Dangermond.org

Celebrities are beginning a rolling fast to bring the troops home. Susan Sarandon, Willie Nelson, Rev Al Sharpton.

I’m starting my rolling fast to end the madness of remodelling a house in post-Katrina times. The electrician used aluminum instead of copper wire. Kim, the second contractor, had sheetrockers who neglected to put in insulation before rocking the house. The deck in back is having to be pulled up because Juan didn’t use the correct board or finishes. The new three windows will cost $10,000.

There is a woman here, of Turkish descent, she is opening a restaurant in the place where Gabrielle’s used to be. At one point, my friend P used to be in business with her partners, family, or whoever they are. She has opened many restaurants – all mediocre – she plans to open more than this one. How can this woman open so many mediocre restaurants in a city that has great food? How can she thrive offering less than?

The mullets were jumping up and down this morning in the bayou – what are they so happy about?

That’s what we all are down here in New Orleans – happy – blissfully fucking happy – we’re so happy we forgot to vote correctly, forgot to watchdog the levee board, forgot to buy flood insurance – we’re a happy happy lot down here.

The fireworks from my window were sure pretty tonight – I had them in stereo – Boomtown to Downtown – happy is what it made me. Blissfully fucking happy.

What? Irresponsible?

The rheumy eyes were tell-tale. I told her about J trying to kiss me. The long pause. “You know why the gardener is no longer here? … Oh, what is the word? I can’t think of it. It was D’s wedding and I had fractured both of my ankles and had taken a pain pill. He was in here working and I was lying down in there. I can remember what I was wearing – a nightgown and a robe – he came in and said ‘let me rub your back’ and I thought what a compassionate man and then he turned me over and – pause – he was in and out. Just like that [snap of the fingers]. He said, what do you think about that? And I said it is my worst nightmare. Then his wife came over here the next day screaming obscenities. And to think I almost had him drive me to the wedding – pause – I remember you took care of me.”

This is my cue to respond sympathetically, instead I am Lady MacBeth.

Coming home last night, the electricity was off at the Can and I met up with H&T and we decided to take wine, cards and candles down to the pool rather than sit in the stuffy apartments. H was talking about his father, how he often does not say the right thing at the right time – and T said, when we were rescued here by the Black Hawk helicopters, we called him, in tears, shaking, and he said, “That must of have been something.”

The news said we will have black outs. L said we are hanging by a thread here. Pishaw, I say. Then the morning Times Picayune affirms the precariousness – in New Orleans, people are fighting stress, fighting hopelessness, fighting period.

I grappled with my un-feeling and insensitive non-response – don’t blame the victim I admonish – what remains is an abhorrence of weakness I have never mastered – disgust over not protecting herself. (Or me.)

“You’re now one I need to protect” – and N wondered why this resonated.

Scientists at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle have linked risk-taking behavior in mice to a gene. Those without it prance unprotected along steel beams instead of huddling in safety like the other mice.

Aversion to victimhood – why I model the men not the women in my family – “you’re an enigma,” J said to me in Purchase, “you’re tough, but you look girly,” – if there is a predisposition to being a victim I will fight the good fight to my grave – this gal will not be doomed by her own DNA.

The yin and yang of yesterday is still resonating. My ATM card was lifted from under my nose at Kinko’s – the manager wanted to pay for my copies, then my coffee, then when all of that was refused she took me in her arms and hugged me. Fair enough. It worked. The social Xray in the making at Stafford Tile was flip – I responded by being a bitch. I tried to be super woman and carry the floor tiles in from the truck, I couldn’t, because I couldn’t even lift them – I demured, called J, and paid him to help me. He tried to kiss me afterwards. I refused, but paid him well for his time.

I woke this morning at 6 AM because my carpenter was calling to see if I wanted to go have coffee with him this fine morning. I said I don’t even want to be up much less having coffee.

I rode my bike and it rained. I came home and watched the rain – a good Louisiana thunderstorm – the likes of which I haven’t seen in two years. Lightning as fierce as fire, thunder as loud as elephants, and rain dousing the world. Arlene huddled close and I napped.

The carpenter woke me from my nap. This time I didn’t answer the phone.

He called again. This time to say that some folks from the West Indies are willing to clean out under the LaLa for $15/hour. They will also do insulation in the attic.

I was hoping for sleep, perchance to dream. I drank too much wine at Bacchanal last night. P is leaving for Okinawa was the occasion for the party. His ex found a new lover so she is not going to kill him anymore. I had my new Thomas Mann earrings on that I love! E was there – he told me he had a close encounter of the Fuck Face kind – blech. I told him the story – the co-opting of the name, the blog, etc. What I remember most was G talking and talking as we drove home. I told her this morning, I can’t believe she had so much to say. It’s hard to out talk me.

I can’t find my Wonder Woman book – the one S gave me a long time ago – she didn’t come, too exhausted from NY, her friend, who built a real estate empire, is watching it collapse all around her, it scared her.

Mom called, she’s scared too.

I just want my Wonder Woman book so I can write in there how I am not scared.