Had To Cry Today
I spoke with Robert this morning.
Bourbon Street's dry and will likely remain dry. The waters did not make it far into the quarter and, in a demonstration worthy of middle-school physics, found it's own level, and appears not to be spreading.
The French Quarter is full of gay people who had no where else to go. Life, or some perverse and twisted form of it, continues to go on in New Orleans. Friends are calling each other to offer canned goods from their larders. Stores appear to be open, and thriving. Don, Robert's partner, was able to buy a case of bottled water last night at regular prices. Restaurants have been giving away their stock of perishables to locals.
Our president allowed Air Force One to dip to 1600 feet to get a closer look at the devastation. Amazingly enough he feels this disaster can be tackled with the few National Guards remaining in this country, and no new taxes. Gas prices? Well, tough...suckers! His corporate cronies are really reaping the profits now. Think Halliburton will get the contract to rebuild the levees?
I've had enough of the network coverage of the tragedy. Enough with the same horrifying footage looped ad nauseum to Grieg's Elegy. I'm calling a personal moratorium on earnest anchormen decrying the grim news over and over.
I'm reminded of September 12, 2001.
After watching news coverage all night of the tragedy that was taking place outside my bedroom window, I woke up to see my pal Mark's mom on TV and learned that he was on Flight #93. I shut the TV off, got dressed and went to work in an otherwise empty office. Yes, I know it's denial. But that's how I got through.
And that's how my dear friends down on Bourbon Street are getting through as well. They're just putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually, you discover you're walking again.