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

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.

Get me out of here

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

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.