My friend Niki (aka Nicols Fox, see link at bottom of page) is just about the coolest person I know.
I met her in grad school. She's roughly my mother's age and has been a role model and in some ways an alternative mother figure for me. She lives by herself in a cottage on the quiet side of Mount Desert Island in Maine. Some of my earliest on this blog were about a visit to her home in July of 2005, just a month and a half before The Thing.
She's a role model because she transformed herself in the second half of her life, and she makes being an old maid look damn appealing. When she was in her 40s she was the wife of a Republican politician in Virginia and the mother of two. Since then she has divorced, survived breast cancer, moved to Maine, finished an MFA, started a writing career and published four books, changed her lifestyle to reflect her semi-neo-luddite philosophy, and generally followed her own vision.
But I always wondered about whether she would stay up there in semi-isolation till the end. I worried about her a bit. Now I have learned that she put her house up for sale and is considering a move back to Virginia, because of a multitude of health problems.
She was so gung-ho into living on Mt. Desert. Just as I was about living in New Orleans, I suppose. We both had the feeling that we had found our place. But life is a series of storms and upsets, with interludes of semi-contentment if you're lucky. Now we are both in search of a new home and the next interlude. I'm going north and she's going south. It would be cool if we both ended up in VA. But I'm sad. I don't want her to be anything but healthy and in her element. I wish I could buy her house, too, as a way to hold on to that moment now gone.
I have a job interview at a state court in Norfolk on the day before my dreaded b'day. One of my fellow interns from this summer is interviewing in the slot after me, so we can get together and have a drink afterward. But the job is the opposite of the job in New York. It doesn't offer any of the things I want except a means to get established in VA.
I got back together with Mr. M about a month ago, but now I have second thoughts. Or I need to think about the relationship in a different way. I absolutely want him in my life. He is my closest confidante, but as a boyfriend he is hopeless. He does love me, despite what I wrote in an earlier post. But he chronically cannot get his shit together. On any given day I go to class, then to my externship, then run errands, then read for next day's classes, then work on my paper, then walk the dog, while he "managed" to get some laundry done and went to the drugstore. He still hasn't "managed" to do anything about work or school or making any plans to do anything. It drives me up a tree. I don't want to nag and for the most part I don't. At least he knows he's got some issues with this and he's in therapy to work on it. But still, I find myself losing respect for him. And I realize if we were just friends it wouldn't bother me very much. I sometimes get momentarily annoyed by my friends' flaws and foibles, but for the most part I don't notice them very much. But in a boyfriend I find this unacceptable. Instead of getting annoyed, though, I think I need to get detached. If he doesn't affirmatively do something, our romance will die a natural death because I am not going to move to Minneapolis. Hopefully the friendship will survive. And if he does actually do something, it will be a wonderful surprise.
Being romantically alone doesn't seem so bad as long as I have good friends and a social life. Right now I'm in a cycle where I'm madly horny for about two days each month, during which my dreams are just sex, sex, sex, and I have to masturbate in the middle of the night just so I can dream about something else--kind of like when you keep dreaming about peeing until you get up and go to the bathroom. But the rest of the month I don't think about sex at all, except maybe to think how annoying is that random, compulsive hormonal stupidity.
In other news, a murder in my neighborhood at 11 a.m. today, and a carjacking late thursday night/ friday morning.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Fall back
I had a strange vivid dream about being in Milwaukee. I've never actually been there, and my dream Milwaukee obviously had no resemblance to the real thing, because it was steeply, mountainously hilly. More hilly than San Francisco. Only unlike S.F. it gets snowy and icy in the winter, and I was wondering about how people handled those steep slopes in the snow. But it turned out that Milwaukee's bigger problem was that there were huge tigers wandering the streets and attacking pedestrians. I hid from a tiger in a pile of big bags of dog food. I was wedged in between 50 pound bags of dog food and feeling crushed.
A totally nonsensical dream, but when I look at it for a minute I can see meaning in it. The dog food, for example, is about feeling overwhelmed by the cost of feeding and maintaining Hank (he just had a $500 vet bill), but he does keep me protected from dangerous things in the street.
Why specifically Milwaukee? I have no idea, other than it's geographically proximate to Minneapolis, and I know Mr. M visited there with a long-ago ex-girlfriend. But still, I dunno.
However, snow and hills are relevant because I have a second interview with a small law firm in New York State, in a town on the Hudson and near the Catskills. Supposed to be very, very pretty, and less than two hours to Manhattan by train. I hit it off with the partner who interviewed me at Tulane, and the firm itself seems nearly ideal in its clients and specialties. But it's in New York, which is not in the south and which has a serious winter. So now I have to figure out whether this is really a problem, or whether it's just about assumptions that should be questioned.
I lived in NYC when I was 18-20. I was lost, clueless and formless, and the city was threatening and overwhelming. The last winter there I found particularly hard. And so I ran off to the south, which seemed like an easier place to be. At the time I had the idea that I was going south to get myself together and gain some kind of wisdom, but I was foggy about what kind of wisdom this was and how I was going to get it. But once I got it I was going to come back and take over the world. Because I assumed that to take over the world you had to be in New York or at least in the Northeast.
But in the south I gradually came to the conclusion that maybe New York wasn't really the center of the universe. And even more gradually I came to the difficult conclusion that I wasn't going to take over the world and live forever. Nevertheless, I did get myself together and now I feel ready to participate and contribute to "the human endeavor." I don't think that requires going back to the NE.
But still, when I lived in Memphis I visited New England quite a few times--Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, and I always felt bad about returning to Memphis, which seemed flat, junky and unlovely in comparison.
From the time I moved to New Orleans to the time of the Thing, I was always happy to come home to New Orleans, because I was in love with and happy in NOLA. But not so much anymore.
But winter. I've been working with the assumption that I have to avoid places with serious winters. There have been times when I've had very bad seasonal depression. Even in New Orleans. It's the dark more than the cold. But then I always liked going to Vermont in the winter, albeit for short, discreet periods of time. The hard thing about a Northeastern winter is that it gets so grey and stays that way for such a long time.
Still, the external factors that trigger my depressions only do so if there's a sort of nascent depression waiting underneath. The year that even a New Orleans winter seemed much too much to bear, and I could understand why someone might jump off a bridge, was the winter that Mr. M shut me out and disappeared.
Also, I can get horrifically depressed at that special time of the month, but only if I'm sort of depressed anyway. When I'm happy with my life, I barely notice my periods at all.
And now Katrina has introduced me to the wonders of Wellbutrin. So maybe a New York winter would be bearable. I would have engaging work. I wouldn't be broke anymore. I could buy a cute old house and hibernate inside. I'd be close to my sister and Miss S. I could go spend the holidays on a tropical island. When the weather got better, I could go hiking on the weekend, or to the shore, or to NYC.
Or maybe I'm just trying to rationalize my worries away, because I just want to get something lined up so that I won't graduate with six figures of debt and no job.
The other immediate possibility is working for a particular federal agency. Depending on who wins the next presidential election, this agency might turn out to be a worthwhile place to work. For now, though, the appeal is mostly tactical. I could live in Arlington, take the VA bar, and be in a better position to get a job in Richmond. I developed a crush on Richmond just because it has lots of pretty old neighborhoods with pretty old houses, because it's just the right size, and because it's geographically well placed. But I don't really know anything about it as a community.
Post-K, all assumptions are subject to question. But that makes things harder to figure out. When can you trust your gut and when is your gut clinging to unhelpful fears and prejudices?
Sort of ironic, I had an earlier interview for a clerkship in Puerto Rico, which I didn't end up getting. When I got the interview I sort of dreaded the idea of living in San Juan for two years, but before long I enthusiastically thought of it as an amazing, exciting, un-turn-down-able opportunity. Which I was then bummed out to lose.
My NY interview will be in the winter, so at least my gut will be able to make a more informed choice.
A totally nonsensical dream, but when I look at it for a minute I can see meaning in it. The dog food, for example, is about feeling overwhelmed by the cost of feeding and maintaining Hank (he just had a $500 vet bill), but he does keep me protected from dangerous things in the street.
Why specifically Milwaukee? I have no idea, other than it's geographically proximate to Minneapolis, and I know Mr. M visited there with a long-ago ex-girlfriend. But still, I dunno.
However, snow and hills are relevant because I have a second interview with a small law firm in New York State, in a town on the Hudson and near the Catskills. Supposed to be very, very pretty, and less than two hours to Manhattan by train. I hit it off with the partner who interviewed me at Tulane, and the firm itself seems nearly ideal in its clients and specialties. But it's in New York, which is not in the south and which has a serious winter. So now I have to figure out whether this is really a problem, or whether it's just about assumptions that should be questioned.
I lived in NYC when I was 18-20. I was lost, clueless and formless, and the city was threatening and overwhelming. The last winter there I found particularly hard. And so I ran off to the south, which seemed like an easier place to be. At the time I had the idea that I was going south to get myself together and gain some kind of wisdom, but I was foggy about what kind of wisdom this was and how I was going to get it. But once I got it I was going to come back and take over the world. Because I assumed that to take over the world you had to be in New York or at least in the Northeast.
But in the south I gradually came to the conclusion that maybe New York wasn't really the center of the universe. And even more gradually I came to the difficult conclusion that I wasn't going to take over the world and live forever. Nevertheless, I did get myself together and now I feel ready to participate and contribute to "the human endeavor." I don't think that requires going back to the NE.
But still, when I lived in Memphis I visited New England quite a few times--Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, and I always felt bad about returning to Memphis, which seemed flat, junky and unlovely in comparison.
From the time I moved to New Orleans to the time of the Thing, I was always happy to come home to New Orleans, because I was in love with and happy in NOLA. But not so much anymore.
But winter. I've been working with the assumption that I have to avoid places with serious winters. There have been times when I've had very bad seasonal depression. Even in New Orleans. It's the dark more than the cold. But then I always liked going to Vermont in the winter, albeit for short, discreet periods of time. The hard thing about a Northeastern winter is that it gets so grey and stays that way for such a long time.
Still, the external factors that trigger my depressions only do so if there's a sort of nascent depression waiting underneath. The year that even a New Orleans winter seemed much too much to bear, and I could understand why someone might jump off a bridge, was the winter that Mr. M shut me out and disappeared.
Also, I can get horrifically depressed at that special time of the month, but only if I'm sort of depressed anyway. When I'm happy with my life, I barely notice my periods at all.
And now Katrina has introduced me to the wonders of Wellbutrin. So maybe a New York winter would be bearable. I would have engaging work. I wouldn't be broke anymore. I could buy a cute old house and hibernate inside. I'd be close to my sister and Miss S. I could go spend the holidays on a tropical island. When the weather got better, I could go hiking on the weekend, or to the shore, or to NYC.
Or maybe I'm just trying to rationalize my worries away, because I just want to get something lined up so that I won't graduate with six figures of debt and no job.
The other immediate possibility is working for a particular federal agency. Depending on who wins the next presidential election, this agency might turn out to be a worthwhile place to work. For now, though, the appeal is mostly tactical. I could live in Arlington, take the VA bar, and be in a better position to get a job in Richmond. I developed a crush on Richmond just because it has lots of pretty old neighborhoods with pretty old houses, because it's just the right size, and because it's geographically well placed. But I don't really know anything about it as a community.
Post-K, all assumptions are subject to question. But that makes things harder to figure out. When can you trust your gut and when is your gut clinging to unhelpful fears and prejudices?
Sort of ironic, I had an earlier interview for a clerkship in Puerto Rico, which I didn't end up getting. When I got the interview I sort of dreaded the idea of living in San Juan for two years, but before long I enthusiastically thought of it as an amazing, exciting, un-turn-down-able opportunity. Which I was then bummed out to lose.
My NY interview will be in the winter, so at least my gut will be able to make a more informed choice.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
My mother--argghhh!!!
For awhile there, I was getting along better with my mother and finding her easier to take. Since law school, though, she drives me crazier than ever. Some topic best avoided when talking to my mother: school, my grades, my career, my love life, my sister, money, religion, sex, politics, writing, my aspirations or "personal growth," and any thought or opinion not sanctioned by "Focus on the Family."
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The fertile crescent
My ex-husband has a theory about how the arch created from connecting Nashville to Memphis to New Orleans is the fertile crescent of American music; that this area has a colorable claim as the birthplace of just about any form of American music. He's stil expounding on this in some of his newer pieces of music journalism. And it's a good theory. And of course in his view, American vernacular music was just about the only thing worthy of thinking about, except for Brazilian music.
So I lived in Nashville for a little bit, and I lived in Memphis for longer. I lived in the Mississippi Delta for a year, and now I've been in New Orleans for eight.
I was so young and unformed when I met him; I absorbed his theories and views and even after I left him I was following a map he gave me. I don't regret his geographical direction, but ithe imitated stance I received from him has stymied me for a long time--an attitude of arrogance, cyncism, a closure to a wide range of possibilities, the need to deem most of the world inferior, to explain and dismiss as a means of denying our own inadequacies. A contemptous "fuck it" to most everything.
This week I got an email about an article about Mississippi John Hurt that I wrote almost ten years ago, which still lives on the web. That article was the pinnacle of my living up to Edd's standards. I remember him telling me he was proud of me when that article came out. It might have been the last time I saw him.
Every once in awhile I look up his articles. Lately his articles have been appearing in the Minneapolis City Pages. Strange to think of one ex of mine reading an article by another ex and never knowing what they have in common. Except Mark only reads the NYT.
I suppose Virginia is on the fringes of Edd's map somewhere, as one of the sources of country music perhaps, but it's not at the center, not within the fertile crescent.
So I lived in Nashville for a little bit, and I lived in Memphis for longer. I lived in the Mississippi Delta for a year, and now I've been in New Orleans for eight.
I was so young and unformed when I met him; I absorbed his theories and views and even after I left him I was following a map he gave me. I don't regret his geographical direction, but ithe imitated stance I received from him has stymied me for a long time--an attitude of arrogance, cyncism, a closure to a wide range of possibilities, the need to deem most of the world inferior, to explain and dismiss as a means of denying our own inadequacies. A contemptous "fuck it" to most everything.
This week I got an email about an article about Mississippi John Hurt that I wrote almost ten years ago, which still lives on the web. That article was the pinnacle of my living up to Edd's standards. I remember him telling me he was proud of me when that article came out. It might have been the last time I saw him.
Every once in awhile I look up his articles. Lately his articles have been appearing in the Minneapolis City Pages. Strange to think of one ex of mine reading an article by another ex and never knowing what they have in common. Except Mark only reads the NYT.
I suppose Virginia is on the fringes of Edd's map somewhere, as one of the sources of country music perhaps, but it's not at the center, not within the fertile crescent.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Second line
Hank & I saw a second line parade on our evening walk tonight. When I first got back after the hurricane, every parade made me cry. I still find them moving, but more bitter than sweet. It's more like watching a willfully oblivious parade circle the decks of a rapidly sinking ship.
Addendum: but then there's this, which is sweet and not bitter, and is the New Orleans I love and I hope will survive: http://www.nola.com/rose/t-p/index.ssf?/base/living-0/118767616844080.xml&coll=1
Addendum: but then there's this, which is sweet and not bitter, and is the New Orleans I love and I hope will survive: http://www.nola.com/rose/t-p/index.ssf?/base/living-0/118767616844080.xml&coll=1
Friday, August 17, 2007
oh dear
I think I just broke up with Mr. M.
Because it's pretty clear that I'm not exactly his top priority.
And there might be good reasons for that, all things considered.
But I think I deserve better. At least if you buy the theory that anyone deserves anything.
I want someone to really love me, and really be excited and passionate about me. I don't want to be in love with someone who isn't in love with me.
And then, more problematically, I feel scared and helpless--in New Orleans and in the face of death--and I want someone to take care of me. And I realize that no one can really, ultimately, take care of me. But I want someone to want to try. I want it to me Mr. M.
But one of the very few solid lessons I've learned is that you can't chase someone or guilt someone or argue someone into loving you.
Because it's pretty clear that I'm not exactly his top priority.
And there might be good reasons for that, all things considered.
But I think I deserve better. At least if you buy the theory that anyone deserves anything.
I want someone to really love me, and really be excited and passionate about me. I don't want to be in love with someone who isn't in love with me.
And then, more problematically, I feel scared and helpless--in New Orleans and in the face of death--and I want someone to take care of me. And I realize that no one can really, ultimately, take care of me. But I want someone to want to try. I want it to me Mr. M.
But one of the very few solid lessons I've learned is that you can't chase someone or guilt someone or argue someone into loving you.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Public Service Announcement
This post is out of character for this blog, but it drives me insane that a certain basic misunderstanding continues to make people so unhappy in their sex lives. I had the misfortune to accidently hear an insipid nouveau hippy public radio show called The People's Pharmacy this morning. The guest was Dr. Irwin Goldstein, allegedly one of the worlds great experts on sexuality. Check the whole crew out:
http://www.peoplespharmacy.com/archives/radio_shows/645_sexual_solutions.asp.
So a caller asks Dr. Goldstein about his girlfriend's "anorgasmia" problem. The girlfriend can have an orgasm by clitoral stimulation, but not from vaginal intercourse. Dr. Goldstein intones that this is a "common problem" and that the girlfriend should go to a doctor who specializes in sexual medicine, and also that she should try yohimbe.
ARGGGHHHHH!!!!!
Newsflash, Dr. Goldstein: if MOST women, maybe 80 percent or so, can't ever or often orgasm from vaginal intercourse, it's not a problem, IT'S NATURE. You numbnuts on the People's Pharmacy like nature, don't you? It's ANATOMY. Luckily for us all, NATURE has conveniently located the clit where it is easily accessible by one or both parties in pretty much any sexual position. So, to quote my hero Dan Savage: Rub on her clit! During intercourse! Or tell her to rub on her clit! Problem solved.
Don't thank me, thank Dan: http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=267471
http://www.peoplespharmacy.com/archives/radio_shows/645_sexual_solutions.asp.
So a caller asks Dr. Goldstein about his girlfriend's "anorgasmia" problem. The girlfriend can have an orgasm by clitoral stimulation, but not from vaginal intercourse. Dr. Goldstein intones that this is a "common problem" and that the girlfriend should go to a doctor who specializes in sexual medicine, and also that she should try yohimbe.
ARGGGHHHHH!!!!!
Newsflash, Dr. Goldstein: if MOST women, maybe 80 percent or so, can't ever or often orgasm from vaginal intercourse, it's not a problem, IT'S NATURE. You numbnuts on the People's Pharmacy like nature, don't you? It's ANATOMY. Luckily for us all, NATURE has conveniently located the clit where it is easily accessible by one or both parties in pretty much any sexual position. So, to quote my hero Dan Savage: Rub on her clit! During intercourse! Or tell her to rub on her clit! Problem solved.
Don't thank me, thank Dan: http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=267471
Saturday, August 04, 2007
That's the way you spell chicken
This is a picture of one of the charming Rhode Island Reds on the farm where I have been living. I'm not sure that an individual chicken can be charming, but a whole bunch of them running (and they really do run, it's hilarious) around the yard are adorable.
In the meantime, last week, in front of my new apartment on an allegedly safer block in New Orleans, a man was shot in the head, run over with his own car, and left to die in the street. This was at about 3 a.m.; he was coming home from his second-shift job.
My old boss lives on the same block. He thinks the neighborhood is stable and just fine. But he just got out of a really bad marriage, and I think the newfound sense of optimism and freedom has infected his rational capacity. I've also met a few younger, maybe more naive, people this summer who are in love with New Orleans. For example, a young teacher who lived and taught in New Orleans for a few years, his here in Virginia getting his masters in education, and plans to go back. Thank goodness there are bright, energetic people like him who have a passion for New Orleans. But I think I have finally lost mine. That enchantment with New Orleans seems to me a negative one, an underworld curse. I only have one more week here and I really don't want to go back. In fact, I'm a little bit scared.
Also this week, I had a bit of panic when I couldn't get Mr. M on the phone after the bridge collapse. He is fine, but I have that lingering sense of everything falling apart. Everything that seemed stable and permanent has been revealed to be fragile and unstable.
Things seem safe out here with the chickens, but then again a fox killed one last week. So chickenhood is fragile. Obviously. BTW, I still eat chicken, but I don't cook it or eat it at the farm.
It's been a good summer career-wise. I think I've decided I want to be a city attorney. For a city that's not in an unstoppable frenzy of destruction. Somewhere safe for Mr. M. The only bad thing I can say about my stay here is that I miss Mr. M, and the Hank & Petunia show. And that it has come to an end too soon.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Dear Diary
I’ve had the most fun summer since I was ten or eleven or whenever when my parents dropped me and my sister off at the farm while they took a more mature set of cousins to colonial Williamsburg. That summer we played with the barn cats, saw bears eating out of a garbage dump, went to a Cheech & Chong movie with my cousin’s girlfriend in a metallic blue Firebird Trans Am just like the one in Smokey & the Bandit, went tubing, went to Hershey Park and watched another cousin make out with yet another cousin’s babysitter. It was an exhilarating, educational summer for a sheltered girl.
I did many of the same or similar activities this summer. I lived on a farm—with free range chickens instead of barn cats. I went to Hershey Park and rode rollercoasters for the first time in probably 20 years—they’ve gotten much more harrowing since the olden days. Yesterday I went canoeing on a slowish patch of the James River, which only took a little more exertion than tubing. Also—my sister and I visited Sharon in New York, and we all went to see the Morning 40 play the Mercury Lounge. Ryan Scully puked on stage. That’s rock n roll. Also, I went hiking four or five times in the gorgeous Shenandoah National Park. I’ve been working at a great place in Charlottesville, and have also explored Staunton and Richmond. All in Virginia, which is undoubtedly the most beautiful state on the eastern seaboard, and a contender for the national title.
It seems like law school was a great idea, just because it led me to this summer. And I have a clear idea of what and where I’m aiming for after graduation. But in three weeks it will be over and I dread going back, to New Orleans and the relentless work of the school year. I’ve missed New Orleans now and then. I still feel guilt and regret at the thought of leaving. But, to paraphrase Prince, all the things I’d lose don’t add up to all the things I’d gain.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Tornados, parades, love
Early Tuesday morning a tornado touched down about two blocks from my house. It blew roofs off of buildings and knocked over power lines and trees, which crushed the cars undeneath. I slept through it, more or less. I was expecting a bad thunderstorm and that's what it sounded like to me. I got up the next morning and the power was out, but there's nothing new about that. I took Hank for a walk and when I got outside I realized something bad had happened. But my house was untouched.
So what do you say about that? How lucky I am again. How unlucky this city is.
Yesterday I turned in a 50+ page paper with more than 140 footnotes. It's about the use of eminent domain to prevent development, as happened in Mount Laurel, New Jersey, where the township condemned a piece of land where a developer was about to start construction on a new subdivision. It was a really interesting and engaging thing to write and it was just about as satisfying as any writing I've done, except for all the all-of-control footnoting and nutty, uptight formatting that goes with academic legal writing.
But anyway, I was going to say that I turned it in and then I realized: it's Mardi Gras. I'm not ready for Mardi Gras at all. There's exactly 0% chance I'm going to appear in public in a costume. But I will probably go to the parades tomorrow or Monday or both, and maybe on Tuesday I'll go down to the Marigny to see what other people are wearing or not wearing. But mostly I'm going to spend the holiday catching up with everything I got behind on while I was writing my paper.
Mr. M was here two weeks ago, and we went to the Krewe du Vieux parade, which was a nice little discreet piece of Mardi Gras. It was great to have him here, but now I miss him more. He's doing well and looks much better. His hair is growing back, even. The city was lovely for him, as beaten down as it is, and though the weather was grey. We ate amazing food every day and I took him to the barber who serves cocktails with a shave and a haircut. On the way home one night I hit a monster pothole which destroyed one of my wheels, but it was good to have someone around to help me deal with a crisis, for once. It also made me realize how hard these roads are on my poor car, which makes me sad. Every mile in New Orleans has to equal at least three miles of normal driving. Alas.
Mr. M and I have a kind of relationship I recognize. It looks like a hybrid of my favorite aunt & uncle's relationship and that of a couple in a screwball comedy from the 30s. There's an ongoing banter where he teases me and I get agitated, but underneath there's a warm electrical buzz. It's hard for me to have someone around because I'm set in my ways and introverted and used to being alone. But when he goes I miss him awfully.
So what do you say about that? How lucky I am again. How unlucky this city is.
Yesterday I turned in a 50+ page paper with more than 140 footnotes. It's about the use of eminent domain to prevent development, as happened in Mount Laurel, New Jersey, where the township condemned a piece of land where a developer was about to start construction on a new subdivision. It was a really interesting and engaging thing to write and it was just about as satisfying as any writing I've done, except for all the all-of-control footnoting and nutty, uptight formatting that goes with academic legal writing.
But anyway, I was going to say that I turned it in and then I realized: it's Mardi Gras. I'm not ready for Mardi Gras at all. There's exactly 0% chance I'm going to appear in public in a costume. But I will probably go to the parades tomorrow or Monday or both, and maybe on Tuesday I'll go down to the Marigny to see what other people are wearing or not wearing. But mostly I'm going to spend the holiday catching up with everything I got behind on while I was writing my paper.
Mr. M was here two weeks ago, and we went to the Krewe du Vieux parade, which was a nice little discreet piece of Mardi Gras. It was great to have him here, but now I miss him more. He's doing well and looks much better. His hair is growing back, even. The city was lovely for him, as beaten down as it is, and though the weather was grey. We ate amazing food every day and I took him to the barber who serves cocktails with a shave and a haircut. On the way home one night I hit a monster pothole which destroyed one of my wheels, but it was good to have someone around to help me deal with a crisis, for once. It also made me realize how hard these roads are on my poor car, which makes me sad. Every mile in New Orleans has to equal at least three miles of normal driving. Alas.
Mr. M and I have a kind of relationship I recognize. It looks like a hybrid of my favorite aunt & uncle's relationship and that of a couple in a screwball comedy from the 30s. There's an ongoing banter where he teases me and I get agitated, but underneath there's a warm electrical buzz. It's hard for me to have someone around because I'm set in my ways and introverted and used to being alone. But when he goes I miss him awfully.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Thursday, January 04, 2007
the victims
These two people were friends of a friend. I didn't know them well, but I saw them at parties and so forth.
This morning the wife was murdered by someone who broke into their home. The husband, a doctor who ran a community health clinic, was shot several times. Their two-year-old saw the whole thing.
They had evacuated to South Carolina and only came back in August. They had a long debate about whether to come back. The wife was the one who was really for it.
You can't do any good for New Orleans if you get killed just trying to live here.
In the photo, she looks a little bit like me. We have the same initials. Which makes it a little bit harder to maintain the illusion that this couldn't happen to me. That it only happens to other people who somehow do something foolish to provoke it. The foolish provocation was coming back to this city.
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