A Story from a Humid New Orleans

On the plane my computer stopped working when it got friendly with a cup of water. My phone died because I didn't plug it in, then somewhere along the way I lost the charger anyway. I arrived to a dark and locked apartment and a land lord that didn't answer her phone for most of the evening. The cab driver conflicted by his southern hospitality and the need to make money that night, waited with me on a dark porch in a neighborhood I've never seen for as long as he could but insisted I would be just fine right where I was. Of course I could always just scream real loud if something bad happened.

Two days lost to travel and a sudden halt to anything but the hot and humid city I saw in front of me, I inhaled New Orleans. The landlord finally arrived after I had the luxury of a glass of wine with a new friend I met in while in peril. The laptop eventually survived the trauma. And I connected with the people from the Gulf Restoration Network. But one question continues to stump me: what am I doing in New Orleans?

Being forced to sit and watch the people walk down Esplanade instead of write a report that is due in two days or that script due tomorrow or even contact the people I'm ultimately here to meet was surprisingly wonderful. That first morning wasn't so humid that I couldn't enjoy the view of exceedingly beautiful homes and pleasant 'good mornings' from strangers while drinking my coffee. Even the quiet breeze and the gentle warm overcast sun made my unexpected solitude seem as though I had planned this disconnection all along.

My morning experience reminded of a Dave Eggers statement in Zeitoun. People in New Orleans never had a lot of money, but they've always had a lot of time. So they visit and in this visiting grew community. I got to know the people sitting near my table well. The night before, however, while I was stuck outside my new apartment, slow growing anxiety began to compound as I might have just been swindled out of $300, stuck in the city with no place to live and an already used one way plane ticket. I eventually ended up drinking wine with my two new friends. Deep in conversation, I realized even if I had been conned, it still wasn't the worst thing I've incountered while on travel.

Both of my new friends lived in new Orleans for years before Katrina. I have begun to understand that the storm comes up in odd moments not unlike the source of a great heart brake. As I laughing shared all the things that had gone wrong that week even before getting on the plane, my friend smiled and said 'yeah, reminds me of trying to get out of the city during Katrina. It took me 13 hours to get to Lafayette. Usually only a 2 hour journey.'

The question of what am I doing here always lingers while I travel. Perhaps a powerless search for purpose or maybe an unquenchable curiosity. Probably a little bit of both. Sharon grew up in New Orleans, lived for short periods outside the city just twice. College and Katrina.

After Katrina she bounced from friend's guest room to friend's guest room all over the country. When asked if she would ever live somewhere else she said no. No hesitation but a small acknowledgment that she would travel to other cities, just not live in another. This is her home. Part of my unquenchable curiosity and powerless search for purpose comes from not, even just once, having that same thought. I've reached a point where people ask 'how long are you going to stay there?' Maybe to get a sense of how long they have to visit or how far along I am in planning my next quest. I don't have one home, but it sounded nice when she said it.

The American flag waves on many front porches as I bike the city. Mostly the same flag, which looks like it was dipped in black and gold for the Saints. A team that resided in Texas post Katrina, whose owner dropped the New Orleans part on merchandise that same year, and lost 13 out of 16 games in the 2005-2006 season but walked into their first game to a standing ovation from the crowd and the opposing team. Banks closed and schools go out early last week when the Saints played and won their first home game since last season's Superbowl. Every bar has a Saints schedule and a plea to watch the game, all the games, there.

Last night I met a man who identified himself as 'the man', as in he is an engineer for the Army Corps of Engineers. I responded with who I was, not the man. He spoke to me about the levees, Amsterdam, the flow of Mississippi River sediment, the need to filter out pesticides upstream, and his quest to build a water softener for his home. He is a lifelong New Orleanian though lived briefly near Golden Gate Park in San Francisco about 15 years ago. We bantered over the art scene in Oakland, tequila drinking and the murder that had taken place in the spot where I was sitting at Pal's Lounge a couple years ago. But mostly we talked about Katrina.

Old Fashion Family Values and Dirty Hippies Stop Mountain Blasts in West Virginia . . . For A Little Bit

Good Morning!

I thought I'd start the day with a little prayer, please join me:

SAINTS PRAYER

Our Breesus, who art in 'Nawlins, hollowed be thy name.
Thy Superbowl has come, it will be won, in Miami as it was in the Dome.
Give us this SuperBowl Sunday, our weekly win and give us touchdown passes;
But do not let others pass against us.
Lead us not into frustration, but deliver us the Super Bowl.
For thine is the MVP, the best of the NFC, and the glory of the Fleur De Lis,
Now and forever...Amen


The Pledge of Allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the Saints,
And to the Great City of New Orleans;
And to the Super Bowl,
For which we will win;
One city below sea level, under God,
With Mardi Gras and alcohol for all!!
Who Dat!!

Amen ya'll!


Coal River Valley is an area in West Virginia that has been all over the news recently, even noted in President Obama's 'stop your fucking whining and pissing all over your own success and constituents so we can solve some of these fucking problems that are causing our entire nation to suffer so greatly you stupid bitches' speech to the Republicans on Friday. Many community members, environmentalists, and children's health advocates across the country are trying to stop mountaintop removal in this area.

It started as a fight to preserve the health and sustainability of the area led by concerned and brave community members, but has turned into a fight of dirty antiquated energy and corporate power vs a healthier and more promising future for all of us. I'm in the process of writing a longer post on Coal River Mountain, but I wanted to share with you one thing that happened lately.

A bunch of dirty hippies climbed up some trees and stopped the blasting of Coal River Mountain . . at least for a few days. Warning: It is very possible that you will be quite offended by these hippies on a personal level, but ending mountaintop removal benefits each one us and we should be thankful that these kids are putting themselves on the line to move us that much closer to the end of this disgusting and out of date practice.

There was this great article in the Washington Post the other day about EPA's current struggle of not pissing off the coal companies too badly and protecting the people and environment in the area. Some good lines in the articles are:

"Environmentalists are unhappy because they fear federal officials are losing their nerve to take on the powerful coal industry. The coal industry is unhappy because it thinks the administration is on the brink of giving in to the green crowd."

"People have chained themselves to mine equipment and shouted one another down. One scooted past state troopers to slap an environmentalist. The EPA finds itself in the middle of the most bitter in-your-face environmental fight in America today, facing an early test of its resolve and political skills. The agency appears certain to bear much of the weight of carrying out Obama's historic environmental agenda. "

"The latest sign of that fear came last Thursday, in an auditorium at the University of Charleston. A debate between a coal-company chief executive and environmentalist Robert F. Kennedy Jr., which attracted more than 1,000 people split between the two sides, had security reminiscent of a presidential visit or a prison rodeo.

Eight police officers were in the room, and two more with metal detectors guarded the door outside. No purses allowed. No backpacks. No weapons. Just to talk. "

"Mountaintop mining, also called "mountaintop removal," is an exclusively Appalachian practice, dating to the 1970s but having gained momentum in the past 20 years. To get at coal seams that are too thin or too close to the surface to reach by tunneling, miners use explosives and huge machinery to remove the peak above the coal."

A couple months ago, I talked to you about Marsh Fork Elementary School. It is located just a few hundred feet from a coal ash silo and if this large silo were to burst all 150 children and staff would have under 30 seconds to run to safety. The local board of education decided that after the many year fight from parents and environmentalists and children's health advocates that it would finally ask for money to build a new school. Massey Energy, the coal company that owns the silo, even said that it might help the community find a new, safer spot. And even a very conservative Senator, who always sides with the coal companies pleaded with Massey Energy to stop putting children in harms way.

As the Washington Post article says, West Virginia has become the frontline battleground for a new American way of life. One that believes we must have clean and safe energy to prosper while also holding high the safety and health of our fellow country men, women and children. The area is seeing violence and intimidation against those standing up for the ending of mountaintop removal, eerily similar to the deep south during the battle to end segregation. Unfortunately, it is a fight that it seems we must have in order to move forward in solving climate change and securing our own economy.

All the activists are in jail and are in need of support. Please help if you can.

Ciao,
Renee Claire