Video

My brother made this documentary this past weekend. Before you go thinking that New Orleans is "back" or "recovered," go watch this hour-long footage.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3669658201853703248&hl=en

Part 9: Storm me once, shame on you. Storm me twice, shame on me.

Recap: Mark was living in Baton Rouge in an RV for work, my parents moved back home, Geoff was staying with Calie's family in River Ridge, and I was living with my in-laws in Morgan City. School was calling me back on Sept. 26, but Hurricane Rita was headed straight for Texas and southwestern Louisiana.....Morgan City included.

The winds of Rita from the outer bands of the storm were teasing Morgan City early in the afternoon. I gassed up my car while waiting for Mark to come in. I was truly a nervous wreck. Katrina had changed a lot of things, and apparently, I was also changed. We'd had no rain in the almost month since the storm had hit, and the thoughts of wind, rain, darkness, thunder, lightning, and a possible hit by another hurricane were not doing anything for my mental state. I was in an extremely frenzied state, made worse by everyone telling me to leave. When I think back to that point, which was about 3 months ago, I am still uncomfortable. We've had some rains since then, and it is very unsettling. Luckily, it's only rained maybe 2 or 3 more times.

I told my parents that the outer bands were hitting us, and my father said that that was probably not true. But when I got out the car to fill it up, a big gust came through and caught the door, ripping it from my hands as I went to shut it, and slammed it into my arm. I had a bruise for about a week. I grimaced, I guess, when that happened, because an old man made a beeline for me. He evidently thought I grimaced because I didn't know how to pump my own gas. He came to demonstrate where to put my card, to tell it I want a reciept, how to put the nozzle in the car, how to select my gas...all after I politely declined his assistance by telling him, with a twinge of pain behind my heart, that my father owns a service station, and that I could handle it. He even called me sweetheart or something else patronizing. He stayed there explaining it all to me until I was done, then left. Sigh.

I drove to my in-laws' in sporadic rains, feeling better about the car, but worse about the weather. Around 7 that evening, Mark made it back to Morgan City, and we settled in for what was, to me, a very long evening.

While she was no picnic, Rita was not as bad as she could have been. She spared Houston, which made us happy. My grandmother's assisted living center originally evacuated to a hotel in Alexandria, but when the do-not-return orders were issued, they moved to other ALC's in their chain. My 86-year-old grandmother with Alzheimer's ended up in Houston. As Rita loomed, my family worried. My mother called Houston, only to find out that they had decided that they had enough staff prepared to stay, and that they would. Rita looked to be as bad, if not worse, than Katrina. The thousands of evacuees who ended up in Houston had to evacuate for a second time. A JCC kid I've known since she was 4, who will be 15 in March, called my cell phone panicking, because she was in Houston and was packing up to leave again. I tried to comfort her, but could not, I am afraid, because I had enough on my mind. They ended up in Dallas until after the storm, if I'm not mistaken, then moved back.

So anyway, we were all Very Concerned about my grandmother. We would not have time to make that 6 hour drive to get her, plus do it again on the way back, to ensure her safety. In addition, none of the family could provide for her needs, especially if New Orleans caught any of Rita. All we could do was worry. There were two ALC’s run by this company in Houston. Hers decided to stay. The other loaded up the residents and evacuated them. But they never reached their destination, as the bus caught fire and killed all of the passengers inside. My uncle in Philadelphia called very upset because he’d heard about one of them. My parents hadn’t heard yet, and there was brief panic until we found out that it was the other ALC. My grandmother was safe. However, Kurt, my cousin Alicia’s husband, knew someone who was on that bus. It seemed that the tragedies would keep arising for our city.

Instead of slamming Houston, Rita wobbled a little more easterly and did a number on…southwest Louisiana. We had probably category 2 winds in Morgan City. Morgan City found more than half its residents without power. A storm surge drove salty waters into the drinking water. A tree across the street fell. Leaves were everywhere. Small branches were everywhere. The fence broke. Shingles were in the street. We never did lose electricity, but it blinked on and off all night. To take our minds off what was going on around us, we played poker, microwaved popcorn, and ate ice cream, since we figured we would lose electricity and would therefore also lose the ice cream. But all that happened was a lot of flickering. And serious wind damage. My in-laws said Rita was worse for them than Katrina was, if that tells you anything.

That night, as the storm raged on (WHY do they only strike at night????), I had even more trouble sleeping than usual. As I mentioned earlier, sleeping was, and, occasionally, still is, an issue for me. I did not get much that night. The sounds of the fence breaking, the wind slapping the house, the rain beating down, and things slamming into the house, were a bit much for me. I had vowed I would never stay for a storm again, and there I was. But where could I have gone?

The next morning, as things slowed down, we watched as the Industrial Canal breached again. The Lower 9^th Ward was in even more trouble. We heard that the patch in the 17^th Street Canal levee appeared to mostly hold up, but that the area by our house was flooding again. I believe I posted a picture of that from my father. But most troubling were the shots of lower Terrebonne Parish and lower Lafourche Parish and the areas around New Iberia. They looked like my neighborhood. Luckily, many had learned from New Orleans and left, but there were, of course, the old sticklers who never leave and refused to leave. I felt for those people. We were joined by an unspeakable bond.

I was supposed to go to Metairie on Saturday, but with the winds and some road closures due to the standing water on the highways, we were unable to leave until Sunday. Mark was off all weekend, and so he was able to help.

For having nothing, we sure had a lot to bring to Metairie. We had been shopping, so we had more clothes than we left with. People sent care packages, so that was all extra. We brought the two plastic drawer carts that were bought for us to store our clothing in with us, as well as a wire rack for the couple pairs of shoes I’d acquired, through hand-me-downs and Houma trips. On top of that, we had the things we’d evacuated with, cats included. Junior and Menou, my in-laws’ cats, were not very sorry to see my Lily and Shazzy leave. However, poor Nala and Icarus, my parents’ cats, had a lot in store for them. They were already resettling into their now carpetless, mildly funky-smelling home, and now we were bringing our two cats to disrupt their routines. What fun would await that introduction?

It took Mark to take the cats and the things he was bringing back to his RV that night, plus a trunk-load, plus me and a trunkload and a back-seat-load, plus Mr. Loy and the plastic “furniture” they were lending us, to get everything to Metairie.

Just as we were leaving, my cell phone rang. It was the insurance adjuster for my car. For having a good driving record and low mileage, I got some additional money. Four years ago, my father paid $4,000 for my used Toyota Corolla. I had a $500 deductible, but got $200 for contents. So before the deductible, they were going to give me $4,100 for it. Something went our way! We technically turned a profit on an 11-year-old second-hand car!

We made it back to Metairie that Sunday afternoon. When I moved out, my parents figured that I was gone for good. So they hurried me along to get my belongings out, and turned my room into an office. That’s where I am now. Sitting where my cedar chest once stood. That’s still here…but it’s been converted into a wrapping paper holder. Where my bed once stood, there is a desk. A file cabinet replaced my dresser. What makes this even sadder is that those pieces, save for my old cedar chest (this one is the one from when I was a kid, not the one Mark’s uncle built for our wedding), is all gone. Saturated and hacked and rusted and peeling and disgusting. Even the ugly old carpet, which tormented me for most of my life, was gone, save for a square under the big file cabinet that didn’t get very wet.

Geoff moved into his apartment in March or so. He left because he wanted to. I left because I was married. So while they figured I wouldn’t come back, there was a possibility that he could some day. So his room sat empty, except for a TV and the exercise bike…a sad attempt at an exercise room. They left the TV for us and put the bike back in the garage. We unloaded the cars, then Mark had to go back to Baton Rouge while Mr. Loy had to get back to Morgan City. Sitting in the windowsill were some of Geoff’s He-Man figures. He’d found his Foo Fighters poster and hung that on the wall, then tacked an old issue of The Nicholls Worth (sadly and ironically enough, it was the first issue in full-color, which I’d done for….9/11.) and a He-Man thing on the wall to make it have some of our personalities in it. He taped a note to the door, which reads, “Mae and Mark -- It ain’t much, but I did what I could to make my old home your new home.” It touched us. It really did.

He and Calie stopped by later. They helped me sort through our belongings. Geoff’s old mirror still hung on the wall, so we put the two plastic carts under it like a dresser. I took the shoe cart and put it in the closet. We stacked some things along the walls and in the corners. Geoff found my dad’s little workbench in the garage and put the TV on it, then got the old Nintendo out of our parents’ room and hooked it up. My dad bought an “elevated air mattress,” which was double the thickness of a standard one, and we inflated it and put sheets on it. My mom washed Geoff’s old comforter and we threw it on top. Then, I made a nightstand by stacking the photo albums and the huge Tupperware bin of the smaller albums and loose pictures next to the bed. I hung the clothes up, and set up the litter box, some food, and some water for the cats, then let them explore. Poor little things.

I don’t think I discussed Lily’s cold. A week or so after we were in Morgan City, Lily’s eyes started running. It looked like she was crying. I looked up “Do cats cry?” on the Internet, and discovered that cats do feel sad and depression, but that it is manifested in behavioral changes, not tears. If a cat is “crying,” then it’s because of allergies, something getting in the eyes, or an illness. That night, while we were in bed, we heard a tiny little, “Achoo!” We made an appointment with the vet. I asked if it had anything to do with our rough evacuation and current situation, and the vet said it was possible. Some cats get a form of herpes, which causes them to get colds. The colds come out when they are stressed out. We were given an eye cream, which she did not want to take and she fought us every time, and an antibiotic, to be given orally. The first few doses were given while Mark was still in Morgan City, but then he had to go to Baton Rouge that week. I had to administer her medication all by myself twice a day for the rest of those two weeks. I gave up on her eye cream, because she was too rebellious and it was too hard to do on my own. But she finished her antibiotics the day before we came home. That was a good thing, because Nala and Icarus would not catch her illness. Shazzy, Menou, and Junior all made it without catching it, so we were very relieved. We paid for the vet and the medicine with a donation sent to us by one of my fellow forumers. It had come in the mail the night we discovered she was sick. How lucky we were!

That first night sleeping on an air mattress in Geoff’s old room was strange. It was nice having dinner with my parents. It was nice being with my own family for a change. But things were so very different. The most obvious, of course, being that I was living in Geoff’s room, with clothes I didn’t recognize, on fake furniture, in a house that no longer held carpet. We have to walk with something on our feet, because the foam backing on the carpet would not all come up, but it flakes off when you walk on it. When the weather started to change, it was going to be very cold to walk on. We have to be careful, because the carpet tacks along the walls and in the doorways where the carpets either changed or became tile floors are still there. Plus, several little things had changed. Minor things, like my mom changing the kitchen drawers and cabinets a little. And big things, like Geoff being gone. I was now only an hour away from Mark instead of two, but I still would only see him if he had a couple of days off. Entercom’s return to New Orleans was indefinite. So while my situation was sometimes improving, it was also hitting brick walls. Luckily, I would have work the next morning. Not class, but the beginning of moving campuses.

Stay tuned for Part 10: Moving week begins

Geoff in syndication...

Geoff has a blog. Sometimes, it's funny. The other day is one instance of that. So I asked him if I could post it on my blog because it's the funniest shtuff I've read in a while.

I had this discussion with Chad at work today. I thought it was entertaining enough to post here.I decided to take it upon myself to clean up the webstore office, as neither Robby nor myself had been up there in a few weeks since we've been filling in shifts in the retail stores. I had a few free moments this evening, so I wanted to straighten it up.While I was up there, I found some really sweet rare games, like Mega Man X3 for the SNES and Smurfs for the Atari 2600. Cool gaming paraphenalia aside, I was making signifcant progress in my mission. There was a cardboard box filled with packing peanuts and some Sega Saturn games that were sent from our store in Biloxi. Now, keep in mind that this box has been up there for a few weeks filled with packing peanuts, in a warm, dark room.I picked up a stack of about five or six Saturn games when a small, brown, multi-legged beast crawled from the underside of Daytona USA and made its way to the top of Panzer Dragoon, nearly touching my hand. I dropped the stack of games, posthaste, damaging a jewel cases. But nevermind the jewel cases, a small roach nearly devoured my right hand! I searched and searched for my nemesis, but to no avail. It was as if he had dissapeared. Perhaps he was absorbed into the carpet where he'll emerge in the night to seek revenge on Panazer Dragoon.This prompted me to head downstairs and share my traumatic story with Chad. This brought up some interesting questions about roaches. First, we must go over some facts regarding these evil beasts of Satan.*Roaches can live for weeks without a head*Some roaches can fly*It has been said that roaches can survive a nuclear holocaust*Roaches can eat anything, including plasticWhat creature needs to possess all of these powers? Especially a creature that does NOTHING for our ecosystem. Worms turn soil, spiders eat mosquitos that carry diseases, but roaches do nothing beneficial! I see two that would be very beneficial to humans, should we acquire these powers: flying and surviving a nuclear holocaust, both of which have obvious reasons for kicking ass.But why can these roaches survive a nuclear holocaust? What is that purpose? Moreso, HOW can they? Is the only thing that can kill them, their kryptonite if you will, a can of Raid? If this is true, then surely Raid is the greatest advancement in modern chemical technology if it can kill creatures that can survive a nuclear holocaust.Being able to eat plastic could be quite convenient. For instance, you head to the store and purchase a liter of Coke. As you drink your liter of Coke, you begin to devour the bottle in which it resides, creating the perfect $1.87 meal. But what purpose does this serve? Obviously, roaches get all the crumbs and left-out food they can manage, so, why add plastic into the mix? It just doesn't add up.But perhaps more frightening is the fact that a roach can live for weeks without a head. Now, losing your head is not something one can foresee, so having a second chance to enjoy the activities you missed out on in life during the next two weeks could be very beneficial. But what would a roach do during this two week period? Typically, when someone knows they have a short time to live, they make ammends with colleagues. They'll also tend to do outrageous things they wouldn't normally do, like bungee jump, jet ski, or sleep with a hooker. But how many roaches have you met that have done that, with or without a head.I simply cannot understand why these malicious beasts are given these magnificent powers, and I can't even fly. It hardly seems fair.

So sorry

I think I hurt the old computer's feelings. It kinda died like that day. Geoff has taken it home to look at it. I hope he can do something. Now I feel all guilty.

Luckyyyyyyyyyy...

Our computer arrived today!! YAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!

Geoff brought over his copy of "Garden State" last night and we watched it and ate cheesecake. It was a fabulous evening! It was such a good movie, and the cheesescake is the only decent thing my MIL can make. Happiness all around!

School is cool. Looks like a heavy workload. But that's okay. I'll survive.

Best thing about school, part 1: no textbooks!
Best thing about school, part 2: One of my professors is named Sassy.

The cirrrrcle of liiiiiiife....

Last week, I learned about an end of a life and the beginning of a life on the same day. After celebrating Geoff's birthday with my parents, we headed home about 1 a.m. Mark's phone rang, and it was his boss, calling to say he had to come in immediately, because Buddy D, local talk legend, died earlier that evening.

Now, I've always hated him. My most vivid memories growing up involve my father, the Saints, and Buddy D. A strong college memory: Not having my own car, I would go home every other weekend via my parents. We wouldn't go back to school until after the Saints game was over. Which meant that I would then be subjected to being trapped in the Durango, forced to listen to his aftershow with no escape. But, it's sad. It's like the end of an era.

Earlier that day, I discovered that Emi had her baby!! And they're both healthy, even though he was a month early. Yayyyyyyyyyyy.......he's cute, too.

Less than one week until I start classes. At that point, I will find out what my internship entails, and I will reevaluate my job availability status, after which I will pound the pavement. Can't wait. Eff the dub.

Dove Promises are the DEVIL!

The devil, I tell you!

I bought some to put in candy bowls for our Christmas get-together which got cancelled because we got snowed in in the M.C., and since Mark isn't into them, I'm left to do battle with them on my own. Ugh. Hello, cellulite!

SO, here's Over's feedback on the previous post:

"lol..you make me sound like such the picky asshole! :)

"see, the intrinsic problem with renaming under to over is that overusage of the name. you'll say over21 jeff, and some people will think you mean me, and some will think you mean under. and no matter how much you try to make them update their mindset, it will never truly be solved that way.

"my proposal? wait til i'm 30, and then change the names. then we can still be over and under, with ages, except then it'll be over30jeff and under30geoff. no confusion, and accurate readings.

"but you're the creative one. all i ask is that i dont have the word Fart in my title."

So e-mail me and let me know what you think.

Remind me to tell you one of the most foot-in-mouth stories ever later on...

I thought I was the coolest person in the world...

But apparently, I'm not. I thought this because I'm listening to Duran Duran's greatest hits album in my car this week, and there ain't nuthin' cooler than that. But then, Caroline was singing "Notorious" last night, and I decided to show how I'm the coolest person in the world, and apparently, that crackwhore is listening to it in her car, too. So I have to share the title. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Left off my lists:
Songs I shouldn't love but do:
Black Eyed Peas, "Let's Get it Started/Retarded"
Gwen Stefani
OutKast, "Hey Ya."

Stuff I unabashedly love:
Duran Duran

I need to take a poll. See, I have this friend, and his name is Over-21 Jeff. He was named this at a legendary party where he was the only person of legal purchasing age, and my brother was around, and to distinguish between which Geoff/Jeff was out, we called them "Over-21 Jeff" and "Under-21 Geoff." Yes, they spell their names differently, but they're pronounced the same, so you DO need the distunguishing titles.

Well, today, Under has moved up to Over. Yes, today is Geoff's 21st birthday. So we have two Over-21 Geoffs/Jeffs. That can't work. It's been like 6 years. It'll be hard to stop thinking of him as "Under."

But we need to rename them. The obvious choice is to make them "Over-21 Geoff" and "Almost -30 Jeff." But Over doesn't like those implications. So, for this year, They could be "Over-21 Jeff and "21 Geoff," but that is lame. Then I tried "Old Fart Jeff" and Young Fart Geoff," but Over didn't like that either. So I suggested, "Old Fart Geoff" and "Older Fart Jeff." Over really hated that.

I suppose we could just stick to calling them Over and Under, with no ages listed, but I think new names every few years is funnier.