Thanks for the emails of concern, y’all. You folks will be pleased (and others will certainly be pissed) to learn that Jonno and I have wussed out and taken a hotel room for this evening. After much debate about the inevitable loss of power at our home and the rarity of power loss in the Quarter, we decided it would be best to relocate for the night–not least of all because the boyfriend’s work schedule doesn’t let up for hurricanes and this hotel has DSL.
To be fair, most of the reluctance about changing locations came from me. That grizzled “I lived through Camille/Frederic/Andrew, and I’ll make it through this one” mindset has clearly been ingrained in me–courtesy of my father, no doubt. I take some solace, though, in the fact that our shameful retreat doesn’t constitute a bona fide evacuation: I mean, we’re only ten blocks from the house.
I am, however, annoyed–not about the move or the wretched timing of this damn hurricane, but about the open-ended curfew put in place by our very fuckable yet very conservative mayor. I mean, we’re at a hotel in the middle of the French Quarter fercryinoutloud, and we can’t go across the street for a drink with our fellow ‘mos? Where’s the fun in that?
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