Crenellated Flotsam

Oh man, oh man, oh man.

This whole thing is heartbreaking. I’m not sure New Orleans will recover or if it’s even wise to rebuild in the same place. The human and monetary costs are staggering, and I also mourn the loss of the architecture and vitality of that city. It was beautiful, though poor, and funky.

Here’s my personal history of New Orleans:

I was there once, for about twenty-four hours. It was my last overnight stay in a city during my 1979 rail adventure. I headed into NO from New York on a train I believe was named the Silver Crescent. Since I was leaving New York I was, of course, flat broke. I had a canteen filled with Myer’s Rum and water and survived on a few sandwiches I bought in the club car.

It was a delightful journey, though, and gave me my first-ever look at Alabama and the red dirt of Georgia. I learned about kudzu and was happy, though broke. The bridge into New Orleans caught me by surprise, but it was a great ride over all that water. That same water that’s now threatening everything in the town.

When I arrived in New Orleans I needed a place to stay. I considered camping out in the train station, but decided to stay overnight at the YMCA. I’d never stayed in a Y before (or, since), but I knew it was cheap. I wasn’t worried about anything else, and up for the novel adventure.

The man who signed me in may or may not have asked any questions. If he did, I answered them correctly, but I was focusing more on his lack of legs and hook. He gave me a key and I proceeded upstairs to find a tiny cubicle which I would call home for the next day.

I quickly tired of the cell and went out to see what New Orleans was like. I bought some horribly strong Picayune cigarettes and found a bar where I sat, talked, and drank Dixie beer. I remember banging away at cockroaches on the bar with the stamped metal ashtray and picked up a few cans to take back to my “room.”

The next morning I remember smiling while I showered. I was alone but kept thinking about “dropping the soap.” I actually think I did once, but survived intact.

Following that, I took a little ride around the town on some tram thing. I don’t think it was pulled by a horse, but it followed a track up and down and around. I passed a great number of restaurants and, when the ride was over, went back to one and had some jumbalaya or gumbo or something like that. I remember having to pick carefully because I was allergic to shellfish, the most prevalent ingredient.

I went back to the train station and got a picture of a guy I’d been talking with. He looked as if he was fleeing, which I thought was funny, but the picture was a slide so I can’t upload it.

I made my way onto the Sunset Limited and left New Orleans, never to return.

I feel horrible about today’s tragedy in and east of New Orleans. I expect the casulties to near 1,000, and regret the death of so many who were too poor, too sick, or too invalid to follow the orders to evacuate. I have far less compassion for those who chose to wave their dicks at nature in a show of bravado or hubris and can’t quite understand why they’d live in an area where this happens once or twice a lifetime. Some part or other of the southeast gets whacked every year by a hurricane and every spot is vulnerable.

Still, when it comes to penis waving, I have to say one of my greater joys is watching hurricane coverage. I could watch those reporters in their slickers all day and never grow tired. It must be the ultimate act of deluded self-importance to think we viewers, somehow, learn anything from watching someone blown around. We’ve seen what it looks like to try to stand in high winds and nothing is gained by showing us some other fool in some other hotel parking lot, or risk another photographer’s life by asking him or her to show us what a tree looks like bending in the wind.

We’ve seen the pictures hundreds of times, and they never change, nor do they very often show us anything remotely interesting. Oooh! A plastic bag or shingle flying in the air! I just watch, transfixed and smiling, while these bozos try to make news out of it. This isn’t news, we won’t know anything for hours, it’s just a show.

Last night the Weather Channel was interesting. While Katrina grew in strength and intensity, only the female anchors could stand in front of the weather maps. If one of the guys their erections would have confused us about where they were pointing. As it was, as long as the women wore black and kept their backs away from us we couldn’t see how wet they were becoming from the thrill that was evident from everyone’s voices.

This morning, to my delight, men and women in rain gear. Here are some notes I made while watching while the storm hit the land. One thing about 24 hour news coverage is plain: news doesn’t happen that quickly, so they have a lot of time for improvising. It’s not surprising, but still funny, that given five minutes to provide ten second’s worth of reporting, they babble on and say some of the least profound and more insipid drivel I’ve heard in my life. They not only state the obvious, they seem enthralled by it.

First, I have to admit that I got suckered into these weather events whenever they happen. Also, that I’m invariably disappointed: they’re never as disastrous as predicted, they never live up to the hype. Before it hit, the people on the Weather Channel were talking about 150Mph winds and “sea walls” of thirty feet, but now that it’s here, the hurricane is much more modest than that.

In the Superdome some minor damage in the roof led to a leak. Wisely, those in charge led those affected to a drier spot. I can only wonder how long those being dripped on would have suffered if the people in charge hadn’t helped them.

The TV pictures show water on the street, trees blowing, and cheap-ass corrugated roofs being blown off. This isn’t news. The best part, though, is the reporters covered in LL Bean heavy jackets with hoods talking about the dangers and horrible conditions while in the background families walk around in T-shirts smiling.

And, those in the studio continually beseeching the reporters to “stay safe.” I’m sure survival is a foreign concept to these intrepid souls, and nothing is more patronizing then to tell someone you think they’re too dumb to stay alive.

Speaking of, two fatalities in Florida from people running generators inside their homes. Even leaving aside the stupidity of running an internal combustion engine inside, how can you do that? Wouldn’t the noise itself cause you to toss the damn thing outside?

More broken windows and trees. Fluttering street signs. No one would expect that.

In the city of Houston…Free Parking! for anyone displaying a Louisiana license plate!

“the big threat is wind damage”
That would never have occurred to me. Thanks!

Live, real time, unscripted news reports reinforces my belief that most of us, in spite of training, have a firm grasp of the obvious. I wouldn’t be any better at speaking off the top my head, so what qualifies these people?

“It actually hurts to stand out here because the wind’s blowing so hard sometimes”

“It looks like that Nissan sign is getting ready to go”

“you can see the flag ripping in the wind there”

“certainly some areas have gotten hit very hard now”

“we don’t even know what’s happening, to be honest”

“to be quite frank we scrambled for our lives”

“…trees uprooted…debris on the ground”

about that wrap-around sign (the Nissan one): “you can forget that baby”

“we’ve seen some corrugated aluminum being blown off”

“our STB technology” Fine, your tech for filming and transmitting the report has a name. How is it different from anything else? Why should I be impressed with a series of random letters?

“you can hear the debris flying in the wind” Oh, really?

“[Mike Majonos], as a Fema housing inspector, what will your job be once the storm passes?”

Kim Kurtz (Firth) WKRG (webcast reporter) swears like a sailor, or her camerman does.

“so many things that you don’t realize can hurt you at 105mph certainly will”

‘when I was a kid I used to love riding my bike through that water, but we now know that it’s unhealthy so don’t do it” This is unbelivable. What kind of an ass would say this? Is he rubbing his youthful joys in the faces of today’s miserable kids? Is this a joy so ripe with danger that it surprises the scientists the human race survived? Will his children ever be able to have any fun? Or, should I be impressed by what a little daredevil he was?

Bush comes on, in someplace sunny. He says the gov’t will do more later, after the storm passes, but right now he’s urging us all to pray. I’ll have to write him, see how that plan of his worked out.

Whatever happened to the good old days when the leader was so strong with good mojo that if he allowed something like this to happen, his power over the gods and nature was seen as suspect and he was run out of the village, fleeing for his life?

“this storm is causing a significant amount of damage in Mobile, in fact you may have seen my hat blow off”

Neulasta ads … if I’m stricken with cancer the last thing I’ll be doing is recommending to my doctor what medications I should take. I’m pretty sure it’s *his* job to tell me, not the other way around.

“Killer on the move, that’s Katrina” — Wolf Blitzer
“What an awful, awful hurricane” — Wolf Blitzer
“What a pretensious, pompous ass this Wolf Blitzer is” — Russ Kremer

I remember it exactly, tho not the precise date. I was attending a convention in Las Vegas and had spent the day on my feet looking at exhibits and picking up swag. Walking back to my hotel it felt as if my socks were folded inside my shoes in spite of looking just fine.

When I got back to my room I saw that I’d developed some large blisters under thick callouses and did what I could with a needle from the sewing kit I travel with.

That needle is to sew buttons and things back on, something I never do at home but always seems like something I’d do in a hotel room. Thus, the clothing that needs buttons optimistically travels with me but is never repaired. Same with stacks of unread mail I keep meaning to look at.

Leaving the clothes unmended and the mail stacked, I ventured forth to solve my foot dilemna. The next day, you see, would require every bit as much walking as the first. My plan was twofold: buy some thick, fluffy socks, and some new shoes.

The socks I bought weren’t fluffy, but did say “Coke” on them, as did the T-Shirt, but on the socks it’s written in English, not Korean. The shoes I picked came from a Timberland store and, to be precise, are hiking boots. I hadn’t been hiking in over five years, I remember that, and the other thing I realized as I bought them was that these would likely be the last pair of hiking boots I would buy. I wouldn’t use them up, I would never need another pair. They would outlive me.

For the first time, ever, I had a gut-wrenching sense of my mortality that I could point to. I was on the downhill side of life.

It’s not that bad a thing, really, and I see it as liberating. When I was in my twenties I had nothing and had to acquire it all. When I got my first real office job I knew I had to buy “slacks” but had no idea what they were. It seems I spent half my life filling these needs (“I need a cold chisel…throw rugs…end table…DVD player”), but after a time I have the things I need. That’s the thing about being middle-aged: I no longer need to buy everything, some of it I already have.

I never realized when I was twenty that I’d ever have things checked off. It never occurred to me. Bit by bit I accumulated the things required in this society and, of course, now I find I have way too much.

While I’ll never know when I’ve bought my last pair of socks or ream of paper, odds are I won’t need any more three-hole punches.

Ever.

It’s inexplicable, but the city’s cutting a swath through the residential area I call home. Sure, I could probably ask someone “what’s up?” or write a letter, but right now I can only guess. I prefer having mysteries. It’s the questions, you see, that are interesting. Once they get answers my response is often “oh.”

What’s been happening the past few days is this: one unmarked pickup with a yellow light, one cherry-picker with a guy up top with a chain saw, two backhoes, and a large dump truck show up. The guy in the cherry picker starts hacking away at tree limbs, the pickup empties of guys who gather them up, and the backhoes start trundling them to the dump truck. The cherry picker moves on, as does everyone except the dumptruck, who stays in a central location.

The guys on the ground are wearing orange, just like city workers or prisoners, but I haven’t seen any logos or decals on anything. These aren’t city trees, or trees on city property, and the work seems fairly haphazard. My neighbor’s trees got the treatment Tue or Wed, and I thought they’d hired some tree surgeons. But over the past few days I’ve seen the trucks, the tracks of the backhoes on the streets, and evidence of trimmed trees up and down all the nearby blocks.

The trees hit are close to sidewalks, never ones near the homes nor in the center of lawns. I don’t know, but wonder, if it’s because of trash trucks hitting the trees or whatnot. I’ve never seen the city come and randomly prune anyone’s private tree before, so maybe it’s just “Gardener Rodriguez” getting a response to all those cards he keeps littering my porch with.

Oddest thing I’ve seen. Some trees get it, some don’t. They’re doing a good job, whoever they are, and as I write this I realize this entry is just calling out for a pic or two.

I wonder who will cry out for the trees of Westchester?

Maybe it’s because I stopped taking my vitamins or have been touching my face too much, or maybe it’s just one of those things. I have a low-grade fever and have felt crappy all day.

My legs ache, too, but I’m not sure if that’s a flu ache or something caused by not stretching them on the bike today.

I knew something was up last night. Because my dog often shares my bed and my mattress is a couple years past its “freshness” date, it’s pretty common for me to wake up every two hours or so. I kinda like that, since then I can play with having waking dreams. If I close my eyes, I get dreamlike visions and imgages, but I’m not sleeping.

Also, it gives me a chance to go pee.

So, I kept waking up, but never felt good about it. Then, I spent the day inside wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. I haven’t had anything like that on since … April? The good news is I was able to take a nice nap, but I’m pissed I couldn’t ride to the market.

What I need, you know, is to buy a chicken and some leeks. If I put a chicken in a big pot and cook it and strip the flesh from the bones, I can add leeks. I have no idea if leeks actually do or add anything (they’ve a delicate flavor), but my recipe calls for them. Also celery, carrots, and barley.

About half the time I add noodles, when I remember. Then, the next step is to eat it and feel better. I haven’t been getting much in the way of heavy metals lately, so I guess some Zinc would help.

This is nothing to be concerned about, but it’s something to write about.

PS – Inspired by Voyaging’s post today I added in some comment spam-killing software. I tried it, and it worked for me, but most things do when you’re the administrator!

I’m not above jumping on bandwagons, but to be perfectly honest, I’ve never seen one. The closest may have been a flat-bed truck covered with bunting and carrying some guys with trumpets, trombones, and drums at our high school homecoming game.

My eyes were on the Queen and her Princesses following in a convertible. One of them waved in my general direction.

The current bandwagon is blogs and blogging. Already some say that it’s on its way out, to be replaced by something having to do with whatever arises from RSS feed syndication, and that scares the hell out of me. Not because I dislike RSS or want to continue blogging, but because Microsoft has discovered RSS and plans to include it in its next version of Windows (Vista).

Not content with incorporating it, they’re already looking for a new name and, if history is any guide, will swallow the protocol, add proprietary features, and make everyone’s lives miserable.

One thing about blogs that I find fascinating is blogrolls. I’m not sure if that’s an official term or not (or has some restricted usage), but what I mean is the lengthy list of blogs I see on some sites. I’ve wondered before if the person whose blog I’m reading actually reads all those other blogs or if it’s just showing off. It reminds me, in some ways, of those Internet awards I used to see.

The best way to get visitors to your site, I suppose, is to write something and have it show up when someone does a Google search. The best way to get on the top of the list is to have lots of people linking to you.

In that vein I should mention that Donavan and Voyaging have both linked to me lately and have said good things. I enjoy reading their blogs, and Donavan’s nearly done with serializing a novel.

Back to those long lists of blogs…
The media are noticing this blogging phenomenon as well. It’s one thing to show someone using a monitor on some TV show to show us a blog, but now just about everyone associated with any program has to have one as well. Donald Trump even has a blog, for God’s sake.

Pundits everywhere are talking about blogs and how much effect they had on the last election, on news stories, and on public opinion. I wonder how many people rely now on blogs (and The Daily Show) for news instead of established publications.

I wouldn’t think it would be a good thing to get your news from blogs, but that would be better than getting it from Fox News, I suppose.

My familiarity with the issues confronting the mideast is rivaled only by my understanding of those affecting Central Europe. It’s only natural, then, that I’d publicly embarrass myself by exposing some of what I’ve noticed and my reactions.

I have no friggin’ idea what’s going on in the mideast.

Israel has begun withdrawing from Gaza and the West Bank or, alternatively, the occupied territories, depending on who you listen to. Evidently after one of the wars Israel won some land, which is a fairly common result of warfare, and now they’re leaving.

Last week on the news they showed settlers (the Israelis who live in the region) packing up their houses, getting ready to move out. What struck me about the footage shown is they weren’t content with packing their possessions, like you do in normal move, but they were dismantling and moving their doors and windows as well. That’s dedication, is what that is.

I’ve moved several times and it’s never been pleasant. I never moved my doors and windows, though, so my rank must be “amateur.” I was better at it than one of my friends, though: when we arrived to help him a grand total of one box had been packed.

The deadline for getting out of the area was midnight, yesterday, so today was exciting. One group of Israelis, mostly young, were all wearing orange, which I understand causes some legal troubles for an opposite but equal Islamic movement. Worse was the demonstration put on by a handful of protestors who’d gone to the Godwin level and had adorned themselves with the identifying stars reminiscient of the Holocaust.

It can’t be easy being a member of the Israeli Defense Force about now.

When NATO was getting ready to set things straight in Kosovo I read somewhere that the problem with Central Europe was that all the borders and all the countries had been fighting and changing and overrun and conquered and redrawn for, say, the past thousand and a half years. That’s a lot of erasing.

While most everybody in the region agrees the fighting should stop and the lines drawn once and for all, the sticking point is that each republic thinks the defining moment was when their borders were the farthest extended, when they ruled all.

Israel, I’m told, was carved out in the late forties and dropped right in the middle of a bunch of folks who, for some reason, hate them. I asked my mother about this when I was young, and she answered “the Arabs and Jews have been fighting for centuries.” I guess that explains it as well as anything, but I still think it’s sad.

Years of animosity, hatred, and revenge don’t excuse any of this, as far as I’m concerned. I really don’t know, or care, who started what, I just want it to end. I became acquainted with an Israeli girl who thought the Palestinians were right, so I’m guessing there’s people on both sides who share my dismay and want to live in peace. Those protesting on each side are indistinguishable, as well as those who cry. I’m sorry, but I don’t see the difference.

It would be much easier if religion weren’t involved, I think.

Voyaging mentioned something about Google so I did something I do occasionally and did a Google search on my blog’s name. I am proud to report that this blog is items 1-10 on the first page.

Here’s the searches people have used to find me in the past few months:

foosa 218
foosa animal 57
foosa picture 12
Foosa 10
how to overcome laziness 5
animal foosa 4
crenellated 4
madagascar foosa 4
overcome laziness 4
what is a foosa 4
fossa foosa 3
foosa the animal 3
FOOSA 3
foosa animal picture 3
picture of a foosa 3
A picture of the Foosa 3
What is a foosa? 3
alternate theme 3
when and where did charles flotsam die 2
foosa +animal 2
madagascar foosa? 2
intellectual type word warrior 2
foosa animals 2
animals foosa 2
picture foosa 2
animals madagascar foosa 2
“Foosa” 2
intuitive investigator iq test 2
“Chris Goldstein” 2
vienna sausages for dogs for treats 2
cybele philly 2
heisenberg is speeding down the street and he gets pulled over by a cop 1
griffith park hiking 1
alien abduction blogs 1
bouncy castle 2005 jpg 1
flotsam novel 1

I mentioned foosas, once, back in this entry, and did a Google search on “foosa” myself. I gave up looking for my site after a few pages, so evidently some people are much more dedicated than I am. Those people who stumbled here looking for cures to laziness should take note of that.

I think the people looking up “crenellated” or information about Chuck Flotsam were similarly disappointed.

What’s humbling, of course, is that all my pithy and insightful comments, my baring of my soul, and reflections on life in the twenty-first century garner no hits or interest, but I’m still amazed that I can write something and then have it checked out by someone I’ve never met and most likely never will. It is a pretty cool world, after all.

The most startling thing about my original Google search were the sites or blogs I’ve never visited that mention my site or one of my entries. I didn’t know that happened, and aren’t sure if they erroneously consider me an expert on something or if they’re mocking me.

In related news, I’ve had 143 visitors from Afghanistan, my number five country!

There are a lot of things I know nothing about, but having a blog means I get to talk about them anyway. I may not have an audience, but I have a soapbox.

The world of politics is pretty much a closed book to me, and my ignorance extends to corporate politics, too, and everywhere else it’s practiced. I was never good at politics, never interested in playing it, but enjoy it as an academic pursuit when it doesn’t enrage me.

Same with economics.

It may be ironic, or some other word, that two of the bigger forces in my daily life are of so little interest to me, but that’s the way it is. I happen to believe that politicians, whether or not I share their beliefs, aren’t evil, that they’re honestly trying to do what they think best. I think often, as with our current administration, they’re wrong, but I don’t think they’re engaged in a conscious plan to ruin everything.

It’s the same with businesses.

Lots of businessman do many shady, horrible, unethical things, but I don’t think corporations are inherently evil no matter how much disdain I have for them. The reason for this is that corporations are run by people, and while greed is fairly evenly disbursed across the human race, I think corporations are interested in making money more than anything else. They’re not out to rule the world for nefarious purposes, only to make the most money possible.

I don’t agree with their ends, rarely with their means, and I fully subscribe to the idea that whenever you think any company is doing anything for your interest, you’re wrong. Still, they’re run by people, and I don’t think people are evil as much as misguided.

I don’t believe in many conspiracy theories, either. Anything can be hinted at if you can pick and choose your facts and explanations for them. There are, and have been times, when people conspire, but I don’t think it happens as often as some do. I’ve attended my share of meetings, and getting more than two people to agree on lunch is difficult enough.

Worse is my belief that some shit just happens. I think chaos explains as much as cause and effect, and one of the least-used words in the world is “happenstance.”

I believe in random occurrences, in the universal desires of being happy and caring, and that most people sincerely want to do what they feel is right.

Call me Pollyanna.

Although it isn’t their intention, my neighbors have been shaming me again. To be honest, they couldn’t care less about me, but I’m not about to let a little thing like that get in my way of a perfectly good resentment.

I was riding my bike and feeling pretty damn good about it. In fact, I was weaving, just to enjoy the sensation, and that’s something you can’t do in a car. Then I tacked right in front of a neighbor’s house and there were two women sunbathing in the front yard.

I admit to frequently taking my shirt off and have been known to sit in my back yard for an hour or two, reading and sipping lemonade, but I don’t lounge in my front yard. I don’t think about being shirtless when I’m working on the yard or doing something like that out front, but I haven’t laid out for everyone to see me since I was about eight.

I happen to know a little about the house these women were laying in front of, though. When I was growing up there were four kids there, two of each gender. The girls were like five and ten years older than me, so they weren’t part of my life until I discovered girls. By then one of them had moved out, but the other went to a beach with us once, and I was thrilled by that.

One of the boys was a little younger than me, and his older brother had some Playboys we found once. That added considerably to my experience with women, which up to that time had been limited to smaller pictures of native women in National Geographic.

The other thing in the boys’ room were aquariums, including a salt water one. Later, after I stopped hanging around and went to Jr High School (as we called it, then), they even had a monkey cage in their backyard. With monkeys. Last I heard, the younger boy was a teacher or zoologist or something.

I’m thinking that their back yard, which I remember as never having any grass, still doesn’t and that may explain why the current owners lay out in the front yard. At any rate, I still won’t do that. Just too public.

Also, my next door neighbor has again raised the bar. He’s in construction (does carpentry for the studios) and can put things up faster than anyone I know. They moved in while I was re-roofing my house, and he was fixing up his place before his wife and kids moved in. He did the majority of the carpentry, but had others lay his floors and do some fancy stuff.

Now, he’s built a great little picket fence around his property. He’s good at that, I know, since he had to hand-cut and build all the picket fences for the Cat in the Hat movie. He complained about that for weeks. But, he was out the other day vacuuming his lawn.

That’s right. He has a machine that he wears on his back and a large tube that vacuums his grass. I have a rake, which is more organic, but … damn. I’m sure the blades of grass on my lawn are dusty, and that’s a worry I’ve never before had.

I survived all that, only to have my site crash today. I wrote them this morning, but if they e-mailed me any response that bounced. I guess it’s okay now, and I’ll find out more later.