'll be lonely in DC, and I'll be lonely when I go back, because none of my friends except A plan to move back. But I'll have the house and the livestock and a built-in social group through school.
I love my parents and I want them to be happy, but I'd like them to be happy at a bit of a distance. Anyway, I think they're about as happy as they're capable, and it seems the only thing I could do to make them happier would be to be an entirely different kind of person.
But Slice, Juan's Flying Burrito, Parasol's, the Creole Creamery, the Sav-A-Center on Tchoupitoulas and the A&P on Magazine are all open. Thus, pizza, tacos, cocktails, ice cream and groceries are available. I've also read that Cafe du Monde will reopen next week. Also, I hear men now outnumber women there by about ten to one. So if I liked the National Guard type, I guess I'd be set.
I want to go back. Instead I'm still waiting. I've been talking to a guy from Tulane's career services who is working out of an office at Washington University. He says give the DOJ till the 20th! Jeez. In addition to the paranoia of imagining what they're going to find objectionable about me, it's frustrating because that's my way out of this house, and it keeps getting pushed back. I can't go back to New Orleans just yet because someone else is staying in my house, and there's nowhere else for me to stay there.
I'm lonely here, and I'll be lonely in DC, and I'll be lonely when I go back, because none of my friends except A plan to move back. But I'll have the house and the livestock and a built-in social group through school.
I love my parents and I want them to be happy, but I'd like them to be happy at a bit of a distance. Anyway, I think they're about as happy as they're capable, and it seems the only thing I could do to make them happier would be to be an entirely different kind of person.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Waiting
Last summer, I tried to buy a house in New Orleans, but everything fell apart at the last minute. By that point, law school and the end of my employment were looming and I gave up. Now that seems like yet another way that I was lucky. The day after the deal fell through, I found that adorable rental house, with an option to buy in a year or so. It was perfect.
I still get email from the real estate agent I was working with, who is now back in New Orleans. Her house is in the Bywater, where they seem to have fewer utility services than uptown. That's also where A lives--he said they won't have home phone service until MARCH. They basically have to reinstall the entire infrastructure. But uptown is in better shape. The real estate agent mentioned that, although the CCs on the corner of Jefferson and Magazine is closed, somehow its wireless internet is still going strong. So all these people from across town gather outside its windows to access the internet and send email.
It's been a week since I did my mountain of paperwork for my internship and related background check. I was feeling paranoid because I hand't heard anything, and I started to wonder if I had amnesia about engaging in some traitorious subversive activity. But yesterday I got a phone call, asking me to fax over one more document. Was there a problem? I asked, trying not to sound too nervous. No, they were just getting around to reviewing my file. But when they want me to do something, I have to do it right that second. I think--I hope--everything should be finished today, and I will find out when and where I have to report for work.
Which gives me something new to worry about. I was looking at last year's cases, which they list online. About half the time they seem to be on what I would consider the right side, and half the time they're not. They're the EPA's legal defenders, and I think its fair to say that the EPA is, moderately speaking, not what it should be.
It's depressing. Politically and environmentally, what's happening in the wake of the hurricanes in Louisiana is depressing. Because nothing, NOTHING, that should be done is being done. For one thing, this should have been a huge national wakeup call about the rapid disappearance of the Louisiana coast and the many devastating consequences of that. But even now, no one is paying attention, and our last-minute opportunity is being squandered.
I pushed Mike Tidwell's Bayou Farewell last week. I have the pushy urge to send a copy to everyone I know. Could you read it as a favor to me, please? Here's something from the introduction, which was published in 2003 and probably writting in 2002 or earlier:
"A devastating chain reaction has resulted from the taming of the Mississippi, and now the entire coast is disappearing at breakneck speed, with an area equal to the size of Manhattan succumbing every ten months. It is, hands down, the fastest-disappearing landmass on earth, and New Orleans itself is at great risk of vanishing.
"What's being lost is an American treasure, a place as big as the Everglades and just as beautiful, where sky and marsh and wildlife converge, where millions of migratory birds thrive on wetlands that once served as muse to John James Audubon. This world, containing a staggering 25 percent of America's coastal wetlands, may be totally gone in the next few decades, taking with it a huge part of America's economy and a shield against hurricanes for two million citizens.
"Yet almost no one outside the affected area, outside lower Louisiana, knows what's happening here..."
By the way, that wasn't a typo: an area the size of Manhattan disappears every TEN MONTHS. If Massachusetts or California or just about any other state was losing landmass at that rate, it would cause a national uproar. But this is happening in poor, corrupt, fucked-up Louisiana, and no one gives a shit.
I can't stand it.
I still get email from the real estate agent I was working with, who is now back in New Orleans. Her house is in the Bywater, where they seem to have fewer utility services than uptown. That's also where A lives--he said they won't have home phone service until MARCH. They basically have to reinstall the entire infrastructure. But uptown is in better shape. The real estate agent mentioned that, although the CCs on the corner of Jefferson and Magazine is closed, somehow its wireless internet is still going strong. So all these people from across town gather outside its windows to access the internet and send email.
It's been a week since I did my mountain of paperwork for my internship and related background check. I was feeling paranoid because I hand't heard anything, and I started to wonder if I had amnesia about engaging in some traitorious subversive activity. But yesterday I got a phone call, asking me to fax over one more document. Was there a problem? I asked, trying not to sound too nervous. No, they were just getting around to reviewing my file. But when they want me to do something, I have to do it right that second. I think--I hope--everything should be finished today, and I will find out when and where I have to report for work.
Which gives me something new to worry about. I was looking at last year's cases, which they list online. About half the time they seem to be on what I would consider the right side, and half the time they're not. They're the EPA's legal defenders, and I think its fair to say that the EPA is, moderately speaking, not what it should be.
It's depressing. Politically and environmentally, what's happening in the wake of the hurricanes in Louisiana is depressing. Because nothing, NOTHING, that should be done is being done. For one thing, this should have been a huge national wakeup call about the rapid disappearance of the Louisiana coast and the many devastating consequences of that. But even now, no one is paying attention, and our last-minute opportunity is being squandered.
I pushed Mike Tidwell's Bayou Farewell last week. I have the pushy urge to send a copy to everyone I know. Could you read it as a favor to me, please? Here's something from the introduction, which was published in 2003 and probably writting in 2002 or earlier:
"A devastating chain reaction has resulted from the taming of the Mississippi, and now the entire coast is disappearing at breakneck speed, with an area equal to the size of Manhattan succumbing every ten months. It is, hands down, the fastest-disappearing landmass on earth, and New Orleans itself is at great risk of vanishing.
"What's being lost is an American treasure, a place as big as the Everglades and just as beautiful, where sky and marsh and wildlife converge, where millions of migratory birds thrive on wetlands that once served as muse to John James Audubon. This world, containing a staggering 25 percent of America's coastal wetlands, may be totally gone in the next few decades, taking with it a huge part of America's economy and a shield against hurricanes for two million citizens.
"Yet almost no one outside the affected area, outside lower Louisiana, knows what's happening here..."
By the way, that wasn't a typo: an area the size of Manhattan disappears every TEN MONTHS. If Massachusetts or California or just about any other state was losing landmass at that rate, it would cause a national uproar. But this is happening in poor, corrupt, fucked-up Louisiana, and no one gives a shit.
I can't stand it.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Aural artifact
This afternoon I tried to call some people who I think might be back home in New Orleans. I found that it's still pretty hard to get through to a home number or a cell number. Then I just started to call all the numbers in my address book just to see what was working.
I tried WWOZ's livewire, a recorded announcement of club listings. I got through and listened to the list of bands that were playing in New Orleans on Saturday, August 27--exactly six weeks ago.
You can hear it for yourself at 504-780-3222.
I tried WWOZ's livewire, a recorded announcement of club listings. I got through and listened to the list of bands that were playing in New Orleans on Saturday, August 27--exactly six weeks ago.
You can hear it for yourself at 504-780-3222.
Lonely & bored
The earthquake in Pakistan is much worse than Hurricane Katrina, but so far away. Catastrophes are endless and constant. The one that has blown my life inside out is just as abstract to the vast majority of people as the latest earthquake is to me. Maybe someday we'll be better people who feel everyone's pain equally--but then we would never stop suffering.
Haven't heard yet about the big scary background check. In the meantime I'm lonely and bored, bored and lonely, borderline depressed, and occasionally horny; sick of all 781 songs currently on my ipod; and disappointed with humanity in general and the dateable male population in particular. I wish we all were better. Except for you--you're perfect.
Haven't heard yet about the big scary background check. In the meantime I'm lonely and bored, bored and lonely, borderline depressed, and occasionally horny; sick of all 781 songs currently on my ipod; and disappointed with humanity in general and the dateable male population in particular. I wish we all were better. Except for you--you're perfect.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
I miss Bill Clinton
When he was president, I was frustrated and disappointed with him; now I'd give my left tit to have him back. How come it's an ex-president who's on the news talking sensibly about how to bring back New Orleans?
The expected high temperature there is 88. October is a great time to be in New Orleans--the heat gets less relentless, but it's still sunny and warm. Here it's getting cool and dark. I always have a hard time with the change of seasons. This year could be harder than ever--or maybe I'm so much in an imperturbable survival mindset that I won't feel it at all.
The expected high temperature there is 88. October is a great time to be in New Orleans--the heat gets less relentless, but it's still sunny and warm. Here it's getting cool and dark. I always have a hard time with the change of seasons. This year could be harder than ever--or maybe I'm so much in an imperturbable survival mindset that I won't feel it at all.
Screw Bellsouth
I just got a $155 bill from Bellsouth for a) residential service that hasn't been functional for 5 1/2 weeks; b) internet service that, even if it was working, I haven't been able to use for 5 1/2 weeks due to the fact that I had to evacuate from a monster hurricane; and c) crappy Cingular cell phone service and 5 1/2 weeks of shitty reception, dropped calls, and not being able to call other 504 numbers or being accessible to people who were trying to call me.
Then I had to pay $25 to suspend service that isn't even working right now. I called them up to scream at them, but no one's answering the phone right now.
I also got a $200 bill from Entergy. Fuck em all.
Don't ever get Cingular wireless.
Then I had to pay $25 to suspend service that isn't even working right now. I called them up to scream at them, but no one's answering the phone right now.
I also got a $200 bill from Entergy. Fuck em all.
Don't ever get Cingular wireless.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
T the Underaged
The last time I got laid was way back in April, with T the Underaged. We had a long, long flirtation capped by a single sexual encounter. I expected it to be more than that, but I think I scared him off. I seemed to be cast in a Mrs. Robinson role with him--he was twelve years younger than me. The highlight of that night wasn't the sex--it was the drunk elderly retired gynecologist who bought us beers at the Half Moon and told T he should marry me.
But he was a good guy, very likeable. And he worked for the city. He was a mayoral appointee. He'd just bought a little house in the Irish Channel. And now I assume he's been laid off. His house might be okay. I hope he's okay. I'd like to get in touch, but it seems awkward.
My libido has started to stir a little bit, but I wish it wouldn't. Now is not a good time to be horny.
But he was a good guy, very likeable. And he worked for the city. He was a mayoral appointee. He'd just bought a little house in the Irish Channel. And now I assume he's been laid off. His house might be okay. I hope he's okay. I'd like to get in touch, but it seems awkward.
My libido has started to stir a little bit, but I wish it wouldn't. Now is not a good time to be horny.
All of the above
I've mentioned A's blog before (rantautology.blogspot.com) but I'll plug it again because he wrote a good post from New Orleans a couple of days ago. And again I wish I was there, but instead it seems I'm going to DC, assuming I pass the background check.
Miss S is going back next week, but only to get her stuff. She is right and sensible and wise when she says that era in New Orleans is over. That time in our lives is over, abruptly, and we have no choice but to move on.
I want to be in New Orleans with the hipster holdouts, but my life is going in a different direction. I'm glad of it, but want to hold on to my old life while I start a new one. I want everything. I want to be a New Orleans music slacker and coffee-shop boho and a great, prolific writer and a workaholic environmental lawyer doing my part to save the world.
But I'm not sure it works that way, that you can have it all at once. Maybe you can have it all, but you have to have it one thing at a time. Maybe the golden age of hanging out in the land of dreamy dreams is over. Maybe now is my personal age of ambition and working like a maniac.
Still, I'd like to be doing the work in New Orleans as it was two months ago, fueled by coffee from the Rue and lunches from the Oak Street Cafe, listening to good radio, commuting by bike and blowing off steam at the Circle Bar and the Dragon's Den, still rubbing elbows with the freaks, musicians, artists and hipsters.
Miss S is going back next week, but only to get her stuff. She is right and sensible and wise when she says that era in New Orleans is over. That time in our lives is over, abruptly, and we have no choice but to move on.
I want to be in New Orleans with the hipster holdouts, but my life is going in a different direction. I'm glad of it, but want to hold on to my old life while I start a new one. I want everything. I want to be a New Orleans music slacker and coffee-shop boho and a great, prolific writer and a workaholic environmental lawyer doing my part to save the world.
But I'm not sure it works that way, that you can have it all at once. Maybe you can have it all, but you have to have it one thing at a time. Maybe the golden age of hanging out in the land of dreamy dreams is over. Maybe now is my personal age of ambition and working like a maniac.
Still, I'd like to be doing the work in New Orleans as it was two months ago, fueled by coffee from the Rue and lunches from the Oak Street Cafe, listening to good radio, commuting by bike and blowing off steam at the Circle Bar and the Dragon's Den, still rubbing elbows with the freaks, musicians, artists and hipsters.
Monday, October 03, 2005
What to do?
I thought the DOJ had blown me off, but they called today and offered me a paying internship in the division of the environment and natural resources, assuming I pass the background check. In the meantime, the university wants me to start tomorrow. What to do?
I don't want to pass up this opportunity--it's usually very hard to get an internship at the DOJ. I'd rather be in DC than here, and in fact I think it's likely I'll eventually end up in DC if I don't stay in New Orleans.
But I don't feel right about dumping the obligations I've acquired here. I guess the hard thing is that the job at Washington University would represent an opportunity and a promotion if I had stayed in the job that I just left to go to law school.
The silver lining is that I've just demonstrated that I'm actually pretty marketable--my stuckness was a function of New Orleans' bad and very limited economy and the appeal of its non-work-related activities, and not a reflection on my skills and talents.
I don't want to pass up this opportunity--it's usually very hard to get an internship at the DOJ. I'd rather be in DC than here, and in fact I think it's likely I'll eventually end up in DC if I don't stay in New Orleans.
But I don't feel right about dumping the obligations I've acquired here. I guess the hard thing is that the job at Washington University would represent an opportunity and a promotion if I had stayed in the job that I just left to go to law school.
The silver lining is that I've just demonstrated that I'm actually pretty marketable--my stuckness was a function of New Orleans' bad and very limited economy and the appeal of its non-work-related activities, and not a reflection on my skills and talents.
Guilt & Music
I was going to post a picture of my new car, but I don't want to do anything that would seem like bragging about owning a BMW. I've never suffered much from liberal guilt--unlike A, who sometimes seems to feel guilty for sucking air. But Katrina has drawn such a stark line between New Orleans' haves and have-nots. There were times when I felt in danger of landing on the wrong side of the line, but it turns out that I am safely amongst the "haves." And yet I don't feel like I have enough to be much help to anyone else right now.
Before now, I didn't realize how large A looms in my head. It's not like we're the best of friends. I haven't talked to him in at least three weeks. But I have an ongoing mental conversation with him. We have intellectual chemistry of some strange sort.
Last year, the sometimes-great, sometimes-tedious Dirty Dozen Brass Band released an album called "Funeral for a Friend" in honor of Tuba Fats. They're at their old-school best on it. But now it seems like a record of mourning for New Orleans.
Other New Orleans music getting heavy play on my ipod:
Treme Brass Band “Gimme My Money Back”
Lil Rascals Brass Band “Knock With Me-Rock With Me”
Rebirth Brass Band “Let Me Do My Thing” “Do Whatcha Wanna”
R. Scully “Corkscrew” “It Ain’t So Bad, Goodbye” "Gas Money" "Night is Welcome" "Little Miss"--oh hell, his whole recond.
Morning 40 Federation “Professional” “Stinky” “9th Ward”
Mystikal, “Bouncin Back”
The Party Boys “We Got a Party”
And of course, Professor Longhair “Go to the Mardi Gras”
I think I'll probably cry like a baby if I ever hear "12 Yats of Christmas" again, especially with its reference to the 17th Street Canal.
Anyway, instead of my car, I'll post Miss P. In this case the "P" stands for "pissed."
Before now, I didn't realize how large A looms in my head. It's not like we're the best of friends. I haven't talked to him in at least three weeks. But I have an ongoing mental conversation with him. We have intellectual chemistry of some strange sort.
Last year, the sometimes-great, sometimes-tedious Dirty Dozen Brass Band released an album called "Funeral for a Friend" in honor of Tuba Fats. They're at their old-school best on it. But now it seems like a record of mourning for New Orleans.
Other New Orleans music getting heavy play on my ipod:
Treme Brass Band “Gimme My Money Back”
Lil Rascals Brass Band “Knock With Me-Rock With Me”
Rebirth Brass Band “Let Me Do My Thing” “Do Whatcha Wanna”
R. Scully “Corkscrew” “It Ain’t So Bad, Goodbye” "Gas Money" "Night is Welcome" "Little Miss"--oh hell, his whole recond.
Morning 40 Federation “Professional” “Stinky” “9th Ward”
Mystikal, “Bouncin Back”
The Party Boys “We Got a Party”
And of course, Professor Longhair “Go to the Mardi Gras”
I think I'll probably cry like a baby if I ever hear "12 Yats of Christmas" again, especially with its reference to the 17th Street Canal.
Anyway, instead of my car, I'll post Miss P. In this case the "P" stands for "pissed."
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Kalamu
I can't stand that writers from outside of New Orleans are there now, writing about it, and here I am stranded in the Midwest. But David Remnick has a pretty good article in the New Yorker about New Orleans, the city's poor black refugees, their conspiracy theories, their plight.
He interviewed Kalamu ya Salaam, who I think is a bit of a blowhard (he used to do a show on WWOZ and he could be annoying) and who I regret to report is willing to believe the paranoid theories that The Man flooded the 9th Ward on purpose. Even so, some of what he says is, I think, both true and sad:
"You are going to see a lot of suicides this winter. A lot of poor people depend entirely on their extended family and their friends who share their condition to be a buffer against the pain of that condition. By winter, a lot of the generosity and aid that's been so palpable lately will begin to slow down and the reality of not going home again will hit people hard. They will be very alone.
"People forget how important all those Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs are for people. It's a community for a lot of people who have nothing. Some people have never left New Orleans. Some have never seen snow. So you wake up and you find yourself beyond the reach of friends, beyond the reach of members of your family, and you are working in a fast food restaurant in Utah somewhere and there is no conceivable way for you to get back to the city you love. How are you going to feel?"
He interviewed Kalamu ya Salaam, who I think is a bit of a blowhard (he used to do a show on WWOZ and he could be annoying) and who I regret to report is willing to believe the paranoid theories that The Man flooded the 9th Ward on purpose. Even so, some of what he says is, I think, both true and sad:
"You are going to see a lot of suicides this winter. A lot of poor people depend entirely on their extended family and their friends who share their condition to be a buffer against the pain of that condition. By winter, a lot of the generosity and aid that's been so palpable lately will begin to slow down and the reality of not going home again will hit people hard. They will be very alone.
"People forget how important all those Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs are for people. It's a community for a lot of people who have nothing. Some people have never left New Orleans. Some have never seen snow. So you wake up and you find yourself beyond the reach of friends, beyond the reach of members of your family, and you are working in a fast food restaurant in Utah somewhere and there is no conceivable way for you to get back to the city you love. How are you going to feel?"
Home
My neighbors are going home. The news this morning was about people moving back into New Orleans and about bars and clubs reopening. Besides Bourbon Street, they mentioned Molly's in the Quarter and the Maple Leaf, which is two blocks from my house.
I wish I could go home right now, today. I'm working almost as hard as I would be in law school and I'm enjoying it much less. Some of what I'm doing is interesting, but teaching the ACT to high school students sucks big donkey balls.
In the spring, we're going to have classes six days a week. I'm stressed out just thinking about it. I need a massage and a vacation.
I hope K doesn't change her mind about letting me keep the house. I hope she doesn't decide to raise the rent. Rents have quadrupled in the parts of town that are liveable. And even though we dodged a bullet in the flood, I'm still a bit worried about mold.
The car is great. Getting it licensed in Missouri is proving to be a big pain in the ass. I'm scared I'm going to wreck it in the insane traffic around here. But it's great. There's this little built-in tool kit, each tool in its special slot, attached to the inside of the trunk lid. On the dash, there's a gauge that tells you how many miles per gallon you're getting at any particular moment. It's a good-looking, good-driving car. I'm happy with it.
I wish I could go home right now, today. I'm working almost as hard as I would be in law school and I'm enjoying it much less. Some of what I'm doing is interesting, but teaching the ACT to high school students sucks big donkey balls.
In the spring, we're going to have classes six days a week. I'm stressed out just thinking about it. I need a massage and a vacation.
I hope K doesn't change her mind about letting me keep the house. I hope she doesn't decide to raise the rent. Rents have quadrupled in the parts of town that are liveable. And even though we dodged a bullet in the flood, I'm still a bit worried about mold.
The car is great. Getting it licensed in Missouri is proving to be a big pain in the ass. I'm scared I'm going to wreck it in the insane traffic around here. But it's great. There's this little built-in tool kit, each tool in its special slot, attached to the inside of the trunk lid. On the dash, there's a gauge that tells you how many miles per gallon you're getting at any particular moment. It's a good-looking, good-driving car. I'm happy with it.
Friday, September 30, 2005
South of New Orleans
One of my tutoring students here is a woman who works at the School of Social Work at Washington University. She's studying to take the GRE so she can get her Ph.D. In the meantime, she's working on a project that involves various American Indian tribes. She's organizing a benefit for the Houma Indians, who have lost all their land in the hurricane.
I've been so focused on New Orleans, but what happened to the bayou communities south of New Orleans is possibly a bigger tragedy. They've been losing land for many years--it used to be, driving out to Grand Isle, that there was land on either side of the road for many miles, but now the road is like a long bridge, with nothing on either side but water. What was eroding gradually has now just suddenly disappeared. Entire rural parishes are gone and will never really come back. The Houma have lost their land, and they don't know where else they can go.
This is tragic not just ecologically, but because it is probably the end of the very strange and wonderful culture of coastal Louisiana. And maybe the end of Louisiana fisheries as well.
After we talked, I went to a bookstore in the city and bought a book called Bayou Farewell by Mike Tidwell, about the culture and the destruction of coastal Louisiana. It came out a few years ago and I'd been meaning to read it--I heard it was gripping and heartbreaking. I ought to have read it before; I need to read it now. I'm a little annoyed by the way he tries to translate the cajun accent phonetically--I find it distracting to read. Otherwise, though, I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone trying to understand what's gone wrong in South Louisiana.
I've been so focused on New Orleans, but what happened to the bayou communities south of New Orleans is possibly a bigger tragedy. They've been losing land for many years--it used to be, driving out to Grand Isle, that there was land on either side of the road for many miles, but now the road is like a long bridge, with nothing on either side but water. What was eroding gradually has now just suddenly disappeared. Entire rural parishes are gone and will never really come back. The Houma have lost their land, and they don't know where else they can go.
This is tragic not just ecologically, but because it is probably the end of the very strange and wonderful culture of coastal Louisiana. And maybe the end of Louisiana fisheries as well.
After we talked, I went to a bookstore in the city and bought a book called Bayou Farewell by Mike Tidwell, about the culture and the destruction of coastal Louisiana. It came out a few years ago and I'd been meaning to read it--I heard it was gripping and heartbreaking. I ought to have read it before; I need to read it now. I'm a little annoyed by the way he tries to translate the cajun accent phonetically--I find it distracting to read. Otherwise, though, I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone trying to understand what's gone wrong in South Louisiana.
Visual aids
This blog has been long on bitchy rants and short on pictures, so I present some cameraphone art from the evacuation:
I left around one a.m. Traffic was moving at that point. The scariest thing I saw was the miles-long row of fire trucks and ambulances parked on one lane of the elevated freeway--they'd put them there so they wouldn't get flooded. The other strange thing was driving on the contraflow--during an evacuation, all lanes on both sides of the interstate go only one direction: out. When you drive on the wrong side of the interstate, the reflectors that shine white when you travel the usual direction now shine red.
Mississippi has nice rest stops, and I had to stop at every one of them because of Hank. They were crowded with people from Louisiana and their pets. But at that point everything seemed a bit like an adventure, and there was almost a party atmosphere at the rest stops--typical of Louisianans. I tried to get a hotel room north of Jackson, but everything was full. So I slept in a rest stop for about four hours. Here's a picture of Hank checking out the scenery in the morning. I'd tied him to a post while I went to the bathroom:
I spent a couple of days with my friend J in Memphis. His roommate inherited a couple of houses in the ghetto of South Memphis, so that's where I stayed. We watched Jerry Springer Uncensored and went to a casino. Things still had the feel of a spur-of-the-moment road trip. They live a few blocks south of McLemore, where the Stax studio has been rebuilt as a museum. It's cool to see the marquee once again, and the museum is pretty cool, too. They have Isaac Hayes' Cadillac, sky blue with gold trim and white plush interior. Too bad I didn't take a picture of that.
Shortly after visiting Stax was when I heard that the levee in New Orleans had been breached, and the vacation-like aspect of the trip abruptly ended.
I don't have a lot of scenic pictures of New Orleans, but I leave you with my new house, my old apartment building, and me on the streetcar:
Oh, and one more--the porch of the house in the country where Miss P stayed after being rescued:
I left around one a.m. Traffic was moving at that point. The scariest thing I saw was the miles-long row of fire trucks and ambulances parked on one lane of the elevated freeway--they'd put them there so they wouldn't get flooded. The other strange thing was driving on the contraflow--during an evacuation, all lanes on both sides of the interstate go only one direction: out. When you drive on the wrong side of the interstate, the reflectors that shine white when you travel the usual direction now shine red.
Mississippi has nice rest stops, and I had to stop at every one of them because of Hank. They were crowded with people from Louisiana and their pets. But at that point everything seemed a bit like an adventure, and there was almost a party atmosphere at the rest stops--typical of Louisianans. I tried to get a hotel room north of Jackson, but everything was full. So I slept in a rest stop for about four hours. Here's a picture of Hank checking out the scenery in the morning. I'd tied him to a post while I went to the bathroom:
I spent a couple of days with my friend J in Memphis. His roommate inherited a couple of houses in the ghetto of South Memphis, so that's where I stayed. We watched Jerry Springer Uncensored and went to a casino. Things still had the feel of a spur-of-the-moment road trip. They live a few blocks south of McLemore, where the Stax studio has been rebuilt as a museum. It's cool to see the marquee once again, and the museum is pretty cool, too. They have Isaac Hayes' Cadillac, sky blue with gold trim and white plush interior. Too bad I didn't take a picture of that.
Shortly after visiting Stax was when I heard that the levee in New Orleans had been breached, and the vacation-like aspect of the trip abruptly ended.
I don't have a lot of scenic pictures of New Orleans, but I leave you with my new house, my old apartment building, and me on the streetcar:
Oh, and one more--the porch of the house in the country where Miss P stayed after being rescued:
Oh my,
Strangers are reading my blog and even leaving nice comments. Thank you.
I heard from my landlady today. It seems that after she rescued Miss P, the ASPCA finally came by and busted down the front door, looking for that cat that was no longer there--and then left the door hanging open. However, she said the stereo was still in the front room, so it seems safe to assume that everything else is still there.
She knows a couple whose house in Gentilly was completely destroyed, and she wants to let them stay in my house until I come back. I'm not completely comfortable with the idea of strangers living in my house with my stuff, but I can't say no in good conscience. I'm so lucky that I still have stuff, and they have nothing--and besides, now they can deal with the refrigerator. The only other problem is that now I can't race back the very second I get free of my obligations here--I have to wait for them to move out. I told her I wanted to move back on December 1, but I'm not sure if my sanity will survive that long. Maybe, when I'm done with my classes in early November, I can do a couch-surfing tour of my friends' towns, just for the sake of getting out of here.
My mother is very worried about my money and is full of unsolicited opinions and anxiety. I regret telling her anything about what I have or don't have. However, it seems I'm getting a little bit more money from FEMA, so essentially the government has bought me a used BMW! (A fine use of your tax dollars, no?) Now there doesn't seem to be too much to worry about. As long as I bring in some income while I'm here and save the bulk of it, I should be fine. I haven't heard about the internship, but I am getting some freelance work from Washington University--I contacted them about temporarily helping out after I saw the ad for what is essentially my old job. So again, I've been fortunate.
I did make one frivolous purchase--I bought an ipod. It seemed the best way to solve the music shortage and avoid subjecting my poor parents to my musical taste.
An observation: When you go to a coffee shop in New Orleans or in or most urban areas, the main activities that people are engaged in are drinking coffee, hanging out and talking, studying, reading the paper, reading books, working on laptops, and sometimes playing chess or cards. Here in the midwestern suburbs, the number one coffeeshop activity after eating and drinking is doing Bible study. No kidding. It's scary.
I heard from my landlady today. It seems that after she rescued Miss P, the ASPCA finally came by and busted down the front door, looking for that cat that was no longer there--and then left the door hanging open. However, she said the stereo was still in the front room, so it seems safe to assume that everything else is still there.
She knows a couple whose house in Gentilly was completely destroyed, and she wants to let them stay in my house until I come back. I'm not completely comfortable with the idea of strangers living in my house with my stuff, but I can't say no in good conscience. I'm so lucky that I still have stuff, and they have nothing--and besides, now they can deal with the refrigerator. The only other problem is that now I can't race back the very second I get free of my obligations here--I have to wait for them to move out. I told her I wanted to move back on December 1, but I'm not sure if my sanity will survive that long. Maybe, when I'm done with my classes in early November, I can do a couch-surfing tour of my friends' towns, just for the sake of getting out of here.
My mother is very worried about my money and is full of unsolicited opinions and anxiety. I regret telling her anything about what I have or don't have. However, it seems I'm getting a little bit more money from FEMA, so essentially the government has bought me a used BMW! (A fine use of your tax dollars, no?) Now there doesn't seem to be too much to worry about. As long as I bring in some income while I'm here and save the bulk of it, I should be fine. I haven't heard about the internship, but I am getting some freelance work from Washington University--I contacted them about temporarily helping out after I saw the ad for what is essentially my old job. So again, I've been fortunate.
I did make one frivolous purchase--I bought an ipod. It seemed the best way to solve the music shortage and avoid subjecting my poor parents to my musical taste.
An observation: When you go to a coffee shop in New Orleans or in or most urban areas, the main activities that people are engaged in are drinking coffee, hanging out and talking, studying, reading the paper, reading books, working on laptops, and sometimes playing chess or cards. Here in the midwestern suburbs, the number one coffeeshop activity after eating and drinking is doing Bible study. No kidding. It's scary.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
A plan
The law school announced today that classes will resume on January 9. We'll have two short 10-week semesters with just a week off in between. It's going to be really hard. But I'm glad to have a date, an official announcement, a plan.
I've been insanely lucky in all this. I think I will be able to move back into my house and have something like my old life back. Of course, New Orleans won't be the same. I expect that it will be shocking and painful to see. But I want to go back. I kind of feel bad for not being there now, as though I've abandoned my beloved.
I don't know now if I will want to stay there past graduation, but for now I want to be there.
I will be able to get financial aid for the second of the two semesters, so I won't be in such bad shape if I buy a car--which is good because I'm buying a ten-year-old BMW on Friday. I can hear the comments now about becoming a lawyer and selling out, but I don't care. It's a great car, much better than I thought I could get, and I'm going to enjoy it.
I might have the chance to go do a paid internship in DC for the rest of the fall, which would be good.
So I've been lucky and I appreciate that, despite my nonstop bitching. But I resent it when people say that's because so many were praying for me and because god has a special plan for me. Out here in the Christ-infected midwest everyone feels free to tell you things like that. It's arrogant to say, and it makes god look like a petty tyrant (as I've noted before). Lots of good Christians lost everything, some of them died. The mental contortions necessary to see god's will in this seem to me a sign of insanity. This tragedy was brought to us by the team of nature and humanity. And it is a tragedy. New Orleans had many serious problems, all of which have been highlighted in this mess, but nevertheless it was a unique treasure. There was no place like it.
I don't think god's intervention had anything to do with my luck, but it does make a difference to me to realize that people really care about me. I'm pretty introverted sometimes--I've spent a lot of time hiding out from people. I haven't always been a particularly good friend. And it's not like I have a huge circle of friends (unlike A, an odd case who is even more of an introvert than me but who has that odd charisma that makes everyone love him even when he's impossible). But there are people--and you know who you are--who I've known for a long time or a not so long time, who I might not see or speak to often, but who stick with me and persist in my life and make an effort to stay in touch and who have really been good to me over the last month. That means more to me than you know.
Friends seem so important now and romance seems trivial nonsense. I have no interest in it. I don't think about sex much, either, although every once in awhile I see someone appealing on the street or in a restaurant and I have a strong flash of desire to just press up against him, nuzzle his neck, make contact flesh-on-flesh contact.
I've been insanely lucky in all this. I think I will be able to move back into my house and have something like my old life back. Of course, New Orleans won't be the same. I expect that it will be shocking and painful to see. But I want to go back. I kind of feel bad for not being there now, as though I've abandoned my beloved.
I don't know now if I will want to stay there past graduation, but for now I want to be there.
I will be able to get financial aid for the second of the two semesters, so I won't be in such bad shape if I buy a car--which is good because I'm buying a ten-year-old BMW on Friday. I can hear the comments now about becoming a lawyer and selling out, but I don't care. It's a great car, much better than I thought I could get, and I'm going to enjoy it.
I might have the chance to go do a paid internship in DC for the rest of the fall, which would be good.
So I've been lucky and I appreciate that, despite my nonstop bitching. But I resent it when people say that's because so many were praying for me and because god has a special plan for me. Out here in the Christ-infected midwest everyone feels free to tell you things like that. It's arrogant to say, and it makes god look like a petty tyrant (as I've noted before). Lots of good Christians lost everything, some of them died. The mental contortions necessary to see god's will in this seem to me a sign of insanity. This tragedy was brought to us by the team of nature and humanity. And it is a tragedy. New Orleans had many serious problems, all of which have been highlighted in this mess, but nevertheless it was a unique treasure. There was no place like it.
I don't think god's intervention had anything to do with my luck, but it does make a difference to me to realize that people really care about me. I'm pretty introverted sometimes--I've spent a lot of time hiding out from people. I haven't always been a particularly good friend. And it's not like I have a huge circle of friends (unlike A, an odd case who is even more of an introvert than me but who has that odd charisma that makes everyone love him even when he's impossible). But there are people--and you know who you are--who I've known for a long time or a not so long time, who I might not see or speak to often, but who stick with me and persist in my life and make an effort to stay in touch and who have really been good to me over the last month. That means more to me than you know.
Friends seem so important now and romance seems trivial nonsense. I have no interest in it. I don't think about sex much, either, although every once in awhile I see someone appealing on the street or in a restaurant and I have a strong flash of desire to just press up against him, nuzzle his neck, make contact flesh-on-flesh contact.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
A temptation
Washington University is advertising a job that's a lot like my old job, except with a somewhat higher salary. I'm tempted to apply. It would be comforting to slip back into a facsimile of my old job and recreate a version of my old life to the degree it's recreatable in St. Louis. I could get a car and an apartment in University City. It would get me out of this suburban hellhole. St. Louis will never be as charming and fun as New Orleans, but it's probably less susceptible to destruction. I could just forget about law school, and in a way that's tempting, too--law school's so hard and so expensive. On bad days I don't feel up to the challenge, not after having my life uprooted like this.
But of course, then I would be rooted in St. Louis, which is not where I want to be. And before too long I would probably start to feel as stagnant in that job as I did in my old one.
I think I'm going to have to buy a car and try to work more to make up the cash. I don't know about getting a car loan--I'm not sure if temporarily semi-employed refugees/full-time students can get car loans--although I understand my credit union is going to be a little bit freer with loan money when it reopens in New Orleans. I'm not sure if I could manage the payments while I'm in school--maybe if they're under $200. I guess I wouldn't have to borrow that much.
There's nothing I want more than to have my life back exactly the way it was a month ago.
But of course, then I would be rooted in St. Louis, which is not where I want to be. And before too long I would probably start to feel as stagnant in that job as I did in my old one.
I think I'm going to have to buy a car and try to work more to make up the cash. I don't know about getting a car loan--I'm not sure if temporarily semi-employed refugees/full-time students can get car loans--although I understand my credit union is going to be a little bit freer with loan money when it reopens in New Orleans. I'm not sure if I could manage the payments while I'm in school--maybe if they're under $200. I guess I wouldn't have to borrow that much.
There's nothing I want more than to have my life back exactly the way it was a month ago.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Bad mood
Someone from NPR left a comment on A's blog wondering how to get in touch. Bastard. And Miss S got a job at the NYT. It's petty to be jealous, but I'm in a mood. A dark, bad mood.
You don't know how hard it was to drive all the way down I-55, past Memphis through Mississippi and across the state line into Louisiana, to see the signs for New Orleans 150 miles, 120 miles, etc., to get that close and then turn around and go back the other way without going in. Everyone else is going in, I feel like a wimp. But it just seemed like a bad idea when everyone was already evacuating ahead of Hurricane Rita. Sometimes it's hard to believe this is really happening.
I got off to a late start. I thought if I got too tired and couldn't make it all the way down, I'd stop somewhere between Memphis and Jackson and get a motel room. But of course, all the motels are still full of Katrina refugees. A month or more in the Motel 6 in Canton, Mississippi--that would be worse than staying with my folks--and let me be clear, they're driving me ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NUTS. With my classes and internship, I'm committed to stay here at least into November, and I honestly don't know if I can make it without snapping.
But I digress. I slept, briefly, at a rest stop, just like I did going the other way during the evacuation. I got up at sunrise and brushed my teeth in the ladies room and got back on the road.
Miss P was staying at the home of an animal rescue volunteer who lives in a tiny town a little bit north of Baton Rouge. I got off the interstate and onto Louisiana 10. It's a pretty country road that goes through farms and small towns. It looks like Louisiana, with the moss-covered oaks and the creole cottages and bayous and battered pickup trucks. The weather was still hot and steamy down there.
Miss P's benefactor's house was a largish creole cottage on the historic register, with a screened-in porch and a big oak tree in the front yard. The owner was a well-maintained single middle-aged woman who lives there alone in sort of shabby chic style. I immediately liked her and loved her house.
Miss P is completely non-flummoxed by the many turns of events of the last few weeks. She's just as bossy and demanding as ever.
I napped a little bit at the house and took a shower, in a brief interlude of peace and contentment. But it couldn't last. I had to get back in order to teach today.
While I was napping, everything fell apart in the outside world. Thick swarms of lovebugs had emerged--I'm not exaggerating when I say it was like a biblical plague. I stopped to get gas, and they were in my shirt and my hair and flying in my eyes. On the road, it was like driving through a black snowstorm. There were so many bug guts on the windshielf, I had to stop every hour to try to clean it off.
And by then the Rita evacuation was underway. I-55 was moving and gas was available, but there was a lot of traffic--caravans of humvees coming out of New Orleans, Texans in RVs, utility trucks, lots of idiots parked in the passing lane doing 40 miles per hour.
This morning I went to tutor a student at Washington University, which has a pretty campus. If I were staying in the city, maybe I wouldn't be so depressed, and I feel like a bad person for complaining when I've been so lucky and my parents have been good to me--but I hate it here. I just fucking hate it here and I want to go home.
I was looking at cars and feeling bummed out about what is available for the cash I have on hand. Then I got a notice that I'm not supposed to be spending the financial aid I got this semester because I won't get more next semester, and thus I don't think I can afford to buy a car at all. Which is okay because I don't really want to buy a car and spend all that money on gas and repairs and insurance. Plus, even though I love driving a good car, I think that fossil-fuel burning cars are at the root a lot of what's going wrong around here and I would just rather opt out.
And in a way I don't need one. My folks have been good about sharing theirs. But that's contributing to my depression--you can't go anywhere here without a car, so I can't go anywhere without asking permission. Back in New Orleans, in my old life, I didn't need a car. But I can't forget that helpless feeling of calling everyone I know trying to find a way out during the evacuation, and having to depend on other people and their schedules and whims. I want a car so I won't be so helpless. And also I don't know if there will be open shops and restaurants in the neighborhood when I go back. Maybe I'll have to drive to Metairie to get groceries.
So I go around and around with this. The way to get a car would be to get a full time job so that I could replace the funds I used to by it. And then I'd need a car so I could go to my full-time job. But I feel like I'm at my limit right now of what I can handle. The internship is a good thing, and I can do a lot of my work at home. I can't quit that, and I don't want to. The teaching pays a good hourly rate, but the hours are limited, but that's okay because they're pretty stressful hours.
I kind of wish I hadn't come here, but where else could I really go and expect to stay for months with my animals and borrow a car and so forth? I feel trapped, but no matter where I went I wouldn't be in New Orleans and I'd be depressed. Going back there seems depressing and not going back seems depressing. There's really nowhere else I want to be, not in this country. I hate what is happening in this country. I hate the strip malls and the SUVs and the office parks and the fucking evangelical Christians and their megachurches. I hate the Midwest with a furious passion.
I miss New Orleans. I miss everyone I knew there. I miss my bicycle. I miss the used bookstore on Decatur. I miss the Rue de la Course. I miss my bathtub. I want a shrimp poboy. I want to go the Circle Bar. I want to listen to WWOZ and WTUL. I want to ride the streetcar. I want to go get pho at a Vietnamese restaurant. I want to go see Ryan Scully. I want to do whatever the hell I want and not have to tell anyone what I'm doing or be subjected to their worry and their fussing and their opinions about what I should or should not be doing. I want to make my own dinner the way I want to make it. I want to go back to complaining about not getting laid. I want to sleep in my own bed in my own house. I want a fish taco. I want one of those long steamy New Orleans nights of staying out till sunrise. I just fucking want to go home.
You don't know how hard it was to drive all the way down I-55, past Memphis through Mississippi and across the state line into Louisiana, to see the signs for New Orleans 150 miles, 120 miles, etc., to get that close and then turn around and go back the other way without going in. Everyone else is going in, I feel like a wimp. But it just seemed like a bad idea when everyone was already evacuating ahead of Hurricane Rita. Sometimes it's hard to believe this is really happening.
I got off to a late start. I thought if I got too tired and couldn't make it all the way down, I'd stop somewhere between Memphis and Jackson and get a motel room. But of course, all the motels are still full of Katrina refugees. A month or more in the Motel 6 in Canton, Mississippi--that would be worse than staying with my folks--and let me be clear, they're driving me ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NUTS. With my classes and internship, I'm committed to stay here at least into November, and I honestly don't know if I can make it without snapping.
But I digress. I slept, briefly, at a rest stop, just like I did going the other way during the evacuation. I got up at sunrise and brushed my teeth in the ladies room and got back on the road.
Miss P was staying at the home of an animal rescue volunteer who lives in a tiny town a little bit north of Baton Rouge. I got off the interstate and onto Louisiana 10. It's a pretty country road that goes through farms and small towns. It looks like Louisiana, with the moss-covered oaks and the creole cottages and bayous and battered pickup trucks. The weather was still hot and steamy down there.
Miss P's benefactor's house was a largish creole cottage on the historic register, with a screened-in porch and a big oak tree in the front yard. The owner was a well-maintained single middle-aged woman who lives there alone in sort of shabby chic style. I immediately liked her and loved her house.
Miss P is completely non-flummoxed by the many turns of events of the last few weeks. She's just as bossy and demanding as ever.
I napped a little bit at the house and took a shower, in a brief interlude of peace and contentment. But it couldn't last. I had to get back in order to teach today.
While I was napping, everything fell apart in the outside world. Thick swarms of lovebugs had emerged--I'm not exaggerating when I say it was like a biblical plague. I stopped to get gas, and they were in my shirt and my hair and flying in my eyes. On the road, it was like driving through a black snowstorm. There were so many bug guts on the windshielf, I had to stop every hour to try to clean it off.
And by then the Rita evacuation was underway. I-55 was moving and gas was available, but there was a lot of traffic--caravans of humvees coming out of New Orleans, Texans in RVs, utility trucks, lots of idiots parked in the passing lane doing 40 miles per hour.
This morning I went to tutor a student at Washington University, which has a pretty campus. If I were staying in the city, maybe I wouldn't be so depressed, and I feel like a bad person for complaining when I've been so lucky and my parents have been good to me--but I hate it here. I just fucking hate it here and I want to go home.
I was looking at cars and feeling bummed out about what is available for the cash I have on hand. Then I got a notice that I'm not supposed to be spending the financial aid I got this semester because I won't get more next semester, and thus I don't think I can afford to buy a car at all. Which is okay because I don't really want to buy a car and spend all that money on gas and repairs and insurance. Plus, even though I love driving a good car, I think that fossil-fuel burning cars are at the root a lot of what's going wrong around here and I would just rather opt out.
And in a way I don't need one. My folks have been good about sharing theirs. But that's contributing to my depression--you can't go anywhere here without a car, so I can't go anywhere without asking permission. Back in New Orleans, in my old life, I didn't need a car. But I can't forget that helpless feeling of calling everyone I know trying to find a way out during the evacuation, and having to depend on other people and their schedules and whims. I want a car so I won't be so helpless. And also I don't know if there will be open shops and restaurants in the neighborhood when I go back. Maybe I'll have to drive to Metairie to get groceries.
So I go around and around with this. The way to get a car would be to get a full time job so that I could replace the funds I used to by it. And then I'd need a car so I could go to my full-time job. But I feel like I'm at my limit right now of what I can handle. The internship is a good thing, and I can do a lot of my work at home. I can't quit that, and I don't want to. The teaching pays a good hourly rate, but the hours are limited, but that's okay because they're pretty stressful hours.
I kind of wish I hadn't come here, but where else could I really go and expect to stay for months with my animals and borrow a car and so forth? I feel trapped, but no matter where I went I wouldn't be in New Orleans and I'd be depressed. Going back there seems depressing and not going back seems depressing. There's really nowhere else I want to be, not in this country. I hate what is happening in this country. I hate the strip malls and the SUVs and the office parks and the fucking evangelical Christians and their megachurches. I hate the Midwest with a furious passion.
I miss New Orleans. I miss everyone I knew there. I miss my bicycle. I miss the used bookstore on Decatur. I miss the Rue de la Course. I miss my bathtub. I want a shrimp poboy. I want to go the Circle Bar. I want to listen to WWOZ and WTUL. I want to ride the streetcar. I want to go get pho at a Vietnamese restaurant. I want to go see Ryan Scully. I want to do whatever the hell I want and not have to tell anyone what I'm doing or be subjected to their worry and their fussing and their opinions about what I should or should not be doing. I want to make my own dinner the way I want to make it. I want to go back to complaining about not getting laid. I want to sleep in my own bed in my own house. I want a fish taco. I want one of those long steamy New Orleans nights of staying out till sunrise. I just fucking want to go home.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
refrigerators
I've heard from people who have gone back to look at their uptown houses. If they make the mistake of opening their refrigerators, they find them crawling with maggots. One girl cleaned hers out, but she vomited a couple of times before finishing. Others don't have the stomach for it, they're just sealing the refrigerator up and dragging it out to the curb. So add that to the waste and the mess--thousands of maggoty refrigerators.
I'm planning to go to Baton Rouge today to get Miss P out of hock. I'd thought about continuing on to New Orleans to check things out and maybe get a few things out of my house. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, and in any case the city is under yet another evacuation order because of the new hurricane. I don't know if I could take it if the city flooded again before the last one has been pumped out.
I'm planning to go to Baton Rouge today to get Miss P out of hock. I'd thought about continuing on to New Orleans to check things out and maybe get a few things out of my house. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, and in any case the city is under yet another evacuation order because of the new hurricane. I don't know if I could take it if the city flooded again before the last one has been pumped out.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Gretna
My attention to the news has been sporadic, so I've only just learned that it was the Gretna police, not the National Guard, who blocked off the bridge during the evacuation fiasco. It was an unforgivably stupid and heartless act. If they didn't want New Orleans' riffraff in their dinky little town, they could have sealed off the relevant exits of the Westbank Expressway. Instead, they totally cut off the main artery out of downtown. So not only could no one get to Gretna, they couldn't get to Algiers or Westwego or on a bus to Houston. Unbelievable.
On a happier note, Alex Chilton has checked in. I mean, not to me--to the Easley's in Memphis.
On a happier note, Alex Chilton has checked in. I mean, not to me--to the Easley's in Memphis.
Monday, September 19, 2005
I wanna go home
Nagin invited people to come back into the city, or at least into Algiers, then promptly told them to leave again due to federal backlash and a new hurricane.
I can't stand to hear or read the ignorant, stupid and hateful opinions of other people. I will concede that, looking at things in the coldest and most objective way, rebuilding New Orleans may not be a sensible thing to do, at least not if we don't also invest in a total re-engineering of the Louisiana coast and a rethinking of the levee system, and if we don't admit the role the oil and gas industry played in this fiasco (ironically one of the main parties who wants to see the city rebuilt) and quit letting them tear up the wetlands.
On CNN tonight: The Hot 8 leading a second line in Baton Rouge.
The balance of power is going to shift in Louisiana, I think, and Baton Rouge will permanently become the bigger city. But Baton Rouge is now and will forever be a shithole, and one without a drop of New Orleans's redeeming charm.
My parents get all kinds of mail from right-wing causes and think-tanks askiing for money. Whenever possible, I intercept it and destroy it. Is that unethical?
I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.
I can't stand to hear or read the ignorant, stupid and hateful opinions of other people. I will concede that, looking at things in the coldest and most objective way, rebuilding New Orleans may not be a sensible thing to do, at least not if we don't also invest in a total re-engineering of the Louisiana coast and a rethinking of the levee system, and if we don't admit the role the oil and gas industry played in this fiasco (ironically one of the main parties who wants to see the city rebuilt) and quit letting them tear up the wetlands.
On CNN tonight: The Hot 8 leading a second line in Baton Rouge.
The balance of power is going to shift in Louisiana, I think, and Baton Rouge will permanently become the bigger city. But Baton Rouge is now and will forever be a shithole, and one without a drop of New Orleans's redeeming charm.
My parents get all kinds of mail from right-wing causes and think-tanks askiing for money. Whenever possible, I intercept it and destroy it. Is that unethical?
I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.
Friday, September 16, 2005
God bless New Orleans
On the news--people drinking in a bar in the French Quarter that has stayed open more or less the whole time. I didn't recognize it in the brief shot they showed on television. But god bless New Orleans, keeping the drinks coming at all costs. Also, the Times-Picayune reassures us that there's going to be a Mardi Gras next year.
My neighborhood is re-opening a week from today. But now I have commitments here until the beginning of November, and nothing much to do there but maybe guard my stuff. I'd like to go back, but staying here will be more bearable knowing there's a definite end in sight.
I'm feeling much more committed to doing environmental law in the wake of all this mess, although I've had a wakeup call about whether I could afford to work for a non-profit firm.
I heard that all the toxins in the water that's being pumped into the lake will drain into the Gulf and ruin Louisiana's fisheries for 25 years. All those oystermen and shrimpers were already having a hard time; now it's pretty much over for them. Their livelihood is gone, and some of the crucial ingredients in New Orleans cooking. I never really understood the big deal about shrimp until I lived in New Orleans.
I haven't been able to contact any of my former co-workers, but their bylines have started to pop up on Tulane's website. They must all be in Houston where the school's administration has temporarily set up operations.
I find myself getting annoyed with my parents and snipping at them. They do know how to try a girl's patience. But I must remind myself that they are letting me stay here rent-free, loaning me their cars, and putting up with my dog and soon my cat. I ought to do a better job of showing appreciation or at least not being a total bitch.
My neighborhood is re-opening a week from today. But now I have commitments here until the beginning of November, and nothing much to do there but maybe guard my stuff. I'd like to go back, but staying here will be more bearable knowing there's a definite end in sight.
I'm feeling much more committed to doing environmental law in the wake of all this mess, although I've had a wakeup call about whether I could afford to work for a non-profit firm.
I heard that all the toxins in the water that's being pumped into the lake will drain into the Gulf and ruin Louisiana's fisheries for 25 years. All those oystermen and shrimpers were already having a hard time; now it's pretty much over for them. Their livelihood is gone, and some of the crucial ingredients in New Orleans cooking. I never really understood the big deal about shrimp until I lived in New Orleans.
I haven't been able to contact any of my former co-workers, but their bylines have started to pop up on Tulane's website. They must all be in Houston where the school's administration has temporarily set up operations.
I find myself getting annoyed with my parents and snipping at them. They do know how to try a girl's patience. But I must remind myself that they are letting me stay here rent-free, loaning me their cars, and putting up with my dog and soon my cat. I ought to do a better job of showing appreciation or at least not being a total bitch.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Good news
I just heard from my landlady, who got back into New Orleans today. She rescued Miss P, who is fine!
She said the house had minimal damage, though the tree in the backyard fell and smashed someone else's roof. It was still locked up and nothing was missing. So at the very least I should be able to salvage my kitchen stuff and CDs. There might be a problem with mold in the linens and clothes. It's possible that I will be able to move back into the house in December, though it will have to be thoroughly inspected before I will know for sure.
But at least I know something, and the news is mostly good, which is better than wondering and worrying.
Still, I'm in shock when I hear people on the news debating about whether New Orleans should be rebuilt, when I was living my life there just three weeks ago.
And the news is still upsetting--I was flipping through the issue of People magazine with the hurricane on the cover--there was an interview with Charmaine Neville, who described people getting pulled under water by alligators, and her own experience of being raped at knifepoint in a shelter. And on NPR, people describing trying to walk over the bridge to the dry land of the Westbank, and having National Guardsmen send them back at gun point. What a cluster fuck. Most of Lakeview and Gentilly and Mid City and the Ninth Ward will have to be razed. Just huge tracts of the city. I take some comfort that many of the neighborhoods I was most attached to have survived. Well, the architecture has survived. Whether the people and the businesses will return is another matter. Part of the Bywater, the Marigny, the Quarter, the Lower Garden District and the Irish Channel and the Riverbend are at least physically intact.
In the day, I'm busy and even sort of optimistic. I'm being forced to start all over, which is an opportunity, in a way. I'm trying to make a good start.
At night, though, I have bad dreams or I lie awake and mourn.
I take A's sarcastic point about how all the heroics he's heard about have been directed at saving pets; and thus how all the middle class people in New Orleans should have adopted a poor black person instead of a pet.
But I'm very happy to know that Miss P is okay and that I will be able to get her back. Hank will be glad to see his cat friend, too.
She said the house had minimal damage, though the tree in the backyard fell and smashed someone else's roof. It was still locked up and nothing was missing. So at the very least I should be able to salvage my kitchen stuff and CDs. There might be a problem with mold in the linens and clothes. It's possible that I will be able to move back into the house in December, though it will have to be thoroughly inspected before I will know for sure.
But at least I know something, and the news is mostly good, which is better than wondering and worrying.
Still, I'm in shock when I hear people on the news debating about whether New Orleans should be rebuilt, when I was living my life there just three weeks ago.
And the news is still upsetting--I was flipping through the issue of People magazine with the hurricane on the cover--there was an interview with Charmaine Neville, who described people getting pulled under water by alligators, and her own experience of being raped at knifepoint in a shelter. And on NPR, people describing trying to walk over the bridge to the dry land of the Westbank, and having National Guardsmen send them back at gun point. What a cluster fuck. Most of Lakeview and Gentilly and Mid City and the Ninth Ward will have to be razed. Just huge tracts of the city. I take some comfort that many of the neighborhoods I was most attached to have survived. Well, the architecture has survived. Whether the people and the businesses will return is another matter. Part of the Bywater, the Marigny, the Quarter, the Lower Garden District and the Irish Channel and the Riverbend are at least physically intact.
In the day, I'm busy and even sort of optimistic. I'm being forced to start all over, which is an opportunity, in a way. I'm trying to make a good start.
At night, though, I have bad dreams or I lie awake and mourn.
I take A's sarcastic point about how all the heroics he's heard about have been directed at saving pets; and thus how all the middle class people in New Orleans should have adopted a poor black person instead of a pet.
But I'm very happy to know that Miss P is okay and that I will be able to get her back. Hank will be glad to see his cat friend, too.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Something creepy
On New Orleans' craigslist, there are all kinds of personal ads from guys around the country offering female Katrina refugees a place to stay and even "immediate marriage" in exchange for, basically, sex. Of course, the woman has to be pretty. Their hearts are apparently closed to ugly refugees. It's just stunningly pathetic.
My life as a refugee
I've been a refugee for two weeks. I want to go home, and it's a little shock every time I re-realize I don't have a home to go home to.
My psyche is split in two--part of me gets up every morning and functions. I'm coping at a fairly high level. But the other part of me is deeply, cripplingly depressed.
I have some residual affection for St. Louis proper. It's where I was first exposed to the urban boho life. When my high school classmates were sneaking out to parties, I was sneaking out to drive into the city to see art movies at the Tivoli and Varsity Theatres and shop at Vintage Vinyl (which is now in the former site of the Varisty.) Once I hooked up with my first real boyfriend, I spent even more time in the city. There are certainly places within the 170 loop where you could make a pleasant life for yourself. This a.m. I had to stop by the Princeton Review office, and after I had coffee on Delmar Avenue, where people were sitting out on the sidewalk and there were even some bicycle commuters--and unlike in New Orleans, they didn't feel the need to put their bikes in triple lockdown when they parked them on the sidewalk.
Also I have to give props to Lion's Choice roast beef sandwiches and 24-hour Steak n Shakes.
But in general this place is way too Jesus-infested. (I thought the south was supposed to be the Bible belt, but Midwest seems much more overtly evangelical--and also much more frankly racist. Not that the two are related...) There are two many highways, traffic jams, strip malls, and billboards.
On Friday night I drove 25 miles and sat in two traffic jams in order to see the Knitters (X re-imagined as a hillbilly band, with Dave Alvin on guitar) at a club downtown. They played in New Orleans in the week before the flood, but I couldn't go see them because I was way too overwhelmed by my law school workload.
They were good. Dave Alvin sure plays a Fender like it oughta be played. But jeez, they're old. Exene is stout and looks like a grandma--the world's rockin'ist granny, but still. And the show was over by 11:30--in New Orleans you wouldn't even leave the house that early.
I realize what a charmed life I led. New Orleans was always a disaster in progress, but it was like a disaster sparkled with pixie dust, at least for some of us. I don't want to minimize how much it was a shithole for many of the poor people who lived there.
Still..
The need to buy a car is bothersome. There's a lot of deep irony in that so many people in New Orleans didn't have cars, largely because they couldn't afford one, but also because it was fairly easy to get along without one. Yet the oil and gas industry, and our whole petroleum-dependent American lifestyle, was an accomplice in the destruction of the city. Now I need to get a car so that I can function here. And honestly, I wouldn't live in New Orleans again without one. I don't ever want to be dependent on other people for a way out when a hurricane is on the way.
I think I'll be going back to finish school. Beyond that, I don't know. I understand the argument for not rebuilding, and I don't think it will ever be even close to what it used to be.
But there's just nowhere else I can think of that I would like to live. Not in America, anyway.
Someone sent me a copy of a Ramone's compilation and I've been listening to it when I'm riding around in my dad's big truck. Miss S would laugh if she could see me rocking out to "Teenage Lobotomy." Since I was never a punk-rock person, it's all pretty fresh to me. In the liner notes, Johnny Ramone says he wanted to make pure white rock without any blues influence. In a way, he's full of shit--there's no such thing as rock without blues influence. But I know what he means. It is white people music--that's probably why I was never into it before. But it seems like the right music for coping with this landscape. Plus, having had my heart stomped by the black, black city of New Orleans, I kind of feel like embracing my honkiness.
My psyche is split in two--part of me gets up every morning and functions. I'm coping at a fairly high level. But the other part of me is deeply, cripplingly depressed.
I have some residual affection for St. Louis proper. It's where I was first exposed to the urban boho life. When my high school classmates were sneaking out to parties, I was sneaking out to drive into the city to see art movies at the Tivoli and Varsity Theatres and shop at Vintage Vinyl (which is now in the former site of the Varisty.) Once I hooked up with my first real boyfriend, I spent even more time in the city. There are certainly places within the 170 loop where you could make a pleasant life for yourself. This a.m. I had to stop by the Princeton Review office, and after I had coffee on Delmar Avenue, where people were sitting out on the sidewalk and there were even some bicycle commuters--and unlike in New Orleans, they didn't feel the need to put their bikes in triple lockdown when they parked them on the sidewalk.
Also I have to give props to Lion's Choice roast beef sandwiches and 24-hour Steak n Shakes.
But in general this place is way too Jesus-infested. (I thought the south was supposed to be the Bible belt, but Midwest seems much more overtly evangelical--and also much more frankly racist. Not that the two are related...) There are two many highways, traffic jams, strip malls, and billboards.
On Friday night I drove 25 miles and sat in two traffic jams in order to see the Knitters (X re-imagined as a hillbilly band, with Dave Alvin on guitar) at a club downtown. They played in New Orleans in the week before the flood, but I couldn't go see them because I was way too overwhelmed by my law school workload.
They were good. Dave Alvin sure plays a Fender like it oughta be played. But jeez, they're old. Exene is stout and looks like a grandma--the world's rockin'ist granny, but still. And the show was over by 11:30--in New Orleans you wouldn't even leave the house that early.
I realize what a charmed life I led. New Orleans was always a disaster in progress, but it was like a disaster sparkled with pixie dust, at least for some of us. I don't want to minimize how much it was a shithole for many of the poor people who lived there.
Still..
The need to buy a car is bothersome. There's a lot of deep irony in that so many people in New Orleans didn't have cars, largely because they couldn't afford one, but also because it was fairly easy to get along without one. Yet the oil and gas industry, and our whole petroleum-dependent American lifestyle, was an accomplice in the destruction of the city. Now I need to get a car so that I can function here. And honestly, I wouldn't live in New Orleans again without one. I don't ever want to be dependent on other people for a way out when a hurricane is on the way.
I think I'll be going back to finish school. Beyond that, I don't know. I understand the argument for not rebuilding, and I don't think it will ever be even close to what it used to be.
But there's just nowhere else I can think of that I would like to live. Not in America, anyway.
Someone sent me a copy of a Ramone's compilation and I've been listening to it when I'm riding around in my dad's big truck. Miss S would laugh if she could see me rocking out to "Teenage Lobotomy." Since I was never a punk-rock person, it's all pretty fresh to me. In the liner notes, Johnny Ramone says he wanted to make pure white rock without any blues influence. In a way, he's full of shit--there's no such thing as rock without blues influence. But I know what he means. It is white people music--that's probably why I was never into it before. But it seems like the right music for coping with this landscape. Plus, having had my heart stomped by the black, black city of New Orleans, I kind of feel like embracing my honkiness.
Friday, September 09, 2005
A rare example of FEMA efficiency
Several people mentioned to me that FEMA was giving out $2000 debit cards to Katrina refugees. I was under the impression that you had to go by a shelter or office to get the cards, and got online this morning to figure out where I needed to go. But according to the website, the funds would be direct deposited or automatically sent to you if you'd already registered. I started to check my registration, and to my distress they seemed to have lost it--but as I restarted the application process, I also called to check my bank balance and found that the money had been deposited into my account last night. It was a very pleasant surprise.
So if you haven't registered yet, you should register. I will probably use the money as a deposit on a car or the full price of a cheap car.
I have a lot I want to write here and many people I want to write or talk to individually, but suddenly I find myself almost as busy I was during my now-mythical week of law school.
I'll mention that Tulane seems committed to restarting in January in New Orleans, which I have violently mixed feelings about, especially after hearing an EPA scientist on the radio talking about how it won't be safe to live there for a decade. Of course, the campus and much of the nearby area stayed dry. Perhaps we'll be a little island of civilization among the ruins.
So if you haven't registered yet, you should register. I will probably use the money as a deposit on a car or the full price of a cheap car.
I have a lot I want to write here and many people I want to write or talk to individually, but suddenly I find myself almost as busy I was during my now-mythical week of law school.
I'll mention that Tulane seems committed to restarting in January in New Orleans, which I have violently mixed feelings about, especially after hearing an EPA scientist on the radio talking about how it won't be safe to live there for a decade. Of course, the campus and much of the nearby area stayed dry. Perhaps we'll be a little island of civilization among the ruins.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Homesick
Okay, this has been a really interesting adventure, but can I go home now? I miss everything about New Orleans.
On my list of things I'm missing was AD's chronic ennui. But now he's restarted his blog. The boy can't spell worth a damn, but he's got an interesting mind that comes out in the words, and he's less removed from the destruction, being only 3 hours away. Worth reading: rantautology.blogspot.com
Also, I'm excited to see Miss N start a blog. She has a fine rant about the political fiasco that was the so-called rescue effort: sugarfreezone.blogspot.com
More later.
On my list of things I'm missing was AD's chronic ennui. But now he's restarted his blog. The boy can't spell worth a damn, but he's got an interesting mind that comes out in the words, and he's less removed from the destruction, being only 3 hours away. Worth reading: rantautology.blogspot.com
Also, I'm excited to see Miss N start a blog. She has a fine rant about the political fiasco that was the so-called rescue effort: sugarfreezone.blogspot.com
More later.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
So long, old Hyundai
I confess I was disappointed when Miss K decided she wanted her car back. My dad flew her up here last night. She spent the night with us and just left to go back to Baton Rouge. She really had an ordeal. She was rescued from the American Can building by boat and then was airlifted out of the city. Now she's determined to go back to rescue her cat.
I recognize that I am colder and more self-centered than big-hearted people like her. I am worried about Miss P and feel bad about leaving her behind, but rescuing her is not my main priority. Anyway, since Miss K is such an animal lover, she's trying to get Miss P out, too. Actually, she might have been rescued yesterday and sent to a shelter in Baton Rouge. If she turns up I'd drive down to get her.
But now I am carless. Actually, in my parents' household we now have two vehicles for three drivers--only in America would that not be enough. But absolutely nothing is within walking or even biking distance here, and if you tried to ride a bike you'd get flattened. And I hate having to ask to use the car--I feel like I've regressed 20 years, and I feel trapped.
Today I'm driving my dad's monster truck. It's really too big. I hope I don't have to drive it when I go downtown to crunchy green environmental law firm.
I registered with FEMA to see if I can eventually get some financial help. I'm sure I'm not at the top of the list, but that's okay.
I'm writing a story for the Phoenix papers in New England, I'm researching ATV use in Missouri parks for the law firm, and I'm going to be teaching an ACT class for the Princeton Review. So at least I have something to do besides freak out, and a little bit of money coming my way.
But I'm starting to think about all the peoople I know who I didn't consult on my way out of town and don't know how to contact now--Miss L and all the people I used to work with and all my old beaux.
I recognize that I am colder and more self-centered than big-hearted people like her. I am worried about Miss P and feel bad about leaving her behind, but rescuing her is not my main priority. Anyway, since Miss K is such an animal lover, she's trying to get Miss P out, too. Actually, she might have been rescued yesterday and sent to a shelter in Baton Rouge. If she turns up I'd drive down to get her.
But now I am carless. Actually, in my parents' household we now have two vehicles for three drivers--only in America would that not be enough. But absolutely nothing is within walking or even biking distance here, and if you tried to ride a bike you'd get flattened. And I hate having to ask to use the car--I feel like I've regressed 20 years, and I feel trapped.
Today I'm driving my dad's monster truck. It's really too big. I hope I don't have to drive it when I go downtown to crunchy green environmental law firm.
I registered with FEMA to see if I can eventually get some financial help. I'm sure I'm not at the top of the list, but that's okay.
I'm writing a story for the Phoenix papers in New England, I'm researching ATV use in Missouri parks for the law firm, and I'm going to be teaching an ACT class for the Princeton Review. So at least I have something to do besides freak out, and a little bit of money coming my way.
But I'm starting to think about all the peoople I know who I didn't consult on my way out of town and don't know how to contact now--Miss L and all the people I used to work with and all my old beaux.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Some good news
Miss K, my landlady and car donor, called last night. She's safe in Houston, although they didn't get rescued until Saturday. She said Jonathan is also safe. She didn't know him before, but they got to be friends during their ordeal.
There are a couple of organizations that are now trying to rescue stranded pets. It's hard to get through, but I'll keep trying. Maybe there's some hope that Miss P will survive.
I have an unpaid internship lined up at the environmental law firm I mentioned. RW is helping me hook up with a chain alternative weeklies in New England. I'm hoping to write for them about New Orleans. I'm also contemplating trying to get a book deal. Those of you who have agents--be prepared to hear from me. I'm also going to call the Princeton Review tomorrow about teaching during LSAT season.
Miss K might trade me her car in exchange for the money that she owes me as a refund for my security deposit and September rent. The car is a 9-year-old Hyundai with 100K miles, but it runs well, got me up here with no problems, has a manual transmission and gets great gas mileage. And I'm not in any shape to go car shopping right now.
So, things are working out for me personally.
My dad might go volunteer to work on the cleanup for a few weeks, which I admire.
My parents are both very kind, good, generous people. I have to say that because I've been cranky about staying with them, and I don't want to come off as a complete ingrate. I'm grateful to them for taking me in. It was a great comfort to arrive here. It's just that a long stay here will not be good for my happiness and mental health.
I'm really grateful and touched, but also a bit embarrassed, by all the people who have offered to help me out. I think you should give money to the Red Cross before you give money to me. Also, you could make my life much better just by burning copies of a couple of your favorite CDs for me. But it's true that I need to replace a lot of clothes and eventually household items. If you've got money burning a hole in your pocket that you'd otherwise be spending on dangerous recreational drugs, I'd be extremely appreciative of gift certificates from L.L. Bean or Land's End to get a winter coat and sweaters and boots, or from any chain store that has stuff I could use. They've got them all here in Suburbia World. But again, I'm not in tremendous need: the Red Cross needs it more than I do.
I haven't been doing a very good job of communicating with people individually, because I'm overwhelmed by all I have to do. But I want you to know that your email and encouragement means a lot. Thank you all so much.
There are a couple of organizations that are now trying to rescue stranded pets. It's hard to get through, but I'll keep trying. Maybe there's some hope that Miss P will survive.
I have an unpaid internship lined up at the environmental law firm I mentioned. RW is helping me hook up with a chain alternative weeklies in New England. I'm hoping to write for them about New Orleans. I'm also contemplating trying to get a book deal. Those of you who have agents--be prepared to hear from me. I'm also going to call the Princeton Review tomorrow about teaching during LSAT season.
Miss K might trade me her car in exchange for the money that she owes me as a refund for my security deposit and September rent. The car is a 9-year-old Hyundai with 100K miles, but it runs well, got me up here with no problems, has a manual transmission and gets great gas mileage. And I'm not in any shape to go car shopping right now.
So, things are working out for me personally.
My dad might go volunteer to work on the cleanup for a few weeks, which I admire.
My parents are both very kind, good, generous people. I have to say that because I've been cranky about staying with them, and I don't want to come off as a complete ingrate. I'm grateful to them for taking me in. It was a great comfort to arrive here. It's just that a long stay here will not be good for my happiness and mental health.
I'm really grateful and touched, but also a bit embarrassed, by all the people who have offered to help me out. I think you should give money to the Red Cross before you give money to me. Also, you could make my life much better just by burning copies of a couple of your favorite CDs for me. But it's true that I need to replace a lot of clothes and eventually household items. If you've got money burning a hole in your pocket that you'd otherwise be spending on dangerous recreational drugs, I'd be extremely appreciative of gift certificates from L.L. Bean or Land's End to get a winter coat and sweaters and boots, or from any chain store that has stuff I could use. They've got them all here in Suburbia World. But again, I'm not in tremendous need: the Red Cross needs it more than I do.
I haven't been doing a very good job of communicating with people individually, because I'm overwhelmed by all I have to do. But I want you to know that your email and encouragement means a lot. Thank you all so much.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Crying in the grocery store
Yesterday I was in the grocery store, buying spinach and some things I wanted that my mother would never buy. Have my parents always eaten so badly? I hadn't had a green vegetable or any remotely fresh plant product since I ate an apple on the trip up.
Anyway, that stupid Arlo Guthrie (I think?) song, "The City of New Orleans," came on the sound system and I was immediately a weeping wreck. It made me think of the first time I came to New Orleans, on the train from Memphis with my (now ex-) husband. I loved it immediately. I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. I remember walking in the lower garden district and a lady on the street smiled at me and said, "Welcome home, sweetie."
I'm not the only one losing it over little things. Miss S said she asked her grandfather if he had any mustard and he handed her a squeeze bottle of yellow mustard and she started to cry. Everyone in New Orleans knows that isn't mustard.
Miss K, my landlady and car donor, is still MIA.
Anyway, that stupid Arlo Guthrie (I think?) song, "The City of New Orleans," came on the sound system and I was immediately a weeping wreck. It made me think of the first time I came to New Orleans, on the train from Memphis with my (now ex-) husband. I loved it immediately. I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. I remember walking in the lower garden district and a lady on the street smiled at me and said, "Welcome home, sweetie."
I'm not the only one losing it over little things. Miss S said she asked her grandfather if he had any mustard and he handed her a squeeze bottle of yellow mustard and she started to cry. Everyone in New Orleans knows that isn't mustard.
Miss K, my landlady and car donor, is still MIA.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
My plan
Tulane cancelled the semester, which is no suprise. After some confusion, first year law students were released to enroll as visiting students at other schools--the upper years had been permitted to do so earlier in the week. But I decided I wasn't in any shape to show up at a new school in an unknown town, my whole life in a shambles, and expect to do well in my first semester of law school.
Staying with my parents seems like the most sensible option, though it may severely test my sanity. It's not just the way your mom and dad can drive you nuts in ways that no one else could if they tried. It's also the horribleness of this place, St. Charles County, MO, quintessential ugly suburban sprawl. It's the total spiritual opposite of New Orleans.
It's depressing. I cry a little bit everyday for New Orleans and for the life I had there. The prudent thing would be to just start school over next year, but I don't think I could take a year here. I'm not sure where else I could stay for that long. The only other long-term option that I can see is to stay with my sister and other relatives in York, Pennsylvania, which in a lot of ways is a more attractive alternative. It just seems like it would be harder to find something to do there, but maybe I'm mistaken.
However, on the internet I've found a small environmental law firm in St. Louis that does the kind of work I might want to do when I get out. I'm going to try to get an internship there or somewhere similar. If not, or additionally, I'll see about volunteering with the Red Cross or some other agency that's involved with rescuing and salvaging New Orleans. I'm going to call the Princeton Review office here in St. Louis and see if I can teach some LSAT classes.
If I've got something to do, this should be more bearable. If I can't get anything to go here, I'll think about migrating to PA.
I'm not in any immediate need for money, although I will be. I have the financial aid money that was supposed to last me till the end of the year. Eventually I should be able to get some compensation from FEMA for the contents of my house, I think. But if I'm not back in school in January, I'll need to be in a full-time paying job.
I'm going to need to buy a car soon. (I still haven't been able to contact my landlady and for now I'm still driving her car.) And since all I brought was jeans and t-shirts, I need to buy clothes.
August 2005 may go down as the most stressful of my life: move, start law school, flee catastrophic hurricane that destroys the town I loved.
Staying with my parents seems like the most sensible option, though it may severely test my sanity. It's not just the way your mom and dad can drive you nuts in ways that no one else could if they tried. It's also the horribleness of this place, St. Charles County, MO, quintessential ugly suburban sprawl. It's the total spiritual opposite of New Orleans.
It's depressing. I cry a little bit everyday for New Orleans and for the life I had there. The prudent thing would be to just start school over next year, but I don't think I could take a year here. I'm not sure where else I could stay for that long. The only other long-term option that I can see is to stay with my sister and other relatives in York, Pennsylvania, which in a lot of ways is a more attractive alternative. It just seems like it would be harder to find something to do there, but maybe I'm mistaken.
However, on the internet I've found a small environmental law firm in St. Louis that does the kind of work I might want to do when I get out. I'm going to try to get an internship there or somewhere similar. If not, or additionally, I'll see about volunteering with the Red Cross or some other agency that's involved with rescuing and salvaging New Orleans. I'm going to call the Princeton Review office here in St. Louis and see if I can teach some LSAT classes.
If I've got something to do, this should be more bearable. If I can't get anything to go here, I'll think about migrating to PA.
I'm not in any immediate need for money, although I will be. I have the financial aid money that was supposed to last me till the end of the year. Eventually I should be able to get some compensation from FEMA for the contents of my house, I think. But if I'm not back in school in January, I'll need to be in a full-time paying job.
I'm going to need to buy a car soon. (I still haven't been able to contact my landlady and for now I'm still driving her car.) And since all I brought was jeans and t-shirts, I need to buy clothes.
August 2005 may go down as the most stressful of my life: move, start law school, flee catastrophic hurricane that destroys the town I loved.
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