HumidCity

well, according to (un)reliable sources, er i mean the government, all the trailers will be gone ala pecan by june. the mayor, when he’s not busy threatening to coldcock the media, expects another exodus since there is/will be a lack of available housing. meanwhile formaldehyde poisoning and shoddy construction continue to characterize these top of the line tin cans. free healthcare for all who lived in them or so wishes our very own gun-toting c. ray???). and to think those four-wheeled fuck-ups only cost an estimated 100k each. black mold creepily yet methodically (even bureaucratically) crawls up the walls of my trailer. to think I was complaining about my health in august 2006! e pleurisy unum part 2, anyone?

welcome to mcnola. can I take your order please?

BLOG THIS!

PH FRED

as i drove home from another therapeutic tete a tete, the radio mumbled with the latest presidential prescription for the best medicine. phrases stuck in my head: “our safety here at home, the consequences of failure, conducting patrols and setting up checkpoints, economic assistance, defending its territorial integrity and stabilizing the region, intention to destroy our way of life… ”

i imagined a war torn state with military convoys, secret missions, sirens, flashing lights, gunfire, danger… as i exited the interstate i saw several police cars, a few hummers, military and police officers, a young criminal in handcuffs… i wondered if the radio was talking about there or here… or was i just dreaming again … imagine that and BLOG THIS!

p.h. fred
notthat.com

today i went on a retreat… a day of reflection… hard to imagine , eh?
yet on the drive there the gunshots of my city rang in my ears… i was awakened from my zombie phase (been a while since i posted or wanted to or could). it’s been 6 weeks of trying to get to see a doctor re. my alleged PTSD (btw my doc had to go to court yesterday so i’ve been rescheduled til feb 7th…hope i make it…WELL it is nice to know that doctors are going to court, just not the convicted felons who seem to be out committing most of these crimes)

back to the retreat… the theme, benedictine patience. as i left hours later and turned my radio back on and another gunshot rang… it hit me… not a bullet… an epiphony…. “new orleans: patience… have it or be one”… unfortunately i’m leaning more and more to the latter… now BLOG THIS!

last call?

so many words describe the current state of affairs here in new orleans:

betrayed, abandoned, scared, scarred, scary, broken

each word represents another shot of whiskey, another drug, another way to numb and be numbed … AND i dare anyone to spend a week in my trailer in my hood … piles of garbage, crime, pools of blood (i’m not exaggerating)…. these are my IKEA, my designer jeans…this is my hollywood. i dare people to say things are getting better… they’re not. i dare people to say they donated money or did a benefit … i ask where the money went and who benefited. i dare people to tell me what FEMA, insurance companies and the government have done …nothing. i dare people to crawl into my head and walk around a while … you can’t nor would you want to …

as a vietnamese woman on the westbank said … i came to america for freedom, to escape, now i fear for my life … i cannot expose my children to this

this is not america

everyday more life looters are driving & pushing me to the end of the line
how many strikes will it finally take before this city drives me away?
6 months ago i wanted to save it.
2 days ago i wanted to champion it.
today i just want to survive it …

not sure how or if i will
after further bouts of censorship, distrust,
poor attendence, and now empty coffers
the freddy fred show is coming to an end …

thanks to the artists, musicians, dancers, and clubs that were involved …
if possible, remaining posters may still be printed for archival’s sake
(to think the archive of contemporary music wanted to document this???)

i close my eyes now because the words are killing me …
someone has stolen my gift of laughter …
without that, i have nothing else to give …

is there a revolution in our midst? i doubt it…
should there be? but of course…

it seems that we as a citizenry, as a nation, as individuals have become complacent. we’re not cut from the same fabric as our forefathers. no boston tea parties for us, hell, we have starbucks (personally, i prefer ishmael) we have no MLK’s or JFK’s, just KFC’s and BMW’s…initial this! would our founders or past leaders have put up with this bureaucratic red taping and pecuniary foot dragging? Hmmm? NOT! so why do we? Is it our short attention span? is it our firm grasp of denial? is it hope for a hollywood ending or just our laziness?

i remember the talk the talk and the walk the walk of the vietnam era. i remember political rallies and secret service men as the republican party nominated george sr. at the superdome in 88. there was a still some talk though slurred, there was still some walk though limping. but i no longer see it. we chat the chat, we blog the blog. perhaps? but can we force the cyber into a concrete reality: sim city? sin city? our city?

yesterday a survey pointed out that the many new orleanians plan to leave the city within the next two years. but where to go? does the location change the frustration? does the new zipcode suddenly fix the broken nation? does the big picture get smaller? or for that matter, does the big picture even matter any more? do we cut bait and leave? or as frank zappa asked,” does the torture ever stop?”

for those of you planning, packing, and leaving, i can relate to your dilemma as i bang my bloodied head and live out my own dented doubts daily. but… let’s stay. let’s fight. let’s force a change.

don’t run, phidippides, because you just die at the end of the marathon. stay, talk, walk.

DON’T BLOG THIS, DO SOMETHING INSTEAD!

i started out Post K year two with grand ideas… shows to REBUILD NEW ORLEANS: ONE LAUGH, ONE SONG, ONE SHOW AT A TIME… little did i know how trite the rebuild would seem to so many, a catch phrase for catch alls… i put the band back together, I released a mock opera, I hired singers, dancers, and musicians… i enlisted artists from around the world to help (40+ actively involved, including Peter Bagge, Tony Millionaire, and Mark Newgarden– artists from US, UK, Austria, Czech Republic, Australia, France,and New Zealand). a grand plan or a manic delusion?

and so the shows (and the idea of the shows) have been quality.. but the audiences have not been quantity,,, each show brings me deeper in debt… the poster project has turned out well artistically.. but now my gutted house is a warehouse for unsold “art” and i still have my sorry ass in a FEMA trailer… perhaps i should have forgotten the altruistic REBUILD NEW ORLEANS efforts and REBUILT MY LIFE instead… the past few weeks have been flanked by manic black out binges and depressed self inflicted thoughts… i keep myself awake with screams that are racing faster in slow motion… suddenly primal therapy makes sense again…

only a handful of shows to fill out the year…

plus the BLOG gets released in book form

canada is postponed for now… it may occur this summer along with europe (depending on FEMA, insurance, and doctor’s orders)

have to make the big picture smaller for a while otherwise i might wakeup dead– another casualty to post K or the big easy or just my disease BLOG THIS!

if you have lived in, driven by, or passed through the big pothole — er, big easy — since august 29, 2005, you, like everybody else, have experienced the joy of nails, building materials, shrapnel, or some sort of unidentifiable refuse in your tires… it has been a goodyear indeed…NOT.

tire manufacturers seem to be in cahoots with FEMA…. the longer the debris remains, the more tires will be sold…. personally, i haven’t seen such a tire/ gov’t conspiracy since the buses replaced light rail and street cars across america (you know street cars need low maintenance, buses need tires, gas, oil, maintenance, and ultimately replacement)….speaking of buses…. maybe the reason why we didn’t use the buses is b/c they were on Tulane Ave. and couldn’t make a left turn (&%$#@?)…where’s Oliver Stone when you need him? Like we ever need him? hmmmmmm….

i have had 5 flats since the storm…. the latest was a doozy as i drove across the causeway at 1:30am saturday morning follwoing a surreal UN-BIRTHDAY gig in Covington, LA. (more on that another time) 8 miles on my trans-ponchartrain trek, i had a blowout as the belt ripped from my radial….. swerve swerve swerve,,, thump thump thump…. water, death etc. DESPITE the possible cancellation of the freddy fred show and inevitable bodily harm to yours truly, my nerves remained calm as my drivers ed instincts kicked in…. and i safely navigated to a turnaound…. sort of

i waited 90 minutes for a tow truck… made frantric calls to wife, AAA, and Mazda road care. Thoughts of lupe garou, serial killers, and landsharks danced in my head like sugar plum crossdressers (ok it was late and i was sleep deprived). To my combined joy and dismay (paranoia?), 4 cops visited perhaps thinking i was smuggling donuts, migrant workers, drugs, or books? (afterall we are in louisiana) when the wrecker finally arrived i had already loosened two bolts,,,, the rest beyond my diminutuve brawn, intellectual giant, mechanical dwarf….. i found out i was not covered on spouse’s AAA… (grr) the resulting bill for 4 loosened nuts….85 dollars plus 6 dollar toll….

perhaps i can forward the bill to George W, FEMA, Bill Jefferson, or Ray Nagin…. unless of course they’re doing something… BLOG THIS

So how hard can the mail be? Rain. Snow. Sleet. Barking dogs and brown paper subscriptions. A relatively gruntled situation. No reason for dissing the grunt. No reason to wield firearms or kill coworkers. Likewise, for the average resident or mail recipient, the mail is part of life that is both assumed and presumed; well, sometimes, if a nutty fruitcake or holiday beef log then even consumed. A few pieces of treasure snuggled in a mound of junk mail and solicitations. Perhaps the wife’s VS catalog, maybe a chance to win the sweepstakes and a visit from Ed McMahon. Usually the day’s delivery is just a loquacious love-note from an unrequited bill collector or a diatribe from an emotional, ersatz musically, disturbed fan. Oh the joys of semi-fame!. Despite the joys of e-mail, the crisp physical letter from a stalker is always a sensory joy. The smell of cheap perfume on a tear, lipstick, or occasionally blood stained letter. Tsk. Tsk. Oh the good ole days pre Katrina when my fans and stalkage were a blur of body parts, threatening letters, and packing peanuts! Where have all the flowers gone? Well, I just know they have not been delivered here… by the way, I hear that the cemetery is not receiving packages either.

Somehow all that is forgotten in the Big Easy on October 2, 2006. One year and one month and a few sheckles post Katrina (nice polysyndeton, eh?), my mail service is still sketchy, as my home floats from second city to third world but not quite back again. Two packages are M.I.A. My headshots and xylophone (??) were recently returned to senders because, according to the USP (and UPS), I no longer exist. It’s as if I’m out of bizniz. It’s as if I’m dead. But trust me, my voter registration and tax bills will miraculously arrive even after I shed this proverbial mortal coil. Heck in certain parts of the state I’ll probably still be able to and shall vote. How’s that for suffering suffrage? How’s that for purple prose?

Anyway … it’s as if the paperwork and bureaucracy and cluster fudge of FEMA has spilled over into other seemingly efficient operations. Houses, blocks, neighborhoods, and apparently small dynasties (aka the kingdom of me) have disappeared from the map - literally, figuratively, and rand mcnallishly. The computer GPS has erased us. What can Brown do for me? Bring me my friggin’xylophone (why I ordered one or why I’m upset now that it is lost I don’t quite know… but I have the right to bear one, play one, bang one, and even ship and receive one .) Has the Brown of UPS been replaced or re-regulated by the Brown Michael of incompetence? I know UPS and USP are notb the same. But they are. They are. They both function on the same misinformation about whether we exist and where we exist. The postman may only ring twice, but the gov’t seems to keep screwing up again and again and again, Ad infinitum. Ad nausea. Add postage. BLOG THIS!

Well folks, posting has been slow, I will not lie. Things here in the Big UnEasy has been tumultuous to say the least. I have been buried in work doing construction during the day and web development/wedding plans at night.

Soooo……. Since I will be increasingly out of action and posting more sporadically I am opening up HumidCity as a group blog. I am giving the Legendary PH Fred posting access this coming week so steel yourselves for the satirical onslaught. Check out the article in the current Offbeat about him for more background!

offBeat :: Fresh :: The Best Medicine
“Katrina killed my mom,” says New Orleans comedian/musician P.H. Fred’s MySpace page. In fact, his mother died of natural causes in an old folks’ home shortly before the levees gave way. What Katrina did do was send him on a month-and-a-half-long odyssey to find her body.

“Every day we were told, ‘We have no idea who Mrs. Catherine Schneider is,’” Fred remembers. “Six weeks into it, I got a phone call [from FEMA]. They said, ‘We have your mother’s body.’” It turns out they had her body all along but said they couldn’t tell him because “it was a matter of national security.”

In addition, I cannot say if or how often you might see posts from her but I have also given posting access to the mighty Maitri. You have been warned!