C’est Levee, or Once More Unto the Breach

It’s the first anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s whomping of the Gulf Coast. I’ve been down to New Orleans four times since then. I’ve tried to chronicle a little bit of the reconstruction, or at least my viewpoint on the progress.

My perspective is limited, of course. Amy’s family lives about 25 miles from the city, so the people I see the most down there talk more about the after-effects, not their own property loss. We’ve made trips into the city each visit, but mainly in the central business district and the French Quarter. I haven’t gone through the lower Ninth Ward in any of my visits, but I also don’t visit the South Bronx when I go to New York.

Or does the WTC site serve as a better analogy? Ray Nagin seemed to think so, when he contrasted NOLA’s rebuilding pace with the five-year span since the Twin Towers were knocked down: “You guys in New York can’t get a hole in the ground fixed and it’s five years later. So let’s be fair.”

It was a cheap shot, but Nagin’s a mentally unstable grandstander, so that needs to be factored in.

How does the city get rebuilt? Darned if I know. I wouldn’t exactly trust a “master plan” developed by the crooked politicos of Louisiana in concert with the ass-clowns in Washington, and the Army Corps of Engineers is already covering its ass about the possibility of the current levees being unable to handle another major storm. I’m having enough trouble just trying to settle on a color for my home office, since the official VM wife objects pretty violently to the deep green currently in place.

(Witold Rybczynski in Slate has a neat piece about how a new-urbanist project in Denver provides an example of how to start putting together neighborhoods, but it all presupposes that the neighborhoods aren’t built in a locale that’s existentially flood-prone.)

I’m having trouble coming up with anything to say that I haven’t gotten at already, so why don’t you, my dear readers, tell me what you make of New Orleans? A bunch of you came to visit in March for my wedding, but I want to hear from those of you who haven’t seen it, too. Tell me what you remember of the city, if you’ve been there before, what you thought if you’ve been there post-Katrina, and what you think of the ways and means of rebuilding a city that wasn’t in great shape before it’s cataclysm.

(Update: I know it’s hard to believe, but Ray Nagin has more to say!)

Dog, hair, etc.

Surprise, dear readers! Amy & I are down in Louisiana, having surprised the official VM mother-in-law for her brithday yesterday! While we did keep it a secret from almost everyone, I’m starting to think we could’ve told them all we were coming, since no one would believe that people would actually come down here in late July.

Because it’s flat-out hot, brothers and sisters. The humidity adds a layer of stank to it, but the heat is just awful. The weekend after I proposed to Amy, we sat down with a 2006 calendar to figure out what weekends we could have the wedding. Our first move was to cross out the 5-month span between mid-May and mid-October.

We’ll spend time in New Orleans on Sunday, and I’m hoping to get some good pictures for your edification & enjoyment.

On the flight down here, I got upgraded to first class, which is always nice. It was a 7am flight, so I was too exhausted to get nervous about the flight. I just got some coffee and read for a bit. My co-first-class-ters, on the other hand, felt that 7am is a good time to start drinking. I mean, I know that the drinks are free in first class, but having a Jack-and-coke at that hour doesn’t seem like a smart strategy to me, unless maybe you’re seeking a homeopathic remedy for New Orleans.

Suburban Handicap

Yesterday, the Official VM Wife and I headed into NYC to see a performance of Measure for Measure. It was directed by John Castro, a lifelong friend who stopped talking to me in September 2003 because of a girl. I think.

I mean, I know she’s a girl, but I’m not exactly sure exactly what John’s reasons were for not returning my calls for a year, since he’s never told me. Even though he finally deigned to write me, he’s never managed to put together a free evening to get together with me, and his responses to e-mails are intermittent at best.

He missed my wedding last March, for what I assume were reasons relating to the founding of his new theater company, Hipgnosis. That invite was pretty much my last attempt at salvaging 30 years of friendship, but I figured I’d perform some sort of friend-like duty and see his play before its run finishes tonight.

It sounds like a going-through-of-motions, I admit, but I prefer to describe it as an “echo of friendship.”

God, that all sounds like it was a depressing evening, but it wasn’t.

In fact, I had a great time, because another friend of mine, whom I haven’t caught up with in 11 years, joined us for dinner and the play. This guy was a Navy vet I knew in college, and we hadn’t seen each other since I took him to the airport in 1995 to send him to his teaching gig in South Korea. He had just helped me move into my new/old home, and we had some adventures getting the moving truck up from Annapolis to Ringwood.

Cap’n Nemo (fortunately, I didn’t have a college nickname (that I know of)) was filled with riotous stories about his sudden deportation from SK and his life in the last decade, his unique political & linguistic perspective, and obligatory college reminiscences. He’d never seen me drink–much less drink gin–and when we made introductions yesterday, he laughingly replied to “This is my wife, Amy” with “Never thought I’d hear that from you.” It was great to see how we’ve changed and could still stay close.

Joining us for drinks but not dinner or Shakespeare, was my buddy Elayne and her friend Jill. We had (what I consider to be) a lovely time, shooting the breeze, telling stories, and crisscrossing our lives into one another’s. Elayne joined us early in a bar where Amy & I ended up to get out of the heat.

We watched the second half of the France-Brazil match, then watched a loud patron hit on the Czech bartendress, with whom I bonded over the virtues of pop music, as characterized by Hanson’s “Mmmbop!” which was playing on the jukebox.

Is the play the thing? I suppose I should get around to writing about it, but I don’t have much to say. I enjoyed it, but the theater-space was overbearingly hot. I haven’t read the play, so I didn’t have any preconceptions about how it should be staged. I don’t even know how to critique actors at this point, except to say that none of them embarrassed themselves, and no one seemed out of place, although the Duke came off as a bit wooden in his soliloquies.

John & I didn’t have any tearful reunion/reconciliation. I don’t think life works like that, at least not in your mid-30s. He happened to be outside the theater-building as the three of us were approaching, and he zoomed across the street to greet us, giving me a big-ass hug. I introduced him to Amy & Mark, and he shook hands and then headed off for whatever stuff he needed to get done, pre-play. We didn’t stick around after, but we had some fun conversation on the way to Mark’s subway entrance.

Coincidentally, another friend of 20+ years got in touch with me during the afternoon, calling while Amy & I were walking through the east village. The thing was, we heard loud cheers coming from several of the bars and restaurants on the street, so we assumed there was a goal in the France-Brazil game. Since the cellphone-call came an instant later, I figured it had to be my dad calling. It turned out to be my friend, who also missed our wedding, but just came across her present for us, and is hoping we’ll come by today to pick it up (and see her and her family).

Friendship takes a lot of turns.

(Wanna see some pix from our east Village meanderings? It’s a little photoset, but it includes a pic of the place where Amy & I had our first date).

Good thing Ian didn’t bring up his Navy record

Last December, Amy & I stopped in on one of the hotels in New Orleans where we were planning to reserve a block of rooms for guests at our wedding. The place was still under reconstruction, but one of the upper floors had just been refurnished, the desk clerk told us. The guard would take us up and show us around, if we wanted.

The guy took us upstairs and we toured a couple of the newly decorated rooms. They looked great. Walking behind the security guard, I noticed the large sidearm hanging from his belt, and I thought, “This guy could be a complete psycho. He could shoot us right now and dump our bodies somewhere, and no one would find us.”

It was a weird, passing thought, but it was conditioned by being in a pretty abandoned city.

The hotel worked out for a bunch of our guests, even if my buddy Ian and his family had a problem with their door not locking correctly and had to get moved to a new room at a weird hour (sorry, guys).

This morning, I was scrolling through Drudge and came across a news item about — wait for it — a psycho security guard at a New Orleans hotel popping a visitor in the face with his .40 while they argued over who had the more extensive military record!

“Well,” thought I, “it couldn’t possibly be the same hotel . . . Oh, wait. Yeah, that’s the Royal Saint Charles, alright.”

More wedding pix

Lifelong friend (okay, part of the family) Gail DeStefano (nee Kutyla) just zapped over her pix from the wedding! This one’s of lifelong friend (okay, part of the family) Cathi holding my niece Sela.

A bunch of Gail’s pix are pretty blurry, but I swear Gail wasn’t drunk when she took them! (her sister, on the other hand . . . )

Good reception

I forgot to post the videos from the reception (most of them are just video from when we were doing the group photos)!

There’s only one big one here; the rest are 1.4mb or smaller.

Me and my brother

Me, my brother and my dad, part 1

Me, my brother and my dad, part 2

Me and my brother, yukking it up

Amy & her sister

Just crazy-dancing

Me & Amy with my niece Liat

Smiles, everyone, smiles!

The big swing-dancing video. This is the only large file (about 17mb). Enjoy!

PlayPlay

It’s official

Our marriage certificate arrived in today’s mail! We’re no longer living in sin! Amy’s now Mrs. Roth! Way to go into the weekend! (During which time we have to go back to our jeweler in the city, since he had to resize my too-tight wedding ring.)

We also got the CDs of the hi-res wedding pix from the photographer, Cameron Gillie, so I hope to web-optimize some good ones and post them.

But I really plan on just chilling out this weekend and getting some rest. So don’t call.