I do like the chipper zydeco music they play at the airport. It always makes me feel as if I am on my way to the bayou, where people with accents I can't understand will feed me shrimp as we watch out for gators.

It also makes me want king cake. That association is harder to figure out, but I get here and have a craving that can not be filled for months. Maybe it's because when I come back after New Year's, every year, Mardi Gras season has begun, and the airport is the first place I see it.

I'm sleepy and the airport food places aren't open yet and I forgot my coat after being very concerned with not doing that. Also some other stuff. But I have a sweater and can nap on the plane and soon I will be at zia_narratora's barnhouse. So things are good.

I've basically done nothing this week but eat ice cream and read urban-fantasy chick lit. I estimate that at this time, I am 67% made of Ben & Jerry's, and my brain is 84% vampire romance. Now I've run out of Charline Harris and Kelly Armstrong and Kim Harrison and Rachel Caine and how can I have so many books and have nothing to read? Someone seriously needs to stop me before I go buy the complete Laurel K. Hamilton collection.

Today I went to get my hair cut and accidentally found a po-boy festival. There was music - including Rebirth, my favorite local jazz band (and believe me, the competition for that title is fierce.) There were happy, happy people, because the Saints are now 10-0 and that means large portions of town would be turned into an outdoor party even without the excuse of a handy festival. There were drinks, and gumbo, and about a hundred different kinds of po-boys. If you think I'm exaggerating, check the menu on their site. This was quite possibly the world's largest concentration of po-boys in a three-block area.

Then on the streetcar home I had an interesting conversation with a very drunk Twilight fan. Actually, 'conversation' may not be right, she was mostly monologing. "Have you seen New Moon? I've seen New Moon. You saw the Twilight movie, right? You know how it was bad? Oh, don't even say no. Don't even look at me like you don't agree. You're looking at me like you don't agree. It was bad! But I liked New Moon. Even though the book was boring. I'm Team Edward. I wanted to take the chapters with Jacob and cut them out of my book. Cut them out of my book with a razor." *pause, as a family with toddlers gets onto the streetcar.* "Kids. Ha. Bet those kids haven't even read Twilight. Bet they haven't read New Moon. Bet they don't even know about vampires. I'm team Edward."

Po-boy parties and meeting new drunk friends on the streetcar. This is why I live here.

The difference between being in New Orleans and being anywhere else, is that in the rest of the world, they still believe that Katrina was a natural disaster. They talk about a hurricane, while people here talk about the federal levee failure. You can't blame them, I suppose. It's a better story. A simpler one. One that lets them feel bad about the tragedy, and reach out to help - because people do care, and they do help, and that matters - but if it's a natural disaster, an act of God, they don't have to wonder why this was allowed to happen.

It's easier if we pretend it couldn't happen anywhere else. The problem was hurricanes or elevation, even though 43% of all US counties have area protected by a federal levee. Washington DC. Sacramento. Omaha. Baltimore. Los Angeles. The thing about engineering, the brilliant and the scary thing, is that you can't bullshit it. Things either work as designed or they don't. In New Orleans, the levees failed in 53 separate places. The outlet that was supposed to increase shipping commerce collapsed the wetlands and created a perfect channel for storm surge. The system did not work as designed, as advertised, or as paid for.

And now - now, four and a half years later - someone's agreed. "It has been proven in a court of law that the drowning of New Orleans was not a natural disaster, but a preventable man-made travesty,"the attorneys said in a statement. "The government has always had a moral obligation to rebuild New Orleans. This decision makes that obligation a matter of legal responsibility."

The surprise, here, is that anyone is admitting it. "Hold the Corps Accountable!" signs, everywhere a few years ago, have died out. Levees.org has all but stopped protesting. Nobody talks about demanding the 8/29 investigation anymore. We use the 'Katrina shorthand' when talking to people who don't want to know details, because people tune out when they think you're talking about a political cause.

There's only so long you can go on shouting the truth when no one's listening.

The court ruling doesn't change much of this. It doesn't change the past four years. It doesn't take away the Corps immunity for levee failures, just specifies that the immunity doesn't extend to their commercial projects. The money may help - money rarely hurts - but this far on, everyone here has learned that these sorts of things can't be counted on.

What can still change is the story - from something simple and easily absorbed from the evening news into something complicated and messy and real.

I am doing all right. On my way back to New Orleans early in the morning. Hopefully then I can get some sleep. I really appreciate everyone who's commented with support and e-hugs in the last few days. I am lucky to have you all on my friendslist.

This is Grandma and Grandpa - they must have been taken sometime in the 1920's.



Aren't they both gorgeous? I mean, I know I am not unbiased, but I still feel these are exceptionally pretty people.

I'm in new york, waiting until I can take my train to connecticut. Grandma died before I left new orleans, though I didn't know until I landed. I wish I'd been there. But it probabaly wouldn't have made me feel better seeing her like that, and she hadn't been lucid since Tuesday, when she'd stopped eating.

She'd stopped eating before. She's been saying she doesn't know why she's still alive for years. And she's always depressed in november - this week is both grandpa's birthday and the anniversery of his death. It just sounds like she made up her mind to die, and deteriorated too fast for anyone to talk her out of it.

They gave her oxygen and morphine and she hadn't woken up for almost two days, so I suppose it's about as close to a peaceful death as I could have wished for.

zia_narratora asked me: You talk a lot about zombies, but in reality, what fictional construct would you least like to face were it to actually exist? "And why" implied.

While acknowledging that they could all kill me, I really can't think of a creature/monster/horror thing that I find especially bad. See, the thing is, when you have an enemy, you have a plan. This plan can involve basic self preservation like "Don't wander off into the basement alone when your companions have been disappearing one by one," or it can involve complicated things like having to defeat the evil corporation that has zombified your town and blocked the escape routes, but in any case, survival is based on what you do. I can't make myself be scared of any situation like that, because when I think about it I go into hyper-detailed planning mode and that keeps me too busy. (Yes. I take my imaginary situations seriously.)

This is why I find the idea behind the Final Destination movies so terrifying even though the movies kind of suck. Because if you're supposed to die, there's absolutely nothing you can do to make yourself safe. And any story that involves massive death due to diseases is going to give me nightmares (I read the Stand fifteen years ago and it still scares me.)

Anyone want a question? Ask here!

I went to take a nap yesterday afternoon and woke up when my alarm went off 17 hours later. I hate it when that happens. Now I'm going to feel all out of sorts until I catch up on meals.

I think we should be able to vote Maine out of New England. We can replace them with Iowa. Yes, Maine, that's how far you've fallen - we'd rather have IOWA. If you keep this up, we can also revoke your right to call yourselves Yankees. Don't make us go there.

Had yummy food.
Dressed up as pirates.
Had ice cream.
Saw The Vampire's Assistant, which was filmed partly on my street.
Had yummy food.
Went to a vampire ball dressed as French Revolutionary vampires.
Saw Charline Harris.
Had yummy food.
Took pictures at an abandoned church.
Had very interesting drinks.
Dressed as VFD people.
Had yummy food.
Explored a graveyard. Said hello to Marie Laveau's grave.
Had gelato.
Dressed as Browncoats.
Had yummy food.

It takes a lot of work to fit that much awesome into one weekend.

I am going to a vampire ball with zia_narratora!




Most ridiculous vampire ever, yes?

I went grocery shopping today, because, well, I like food. While I was wandering around the store I saw a couple beers that looked pretty, and so I added them to my cart, because, well, I like pretty bottles.

Except when I went to check out, the cashier wouldn't take my id. She said I needed a drivers license. Now, granted, my id isn't a drivers license. Because I don't drive. It's a DMV issued official state non-driver id. It is the exact same thing as a drivers license except for the part where they let me get behind the wheel of a vehicle. Do they honestly think I should learn to drive so I can buy my %^&^*^# beer? Are they going to lend me their cars to practice?

I realize that this is not the end of the world. And if I really needed alcohol that badly, the package stores downtown wouldn't care if my id was made from construction paper and magic marker. But still. It's the principle of the thing. My id is valid too, damnit!

I used to have to walk to school. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow. With reasonably sturdy winter boots.

Granted, the entire trip wasn't uphill. That'd have been easy. No, there were three hills between me and class each morning. And it wasn't snowing all the time. But in New England, winter lasts longer then it does on the calender. And when the roads iced, those hills might as well have been Everest.

My one consolation as I waded through snowdrifts was that since I wasn't enjoying myself, this was probably good for me. Other places have worse weather, but I think only we New Englanders have convinced ourselves that we're gaining virtue points every time we have to dig ourselves out the front door. Our Puritan ancestors did not shirk from the elements and neither shall we. Even though our fingers are cold, and the icy hills leave us at the mercy of gravity, and gravity's a bitch.

This stoic determination would last me until somewhere on the second hill, where I remember that I don't actually have any Puritan ancestors. My ancestors are from Sicily. I've never been there, so I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, but I am almost totally positive none of them ever had to deal with ice storms. Living near an active volcano may have occasionally led to them going places uphill both ways through lava - but I bet they didn't have to worry about frostbite.

But my great-grandparents had to give up mild winters, just to see their kids grow up to be college professors and airline pilots instead of poor farmers. So seventy five years later you have me, taking comfort in the fact that if the third hill finally does me in this time, at least it will be a fate never before seen in my family history.

This was years ago, of course. I don't walk uphill now. At all. The one hill in the city is man-made, so children can visit and experience the dizzying phenomenon of being above sea level. It's 'snowed' once - a brief, gentle dusting that shut the city down.

I try and explain to the natives how it's different where I come from. I tell them how I used to have to walk to school. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow. And I liked it.

I don't think they believe me.

I don't really believe in empty gestures. They're supposed to be things we do that don't actually matter. They're meaningless actions. Only that concept - that any action can ever be meaningless - it's a myth. We couldn't not matter if we tried.

The problem is, we think things all have to be one way or another. We try to balance out our daily selfishness with grand gestures of kindness. We think our virtuous lifestyles mean it doesn't matter if we slip up, now and then. One good act doesn't make up for a hundred bad ones - they don't even cancel each other out on a one to one basis.

Well-meaning platitudes don't solve anyone's problems, but they're still well-meaning. Sometimes that's enough. Most often, it's not - but who says it has to be? Everything we do has consequences. All we can do is what we can, and if we're lucky, at the end of the day it'll add up to more good then bad.

I'm on a train! Everybody look at me, cuz I'm posting to lj with my cell phone on a train!

Yesterday, I decided I should go somewhere. Because I have a laptop and a four day weekend, that's why. Also because my grandmother thinks I need to get out more, and I believe it only counts as getting out if I leave the state.

So anyway, Houston emerged as the cheapest place to get to. ( Last minute travel tip #1, Be Flexible.) and I found a 13 dollar a night hostel. (Last minute travel tip #2, Have Low Standards.)

I have no idea what I'm going to do in Houston, but I'll figure that out once I get there. Today I am mostly on the train.

This is the same train I took to San Antonio, three years ago. Someday I want to take it to the end, in LA. For now, we are about to cross the Mississippi. Of course, living fifteen minutes from the river means I can do that whenever I like - but I still enjoy the view.

Interracial Couple Refused Marrage Licence by Louisiana Judge.

Louisiaia: Making the rest of the country go "WTF?" since 1804.

I think this picture best sums up my Yukon experience. Because, well, first, I'm wearing a bear. Second, I look very befuddled at this situation. And third, I'm wearing a bear.

Also, (and notice how casually I slip this in, voting is up for the first week of lj idol. I am too overwhelmed with the meeting new people to list my favorites. I like people! I like entries! Vote for me and I will post more Yukon photos! Vote for me more and I will not include the ones where I am up to my elbows in moose guts!

Since several people have mentioned they wanted to hear it. . .

I was about 7 years old, and my grandfather took me to the fireman's carnival near where he lived. The ride was some sort of whirly thing - like a knock off version of the spinning teacups at disney land. Barely went up and down. Fairly sedate.

Until it started to come apart. My details are sketchy because, well, I was seven, so I don't exactly know what caused this, but one of the metal beams in the ride's structure slipped. I remember it as three very distinct events, though the whole thing couldn't have taken more then a second or two. The ride stopped very suddenly. The metal came down. Then the glass fell. I suppose what must have happened is that one of the metal poles hit another pole which hit and broke the glass, but the impression I got at the time was that the glass just hung in midair for a bit after the supports broke.

Nobody was seriously hurt, and I didn't realize until years later how lucky that was. It probably helped that there were only four or five of us on the ride. At least two others went to the hospital - they gave them the on-site ambulance and let my grandfather drive me, since I was feeling clingy and separating me from him would have resulted in hysteria. I had one broken and one badly bruised finger from when my hand had gotten pinned by a falling something - which even at the time didn't rate as a big deal as far as personal injuries went.

What I didn't realize until the next day was that I also looked like I'd survived a close-range car bomb - the shower of falling glass had left me covered in scratches, too sharp to really hurt. My mother's freakout when my grandfather dropped me off was suitably epic.

So, that's it. I didn't even get free cotton candy out of the deal. I still love carnival rides.

I'm Jess.

That's usually how I start introductions, since it's something I can be pretty sure of. The name on my birth certificate isn't the one that's on my school records and legal ID - different first, middle, and last. I've had occasional moments of panic over the fact that the only thing supporting my identity as I know it is a copy-of-a-copy of a birth certificate that was never officially filed and thus has no legal value. But the Jess part is certain.

Facts I like to trot out at introduction times: I once had a carnival ride collapse on me. I know how to butcher a moose. I have detailed plans for how I will survive the zombie uprising. I've rowed two marathons. I've been a professional construction volunteer and archaeologist and barista and text-messenger. Now I'm a student. I'm not exactly great at doing things in order.

I spend most of my free time reading or eating. Somewhere under those priorities come drawing, playing World of Warcraft, and refreshing my lj friendslist. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I crochet hats with Mardi Gras beads. Sometimes I talk a lot about New Orleans, because after four years this city still amazes me, and I like to share.

I have like four people on my friendslist doing LJ Idol and I cannot stand to be left out of anything. Also I feel like I should post more. So I am participating. Yay me! the sign-up thing is here.

In other news, this week I have gotten two mailings from Senator Vitter saying how awesome he is and how he is looking out for the little people of america. As long as the little people don't want health care or think rape is actually a crime. These pamphlets are so rage-inducing that I feel just throwing them out doesn't adequately convey my level of Do Not Want.

I am ready for it to be not-hot now. Not cold, of course, but not hot.

The thing about the heat/humidity combination here is that it's perfectly comfortable as long as you do not in any way exert yourself. Sitting around with an ice coffee? Fine. Moseying down the street with an ice coffee? Also fine. (Yes. The ice coffee part is mandatory.) Walking around in my normal, 'I'm from the northeast and have somewhere to be' way? No. Not fine. Unless I'm ok with sweat dripping off my hair, and let's admit that's kind of gross.