View current page
...more recent posts
Rocheblave Ribbon
In the end the final mechanical inspection for the Rocheblave house, the one I had been for so long dreading, amounted to ninety seconds of small talk, a glance around, and a handshake. The inspector remembered me from--well, you know, it took me years (4.2) to finish this job--way back and had wondered if I'd ever finish. He even went way beyond the call of duty and without telling me set in motion all the steps which resulted in the last official detail, the release of the permanent electric meter. I had to make some calls to verify this, a thing (phone calling) which overcoming fear of impresses me well beyond the proportionate difficulty of the task.
The permanent meter does not really perform any differently than the temporary meter but I would not be able to leave here and rent the place out with a temporary meter. And the temporary meter, attached to a four by four pounded into the ground in front of the house was so Beverly Hillbilly, on a property in a neighborhood surrounded by attempts at improvement, even if all attempts at improvement are seemingly overwhelmed by the general ghetto nature of New Orleans.
I have been given the Rocheblave ribbon of completion, which I wear proudly on a uniform not at all replete with ribbons of completion. M on Dumaine is taking care of some business for me that requires multiple phone calling and this I divulge as a preemptive admission against partisan politicians who may try to keep me from my bid as rightful landlord of the white house, on the premise that I did not earn my ribbon of completion. I ain't maybe all that I could be but I feel most earnestly that I earned my ribbon. Requiring assistance is not a weakness. There, I said it.
I have a few odds and ends to take care off, a piece of wood to put here or there, and a little painting to do inside and out (It is raining all day everyday this week so I'm wishing me luck.) Got to get some carpet in the bedroom (can't pick it up because of rain); make one last haul to the dump; get the AC checked; do a change of address; pay some bills; load up the truck; take some pictures; go to the park; can't afford crawfish this year; have some keys copied; of course procrastinate to the very end; say a goodbye or two; go up on the roof and check it out; watch my last two Netflix DVDs, part 1 of 50 Years War: Israel and the Arabs, and Fog of War; drive away.
Weekend In New Orleans
In New Orleans news reporting sometimes the headlines will read "5 shot within 4 hours," and other times such facts must be pieced together by faithful readers, and supplemented with TV news. It was from TV that I got the numbers I wrote about the other day, 7 shootings, two of them deaths, in a two-day period ending at 5p.m. Saturday.
So the good news is the city is experiencing a period where there are not shootings and murder every day of the week. The bad news is the shootings we are having here are relatively high profile: children armed with guns murdering other children; teenage bystanders getting hit in crossfire; 8-year-old girls being shot in the back; a pregnant local girl killed by stray gunfire on a Mardi Gras parade route; a Jazzfest tourist murdered near the fairgrounds; aging rock stars chasing purse snatchers and being shot in the leg; cars burning on the side of the road with bullet-riddled bodies in the trunk.
A large part of the yearly murders in New Orleans are gangster killing gangster. As long as their aim is true and no innocents are nicked in crossfire, nobody, as far as I can tell, really gives a fuck about these murders. We won't admit it but we think it is cost effective justice. The perpetrators are scary people we can't seem to or don't want to understand. Born of us, maybe, but these hoodlings are foreigners on our soil. They cannot be of us because then we would be of them and that is too scary to conceive. We suppress the memory of 200--400 murdered bodies every year and glorify the travesty of the occasional tourist or upstanding citizen who will every so often get shot dead in New Orleans.
I think the criminals are either crying out for help or are merciless purveyors of irony because over the years sure as a local politician or police chief reports that crime is down the next month is filled with bizarre and heinous violent crime. Most recently our police chief was all over the local media patronizing all us dumb locals with his poor imitation of the Gore/Kerry sigh of condescension--murder is down by twenty percent people, I don't know what to tell you, you people who persist that crime is up, this perception that crime is up is wrong. Well Ok, I stand corrected.
By the way, Sunday, about one in the morning, I heard four loud gunshots, maybe two blocks away. No sirens, no subsequent reports from the media. Today, in Tuesday's paper, is an unrelated Sunday shooting that resulted in death, in Central City at 4th and Daneel.
So, a Monday headline could have, but did not, read--New Orleans weekend, at least 8 shot, 3 dead. We are not allowed to behave as if it is pertinent but all the victims may be presumed black, and poor.
And now, late in the succeeding week of a weekend where 8 people were shot, I feel not too much at all about it. It is a completely forgotten series of events. We all have our lives to get on with; there is no point in remembering. And our consciences as represented by media coverage are quiet. I would like to suggest that there is something wrong with all of us for forgetting so easily but that's all I'm going to do is suggest, I'm not going to point any fingers, or indulge in self-recrimination.
Lastly, almost daily NO media updates inform us that justice will be served if you are stupid enough to kill a very white tourist. There is motion towards trying as adults the four teenagers involved in the Jazzfest slaying. First the 14-year-old shooter has to pass a psych exam and then it must be proved the juvenile detention system will be incapable of reforming the alleged young killer. So if the kid passes all his tests and the state (juvenile system) fails its' tests, then ostensibly there will be a go ahead for the adult-style prosecution of this 14-year-old. In which case the state will undoubtedly begin conversations about the death penalty. I have been on record as not being against every instance of state sanctioned death so I would have to in this case look again at the facts, see what I feel.
Ok, well, I've thought about it. I think we should just round up all bad people, and kill them. Then only good people would have guns, and the world would be safer, for, um, more killing. The benefits of this in New Orleans would be immeasurable. If only good people were doing the killing then killing would be a good thing. It could be celebrated. We could have more parades, more tourists, more money, more guns, more killing, more parades…
New Kid On Block
I made eye contact with a Rocheblave area street kid at 6:30 a.m. because I was going for coffee and he was riding his bike right past my driveway as I put the key in the door of the truck. I double took him and burned him hard on the second take because he looked so familiar. I knew right off that he wasn't who I thought he was because the kid I was thinking of is hiding from some people who want to kill him. People around here these days say I want to kill you not as a figure of speech but as a literal promise. I guess civilization is not a static process.
But I'd already committed with this new kid, eye contact almost as powerful as a love poem to some people. I was in the truck when he wheeled up next to me. I rolled down the window and he said, "you straight?" Now some of you are going to think this is the beginning of a sexual come on but things have changed over the years and "you straight?" doesn't have sexual connotation anymore. It means, more or less, are you cool? Which means, more or less, do you have everything you need?
I said, "I'm good," which of course doesn't mean that I am but more or less means I am ok, or, I have everything I need, or want.
The kid asked me some personal questions about my drug habits and the truth is, other than alcohol, I haven't really messed with drugs for the last several months. But when he asked me if I smoke I just forgot, as I so often do, how handy it is to use the truth as a way to lie to people, and I blurted out, "sure." He told me what he could do for me but I just can't seem to find the interest for any of that right now, so I said, "no man, but thanks for asking. If I change my mind I'll look for you." He rolled by, down the street, a few days later and I can't help looking at him because he reminds me so much of this one person, or possibly two people. I tell him I have everything I need, which seems like a lie (I'm getting the hang of it now) but might be the truth. I want to tell him to be a good boy, go to church, study hard, respect his elders, look both ways before crossing, eat vegetables, and drink plenty of water, but I don't because what I want to do and what I end up doing don't always dovetail. He persists with the hard sell but I'm a busy man, a busy, busy man walking up my steps. I just shake my head and go inside.
Energetic Black Dog
More people wounded in Central City crossfire Friday, 14-year-old girl and her 51-year-old mother. And a dude in eastern NO answered the knocking of a front door and then closed it when he saw the assault rifle pointing at him. The door was insufficient to the task of saving his life, he died, and a woman in the back of the house was treated at the scene for a mild facial abrasion, otherwise known as a stray bullet wound to the head. (As of 5 p.m. Sat., 7 people have been shot in the city this weekend, two fatally, the second death a half dozen blocks from here at Bienville and Gayosa, 15-year-old boy shot dead.)
A belligerent man on the bayou yelled out at me did I have a cigarette. I just shook my head and went back to reading the morning paper's assessment of Rumsfeld. It was nice of him to warn us that there are worse images to come, even though imagining thus has become more or less the default for many of us.
An energetic black dog jumped in the bayou and retrieved a yellow tennis ball.
Over the ten years of occasional step sitting by that Dumaine bridge over the bayou there is only one person I recognize from year to year and to her I think I've only said hello once. I don't blame either one of us for our reticence. I wonder if seeing her today will be a last?
I replaced another window at the Dumaine house today. Saw an old pal, like me a former resident of the block. He was doing some work on a rental unit across the street. He shared his cold sugary juice drink with me. He told me something that I guess I already knew but had put aside so as not to feel everything at once. Sometimes I wish I could tell you the whole story but don't count on that ever happening.
We humans are so resilient and optimistic. Hoping for good things to happen even as all around us there is ample evidence to suggest those good things will never happen without a bucketful of bad to balance the scale. You get a raise, a man across town steps in dogshit; God grants you peace and understanding, four students get shot in Maryland; boogie down all day at Jazzfest, get shot in the head afterwards.
Sometimes the good and bad is such a stew you don't know whether to stir it, serve it, spit in it, or throw it out. Carol Robinson of Newhouse News Service writes, "Virgil Lamar Ware, 13, was reinterred in Birmingham this week with all the honor of a dignitary--15 white stretch limousines stood not far from his custom-designed bronzed grave ledger. A high school choir gathered on a pretty hillside to sing for him."
He was dug up and moved to a place of respect after 41 years in an unmarked grave in a makeshift cemetery, where he had rested patiently as a forgotten victim of Deep South atrocity.
"Virgil was the sixth person killed in Birmingham on Sept. 15, 1963, following the bombing deaths of the four girls (at the 16th Street Baptist Church) and the slaying of Johnnie Robinson, who was shot by police after he threw rocks to protest the church bombing."
That day Virgil rode on the handle bars of his brother's bicycle, around five p.m., oblivious to the day's previous murders. Two 16-year-old Eagle Scouts riding double on a red motorcycle with confederate flag decals, inspired and fired up from the segregationist rally they had just attended, came upon Virgil and his brother and fired twice a .22 caliber pistol, hitting Virgil once in the head and once in the chest. He fell off the bike, said a few parting words to brother James, and died.
The two Eagle Scouts, Larry Joe Sims and Michael Lee Farley, were punished. Sims was convicted of manslaughter and Farley pleaded guilty to second degree manslaughter. They both received the same sentence. Seven months in county jail. With probation. Which was then lifted the next year so they could attend college.
2Ks And G-Man
In cyberspace, no one can see you eat rare yellow-fin tuna.
A recent history of making not one iota of effort towards the healthy, fun, rewarding world of social interaction has not prevented me from accepting dinner invitations from complete strangers on the web.
I was a few days ago accosted in cyberspace by two word wielding corporate girls who threatened to stalk me to the end of my days if I did not give in to their demands. Dinner, as a going away (me going away) appreciation gift for this very blog, which they confess to occasionally reading when they damn well should be doing their corporate duties.
It was as if I had been secretly waiting for complete strangers to ask me out to one of New Orleans' premier Uptown eateries, Dick and Jenny's. I did not even think about not accepting.
One of the women brought her husband, and said husband did wear a badge, which caused nary a moment of emotional conflict for me except perhaps that I did at one point suffer badge envy. Because a badge worn down on the belt looks way cool, not to mention that it carries some of the same implications of a holstered firearm, while being so much lighter.
There was some doubt, on both sides, whether a meeting of strangers like this is a good thing. The roommate of the unmarried woman suggested that maybe she was crazy and that this was so unlike her. One of my readers, an actual Admiral, suggested it may be a trap. My nephew's wife expressed some real concern that I was going to be hacked to bits. "Yeah, but they're going to feed me first," I explained. Her return look was to imply that I had no way of knowing that. So I told her of previous experience with strangers as a hitchhiker but that only led to all of us realizing, well, truth told, people can be very strange, even dangerous.
In the end it was easy, and quite enjoyable, and no one was fed into a wood chipper. If there was anything marring the night I would say it was the very lightly-held resentment of one of the K's, who rightfully suggested that she be held in higher esteem than she felt is offered as a figment of Mark's imagination, not that Jim owes anyone an apology, I'm just saying.
Dope And Ideas
The New Orleans School Board is holding hostage the students of this city with an arsenal of weapons including incompetence, deceit, lack of vision, misappropriation of funds, and a general negligence comparable to that of a large block of the parental population.
Mayor Nagin, with no power to affect change but through cooperation with a willing school board, is meeting stiff resistance from Board president Cheryl Mills, who cannot seem to find the time to meet with him. Nagin was voted into office largely on the premise that his business background would be a useful credential in a city that, outside of its ability to attract tourist dollars, is a failed business. Nagin, in his first two years, has had some success cleaning up the administrative and fiscal affairs at City Hall and has suggested that given the chance he could find 50 million dollars in the district budget (a budget from which mostly recently 30 million dollars just disappeared into thin air) and use that money to secure 1 billion dollars in construction bonds, to repair old schools and build new ones.
It must be said that Cheryl Mills has ample reason to resist such assistance. I myself just ain't educated enough to know what the reason is.
From the Picayune Op-ed page today comes a remarkably simple, politically savvy solution to the, uh, Iraqi conflict, from Metairie resident, Mr. JC Jaeger. "Let's bring true democracy to the people of Iraq. Allow them to vote on whether they want the coalition forces, led by America, to remain in or to leave their country."
In another letter, from a resident of Baton Rouge, visiting Jazzfest last week with his son from Texas, is expressed a disappointment at the amount of open pot smoking inside the fairgrounds and possibly even a case of someone openly snorting cocaine. He queries--"Is this really the impression we want visitors to have of the Jazzfest." Pretty simply sir, the answer to that is, yes. And here I go again blathering forth my ignorance with no first hand knowledge to back my assertions but I would like to strongly suggest that most of the really good dope being smoked inside the fairgrounds is being brought in by those very same visitors you are suggesting might be offended by it. I mean, you know, maybe.
Occupy America
I didn't do anything Sunday, which is my God-given right.
I thought previous to not doing anything that I might do something, and that consoled me against any guilt I might feel for lack of accomplishment. I repeated this formula throughout the day to arrive at this point in time, at which I feel comfortable talking about it.
With things as they are in the world, or more accurately, as things are exacerbated by the carelessness of an evangelical inspired world leader, I feel it almost a responsibility to watch from this Central Standard Time, Chris Matthews at 7 a.m., to Stephenopolous signing off at 11:30 a.m., all I can stomach of everything offered on a Sunday morning regarding world affairs. I honestly think this is me taking queasy comfort in the fact that to whatever degree I am myself a hopeless fuckup, at least I have never aspired to be it on such a level as to inflict the entire goddamn world with my insanity. Let me suggest that when George Will is finding fault with the Republican vision, things are dire. And speaking of dire.
I bought the Sunday paper this morning to see who it was that got killed walking back alone from Jazzfest Saturday night, near the Bayou St. John, but all I can tell you about it from the words offered is that he was fifty, with white hair and beard, and that he wore a fanny pack, and that he was shot in the head, and lived for a couple of hours at Charity Hospital, and was announced dead slightly before 10p.m.
As if life is not absurd and brutal enough, I watched today for the first time, this is to underscore my earlier admission of not doing anything, an entire episode of the television phenomenon known as Friends. It is part of my ongoing attempt to embrace that which horrifies me. I am now invested, and can speak knowingly and nod sympathetically at those events in the future which require an understanding about things I could care less about. I will add with not one drop of irony that Rachael and I have birthdays one day apart. I can even hear from this past in which I sit the bubbly incredulity of response to that bit of birthday trivia.
I am not a snob against popular culture and I can see how the show might be a comfortable way to spend a few minutes every week (or as will be likely with future syndication, every day) but there is something about the smooth, warm, yet occasionally grating chemistry of that cast which makes me feel just a little bit nauseous.
There has been intense local coverage of the Jazzfest shooting victim over the last few days. Three of the four youngsters, ages 14--16, recognized the undercover cop car parked in the block, but the 14-year-old was walking behind his three friends when he demanded the 57-year-old man give him money. Allegedly, the man said he had no money and then told the kid to scram. The kid then, according to his friends, approached his friends, expressed contempt for being dismissed like that, said he had a "gat," and then scooted back up the sidewalk and perfunctorily shot the man in the back of the head. The cops were nearby and gave chase. Within 48 hours all four youths were in custody, the 14-year-old alleged shooter having turned himself in. Community response is predictable: horror, sadness, and finger pointing.
The mayor and the chief of police tell us crime is down and yet most every citizen of New Orleans speaks of crime as the foremost problem in the city. Is perception truth or is truth something that can be measured as a statistical certainty? One truth is, crime will often be down in New Orleans because of the relative spike which precedes a so-called (yet literal) downturn. But just to pick an arbitrary time period, say, the ten years I have watched, crime, measured statistically or perceptually, has never, ever, been down in New Orleans. Not to the point where you could sigh that sigh of relief and say--good fucking job fellow citizens, we put our heads to the problem, got a little dirty, and created a better place.
It’s a pesky problem, these 14-year-old killers. They are, like those "bands of thugs" in foreign countries you try to occupy, a difficult nut to crack. They are, by far, a minority as related to the general population. But in many cases they are barely distinguishable from "good" boys. It's hard to know with any certainty who will step over the line.
I am writing all these words as a way of searching for something that approaches constructive criticism of a problem that doesn't appear to be going away. Very unscientifically speaking, the ages of those willing to kill is getting younger and younger. I'm just wondering if we couldn't divert maybe a billion or two of our war fund into a tamper-proof account, make misappropriation of that money a capital offense, bring in volunteers, pay volunteers, re-educate our troops so that they could actually rebuild schools like some imagined they would be doing in Iraq. Refurbish a couple thousand (of the reported 70,000) of this city's blighted houses, pay people to live in them as mentors of the block and offer the full range of educational material available on this planet. Bring in 10,000 troops or so, forget the frisbees but put a portable hoop on every block, engage the children in sport, escort them to school, sit in their classrooms, encourage them. Bring in the ACLU, consult with them, learn from them. Then take chances. Set up boot camps for the hopelessly disruptive students. Often the disruptive kid has amazing talents, well worth developing. I bet there are not 2,000 or 3,000 truly disruptive kids in this whole city. They need one on one attention. Bring in more troops. I shouldn't have to mention this but I will anyway. Be respectful, never sodomize someone with a broomstick. Teach girl children benefits of postponing pregnancy. Or make mandatory classes for teenage mothers. Mandatory learning. Consult again with ACLU.
I haven't even gotten all that ridiculous and this already sounds ridiculous. Until I refocus on current events in this city and in the world, then it just seems kind of thin and not all that well thought out. But I mean, fuckit, let's Occupy America.