You would probably soil yourself if I told you about all the shite that's been going on here. Well, Sparky did when he found out, so I don't think I'm going too far with the generalization. Needless to say, I find myself in the process of hiring a new assistant. Don't worry; the ordeal has been well documented, so maybe someday when the Gods grant me a permanent ongoing paycheck I can fill you in.
Until then you'll have to settle for news of our trip to Mardi Gras and our move to the new house. New Orleans is still a city destined to bring out the best of everyone's worst habits. Mardi Gras itself was a little different than usual. The parades were shorter this year, and they packed the remaining Krewes into fewer days, so while it seemed like a parade day was just as long as ever, it was not. We stayed with friends right off St. Charles. The Garden District looks like all of the trees had some serious pruning done, but outside of that things look the same. We didn't venture into the 9th ward, but we did see some of the destroyed areas. Driving along seeing a four or five foot high watermark on all of the buildings is a little unsettling to say the least.
The most commonly noted difference this year was the absence of black people. The mass of stupid white people seemed the same size as usual. The French Quarter didn't seem to have any damage, but my favorite pub in all the world has still shut down. I guess it all depends on where the owners/employees lived. A lot of people are bitching about the lack of housing available, and how we should fill the St. Charles street Island with FEMA trailers to fix the problem. I could side with the residents of the Garden District who say that tourists don't come to New Orleans to see trailers on St. Charles, but there's a much bigger elephant in the room.
There are no fucking jobs in New Orleans right now. Set one foot outside of the Quarter or the Garden District and you'll find that everything's closed. The minimarts and fast food restaurants, the hardware stores, grocery stores, and department stores. The street cars are not up and running. The few taxis that are working, won't touch you unless you're going as far as the airport. Half of the people that are there probably don't even need a job to pay the bills, and the other half are out of town contractors still looking at maps trying to figure out why all the blocks are triangular. It's a complete mess.
The local conspiracy theories are also bordering on obnoxious. We had a nut case cab driver who wants to believe the government blew up the levy because god hates fags and everyone else in favor of gay marriage. No, I couldn't follow his logic either. If there was any possibility that the levy was intentionally blown (this time) there would be a hoarde of lawyers and demolitions experts scrutinizing the footage of the levy break. Sorry pal, it didn't happen, and if it did the fags didn't do it.
In lighter news, we moved into the new house this weekend (finally). Everything is painted, the new carpet, and kitchen floor is done, and the new washer/dryer and bedroom set has arrived. I guess I should point out that while we're living there, we actually haven't moved everything yet. It's going to take another couple weeks to sort out that hellish job.
If you've ever moved with a couple cats you might know how stressfull that can be on your pets. We have two black cats, which tends to freak most people out from the getgo. Add to that the fact that one of them has mental health issues and suddenly the spawn of satan is clearly present. Elvis has anxiety problems. Even before he and his (human) mama moved from New Orleans he used to growl and hiss and chase his tail on a regular basis. To outsiders this can be a seen as evidence of demonic possession. The vet usually perscribes phenobarbital and wishes us luck. Elvis has decided that he will force us to move back to the apt by hissing, growling, and chasing his tail on our bed not just all fucking night, but every fucking night. I tried to explain to him the economic benefits of home ownership, and how this equates to more cheese in a can for him, but admittedly I had trouble converting all of the numbers to base eight.
I feel like we've got a new born in the room. He starts his blood curdling caterwauling, and the wife and I pretend to still be asleep; each hoping the other will get up and feed the baby. Unfortunately, he responds to me a little better than to his mamma. Last night I picked him up and held him on my pillow. He looked me right in the eye, and continued to growl while I rubbed his head. His eyes soon rolled back into his head, typically a sign of a satisfying head rub, but the growl didn’t dissipate. Finally, his mamma opened the drawer of her night stand for a tissue, and the sudden ‘new’ noise catapulted the animal out of my arms and onto the dresser. My son is the biggest damn ‘fraidy cat in the world.
He simply loves fresh running water. He’ll go days without drinking from the bowl, just waiting for us to cave in and let him drink from the sink. He’ll drink the water off my legs after I get out of the shower; he’s so weird. So we bought him one of those fountain water dish things for small pets. We figured he’d think he was a pig in shit with his own faucet running 24/7. Unfortunately for us, the stupid pump in the fountain makes this nearly inaudible noise that scares the hell out of him. He still won’t go near it.
Unfortunately for Elvis, I spent $40 on that thing, which means he will drink from the fountain or he will wither and die.
No wonder he chases his tail.
