New Orleans ten years ago

Hello all,

Well as you can tell I’ve not been posting. Why should every post start with an apology? No one reads this, so I’m going to stop apologizing. Perhaps I’m apologizing to you in order to make excuses to myself. That has to be it. There. Problem solved without Dr. Phil or whomever is the latest TV psychologist. Except for Dr. Keith Ablow. What a douche.

Anyway, it’s now been ten years since the hurricanes swept through the New Orleans area, and there has been a lot on the news lately about it. I meant to try to dig up some pictures earlier so I could coincide with the media memories frenzy, but it didn’t happen in time. Besides, it all just seemed a bit too self-congratulatory to me, so again, I probably deliberately didn’t get around to it in order to avoid seeming like everyone else. Even though I’m not unique, I sure want to believe I am. I am comfortable with that delusion.

Back to the topic. I was in New Orleans four months after the storms, working with various health agencies that were determined to not only restore health services to the area but to improve on the delivery system. Prior to the storms, you either had insurance, and went to one of the big university hospitals, or you didn’t have insurance, and you went to Charity Hospital. Charity was where you’d also go for primary care. You’d go to the emergency room. Primary care for the uninsured was not prevalent. There were a scattering of privately run, donor-financed operations, oftentimes in collaboaration with a church, but not much. If you lived way outside of the city, you’d ride a bus for a couple of hours, sit in the emergency room at Charity, and if you were lucky enough to be seen that day, great. You’d get back on the bus and head home. If they didn’t see you, you still had to get on the bus to go home, but you’d be on it again the next morning to sit in line again. Great system huh?

In early January, 2006, I took these photographs in the lower ninth ward. The first one is of Fats Domino Publishing. He has since restored the building and it looks much better.

 

Fats Domino Publishing, January, 2006

Fats Domino Publishing, January, 2006

Kids used to play here

Kids used to play here

When the levee broke, it wasn't just water pouring into the neighborhood. This barge sits across what used to be several homes.

When the levee broke, it wasn’t just water pouring into the neighborhood. This barge sits across what used to be several homes.

Uninhabitable. You cannot just "go home." There is no home.

Uninhabitable. You cannot just “go home.” There is no home.

This used to be a street. Now there's a house there. Not a home. Just a house.

This used to be a street. Now there’s a house there. Not a home. Just a house.

This is what's left of the area near the main breach. Some sidewalks and concrete porches remain, but little else. This used to be a neighborhood.

This is what’s left of the area near the main breach. Some sidewalks and concrete porches remain, but little else. This used to be a neighborhood.

Four months later, there were still abandoned cars all over. The ones they had managed to move, were kept in a pile beneath the expressway leading in and out of New Orleans.

Four months later, there were still abandoned cars all over. The ones they had managed to move, were kept in a pile beneath the expressway leading in and out of New Orleans.

 

 

The thing I will always remember about my visits there was the utter lack of sound. In the lower ninth, where these photos were taken, there were no birds. No dogs. No children. No sounds of life. It was dusty, and the air still smelled of mildew and rot. Every once in a while you’d see a child’s toy, but it wouldn’t be next to a house, it would be stuck in a random tree. Powerful silence is quite the reminder of how fragile our little constructed corner of the galaxy truly is.

There’s also a new episode of the Prehensile and Gretel Show podcast available. On this one, Rita was unable to join, so I made up some stuff and then read from The Randy Scuffle Papers. This is your chance to hear it as it sounds from the mind of the author. Check it out here

-Phil Reebius

 

 

All photographs are copyright, Phil Reebius. I have the originals, so don’t try anything funny.

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I finally made it to Bad Grammar Theater!

I read from The Randy Scuffle Papers Friday night at Bad Grammar Theater. Thanks to Brendan, the other readers, and audience members for the warm welcome! This was my first time reading at this venue. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for months, but work, life and other annoyances kept popping up. But this time, everything aligned and it worked out beautifully. I will definitely be back with some new material. Or old. Whatever I have lying around.

Speaking of which, I still cannot find the story I wrote about 30 years ago. I know I have copies of it somewhere, and I will continue to search through the archives. The archives are really just a pile of boxes from when we moved here 14 years ago, and it’s a complete disaster since I cannot find anything. Something will show up, I’ll emit joy-sounds, and then I put it in a “safer place” where I know I will be able to find it in the future. Of course, it is once again missing; thankfully, the ocean currents are dependable, and in another 3 or 4 years, it will come my way again. I’m curious to find it since I suspect it really sucks.

In addition to the story I have misplaced, I am also looking for my old NRA medal I received when I was a kid at camp. We shot rifles at targets, learned weapons safety, and I got a “pro-marksman” medal for my efforts. I think I was about 8. Well, now if I could just find that damn thing so I can send it back to the NRA with a note describing my current feelings for their efforts to fuck this country up. It’s a small statement; I’d like to make it; but I lost the goddamn thing. I know it’s somewhere in the house and when I find it I will send it back. They probably melt down all the medals people send back and just say “fuck ’em.” I cannot believe the NRA gives a flying shit. It was fun when it was about gun safety, personal responsibility, and a right of passage into young adulthood. But now? Fuck me in the heart.

Watch for an upcoming episode of The Prehensile and Gretel Show; I’ll be reading from The Randy Scuffle Papers. This is hard for me. The self-promotion bit. I know some people love to get out there and say “buy my shit. I’m awesome!” But I have a hard time with that. So here’s my humble pitch: please check out the book. It’s on Amazon. I think you’ll like it. A lot. Bring a copy to a reading night and I’ll be happy to sign it for you. Someday, you never know…

I also plan to read this week at the No Shush Salon in Clarendon Hills. Michael Penkas will be the featured reader, with excerpts from Mistress Bunny and the Cancelled Client. It’s great!

-Phil Reebius

 

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Back up and running again

Even this post is late. I’m tired of deadlines. Even when self-imposed. But the podcast is back and the summer colds that kept us from the Prehensile and Gretel studios are gone with just a lingering bit of their effect. To celebrate, Rita and I play a quick game of “celebrity farts” and enjoy ourselves quite a bit. Yes, we are both 12 years old. There are people who take themselves very seriously and would never ever play a game like that because they are serious and grown-up and all mature and shit. Right? I knew a woman who claimed she had never farted. Ever. Why does everything I write end up being about farts? Okay, gotta go. Check out the latest podcast! I’ll write more later. About serious stuff…

 

-Phil Reebius

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Summer Colds Disrupt our Podcast

Ugh. Rita and I have been out with nasty summer colds. She got it way worse than I did, and is still kind of getting over the coughing part of it. She got the full blown migrane, jaw aches, sinus infection, sore throat and then upper respiratory version. I got stuffy, sore throat, bit of a hacky cough for a few days and it left me. I am too evil for sickness to prevail. Rita on the other hand is sweet and kind and the bugs just love her. Even the flying kind. I could walk through a room filled with mosquitos and not get bitten. Rita walks outside for 10 seconds and gets all chewed up. They love her.

The colds have affected our ability to do the Prehensile and Gretel podcast. So forgive us, we are a week or so behind. Now work has become demanding and we are targeting some production time later this week and over the weekend. We did not give up already. Just starting to have fun. But it would have been a pain for you to listen to given the rugged sound of Rita’s voice. Will be back on track soon. Promise.

It reminds me of a zillion years ago when I worked at a cheap-ass radio station in the great white north. I’m not one to get sick very often, but when I do, it really fucks me up. I had the morning show and had to start at about 5 AM or some ungodly hour. I came down with some hideous virus that took me out. I couldn’t even talk. Couldn’t even get a croak out. So I had to take a few days off. Now mind you, this radio station paid absolute shit and the working conditions were no better. There’s a whole story about my leaving that place which I can get into later, but let’s just say that the program director at one point actually said: “If you cared about your job, you wouldn’t have gotten sick during the ratings period.” I don’t think I said anything, as I was too stunned at the abject stupidity of the statement. But I thought: “Fuck you.”

The longer story involves farting fat women and family businesses, but I have to get some rest now. Watch for the podcast soon!

Phil Reebius

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