Posts Tagged ‘spill’

I did a writeup over at Noteworthy, but wanted to highlight one particular photo from today’s parade that just killed me:

Somehow the blue tarp train just perfectly summed it up (and he was workin’ it, btw). Just as we’re past the last disaster, here we are again.

And yet, still together as a city, and still making the best of it. Still dancing, costuming, second lining. There are worse ways to cope, even as I’m sure it’ll be misinterpreted by some outside the city.

But so what? Screw that. If we give up our ability to laugh in the face of corruption, decay and governmental apathy, we’d all just have to go jump in the oil with the pelicans and have it done with. And honey, we ain’t nowhere near that yet- Satchmo Summerfest’s around the corner, and there’s always one more great event coming up after the last great thing to convince you that, screwed up or not, there ain’t no place like home, baby.

So when I heard that you could drop off hair, fur and nylon at (of all places) the Ritz Carlton, I was a little confused. It’s to help absorb the spilled oil in the Gulf, and while anything that helps is worthwhile, I couldn’t imagine how stuffing used pantyhose with cut up hair was going to help.

Here’s how, and it’s all pretty amazing:

Crossposted to NoteworthyInNola

You know, it should have been a phenomenal weekend. Jazzfest. Visitors. Nagin went on the radio to tell us- to “kiss my chocolate buttocks” as he locks the door behind him. Words fail. And yet, all things being equal, it’s just so very HIM. Despite being childish and petty (as per usual) it’s kind of funny, because it reminds us of why we’re so thrilled to have a new Mayor sworn in on Monday!

But no. Everyone is walking around shell shocked in a way that’s reminiscent of Katrina. It’s the same feeling of quasi-helplessness in the face of a manmade screwup. The same wondering how bad the butcher’s bill is going to be when it comes due.

And the same thinking about the lovely things being damaged…possibly irreparably, and the memories you’d made there.

Here’s one of mine.

Ali was only 10 when we took this trip to Grand Isle, which is at the very tip of Louisiana hanging out into the tainted Gulf of Mexico. It was a trip of firsts- her first kite, her first fishing pole, and of course, her first (and to my knowledge only) fish.

The city smelled of oil night before last; now the wind’s blowing in the opposite direction and we’re not being hit with it in town…but of course Grand Isle is a lot closer to the problem and I can’t help but wonder what they’re smelling tonight.

If you’re anywhere in the area and can get involved, CNN has a list of organizations looking for volunteers here.