Will Saddam Hussein Abdl-Majid Al-Tikriti’s execution prove a measure of how successful our nation-building campaign in Iraq has been? His death may be martyrdom, the exacting of sweet revenge or just another show for the masses in which nothing is actually gained. If I know my dad and what he experienced at the hands of the Iraqis, he vacillates between the latter two. 0 comments #
“It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers.” — James Thurber 0 comments #
Day 488: An Honest Go Of It
December 29, 2006 - Filed Under We Are Not Ok, family & friends, new orleans, recovery
There must be a certain malaise in the air. Alexis and I recently succumbed to its psychic virulence, and have been pondering the meaning of life, living in New Orleans and, most importantly, whether what we do, as artist, scientist or blogger, means anything in the end. Does our work make the world a better place? We are left staring at our bowl of gumbo in which floats chunks of things we have done that diminish by the minute, writer’s block, the painfully slow recovery of New Orleans and the need to break out, all spiced with the singular flavor of impotence.
Existential crises aside, Lex and I have steady jobs. Many we know, who returned to New Orleans soon after the Federal Flood and were simply happy to be home, aren’t as lucky. This time last year, a divey haunt turned into a palacial recreation room, every fleur-de-lis and manhole cover became a symbol of pride, each string of beads a pearl necklace fit for a queen, even our local paper became a celebrated slab from God. Money was spent in the hope of a better tomorrow … after Carnival 2006, after St. Patrick’s Day, after Jazzfest, after the summer, after the Katrina anniversary, after each football game, after Christmas. New Orleans will start to look up after after after after …
Days have turned into months and now a year, and these same people lament that they have lost so much money living here that they cannot leave. A close friend who works in the service industry says, “I would leave if I could, but I can’t so I stay. Besides, who else will have me? I don’t have the same connections, however dwindling, anywhere else.”
When a waiter, bartender, cleaning lady, shopkeeper or cab driver, how does one pay the ever-increasing rent, health insurance, cab fare and growing debt? It’s especially hard when you’ve lived in New Orleans for a good 20 or 30 years, or your whole life, and simply lack the physical, emotional, financial and psychological wherewithal to start over somewhere else. Then again, New Orleans is the land of misfit toys; it’s where many with large brains and brimming potential came to hide and sleep. Where else can they go?
This is what Lex and I try hard to combat as citizens of New Orleans. She and I adore the laissez-faire attitude, but also worship accomplishment. We help ourselves and the local population by being out and about in the parish’s music, food, people and air, writing and taking pictures of New Orleanians every day, every other week entertaining thoughts of where else in the world to live and trying to keep the aforementioned life quandary at bay. No, we are not Atlas and Bheema reincarnate to shoulder all of New Orleans’s, much less the world’s, burdens, nor do we pretend to be. As empathic beings, however, how can we not feel with the rest of our city and keep that enervation from permeating our own psyches? We can only do so much, and then some. As always, Craig Giesecke puts this best:
Ever since the population started returning and places started opening back up, just about everyone who’s been here and had an extra dollar to spend and brought friends/family to town has been working to spend it locally. That’s what it’s all about, right?
… The problem is we’ve passed the point of overload. There simply aren’t enough of us living here anymore to keep so many of the local icons up and running. The current population of Orleans Parish remains roughly half of what it was before the flood — and that means only so many people with only so much money buying only so many meals or making only so many other purchases in so many days. If we want a nice night out in the French Quarter and we go to Antoine’s — it means we’re not going to Galatoire’s. Or Tujague’s. Or Muriel’s. Next time we go out, we’ll hit one of the other places — but will all those other places still be around six months later when we can afford to go? Maybe. But the “maybe not” is now looming much larger than before.
New Orleans or not, 2006 going on 2007 or not, ultimately we are human beings on this planet. We put one foot in front of the other and do our best each day, even if the board game places us two steps back for each one forward and each of us is out $200 for simply being alive. As long as you keep doing, things will happen. “Everything comes to he who hustles while he waits.”
So, why am I still in New Orleans, with its sporadic mayor, police chief, progress and joie de vivre? For right now, it’s where I feel the most myself, the most American, the most meaningful. It’s where I see my aspects of this city, and ones I have yet to come across, to their rightful paths and let them fly from there. It’s where, to quote Mark, I have come home to try.
If we want a city that resembles the one of memory and desire, perhaps it is best if we are left to ourselves to build it. Give me enough people like Shearer, like the New Orleans bloggers listed at right and I believe we can do it: ourselves alone … Going it alone, with fair compensation from the government for the damage they caused, will be painful. Some will try and not make it, risk everything to return and rebuild or reopen, only to lose everything. If we must go it alone, this will certainly be a smaller city, and some will leave ruined and broken by the effort. Whether we are recalled as heroes or fools only history will tell, but I think I know the measure of those who have chosen to come home and try. There is no finer place to be an American today than in their company.
All I have to say about the passing of Gerald Ford is that I was born during his presidency. If that isn’t ignominious enough, I don’t know what is. What do I have to do to trade up to a Jefferson, FDR, Truman or Kennedy? Do any of you remember Ford’s quote that the Vietnam War “is finished as far as America is concerned?” He said that as part of a speech at the 1975 Tulane University graduation ceremony. 2 comments #
Day 486: Back With Packer Christmas Loot
December 27, 2006 - Filed Under family & friends, football, photographs, travel, wisconsin
As a kid, I dreamed all year of our annual vacations, particularly about the flying part. Despite that my parents had taught me the world is an oblate spheroid, I liked to imagine various nations as two-dimensional planes that floated above and under one another, much like a 3D chess layout. The longer the plane was up in the air, the farther the plates from one another. No one has accused me of being unimaginative.
Now, flying is anathema to me. Recycled air, turbulence, heightened (often stupid) security, hauling luggage, delayed flights, no one to take care of my paperwork, carry me around and read me stories, you get the picture.
Unfortunately, a Packer fan who lives in New Orleans doesn’t get to stand in Lambeau Field and watch her team beat the Vikings 9-7 by not getting on a plane, or worse, a 20-hour car ride. Die, Vikings, die.
The light at the end of the airport tunnel, friends and D’s family showered me with Christmas gifts in the form of Packer paraphernalia. Let’s do a tally:
- A Packers nutcracker (Christmas nutcracker, that is)
- Green and yellow sweatshirt
- Packer voodoo doll (with tiny cheesehead)
- A thick, long-sleeved, dark-green GBP jersey
- A cheddar-yellow poncho with gigantic Packer G on front
- Sharon’s limited-edition pink ABCD ball cap with Packer G
- Sharon’s limited-edition, all-stitched Reggie White jersey with NFL 75 patches and all lettering hand-sewn by the now-retired-from-the-Packers Mrs. Noel (D’s friend’s mom). All hail the Minister of Defense.
- a (token) Wisconsin Badgers hoodie
Now, I have everything but Packer sweatpants and winter coat. Hint, hint.
It feels almost sacrilegous to now own and wear Sharon’s most cherished football gear. The part of me that forgets she is physically no longer with us and talks about her using the present tense thinks, “Why do I have her stuff? Doesn’t she want it?” Then the knowledge sputters into my head that Sharon doesn’t need these things where she is, chatting with Curly Lambeau and Vince Lombardi over heavenly cheese curds and brandy old-fashioned sweets. We definitely can choose our friends. A peculiar world, isn’t it?
As my closet turns green and gold, I wish the Saints and their fans only the best. Finally, you know what it’s like to root for a winner. As for me, I get a team to heartily cheer on in January while preparing for Mardi Gras - what’s better than that? Besides, if the Packers don’t make it to the playoffs, better draft picks for us.
Also this: Bacon. It’s what’s for dinner. Go Bucky!
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