I’m not one of those who believes the recent spate of weird and graphic crime is due to Katrina. I mean, we’ve used this excuse for so many things. Whack jobs are whack jobs and they’re going to do their thing at some point. Not that I’m a fatalist — I just think our storm recovery might have only slightly accelerated or possibly delayed the inevitable in these cases. Or maybe altered some circumstances. But what do I know?

What I find more disturbing and nefarious as this city tries to move ahead are the kinds of things chronicled by Chris Rose in today’s paper. All of us, from the time we exit that amniotic Attica that is the womb, begin Having Issues. Be they innocent or serious, light or dark or whatever — we have them. For some, be it for physical or emotional reasons or whatever, we’re already set up to face depression, anger management, bipolar or other challenges. But when you add in a year’s worth of daily post-Katrina stress, the challenge goes from being a hamster in a small cage to being an elephant on a shallow tether in the back yard — in that it can potentially break down the fence and wreak major havoc in the neighborhood before it is corralled, subdued and, possibly and unfortunately, put down.
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I just returned from The Kerry Irish Pub on Decatur where Truckstop Honeymoon is playing. They were hit hard by Katrina and had to move to Kansas where they still reside while they rebuild here in New Orleans. That story can be found here.

In case you are sad, you missed the show tonight, turn that frown upside down and go see them tomorrow at d.b.a. on Frenchmen.

It’s been a non-stop weirdness week here and today was another such day in our spooky Octoberness. Last week, Alan Gutierrez of Think New Orleans and Karen Gadbois asked if I would contribute to Karen’s project, Squandered Heritage, I’m pretty excited.
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This is a recurring post of the slowly dissolving grey matter in my head. As I get older, the synaptic nerves aren’t pumping like they should be. I am attempting to recall the memories of life in this fair city. The Good Ole’ days of New Orleans past when you could walk the streets safely, and the words “this is not a sprint, it’s a marathon” and “contra-flow” were not part of the vernacular. Take a journey with me, will you, into the life of the average citizen who grew up in the greatest city this country will never really know. We begin, as we did every day at Catholic grade school, with these wise words, ‘In the name of the father and the son, and the Holy Spirit, I would kill for a fucking buttermilk drop right about now.”
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I popped onto the internet this morning to see if I am going to be surprised by the weather when I walk out the door like I was yesterday. And the answer is yes! Not only will I be very cold as I go to work today it will actually be colder than it was yesterday. I have never had to break out my winter gear so early before. Who am I kidding I don’t really own winter gear. Anyway, I am going to my closet now and dig out my sweater, which is not going to fit right as I am pregnant, and just in case you are wondering this time last year, I was not. The baby’s gonna be cold tonight because no sweater or jacket I currently own is going to stretch over this belly. Maybe I will have to buy another jacket because according to the forecast it is going to stay colder for a while.

A very interesting thing just happened, I ran upstairs to share it with you all. I had only been home from work maybe 5 minutes when Miss Eva, my neighbor came knocking at my door. She was carrying a small box of canned food. After explaining that she had been given many boxes of groceries by a local organization and had her cupboard and refrigerator fully stocked she wanted to know if I would be willing to take this box of groceries.

I have so much respect for Miss Eva she is in her 90′s yet she still takes care of herself, walks her dog, and has an active social life. On Sunday, I see her church friends and on other days throughout the week, I see her walking with friends or hopping in their car and riding off to shop of visit the doctor.
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When you read about kats and kat-ettes who go off the very deep end and end up like Bugs Bunny in a pot with Elmer Fudd cutting up the veggies to make some stew, you wonder just what the hell would push someone that far. My ability to wade thru crap is very high so I get off easy in some respects. But some folks just can’t handle the foolishness anymore.

Living in the Quarter since the Russian Whore visited, I know the rules and I choose to abide by them. Some people choose not to and it depends on the level of rule breaking for me to care or not. You wanna go murder some folks? Yeah I will want you in jail forever. Wanna park in a space and not pay a buck for parking? I really don’t care but you better watch out for some of New Orleans finest, the Meter Maids. Now personally, I think the city has more pressing needs than paying someone (or in some cases 3, yes 3 people) to drive around and put tickets on windows but I trust Mayor Nagin 100% (please note sarcasm). And just why does it take Three People to drive around and put tickets on people’s cars? And shouldn’t they be walking? I mean the three I saw each weighed about 300 pounds each, wouldn’t it be better for them if they walked? Lose some of those tires around your waist honey.
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I know that New Orleans has, shall we say, a certain smell. When I first moved here, it was unmistakable but as the months have worn on the pungent smell has fallen into the background of day-to-day living in the city. Sure, there is the occasional whiff of urine or the passing sniff of rotting garbage but overall I do not smell it anymore.

I have spent this past week in Florida visiting my family and it wasn’t until then I noticed how much I miss actually using my sense of smell for good. While walking around downtown in Florida I all of a sudden noticed the smell of the sea and a generally inoffensive odor of air. True, clean, deep breathable air!
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So ACORN has been removed from a city planning project because it also intends to serve as a real estate developer in the area. That’s kind of a no-brainer, right? I mean, it’s a clear conflict of interest to be planning neighborhoods for the city while you’ve got a financial interest in developing certain properties in the city.

Then how is it that real estate developer/closeted creepshow extraordinare Sean Cummings gets to head up the city’s riverfront development planning when he owns property on the goddamn riverfront? It’s a serious ethical problem that had been brought up before the storm, but now, in post-K/anything-goes/frontierland New Orleans, suddenly it’s not an issue?

Sorry, I just don’t like the guy.

In a city with its own many ghosts and famous cemeteries and legends and stories and other eerie goings-on, here is a story that certainly rockets to the very top five on the list. Just like so much that’s happened around here in recent months, it’s a case in which Real Life is so much more than what anyone like Poppy Z. Brite or any other local author could come up with.

Not to make llight of it (and really, I’m not), but didn’t we all kinda see something like this coming? I mean hell — with all the severe emotional, physical and mental trauma that’s been zapping around the city like an unhooked (and overpriced) Entergy line, something like this was bound to be manifested. TBK and I didn’t know this couple, but we certainly know several like them — outwardly normal and likeable, but internally devoured by conflict and argument and God knows what else. I’m not saying this is within all of us — but I think we all know someone like this and see them on a nearly daily basis. What pushes one over the cliff while another remains on Normalcy Highway? It’s only a thin fence for some folks. But, as of today, look for Buffa’s to be on the oooh-and-ahh list of places where the weird and scary have been known to hang out. And, really, it’s a neat place.

Speaking of good bars, we understand Shiloh is in the midst of a transition. We wish Debbie and her new crew all the best, though she’ll be missed at Parasol’s. But since Shiloh is only a couple doors down from where I work, we’ll be seeing her plenty anyway.