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Wednesday, November 30, 2005
For Frank Evans, designer of Lakeside Shopping Center's holiday display, getting into the spirit of the season this year meant building a Christmas village that riffed on the post-Katrina landscape.
He created a winter wonderland replete not only with churchgoers and trains, but also abandoned refrigerators, houses covered in blue tarpaulins and a storm victim suspended from a helicopter.
Shoppers paused to enjoy the tongue-in-cheek cheer. Some of them did, anyway.
Evans, a landscape architect who has crafted the display for 13 years, removed some of the 2005 features Tuesday on orders from mall management, which said some patrons failed to see the joke. Tricia Thriffiley, Lakeside's marketing director, issued a statement saying that the mall did not "conceive or install" the decorations and did not intend to "hurt anyone's feelings."
--NOLA.com
Yes, New Orleanians have been through a lot in the past few months: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Despite that, we'd be well advised to rediscover our collective sense of humor--and fast--unless we wanna spend our remaining years downing wee fistfuls of Prozac, Paxil, and Wellbutrin.
Luckily, a friend of the Minx managed to snap a few pics at Lakeside before the priggish powers-that-be took down the aforementioned display:
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
I'm officially old.
Back in my clove-smoking days, sticking it to The Man was part of my daily routine. Whether the issue was queer rights, animal rights, or abortion rights, a day wasn't complete without a heaping helping of good old fashioned activism.
Not so much anymore. Maybe I've gotten smarter (doubtful) or more jaded (probable) or maybe I've just morphed into The Man myself (though I still have lots of baby fat). Whatever the case, I'm way more skeptical of fresh-faced idealism these days and far more prone toward pragmatism--so much so that I've come very near to slicing the throats of more than a few Zendik Farm hippies hawking their crummy magazine in Jackson Square.
The most recent case in point: last week's mildly infamous Buy Nothing Day and the upcoming Buy Nothing Christmas. Both were conceived by the folks over at AdBusters.org as a way to stem the tide of conspicuous consumerism--which is fine, I guess, except that (a) that consumerism fuels our ailing economy, and (b) while such consumerism does have some ill effects on the environment, its worst offense is that it's tacky, which is hardly a cause to get behind. I mean, Elsa Klensch might start a campaign to stomp out white shoes after Labor Day, but how many people are gonna stand with her?
Anyway, several weeks ago I wrote a letter to the folks at AdBusters. Basically, I said, "Hey, I get what you're trying to do here, but what if, just for this one year, you changed things up? What if this year you made the events into 'Buy New Orleans Day' and 'Buy New Orleans for Christmas'? Not only would it generate some kickin' press for you, but there are plenty of local businesses who could use the help. Most of the places that have re-opened are the small places, not the big, national chains, so you'd be directly supporting our economy--and, in turn, our schools, our police and fire departments, and the city's recovery in general. C'mon, how about it?"
You know, of course, what I got from them.
Bupkus. Not a form letter, not an "undeliverable email" notification, nothing.
While that's probably typical for activist sites, where you've got jillions of nutjobs like moi writing in every day, part of me likes to think AdBusters hasn't responded because they don't have anything to say, no viable counter-argument. I mean, how could you argue against helping one of America's most beloved cities get back on its feet?
If you're listening, AdBusters--and I seriously doubt you are, but what the hey?--wake up and smell the coffee (which was probably routed through, roasted in, and shipped from New Orleans). If you're really committed to improving life on Planet Earth, maybe you should spend a little less time pushing anti-capitalist merchandise in your online shop (I'm not the only one who sees the irony in that, right?) and do something that stands at least a slim chance of making a difference.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Shortly after the earth cooled, I graduated from college with a degree in English literature, which, as everyone knows, is about all you need to work in a French Quarter clothing shop. I landed at French Connection, a then-hip, now-passe boutique that aims squarely for the post-Benetton, pre-Lerner demographic. While selling stretch-velvet stirrup-pants to overweight hausfraus from Nebraska didn't allow many opportunities to employ my appallingly vast knowledge of surrealism in the writings of American expatriates from 1910 to 1948, it did allow me to work with a hangover, which, at 22 years old, was a good thing.
The only thing I really hated about working at FC was hauling the garbage to the dumpster, which sat outside our back door, in the Jax Brewery parking lot abutting the Mississippi River. First, my stomach would churn from the stench of the trash bin, then my head would split as the calliope on the Steamboat Natchez roared to life with a rousing rendition of "Has Anybody Seen My Gal" or, if it was overcast, "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head." I'd look up, across the levee wall, and see Debbie Fagnano perched atop the boat, her head bouncing in time to the music, and I'd think to myself, "I've got a clear shot. I could end my own pain and that of thousands of others. It would be a good deed for humanity!" Alas, despite dad's repeated offers to load me up with guns--"You gonna need these one day, down in that city of sin!"--I never took him up on it, and Debbie lived to torment me for the remainder of my tenure in retail purgatory.
It's a good thing, too. 'Cause, honestly, of all the tiny, creeping signs of revival and regeneration I've seen in the past few weeks, none has affected me more deeply than hearing that very same calliope blasting out a ham-fisted version of "Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer, Do" yesterday afternoon. I don't know if it was Debbie up there--my vision ain't what it used to be--but it nearly brought a tear to my jaundiced eye. Oh, how a decade or so and an unprecedented natural disaster can change one's opinion about things.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Knowing the way I feel about Andrei Codrescu, a friend and neighbor just sent me the dust-jacket copy for his new book, New Orleans, Mon Amour. Not only is it thoroughly tedious and hackneyed (did you expect anything less?), but it's completely put me off breakfast, and I was really looking forward to breakfast, 'cause there's still a sandwich-sized chunk of holiday ham in the fridge.
Anyway, I'm not in the mood to suffer alone on this gloomy Saturday morning--which will certainly get gloomier before long, when it starts raining and my power goes out for the umpteenth time this month--so I'm sharing the dreck with you:
For two decades NPR commentator Andrei Codrescu has been living in and writing about his adopted city, where, as he puts it, the official language is dreams. How apt that a refugee born in Transylvania found his home in a place where vampires roam the streets and voodoo queens live around the corner; where cemeteries are the most popular picnic spots, the ghosts of poets, prostitutes, and pirates are palpable, and in the French Quarter, no one ever sleeps.... Alas, as we all now know, Paradise is lost.
New Orleans, Mon Amour is an epic love song, a clear-eyed elegy, a cultural celebration, and a thank-you note to New Orleans in its Golden Age.
--from Amazon.com
All of which begs a few questions for Mr. Codrescu, who's probably enjoying a similarly gloomy morning 80-some-odd miles from here at his home in Baton Rouge, where he's reading the New York Times or the Bucharest Times or any number of things besides this website:
1. This book: was it your idea or your publisher's? I mean, it's an allegedly free country, so you can publish whatever you like whenever you like, but don't you think--and don't take this the wrong way--don't you think it's a little soon? From where I sit, it reeks just a teeny, tiny bit of opportunism, like all those Time-Life books about September 11 that were on the bookshelves by October. But then, I'm sure you're planning to do something charitable with the proceeds, aren't you? ...Aren't you?
2. The hint of rushed opportunism is exacerbated by the book's title. Did you spend much time on it at all? Was New Orleans, Mon Amour the best you could do? A slovenly reference to Walker Percy, who was himself making a half-hearted, pun-ish homage to Alain Resnais? At the very least, egomaniac that you are, I would've thought you could come up with something like, Apres le Deluge, Moi.
3. I don't know if you penned the dust-jacket copy yourself or if it was done by some intern just out of Bryn Mawr, but from the way it's written, it sounds like New Orleans was experiencing some kind of Golden Age immediately before Katrina made landfall. Um, not so. I mean, don't get me wrong: things were fine--good, even--but "Golden Age"? The last time we had one of those was 30 years ago, when we were flush with oil money and folks were clamoring to get into the Superdome. Or possibly 100 years ago, when jazz was just getting started and Storyville was America's first experiment with legalized prostitution. ...New Orleans under Mayor Nagin? Brass, maybe. Possibly even bronze. But hardly gold.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Sky: clear
Temperature: 70 degrees
Relative humidity: 70%
Gumbo: chicken and sausage
Turkey: brined and basted (courtesy of Nigella)
Stuffing: gingerbread (courtesy of same)
Expected attendance: between 20 and 30
Kick-off time: 4:00pm
Thankfulness rating: 10+
All things considered, this may damn well be the best Thanksgiving ever. Drop by if you can....
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
I made out better than many did. I still have my partner, my pets (though as some of you might remember, one of those was a close call). I still have my house, my things. I still have my job (though we all took pay cuts for the time-being). Apart from inhabiting a scarred and battered city that's staggering back toward normalcy, my life continues apace, more or less.
Among the few things I did lose, the most damaging losses, the ones that have most affected me, have been the friends who have moved on--people I saw that Friday, people I talked to about the approaching storm, people I tried to keep calm, all the while, thinking in the back of my head, "Man, I better go move my stuff to the second floor."
I'd only worked with Jackson for a year or so. She was young, but very savvy, very efficient, and completely, utterly adorable. Her interests, energy, and aesthetics were a perfect match for mine: we got along like gangbusters.
Jackson was to be married in early October, one week before my brother tied the knot. The wedding was all the way up in Nashville, but I was hoping to find a way to sneak up and surprise her.
Of course, that didn't happen.
Her wedding did go on as planned, though. As luck would have it, one of my other co-workers had also evacuated to Nashville, and she went. It was great, apparently.
I bring all this up because yesterday that co-worker brought in a copy of the wedding program, which Jackson had spent so much time fiddling with in the months before. And amongst all the thank yous and the list of bridesmaids and groomsmen was a poem by Billy Collins that perfectly described the happy couple. Being the literary connoisseurs that you are, I'm sure you already know it by heart, but for me it was new and funny and sweet. What can I say? I'm a wuss when it comes to that kinda schmaltzy pomo poetry crap...
Litany
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.
-- Billy Collins
Friday, November 18, 2005
It should come as no surprise that in the theatre world, you run into a lot of drama queens. You know, folks who get worked up into a tizzy at the drop of a hat. "Ooh, my black shirt and black pants don't match! Where's the nearest funeral pyre?!" Or, "If Craig doesn't talk to me at the cast party, I'll just...I'll just throw myself on a funeral pyre!" And occasionally, "Great mother of Maude Adams, I specifically asked that barista for a decaf mochasippi with half soy, half skim! I'm marching right back there and tossing her onto a funeral pyre!"
(Funeral pyres, FYI, are often invoked among my kind as the most dramatic type of death imaginable. Personally, I think Isadora Duncan did it better in the pouring rain with a long chenille scarf and the axle of a convertible Bugatti, but then, what do I know?)
Unfortunately, despite their overtly theatrical demeanors, drama queens often possess the least amounts of talent and acumen when it comes to producing real, live plays. In an attempt to shock-and-awe their nearest and dearest, drama queens invariably do ridiculous things to otherwise respectable shows: "Okay, so, are you ready for this? In the final scene of Death of a Salesman, I'm envisioning a ring of fire, from which Willy will rise, dressed in rags, wearing angel's wings, to have a final graveside chat with his wife!" That kind of crap would be fine and dandy for an "Obsession by Calvin Klein" loop playing on a fritzed-out monitor at a run-down department store in Terre Haute, but it does little to further a freaking storyline.
It was recently brought to my attention that this empress among drama queens is on a rampage, casting aspersions about the future of theatre in New Orleans and speaking on behalf of New Orleans' theatre community when he himself was only nominally a member. During his brief tenure in the city, the only plays I heard of Lane producing were Swerve, a new work by local playwright R. J. Tsarov, and The Maids, Genet's work about...well, who knows what the hell it's about.
I didn't see the former, but it received uniformly hideous reviews, even from folks who usually find a couple of nice words to say about everything. The latter was so center-less, so completely ungrounded, so unengaged in telling the story of the play that I felt embarrassed for the actresses, all of whom were doing their damnedest to get through it with straight faces. If you've never been trapped in a room for nearly two hours with 30 other people who'd rather be shoving needles in their eyes, I can't say I recommend it.
Luckily, Mr. Savadove doesn't really know what he's talking about--mostly because he's never really bothered to speak to anyone in the city's theatre community. If he had, he'd know that Le Chat has already put up two shows, one with Bryan Batt, the other with the incomparable Ricky Graham. He might also know that our company opens its annual holiday extravaganza in a mere two weeks. And of course, there are shows running in Metairie, Kenner, and on the Northshore, not to mention a bevy of shows opening right after the start of the new year.
So, bottom line: between Nagin and Blanco and Landrieu and everyone else in the city screaming about this that and the other for the last three months, I think we've had enough drama queens. Some people just ought to stay away.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
I'm not usually the sort of person to bitch and moan. I can probably count on one hand the number of pity parties I've hosted. But I gotta say: right now I'm in some kinda sucking karma hole, and I'm having a hard time digging out. Within the past three days...
We've lost electricity twice, for 12+ hours each time. You'd think that Entergy would be trying to improve the power grid, but it seems to be deteriorating. Cable, internet, phone: all that I can live without, but being in a dark house full of TVs and microwaves and other electric appliances scowling at you through the gloom...that's just depressing. The Louisiana legislature is behaving even worse than usual. They're in crisis mode, making all kinds of crazy changes to the state budget without really considering the consequences. Our legislators are petty and bilious on the best of days, but to see that kind of behavior now, when they should be devoting their remaining shreds of intelligence to the task of fixing things and planning ahead...it's unbearable. A very good friend of ours was involved in a fracas night before last and has landed in the hospital, in critical condition. Information is sketchy just now, but it seems that this nice, talented writer was trying to break up a domestic dispute next door--always a bad idea, I know, but sometimes you just can't help yourself.
So, I'm asking: what the hell is going on? Can I please have my life back? Just a sliver of it? A wafer-thin slice of normalcy? Calgon? Von Trapp Family Singers? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?
In the interest of full disclosure, though, I must admit that the last 72 hours haven't been without their bright spots. Why, just yesterday FEMA called me to see if I needed a trailer.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The Story of My So-Called Life
(In the darkness, we hear someone shuffling about. Then, a thud, followed by various curses on gods, life-partners, and furniture manufacturers. At last, there's a clicking noise: the unmistakable sound of a cell phone being flipped open. We can almost make out the haggard, weary face of a 30something man as he presses a series of buttons, then moves the phone to his ear. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing...)
(Eventually, we hear the muffled voice of the Voicemail Lady, everyone's favorite Midwestern librarian. She's thanking our quasi-hero for calling and, in the blandest, creepiest, most soulless voice since HAL, expressing her hope that the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast are safe and comfortable in their homes--if they still have them. After a brief pause, she assumes a slighly more officious tone and encourages our caller to listen carefully to the following six options, since their menu has recently changed. The man presses "0", but she continues. He presses "0" again and again and again. Finally, more ringing, followed by...)
ENTERGYLADY: Hello, and thank you for calling Entergy. This is Laverne. How can I help you?
RICHARD: Hi, Laverne, I'm calling to report an outage.
ENTERGYLADY: I beg your pardon?
RICHARD: I said, I'm calling to report an outage.
ENTERGYLADY: An outage? ...Okay, I will be happy to assist you. (Thirty second pause. Sounds of chaos in the background. Possible birthday party for a woman named Irene or Eileen.) Is this an outage to your home?
RICHARD: Actually, it's to the entire neighborhood.
ENTERGYLADY: Have you checked your fusebox to ensure that all fuses are set to the "on" position?
RICHARD: Ma'am, the entire neighborhood is without power.
ENTERGYLADY: Can you see any downed poles or power lines?
RICHARD: Ma'am, it's 10:00pm. If I stepped out the door, I couldn't see two feet in front of my face.
ENTERGYLADY: What's your ZIP code?
RICHARD: 70117.
ENTERGYLADY: Hold please. (More waiting. Giggling and other shenanigans can be heard in the background. Possible breaking of a pinata shaped like Spongebob Squarepants, followed by the sound of a dozen of sixth graders diving for year-old Tootsie Rolls.) Ma'am?
RICHARD: (Not having the strength to correct her) ...Yes?
ENTERGYLADY: I'm seeing there's a power outage in your neighborhood.
RICHARD: (Grinding teeth) Yes ma'am, that's the one I'm calling to report.
ENTERGYLADY: Uh-huh.
(Pause, followed by a much longer pause. Finally, after another pause...)
RICHARD: So, can you tell me anything about it?
ENTERGYLADY: Only that you don't have power.
RICHARD: Um, that part I got.
ENTERGYLADY: (Slightly snippy) Well, what else would you like to know?
RICHARD: Can you tell me what's wrong? Is it being worked on? Do you know when we might get power back? I mean, I understand you guys are really busy right now, but I'm trying to do some work myself, which, in my case, requires me to be online, which, in turn, requires electricity. If you could give me a rough idea of how long we'll be in the dark, it'd be really helpful in planning my schedule.
ENTERGYLADY: (Finally realizing Richard's a guy) Just a moment, sir. (Another pause. It's clearly a bachelorette party, probably for a woman named Arlene.) Okay, sir, according to my records, your ZIP code is scheduled for restoration sometime between now and February 1, 2006.
RICHARD: (Clutching his head, having been down this road with every single service rep every single time he's called Entergy) Ma'am, I don't know if you're from New Orleans, but not all areas of 70117 are the same. Some parts of it, like the Lower 9th Ward, were hit hard by Katrina and haven't been restored at all. Others, like my neighborhood, have had power for nearly two months.... What I'm saying is, the outage I'm calling about is not due to Katrina--not directly anyway. This is a new problem. This is because of a fire or lightning or because a squirrel crawled into a transformer.*
ENTERGYLADY: Well, sir, I don't know about any of that.
RICHARD: You don't know anything about it at all?
ENTERGYLADY: Entergy New Orleans isn't posting updates right now. They haven't been for a while.
RICHARD: ...I simply can't imagine why such an effective, efficient company would be filing for bankruptcy....
ENTERGYLADY: Sir, if you you want my personal opinion--and this is just me now: if I were you, I'd sit tight and read a book.
RICHARD: I'd love to. Can I borrow your night-vision goggles?
ENTERGYLADY: You have a good night, sir, and thank you for calling Entergy. (Covering mouthpiece with hand) Go on, Imogene! Work it, girl!
(A click, then a dialtone. Our quasi-hero flips his phone shut, swats at a stray mosquito, quickly retrieves a beer from the rapidly warming fridge, downs two Tylenol PMs, and settles down on the wooden floor of his living room, dreaming of being startled awake by the sound of hundreds of lamps and microwaves and AC units all turning on at once.)
* Not made up: in October of 1995, a massive power outage was caused in the French Quarter and Faubourg Marigny when an intrepid squirrel crawled into a substation and shorted out a transformer.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
So, internet service is out in my neighborhood. It went down last night, around the same time that a large-ish fire broke out a block from my house. Methinks the two might be related. Me also thinks that BellSouth's customer service people deserve some kind of medal for being significantly better than the phonedrones over at Cox. And don't even get me started on Entergy: more than once I've considered calling up my boyfriend's relatives in the Bronx and asking for some favors, if you know what I mean....
If it were any other time in New Orleans history, I'd probably be screaming about these daily "hardships," but given everything that's happened, I'm strangely calm. There have been sporadic power outages ever since we moved back, and cable was pretty wonky for a while there, too (though it seems to have gotten over the hump). Communicating by cell is an exercise in frustration. Those of us who've returned, we've gotten used to these problems. Going without DSL for a couple of days is just par for the course. No big whoop.
The other day, I was trying to explain to a friend what it's like to be in New Orleans, post-Katrina. People used to claim that living here was like living in the third-world, but in fact, it was more frustrating than that. Before August 29, New Orleanians kinda felt like New Yorkers must feel anytime they leave the city: "Whaddaya mean you're out of American Spirits?" "Whaddaya mean I have to call back tomorrow and schedule a repairman?" "Whaddaya mean I gotta drive all the way out to BFE just to get fresh mozzarella?" That kind of thing. Little frustrations that added up.
The difference is that now our expectations are lower: we know that stores are open for limited hours, that restaurants have shortened menus, that lines are long no matter where you go, that half of the city is working on a cash-only basis. We're pleasantly surprised with each little nicety: "Dorignac's had just gotten in a truckload of gorgeous Roma tomatoes, and there was no one in the express line!" I've never been to a third-world country (though I once dreamt I was sold into half-white slavery in Ouagadougou), but I imagine this is what it's like.
Of course, before we know it, things will have returned to normal and we'll take all those little niceties for granted again, and we'll all be just as bitter and disappointed as before. But for now....
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Last night I looked back over the script for Grenadine and realized there are still lots of holes to fill in--lots of blank spaces where jokes should be, lots of songs left to write. And don't even get me started on the technical stuff I'm going to have to tackle between now and opening night; the wig-styling issue alone is enough to make me wanna curl up and D-I-E die. (By some strange coincidence, the company members who left town just happened to be the same ones who felt most comfortable amongst rat-tail combs and Aquanet.)
Still, there are several bits that make me giggle--like this one, which leads into what I hope will be an Elvis-y parody of "Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me" as sung by Loweezy from Snuffy Smith:
PINEY: (Breaking down) Who knew that marryin’ my dead sister’s husband would lead to so much tribulation? If only I coulda resisted the powerful urgings of my womanly loins! Oh, woe is me! (Sobs) …It’s a sad, sad state of affairs, Madge, I tell you what…
(Longish pause)
MAGDE, THE ACCOMPANIST: (Sighs) Maybe you’d like to sing about it?
PINEY: (Standing up, straightening herself) If you don’t mind. Somethin' in the neighborhood of “C”.
Well, at least I think it's funny. But then, I rank incest right up there with meat and the letter "k" when it comes to guaranteed comic material....
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
So, last night we had a read-through for our upcoming show. We were missing a couple of people due to work schedules, and we had to move the whole damn thing to a friend's house because of a massive power outage in my neighborhood, but we read it, by gum.
I have to say though, it was a little weird. It was weird writing it by myself, 'cause I'm used to bouncing ideas and lines off my buddy, Flynn, but he evacuated to Atlanta during the storm, and he doesn't intend to return. We plan to collaborate on projects in the future, but for this one, I dunno.... I'm pretty busy at the moment, and trying to co-write a piece with someone hundreds of miles away seemed a bit much. But maybe more importantly, I think I just wanted to prove to myself that I could write it alone. I don't know that it's as funny as it would've been with Flynn's help, but I did it nonetheless.
It was also a little weird writing it and reading it without most of our core actors. Grenadine is our company's holiday show, and of the eight or so regulars we've had in the piece, five have moved on or are otherwise unavailable. Problem is, over the years, each of these actors has really become her/his character; Jason is Sierra-Britney, Roy is Loretta. I eliminated those characters for this version of the play, but it still feels weird not to have them (or the actors who play them) in the show.
Still, the most important thing is that the show is written. It's different than it has been--the actors are different, the characters are different, the tone is different--but it's written. And we're going to perform it in December. It may not prove to be a brilliant business decision, but hey, somebody's got to do it, right? I mean, there all these actors and directors mumbling about "I guess there's not gonna be any theatre in New Orleans for a while...." Well, no shit! Nothing's going to happen if you don't get up off your asses and do something. Sheesh...
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
The most frustrating thing, of course, is that we're getting it from both sides. The pessimism, I mean.
Many New Orleanians who've returned are still making dire predictions about repopulation and the restoration of basic services, despite the fact that both have progressed far more rapidly than officials had initially predicted. To these people--the nay-sayers and half-emptyers living within the city limits--I ask, "Why the hell did you move back? Why didn't you just stay in Atlanta or Houston or Dallas or wherever your cousin or brother or aunt invited you to live 'till all this was over? If you're not going to offer a solution or at least some constructive criticism, then please do us all a favor and politely get the fuck out." Seriously, we've got a city to rebuild, and we've got no one leading us, and the last thing we need is a chorus of sniveling pantywaists whining, "It can't be done!"
We're getting the gloom-and-doom treatment from the outside, too--especially from the media. Case in point: a friend of mine runs an after-school arts program for at-risk youth, and she was recently contacted by a reporter from a national news outlet who's writing a story on the current state of education and the arts in New Orleans. My friend has been completely on the ball the whole time, but apparently the reporter didn't want to hear it. The interview went something like this:
Reporter: So, how do you feel about the fact that you've lost so many children to the storm?
My Friend: I beg your pardon?
R: Well, so many of the kids you serve are now scattered across the country, and you have no way to get in touch with them....
MF: Actually, we've had access to our files the whole time, so we've been in constant contact with our students by cell phone and email.
R: But surely there must be many who are still missing and presumed dead?
MF: No, we've reached all of them.
R: None dead at all?
MF: Um, no....
(Awkward pause)
R: Well, certainly you must lament the fact that your seriously underprivileged students have lost their arts training--the one thing that provides structure and joy to their otherwise depressing, dead-end lives?
MF: Fortunately, in nearly all cases we've found alternate programs for them in the cities and towns to which they evacuated.
R: Of course, you must be heartbroken to know that they'll never be coming back.
MF: Actually, many have already begun to move back--especially those from the Westbank. Many lost homes in the storm, but we've spoken to their parents, and nearly all of them want to return as soon as possible.
R: But I spoke to another arts educator who said it would be years before New Orleans had enough children to make programs like yours viable!
MF: I don't know who you've spoken to, but we're planning to start offering classes again in January.
R: I see.... Well, thank you for your time. I'm so sorry for your many, many losses. I know your road to recovery will be a long and arduous one. The nation's thoughts and prayers are with you. Godspeed! (Click) ...Hello? Hello?
So Andy and Soledad and anyone else with a press pass who might be listening: enough already. If you Cassandras have nothing to report but tragedy and despair and woe, maybe you should shuffle off to Bangladesh or Myanmar or the Sudan where there's more than enough to go around. Just leave us out of it.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Drafts of two letters presented Monday to Nagin's Bring New Orleans Back Commission contained a list of the panel's members -- minus Archbishop Alfred Hughes, who was left off. Three other commissioners' names were incorrect.
The two letters, to state Attorney General Charles Foti and the state Board of Ethics, were designed to clarify the commission's legal status and which state laws apply to its deliberations and actions.
The Rev. Fred Luter was listed as "Later," and musician Wynton Marsalis as "Winton."
But the most curious error was the way developer and banker Joseph Canizaro's name was rendered: "Joe Caviar."
--NOLA.com
It's nice to know that despite all the lay-offs and budget cuts and general craziness, New Orleans' City Hall is able to conduct business as usual with its crack team of highly specialized, inadequately educated, commission-loving bureaucrats.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Michael died so long ago, I can't remember much about him. Maybe his face. His goofy walk. The way he'd light a cigarette--though, to be fair, that's only because I have a photo of him in action.
The only thing that's still vivid in my memory is Michael's laugh: a short, booming "HA!" that was as funny as any joke. We'd be working, and I'd make a wisecrack, and I'd look up at him, and he'd have this poker face, and I'd say to myself, "I guess I'm not the comedian I thought I was." Then his mouth would open up a bit, and his lips would broaden into a smile, and his big, brown eyes would sparkle, and "HA!" Then he'd usually turn and go about his business, shaking his head. I don't know if he was seriously amused or if he was just humoring me.
It's not the same with other people who've died. My grandmother, for example: I remember lots about her. Her dry sense of humor, her many tones of voice, the way she'd kneel and put an arm around my waist as she taught me to cast from a rod and reel. But I knew her so long and she died so slowly, I guess I had a while to build up a repository of memories. Michael died suddenly, with no warning at all, after I'd known him only a few years.
Today, I learned that another friend has died, suddenly.
Jason and I worked together years ago, in the kitchen at Lucky Cheng's. As the only two even-keeled folks in a room full of hot-tempered nutcases, we tended to stick together. That was fine by me: he was a total hottie and unofficial posterboy of the bi-curious 9th Ward boys. He also had the ultra-hip thing going on, co-starring in the locally produced cult classic, Squishy Does Porno. Yowsa.
As you can imagine, working in a French Quarter kitchen among drag queen waitresses was kinda wild at times, and both of us had our moments (if you know what I mean), but as the years went by, we each settled down. Jason stayed in the service industry and landed a job managing one of my favorite restaurants in New Orleans. I saw him there just a couple of months ago, when Jonno took me out for my birthday dinner. Jason immediately ambled over and hugged us, just as he always did. The place was packed, but his tone was warm and calm. He kissed me on the cheek and wished me a happy birthday, then went about the business of making other people happy.
Jason died last Sunday. I'm told it was a drug overdose, but that sounds strange to me. Jason and I and most of our crowd have been living the straight and narrow for some time now--well, as straight and narrow as things can be here. Not that I doubt my source, but I have to wonder: was it an accident? Could it have been intentional? And if so, why? I mean, no, it's not the happiest time to live in New Orleans, but he was such an upbeat guy, how could he have been that depressed?
Of course, the weirdest thing--the whole reason for this rambling, maudlin post--is that I remember Jason's laugh best of all.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
ATTENTION POLITICALLY MINDED WEB DEVELOPERS
After the 2004 election fiasco, yours truly decided to register a few potentially viable, politically oriented domains--partly because I thought my friends and I might develop them, and partly because I wanted to keep them away from Karl Rove, James Dobson, and other creatures of the night who might use them for evil. A couple of my pals did the same, then passed the domains onto me.
Now I've got a handful of these things, and they're up for renewal. And while I'd like to think I'll have time to do something with them in the next year or so, I know I've got a city that needs rebuilding and a decimated theatre company that's trying to move forward, so launching a new, politically active website anytime soon seems unlikely.
Bottom line: I'm giving away these seven domains:
valuevoter.net
valuevoter.org
valuesvoter.net
valuevoters.net
valuedvoters.com
valuedvoters.net
valuedvoters.org
Notice a theme?
Anyway, they expire on November 8th, so act quickly. They're registered at RegisterFree.com, which is where they'll need to be renewed, unless you transfer them somewhere else. I'll hand 'em over free of charge--but of course, if you wanted to make a wee donation to moi, I wouldn't object....
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Well, after weeks of wondering who the hell was in charge around here, it looks like our startlingly inarticulate Governor Blanco has finally stepped up to the plate. Later this week, she's convening a special session of the legislature to discuss levee repair, tax relief, and most importantly, revamping New Orleans' public school system--'cause goddess knows, coming back to the mess of mold and stinky refrigerators is bad enough without having to deal with the Circus of the School Board Schmucks, too.
Now the only question seems to be whether our initially-promising-but-now-devastatingly-disorganized mayor will shut the hell up and listen, or will he and the school board and every other elected official in New Orleans put up their usual roadblocks and try to rebuild the [former] status-quo? I can only hope they realize that most of the folks who voted them into office will still be displaced by the time elections roll around, meaning that their days are numbered if they don't start cooperating and making progress.
FYI, if you wanna take a look at Blanco's complete to-do list, there's a PDF of it here. I wouldn't suggest reading it while operating heavy machinery.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
It's weird to some people: the fact that today, All Saints Day, is an official holiday for Orleans Parish parochial schools. In a normal year, you'd see hordes of children--most in school uniforms, but some dressed more formally--trudging into cemeteries around the city to tidy the graves of their ancestors. This, however, is not a normal year, and I have a sneaking suspicion that today will be a working day at most schools--which is too bad, really, 'cause with all the tree limbs and dead plants and high water marks, many of those graves could use some extra TLC.
That's not to say that the day isn't going to be celebrated. Voodoo priestess Sallie Ann Glassman will hold her traditional ceremony honoring the Day of the Dead (a slightly more pagan, less poetic name for November 1). If you're interested, here's the details:
Time: 7:00pm Place: 3319 Rosalie Alley (off of Rampart, between Piety and Desire) Events: Day of the Dead ceremony, followed by a potluck supper, followed by a procession to St. Roch Cemetery to feed the dead What to bring: rum (especially Barbancourt); goat cheese; flatbreads;
peppers or hot, spicy food; cigars; sunglasses with one lens; crosses;
funerary items; money; images of St. Gerard; skulls; skeletons; purple
black and white candles What to wear: white with a purple headscarf, or black, purple, and white (though Sallie Ann says that if all your purple and white is covered in black mold, by all means, come as you are) More info: call 858 334 5660 or visit the Island of Salvation Botanica at 835 Piety Street
Of course, some of you may remember that back in July, Sallie Ann led a hurricane ceremony, intended to protect New Orleans from violent storms. She says that ceremony worked, to an extent, because Katrina wasn't technically "The Big One." On the surface, that sounds like a bit of face-saving, but knowing Sallie a little, I imagine she'd also readily admit that the gods are fickle and don't always give us what we want. Maybe someone should take this up with her tonight, since I can't be there....
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