A Couple Different Takes on the E-word post

Yesterday I wrote a post about what I call E-words. Euphemisms. There was a paragraph about the use of the N-word. A comment came in overnight with the video below linked. Although it was close to spamming to sell the book, I published the comment after watching the video. Below the video was a little blurb saying that it had been made in response to an argument on the View over the use of the N-word. I will show you both.

Here's the one sent with the comment on yesterday's piece:



The comments by those who watched it on YouTube were interesting in themselves. And below it was a blurb stating that the above video had been made in response to an argument on the View. I don't watch the View, but have seen some video of Elizabeth Hasselbeck, and have never agreed with her. However, I can see her point here.

My grandson went to a school in the French Quarter in which he was one of two white kids in his class. It didn't make a difference to him. He loved his school. However, Hasselbeck makes a good point. How would I have told him at 8 yrs old that if his friends Eddie and Tremain used the N-word as a term of endearment or friendship to each other that it was NOT okay for him to use it as a term of endearment or friendship? It's a really really good question. Below is the argument on the View and Whoopi also makes some really good points, although I think it was stupid of them to bleep the N-word out as she spoke.



This is a tough question. And for the record, I don't think Jesse Jackson was using it as a term of endearment when he hot mic'd the word using it in reference to Obama. IMOHWO (in my humble white opinion) that was clearly NOT a term of endearment.

Let me know what you think about this. The comments over at YouTube are interesting if contradictory in some cases.

The Silliness and Poignancy of E-words

Ah, this week I have very much wished for some way to reanimate Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Abbie Hoffman and Hunter Thompson--grand wordsmiths all. I've found myself alternately giggling and furious about the use of E-words.

Huh? What's an E-word, ya ask? Oh, it's a new one I made up. It's euphemism, the E-word.

When Lenny and George talked about the Seven Filthy words decades ago, their point was that it was just plain silly that some words can never be said out loud in public. Perhaps I should have said, SHOULD never be said in public. (BTW, the entire Carlin FCC transcript can be found here.)

So now we all go around saying silly things like "Oh he said the F-word" as though we don't know WHAT on earth that word actually is. "Never ever call a woman the C-word!" I might agree, I might not, but the fact is that I KNOW what the word is and in my head the minute they say "the C-word" the ACTUAL word is there unedited by the alphabet euphemism.

I do have issues with some words for sure. The N-word, for instance, still makes my skin crawl. I watched about 20 minutes of Katt Williams' comedy set the other night on Comedy Central late at night, and his use of that word, although he is black and the majority of the audience was also black, made me cringe. He must have repeated it at least 8 times in one sentence, and it made me angry. I kept hearing Billie Holiday singing "Strange Fruit," seeing old black and white footage of dogs and firehoses-- the images of my childhood news comprehension and my ten year old self looking in horror wondering why this was happening. I saw photos of black bodies hanging from trees knowing that the N-word was probably the last word the hanging man had heard. And yeah, we all know the word. We all know white people can't say it, shouldn't say it anywhere public or private if they have any conscience at all, and young black people use it all the time. Bewildering. (And please spare me the "oh you're being oh so PC" comments, K? If anything I'm showing my age, not my political correctness.)

This week a headline screamed: "McCain Campaign uses the S-word." Huh? It took me a while to figure out that it wasn't "Shit, we're losing in the polls." The S-word is Socialism? Oh dear god. I gotta keep up! It was the first time in a long time I didn't know the actual meaning of an E-word. Once I learned what they were referring to I just sat here laughing. And laughing.

Here are some E-words for you to contemplate. Which ones bother you most? Which ones would you never use even in private? And which ones are just silly. (Notice I haven't asked ya which ones you use nearly every day!)

Mother F-word
C-word sucker
F-wording C-word
God damn N-word
Anti-American S-word

Oh for heaven's sake. The REAL E-word in this election has been the B-word. Bush. With the exception of the last debate, George Bush's name has barely been mentioned by his own party candidates no matter what office they're running for. He had to have cringed a little bit at McCain's comment in the third debate.

Even McCain and Palin's "REAL Americans" don't say the B-word often anymore in public.

But the B-word is one that we all know is being used liberally in private on "both sides of the aisle" and it might just be right up there with the F-word right now. Carlin would have had to add it to his riff, and Hunter Thompson would have eaten him alive. (I mean really, think of it, Thompson on the Campaign Trail 2008! He woulda had a field day.) The B-word has now taken its place among the unspoken filthy words in some circles.

I almost, not quite, but almost feel sorry for him.

EDIT:
10:08PM Jon Stewart just did a piece on the S-word. His choice was better than my guess. He thought maybe scalawag or sheep F-word-er. Probably should link to him, but don't want to miss the rest of the show!

Lennie Bruce George Carlin Abbie Hoffman John McCain Socialist George Bush Seven Filthy Words Hunter Thompson Katt Williams

Resign for the Country and Economy's Sake?

Dan Froomkin's blog over at the Washington Post, after mentioning that Dick Cheney had another heart incident in recent days, had this interesting idea buried on the third page:

Richard S. Tedlow and David Ruben write in a Boston Globe op-ed: "The next president will be elected on Nov. 4, but will not take office until Jan. 20. Normally, this lag time is not an issue. But with the financial system in meltdown, the 'real' economy threatening to follow, and a feckless, lame-duck administration unable to lead, this yawning interval is a problem. If history is any guide, a very big problem. . . .

"But there is a way out - if our political leaders are smart, courageous, and public-spirited enough to take it.

"Assume that Barack Obama wins the election, as polls show is increasingly likely. The following day, Vice President Cheney should be prevailed upon to resign. Using his powers to designate a successor under the 25th Amendment, President Bush should then appoint, and Congress should confirm, Obama as vice president (just as Richard Nixon appointed Gerald Ford vice president in 1973 when Spiro Agnew resigned). Bush himself should then resign, elevating Obama to the presidency - as Ford became president when Nixon resigned. Obama should then appoint Joe Biden as vice president."

Sandy Levinson blogs that Cheney's heart problem presents a unique opportunity to begin the process.

Interesting idea. It'll never happen, but at least the country and the economy wouldn't languish during the "yawning interval."

Dan Froomkin Dick Cheney George Bush Barack Obama Election Economy

I Will Reach Across the Aisle, My Friends, and Sneer

This has been an interesting week, on so many levels. I'm desperately trying to finish a couple of short stories for the Tennessee Williams Festival deadline, but have found myself distracted. Gee, that NEVER happens.

These distractions, though, are different. Indeed to call them distractions is to demean the profundity of the ideas.

For years now, nearly all the years of the Bush presidency, I have said that our country is in the midst of a silent civil war. No Gettysburgs here, no Antietams. This civil war has been raging over dining room tables and in family rooms with CNN or Fox news as the soundtrack instead of cannon shots. And just as the civil war divided families, this 21st century civil war is doing the same. Blood isn't flowing across carpets, but huge silences are in a lot of cases.

Okay, okay, so we were told as kids never to discuss religion or politics. That, IMO is total bullshit. That's how we got into this mess in part. No one talking to the other guy. Oh wait, there were a couple times when I tried that and it turned into a shouting match, or an angry email from a family member, or oh yes, the big SILENCE.

I am an American. I consider myself a patriot, but not a nationalist. I don't see them as the same things.

For many years I have watched as America turned into something different from my view of it--wait maybe I should have said something other than my aspirations for it. Car commercials, 100 per night, offering bigger and better and shinier options. After Christmas commercials saying, "Now go get what you REALLY wanted," demeaning the sweetness of giving a gift. Insurance companies telling me I'd be in good hands if I would only buy from them, or that they'd be there when I needed them. (I'm still amazed everytime I see an AIG commercial still on the air. What you want MORE?) I could insure everything I was in hock for, just in case something happened, and the folks holding the pawn ticket on my car/house/boat/motorcycle/RV/you name it could get paid. Banks were giving themselves cutesie names like WaMu, one step checking, one stop shopping, hey here at Chase we'll even let you know if you're about to be overdrawn. Money. Spend it, give it us, you DESERVE this fill-in-the-blanks cool beans thingie that comes in twenty five colors to match your shoes that you just bought on Bluefly for $600 bucks. Our stockholders will be thrilled and you can zoom by the homeless under the overpass while checking your navi and the kids are watching the latest BluRay edition of their favorite movie. Better drive a bit more slowly though, cuz odds are you don't have health insurance, and boy oh boy the bills you can rack up in a hospital---you don't wanna know. It seemed to me that people were just working and working and working, if they still had a job, so they could buy, buy, buy some more.

I aspired to an America that was more than just a rabid consumer of stuff, to be traded in, insured, or buried with. (Did ya hear? Ol' Joe wants to be buried in his Escalade! BAAHHAA is Martha ever upset. It's not even paid off and think what she'll have to pay for the burial plot! Ol' Joe, he was a pisser!)

When my husband and I moved to New Orleans, one of the reasons among many, was we just felt like we were spending our lives lining other people's pockets. My husband is more mercenary than I, he does like his toys and his stuff. I have a different relationship to "stuff" than most people I guess. Right now I have way too MUCH stuff. I prefer having less stuff and more friends. I'd prefer to sit down and have a drink with someone who's discussing an idea than a car, and one of the ideas that's been discussed this week with friends is the labelling of a "good" American as a "Joe Six-pack" kind of person.

It started in a conversation with a friend of long standing who usually disagrees with me politically. She said, "I find this whole Joe Six-pack thing demeaning and it pisses me off. It's like they're trying to make it appear that regular people don't THINK. They just buy a new plasma screen, watch football and Nascar and don't care a whit about what's going on." We went on to discuss the "tiering" of society into four tiers: The One Percent Club comprised of the CEO's and Paris Hilton's of the world; the Joe Six-packs who buy the newest biggest truck they can find and hoot YOOOOO ESSSSS AAAAAAYYY at the slightest provocation (these allegedly being the only real Americans in the tiers, oh wait, except the CEO's--I mean after all they ARE capitalists); the Intellectual Liberal Elite who are a bit effete, have no sense of humor and are mostly closet Socialists who find fault with everything American and should really go live in Europe; and finally, The Underclass which is made up of minimum wage workers, welfare mothers, mentally ill/homeless/drug addicts who don't vote or give a rat's ass politically one way or the other.

All of these tiers talk about one another but not TOO one another it seemed to us. The divisions are huge. You can jump over a giant rain puddle and maybe get your feet a little wet, but you can't leap across a chasm without probably getting killed. I'm seeing the chasms getting deeper and wider and more disturbing then ever.

In this Op-Ed piece, David Brooks talks about how "Republican political tacticians decided to mobilize their coalition with a form of social class warfare." He talks about how Reagan was open to ideas, but the latest generation of Republicans, while saying Reagan is their hero, seems to have closed their minds to ideas and instead use people like Sarah Palin to reach their "base" adding to the social class warfare. (A really good piece, I hope you click the link.)

He goes on to say:

"The political effects of this trend have been obvious. Republicans have alienated the highly educated regions — Silicon Valley, northern Virginia, the suburbs outside of New York, Philadelphia, Chicago and Raleigh-Durham. The West Coast and the Northeast are mostly gone.

The Republicans have alienated whole professions. Lawyers now donate to the Democratic Party over the Republican Party at 4-to-1 rates. With doctors, it’s 2-to-1. With tech executives, it’s 5-to-1. With investment bankers, it’s 2-to-1. It took talent for Republicans to lose the banking community."

So, okay, the Republicans want the "Joe Six-packs." I get it. But fomenting a level of anger against the Obama camp to the degree that it has is a bit frightening. Not just disagreement but anger. Lots of people are angry right now, angry at the financial meltdown, conflicted about the war in Iraq, the deficit, you name it, but this WaPo article about a McCain rally is really scary. The degree of anger is nearly pathological. Socialist? Terrorist? (Nevermind McCain's gaffe at another rally calling us his "fellow prisoners"--HUH?)

I learned this week that Joe Biden's Secret Service code name is "Assassination Insurance," thanks to Ann Coulter. Again, HUH? That's funny? Bomb bomb bomb bomb bomb Iran was "just a joke told to other military guys at a VFW." HUH? That's funny? Oh wait, I'm one of those folks with no sense of humor. Gotta remember that. ::::::::::::note to self::::::::::bloodletting is funny::::::::::::

Well I am going to have to agree with CNN's David Gergen, who said on the Colbert Report last night that they really need to dial it down a notch. He said, "McCain is a better man than that." I hope he's right. And I really hope that the new civil war doesn't wind up being a real one complete with guns and that hilarious bloodletting stuff.

Enjoy the clip. The Gergen section is about half way through the video for those of you short on time.



EDIT: Evidently the AFL/CIO feels similarly. This from The Boston Globe:

Posted by Foon Rhee, deputy national political editor October 10, 2008 04:43 PM

The head of the nation's biggest labor federation is joining the chorus of voices warning about the increasingly angry crowds coming to John McCain's campaign events.
At rallies this week, McCain's criticisms of Democrat Barack Obama have been met with shouts of "terrorist," "liar," and other harsh words.

"Sen. John McCain, Gov. Sarah Palin and the leadership of the Republican party have a fundamental moral responsibility to denounce the violent rhetoric that has pervaded recent McCain and Palin political rallies," said John Sweeney, president of the AFL-CIO, which has endorsed Obama. "When rally attendees shout out such attacks as 'terrorist' or 'kill him' about Sen. Barack Obama, when they are cheered on by crowds incited by McCain-Palin rhetoric -- it is chilling that McCain and Palin do nothing to object.

"In a world where unspeakable violence is too often promulgated by extremists, it is no small or trivial matter to call someone a terrorist -- or to incite potentially dangerous individuals toward violence," Sweeney said in a statement. "John McCain, Sarah Palin and Republican leaders are walking a very thin line in pretending not to hear the hateful invectives spewed at their rallies. McCain should end this line of attack in the strongest possible terms. Anything less puts McCain in the same camp as the racists and extremists who are bringing their angry rhetoric to his campaign events."

McCain Obama Stephen Colbert David Gergen Election 2008 New Orleans Slate

See THIS is how I remember Maverick

Every time I see McCain, or hear him or Palin use the term "maverick" this pops into my head and stays there for days.

. . . . . .New Orleans, living on Jacks and Queens. . . . . . ..

John McCain GETS the hair transplant, dyes it black, changes his name to Bret. Sarah, as Bart, wields her shotgun while wearing appropriate high heeled high button shoes. She, of course, loses most of her poker hands, her tell being "You betcha, doggone it, I'll raise YA!"

Someone needs to play some Dr. John for me. I gotta get this outta my head.

John McCain Sarah Palin New Orleans Maverick

The Bankers' Woes and Yours Too Pt. 2

There is a lively debate going on in the comments section of Part 1, which I think you should read before you read the rest of this post. Here is the continuation of the information I got in my email the other day. Fascinating to watch the comments. Will be very curious to see what this part brings. I will also say that I've heard varying numbers regarding how much this bailout will cost each American. The 10K number in Part 2 is not mine, but worth thinking about. Also please remember, that this is quoted text, so when it says "My opinion" it is the opinion of the writer. I'm not saying I agree or not. His statements about the Lindbergh baby are interesting, and again, not sure I agree or not. I'd rather see what you think. About all this, not just the sensational bits.

Besides, I'm having lots of fun with this. I love good comments in the comments section!

Continuation of Part 1:

Translation – most of the income tax US taxpayers pay goes into the pockets, as PROFIT, of the shareholders of the private US Federal Reserve, and not for services for the country, contrary to what the media tells us. Oh, wait – we already caught them lying (See #5 above). Canada? It’s probably not that much different from the U.S.

Fact # 16 – The bailout will cost the approximately 100 million US taxpayers $10,000 each. However, interest payments on the debt (like debt on a credit card) means the final bill will be much higher.

Fact #17 – The US Income Tax Act and the US Federal Reserve Act, which gave the power of a central bank (again) to private bankers, were both passed in 1913. Coincidence?

Fact #18 – The Federal Reserve creates money out of thin air, and then lends it, with interest, to the US government. If the Fed is out of money, no problem; just type in a figure with a bunch of zeros into the computer. So what’s the real motive? It’s not the money; it’s about using money to control people through economic slavery.

Have you had enough yet?

My Opinion
This was all designed to happen by the shareholders of the US Federal Reserve. They re-wrote the U.S. bankruptcy laws about 2 years ago to make it much harder to declare bankruptcy. They allowed the predatory lending to happen. People who opposed this practice were “taken out” – like Eliot Spitzer, where in his article, “Predatory Lenders Partners in Crime”, documents the Bush administration deliberately and wilfully looking the other way (this is a must read!):
This article was published Feb 14th; the New York Times “outed” him on March 10th. The industry then re-packaged these high-risk mortgages and sold them as triple-A blue-chip investments. Competitors, with clients also demanding high-return products, sold the same toxic products. This forced some of their own firms into bankruptcy but, hey, no problem; the government will bail them out! And we can now buy our competitors at fire-sale prices! It’s absolutely brilliant.

Money is not the real issue. The Fed has created money out of thin air for many years. The goal is more control. Here’s a big clue (obviously not meant for public consumption):

The Banker's Manifesto of 1892
Revealed by US Congressman Charles A. Lindbergh, SR from Minnesota before the US Congresssometime during his term of office between the years of 1907 and 1917 to warn the citizens.

"We (the bankers) must proceed with caution and guard every move made, for the lower order of people are already showing signs of restless commotion. Prudence will therefore show a policy of apparently yielding to the popular will until our plans are so far consummated that we can declare our designs without fear of any organized resistance.

Capital must protect itself in every possible manner through combination (conspiracy) and legislation. The courts must be called to our aid, debts must be collected, bonds and mortgages foreclosed as rapidly as possible. When through the process of the law, the common people have lost their homes, they will be more tractable and easily governed through the influence of the strong arm of the government applied to a central power of imperial wealth under the control of the leading financiers. People without homes will not quarrel with their leaders. History repeats itself in regular cycles. This truth is well known among our principal men who are engaged in forming an imperialism of the world. While they are doing this, the people must be kept in a state of political antagonism. The question of tariff reform must be urged through the organization known as the Democratic Party, and the question of protection with the reciprocity must be forced to view through the Republican Party. By thus dividing voters, we can get them to expand their energies in fighting over questions of no importance to us, except as teachers to the common herd. Thus, by discrete action, we can secure all that has been so generously planned and successfully accomplished."

Is this why Lindberg’s grandson was kidnapped and killed? (The grandson was the son of aviator Charles Lindbergh, Junior, the first to fly non-stop across the Atlantic in 1927 in his plane, The Spirit of St. Louis). And people think they will make change by voting for either Republican or Democrat?

So my prediction for the future is:

The taking over of the central bank for the U.S was not enough for these people. They are going for the control of the entire financial system, and assets, of the United States (and ultimately, the world.) They then saddle the burden on the taxpayers.

The US government will become the largest landlord in the world. There are rumours that they might change the mortgage system to be similar to the feudalistic system in Europe, where the majority of people pay rent their entire lives. Economic slavery is ultimate control. And when people cannot pay their rent to their master, they can always go get a job with the US Military, thus fulfilling the US’s role in the New World Order (England = monetary control, Vatican = religious control, Washington = military control).

A final video – for fun - on YouTube, less than two minutes. What if George Bush was in The Dark Knight?



And it’s not over yet.

And you still want to pay income tax?

Have fun with the comments. I'll be watching.
Bailout Federal Reserve American Zombie

The Bankers' Woes and Yours Too Pt. 1

In case you missed this enlightening piece over at American Zombie, which is a must see, I'm putting this info that was sent to me yesterday in here verbatim with all his links intact. The piece at Zombie's is informative, fascinating, and long. I watched it in increments. What amazed me was that we had never been taught this in our history classes (and I was a history major for a while). Here I am, into my 50's and I really thought the Federal Reserve was "federal" and was a "reserve." Silly me. If we're going to use taxpayer money to bail someone out, how about bailing out the taxpayers. We could probably refinance all those mortgages that are in trouble, let those folks keep their homes, and ya know, the banks would still get their money eventually. Let the banks that made the bad deals slide into oblivion, that's what they'd do to us. The taxpayers' money is just that, the TAXPAYERS money. Let's help out some taxpayers with the 700 billion they're talking about. That, btw, is a figure I can't even wrap my mind around.

And btw, while never having maintained that I was an economics genius, I am nevertheless amazed to learn how stupid I really am in this sphere.

Below is a piece sent to me yesterday. It's basically the same information the piece at Zombie's has, although not as thorough.

Have you had enough yet?
Much has been written, dissected, and discussed about the current US money market meltdown.It is the greatest swindle in history, the intentional conversion of real assets (land, houses) to fictional assets (numbers in a banking system computer).

Fact #1 – The US Federal Reserve is neither Federal, nor has reserves. It is a PRIVATE institution owned by foreign bankers. They are: 1) Rothschild Banks of London and Berlin; 2) Lazard Brothers Banks of Paris; 3) Israel Moses Seif Banks of Italy; 4) Warburg Bank of Hamburg and Amsterdam; 5) Lehman Brothers of New York; 6) Kuhn, Loeb Bank of New York (Now Shearson American Express); 7) Goldman, Sachs of New York. Source: Secrets of the Federal Reserve by Eustace Mullins, 1952 & 1993.

Mullins was the first researcher to find out who owns the Federal Reserve. It was first published in 1952. In 1955 a German edition was seized and all 10,000 copies were burned, the only book that has been burned in Germany since WWII. Used copies are for sale at abebooks.com

Fact #2 – The Federal Reserve Act of 1913 stipulates that the shareholders of the Bank are to be kept secret, and that it is NOT subject to audits. It has never been audited. Another good book is “The Creature from Jekyll Island” by Edward Griffin. Buy it at his web site: realityzone.com. There is a free 42 minute video: here. A great video that takes you through the rise, and fall, of the previous four private central banks in the U.S.: The Money Masters. It’s an absolutely riveting production. It’s on Google Video, or buy the DVD at his web site: themoneymasters.com.

Fact #3 - This is not the first private bank in the US. The US has had 4 previous private, FOR PROFIT central banks. President Andrew Jackson’s re-election platform was, “Abolish the Bank!” The current is the longest-running one, however, from 1913 to the present date. How much longer will it last? Depends how many people are protesting: this Business Week article suggests.

Fact #4 – The Federal Reserve is NOT part of the U.S, government! Go to the library and open a white city of New York phone book. See the blue pages in the back? That’s for government listings. The Federal Reserve Bank of New York is not listed in there. It’s listed in the white pages. So why are American taxpayers, and not the Federal Reserve, left with the debt?

Fact #5 – The media is not telling the truth. Last week when the world’s largest insurer, AIG, was bailed out, media such as The Wall Street Journal reported that, “The U.S. government seized control of American International Group Inc. -- one of the world's biggest insurers -- in an $85 billion deal”: article here. No, the shares of AIG were transferred to the Governors of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, NOT the U.S. Government. Here is the Securities and Exchange Commission filing showing this: here.


Fact #6 – All the shareholders in the Federal Reserve are in business together, not against each other. Right now they’re either buying their competitors cheap, or asking the US taxpayer to prop up their own companies.

Fact #7 – Lehman was bought by Barclay’s for $1.35 billion. (Buy your own for a fire sale price). Rothschild has links to Lehmans, the Federal Reserve, and Barclays. Heck, it was his idea to set up the U.S. Federal Reserve!

Fact #8 - JP Morgan bought out a competitor, Bear Stearns in March 2008. It could have waited and paid less, but no matter; the Fed has now lent $29 billion to Stearns in a non-recourse loan. This means the loan is collateralized by mortgage debt and that the government cannot seize JP Morgan’s assets if the mortgage debt collateral comes insufficient to repay the loan. So, if mortgages fail, US taxpayers get saddled with the debt.

Fact #9 - This morning JP Morgan bought WaMu (Washington Mutual), another former
competitor, for $1.9 billion. Starting to see a pattern?

Fact #10 – When Lehman failed their debt to asset ratio was 30 to 1.

Fact #11 – Canadian banks, since 1991, are no longer required to do fractional banking. In other words, they can “create” as much money as they liked. In the old days they were restricted to lending, let’s say, 10 times what they had in customer’s deposits and other assets. Who got this passed? Why, Brian Mulroney. (This was never in the news.)

Fact #12 – The Bank of Canada, of which all shares are owned by the Minister of Finance, are all non-voting shares. So, if you own all the shares, but have no vote, who’s in control? Not the Canadian government. Source: Deliberately in Debt, by Nora Galenzoski.

Fact #13 – The Ottawa phone book shows the Bank of Canada listed in the white pages, and not under the blue government pages. The Bank of Canada is not part of the Canadian government.

Fact #14 – The 1984 U.S Grace Commission Report, requested by Ronald Reagan, said, 100% of what is collected is absorbed solely by interest on the Federal debt and by Federal Government contributions to transfer payments. In other words, all income tax revenues are gone before one nickel is spent on the services which taxpayers expect from their Government.” Source: here.


Fact #15 – Canada’s debt in 1992 was $423 billion. Of this, the principal was $37 billion. The rest, or $386 billion, was interest.
Source: Canada’s 1993 Auditor General’s Report

I feel so stupid. How come we didn't know this stuff? How come we weren't TAUGHT this stuff?

Part 2 tomorrow.

Bailout Federal Reserve American Zombie

RIP Cool Hand

Paul Newman, amazing actor and excellent human being, passed away today at the age of 83. He will be very much missed.

EDIT:
I remember a story my mom told me about Paul Newman that still makes me laugh. In 1989-90 he and Joanne Woodward were filming "Mr. and Mrs. Bridge" in downtown Kansas City, MO. My mom worked as a dispatcher for the KCPD, which was down the street from where they were filming. One of her co-workers decided she just couldn't stand it anymore and said she was going for ice cream, and hopefully a glimpse of Paul Newman. The woman went to the ice cream store and lo and behold, there he was not two feet from her. She ordered her ice cream cone, never taking her eyes of Newman. The clerk told her how much the cone was, the woman paid, then looked at the clerk and said, "But where's my ice cream cone." Mr. Newman very casually looked over and said, "Lady, it's in your purse."

Still makes me laugh.

Chris Rock: "Vote for the Guy with ONE House!"

Chris Rock was on Larry King last night. He had some interesting things to say even though some of King's questions seemed, well, a bit weirdly targeted. Rock held his own, and had some funny things to say. He also had a bit to say about Katrina and Louisiana. Here's the clip:

Campaign in the Name of Jesus and Keep Her Safe From Witchcraft

This article found on AOL is a bit scary, but then most things about Ms. Palin are a bit scary, including her interview with Katie Couric. The video below is included in the article, but after the last video I put in here was pulled, I'm redundantly linking it just in case as this one will do doubt be gone from public view shortly.



Now, all of you waiting for the new moon loaded down with black candles and wax thoughtform effigies of Gov. Palin, just put it out of your mind. None of your work will help.

EDIT: I got a comment yesterday on this Palin video: "Weird, odd, perhaps even bizarre. Rev. Jeremiah Wright: that's scary at the TOP of the other ticket." I published it as I'm not in the habit of censoring my comment section for anything but blatant flaming or spamming. This comment, however, bothered me all night. I had seen the entire context of Rev. Wright's "God Damn America" sermon, and while I felt that he could have toned down his rhetoric a bit, none of his historical facts was wrong. Unfortunately the MSM only showed the "God Damn America" portion and not what led up to it. I am not a student of the Bible, I am not a fundamentalist anything. There is no way I could have quoted Malachi. But the rest of what Wright said was historically correct. I have no doubt but that the person who wrote this comment is Caucasian. Having never been on the receiving end of the kind of racism that Wright condemns here, that indeed was codified into law in THIS country, we cannot possibly understand the rage, really understand it. Can you really quibble with his calling our history "American Apartheid?" His comments do not scare me in the least, in fact I was a bit disappointed in Obama for abandoning Wright in the interest of being politic to court the white middle class Democratic vote. Wright's rhetoric is incendiary, no doubt about it, but I defy you to find an historical inaccuracy in what he said. I can't prove what he had to say about God, but there certainly are documents to prove what he said about this country's historical treatment of Blacks--in your local public library (if it's still open and Palin hasn't burned the books yet) or the Library of Congress.

Okay, again, to be clear, perhaps his "God Damn America" statement was a little over the top, but it got your attention, just like Palin's "I'll find some examples (of McCain's record) and get back to ya," comment got mine. Wright at least knows his history. Palin doesn't even know her running mate's Senatorial voting record.

Below is the complete Wright statement, with the contentious line in context if you're interested:

Gustav, Ike and Prayers

Last week a fellow NOLA blogger sent out an email after the storm recounting his PTSD feelings. Many responded to him saying they felt the same way. This was my response:

Feeling all of the above if that was a multiple choice question. Motivation at zero. Still some junk in yard I could pick up but haven't. Neighbor's rubber tree I said I'd cut down still haven't. Have to feed the mule man they left alone with 25 mules, which is still making me so angry I want to blog about it but can't yet. Thinking about buying more boards since we did such a half assed job here for Gustav but. . . . .have decided to check on open ATM, pay our Buffa's Gustav tab, then come home and of all things play a video game that will keep me from watching Ike's track.

Someone wrote a while back that there was no PTSD here because there was no "post"--I'm tending to agree that it might just be a chronic condition with new ones marching up the Gulf and people glued to tracks.

I do have new definitions for things though:
Gulf Coast definitions

Cone: Something orange you put in traffic or pothole, OR something you put ice cream in
Gulf Coast: Something that throws you into a panic, gets burned into your brain, and forces you to drink something that has "proof" on the label.

Track: Something you watch horses race around, or watch trains pull in on.
Gulf Coast: Multiple lines, of varying colors that either aim for your backyard or someone else's but no one knows exactly where. They bear strange names like NOGAPS.

Boarding: Something you do on a plane, train or boat.
Gulf Coast: Something that causes you to stand in line at Home Depot, cuss a lot about why the drill battery wasn't charged last night, and keeps light out of your house until it's okay to take them down.

Five Day Forecast: Let's you make a decision about whether to have the five yr old's bday party indoors at Chucky Cheese or at the local park.
Gulf Coast: A reason to lay in a LARGE supply of tranquilizers.

Water: Something you drink or put on your lawn or swim in voluntarily.
Gulf Coast: Something that can come in your house or take your house away.

Sloshing: What the grandson does in a puddle after a rainstorm.
Gulf Coast: What water does over the tops of levees when they don't wanna say overtopping.

Others added really good ones. (Sorry for the lack of links to their respective blogs, trying to get this done in a hurry.)

LisaPal added:

Models- "beautiful" people employed to present apparel and other
products such that they will be perceived as appealing to consumers.
Local Definition- colorful linear harbingers of doom consulted
obsessively by Gulf Coast residents during the peak of hurricane season.

Someone please come up with an interesting acronym for GFDL. I don't
like any of mine.

Sophmom responded to that with:

GFDL - there is only one possibility: God Fucking Damn Line.

Gina added:

savings: something you put away for a special event in the future, like college tuition or a vacation.
savings in Gulf South: forget about that vacation since you'll wipe it all out on the prep/evacuation/return/rebuild/deductible

I'm sure we'll come up with more by this time next year.

As I breathe a sigh of relief that New Orleans will not feel the full brunt of Ike, the "freak storm" as Jeff Masters at wunderground.com calls it, we can already feel the outer wind bands and it just makes us shaky. Knowing that Houston is in Ike's crosshairs is a terrible combination of relief and horror for us here. Guilt at being relieved, but terrified for those in Ike's path. We know what it's like to be washed out by storm surge. We know what it's like three years later. To even consider that another city may have to experience that breaks my heart.

And our lower parishes here, which were devastated by Gustav 10 days ago will probably be hit again, and half of them never got their power back from the last one. The news media doesn't cover those parishes like they do New Orleans, hell they're just a bunch a bayou dwelling fishermen. Nevermind that in Plaquemines Parish they were working up until 6 hrs before Gustav came to build a makeshift levee to better protect them. They finished it too. Amazing. Heroic. (Remember them next time you're sitting in a Red Lobster. Ask if their seafood came from Thailand or Louisiana.) The people in these parishes were clobbered and are probably about to be clobbered again, which also means the wetlands will retreat even further.

We have left our boards up on our house just in case, so we've been living in a kind of bunker mode for two weeks now. The whole city has. Those coming back from evacuating (we didn't evacuate for Gustav and my next post will be about that) are exhausted and struggling to "get back to normal."

Pray for Texas today. If Ike does what he's looking like he might do, there will be others expressing the same shaky perseverence three years from now. But those folks will be from Texas.

Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide Gustav Ike

Three Years-Remember Katrina and Pray Gustav Doesn't Want to Come To Decadence

We're all very much hoping that Gustav doesn't want to don feathers and join in Southern Decadence. We're still not okay from the last one.

Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide Gustav

New Orleans to Iowa

This was sent to me in my email from one of the premier local blogger/activists, Karen Gadbois. Since I know so many of you reading my blog are out of towners, I wanted to post this in toto. It's important and really wonderful.

Please, if you have it in your heart, send some bucks to these folks. We know how they feel and know how much public generosity meant to us.

A collaboration has been formed between Beacon, LCIA and Episcopal Diocese. We have started a fundraising campaign for the flood victims of Iowa. We will buy gift cards to give to displaced residents that can be used for clothing, food, water or building materials. On-line donations can be made through our website: www.lakewoodbeacon.org using PayPal or Just Give. Please make checks payable to Beacon of Hope and write Iowa in the memo. Checks can be dropped off or mailed to: 6268 Vicksburg Street, NOLA 70124 or 145 Robert E. Lee Blvd., Ste. 210, NOLA 70124. All donations are tax deductible as we are a qualified 501(c)3. Donations received will not be spent on our travel expenses.

Connie Uddo, Al Petrie and me, Denise Thornton, are going to Cedar Rapids, Iowa on July 13 through 17th. The Episcopal Diocese and Vineyard Church have already set up a distribution centers and camps in Quincy and Cedar Rapids. There are approximately 5,000 displaced residents in Cedar Rapids. We're taking Chef Mark Uddo to do a community dinner, New Orleans style. The distribution center will get flyers out in advance of our arrival. We will hold workshops like contractor fraud & mold remediation. We will hand out the gift cards at the dinner in exchange for their contact information and we'll start a database and try to identify a Beacon Administrator and a Volunteer Coordinator. We're taking the Beacon Procedure Manual. We will make contact with government leaders. I have obtained letters of support from our city council and police department which will give us instant creditability in that arena. Connie's 18 year old daughter is going with us and she'll try to start a Youth Recovery Program which will involve the high school(s). We have learned so much about our own recovery that will be helpful to them long after we're gone. If any of you have any thoughts or ideas on how we can make this trip more productive, please let me know..

h/t Karen Gadbois www.squanderedheritage.com
http://citizenscityhall.com/

On a First Name Basis

So nothing's been posted here for a long time. Here's why.

I was out with a friend a few nights ago. We talked about his recent trip to France, various family stories, how squinting one's eyes to really helps one see what the Impressionists were doing. We also talked about the last three months in my life, and my determination to write a ruefully sardonic piece called, "I Know Too Many People Who Die," playing a bit on the inevitability of death. He laughed and then said, "Hey, you live in New Orleans where people have always been on a first name basis with Death. Why do you think we have Mardi Gras?"

We both have dark senses of humor, and that's one reason we're such good friends.

Nevertheless, the last three months have made me wonder if I need to just turn this blog into an obituary column and be done with it. Three months, three deaths. Okay, four actually, but one had had a good run and had been ill for a while, so fell into the "very sad but inevitable" category. The other three came outta nowhere. We've had lots of folks telling us, "Well, ya know, you're getting to that age!" Yup, true enough, but these three all in a row just don't fit that truism.

April brought the loss of Ashley Morris. A firebrand, an activist. A young man, only in his 40's, leaving a wife and three pre-school children. All of us who knew him have written something about the void he has left, and we still instinctively click his link with our morning coffee. Gratefully his wonderful wife has taken over his blog and keeps us in touch with what's going on with her. We are all concerned. (BTW, we did collectively get a donation point together as the family needed and continues to need some help. Let's not let that dry up. Please remember Ashley and help his family by making a donation at: http://www.rememberashleymorris.com/ or you can just click the photo of the young man with the hat on on the upper right side of this blog.) Young man, young family, sudden heart attack. In typical New Orleans fashion, one of the first responses to the news was, "Geez, I am REALLY hoping this is an April Fool's joke." His funeral was also terribly sad, but raucous, with donations of food, booze, cigars, books, beads, you name it, tucked into the coffin with him. The wonderfully understanding funeral director asked tentatively, "Um, does all this go WITH him?" Well of COURSE it does was the answer. His interment was followed by wild dancing, life affirming celebration and roller skating.

He's still very much missed but we got through the initial sadness, knew we couldn't do a thing about it, and continued on. What else can ya do? But the "getting over it" doesn't just take a week or some particular increment of time on a calendar. There's no such thing as the definition for time of grief: Grief: an emotion that generally evolves into acceptance within two weeks of the initial loss. Uh uh. It just ain't like that. Anyone who's lost a loved one can tell you that.

So while still feeling that loss, May arrived. The phone rang and my sister told me that my Mama's husband had passed. He'd been ill for a long time. He wasn't hurting anymore. I felt for my Mama, she'll miss him. But this was the "sad but inevitable" death. It was different. Still I felt badly for Mama, and was out running some errands that day when I got hungry. I stopped into Buffa's on our corner for a quick burger, and upon sitting down heard the bartender say, "I just can't believe it! It's not LIKE Little Kenny at ALL." She continued to talk for a bit before it clicked in who she was talking about and I asked, "What? What are you talking about?" I'm really quick on the uptake. A look of horror came over her face as the horrible words, "Oh my god, you haven't heard" came out of her mouth, slowly, with lots of distortion and reverb. "Haven't heard what?" came my voice, barely audible, with an echo. Then came the story, quickly, like water over a levee, it poured down on me fast and dirty and cold.

"Mid-City Couple Stabbed to Death" read the headline.

Ms. Brenda, as we called her, Brenda Joyce Lee Jackson as she was named at birth, and Kenneth Lewis were stabbed to death in their home on Orleans Avenue, allegedly by Mr. Lewis' 20 year old son. They hadn't been found for a couple days, it was Little Kenneth who found them, and it was Little Kenneth who turned himself in days later. Each had been stabbed more than ten times. This was a real horror show.

Ms. Brenda had cooked at Buffa's for years, ever since the storm I think. She had cooked for the Rising Tide folks as we held meetings there last year. She was a good friend of mine, and I had intended for her to be my first Katrina's Daughter, but she worked so hard with a difficult schedule that we never could get the hour or so I wanted to just sit and listen. I did, however, get some of her story in bits and pieces as I'd stand in the kitchen at Buffa's and talk to her while she cranked out burgers and fries and tamales and BLT's. She had lived in a hotel up until about 6 months ago having been unable to find an affordable place to rent since the storm, and this woman wasn't making buckets of money, nor did she collect welfare, nor did she get thousands from FEMA and buy a big screen TV. She worked. It's what she did all her life. She came from LaPlace, pretty much raised her 11 brothers and sisters, was devout in a non-pushy kind of way. She didn't smile often, but always when I'd say hello and hug her, or my grandson would go into her kitchen and ask her to make him a burger "you know how I like it" with a big grin on his face. She'd just light up and make it special. If he saw her walking to work, trudging slowly down our block, he'd run up the block to give her a hug. She'd see him coming and then, boy then, she smiled. She was so thin we worried she'd work herself to death. At 57 years old, she wouldn't have known what to do besides work and "do" for someone else. She wrote poetry, had copyrighted a piece about 25 yrs ago. Always wanted me to read it but we could never find it and the only copy had been washed away in Katrina's waters. She was very proud of it. She was proud of having written it and under different life circumstances she probably would have been a teacher. She would have been good at it.

She was so quiet that we've all been searching for three weeks for one photograph of her. Finally I heard the other night we might just have one.

Actually she did teach. She taught me patience and forbearance and how to make a roux, which of course, requires both. One night she was thinking about making a gumbo I think it was. She said, "Well, first you need a roux." I told her I didn't know how to make one, hanging my head in shame. Looking shocked, she started firm but clear instructing: "You need flawr and erl. That's all you need girl, and a patient arm." She poured the ingredients into a huge cast iron skillet, checked the heat, and handed me a spoon. "Stir," she said. "How long?" I asked. "I'll let ya know when it be done." So I stirred, and I stirred, and I stirred. Occasionally she'd come over and nod and smile, other times she'd come over and tell me to smell it, "It need to smell like that, then you know you got the proportions right. Keep stirring." I stood there stirring for an hour and a half, but when she finally decided it was done, it was a glorious brown, "You gotta watch for the right color. Proportion, smell, color, consistency, that's what make a roux right." I thanked her, she thanked me and we both laughed in the narrow kitchen as the owner came in and said that we hadn't made enough, needed more. She was a sweet friend, sometimes sitting on my stoop talking before she went off to make yet more burgers.

Kenneth Lewis was a Mardi Gras Indian, "Wild Man" member of the Fi Yi Yi Mardi Gras Indians, had graduated from Mc35, was pretty well known around. He was 46. He often did odd jobs at Buffa's and he and Ms. Brenda had lived together on and off for ten years. He had gentle eyes, drank a little too much, couldn't be relied upon mostly, but every time he saw my grandson he'd teach him another Mardi Gras Indian song, his eyes sparkling. He had lost his suit and all his beads and feathers in the storm. I had a fishing tackle box full of beads, so I took it over and told him to take what he wanted. He was so grateful, kept saying I understood how expensive those beads could be and was I sure I wanted to give them away. One day about a year ago, my grandson and I were approaching the corner of Burgundy and Esplanade, and I heard "Mighty Kootie Fiyo on a Mardi Gras Day, If ya don’t wanna play get the hell out the way!" then Kenneth's face appeared around the corner of the building and he smiled and danced and taught my grandson how to say those words correctly.

His son, Kenneth Johnson, or Little Kenneth (always somehow pronounced without the final H, like Kennet) turned himself in and has been charged with the horrific crime. This is a bafflement. This was not the "nice quiet young man" that you knew would snap. The cops couldn't find more than a traffic ticket on his record. He didn't hang with gangs, I never saw him even drunk. We talked a lot about his going to college. I'd often see him as I walked my grandson home from school, or when I stopped into the Esplanade Mart across from Port of Call. He lived upstairs and would sit on the stoop sometimes watching his nieces and nephews and we'd say hi and talk a little. I would have trusted him with anything. He has not confessed, contrary to some printed reports. If he did it we all want to know why. I mean, really, WHY??? What kinda rage does twenty stab wounds take? Was this sweet kid really capable of that? No one knows. The rumors are rampant. My personal thought on the subject is probably Kenneth, Sr. owed someone some money, but I can't prove a thing and don't know anything first hand. I do know that Kenneth had a huge Mardi Gras Indian funeral. Ms. Brenda was quietly laid to rest with no fan fare, probably in LaPlace. Everyone wants to do some kind of memorial for her. She was a friend/aunt/mother to so many and suddenly she was gone. Neither of them deserved this kind of violent end, and Little Kennet::::::::::::::all I can do is shake my head cuz I can't put that kid and this act in the same context::::::::::: If he did it, then there are three ruined lives here. I have more to say on that, but I'll save that for another time.

So April, May, June.

The phone rings. A friend who had moved to Portland. "So good to hear from you," I say. Then come the words, "I guess you haven't heard." "He's gone," say I. "Yes," she says. "Overdose?" "No, brain hemorrhage on his 34 1/2 birthday." I was gasping for air.

Adam "Dean" Lutz, 34, died suddenly in San Francisco. Memorial was this Monday past. We all knew he'd be a short timer on this planet. He was too sensitive, too brilliant, too brave, just too bright a flame to last. We nevertheless all hoped that he'd be like the birthday candles that you can blow out and they come back, blow 'em out again, and back they come. Nope. Nice idea though.

Dean, as we all knew him, was also known to denizens of Checkpoint Charlie's Bar, Grill and Laundromat as Patient Zero. I had started a short story on him and that place about a year ago. Read part of it at his memorial and evidently touched some people with it so I guess now I'll have to really finish it since I can't bear the thought of both him and the story being unfinished forever. He'd slosh down the beer, a xanax, smoke a bowl, then come out with some of the most insightful and interesting comments before launching into either an flagrantly political song or a patently obscene one. He had put out a CD, which included one of his fans' all-time favorites, "Vote Like a Fag," the actual title of which is "Go Ahead." In this song he tells everyone to vote "like they're gonna act." The guy was the bravest bastard I ever saw. Ever the clown but always the philosopher. At the memorial as we're coming through the Marigny in the second line, more than one of us expected him to be onstage when we got to Checkpoint's laughing and saying, "Hey, y'all, I figured this would be a good way for me to announce my homecoming! Tell everyone my head exploded! Hey, Shayne, can ya get me a Jaeger?" laughing with his neon orange dreadlocks shaking around his head. He would have loved that. He would have written a song about his cause of death, I can almost hear him now, hollering, "My head exploded! Don't ya LOVE it? Now ya all KNEW that's what would happen! Too bad I couldn't have figured out a way to do it at my Halloween show! And believe it or not, my tox screen was virtually CLEAN, man! No kidding!" It was, as it turned out, virtually clean. Everyone danced, cried, laughed, and sang along with his songs at the memorial Monday night. His guitar will now be a permanent fixture at Checkpoint's, a dubious honor to most, but he'd love it.

June is almost over. I will probably not answer the phone in July. I will most assuredly hang up if I hear the words, "Oh my god, I guess you haven't heard." No, I won't really. I'm too curious for that. I could, however, stand a month of not being on a first name basis with death. A month where I didn't hear the word "memorial." One single month where my poor white handkerchief wasn't going to flap in the wind to a second line for a funeral. We'll see.

Below is a compilation of various performances of his song, "Go Ahead." It is copyrighted by big medicine production, shot and edited by Michael Bradley. If you have a problem with a warped sense of humor or four letter words, don't click the video. If you're curious, please do, then you can "Come and MAYBE Get It" as he named his CD. The editing can be a bit jarring, but we're so grateful to Michael for getting this footage of three different performances (in fact, you can hear my husband hollering "we KNOW that, Dean" in one of them), it's worth the time to watch it all the way through. Then, maybe if you're really brave, go watch "I am the WalMart" at his website.

Okay, Okay, you've probably all seen this but. . .

. . . .I saw this this morning. If you have an aversion to the F word, don't watch this. If you have an aversion to Bill O'Reilly and a perverse sense of humor, DO watch this.

EDIT: YOUTUBE PULLED THIS VIDEO AS YOU'LL SEE IF YOU CLICK THE FIRST VIDEO. BREAK.COM APPARENTLY STILL HAS IT AND THE SECOND VIDEO SHOULD PLAY. AT LEAST AS OF 2:30pm TODAY.

EDIT #2: BREAK.COM TOOK IT OFF AS WELL BUT IT CAN STILL BE FOUND, AT LEAST FOR TODAY AT http://gawker.com/5008668/bill-oreilly-meltdown-resurfaces




http://view.break.com/501822 - Watch more free videos

We love the heroic, "Fine, we'll do it live. I (stated in all caps, as in the royal we) will write it."

Unknown Part 2 is still working. Should be up in the next day or so.

On a Lighter Note---for now

We couldn't make it to JazzFest this year---ticket prices too high and too long a walk yet for the husband. We were seriously miserable about it. But thanks to WWOZ (yes, Loki, I will post this over there later today) LiveWire, we heard that Bonerama was playing at dba on Frenchman St. at midnight Saturday night. He could walk the four or five blocks from our house to Frenchman St.

So off we went at 12:30AM for a late night date to get the cobwebs blasted out of our heads with bone and rum. It worked, quite nicely, although we spent most of Sunday a bit hungover after being out there til after 3AM. Frenchman Street was jammed, dba was jammed, and Bonerama dragged our spirits out of the gutter and blasted them all over New Orleans. Half the crowd was singing Whipping Post at the top of their lungs, almost, but not quite, overtaking the sheer volume of the band. Glasses overhead, brass screaming, people singing, "Good Lord, I feel like I'm dying," with big grins on their faces.

I found this very short clip from the Louisiana Music Factory at YouTube. This should help you through your Post-Fest Blues.



Oh yeah, and Part 2 is being written, so enjoy the light side here while ya can.

Unknown Blue 50051484--Part 1

As you all have no doubt noticed, I have posted very little for months now. There are a few reasons for that, but one of them is very definitely a feeling of impotence and an overwhelming anger at that sense of impotence. And grief. In the last nine months I have lost three friends, seems one every three months. That can put a dent in ya. Oh yeah, and those deaths, while personal were accompanied by news reports of lots of other deaths, which while less personally effecting, still registered and ramped up the grief and impotence.

As most of you know, my husband had a terrible accident in September. Certainly the posts shrivelled up during that time as he was in bad shape and needed some help. Naturally that became my first priority. But there was something else seething inside that I haven't written about in all these months. Now it's time I did.

The night my husband was wheeled into the ER at Charity Hospital was a nightmare and totally surreal. Was anything broken? Was he going to be alright? He was scraped up from head to toe and in shock thinking giddily that he'd be back out giving tours in two days. Hell, he told the ambulance guys they could go and he'd just finish the tour he had been doing---nevermind that people were bringing him his shoe from up the block and his hat from down the block and his glasses and his. . . . .personal debris all up and down St. Philip. Any one wanting his DNA could have sent a CSI guy to scrape the street and they'd have had plenty. I had asked the ambulance driver where they were taking him as I had no earthly clue where a hospital was, or which hospitals were now open. He told me, "Glue your front bumper to my back bumper and run all the red lights I do." So I did, almost getting broadsided in the process, but I got to the hospital and was there as they wheeled my husband in.

One of the EMT's looks at me and says blithely, "Ya know, the last fatality in New Orleans was on that very gurney your husband is on now," as though that's supposed to make me feel better. He follows with, "Dammit, I forgot to take my Risperdal today, I have notes all over the house saying TAKE YOUR MEDS STUPID but I keep forgetting." He laughed long and heartily over all this and I chalked it up to the black humored stress of being an EMT in New Orleans.

Hours go by as they x-ray, examine, set up IV's, examine again, do more x-rays. In the curtained area down from my husband was a woman, very large, ageless in that way that could be 40 or could be 70, who knew. She was pretty much unaware of her surroundings but was conscious and awake, just not there if you know what I mean. She had had an accident of some kind in her home, days ago, and had only just been found by a neighbor. It gave me the willies that some poor soul like her could spend days without anyone noticing she wasn't among them.

More hours go by. I go outside to have a cigarette, it's very late at night and I guess most of the docs and nurses were on break. They were all out there smoking, comparing types of cigarettes, talking about how bombed they were last weekend, just having a wonderful time. It was encouraging in a weird perverse way, at least for me. But by now it had been many hours and I still didn't know exactly what the damage was to my husband. I was getting impatient, asking questions, getting no answers, filling out more papers, trying to reach my daughter by phone which turned out to be a futile exercise but kept me busy hitting the redial button on the cell phone.

Suddenly all hell broke loose about 1AM.

People were running all over the ER, hollering "Seven shot at Charbonnet and Royal in the Lower 9. They're bringing four of them here." A nurse breathlessly tells me that they'll have to move my husband, so he's moved over behind a curtain to the left. The ambulances can already be heard screaming in the distance, the sound getting closer.

BAM! The doors of the ER slide/slam open and the first gurney is wheeled in. I was leaned up against the wall near my husband's bed at the edge of the curtain. A once white sheeted gurney passes me, it is now crimson with blood soaked everywhere, four people are running with it, some pushing it some holding the IV bags. On it is a young black man, no older than 20, 23 at the outside. He seems to be bleeding from everywhere. One doctor says quietly, "Take him to the OR. He'll probably be paralyzed. Bullet hit his spine." The young man, unconscious and bloody slides past me and is gone. Two cops walk in through the sliding doors and deposit large brown paper grocery sacks. They are labelled in large hand scribbled sharpie: UNKNOWN BLUE 50051484, UNKNOWN PURPLE 50051485. The bags contained any personal belongings that had been found at the scene. There might have been another one, I can't remember. I was just stunned by the labelling and wrote it down in my checkbook register so I wouldn't forget it. Absurd, but that's what I did.

The two cops, both black and large, joke around with the ER desk staff as they are setting the bags down. The cops and the desk staff carry on a strange latenight conversation, laughing but otherwise emotionless: "Yeah, there were seven of them, shot each other up." "Any reason or are they just trying to kill each other off?" "We don't know yet, but if they do kill each other off that's less for us to do." Laughs all around. My guess is they've seen this so many times that they are jaded, they can't care or they'd scream, so they become cold, inured to the bloody colors streaming by, scribbled on brown paper bags.

As the repartee continues, a 40-ish black woman in scrubs and gloves walks by me carrying a large orange biohazard bag away from her body and slightly up in the air. Behind her is another red soaked gurney, another young black male body, but his face is barely there. As they wheel this victim past me I hear the EMT's saying, "Yeah, we just cleaned his brains and guts outta the rig." Oh, I think, so that's what was in the big orange bag. The doctor running alongside the gurney says, "This one isn't gonna make it."

Another gurney is brought in and put on the left side of the doors. There is a young black woman sobbing and howling as she lays on it. A woman in scrubs stands over her, trying to examine her and calm her. "I didn't know anything like this was gonna happen," the girl wailed. "I don't want to die. I didn't know anything like this was gonna happen." She repeated the same refrain for nearly 45 minutes, sobbing loudly, clearly terrified, probably no more than 19.

Finally the fourth ambulance arrives. Yet another young black man dripping buckets of red blood on the white sheets and floor. This one is semi-conscious and looks like a child. His face, unlike the previous young man's, was still intact, and I started to cry knowing that his mother had kissed that face many times over the maybe 21 years he'd been on this earth. No one saw me crying. I was still peeking out from behind the curtain, my husband drifting in and out of consciousness thanks to the painkillers they had administered. The desk staff asks if there are any more. The EMT says, "There are three more but they're taking them somewhere else, this is it for tonight." "Typical Friday night in the ER, huh?" ::::::chuckle chuckle:::::: "Looks like the girl and the last one will make it. Anyone know what this is about?" "Does there need to be a reason?" :::::::::chuckle chuckle:::::::

At that point, a young white doctor notices me, apparently looking shocked, still peeking from behind the curtain. He adopts a serious, kindly look, and heads my way. "Ma'am, as you can see we're a little overwhelmed here. We haven't forgotten your husband but. . . . ." "I understand," I say since my white husband isn't gushing blood all over the floor and I really do understand the seriousness of what I just saw and the fact that something has to be done instantly for these kids. "Ya, know," he says, "99% of the gunshot victims we see in here are black, male and under 23. They seem determined to kill each other. You probably think I'm cold, but if they want to do that, there's nothing I can do about it. It's hardly worth patching them up 'cuz they'll just be back in 6 months."

They did what they needed to do for my husband, at one point they kicked me out of the ER when I asked what was the diagnosis for my husband? Was he okay? Broken? What was broken? "Lady, go sit in the chairs in the waiting room and we'll call you." At 6:30AM the next morning (we'd gotten there about 10PM the night before) they released him and I brought him home.

I still don't know why seven kids were shot at Charbonnet and Royal Streets on September 14, 2007, nor do I know their names. I don't know who made it and who didn't. I only know that Unknown Blue 50051484 and Unknown Purple 50051485 were someone's kids. And they haunt me.

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Things I learned from Ashley Morris

I have been thinking about this for days. There are others among the blogger group who were in closer touch than I was with Ashley, but we did have our moments. I learned a lot from this man. One of my favorite photos of him is the one above. I always thought we should make t-shirts out of it.

I learned that ignoring conventional wisdom regarding the wearing of horizontal stripes was a good thing and could make a statement while flattering one's figure, and that being comfortable in one's own skin made that work. So there, Mr. Blackwell.

I learned that lapdances were an appropriate gift for someone who had just had a heart transplant (this, according to him and his testosterone filled posse via email) as long as you provided a laptop for said transplant patient to get some work done between dances.

I learned that laughter and generosity coupled with sheer frustrated rage could be a productive combination. Much could be accomplished by opening one's mouth and screaming to the high heavens that something was just flat out WRONG.

I learned that if I didn't understand some of the geek stuff, he would always take the time to answer my emails, even with his plate so full with family, work and activism.

I learned that there was a big guy out there who loved cigars as much as my husband and would help look for that husband at a Krewe du Vieux after party when it was thought that the aforementioned husband might be drunk and passed out somewhere in a run down theatre on Rampart Street.

I learned that size DOES matter when it comes to fleur de lis tattoos and the size of one's heart.

I also learned some wonderful phrases which will be forever linked to him in my head.

FYYFF could be a password for a secret clubhouse of bloggers, and probably will be one day, but it often summed up everything the rest of us were thinking but didn't have the balls to write: Fuck you you fucking fuck.

Sinn Fein, obviously co-opted from the IRA, it nevertheless became a rallying cry for those of us who felt that the social contract had failed. We knew we were indeed in this ourselves alone a lot of the time.

Fuckmook. Well, what can you say about that? The first time I met him in person, after having several email exchanges within our little group, I walked up, introduced myself and told him that my husband and I had to thank him for that wonderful word. It has become a staple in the vocabulary around here, usually hollered loudly by one of us as we read some thoroughly appalling article in the paper. He laughed very hard and confessed that he hadn't made it up. He said, "That's what Johnny Depp says when he gets in the cab in 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico.'" I was delighted. Here was one other human being who had actually seen that movie and liked it in its bizarre-ness like I did.

Food Porn. A photo of a gorgeous cochon du lait with an Abita standing by, or a photo of. . . . . you name the food. He'd describe it in detail until you found yourself standing in the kitchen making peanut butter toast cuz it was 2AM, you just read it and now you were jones-ing with no hope of copping.

I learned that what we write here really does matter, and after a long layoff wondering if anything at all mattered, I thank him heartily for that.

Please make sure you click the photo/link in the picture to the right (the one where he has a plate in his hand). Donate if you can. His family can use it. I hope the family knows that we'll still be around to help out and to carry on what Ashley did so well. As Karen so perfectly put it: RAGE ON.

Ashley Morris Rising Tide

RIP Ashley Morris

I have been unable to find the words for the grief I feel at this heroic man's passing. For now, this is all I can muster, but will be putting in more information this afternoon about funeral details and fundraising for the family. For now, please click the photo/link below which will take you to the memorial page.



Ashley Morris Rising Tide

It's not just New Orleans, it's America

We are a killing machine: Iraq (and maybe Iran pretty soon), Tennessee fired up its electric chair last night--the first time since 1960 (now THAT'S progress), our kids are killing each other and the NRA just spouts its standard "guns don't kill people" bullshit. We Americans are really good at killing one another. It'd be pretty easy to start thinking that life is just one big Gunfight at the OK Corral--with the corral moving it's way around our country and the globe.

That having been said, with all that's been said about the crime stats in New Orleans, I was perversely delighted to read one of my favorite bloggers, Mark Morford's latest column. (If you don't know about him, you should!) He makes a good point about not allowing ourselves to live in constant fear, and shows us that it's not just our city "sighing" under the weight of corpses in the streets.

Vote. Take action. Do something, but don't live in fear.

And maybe, just maybe, we should take a look at this country's penchant for killing. Death seems, lately, to be our biggest cash crop and our largest export. Why is that?

Just askin'.

EDIT: This just in, open your wallets, buy a round for the bar, we're all gonna need it, and that right soon.

H/T Zombie

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