I finally got a chance to cruise around a bit today and take some pictures, getting a sense of things as the city reorganizes. I also began asking about temporary work and it quickly became apparent there’s a need for just about anything.

Mail is a big issue, since most folks haven’t gotten any for two months. We’re finally getting a little at the house, but so far it’s been for the former resident who’s still in serious trouble with the law. Nearly everything that has arrived with our names on it came before the hurricane or has been junk. We took a trip to the USPS center near the Superdome, only to be told there was nothing there for us and to wait for stuff at home. I figure it’ll catch up eventually and all my creditors have my phone number anyway. A few have called, but most back right off once I mention “New Orleans.” I wonder how long that’s gonna last.

One industry that’s thriving locally these days is the sign industry. There are even signs that tell you how to order more. As is the landfills aren’t already getting enough crap.

There’s plenty of political commentary as well, this one reflecting the feelings of pretty much every evacuee we’ve run into lately.

But, in the midst of it all, true love flourishes at Fat Harry’s. And, since there are no streetcars for now, you can park on neutral ground because it’ll be awhile before they’re running again.

One of the many new realities we’re getting used to in our post-Katrina world is standing in line.

For instance, the Uptown Sav-A-Center and the Winn-Dixie are both open. But, due to limited staffing, their hours are limited to 8-6 and 8-5 respectively. This means anyone who has shopping to do, particularly in the late afternoon, has to be willing to wait in line. More restaurants are opening by the day, but those already open face a similar staffing shortage. Your wait for service might be a bit longer than normal.

We’re all taking this in stride, using the wait to get to know those folks next to us. “How’d you do?” is the usual opening line. Given the condensed hours, we’re also more likely to see neighbors (such as running into Chris Martel and our neighbor Tim yesterday at Sav-A-Center). We’ll have to stand in line to get our mail, since there’s no delivery yet, and to do just about any of the required things that usually come to us when times are normal.

I got up early this morning and went for a drive around Uptown, forgetting there’s supposed to be a curfew in effect. There’s usually some fairly heavy traffic on St. Charles about 5am, but this morning I met only a couple of Humvees near the Louisiana intersection. Nothing’s open that time of morning, at least for now, so I headed back home and waited for the paper. I went back out about 7:30 and found a few convenience stores open. But, again, there were long lines of construction and demolition guys from all over. It’ll be that way for a while.

All the abandoned refrigerators have been removed from our street. This is good, but I miss seeing some of the creative artwork.

One of the hands-down funniest moments at Monday’s circus of freaks  dress rehearsal for It Takes a Village of Idiots neighborhood association meeting came during the segment I like to think of as “Ask Officer Trying-to-be-Friendly,” when one of the only sane people in the room asked the policeman at the mike to clear up the confusion about curfew.

Frankly, I was glad the guy asked, because I’d asked a dozen people myself, and I’d gotten a dozen different answers. 6pm. 8pm. 12am. 2am. Technically 12am, but they’re not being assholes about it in the Marigny. Technically 12am, but they’re not stopping white folks. Technically 12am, but who gives a crap ’cause they don’t have enough officers to enforce it anyway….

Anyway, the officer blithely responded that curfew was 8pm. This did not sit well with the crowd. In fact, their reaction was not unlike the one congregants at Touro Synagogue might give David Duke if he were to walk in one Friday night and announce that the Holocaust was a sham. Basically, there was lots of screaming and breast-beating and rending of hair (very “Greek tragedy,” very Oresteia), with everyone yelling their own version of what they’d heard from their neighbor’s brother-in-law, who used to work in city hall.

Ultimately, no consensus was reached, and we all left confused. So, perhaps in response to that–or perhaps in response to the (admittedly low-key) festivities planned for this weekend–the Mayor has issued an update/extension of the curfew for most of New Orleans. It’s officially 2am - 6am. Remember, kids: you read it here second. (That’s our unofficial motto around here, BTW: “We bring you the news you could’ve read somewhere else!”)

I’d never been to a meeting of the Faubourg Marigny Improvement Association. The group regularly convenes in the basement of St. Paul’s Lutheran, which is right around the corner from my house, but the meetings are always potluck, and I’m not much of a cook, so rather than show up with nothing, or bearing something that might kill off half my neighbors, I’ve generally avoided the get-togethers. Which is just as well, ’cause I think my parents would, like, totally flip if they knew I’d set foot in a Lutheran church.

Last night, though, I broke with tradition. Meeting notices were posted on the many, many refrigerators lining the streets (they’re bigger than light poles, and you can spray paint ‘em, too!), all saying that our councilperson Jackie Clarkson was going to be there with reps from Entergy and the NOPD and the Sanitation Department and so on. Since I’m unable to take most of those folks and the services they offer for granted right now, I figured it was in my best interests to attend.

I toyed with the idea of picking up something from the grocery store for the potluck portion of the evening, but then I remembered there aren’t any grocery stores open in the ‘hood, so I nixed it. Big deal: I didn’t bring anything, I wouldn’t eat.

It’s a good thing I didn’t bother. There were several hundred people from both the Marigny and Bywater in the room, and practically no one brought food. Frankly, everyone seemed a little too edgy to eat. While most of us have power and water and phone and cable service, none of us have gas service yet, which means no hot water, which means no hot showers. At the moment, we’re living like old French whores.

Two remarkable things about the meeting. First, Jackie Clarkson–who’s always struck me as a typically grandstanding politico–showed remarkable poise. Though there were clearly moments where she was laying the groundwork for her next campaign, by and large her comments seemed sincere and loaded with common sensical goodness. The same can be said for the various representatives on-hand–especially the Entergy dude, who was, safe to say, easily the least popular man in the room.

The second thing of interest: I realized how completely gentrified my neighborhood has become. Very white, very middle class, very “We could live Uptown but there’s so much more character down here and the prices are cheaper, too.” And, like, really, really gay. Not that I thought my boyfriend and I were the only cakeboys around, but man…. At times, it was like a chorus of asps.

Overall, the meeting was pretty good, pretty informative. The folks at the mike tried to give as many direct answers as they could, sometimes shouting their reponses so that the folks in the courtyard who couldn’t fit in the room could hear. Some of the audience members were good, too, respectfully asking solid, important questions about past performance and plans for the coming weeks. But others…I mean, Jesus H! At one point, I fully expected to turn my head and see folks in mob caps bearing torches. A handful of my dumbass neighbors (mostly the ones who stayed for the whole ordeal and went kinda feral) thought that last night would be the perfect opportunity to yell at some overworked, thoroughly bewildered public officials in a crowded room–which, of course, got us nowhere. By the time the conspiracy theorists started in, it was time to leave. I didn’t even get to hear when they’re going to pick up my garbage. But then, I suppose I’m lucky to have garbage to pick up….

From the days of the Vietnam conflict to today’s fighting in Iraq, I’ve never understood why someone who goes to war can come back home, re-enlist and volunteer to go back to the fighting, after they’ve done their bit. I know the American soldier fights for his/her buddy more than for an ideal, but I’ve still wondered why anyone would want to go back to those kinds of conditions, particularly when someone is trying to kill you.

But I think, now, I’m getting an idea.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not equating what we have been through in this hurricane and aftermath to going into a shooting war. Our house is fine, the neighborhood is basically okay and, though the business is wrecked and I’m beyond frustration with our federal government, we’re among the very lucky few who actually have something to go back to. And, of course, no one is trying to kill us. Yet. That I know of.

But I’m now in Dallas (again) for a couple of days to do some family things and now I DO understand the nearly manic desire and need to get back to the mess to share in what’s going on. We have neighbors who need help. There’s an economy to revive. There’s a mess to clean up. In short — there are jobs to do and, because we are part of the fabric, that’s where we belong. That’s despite the smells, the lack of power, the trash heaps, the uncertainty of basic services and all the rest of it.

So I think I understand a little more this evening. At least I hope so. I’ve always thought it’s good to be part of Something Much Larger. I just hope like hell we can get it moving in a good direction.