Just for the hell of it, I thought I post the lyrics to Louisiana 1927, by Randy Newman.

I probably haven't done it properly, and I sorry if I'm violating copyrights... But I did cite the writer. It's so appropose... And I think most people aquainted with the history of the region understand the irony of it. The more things change the more they stay the same.

If you want a truely heart breaking, gut wrenching experience, listen the Aaron Neville version of the song, and look at the picture of the elderly lady who has virtually shrouded herself with an american flag blanket at a shelter. The irony and symbolism at that is almost more than I can bare.


Louisiana 1927 Song Lyrics by Randy Newman

What has happened down here is the wind have changed
Clouds roll in from the north and it started to rain
Rained real hard and rained for a real long time
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline
The river rose all day
The river rose all night
Some people got lost in the flood
Some people got away alright
The river have busted through cleard down to Plaquemines
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline

CHORUS
Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tyrin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away
Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tryin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away

President Coolidge came down in a railroad train
With a little fat man with a note-pad in his hand
The President say, "Little fat man isn't it a shame what the river has doneTo this poor crackers land."

CHORUS

CATHARSIS

Well, damn…

What do you say? Is there anything you can say?

I don’t think there is anyone from any part of Louisiana that isn’t affected by Katrina and what is happening in the state. Love it, or hate it, we are all tied to New Orleans in some way. I think about all the people I know from school who were from New Orleans, or moved there, and I wonder where they are... were they there?… did they leave, did they stay? How can I find them? I think about my family, and how, thankfully, my closest relative to there is in Baton Rouge. I think about the 2 times in recent years I’ve nearly moved there, and how I could be either one of the dead or one of the walking dead… I look at maps and try to figure out where relatives used to live, but I can’t tell because it’s all water now. I just can’t stop putting myself in the place of all those people I see on TV… the angry ones begging for help that hasn’t come yet… that promised help that they are supposed to “be patient” for… that life saving help that they have been waiting days for already…. With many dying … they made it through the hurricane… they made it through the water to a “safe” place… and they die waiting for help.

On TV yesterday, they were talking to some survivors on an overpass. The lady who was acting as a guide pointed out a family trying to take care of their grandmother who had Alzheimer’s. All I could think was “that could be MY mother”. And I know with my mother’s current condition, I truly doubt she’d last the first night out there without water. So, I know that many of people that you see waiting for rescue won’t live to see it. A healthy adult can go without water for what, 3 days? What about the sick and infirm, and what about children and babies…. Dear God, the babies. That is something that I just don’t let myself think about. Until I hear some soulless bastard say “It’s there fault for staying” or “it was stupid to build a city below sea level”. Well, I’m sure Bienville will burn in hell for not having a fucking GPS when the damn territory was settled a couple of hundred years ago. How easy it is for some people to sit with their full bellies, in their safe and dry house and pass judgment on other people…. To pass judgment on the 3 week old baby who was being held up by its father outside the Convention Center as he begged for formula or water because they hadn’t had water and food in 3 days. Yes, by all means let’s blame the poor, the young and the sick. I put people who do that in the same category as the looters.

I also feel horribly guilty. I have friends who are missing family members, I have friends whose family members now only have what they left New Orleans and Slidell with… And I’m okay…. My life is fine, better than it as ever been actually, in many ways – through no fault of my own. I’ve just been lucky. And I feel very guilty about that. I feel guilty that I can’t help… Yes, I’ve given money already… and will again. But I can’t go save anyone. I feel like I need to. It feels like it’s not enough unless I personal go and pull people off the overpasses. Intellectually, I know that’s wrong but I’m getting a little too wrapped up in this and I don’t know quite how to pull back.



I have been asked, more than once, why am so upset about New Orleans since I’m not from there. I am from North Louisiana, but my grandmother grew up there. That was the port of entry for her grandparents, her grandfather came from France and her grandmother came from somewhere in Eastern Europe – possibly Russia, but we’ve never been able to nail that down. My grandmother loved New Orleans passionately! She frequently visited her sister there, (her sister… now there’s a story for ya’! Another day perhaps) and would return with tales of the “Big City”. She passed her love for the city on to me. New Orleans was my fairyland (pardon the pun, since she spent most of her time in The Quarter and the Garden District); it was my Camelot (from the wrong side of the tracks). I was raised on my grandmother’s story of being a Flapper in New Orleans during the ‘20’s. Stories of Mardi Gras Balls and the antics of her younger sister’s questionable acquaintances filled my head along with such big city things as elevators and street cars. Nope, no castles and dragons for me… it was New Orleans! I knew I wanted to live there one day when I grew up, so I could be like my grandmother. It was my achievable fairy tale. Later, after I was actually allowed to go to New Orleans, I fell in love with the history, with the architecture, with spirit of the place. New Orleans is just different. Some people get it, and some people don’t. If you get it, you love the city in spite of itself. It’s something that I can’t really explain to you, but if you have it you know what I mean.

For better or worse, and whether you like it or not, New Orleans was Louisiana. Don’t give me all that crap about the “piney hills” in the north, and all that other stuff. It’s just splitting hairs. New Orleans is symbolic of past, of our heritage… of why we are different that the rest of the country. If you don’t believe that Louisiana is different, try living another state for while. My God I miss it! I would have already moved back, except for the economic climate, job market, and poverty – I’m better off living outside the state and it kills me. I miss the people, I miss the land, I miss having parishes instead of counties…I miss having calendars with Mardi Gras on them. And now I’ve missed my chance to walk in my Grandmother’s footsteps. I’m glad she didn’t live to see New Orleans slowly drowning along with her people.

I am so sorry for everyone.