I’m not usually the sort of person to bitch and moan. I can probably count on one hand the number of pity parties I’ve hosted. But I gotta say: right now I’m in some kinda sucking karma hole, and I’m having a hard time digging out. Within the past three days…

• We’ve lost electricity twice, for 12+ hours each time. You’d think that Entergy would be trying to improve the power grid, but it seems to be deteriorating. Cable, internet, phone: all that I can live without, but being in a dark house full of TVs and microwaves and other electric appliances scowling at you through the gloom…that’s just depressing.

• The Louisiana legislature is behaving even worse than usual. They’re in crisis mode, making all kinds of crazy changes to the state budget without really considering the consequences. Our legislators are petty and bilious on the best of days, but to see that kind of behavior now, when they should be devoting their remaining shreds of intelligence to the task of fixing things and planning ahead…it’s unbearable.

• A very good friend of ours was involved in a fracas night before last and has landed in the hospital, in critical condition. Information is sketchy just now, but it seems that this nice, talented writer was trying to break up a domestic dispute next door–always a bad idea, I know, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself.

So, I’m asking: what the hell is going on? Can I please have my life back? Just a sliver of it? A wafer-thin slice of normalcy? Calgon? Von Trapp Family Singers? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

In the interest of full disclosure, though, I must admit that the last 72 hours haven’t been without their bright spots. Why, just yesterday FEMA called me to see if I needed a trailer.

<![CDATA[The Story of My So-Called Life

(In the darkness, we hear someone shuffling about. Then, a thud, followed by various curses on gods, life-partners, and furniture manufacturers. At last, there’s a clicking noise: the unmistakable sound of a cell phone being flipped open. We can almost make out the haggard, weary face of a 30something man as he presses a series of buttons, then moves the phone to his ear. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing…)

(Eventually, we hear the muffled voice of the Voicemail Lady, everyone’s favorite Midwestern librarian. She’s thanking our quasi-hero for calling and, in the blandest, creepiest, most soulless voice since HAL, expressing her hope that the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast are safe and comfortable in their homes–if they still have them. After a brief pause, she assumes a slighly more officious tone and encourages our caller to listen carefully to the following six options, since their menu has recently changed. The man presses “0”, but she continues. He presses “0” again and again and again. Finally, more ringing, followed by…)

ENTERGYLADY: Hello, and thank you for calling Entergy. This is Laverne. How can I help you?

RICHARD: Hi, Laverne, I’m calling to report an outage.

ENTERGYLADY: I beg your pardon?

RICHARD: I said, I’m calling to report an outage.

ENTERGYLADY: An outage? …Okay, I will be happy to assist you. (Thirty second pause. Sounds of chaos in the background. Possible birthday party for a woman named Irene or Eileen.) Is this an outage to your home?

RICHARD: Actually, it’s to the entire neighborhood.

ENTERGYLADY: Have you checked your fusebox to ensure that all fuses are set to the “on” position?

RICHARD: Ma’am, the entire neighborhood is without power.

ENTERGYLADY: Can you see any downed poles or power lines?

RICHARD: Ma’am, it’s 10:00pm. If I stepped out the door, I couldn’t see two feet in front of my face.

ENTERGYLADY: What’s your ZIP code?

RICHARD: 70117.

ENTERGYLADY: Hold please. (More waiting. Giggling and other shenanigans can be heard in the background. Possible breaking of a pinata shaped like Spongebob Squarepants, followed by the sound of a dozen of sixth graders diving for year-old Tootsie Rolls.) Ma’am?

RICHARD: (Not having the strength to correct her) …Yes?

ENTERGYLADY: I’m seeing there’s a power outage in your neighborhood.

RICHARD: (Grinding teeth) Yes ma’am, that’s the one I’m calling to report.

ENTERGYLADY: Uh-huh.

(Pause, followed by a much longer pause. Finally, after another pause…)

RICHARD: So, can you tell me anything about it?

ENTERGYLADY: Only that you don’t have power.

RICHARD: Um, that part I got.

ENTERGYLADY: (Slightly snippy) Well, what else would you like to know?

RICHARD: Can you tell me what’s wrong? Is it being worked on? Do you know when we might get power back? I mean, I understand you guys are really busy right now, but I’m trying to do some work myself, which, in my case, requires me to be online, which, in turn, requires electricity. If you could give me a rough idea of how long we’ll be in the dark, it’d be really helpful in planning my schedule.

ENTERGYLADY: (Finally realizing Richard’s a guy) Just a moment, sir. (Another pause. It’s clearly a bachelorette party, probably for a woman named Arlene.) Okay, sir, according to my records, your ZIP code is scheduled for restoration sometime between now and February 1, 2006.

RICHARD: (Clutching his head, having been down this road with every single service rep every single time he’s called Entergy) Ma’am, I don’t know if you’re from New Orleans, but not all areas of 70117 are the same. Some parts of it, like the Lower 9th Ward, were hit hard by Katrina and haven’t been restored at all. Others, like my neighborhood, have had power for nearly two months…. What I’m saying is, the outage I’m calling about is not due to Katrina–not directly anyway. This is a new problem. This is because of a fire or lightning or because a squirrel crawled into a transformer.*

ENTERGYLADY: Well, sir, I don’t know about any of that.

RICHARD: You don’t know anything about it at all?

ENTERGYLADY: Entergy New Orleans isn’t posting updates right now. They haven’t been for a while.

RICHARD: …I simply can’t imagine why such an effective, efficient company would be filing for bankruptcy….

ENTERGYLADY: Sir, if you you want my personal opinion–and this is just me now: if I were you, I’d sit tight and read a book.

RICHARD: I’d love to. Can I borrow your night-vision goggles?

ENTERGYLADY: You have a good night, sir, and thank you for calling Entergy. (Covering mouthpiece with hand) Go on, Imogene! Work it, girl!

(A click, then a dialtone. Our quasi-hero flips his phone shut, swats at a stray mosquito, quickly retrieves a beer from the rapidly warming fridge, downs two Tylenol PMs, and settles down on the wooden floor of his living room, dreaming of being startled awake by the sound of hundreds of lamps and microwaves and AC units all turning on at once.)

* Not made up: in October of 1995, a massive power outage was caused in the French Quarter and Faubourg Marigny when an intrepid squirrel crawled into a substation and shorted out a transformer.

So, internet service is out in my neighborhood. It went down last night, around the same time that a large-ish fire broke out a block from my house. Methinks the two might be related. Me also thinks that BellSouth’s customer service people deserve some kind of medal for being significantly better than the phonedrones over at Cox. And don’t even get me started on Entergy: more than once I’ve considered calling up my boyfriend’s relatives in the Bronx and asking for some favors, if you know what I mean….

If it were any other time in New Orleans history, I’d probably be screaming about these daily “hardships,” but given everything that’s happened, I’m strangely calm. There have been sporadic power outages ever since we moved back, and cable was pretty wonky for a while there, too (though it seems to have gotten over the hump). Communicating by cell is an exercise in frustration. Those of us who’ve returned, we’ve gotten used to these problems. Going without DSL for a couple of days is just par for the course. No big whoop.

The other day, I was trying to explain to a friend what it’s like to be in New Orleans, post-Katrina. People used to claim that living here was like living in the third-world, but in fact, it was more frustrating than that. Before August 29, New Orleanians kinda felt like New Yorkers must feel anytime they leave the city: “Whaddaya mean you’re out of American Spirits?” “Whaddaya mean I have to call back tomorrow and schedule a repairman?” “Whaddaya mean I gotta drive all the way out to BFE just to get fresh mozzarella?” That kind of thing. Little frustrations that added up.

The difference is that now our expectations are lower: we know that stores are open for limited hours, that restaurants have shortened menus, that lines are long no matter where you go, that half of the city is working on a cash-only basis. We’re pleasantly surprised with each little nicety: “Dorignac’s had just gotten in a truckload of gorgeous Roma tomatoes, and there was no one in the express line!” I’ve never been to a third-world country (though I once dreamt I was sold into half-white slavery in Ouagadougou), but I imagine this is what it’s like.

Of course, before we know it, things will have returned to normal and we’ll take all those little niceties for granted again, and we’ll all be just as bitter and disappointed as before. But for now….

Last night I looked back over the script for Grenadine and realized there are still lots of holes to fill in–lots of blank spaces where jokes should be, lots of songs left to write. And don’t even get me started on the technical stuff I’m going to have to tackle between now and opening night; the wig-styling issue alone is enough to make me wanna curl up and D-I-E die. (By some strange coincidence, the company members who left town just happened to be the same ones who felt most comfortable amongst rat-tail combs and Aquanet.)

Still, there are several bits that make me giggle–like this one, which leads into what I hope will be an Elvis-y parody of “Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me” as sung by Loweezy from Snuffy Smith:

PINEY: (Breaking down) Who knew that marryin’ my dead sister’s husband would lead to so much tribulation? If only I coulda resisted the powerful urgings of my womanly loins! Oh, woe is me! (Sobs) …It’s a sad, sad state of affairs, Madge, I tell you what…

(Longish pause)

MAGDE, THE ACCOMPANIST: (Sighs) Maybe you’d like to sing about it?

PINEY: (Standing up, straightening herself) If you don’t mind. Somethin’ in the neighborhood of “C”.

Well, at least I think it’s funny. But then, I rank incest right up there with meat and the letter “k” when it comes to guaranteed comic material….

So, last night we had a read-through for our upcoming show. We were missing a couple of people due to work schedules, and we had to move the whole damn thing to a friend’s house because of a massive power outage in my neighborhood, but we read it, by gum.

I have to say though, it was a little weird. It was weird writing it by myself, ’cause I’m used to bouncing ideas and lines off my buddy, Flynn, but he evacuated to Atlanta during the storm, and he doesn’t intend to return. We plan to collaborate on projects in the future, but for this one, I dunno…. I’m pretty busy at the moment, and trying to co-write a piece with someone hundreds of miles away seemed a bit much. But maybe more importantly, I think I just wanted to prove to myself that I could write it alone. I don’t know that it’s as funny as it would’ve been with Flynn’s help, but I did it nonetheless.

It was also a little weird writing it and reading it without most of our core actors. Grenadine is our company’s holiday show, and of the eight or so regulars we’ve had in the piece, five have moved on or are otherwise unavailable. Problem is, over the years, each of these actors has really become her/his character; Jason is Sierra-Britney, Roy is Loretta. I eliminated those characters for this version of the play, but it still feels weird not to have them (or the actors who play them) in the show.

Still, the most important thing is that the show is written. It’s different than it has been–the actors are different, the characters are different, the tone is different–but it’s written. And we’re going to perform it in December. It may not prove to be a brilliant business decision, but hey, somebody’s got to do it, right? I mean, there all these actors and directors mumbling about “I guess there’s not gonna be any theatre in New Orleans for a while….” Well, no shit! Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t get up off your asses and do something. Sheesh…

The most frustrating thing, of course, is that we’re getting it from both sides. The pessimism, I mean.

Many New Orleanians who’ve returned are still making dire predictions about repopulation and the restoration of basic services, despite the fact that both have progressed far more rapidly than officials had initially predicted. To these people–the nay-sayers and half-emptyers living within the city limits–I ask, “Why the hell did you move back? Why didn’t you just stay in Atlanta or Houston or Dallas or wherever your cousin or brother or aunt invited you to live ’till all this was over? If you’re not going to offer a solution or at least some constructive criticism, then please do us all a favor and politely get the fuck out.” Seriously, we’ve got a city to rebuild, and we’ve got no one leading us, and the last thing we need is a chorus of sniveling pantywaists whining, “It can’t be done!”

We’re getting the gloom-and-doom treatment from the outside, too–especially from the media. Case in point: a friend of mine runs an after-school arts program for at-risk youth, and she was recently contacted by a reporter from a national news outlet who’s writing a story on the current state of education and the arts in New Orleans. My friend has been completely on the ball the whole time, but apparently the reporter didn’t want to hear it. The interview went something like this:

Reporter: So, how do you feel about the fact that you’ve lost so many children to the storm?

My Friend: I beg your pardon?

R: Well, so many of the kids you serve are now scattered across the country, and you have no way to get in touch with them….

MF: Actually, we’ve had access to our files the whole time, so we’ve been in constant contact with our students by cell phone and email.

R: But surely there must be many who are still missing and presumed dead?

MF: No, we’ve reached all of them.

R: None dead at all?

MF: Um, no….

(Awkward pause)

R: Well, certainly you must lament the fact that your seriously underprivileged students have lost their arts training–the one thing that provides structure and joy to their otherwise depressing, dead-end lives?

MF: Fortunately, in nearly all cases we’ve found alternate programs for them in the cities and towns to which they evacuated.

R: Of course, you must be heartbroken to know that they’ll never be coming back.

MF: Actually, many have already begun to move back–especially those from the Westbank. Many lost homes in the storm, but we’ve spoken to their parents, and nearly all of them want to return as soon as possible.

R: But I spoke to another arts educator who said it would be years before New Orleans had enough children to make programs like yours viable!

MF: I don’t know who you’ve spoken to, but we’re planning to start offering classes again in January.

R: I see…. Well, thank you for your time. I’m so sorry for your many, many losses. I know your road to recovery will be a long and arduous one. The nation’s thoughts and prayers are with you. Godspeed! (Click) …Hello? Hello?

So Andy and Soledad and anyone else with a press pass who might be listening: enough already. If you Cassandras have nothing to report but tragedy and despair and woe, maybe you should shuffle off to Bangladesh or Myanmar or the Sudan where there’s more than enough to go around. Just leave us out of it.

Drafts of two letters presented Monday to Nagin’s Bring New Orleans Back Commission contained a list of the panel’s members — minus Archbishop Alfred Hughes, who was left off. Three other commissioners’ names were incorrect.

The two letters, to state Attorney General Charles Foti and the state Board of Ethics, were designed to clarify the commission’s legal status and which state laws apply to its deliberations and actions.

The Rev. Fred Luter was listed as “Later,” and musician Wynton Marsalis as “Winton.”

But the most curious error was the way developer and banker Joseph Canizaro’s name was rendered: “Joe Caviar.”

—NOLA.com

It’s nice to know that despite all the lay-offs and budget cuts and general craziness, New Orleans’ City Hall is able to conduct business as usual with its crack team of highly specialized, inadequately educated, commission-loving bureaucrats.

Michael died so long ago, I can’t remember much about him. Maybe his face. His goofy walk. The way he’d light a cigarette–though, to be fair, that’s only because I have a photo of him in action.

The only thing that’s still vivid in my memory is Michael’s laugh: a short, booming “HA!” that was as funny as any joke. We’d be working, and I’d make a wisecrack, and I’d look up at him, and he’d have this poker face, and I’d say to myself, “I guess I’m not the comedian I thought I was.” Then his mouth would open up a bit, and his lips would broaden into a smile, and his big, brown eyes would sparkle, and “HA!” Then he’d usually turn and go about his business, shaking his head. I don’t know if he was seriously amused or if he was just humoring me.

It’s not the same with other people who’ve died. My grandmother, for example: I remember lots about her. Her dry sense of humor, her many tones of voice, the way she’d kneel and put an arm around my waist as she taught me to cast from a rod and reel. But I knew her so long and she died so slowly, I guess I had a while to build up a repository of memories. Michael died suddenly, with no warning at all, after I’d known him only a few years.

Today, I learned that another friend has died, suddenly.

Jason and I worked together years ago, in the kitchen at Lucky Cheng’s. As the only two even-keeled folks in a room full of hot-tempered nutcases, we tended to stick together. That was fine by me: he was a total hottie and unofficial posterboy of the bi-curious 9th Ward boys. He also had the ultra-hip thing going on, co-starring in the locally produced cult classic, Squishy Does Porno. Yowsa.

As you can imagine, working in a French Quarter kitchen among drag queen waitresses was kinda wild at times, and both of us had our moments (if you know what I mean), but as the years went by, we each settled down. Jason stayed in the service industry and landed a job managing one of my favorite restaurants in New Orleans. I saw him there just a couple of months ago, when Jonno took me out for my birthday dinner. Jason immediately ambled over and hugged us, just as he always did. The place was packed, but his tone was warm and calm. He kissed me on the cheek and wished me a happy birthday, then went about the business of making other people happy.

Jason died last Sunday. I’m told it was a drug overdose, but that sounds strange to me. Jason and I and most of our crowd have been living the straight and narrow for some time now–well, as straight and narrow as things can be here. Not that I doubt my source, but I have to wonder: was it an accident? Could it have been intentional? And if so, why? I mean, no, it’s not the happiest time to live in New Orleans, but he was such an upbeat guy, how could he have been that depressed?

Of course, the weirdest thing–the whole reason for this rambling, maudlin post–is that I remember Jason’s laugh best of all.

ATTENTION POLITICALLY MINDED WEB DEVELOPERS

After the 2004 election fiasco, yours truly decided to register a few potentially viable, politically oriented domains–partly because I thought my friends and I might develop them, and partly because I wanted to keep them away from Karl Rove, James Dobson, and other creatures of the night who might use them for evil. A couple of my pals did the same, then passed the domains onto me.

Now I’ve got a handful of these things, and they’re up for renewal. And while I’d like to think I’ll have time to do something with them in the next year or so, I know I’ve got a city that needs rebuilding and a decimated theatre company that’s trying to move forward, so launching a new, politically active website anytime soon seems unlikely.

Bottom line: I’m giving away these seven domains:

valuevoter.net

valuevoter.org

valuesvoter.net

valuevoters.net

valuedvoters.com

valuedvoters.net

valuedvoters.org

Notice a theme?

Anyway, they expire on November 8th, so act quickly. They’re registered at RegisterFree.com, which is where they’ll need to be renewed, unless you transfer them somewhere else. I’ll hand ’em over free of charge–but of course, if you wanted to make a wee donation to moi, I wouldn’t object….

Well, after weeks of wondering who the hell was in charge around here, it looks like our startlingly inarticulate Governor Blanco has finally stepped up to the plate. Later this week, she’s convening a special session of the legislature to discuss levee repair, tax relief, and most importantly, revamping New Orleans’ public school system–’cause goddess knows, coming back to the mess of mold and stinky refrigerators is bad enough without having to deal with the Circus of the School Board Schmucks, too.

Now the only question seems to be whether our initially-promising-but-now-devastatingly-disorganized mayor will shut the hell up and listen, or will he and the school board and every other elected official in New Orleans put up their usual roadblocks and try to rebuild the [former] status-quo? I can only hope they realize that most of the folks who voted them into office will still be displaced by the time elections roll around, meaning that their days are numbered if they don’t start cooperating and making progress.

FYI, if you wanna take a look at Blanco’s complete to-do list, there’s a PDF of it here. I wouldn’t suggest reading it while operating heavy machinery.