Readers, rejoice: Snoop has been sighted.
As you may recall, he disappeared over four weeks ago when Lisa and I were out of town for the weekend. I saw him this morning as I was riding around the city en route to a jazz funeral parade in memory of Katrina victims and first responders. I was happily astonished to see him, and he looks skinny, but seemed like he was in pretty good shape. He's still Snoop, though, meaning he didn't stick around to find out what I was up to as I stopped to check him out - no, he bolted for the nearest hiding spot. I know it's him, though, from the tuft of white on his chest.
I saw him again this afternoon, on the same block, so now comes the challenge of bringing him back. Perhaps he enjoys running free, so it may be quite difficult to get close enough to get at him, and maybe we should just let him be a feral kitty. But now that we know where he is, we gotta try, right? Stay tuned, dear readers, as the saga unfolds.
In other news, today is of course the anniversary of Katrina's entry into New Orleans. If you haven't yet, see Spike Lee's documentary When the Levees Broke, or read Douglas Brinkley's The Great Deluge, which chronicles the week from August 27 to September 3, 2005. More on that topic soon.
Peace, Love, and Remembrance
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
1921 or 2006?
Friends, you may or may not know that I have been reading a book in the attempt to edify myself on the situation in the Middle East. Being a history major, I have chosen to start more or less at the beginning of the modern middle east, which has its roots in the aftermath of World War I.
The book I am reading, which I highly recommend, is David Fromkin's magisterial A Peace to End All Peace. Though I am not yet through with the book, I am getting there, and in light our recent misadventures in Iraq and the most recent Israeli-Lebanese conflict, I must relate to you an editorial from the Times of London that Fromkin quotes on page 470 of his book. The similarity of Britain's position as described by the Times to our current situation is frighteningly, sickeningly, eerily familiar.
Allow me to set the scene. It is 1921, and Britain has been left "in control" of the middle east after WWI, by fact of having roughly 1 million troops in the area. However, due to unrest at home caused by a deteriorating economy and political realities that demand demobilization, the government is scaling back its manpower in the area, leaving the door open for uprisings against British rule. The government, however, persists in keeping troops in quantities too low to establish control yet in great enough numbers to require heavy amounts of expenditure and draw funds away from much needed domestic programs. As Fromkin puts it:
"The principal danger, as The Times pictured it, lay in British overcommitment. The principal challenge to the country, in its view, was at home and was economic. Britain needed to invest her money in renewing herself economically and socially, and was threatened in her very existence by a governmental disposition to squander money instead on Middle Eastern adventures. In an editorial published on 18 July 1921 The Times denounced the government for this, saying that 'while they have spent nearly 150,000,000 pounds since the [1919] Armistice upon semi-nomads in Mesopotamia [Iraq] they can find only 200,000 a year for the regeneration of our slums, and have had to forbid all expenditure under the Education Act of 1918.'"
Allow this to sink in, if you will. This is the same issue we are facing today - 85 years later - and promises to be the issue that controls the destiny of this country and the western world, for the political and religious tensions that have plagued the area for centuries have been augmented by the geopolitical realities of a dwindling oil supply, which is concentrated in this very area.
All of this is to say that I'm trying to take a historical perspective on our current imbroglio in the Middle East, and I'm thoroughly discouraged by the lack of a prominent media voice that understands the complexities of the situation. I don't expect he government to care, really, about such things, but those commenting on its actions should. And they should be doing a much better job of it than they are. It's a pity to have to look to 1921 to find such a voice, and a discouragement to think that this has all been done 85 years before.
The book I am reading, which I highly recommend, is David Fromkin's magisterial A Peace to End All Peace. Though I am not yet through with the book, I am getting there, and in light our recent misadventures in Iraq and the most recent Israeli-Lebanese conflict, I must relate to you an editorial from the Times of London that Fromkin quotes on page 470 of his book. The similarity of Britain's position as described by the Times to our current situation is frighteningly, sickeningly, eerily familiar.
Allow me to set the scene. It is 1921, and Britain has been left "in control" of the middle east after WWI, by fact of having roughly 1 million troops in the area. However, due to unrest at home caused by a deteriorating economy and political realities that demand demobilization, the government is scaling back its manpower in the area, leaving the door open for uprisings against British rule. The government, however, persists in keeping troops in quantities too low to establish control yet in great enough numbers to require heavy amounts of expenditure and draw funds away from much needed domestic programs. As Fromkin puts it:
"The principal danger, as The Times pictured it, lay in British overcommitment. The principal challenge to the country, in its view, was at home and was economic. Britain needed to invest her money in renewing herself economically and socially, and was threatened in her very existence by a governmental disposition to squander money instead on Middle Eastern adventures. In an editorial published on 18 July 1921 The Times denounced the government for this, saying that 'while they have spent nearly 150,000,000 pounds since the [1919] Armistice upon semi-nomads in Mesopotamia [Iraq] they can find only 200,000 a year for the regeneration of our slums, and have had to forbid all expenditure under the Education Act of 1918.'"
Allow this to sink in, if you will. This is the same issue we are facing today - 85 years later - and promises to be the issue that controls the destiny of this country and the western world, for the political and religious tensions that have plagued the area for centuries have been augmented by the geopolitical realities of a dwindling oil supply, which is concentrated in this very area.
All of this is to say that I'm trying to take a historical perspective on our current imbroglio in the Middle East, and I'm thoroughly discouraged by the lack of a prominent media voice that understands the complexities of the situation. I don't expect he government to care, really, about such things, but those commenting on its actions should. And they should be doing a much better job of it than they are. It's a pity to have to look to 1921 to find such a voice, and a discouragement to think that this has all been done 85 years before.
My New Photo Website and My Brother's Weblog
Hey, I was hoping to include my photos and my posts on the same website, but I'm not that clever just yet. So while my synapses are still firing in the hopes of solving that conundrum, check out my new photography website:
www.noelhj.photosite.com
It's a work in progress, so expect to see more photos over time. If you're interested in any of the images, let me know and I'll forward you a copy.
Also, my brother has a blog that I highly recommend, even if you don't know him. You can check it out here:
http://nathanhj.livejournal.com/
www.noelhj.photosite.com
It's a work in progress, so expect to see more photos over time. If you're interested in any of the images, let me know and I'll forward you a copy.
Also, my brother has a blog that I highly recommend, even if you don't know him. You can check it out here:
http://nathanhj.livejournal.com/
Broadmoor and its Inhabitants
Since we've moved in, there are a few things we've noticed about the neighborhood. One is the amount of rebuilding, something you just can't miss. Another is the type of rebuilding: some gutting, some house-raising, some general rehabilitation. The third is that our block is home to a flock of parrots - not quite on the order of The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill (an engaging, if cheezy documentary on a flock of wild parrots in San Francisco) - but a flock of about 20 smallish birds. Even great birds, however, can't make up for the loss of one cool cat.
Our neighborhood, Broadmoor, took on several feet of water in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. You may recall that New Orleans, geologically speaking, is somewhat of a bowl, with the edges of the city higher than the center. Broadmoor is more or less the center of the bowl, and as a result, was flooded to a greater extent than other areas within the city (excepting Lakeview and the 9th Ward). These days, the neighborhood is showing strong signs of redevelopment though it is only about 30% repopulated, a reflection of the commitment of its residents, as well as their relatively high incomes and the strength of the neighborhood association (the Broadmoor Improvement Association - http://broadmoorimprovement.com/). As I have related on an earlier post, it is eerie to live in what amounts to a ghost town - albeit one that is regenerating.
The way in which folk are rebuilding showcases the, how shall I say, ingenuity of the New Orleanian. There are those who have restored their homes to their original state, gutting the flooded parts and rehabilitating them. There are those who have demolished their homes, if such an extreme measure was necessary. And there are those who have decided to raise their homes. This last category is the true sign of an individual's resourcefulness: while some have wisely placed their homes atop 8-foot concrete pillars, others have chosen other methods of support, including, but not limited to wooden pallets, cabinet and dresser drawers, and car jacks. It is the audacity of the last three that amazes me, especially as they are all used in conjunction on one house, a house that happens to be directly across the street from us - check the photo in the sidebar. I can't imagine that this rigged situation would withstand even a Category 1 hurricane - or even a tropical depression. The house on wooden pallets is also suspect, and both houses must violate some amazing number, if not all, of the city's building codes. But people do what they have to in order to keep moving forward. I suppose I will monitor this situation as it progresses, and hopefully I will be surprised by the resilience of the homes and well as their inhabitants.
To our delight, the inhabitants of the neighborhood also include avians of another feather - parrots, in fact. Though I haven't determined conclusively, it appears that the birds might be Brotogeris Parakeets - smallish green parrots. They are rather chatty and social birds, and are a pleasure to see flying through the neighborhood and roosting in the palms of Broadmoor. As wonderful as these guys are, they are small consolation to us as we continue to mourn the absence of Snoop the cat. Snoop, in his infinite wisdom, decided he would rather explore the wilds of Broadmoor and Greater New Orleans unfettered by the constraints of a house, than continue to remain a housecat. Hopefully he will return, but until then, I look forward to running into him on Bourbon Street in pursuit of a good time, or perhaps perusing the boutiques and checking out the clientele in the bars of Magazine Street. I suppose new flying friends can only go so far in comforting us on the loss of a fine furry one.
That's the state of things in Broadmoor these days, where people are rebuilding, parrots are flying, and all good kitties are roaming far and wide to their heart's content.
Our neighborhood, Broadmoor, took on several feet of water in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. You may recall that New Orleans, geologically speaking, is somewhat of a bowl, with the edges of the city higher than the center. Broadmoor is more or less the center of the bowl, and as a result, was flooded to a greater extent than other areas within the city (excepting Lakeview and the 9th Ward). These days, the neighborhood is showing strong signs of redevelopment though it is only about 30% repopulated, a reflection of the commitment of its residents, as well as their relatively high incomes and the strength of the neighborhood association (the Broadmoor Improvement Association - http://broadmoorimprovement.com/). As I have related on an earlier post, it is eerie to live in what amounts to a ghost town - albeit one that is regenerating.
The way in which folk are rebuilding showcases the, how shall I say, ingenuity of the New Orleanian. There are those who have restored their homes to their original state, gutting the flooded parts and rehabilitating them. There are those who have demolished their homes, if such an extreme measure was necessary. And there are those who have decided to raise their homes. This last category is the true sign of an individual's resourcefulness: while some have wisely placed their homes atop 8-foot concrete pillars, others have chosen other methods of support, including, but not limited to wooden pallets, cabinet and dresser drawers, and car jacks. It is the audacity of the last three that amazes me, especially as they are all used in conjunction on one house, a house that happens to be directly across the street from us - check the photo in the sidebar. I can't imagine that this rigged situation would withstand even a Category 1 hurricane - or even a tropical depression. The house on wooden pallets is also suspect, and both houses must violate some amazing number, if not all, of the city's building codes. But people do what they have to in order to keep moving forward. I suppose I will monitor this situation as it progresses, and hopefully I will be surprised by the resilience of the homes and well as their inhabitants.
To our delight, the inhabitants of the neighborhood also include avians of another feather - parrots, in fact. Though I haven't determined conclusively, it appears that the birds might be Brotogeris Parakeets - smallish green parrots. They are rather chatty and social birds, and are a pleasure to see flying through the neighborhood and roosting in the palms of Broadmoor. As wonderful as these guys are, they are small consolation to us as we continue to mourn the absence of Snoop the cat. Snoop, in his infinite wisdom, decided he would rather explore the wilds of Broadmoor and Greater New Orleans unfettered by the constraints of a house, than continue to remain a housecat. Hopefully he will return, but until then, I look forward to running into him on Bourbon Street in pursuit of a good time, or perhaps perusing the boutiques and checking out the clientele in the bars of Magazine Street. I suppose new flying friends can only go so far in comforting us on the loss of a fine furry one.
That's the state of things in Broadmoor these days, where people are rebuilding, parrots are flying, and all good kitties are roaming far and wide to their heart's content.
Friday, August 18, 2006
It's Weird Here
I guess it depends on where in New Orleans you live, but it sure is weird here. I took a bike ride around my neighborhood, and the oddness of so many houses and no people was rather disquieting. It's like living in a ghost town, at least in this area; if the destruction were greater and the people fewer, I would think the setting akin to Pompeii.
It's also strange to see so starkly the effect of only a couple feet in elevation; up Fontainebleu (most folks say Fountainblue) towards Carrollton maybe 10 blocks, sit beautiful unravaged houses in varying states of grandeur. Here in the bowl of New Orleans, though, there isn't a house that didn't take at least 5 feet of water. Some sit higher and the first floors survived mostly intact, while others that were built slab-on-grade did not fare as well. There are at least three houses on surrounding blocks that have been raised - one with poured concrete pillars, one with cinder blocks, and another by hook/crook - this last guy is a daring individual. I'll get a picture up as soon as I can.
And then you can get out of the area and head over to Magazine Street, over to Le Bon Temps Roule and hear the Soul Rebels every Thursday night for free, which I highly recommend, and from the inside of this bar, it seems like normality, or at least New Orleans-style normality. I've never seen people having this much fun on a Thursday night in Chicago. Maybe I didn't go to the right places. But to see a room packed with sweaty happy people, arms and legs waving and kicking to the sounds of a New Orleans brass band, is a relief from the enervating effect of living in a ghost town.
It's also strange to see so starkly the effect of only a couple feet in elevation; up Fontainebleu (most folks say Fountainblue) towards Carrollton maybe 10 blocks, sit beautiful unravaged houses in varying states of grandeur. Here in the bowl of New Orleans, though, there isn't a house that didn't take at least 5 feet of water. Some sit higher and the first floors survived mostly intact, while others that were built slab-on-grade did not fare as well. There are at least three houses on surrounding blocks that have been raised - one with poured concrete pillars, one with cinder blocks, and another by hook/crook - this last guy is a daring individual. I'll get a picture up as soon as I can.
And then you can get out of the area and head over to Magazine Street, over to Le Bon Temps Roule and hear the Soul Rebels every Thursday night for free, which I highly recommend, and from the inside of this bar, it seems like normality, or at least New Orleans-style normality. I've never seen people having this much fun on a Thursday night in Chicago. Maybe I didn't go to the right places. But to see a room packed with sweaty happy people, arms and legs waving and kicking to the sounds of a New Orleans brass band, is a relief from the enervating effect of living in a ghost town.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Chicago to New Orleans
There are several ways to get to New Orleans from Chicago, depending on your time frame and state of mind. The easiest is to take I-57 to Memphis, catch the I-55 a ride it to Louisiana, and then pick up the I-10 or the I-12. These two routes into the city offer different vantage points; the I-10 is the most direct route and runs through the swamp between Lakes Maurepas and Pontchartrain then enters New Orleans from the west, while I-12 crosses directly over Pontchartrain and comes into the city from the north (see link below for those of you inclined towards maps).
http://www.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=new+orleans,+la&ie=UTF8&ll=30.209828,-90.273972&spn=0.842616,1.5065&om=1
Doing things for the sake of ease, of course, has never been an objective of mine. Accordingly, we decided to head due west to Iowa City to see an old friend doing some time at the Writer's Workshop. This stop was made more challenging by our hotel, which had signs posted warning of a $100 fine for keeping pets in the room. I have felt sneakier, but it's been awhile (since I used to pinch quarters from my dad's change jar to play video games when I was 8), and sneaking cats into hotel rooms was not how I envisioned my stay in Iowa City. Nonetheless, we got the feline safely ensconced in our bathroom and enjoyed an evening in town.
The next day, July 31st, 2006, we realized that we were still about 15 driving hours away from our destination. This realization led to several (ie, 30) minutes of frustration and invective, made worse by the midwestern heat, the Iowa City traffic(!), my own less-than-sterling directions, and the discovery that we had left our road food at the hotel (necessitating a stop at the evil empire of Wal-mart). Once out of IC, however, the situation mellowed and we were able to enjoy the back roads of Iowa, on our way to Memphis.
To get to Memphis from Iowa City, one can go back to Illinois to get the I-55 (as Google would have you do) or one can take a more directly southerly route, eventually connecting with 55 outside of St. Louis. This is the option we took, and remarked on the transition from Iowa (midwest) to Missouri (midwest/south) evident in the landscape.
Eventually we got to St. Louis, got some gas, changed drivers, and kept on going. We stopped outside of Memphis on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi, got the cat in the hotel without much fuss, and grabbed a quick barbeque dinner. Let me say to you that when I gazed upon the woman behind the cash register, it dawned on me that we were in Arkansas. Country is really the only way to describe the apparition that appeared before me: all gums, stick-thin, a reedy, twangy accent and a vocabulary that prefaced every sentence with honey-this and sugar-that. But the pork was good, cooked just right with a good sauce not too sweet and not too spicy. Good bedtime food.
We started back up again in the morning, about 6 hours from 4321 Jena Street, New Orleans, Louisiana, 70125. As we got souther and souther, the land flattened out and we got the subtle feeling we were going downhill. I-55 around Ponchatoula starts getting into the swamp, and then you know you're close: shrimp boats in the water, salt in the air, and Spanish moss in the trees. Riding through the swamp, with a little lake on the right and a big one on the left, brought home how much water there is here where the Mississippi meets the Gulf of Mexico. Then that afternoon rainstorm caught us on the way into the city, and we had to focus on driving.
http://www.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=new+orleans,+la&ie=UTF8&ll=30.209828,-90.273972&spn=0.842616,1.5065&om=1
Doing things for the sake of ease, of course, has never been an objective of mine. Accordingly, we decided to head due west to Iowa City to see an old friend doing some time at the Writer's Workshop. This stop was made more challenging by our hotel, which had signs posted warning of a $100 fine for keeping pets in the room. I have felt sneakier, but it's been awhile (since I used to pinch quarters from my dad's change jar to play video games when I was 8), and sneaking cats into hotel rooms was not how I envisioned my stay in Iowa City. Nonetheless, we got the feline safely ensconced in our bathroom and enjoyed an evening in town.
The next day, July 31st, 2006, we realized that we were still about 15 driving hours away from our destination. This realization led to several (ie, 30) minutes of frustration and invective, made worse by the midwestern heat, the Iowa City traffic(!), my own less-than-sterling directions, and the discovery that we had left our road food at the hotel (necessitating a stop at the evil empire of Wal-mart). Once out of IC, however, the situation mellowed and we were able to enjoy the back roads of Iowa, on our way to Memphis.
To get to Memphis from Iowa City, one can go back to Illinois to get the I-55 (as Google would have you do) or one can take a more directly southerly route, eventually connecting with 55 outside of St. Louis. This is the option we took, and remarked on the transition from Iowa (midwest) to Missouri (midwest/south) evident in the landscape.
Eventually we got to St. Louis, got some gas, changed drivers, and kept on going. We stopped outside of Memphis on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi, got the cat in the hotel without much fuss, and grabbed a quick barbeque dinner. Let me say to you that when I gazed upon the woman behind the cash register, it dawned on me that we were in Arkansas. Country is really the only way to describe the apparition that appeared before me: all gums, stick-thin, a reedy, twangy accent and a vocabulary that prefaced every sentence with honey-this and sugar-that. But the pork was good, cooked just right with a good sauce not too sweet and not too spicy. Good bedtime food.
We started back up again in the morning, about 6 hours from 4321 Jena Street, New Orleans, Louisiana, 70125. As we got souther and souther, the land flattened out and we got the subtle feeling we were going downhill. I-55 around Ponchatoula starts getting into the swamp, and then you know you're close: shrimp boats in the water, salt in the air, and Spanish moss in the trees. Riding through the swamp, with a little lake on the right and a big one on the left, brought home how much water there is here where the Mississippi meets the Gulf of Mexico. Then that afternoon rainstorm caught us on the way into the city, and we had to focus on driving.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Welcome to New Orleans
We drove into New Orleans in an afternoon thundershower. It was an appropriate way to enter the city, as the summer months bring heat, humidity and almost daily rainstorms. Lisa and I arrived at our new house, and as we set about unloading our car, we realized that it might have felt even worse before the afternoon storm.
One cannot underestimate the heat of New Orleans in August. It is a heat that drains you of desire, save that desire to be in a cold, dark place. The refrigerator, unfortunately, is too small a place for both of us to be at once; otherwise, we would together hole up in the appliance and not come out until suppertime. Alternatively, one can seek grocery stores, bars, boutiques and coffee shops to inhabit during the sultry hours of the day.
But we are Southerners. We enjoy this heat and the accompanying humidity. I am from Durham, North Carolina, and Lisa has grown up all over the South, from Texas and Florida to Virginia and Maryland. We realize that we have entered the lion's den at the dinner hour and must make ourselves scarce until the beast's belly has been sated by the north wind; the thought of 61 degrees Fahrenheit in January helps us to move languidly through the worst August has to offer.
Driving into New Orleans, one is struck by how much hurricane damage remains visible. The I-10 does not spare the tourist, just as it is a constant reminder to the resident. New Orleans itself is a city of contradictions: where some areas are untouched, others barely remain; while many folks have lost everything, some carry on without missing a beat; tourists carouse in the French Quarter, and residents sit bewildered in the 9th Ward. The damage is everwhere to be seen, on buildings, under freeway overpasses, along the roads, and in the neighborhoods.
But there are also plenty of signs of life and of the indomitable spirit of the people New Orleans; where the magnolias have been drowned, the live oaks are vigorous. Many households are rebuilding their homes, and businesses have returned all over the city. Your utility services are available (I ordered cable internet and they gave me cable TV for free) and everywhere are the signs of construction and rehabilitation. Indeed, the contiuum of hurricane damage spans the cold clutches of total destruction to the warm embrace of middle-class American normality.
This is, as no other city in the country is, a city in transition. How the recovery will proceed is yet undetermined, and in the minds of many, also in doubt. Yet there are many here who would see it return to its former glory; I myself am one. For though I am not from New Orleans, it is clear that this country needs New Orleans, and needs it badly - and New Orleans needs America, as perhaps no other city does. The rebuilding process will take a long time - let's make sure that excellence and love are in the scope of work that encompasses the rebuilding of New Orleans.
One cannot underestimate the heat of New Orleans in August. It is a heat that drains you of desire, save that desire to be in a cold, dark place. The refrigerator, unfortunately, is too small a place for both of us to be at once; otherwise, we would together hole up in the appliance and not come out until suppertime. Alternatively, one can seek grocery stores, bars, boutiques and coffee shops to inhabit during the sultry hours of the day.
But we are Southerners. We enjoy this heat and the accompanying humidity. I am from Durham, North Carolina, and Lisa has grown up all over the South, from Texas and Florida to Virginia and Maryland. We realize that we have entered the lion's den at the dinner hour and must make ourselves scarce until the beast's belly has been sated by the north wind; the thought of 61 degrees Fahrenheit in January helps us to move languidly through the worst August has to offer.
Driving into New Orleans, one is struck by how much hurricane damage remains visible. The I-10 does not spare the tourist, just as it is a constant reminder to the resident. New Orleans itself is a city of contradictions: where some areas are untouched, others barely remain; while many folks have lost everything, some carry on without missing a beat; tourists carouse in the French Quarter, and residents sit bewildered in the 9th Ward. The damage is everwhere to be seen, on buildings, under freeway overpasses, along the roads, and in the neighborhoods.
But there are also plenty of signs of life and of the indomitable spirit of the people New Orleans; where the magnolias have been drowned, the live oaks are vigorous. Many households are rebuilding their homes, and businesses have returned all over the city. Your utility services are available (I ordered cable internet and they gave me cable TV for free) and everywhere are the signs of construction and rehabilitation. Indeed, the contiuum of hurricane damage spans the cold clutches of total destruction to the warm embrace of middle-class American normality.
This is, as no other city in the country is, a city in transition. How the recovery will proceed is yet undetermined, and in the minds of many, also in doubt. Yet there are many here who would see it return to its former glory; I myself am one. For though I am not from New Orleans, it is clear that this country needs New Orleans, and needs it badly - and New Orleans needs America, as perhaps no other city does. The rebuilding process will take a long time - let's make sure that excellence and love are in the scope of work that encompasses the rebuilding of New Orleans.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
