It appears TIME Magazine thinks that as long as the environment is okay, fuck the PEOPLE…

“The obnoxious anti-environmentalist Rush Limbaugh has been a rare voice arguing that the spill — he calls it “the leak” — is anything less than an ecological calamity, scoffing at the avalanche of end-is-nigh eco-hype.

Well, Limbaugh has a point. The Deepwater Horizon explosion was an awful tragedy for the 11 workers who died on the rig, and it’s no leak; it’s the biggest oil spill in U.S. history. It’s also inflicting serious economic and psychological damage on coastal communities that depend on tourism, fishing and drilling. But so far — while it’s important to acknowledge that the long-term potential danger is simply unknowable for an underwater event that took place just three months ago — it does not seem to be inflicting severe environmental damage.”

Oh, so we’re all good then? What. the. HELL?

The problem is we’re screwed either way. Again. If we push that the environmental damage is bad then no one will want to buy our seafood or visit our towns, and that will destroy the local economy. But if we agree to saying the environmental damage is not-so-bad, we’re selling out our land *and* our people, letting a famously corrupt mega-corporation off the hook, and excusing an incompetent federal response and a painfully cold president who has proven he doesn’t care what happens to us.

My raspberry bush is finally (in late JULY!) starting to give me raspberries. It gave them up in early June last year, but it was also in a brighter spot, so I’ll move it back to its old location next year. I’m just happy to be getting any from a container box. Also, raspberries are not native to hot climates so this bush is a heat tolerant southern variety. Maybe next year I’ll take a stab at blueberries.

In spite of tomatoes being a huge disappointment this year, it seems bell peppers are making a late showing to impress me. They’re also more tolerant to the bugs, and aren’t as finicky about full sunlight (something that’s hard for me to provide in a compact city yard). Here’s a yellow bell pepper, followed by a green bell pepper. Cilantro Lime Chicken fajitas are just begging to be made…

There is s scene in the absolutely horrible film 2012, where a crazy conspiracy nut doing a radio show from his trailer in Yellowstone Park (Woody Harrelson), tells a hiking writer dad (John Cusack) who stumbles upon him, that really deep scary concepts are easier to explain to the public if you use a cutesy internet video with graphics and humor.

It seems that writer Jeremy Rifkin of The Empathic Civilization (or perhaps one of his admirers), thought this was a good idea considering the depth of his topic. And I have to admit it is a very condensed and more amusing version of the book.

I just finished reading it last month, and I fully expected something titled “The Empathic Civilization” to be hippie drivel laid out in thick self-important academic prose. And it was. But I can’t deny he made some excellent points, some of which I’d never heard of before, and would be interested in hearing further debates on his topic. Anyway, here it is. The short and fast version… for the huddled masses.

PS: Why is the artist writing in British English, while the narrator speaks American English?

According to a Businessweek study, Louisiana is America’s laziest state, but they mean it in a good way.

“To be clear, by “lazy” we do not mean lacking work ethic or engagement. Rather, it is a measure of leisure time spent doing sedentary activities compared with activities that require more physical effort, such as exercising and even working.”

Ah, what condescending bullshit. Yeah, you bastards in New York try hanging out in 110 degree heat with 90% humidity for 5 months and see how fast YOU want to move around. I’ve seen you pansies whining on TV when the thermometer hits 90 in Manhattan, “It’s so hot I can’t even ride my bike!”. Busted.

I think if you held the study here from between October and April only you’d find people here engage in a fair amount of physical activity in their spare time. But the article also says we don’t work enough…

“The average time spent working among all Louisianans — 2 hours, 41 minutes — is shorter than in all other states, according to the BLS data.”

Per what? Per day?!? Who the hell in Louisiana gets to work that little? I sure as hell never met one who does. Sure, we aren’t as recklessly ambitious as other Americans are, but WE actually know how to enjoy life. I know there’s a balance, but I think this article is kinda, well, poorly researched, and completely full of shit.

“Americans, plugged in and on the move, are confiding in their pets, their computers, and their spouses. What they need is to rediscover the value of friendship.” -Daniel Akst, Wilson Quarterly, Summer 2010

This Summer, The Wilson Quarterly has an excellent article about the deterioration of friendship in America (unfortunately, that link is only an excerpt since it’s a paid subscription site). I thought the timing was interesting since I had just written in a post last week “I know most Americans leave the place they were born and wander eternally. They pitch tents wherever they find jobs. The new gypsy America. ‘Why don’t you just get out of there? It’s just a place’, I can hear my non-local friends claim. But I like the idea of community, and running into people I know, and having my history all around me.”

I was glad to see I wasn’t the only one who noticed America’s disregard for the old institution of friendship. Akst describes a sad world in the article, and cites science fiction’s predictions about such an environment.I think the situation is even more bleak for men, who once knew great friendships, but are now isolated due to the feminist destruction of any male-bonding activities. And if they dare defy it, they get insulted with terms like “bromance”. I better stop, as I feel a masculinist rant coming on. Anyway…

It’s a good read. I recommend. Here’s a few more quotes…

“Although Americans have been relocating less often lately, perhaps as a result of the recession, we still move around quite a bit – for work, sunshine, retirement, or to be near family – and this process of uprooting dissolves friendships and discourages those that haven’t yet formed. Few of us would turn down a tempting new job in a far-off city to stay near friends, possibly for the sensible reason that those friends might move away six months later anyway.”

“We’ve allowed our wildly inflated view of matrimony to subsume much of the territory once occupied by friendship. Your BFF nowadays – at least until divorce – is supposed to be your spouse, a plausible idea in this age of assortative mating, except that spouses and friends fill different needs, and cultivating some close extramarital friendships might even take some of the pressure off at home. Yet the married men I know seem overly dependent on their wives for emotional connection, even as their wives take pleasure in friends to whom they don’t happen to be wed.”

When I was a kid I wanted to live in a library. Like the cramped gothic ones you see in Harry Potter movies, except I dreamt of those before she wrote about it. I remember the first time I went to Shakespeare & Company bookstore in Paris when I was 24. I saw a guy sleeping in fetal position on a red velvet cushion near the window – surrounded by books. That was my dream home.

Today my real house is a humble New Orleans version of that. I have high distressed shelving filled with books (and the dust they collect). Though now the bottom three shelves are filled with baby books for my toddlers to ‘read’. I’m pretty minimalist when it comes to material things. Most of the stuff I value would fit in a backpack. But books have always been my hoarding holdout. I buy them without thought. If I want to read, I read. To me there can never be too much money spent on continuing education. And even if you’re reading pop or smut, this pleasure costs a pittance compared to most hobbies, or even addictions. I rarely throw any away, and I still have some paperbacks from high school on the shelves, underlined with what I thought was important 20 years ago.

But about seven months ago my philosophy began to change. I was running out of places to put books because of the baby-proofing, and I knew the kids would have to be a few years old before I could put any valuables back out on display. So I looked into eReaders and bought a B&N Nook in January. My intention was to eliminate all paperbacks and replace them with eBooks, and then only purchasing harcover books in titles I deemed worthy. I’ve kept at this plan for most of the year, but my response has been different from what I expected…

I thought I’d have to force myself to use the eReader over paper books, not the other way around. But after the initial techno-glitches and learning one’s way around a new gadget, I was hooked. In fact, now, when I find a title worthy of being put on the hardcover shelf I grumble because it’s too heavy and hard to hold while snuggled in the bed compared to the eReader. Plus, I can have any book, at any moment, anywhere. Kinda hard to beat that. The thing does have a few drawbacks but I suspect the next version will fix it.

So this has me rethinking if I need paper books at all. Which paper books do I want to keep? Definitely no more paperbacks, mainly because they don’t last. Reference? Why bother, since we use the internet to look everything up. And yet, the idea of having no paper books makes me very sad. This item, the portable written word, which has been with the human race since its first civilization thousands of years ago, and one of the few common objects we share with our ancient ancestors – now destroyed by Amazon.com?

I don’t fucking think so.

But how to rescue quality paper books and still be practical? Once technology is on a roll there is no stopping it. The eReader, and whatever comes after it, will destroy the book as we know it. Which leaves us with only one option to saving the paper book from extinction.

The paper book must now be considered collectible art.

Like book collectors do with their first editions and inspections of book bindings. Perhaps eReaders may rescue the art of exquisite book-crafting from the tacky “mass market paperback”. So instead of the rooms I have filled with books right now, I will have one or two bookshelves filled with quality editions of books that resonate with me. Book that shaped my life, and continue to inspire me. Books that I will read over and over. Books I wish to pass onto my children. Books that will teach me how to stitch a wound when the power is out (hey, I live in New Orleans, a survivalist shelf couldn’t hurt).

But seriously, whether we like it or not, the book, like recorded music, will be almost entirely digital at some point. And the bookshelf, like the shelf you had made to fit compact dics and DVDs, will soon be obsolete. But that doesn’t mean it has to die. My husband Q, for instance, still collects a small amount of vinyl music albums because he likes the sound quality. Perhaps I will follow his lead and buy books this way too. Because sometimes you just like to live in the non-digital world, and remember what it’s like to be human, and really feel things.

Why the hell am I posting a few hours after I just had surgery? Because I committed to the damn contest, that’s why. But really it’s because it’s a personal challenge and having a contest just gives me an excuse.

This morning I woke up at 4:15, which is not uncommon for me. But today I needed minor surgery on my foot. And that means I’m on my ass for several days so it doesn’t swell (the foot, not the ass). We weren’t in the hospital long, perhaps 5 hours. I’m a bit fuzzy on that because I was given amazing drugs that knock you OUT during the procedure.

So I’m home now, in bed, foot elevated, popping oxycodone and eating Dora the Explorer Spaghetti O’s. Fear me.

I got a nap, so now I want to catch up on TV and watch the last True Blood and Top Gear episodes, plus I’m behind on Bourdain too. There’s also an infinite amount of books I can get to now. I’m quite cozy with my Nook eReader now, and it’s almost replaced paper books for me, but that will be the post for tomorrow…

The Economist did a story on the NOPD today, mainly about the Danziger and Glover cases, but also about the culture of corruption at NOPD in general:

“The cases—in which 16 officers have been charged so far—are shocking for their brutality and their strong whiff of institutionalised racism. They also expose deep corruption in the department. In both cases, police appear to have decided on a cover-up even before the blood on the pavement was dry. And the conspiracy was by no means limited to the officers who took part in the mayhem.

In the Danziger case, for instance, a detective allegedly drove another investigator to his house to procure what he called a “ham sandwich”: a gun to plant at the scene. According to the prosecution, two witnesses who supported the police account, “James Youngman” and “Lakeisha Smith”, the second a stereotypical black name, were invented from whole cloth. When a police supervisor was unsatisfied with his detective’s first attempt at a whitewash, he rewrote it to make it smoother.

In the Glover case, the police would not face such stiff charges now if they had simply owned up to a questionable shooting. Instead, they burned the evidence, and then claimed ignorance when Mr Glover’s mother filed a missing-person report.”

It sounds overly dramatic to say you’re more afraid of the police of New Orleans than the criminals.

But sometimes, you are.

And besides the abundant and outrageous cases of corruption, the NOPD’s priorities are also ridiculously screwed up. They’re out giving speeding tickets for doing 33-in-a-30 on the outskirts of the French Quarter while people are being shot to death within it. They also waste time giving out tickets for public drunkenness and lewdness, while two blocks away people are getting punched in the face and robbed at gunpoint.

These frustrating events are contributing factors to the public’s disgust with their ‘protectors’. And believe me, I’d be happy to put up with a drunkard pissing on my sidewalk if it means they’re out chasing killers.

There is a bloody WAR going on in the streets here, and we have the highest murder rate in the nation. But is the city jail filled with murderers? No, it is filled with people who smoke marijuana – the least violence-inducing illegal drug in the country. It is also filled with people who didn’t feel like sitting in line for 14 hours to get their driver’s license renewed and so it expired and they got arrested at a random harassment-stop checkpoint. It’s filled with people who didn’t show up to pay one of those petty doing-33-in-a-30 speeding tickets and then got another one. And it’s filled with people who dared to mouth off at the officers giving them seat-belt tickets.

Basically, it’s filled with people I’m not afraid of.

I’d like to see Serpas adjust the NOPD’s priorities, as well as fix their corruption issues. But I’m not hoping. And I’ll stick to avoiding the NOPD whenever I can.

“The writer is an infantryman. He knows that progress is measured in yards of dirt extracted from the enemy, one day, one hour, one minute at a time and paid for in blood. The artist wears combat boots. He looks in the mirror and sees GI Joe. Remember, the Muse favors working stiffs. She hates prima donnas. To the gods, the supreme sin is not rape or murder, but pride. To think of yourself as a mercenary, a gun for hire, implants the proper humility. It purges pride and preciousness.” -Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

My favorite book on the craft of writing, by far, is Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art. It’s really intended for anyone in a creative field, but Pressfield is a writer. It’s so like me to gravitate to a book that kicks you in the ass. Pressfield does not sugar coat anything, and you get the impression he’s trying to scare you into quitting – to separate the hardcore from the pussies (he is a former marine who writes war fiction).

He is mean to me. And I love him for it. Because in this field (or any creative field), there’s no room for whiners. I dare you to not be a puddle or tears or a determined hard-ass after you read this book. If I didn’t know better I’d swear I was related to the guy.

The entire book is quotable to me, but here’s some of my faves:

“If you’re paralyzed with fear, it’s a good sign. It shows you what you have to do.”

“The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.”

“What are we trying to heal anyway. The athlete knows the day will never come when he wakes up pain-free. He has to play hurt.”

“The amateur believes he must first overcome his fear; then he can do his work. The professional knows that fear can never be overcome. He knows there is no such thing as a fearless warrior, or a dread-free artist.”

“It’s better to be in the arena, getting stomped by the bull, then to be up in the stands or out in the parking lot.”

“Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work. It will perjure, fabricate, falsify, seduce, bully, cajole. Resistance is protean. It will assume any form, if that’s what it takes to deceive you. It will reason with you like a lawyer, or jam a nine millimeter in your face like a stickup man. Resistance has no conscience. It will pledge anything to get a deal, then double-cross you as soon as your back is turned. If you take Resistance at its word, you deserve everything you get. Resistance is always lying, and always full of shit”

“You know, Hitler wanted to be an artist. At eighteen he took his inheritance, seven hundred kronen, and moved to Vienna to live and study. He applied to the Academy of Fine Arts and later to the School of Architecture. Ever see one of his paintings? Neither have I. Resistance beat him. Call it overstatement, but I’ll say it anyway: it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than it was for him to face a blank square of canvas.”

“All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.” -Peter Pan

Every now and then I grow restless and panicky about living here. I usually brush it off as normal for living in a place that’s a crime ridden, hurricane attracting, oil soaked roller-coaster of drama. But last night the real reason struck me.

There is a piece of me that can’t quite commit to living here. A rebellious fragment of my heart that is holding out and refusing to give all I’ve got and really nest here. And the reason is that I keep waiting for it to be taken away from me.

I guess Katrina left us all feeling a bit like that, but I am curious to know if anyone who left after the storm feels that way too? If you move away, does that feeling go away too? Or are you damaged for life, always assuming one day everything you know and love will wash away again? I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m going to feel this way forever, no matter where I am. Constantly denying I’m… traumatized.

And it’s not all the storm’s fault that I feel this way. Last year we almost left because of employment issues. Even though that is not an issue now, it always could be again in this unstable economy. My husband is in engineering, and now that Avondale is closing and the oil industry is seeking out people who whine less when you gush oil on their shores, if Q has to look for another engineering job it won’t likely be found here. And so I keep looking at my home like it’s an apartment, never really finishing the renovations, or keeping it up properly. I’m just gonna have to leave eventually, the broken fragment of me claims.

I suppose this sounds foreign to anyone not born here (or smitten with the place). I know most Americans leave the place they were born and wander eternally. They pitch tents wherever they find jobs. The new gypsy America. Why don’t you just get out of there? It’s just a place, I can hear my non-local friends claim. But I like the idea of community, and running into people I know, and having my history all around me. I love this city’s libertine nature and respect for joie de vivre over work. But it comes at a steep price. Sometimes too steep.

My one attempt at not living here for a year failed miserably. Granted, I chose a bad year, the one right after Katrina. So I was homesick, and felt like I should have been here getting dirty and not sitting in Seattle coffeehouses with a bunch of clueless scenesters. And so I came back, and got dirty. But still, there’s that floating, lost piece of me. Telling me that any moment it’s all over for me here, and that I’m only postponing the inevitable and should have stayed where I was. My plan is to stay here as long as possible. To take it all in as long as I can. But I do wonder if that’s the right choice sometimes. That maybe those who left had it right, no matter how much it hurt/hurts.

So I guess as we lead up to the fifth anniversary of Katrina, I’m less curious how the people here are doing, and more curious how the people who left are doing. Did you leave right after the storm, or did you leave last month? Doesn’t matter. Did you leave because you had to, or because you wanted to and now had an excuse? Did you leave and come back again? And then leave and come back AGAIN? I know a few who have. Do you prefer where you live now? Or do you just stay there because it’s easier than fighting the bullshit to return to Nola? Do you miss ‘home’, or did you never look back? Send me stories, blogs, articles, or just leave a comment… I want to know.

Photo: Back of the old Jackson Barracks from the Arabi side, less than a month after Katrina. The water in the street is actually from Hurricane Rita, which passed two days before this photo was taken.