Posts Tagged ‘katrina’

For better or worse (the worse being how fast it happened), weeks/years/aeons of preparation came together Friday night, and Alison graduated, looking just radiant and terribly, terribly grown up.

:::sigh:::

I didn’t cry, not really- got a little misty, but nothing too bad. The one thing that would have really, truly killed me was kept to a bare minimum, and the elephant in the room was hardly mentioned at all, which, IMHO, was a huge mistake.

See, Ali belongs to the “Katrina Class-” the ones with the unique distinction of having just started freshman year when the storm hit and ripped things apart. She’d had exactly one week of school before the hurricane, spent at a Texas dude ranch/retreat, of all things.

It was McGehee’s annual getaway for incoming girls to go off and discuss what’s in store for them as highschoolers, generally bond and start figuring out what kind of young women they want to become.

For Alison, this was especially huge. She’d chafed under the thumb of a rigid group of friends, ending her 8th grade year a very unhappy girl and deciding to make big changes.

The retreat was a perfect launching pad and she made the most of it. Upon her return that Friday evening Ali bounced off the bus, laughing and hugging new friends. She was happier than I’d seen her in a long time, excited and looking forward to new adventures.

Well, maybe not starting on Monday, though. “We’ll probably get it off!” girls squealed like Yankee kids at the idea of a snowstorm.

36 hours later we were in a car, fleeing ahead of the massive storm, desperately searching over 500 miles of highway for a hotel room. School wouldn’t open for another 8 weeks and much of the class wouldn’t come back at all, having lost everything. The ones who did come back were never the same.

Oh sure, the returnees were brave. Their youthful resiliency was inspiring, and by helping the city, the girls helped themselves as everyone around them clawed their way back to sanity a bit at a time.

But none of them were the same as they were, and who knows who these girls would have turned out to be without the hurricane. They’d have been more innocent, surely. Still able to believe that things will turn out alright simply because they ought to. But maybe not so tough, or so aware that a single person can make a huge difference in the world.

But, no, these weren’t the things that were addressed at the graduation. There were brief speeches about far less consequential things, assurances that they were good kids, bright girls, with fantastic futures ahead of them. Lots about the history and tradition of the school itself. Some good-natured roasting of habits, and even a little narcissism from the valedictorian. Tosh, the majority of it, generic things that could be said of most graduates, in most places. Therefore: few tears.

They deserved better- they took lemons and made lemonade, managing to make it sweeter than anyone could’ve imagined. They’re amazing, these Katrina kids, and they’ve provided their elders with an excellent example, and credit should have been given.

Again, just IMHO. If you could toss that elephant out of the room? It was a gorgeous night, filled with gorgoeous young ladies who are gonna go out and kick the world right in the ass.

After all, they’ve already done it once, as powerless 13 year olds- just think what they’re gonna accomplish as adults.

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The marching club has a ‘practice parade’ a week before the real deal. The only thing they really practice is drinking, staggering through every Irish bar in the city over the course of the day.

As Charlie puts it, “Where else are hundreds of drunks going to get to stop traffic throughout the city- with a police escort?!”

Bemused tourists stop and gape. A few beads are carted along to give away, but mostly it’s just about hanging out as a guy-time. Charlie had to work and so he missed the kickoff, but I dropped him off around lunchtime.

It was my intention to catch up to them and see how everyone was holding up, but it was kind of a nasty day and I had to get back to the office, so I headed back to the car, and I’m glad I did, because I got to see this most interesting form of protest:

They’re an organization called Katrina Rita Express taking this trailer around the country to show people what people have been living in for two years now and explain what kind of ‘help’ the government has provided most people.

Very admirable, and I think the more people who know and actually see them the better. My only issue is that their idea of a fix isn’t entirely clear.

On one hand “Eviction is not the answer.” *

But on the other hand they’re (absolutely justifiably) upset that the trailers are poison.

I’m sure they have ideas of what the solution might be, but I sort of looked at it and it was one of those things that make you go “hmmmm.”

Pics of the other sides of the trailer after the jump. If you’d like to see pics from St. Pat’s after all this practice, they’re here.

*(most parishes are starting to pass laws that the trailers need to be hauled away)

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So, you know, uh…there’s this behemoth Walmart lurking at the back of my neighborhood. I know I shouldn’t visit it. I know. Really, I do.

I was against it going in in the first place. But, now that it’s there…you know how it goes…it’s just so damned convenient. And so, I end up there periodically for this or that.

How is it that all staples run out together- milk, bread, butter, tp- got none of ‘em. So a quick run in- since it’s right there anyway- and pick ‘em up.

I’m standing in the express lane, just picking up my bag to go when the door’s security monitor goes ‘ding!’ I don’t think anyone pays much mind, since they’re always going off- only this time a guy takes off, running. The octogenarian at the door pushes a button on her walkie talkie and all hell breaks loose.

I stood just outside the door, along with a good 30 or more people who’d been going in or out, watching at least 18 employees come SPRINTING out after this guy, who was lopping toward River Gardens. The guy wasn’t even trying hard- he knew there was no way they were going to catch up to him.

The middle aged woman next to me shrugged and said, “They better quit chasin’ that boy. He pulls out a piece and somebody in that pack’s gonna get hit.” She shook her head slowly. “Pure foolishness,” and off she went to do her shopping.

Now, I understand- if your store was completely looted and trashed in Katrina, theft could get to be a pet peeve. But this was one guy, tall and thin, with no basket, no cart, and his arms were free and pumping as he ran. What could he possibly have shoved in a pocket that was worth all this?

So, I called Jazz and told her if she wanted to hold up the Walmart, now was the time. Some guy had stolen a CD or something and now the Palace of Mammon was unguarded.