HumidCity

so i got this email forwarded to me today about BREAKFAST WITH THE MAYOR.  WTF? was this some sort of joke? our in absentia mayor is making a public appearance and breaking bread with his disgruntled constituents?  is this like breakfast with santa claus? or brunch with the easter bunny? or a light snack with the epiphany weasel?  well, upon reading the fine print, i noticed the epicurean photo-op is for newcomers… not sure what that means.  it’s also the 7th annual, which suggests that the mayor has been in town at least six times in the past six years. can’t prove that by me.  then again i saw james brolin in capricorn one, and i’m leary about the whole moon landing as well.

check out details at www.makeneworleanshome.com

see ii you can figure it out.  will the mayor mccheese of mcnawlins put it on his city credit card? will he order the 99 cent early bird special or the $25 eggs benedict (arnold) with the $15 mimosa and $12 frappe-crappacino? images of california coffee colonics dance in my spleen.  i’m curious. i’m so f’n curious. you can just spank a  monkey and call me george! too bad i’m an oldtimer living 42 of my 44 years in metro new orleans and thus disqualified to meet st. nick for eggs and grits.  but perhaps if i’m a good blogger, nagin claus will put a tax exemption, an evacuation plan, and a new casino underneath my christmas tree, hannakak bush, and kwanza bonzai.  one can only hope that we believe in a miracle on perdido street.

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ph “freddy” fred (phfred@notthat.com)

despite the creative excitement as tunes, musicians, and so-called opportunities wash over me like waves, a dull ache settles in my chest. is it melancholy? is it the demons of past bipolarity? is it just another sign of goin-out-of-business-as-usual? the physical manifestations of unsettled skeletons and misfired synapses haunt me. visions of too many hospital beds and hospitable meds dance spastically like an overweight and over-fermented two-stepper at the maple leaf. though back home, i still feel homeless.

despite irregular scheduled missals of the color blog and IM’s, PM’s, and semi-regular BM’s, i still am not at peace. recent excursions to los angeles (and now to boston) only emphasize the out-of-sorted-ness of life here post-k. a house is not a home. my city is a park. mcnawlins is a burger-short in its disorder. mayor mccheese has been abdicated by the hamburglar. the not-so-happy meal is the daily special. the golden arches have fallen with no support “hos” in sight. shall i paint on a grimace?

i don’t want fries… i want levees… better still i want my life, a life, any sign of life.. i’m tired of the post-apocalyptic feel here… like a bad charlatan heston flick bound never to be issued on DVD (can you say NUMBER ONE?).

my golden arches are almost blue

ph “freddy” fred

www.notthat.com

well i’m almost completely home… no working bathroom doors… still a padlock as a lock to my home… BTW the doors don’t fit…

welcome to the REconstruction…. or should i say CARPET BAG? lack of construction? deconstruction.

my so-called contractor spent six months building a porch while i rotted in the formaldahyde laden fema trailer… three weeks spent on a door, a single f$#@~n’ door…. another several weeks on a loft (which six months later is the wrong size for a mattress and lacks his custom or should i say costume built ladder)

when it came to door hanging none, i point out that none of the door openings 

a) fit the surviving cypress doors that were salvaged (originally from our friendly neighborhood project demolition pre-k 1999)

b) fit standard doors

IN FACT a two door closet has two different sized openings

WTF?

today… as a blessing or a curse he quit as my first post-katrina guest arrives… no working bathroom doors… a padlock on my front door and a tripod for a tub…i think i might let her stay in the fema trailer instead

who the f@#* builds the porch first? well, it is a damn good porch! maybe i should just buy a hammock!

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phfred@mcnawlins.com

well as i finally “un”settle back into my house, the two and five sixths years of post k goobly goo comes to a a not-so screeching halt.  or does it? the emotional, physical, and mental scars won’t heal.  the burning in my lungs and dull nightmares continue.  the unnatural tingling in certain extremities continues relentlessly. neither the powers that be or those that won’t be can fix that. in fact, it’s kinda hard to call it post-traumatic since the trauma isn’t over as we walk amidst the shadows day by day.  the floods of 08 are just a reminder that mother nature can be a bad mother - hush your mouth… i’m just talkin about getting the shaft(?). 

the “everything’s slow in the south” mentality of new orleans has turned to a comatose “nothing’s moving  or getting done” land of shades reminiscent of aeneas’ visit down below in virgil’s classic epic

the slow life. the slow food. the not-so-fast food nation called McNawlins… do you want levees with that? how ’bout a not-so-happy meal? afterall, you deserve a breech today! well, do we really? i don’t think so!

meanwhile… gas and employment go up WHILE politicians give themselves outrageous raises for a job not yet well or done.

can i see the manager? oh, yeah… mr. jindal… he’s decided to do nothing… a lame duck in less than six months.  maybe he should be v-p.  then again, if he did, he might shoot me in the face… then again his refusal to take a stand was sort of a knife in the back. 

another game of formaldehyde and seek!

p.h. fred

www.mcnawlins.com

?

i.

a man in lakeview was shot and killed by nopd after he first threatened fema workers who were “evicting” him from his fema trailer and then brandished a gun at police officers. the police claim he was a mentally ill man who was “off his meds,” but I wonder if that’s any reason to play judge, jury and executioner. mentally ill? who isn’t nowadays? shouldn’t law enforcement be handling (and shooting) the real crooks, you know, the ones in the suits who put the city in formaldehyde–infested fema trailers to begin with?

ii.

meanwhile my trailer eviction notice from the city of new orleans sits unanswered and ignored on my countertop as do my prescriptions. hmmm… go ahead punk…do you feel lucky?

iii.

my pothole is now the home for ducks PIC HERE… well, at least it was for a few hours. does that mean it’s no longer a pothole, but rather a topographical body of water to be registered with rand and mcnally? unfortunately or fortunately, the baby ducks were rescued ala’ evicted by a concerned neighbor who thought a) they might get hit by a car, b) they might be eaten by pigeons, c) they might get shot by the nopd. unfortunately, the mother was thrown into a quacking seizure for the next three hours (situationally induced mental illness) … and the ducklings probably won’t survive the night in unneeded and unrequested human care.

I wonder what we can learn from these random accidents of unkindness?

sic itur ad astra?

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phfred@notthat.com

THIS IS A SERIOUS BLOG. I WILL BREAK FROM MY AFOREMENTIONED ACERBIC E.E. CUMMINGS LEANINGS AND ATTEMPT TO FOLLOW SOME SEMBLANCE OF GRAMMATICAL POSTURING.

I just got a rejection letter from Tulane University’s Upward Bound Program. 

It reads:

> Good Morning,
> We have had an opportunity to review all applicant
> materials,credentials, education, and levels of professional
> expertise in secondary education over the past four days.
> We are very impressed with the high level of academic and
> professional experience you have to offer our students. As a
> results oriented program, we at this time however we have identified
> the candidates who’s experiences and expertise in high school college
> preparatory instruction best meet the needs of the students in our program.
> Thank you again for your interest and we wish you the best in your
> search to make a difference this summer.

My response:

Thanks for your time and consideration. By the
way, one of the main problems on the ACT is pronoun
use. “Who’s experiences” should be “whose
experiences.” Touche?

p.h. fred

“getting best results on test prep for over a decade”

====================================

AN AFTERTHOUGHT:
Perhaps I should have mentioned the run-on sentences, the lack of both commas and semicolons, and the misplaced modifiers (my expertise in the past four days?). Then again, perhaps I didn’t get the job because I was (and still am) an overqualified ***** **** applying for a job in a federally funded program. Call me paranoid? Welcome to McNawlins… can I take your order please?

NOW BLOG THIS!

p.h. fred (phfred@notthat.com)

the last week has been a blur of emotions but obviously an effective one at that. phone calls unsolicited from friends and strangers, emails unrequited with tea and sympathy, fan mail doused in fight and encouragement (unparallel structure anyone?). as the grammar subsides, I hear battle cries that the show must, might, may go on… (first weekend of jazz fest… in the kid’s tent , HA!) it’s as if the justice league has been reconvened, the avengers have have been reunited, and the stooges have been reconstituted (screw iggy, I just hope shemp is there). but what about the mcnola tie-in? what about the action figure? where’s the merchandising? what’s the backend on my emotional investment?

at times tears, at times laughter, but mostly frustrated anger mixed with a twist of betrayal (an odd cocktail for even odder times). drink up, just don’t spill it. libation good! spillage bad! a day in the ER. a night at the shrink. marx brothers, anyone? job offers in L.A. lunch offers in NJ. but such random offers just add to the mania. Such offers make me question myself more. should I stay, go, quote clash lyrics? not again!

the chest pains, the shortness of breath, another day spent in triage. the so-called lights in the tunnel are scarier than the dark. it’s the old devil you know theory. the scariest part is/ was the diagnosis. the bronchitis part I can handle (there’s a black mold in the air), but the PTSD? It’s hard to have and even harder to accept a post-traumatic syndrome when you’re still in the midst of the trauma. somebody consult a latin teacher . oh, that’s me. touche’ amice. Et tu prozac and call me in the morning. In the meantime, 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 …

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!