Permanently Temporary

When the city flooded five years ago a lot of our infrastructure was ruined. For example, all of the lift stations (pumps that keep the sewer lines flowing, not to be confused with the pumps that get rid of storm water) were ruined. Here is a picture of one such station that I go past just about every day, usually twice. It is on a busy street, a main artery near my house. The little white stucco building is the old lift station. The blue machine parked on the side of the street is the replacement.

It is some measure of how poorly we do things here that we are still operating this important function with a private contractor who is leasing the equipment to the city. This has already cost us more than it would have to repair or replace the old pumps. Plus it stinks.

Building on the Ground Zero Site

I am opposed to anyone building a red herring on the site of the 911 attack. I wish we could just ignore the issue. It was created as a provocative and emotional distraction. We derail our community and sew fear when we attend to the mewling of these creeps like the pathological ego-freak in Florida who thinks it is an act of liberation to burn books.

We can't ignore them. Like any emotional attack, if it stands without challenge it attracts even reasonable, caring people who may never have considered how really outrageous are these things we are expected to swallow. I remember being told that if we didn't carpet bomb Southeast Asia we would be fighting communists in our suburbs.

Youthful Rebellion

My son will turn 10 soon. I'm 53. Do the math. I'm a later-in-life parent with all the excess attention that suggests. One of the things I'm always looking forward to with some anxiety is my boy's rebellious phase. I think I would be crushed if he didn't rebel. And what have I left him to reject? Sex? Drugs? Revolution? Save me a taste. I don't see him headed into finance or war or bigotry, and if he did those avenues would lead to dead ends and he would be back soon. How will he break my heart?

Music. His music will break my heart. Not gangsta rap or death metal. I would not like that but at least there's some edge there. Instead he has gone for the "soft hits" genre. Magic 101.9. Stress-free music to get you through your work day. Abba, Footloose, Heart and another dozen vaguely familiar, bright and happy tunes from some in-between decade best forgotten. "Soft hits" could be some form of torture designed to leave no scars or bruises. I'll talk, I'll talk! Just make it stop.

The Indifference that Dares Not Speak Its Name

This blog is the perfect place for this comment. Nobody is likely to see it, so I won't be shunned, attacked or worse, and I still get it off my chest.

I don't care about the Saints. I'm glad they won yesterday and last year, etc, . . . But really. When I hear "Who Dat?" I wonder, "Who
cares?" This makes me more of a freak around here than does my distaste for air conditioning.

We are stressed. And for good reason. We are being abused. There are no apparent solutions. Our institutions are weak and under the control of business interests. So we focus instead on a game.

OK. I pick my battles. This one is not worth a fight. It does feel better to whisper this madness, but if anybody finds out, I'm in big trouble.

Back to Waveland

I spent Labor Day on the beach at Waveland, MS. This was my first time back to this closest bit of Gulf Coast since Katrina. I wasn't ready to go. I'm still not sure it was a good idea.

We had a wonderful time. The beach was beautiful. The weather was fine. Not crowded. We found the rare tar ball, as we would on any beach in California or the French Riviera. All the houses and other buildings were new and pretty. The pine trees are looking good too, though small.

And in the back of my mind this whole time was some obscure ache. As bad as things got five years ago and as horrible as the BP disaster was, here is a beautiful scene. The Gulf is huge. Nature is resilient. It will keep coming back after we abuse it. I suppose it could reach a point where it can't recover. We've had Hiroshima and Chernobyl and mountain top removal and factory chicken farms and so much more, and still Labor Day on the Gulf with the family was wonderful.

I no longer care to warn abusers that they will suffer for their sins. I have no evidence that they will. As far as I can tell, they never have. Some of us will suffer while others profit. Most of us will not see much change. So what will motivate a new model of cooperation and earth justice?

Monkeys

I stress out about the mess we're in. I stew and ruminate. When I can, I do something. Perhaps a blog post. Better, I go to a demonstration or take some kind of action. When the action is frustrated, as they often are, by indifferent or corrupt powers I am left worse off. That explains the blog silences.

And then there is the occasional poster or card. This doesn't feel the same as "action". It's not satisfying or frustrating. I don't even wonder if these efforts are effective. It's just what I do. Here's another one.

Resilient

Here's a recent poster, inspired by Tracie Washington. See her in this YouTube clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4itfAVq19U