Progress: It's hard work

I have twice now experienced a particular post-Katrina phenomenon that caught me completely off guard.

I went away for a few days and wondered when I came back would everything be back to normal. It wasn't. I thought there would be progress. Not much.

I was in my home town for Thanksgiving and caught myself looking at a gas station, wondering if it were open or not. That's what being here has done.

What if you were stuck in an airport and there were two people near you having an intense conversation about camping equipment? And one of them was wearing a fanny pack? Would you slit your wrists?

I'll go one better--what if you were stuck on an Amtrak train for 14 hours and a curiously effeminate giant was sitting next to you saying things like "Whoo child!" and "Lawd have mercy?" Would you drink yourself into unconsciousness courtesy of the bar car?

It's almost December. Hurricane season 2005 is over. I'm still waiting for someone to stand up and declare NOLA safe for the next season. Tick tick tick. Hear that, Mayor Nagin? Why aren't we doing it ourselves? I'm not kidding. Call us out. Tell us to grab a shovel and a bucket and when to be there and we'll build up the levees ourselves. If you're in NOLA and you're waiting for the Feds to show up and do their job, you can fucking forget it, buddy. We're on our own, per the usual. Sitting down and waiting and bitching isn't going to help. And I don't know why we can't just start getting shit done. Let's go back in time and take care of this thing with our backs and our arms. I know plenty of engineers who live here and would love to supervise the work.

In other words, fuck the Feds, let's save NOLA together.

The other night when I was visiting Pal's Lounge, somebody accidentally knocked a bar stool over. My response? I jumped up and doubled up my fists in case it was another Invasion of the Rednecks. Thank you for the inspirational words, Shane Macgowan. I need to be in a fight at some point.

"Slammin' drinks with Shelly Duvall and Freak Boy." I think my friend T. Stacy should stage this unusual drama performance about me, alcohol, and the hallucinations brought on by breathing in refrigerator exhaust.

George W. Bush says that Iraq is the center of terrorist activity in the world. Really? I wonder if that has anything to do with 150,000 US troops being there. No really, do you think that has anything to do with it?

I had a bizarre Thanksgiving. I was thankful that I have friends and family who've supported me since the hurricane and that's what I said. But for the first time in a long time I would have preferred to be with strangers in New Orleans than with my family because I just don't think anybody outside of here understands the veil of longing I feel any time I'm away and the painful desire I have to get back. I don't even know if I'm doing anything productive or responsible by being here but even eating lunch at a local cafe makes me feel like a NOLA patriot.

Another post-Katrina moment of joy

Thought I'd drop 'round the pub last night. Pal's Lounge on N. Rendon is the only functioning bar close by, I think I mentioned that. The owners were kind enough to come back and if you ask me, they're doing Bayou St. John a tremendous service. We OWE them for coming back and restoring part of our neighbourhood's character.

So what happened last night?

5 contracted clean-up crew members who are living in City Park came to Pal's. They got wasted and started harassing the regulars. They started a fight, were told to leave, shoved Lindsay the bartender (she was the only one working there last night, and she's a petite little gal) and were thrown out by the regulars. Lindsay locked the doors.

So these fucking idiot carpetbagging motherfuckers proceeded to get their shovels out of their car and smash Pal's window and the glass in the doors.

Yeah, Pal's. The mellow dog bar.

Unfuckingbelievable. Thanks for nothing, assholes. Pal's survived Katrina and Rita but couldn't survive a storm of drunken white trash.

I got there as the NOPD were taking statements from everybody. Just like Katrina, I wasn't there to help. How depressing.

I was so angry I told people we should have gone and firebombed the tent/trailer town inside the Park. The city is awash with losers from every nook and cranny of America, Mexico, Honduras...shit, there are probably a few Nigerian e-mail scammers running around. "Dear Citizen of New Orleans, I am Prince Abogabobondobooboo..."

I really felt like someone must have during the Great Depression when Hoovervilles were routinely burned to the ground. Visions of me and my shotgun started popping up in my head. My shotgun? What the fuck is wrong with me?

So, to the racist Republican motherfucker from the Halloween party, I'd like to say, Gee, yeah, it REALLY is great that the bad element is out of the city. We're so lucky that all the black neighbourhoods have cleared out, we won't have any problems now!

Suck my balls.

A lack of nonsense hurts

Pre-Katrina, I was happily enjoying the strangeness and insanity of New Orleans. I also felt at liberty to post nonsense.

I don't feel like it now, though, and that's pissing me off.

Now the strangeness and insanity is due to things like what I just saw at Juan's Flying Burrito--a booth filled with 4 camo-clad, M16 toting soldiers. Dude just rested his rifle against the corner of the booth next to the door. Humvee parked out front.

The less technology-based you were before the storm, the better off you are now. Pal's Lounge was a primitive, dirty little hole of a bar before the storm. Now it's downright luxurious with it's ancient cash register (that's right, it ain't no "terminal") ringing up your one dollar PBRs. And food? I think Linda (?) puts stuff in a crock pot and leaves at the end of the bar for you if you want it.

The good folks at Entergy have given me back natural gas service. I flipped out the other night when I got home from the gym and absent-mindedly turned on the hot water and for the first time since August it came out hot. Not bad timing since it's 40-farking degrees in the morning for at least the next 7 days.

The Fairgrounds area and Bayou St. John remain shells of what they once were. No people. All the good times and weirdness are in some other city or town, slivers of them, anyway. Maybe pieces of them are in Baton Rouge, or Dallas, or Houston. But they can't be, don't you understand? It's not just the people. It's the people PLUS New Orleans.

It's cold today. When I drove away in August I had no idea what this would feel like. Last night there was wind and rain so my power went off for 4 hours. That's what happens now. The wires are held up with string and gum and paper clips so you just better get used to it.

That's why I'm a freak about keeping a bunch of shit in my fridge. I'll never "stock" the fridge ever again, ever. Vodka, beer, hot sauce, soy sauce, individual cans of V8...that's it. It's like how our grandparents were after living through the depression, only in reverse. A full larder and a full fridge meant safety. But for me, the thought is "what if I have to evacuate? Will I have or take the time to throw out everything that's gonna spoil?

I went out and saw music last weekend for the first time since Donna's my first Saturday back here. I went to d.b.a. and heard a cobbled-combo version of Hot Club of New Orleans. The owner of Coop's Place pulled up a pickup with a giant grill in the bed, parked it in a parking space across the street, and for his birthday started dishing out free barbecue, sausage, baked beans, cole slaw...just because, you know.

And I drove all the way to Maple Leaf to hear Shannon Powell. It was a funky, almost rockin' Shannon, though. It wasn't "Powell's Place" Shannon. And that was that.

New Orleans is a half-hearted ghost of itself now. I love the people and I love what remains but it's so sad. It's just so sad.

Don't even think about trying to turn NOLA into Charleston, motherfuckers!

Walgreens Can Suck It, Hard

So if you had the exclusive franchise on "Now Open" signs, you'd be making a killing.

A lot of shit is open. Most of it is still closed.

Dumbass Ray Nagin still has a meaningless 8PM curfew on my zip code. I've certainly made a practice of obeying that. Hey Ray, thanks for inviting me back. "Come on back, Antonio. Oh, but stay inside, okay?"

I don't want to go off on a rant about Nagin but the man is insane.

He wants a committee to "Bring Back New Orleans" when there's not even one public school open. Hey man, I'm no parent, but wtf is wrong with you? You're worried about "the culture?" How about this: You concentrate on public safety and education and leave that shit to the people who control it: EVERYBODY!

Entergy has not yet restored natural gas service to my neighbourhood. Last week it was 41 degrees in the morning. Cold shower? No thanks!

So I found that I had brought an ancient electric kettle/hotpot with me when I moved here. I have no idea why, but having it now makes me look like a genius, because I can boil some water, pour it in a big bowl, and at least improvise the feeling of a hot shower in the morning. I understand that throwing things away is a good idea--I'm for it. But see...?

People have "just shown up" from all over North America here, looking for work, or in the case of the black cowboy from West Louisiana, they're "just trying to figure it out." It used to be that people came here because they'd already figured it out, and it usually meant "drinking heavily." Now it's the guy who needs to "follow his heart." Oh dear. This is not a good sign.

Still waiting for somebody, anybody, to stand up and say "So Nagin has told y'all to come back. I think he forgot to mention that the schools are closed and that landlords are jacking up rents and as of today, we still can't promise you that NOLA won't flood next year if hit by a Category 3 hurricane." How would you like to be a business owner from an area that got flooded, just waiting for the whole thing to go under again? Madness.

I can't get a bbq shrimp Po'Boy from Liuzza's. There's no more Dixie beer. But that's not the worst of it.

Last weekend I made the horrible mistake of going to a party on the West Bank. Technically still in OP but the party was attended by...well, let's just say it was attended by people who felt comfortable telling a stranger "Hey, at least the niggers are finally gone."

Holy shit. I hope there really is a hell, because that fat Republican fuck belongs there TODAY. Who the fuck says shit like that? Is this 1962? Get your racist ass back to fucking Gretna and I promise you I'll stay on the other side of the bridge. That's a promise. I am never crossing that bridge again EVER.

I feel really bad about going over there in the first place, but I feel worse for just swallowing it and going on about my business. If I hadn't been seriously outnumbered and a complete stranger to most of the people there, I would have screamed "FUCK YOU!" and called a cab immediately.

Chalk that up as a "Post-Katrina moment."

Last Monday I dressed up as "Captain Communism" for Halloween. Go Big Red!