Lump of Coal

Ever had a family member from whom you wish you could just permantly un-relate yourself? There's only one real viper in the brood where I come from. Not to say that no one else is a snake but everyone else is kind of out in the open with their meanness. I pretty much hate contact with this individual though, hate to even be reminded of them.

I used to date a lawyer who insisted that loyalty was the quality he valued most in other human beings. At the time I thought that there were probably a couple things which were even more important but the older I get the more I agree with him. I hate not being able to trust someone who I know can trust me.

I cannot stand the fact that I am related to/ have loved/ protected/ given much to a person who will truly feel accomplished in life when they are able to tear me down and triumph over me.
I can't stand how sick I feel thinking about their drive for this kind of thing. I can't stand how my grief over this horrifying thing tears at my heart. And I can't stand that, even though it'd be a pretty easy thing to throw my shoulder into a windpipe and end this bullshit, I can't bring myself to hurt this idiot.

I can't tell whether I am weak or strong when it comes to this person. But I'm tired and would dearly love to be un-related.

You think if I sat on Santa's lap and asked real nice, I could get this for Christmas?

(Since I gave up hope, I feel a lot better.)

What have you done to my city?

I saw the path of this thing before I flew to Costa Rica a couple of weeks ago. I worried and fretted for a couple of days before becoming uncalm and cranky all day Tuesday. That Tuesday. No one on my rah-rah-yay! trip could understand my problem. The rules of the game were that we couldn't discuss or ask where any of us had gone to school, what we'd studied, the work we did. Or where we were from. I couldn't explain my growing agitation, my panic. I irritated a few. I couldn't be cool to save my life. Finally, late in the evening, at the third hotel of the trip, I got online for the first time since flying out of the States.

And my heart broke. There she was, my ugly, cracked beauty- rundown and languid and still the best party I've ever had- just brutally fucked over and left behind. And my people, you know... those people.

I've lived all over. Here's the list if you like:

Texas
Michigan
Sherbrooke, Quebec
Oklahoma
South Carolina
Ohio
Indiana
Florida
North Carolina
Sandton, Republic of South Africa
New Jersey
Florence, Italy
New Orleans
And now another good ol' U.S. of A. city.

All that to say, I've lived a lot of places and traveled to more and I've never had roots anywhere. Have always envied people who have had 'em. Been slightly in awe of them, if the truth must be told. But in New Orleans, I felt home. The kind of feeling that crawls inside of you and wriggles under your skin whether you like it or not. Now it's a part of you and ever more shall be. No use pretending. No use fighting it.

And, yes, that's not practical. That doesn't make complete sense. I didn't call it my amour fous for nothing. Poverty, racism, ignorance, violence and enough corruption to satisfy everybody related to a politician. And yet... what I found- I won't even put words on what I found other than to say that it felt like home. Right or wrong, it felt like home.

My home in New Orleans is the only one that wanted me to stay as much as I did. The only one that inspired my love and didn't make me feel like a fool for giving all of it. Leaving was difficult. Working past two midnights too many, there was no end to the packing. No end to the best cleaning I've probably ever given a house in my life. Past exhaustion, to the point that I began to hallucinate a little that this place was alive and would not let me go. A doorknob fell off the outside of my bedroom door as I laid down to sleep for two weary hours before the movers were to arrive- as if the house would trap me in that back room if it could.

I left my porch. I left my plant- the one remaining live one. I left my neighbors. My Mardi Gras decorations in the basement for the next lucky resident. Left my best wishes and not a little envy for that individual, if I'm being honest. I left and have been unsettled since.

And so, of course, once people knew where I'd come from lately, they want to know: Why didn't people leave? Why didn't anybody believe the storm forecasts? Why didn't they use the school busses to evacuate people? Why didn't the governor call in the National Guard faster? Or declare a state of emergency sooner? Why did they keep out the Red Cross for so long? Why didn't they fix the levees a long time ago? Why did people start to shoot and rob and rape each other? Why did those police officers quit? Why didn't they have more dignity than that? More honor? Aren't they ashamed of themselves? Why, in New York people were noble during 9/11. Why can't New Orleanians be like New Yorkers? Why did it take so long for rescuers and organizers to take over? Why, in New York during 9/11, things were organized and fast. Why can't New Orleans be like New York? Tisk, tisk, tisk. Well, somebody's got to pay, that's for sure. Probably everybody. Ah, well. Now they can fix the levees but they shouldn't build the damn place again where it was. Don't you think they should rebuild somewhere else? Who would be so stupid as to build below sea level in the first place?

And, yes, I know the answers to all their questions, but I am sick to death of answering questions for people whose heartache is twice removed. For people who are rational and a tad detached. People who welcome one more chance to bash the President. I am sick at heart. Feels like my whole soul is weighed down by grief. And no amount of investigating and finger pointing and responsibility taking- which, of course, must happen and will happen- can move this along.

Since getting home from Costa Rica I've stayed in my apartment. Finding reasons to be busy. Finding reasons to avoid all of my new friends. I am supposed to see them all tomorrow night for dinner, though.

Please, God, no more questions.

Talkin' 'Bout Issues On The Barry Gibbs Talk Show

*Ahem!* We will leave the chest hair and crazy, cool medallions for another day. (And no, this isn't more backstory delivered in a tortuously slow and circuitous fashion. You wish.)

Okay, so I'm watching t.v. here lately (it's one of the things I do) and my TiVo offered up a trailer for Peter Jackson's King Kong remake. Lord love him, he cast Jack Black, I think as a sort of Peter Jackson-ish director playing a director kind of character. Seriously, that's my theory. I am distracted by Black's presence (although I like him a lot generally speaking) because he's usually not a serious character in the least. That and Naomi Watts is a beautiful woman but her hands look ape-ish. Ah, well, there's no doubling to be had at this point. (Or maybe, I overthink to myself, Jackson liked that about her because he felt that it was kind of a visual note on her connection with Kong. They are alike. Do I scare anybody?) Also, side snarky note- what is up with those muscles in her cheeks? I was distracted all the way through 21 Grams. Anyhoo, I like Naomi- specially her comic stuff and I like Jackson and I like Black, so maybe I will like King Kong. And you know I like TiVo. You don't even have to ask.

But what I really wanted to say something about is this G8 summit coming up in Scotland. Powerful men are going to make decisions about how our world goes forward. About whether we have mercy on the poor and the sick. On whether poverty stricken countries might actually begin to be able to participate in the economy the rest of us partake in. My younger brother explained to me a long while back why "free trade" coffee isn't actually all that free. How it didn't end up helping the people it was supposed to help the way it was supposed to help them. And I wish I could remember what he said because it was some of that kind of counterintuitive stuff that's fun to understand because it's so hidden and, well, counterintuitive. If he reads this (and he won't- he's a busy, busy web trends consultant) maybe he'll explain it again.

But I digress. Again. But I'm a strange one politically. For instance, I tend to be conservative but I believe in a living wage. (Will it shock our economy? I suggest we are due for a shock. I can't believe that in our nation we are nasty enough to dedicate ourselves to gathering unusable amounts of personal wealth while structuring things so that many human beings are crushed financially and personally. Hold out your paw, America. You're gonna get a good smack.

And, as I am fond of letting people know (as if I had no other ways to be special), I lived in South Africa for a year. I traveled to places like Moçambique where not only were land mines still plentiful, but money and opportunities absolutely were not. And, yeah, I took the obligatory tour through Soweto in RSA. And yes, Johannesburg was pretty much desolate. And yes, those babies and children and young women and young men and adults and old people were being wiped out by AIDS. Some of those African countries are losing entire generations of their population. My inner elephant is still pissed that Glaxo-Wellcom took so long to allow them to get the drugs they needed cheaper, faster. (And, yes, I do happen to be aware of the staggering costs drug companies incur bringing new drugs to the market, as well as the staggering costs they incur working on drugs that never make it to the market. I understand why their patents exist. I understand they've got to make expenses and can't go giving everything away every time somebody is sick. HOWEVER, sometimes, when millions and millions of poor people are being annihilated by a disease you've found a way to ameloriate and put off (and in the case of infants, actually cure), well, I think you start to think about taking one for the team.

Sometimes, I think you need to give with your right hand while your left hand doesn't even know what's going on. In other words, I believe that sometimes you've got to say f*ck it to the rules of finances and profits and shareholders and wealth building and whatnot and just show the world an utter deed of love. I am running around with this idea that we wealthy nations should not oppress the poor. Not here, not there. Which is why I believe in forgiving third world debt for those countries who realistically cannot repay it, increasing aid to poor countries, levelling the playing field so that they can begin to participate in a viable way in the world economy, and making big changes in the lives of those afflicted by/ threatened by HIV/AIDS in the continent of Africa.

And that brings me to the Live 8 stuff going on this Saturday, July 2nd. (Looks like they're doing a second thing on July 6th in Edinburgh, Scotland, since it's closer to home for the actual G8 summit.) I would ask you to turn on your t.v. (MTV and VH1 will definitely show it) and watch (Sir) Bob Geldof do his thing yet again (better than the '80's, promise) with tons and tons of other human beings who believe in lifting up the oppressed. Like I do. Like you do. And, no, I probably won't start running around with a white rubber bracelet (there are too many of them anymore and my inner fashionista knows it) but I've definitely signed this letter because this kind of plan and behavior is right. Not only that, but as a conservative, Christian American, I can tell you flat out that this is the kind of plan God makes for us and this is the way God behaves toward us. How are we gonna stop the flow of that love and generosity to people around us in this world who are crushed by their circumstances? We'll inherit horrible things if we are willing to turn our faces away from the suffering of other human beings.

So, when the G8 get to Scotland, I hope they've heard from tens of millions of people. I hope they've heard from you. ONE is the right way to do it, too. You wouldn't believe the power there is in human beings agreeing on one thing.

It's time, as Kenneth Patchen put it, to

Be generous to generations who had nothing
To take, or give. O be willing to wait no longer.
Build men, not creeds; seed not soil-
O raise the standards out of reach.

new men new world new life

Or as I like to put it,

Make me proud.