Palin Kills Wolf Puppies

Proposal for the Debate

Idea: why doesn't Obama say, you know what? I'll see your request to cancel our debate and go listen to Bush babble about this panic attack. But why don't we have our VP candidates debate in our place? The whole point of a VP, after all, is that he or she is prepared to step in if necessary on a moment's notice. We can stick to your format, and we'll meet up on October 2nd, the scheduled VP debate.

What do you say?

Still waiting

Again, when are we going to demand that the Gulf South and disaster become campaign issues? While two horrendous hurricanes blow through the bottom half of the country, followed by bungled responses by the federal government in the aftermath, why has neither candidate given a major speech on recent events? Not simply a name drop of Katrina, but a real, powerful speech about what we're going to do?

Around 3am on I-10, en route to Atlanta for our Gustav hurrication, I drove past a family parked on the shoulder. The parents stood at the fender while a toddler stood on the trunk, waving her arms playfully, oblivious to the standstill, or perhaps dazzled by the headlights. There, I thought, is the future.

Obviously none of us knows what the next 8 years of America will look like. But if no one wants to step up during election time and promise to build a better FEMA and a wall of barrier islands--temporary fixes, but protection all the same--then I don't have much to say about elections, democracy, and change. Instead we get talk of pigs and lipsticks.

And here's betting that pig with lipstick gives the first speech on the subject.

Cone of Uncertainty

"What are y'all going to do?"
Funny, I hadn't thought of that.

You know somewhere out in the ocean, a menace is making decisions for you. You see photos of Haiti and recognize it even though you've never visited the island. You tell your mother it'll be OK.

You watch people who suffered through Katrina grow anxious, agitated. A few days ago, you drove around St. Bernard Parish and said how good it looks and now you think about all those people with their ass hanging out because no one's done enough for the levees protecting da Parish

You walk down Poydras Street and wonder what it'll look like next week and it's not even a street you like, but everything takes on that weird color of memory. Only you have no memory and you're sweating in the present. This must be important, even this crane, this lawyer.

You hear somewhere that it'd be good for the Democrats if another storm hits. You remember that it's 2008, and no matter how much people want to talk about hope, this is a cynical, worn out nation.

And you call and make some vague plans to go one direction if the storm turns one way, another if it goes east. You wish you'd made a friend in Memphis.

There is no good description of right now. A city full of people who live in the shadow of a storm that hit 3 years ago now await their fate with very clear visions of what that might be. Doom clouds up conversations. All over again, we're reminded how fragile this life is and, conversely, how much we loaded into its persistence. Gustav might be nothing, but we know the other shoe has to drop someday.

How bad that will be...a weatherman's best guest.

The Governor's Bolo Tie: Convention Live Blog 8.26

(Begun in the last third of his speech)

Mentions McCain's backyard and crouches. "How bout it?" I think he actually did a "ya-hooo."
BILL CLINTON IS EATING IT UP. This fella is like an 8th grade teacher. He's talkin Green.

The More of the Same/Four More Years of the Same Ol' Same Ol'
*Does that mean the Clintons, too?

Governor of Montana wears a bollo tie: they can never take our sunshine.

In the stuttering of chants, Bill lost his enthusiasm. The pace closed. Green as hell.
"Stand up Colorado, Stand Up Florida! Stand up, Pennsylvania!" And Bubba is up. Everyone is up and fired. He begins shouting more state names, "MIssissippi, the Carolinas"

Talk about Louisiana right now! No, the war.

Cheerleader. "That's it Baby, Let's Go win this election!" Brian Schweitzer is the Star of Stars!

**

HIllary video with Lenny Kravitz in it. THey're klling it! No! Even the sound is messed up!

**

She's not even the nominee! They're playing Tom Petty and showing her on SNL! THis is bullshit! This is not the nominee! This is ridiculous, Wesley Clark calling her a tough cookie! People admiring her laugh..her chuckle!

The Democrats just destroyed the momentum of a true heart of the party with an extended musical, victory video for the second place finisher. You are the Democrats, after all, aren't you?

**

even if she was the nominee, the video is over the top. she is like the John Lennon of this shit! She might as well be the nominee! Enter Chelsea.

What fckin song is this? Bill Clinton may shed post-surgery tears. This enough garbage!

Here comes the speech, but the applause keeps cresting.

**

Her heart is visibly not in it. She is pursed, she turned her head the first time she said Obama's name. "I have done this...." A brag.

"No Way, No How, No McCain." !! That's like giving someone a hook, a hit chorus.

Demonstration of political canniness. "And you made me cry." Tells a story. Where have the stories been so far?? That's what works!

**

"And Puerto Rico." She means Florida and Michigan. Memorials for fallen Democrats.

Repairs the rift with blacks for a future run. That cynical.

Bleak economics, conflicts, prices, to renewal, provide opportunity, instead afford gas and groceries. Biden and Michelle O not exactly overwhelmed.

WHAT ABOUT BARACK! Where is the homage to Barack? He is the nominee of the Party! This isn't the winner's slot!

She continues to explain why she ran. And why she supports him. Better knock it home for him here. Gleam in Bill's eye as she speaks more soaring and still no mention of Barack!

**

And why so much Green and so little Iraq? Where is the war?!

"We did before with President Clinton!" No enthusiasm with the future VP and 1st Lady. Health Care always gets him. Now some world-talk. Then some tribute to those two. And Biden's wife, too.

That sing song, call n response: "More war and less diplomacy?" Followers chant, No! Into the attack on McCain. Good joke on McCain/Bush being alike in the twin cities. She coulda won this, you know? Hands down.

The story of the suffragate movement. She is not done. Chelsea is a blonde.

Triumphant "Keep Going!" chant, when she could be percieved as comparing herself to Harriet Tubman, a woman who snuck African-Americans along. She kills 'em with this one.

IF the bridges are falling down and the levees have broke, "Keep Goin!"

"And Godspeed!"

The Good Soldier Jones

What, what, wHAT!

Irresponsive, but with not much left in the tank for fronting, as the lurching-along has caught up to them, the population of Nagina dickers with the locks inside City Hall. The locks are either corroded and not yet replaced, a hand-wringing “how could…?” Or newly minted fingerprint sensors, with a code for each day of the month and a finely engraved imprint: Out of Order. Either way, a fumble, a fumble, and the sounds of spare change in pockets mingling with keys, Notes-to self's, the muffled percussive to the angry radio bites and the sirens—these are not encouraging sounds; these are not cause for gloat.

Pfffft. Of course, I know. And I am late, this was news days ago. Even the Times-Pic honked about it.

But the point of a moment, of marking an event, of a passing announcement, and announced passing, is to put into focus all the clouded visible. We crank on here, we sigh over there; we wrinkle our noses on the riverside. Mostly we are lost on the island, cautious or thickly drunk or—dare we tell anyone—industrious. Once or twice a spell, though, we note a change. A specific, hoped-for, definitive change.

Then we wonder what the hell will ever come of it, and do the hope/doubt juggle.

But for a post here, let us note the removal of Anthony Jones from his post as acting chief technology officer in the administration of Ray Nagin. He cut a prominent figure here, and I want to get this thing right.

(Not that this makes ANYthing right.)

After the 311 collapse, the surveillance camera disaster, and the neglect of computers, the man who lied about his college credentials and was promised a promotion is disappeared. We may see still more consequences of his (in)actions, but his next acts are gone from the public sphere (though hope springs eternal). We know of no punishment for him, he simply moved down a rank and continues to collect…and keep a low profile, if he knows what’s good money for him.

If we’ll hear even fewer words from Jones, we can ask what he—as a figure of our times—says about New Orleans in 2008.

First, the inept nature of this lack-of-recovery. Jones was a bungler-master at the center and failure of some of Nagin’s more atrocious follies, ugly jokes that should have been easy successes. Jones manifested the assumed, that beneath Nagin’s paranoid bluster and podium plays, there remains a crippled, unqualified cadre in City Hall. They are petrified and clutch to power like popes to canes. You think we need surveillance cameras? Shit, Nagin’s been promising them since 2003. When crime took a grip on the post-K city, Nagin bellowed that they’d be there in just a minute, and that’d stop this bullshit. When the truth came out, he promised again, laid some blame, and got ‘em up, damnit. Sorta. Almost. After all, some contractors bailed and didn’t hold up their end.

See, it was Jones who should’ve been the contact for said contractors. But we still don’t know what Jones was up to, certainly not holding anyone—contractors, staff, self--to the efficient execution of a plan. What we got was a prolonged, deadly failure to protect the citizenry. Lies beget decay and violence.

Because at the center of the Jones story was the fact that he’d fibbed about a near-degree from Tulane and, when caught up in that, a second deception re: a vague association with the University of Phoenix. He’d stumbled into his job, lied, and was told if he did good and finished school, he’d be the permanent chief of tech. Then Jones went and proved that, in fact, a Tulane education really does mean something, that you can’t just fake your way through. When this whole farce came to light, the administration furrowed its brow and tried to wait it out, rather than immediately correcting the situation. Superiors like Chief Administrative Officer Brenda Hatfield expressed surprise, but flailed weakly to wave away the obvious questions, like why don't you do your homework? Or, was there no one else more qualified? The duplicitous nature of Nagina was Jones’ other signification to our age. The policy is to admit nothing and accept no blame.

Or, in the case of the 311 system, when Jones’ inability to do math (or do the simplest of cover-ups) led to the near de-pants-ing of Kenya Smith in the City Council chamber, the policy was to hit back with as much abrasive how-dare-you?! as possible. Instead of checking the report before entering the chamber, Smith breezed in, looked down onto the table, saw the incredible mistake (that X operators for 311 would be paid a total of Y million, meaning each would make Z, an absurdly high figure), panicked and hissed at the questioners. Rash, divisive defense was better than telling the Council that he’d correct this asap and get back to them with his solutions. This had the effect of stalling the issue for a few weeks, until people started calling 311 and getting no answer. Then Jones came back to the surface, silently, of course.

This is why Jones was important this year. He both embodied the duplicitous and overmatched nature of Nagin’s administration, and provoked the administration into expressions of this nature. He was a small man who caused big things to happen. We’ll never know how much damage can be traced to Anthony Jones, but he lets us track down some specific threads in the great, unending ruin that is Nagina. Again and again, a problem would start in one place and resurface in another, the consequences amplified, shocking, avoidable. When we looked closer, we’d find traces of the invisible Jones. A temporary controller of a seemingly benign division in City Hall, he showed us just how dangerous every section really is, as each one is permeated with the gross foolishness of the greater apparatus. Instead of removing Jones when he failed the city the first or second time, Nagina refused to budge, defiant against would-be attackers, unable to act swiftly for the greater good. In the end, the administration is willing to sacrifice progress for power.

In one room sit 40 unused computers; on a corner in a rough block, a camera misses a murder. Out the door goes a man who helped put them there.

Note: And on Wednesday, head to City Council and check out the IG vs. the City's attorney.

Anthony Jones Continues The Ruckus

Democracy is a puffy, mottled face thing in City Hall, where everyone looks slightly tazed, and slightly bloated. Paper shuffling, "thank you," "no, thank you," stone-faced Nagin spies, and the side entrances all mark the organism's mediocre pomp n' circumstance. "Wow," I thought as I exited today. "Even the militant who spoke during the public response portion was below average and sorta confused."

But, if you listen, sometimes you can hear the odd truth pebble fall off a table and rattle around on the floor. Why, I even heard one today.

IG Cerasoli and two of his assistants came before the Council today to report on their progress and much-reported lack thereof. In a painfully detailed account of their problems acquiring office computers, they mentioned:

1. An order from Dell for 42 computers was delivered to the wrong office and sat there for 2 weeks. No one in that section of City Hall bothered to notify them--or anyone else, apparently--of this delivery. That area was in the proximity of the Office of Technology, home to our man Anthony Jones. (It should also be noted that Cerasoli's people should've got a fcking tracking # and found those computers on their own. Those of us who've ordered, well, anything know what's possible if you really want to find something)

2. Apparently, Dell will no longer ship computers on credit to City Hall because the City is not in good standing with the company. This means that a check must be cut and sent to Dell before an order can be started and shipped. Imagine the delays that costs. Also, what did the City do to incur the wrath of Dell?

3. Defending the time wasted in setting up a network, Cerasoli said that he designed the system himself through the Dell website. When asked why he was handling that task and not the City's Office of Technology, he said that he made the request in a meeting with Anthony Jones. Jones did not show up for the second meeting, so Cerasoli took matters into his own hands. One hopes that his network functions.

Obviously this is a big mess. My continued question for the IG: why didn't he find the funding for this set-up outside of the City's budgetary office? Why not get, what, a $100G loan or Rockefeller grant and stay out of this b.s.? I'm surprised that as canny an operator as Cerasoli didn't forsee some of this.

But, wow, Anthony Jones. One wonders how many consequences the city will suffer from his reign? As in so much of this recovery, the seemingly most innocuous players continue to do the most damage.

And one also wonders if Anthony Jones came out for the launch of Kenya Smith's Congressional bid on Tuesday at Woldenberg Pavilion. I wonder if he heard me when I rode by on my bike yelling "Call 311, Kenya! Call 311, Kenya!" I know Kenya did. That was me, Kenya. I'm that guy!

Repeat seen on BET, April 20th

Tracks of my tears, other ideers

Some thoughts...

-So, in this election to determine the leader who'll bring us back from the brink, who'll fix this war, save the Gulf South, and perhaps even address issues like immigration and social security, the mere suggestion of tears changes the entire momentum of a race?

Of course not, but these almost-tears might've fallen on the print, tv, and online media coverage that has bought in from the beginning to the idea that we need an 18 month election cycle; that dumping a collective $25 million dollars into Iowa is a good return for the entertainment generated; that refuses to bring up actual issues, instead tracking with bated breath the he-said/she-said battles that seem to revolve around the idea of hypocrisy.

This thing has turned into the perfect fusion of sports and daytime TV talk shows, and while that isn't surprising, it's made more ridiculous by the size of the problems we face. We need direction; instead we get soaps and the rabid writers of soap digest. What's worse, the whole thing will be wrapped up on Feb. 5 (Mardi Gras) and then we'll have a full 6 months until the conventions, during which the dialogue and punditry oughta really make us proud of our democracy.

-A few people wrote me to ask about the scene around the Superdome on Monday for the BCS Title Game. It was probably the largest crowd for a sporting event that I've ever seen, not just in terms of people, but the amount of RV's, temporary bars, stages with bands and dj's, and huge tv screens. We had to close the office at 2pm and hire a security guard to protect the building, and when I came back thru in the 1st quarter, the lots were still full with people watching the game. Bourbon Street looked like Mardi Gras. Even yesterday, there were still tents set up to sell leftover sweatshirts and hats. All the hotels were sold out this weekend, which is a good thing. And hopefully all those people from Ohio State will forget about the loss, remember they live in Ohio, and decide to come back and dump some money on us soon.

What's funny about the LSU (and Saints) fan is that he/she is rarely mean-spirited, and instead of turning their shoulders or shooting mean looks, they just tease and then give people shots. This is probably why so many Saints fans were upset in Chicago last year--no one here acts like that, it's just a game, a reason to get together and rage (in a good way). I can't imagine a road team getting a better experience.

-I have a video of this on my phone that I can't post yet, but has anyone else noticed the frequency of cops driving with their sirens on, even when they're not in pursuit, just to avoid heavy traffic? Happens all the time. I see you, Patrol Car 21 on Rampart Street, talking on your cell!

-Priorities, yes, I know, but Arnie Fielkow is sure doing his part to get Hornets games to the North Shore tv viewer.

-Before I forget, we're hosting a reading with the new Louisiana Poet Laureate, Darrell Bourque, next Wednesday at the Humanities Center, 938 Lafayette Street, 7pm. It's free to the public, and will be the first time he's read since the announcement. Get at me if you'd like to reserve seats.

-Kim and I caught the first set of the 3-now-4 show at the Hi-Ho the Friday before last. Man. As worried as I get about music sometimes, that made everything right. Somebody should get Dave Easley, Jim Singleton, Stanton Moore, and Tim Green together more often.

-Also, Jan. 13th is the birthday of the late Danny Barker. Sounds like a good celebration this week. In a recent conversation, I said that what we could really use right now, in terms of the music tradition and keeping it innovative AND a true heir to the past was a figure like Danny Barker, someone who pointed the next generation in the right direction, forward and back. There wouldn't be a ReBirth, a Hot 8, or anyone in between without him.

The Inspector General Makes a Joke

"That's a joke."

With that, at least for now, the new Inspector General won my support.

Mr. Cerasoli had followed the mayor's intergovernmental office, represented by Kenya Smith, who included in his budget $2 million for a 311 system. The system will be run by a consultant and manned by 14 operators, and Fielkow and then Midura tried to pry more info re: the consultants take. Essentially, they were asking how much the operators would make and where the left over cash goes.

Smith asked Fielkow, "Do you think I'm hiding people?" and then bullied Midura (par for the greasy course), who fumbled with the math, trying to divide 2 mill by 14 and questioning if...operators...huh? Smith said it was all in the proposal. The cliff hanger and testimony ended.

So when Cerasoli took his seat, he mentioned that he wouldn't have any "$140,000 a year operators." People laughed, and he said it was a joke.

He meant his line, but there was something else there: the prior testimony and phantom consultant fees: those ARE a joke. A bad, old joke, where you try to figure out what's true, what's a punchline, and if you're the target.

Because time's up on the whole "just trust us" thing. If this IG sticks to his word, he'll report on where the money goes and which corner it sits in and how people like Smith dick around with it and bluff their way through wasting it. And maybe, just maybe, we'll stop with the joking.

Us

Also in the house and next on the schedule after Cerasoli was Ed Blakely, who apparently got an earful after I left. It was weird seeing him stand on the side as Cerasoli and the Council exchanged compliments and coos (Cerasoli just about recited a poem for Cynthia Hedge-Morrell). The contrast was stark between Cerasoli's dry wit, his statement that he wanted to be here "as a citizen of this country," and his understated, Boston accountant tone, and the self-lionization from Blakely upon his arrival.

I was in the UNOP meeting in January when Blakey did his first big football coach talk, and have watched his misfires and half-starts with more than a little sadness because of that speech, because of the way it gave me hope. Now I hope that Blakely benefits from Cerasoli and that Cerasoli keeps the low profile and provides honest reporting.

Dem

As the Council members admitted, embarrasingly I thought, no one really knows how this whole Political System thing works. Or at least they don't want to shine too much light on it. It might turn out that their pockets are too full or they aren't even wearing any pants, much less slick suits with cool pocket kerchiefs.

Then who's joking?

Election Day 2007: Walk It By Yourself

On the morning of the election, we walked across the street to the International School, the polling place for our district—First Ward, District 2. Just as we reached the steps on Terpsichore, who should enter the school before us but the two hoarders from down Magazine. Check it out, I remarked to Kim.

The only other time I’d been to the school--I believe it was one evening in the first few weeks after my arrival in town-- we’d wandered by and noticed a public event taking place in the ground floor cafeteria. Chris Rose sat on a dais with an interviewer next to him and a nice crowd of 50 or 60 people. Newly returned, I knew only a little about him, though Kim filled me in as we listened. That night he was charming, self-deprecating, funny, all the things that make up his known persona. Yet, there was a palpable commonality between his mindset, the vulnerabilities he expressed, and the mindset of those listening. Survival-ism, the ridiculousness of loving New Orleans, doubt—these were in the air and in Rose’s jokes.

It’s weird now to read articles about publishing deals, Oprah, K-Ville, and Lord & Taylor. Just sayin’.

Anyway, the cafeteria. The hoarder walked up to the registration table and immediately began a conversation with an older black lady who may have had her teeth out. I believe she told him that her mother had passed, and he said he was sorry to hear that. Then he moved on to a white, TV anchor-looking gentleman who asked him for his name and ID. After the hoarder gave his name (an Italian sounding name, which he punctuated by saying, “Italian”), the anchor spelled it out again so that the man next to him could write it down.

Huh, I thought. The hoarder’s actually a pretty normal-sounding dude. The anchor, though, was less than normal, his manner cloudy, like perhaps he wasn’t all there, just smiling and slow. He waved the hoarder over to the booth closest to us, where an older black gentleman closed the curtain behind the hoarder, leaving only the dirty blue pants visible to the rest of us. It was then that I noticed that the lady hoarder had abstained from voting, and that she was about the same age as the man, and thus not his mother.

Kim and I went through the same steps as the hoarder, although when we first approached the registration table, the black ladies said, “Ooh, look at y’all, got your voter cards,” which we held in our hands, eager beaver lil' democrats that we are. We laughed.

The anchor found my name and started to spell it out, and I became sure that he was slow, only dressed up for the part and put at this table to give him something to do. He did fine at reading out my name and told me, and then Kim, to wait outside the booth in which the hoarder now voted.

“You ok in there, sir?” the black gentleman called through the curtain to the hoarder. “Three minute time limit.”

“Be right out,” the hoarder said. A few moments later, we heard the tinkle of electronic bells and out he came. I stepped into his place.

The ballot was laid out on a large square of what felt like vinyl. Each of the names on each of the lists had squares next to them, and when you touched a square, it lit up green. The point was to go through each list of candidates for the various offices, along with the 4 amendment referendums, then to hit a final button to cast your votes.

Once I perused the different lists, I scolded myself for not knowing more about the offices and candidates. Further harsh thoughts shot forth at the realization that no write-in was possible, dashing my hope to vote for Kim for governor. I voted for women, for men with funny nicknames, against known incumbents, and ‘yes’ to the referendums, with the exception of the last one, something about consigned jewelry being tax exempt. Fuck that, I thought.

And I voted for Boasso for governor. I thought maybe he could get to a run-off, though there was no way he could win. Here I am, I thought, ambivalent like so many Louisianans in this time of great challenge and a leadership drought, shrugging my shoulders at the ballot. My choices: a big ol’ Democrat-turned-Republican-turned-Democrat who seemed like a nice guy who no one in the nation would take seriously but who hailed from the devastated St. Bernard Parish; and an extremist Catholic with a dazzling education, an odd and unique position on race, and barely a word in his programs about the recovery of New Orleans, a grotesque suburb of which he represents with strong conservatism in the US House.

I ended up taking the big ol’ guy just to stretch things out, in the hope that Jindal would have to say something in a run-off. Yes, 2007 in Louisiana: the previous sentence was my mindset at the ballot box.

After I hit the final button and exited the booth, Kim entered and I walked back past the registration table. One of the ladies was directing someone, saying, “To the right, to the right.” I smiled and said, “To the left, to the left,” and then everyone laughed and another woman mentioned the Cupid Shuffle. A conversation on the Cupid Shuffle continued as I sat in an office chair near the door and waited for Kim to exit the polls.

Documentaries @ the LEH - Oct. 19th, 6pm

For those of you in New Orleans, please come by the LEH on Friday evening to view 2 documentaries from our vault, "Uncle Earl," and "Louisiana Boys." Saturday is the primary, so this trip down memory lane oughta gear us all up to pull the lever. Directors of both films will be on hand, we have more than enough wine, and this is the first event I've put on in our new space. I hope to see you there.