Our apartment is in the final stages of being repaired, according to Ramon and crew. Which is the one thing I'm holding onto - the awesome imminence of moving back into our place. Everything is covered in that fine sheetrock silt - I mean everything - but I have never looked forward to Swiffering more. Hell yeah.
And I read great things about reopenings in Mid-City, and OMG, I am already fantasizing about burying my face in a roast beef po-boy at Parkway Bakery. But then I read that my favorite 'hot' sauce - Crystal - is leaving New Orleans. Aagh. For every bright spot, it seems there is a dark spot counterpart.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Grrr.
It's getting really hard to hang on...just in the sense that daily life isn't life so much as it is a collection of distractions, none of them terribly real, or gratifying, or sustainable.
It's hard for me not to resent the hell out of this city, this whole situation right now. Yeah, I love New Orleans. Yeah, I love its quirks, its human gumbo, its flava. But this is getting fucking insane. I am annoyed. Sometimes post-K life is like this little mosquito in my ear, an incessantly buzzing mosquito in my ear that I want to kill but I know that trying to kill it would mean hitting myself in the head in the process.
And then other times I think, well, at least life is interesting.
I find comfort in the company of friends though, usually. Which is very very good. We get together and laugh about the way our memories are shot through...I find myself increasingly ineloquent. The other night I couldn't think of the word "excess." I kept trying to say "excellent." And I wasn't even drunk.
Promises out of DC today to build the levees "better, stronger" but not necessarily Cat-5 strength mean jack shit. Fucking lip service, but who cares? Did Nagin or Blanco call bullshit? No, there was a lovely photo-op and I'm sure Shrub made up a cute nickname for Nagin, like Sugar Ray or Ray-Ray or Nagles, and there were back pats and everyone stood on the appropriate marks in the carpet for the nice camera lady. And Nagin says, the nice man in the big white house said it'll all be okay, so everybody come on back now.
It's hard for me not to resent the hell out of this city, this whole situation right now. Yeah, I love New Orleans. Yeah, I love its quirks, its human gumbo, its flava. But this is getting fucking insane. I am annoyed. Sometimes post-K life is like this little mosquito in my ear, an incessantly buzzing mosquito in my ear that I want to kill but I know that trying to kill it would mean hitting myself in the head in the process.
And then other times I think, well, at least life is interesting.
I find comfort in the company of friends though, usually. Which is very very good. We get together and laugh about the way our memories are shot through...I find myself increasingly ineloquent. The other night I couldn't think of the word "excess." I kept trying to say "excellent." And I wasn't even drunk.
Promises out of DC today to build the levees "better, stronger" but not necessarily Cat-5 strength mean jack shit. Fucking lip service, but who cares? Did Nagin or Blanco call bullshit? No, there was a lovely photo-op and I'm sure Shrub made up a cute nickname for Nagin, like Sugar Ray or Ray-Ray or Nagles, and there were back pats and everyone stood on the appropriate marks in the carpet for the nice camera lady. And Nagin says, the nice man in the big white house said it'll all be okay, so everybody come on back now.
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