KATRINA & THE LOST CITY OF NEW ORLEANS by Rod Amis New Orleans is the Lost City of America. New Orleans has disappeared as surely as the lost city of Atlantis or the lost city of Pompeii, which former mayor Marc Morial and Senator Mary Landrieu (D-LA.) have compared us to in their statements. That New Orleans, the New Orleans I mean to tell you about, that will never, ever, exist again--that city of love, lust, death and sex--will never exist again. A portion of the proceeds of this book will go to the New Orleans Hospitality Workers Fund. The cooks, servers and restaurant workers of New Orleans have provided fabulous times and memories for millions. Now we must remember them in their time of need. Buy the book or get a downloadable PDF Copy now! To order on Amazon.com, go here! A small, independent and outspoken magazine like this one can't reach you every week without the support and patronage of its readership. As our way of thanking those who have committed to keep your World's Magazine here on your desktop through their generous donations, we feature their names and cities here in our Roll of Honor. SUSTAINING PATRONS BECKY & KENT ALTEMUS, Shenandoah, TX, USA RON DIENER, Wendell, NC, USA DARHL STULTZ, Largo, FL, USA TIMOTHY MEADOWS, Anaheim, CA, USA TERRY TERRIAN, Sebastopol, CA, USA CHERYL HILL NATION, West Fairlee, VT, USA DRAGAN & DRAGANA VICANOVIC, Belgrade, SERBIA LESZEK MICHAELWICZ, New Orleans, LA, USA MARIE SINSABAUGH, Granville, OH, USA Supporting Patrons BARBARA ATWELL, Berkeley, CA, USA MATT STOWELL, New Orleans, LA, USA LARS KEFFERSTAN, New York, NY, USA MEREDITH TUPPER, Tampa, FL, USA NGOZI RAZAK-SOYEBI, Jos, NIGERIA NICK ALLEN, New Orleans, LA, USA RIC WILLIAMS, Austin, TX, USA ROBERT PURVIS, Montclair, NJ, USA IAN CRYSTAL, Ph. D, New Orleans, LA, USA STEVE VIVIAN, New York, NY, USA STUART ALTMAN, ESQ., New York, NY, USA X.N. IRAKI, Jackson, MS, USA We encourage you to add your name to this Roll of Honor. GENERATOR 21 cannot continue and thrive without your support. Thanks in advance. To support G21, please send checks or money orders to: Rod Amis Editor in Chief, G21: The World's Magazine 175-A Vernon Terrace Oakland, CA 94610 USA To donate by credit or debit card, please go to the Western Union website by following the highlighted link. Should you donate via Western Union, please notify us via e-mail. Please make all remittances payable to Rod Amis. Again, thanks. G21 at FeedBurner Rod Amis at the Huffington Post in February Rod Amis at the Huffington Post in May Rod Amis at the Huffington Post in July Rod Amis at the Huffington Post in August ENJOY WHAT ROD DOES! (From our Link Partner at Calabash Music. Merci!)

Rod Amis - Unbound

SMOKE & MIRRORS - THE ROAD TO HELL: ROD AMIS returns to New Orleans and thinks better of it, provides a new editorial for the season of tragedies in America, and more.

SMOKE

"Where there's smoke, there's fire ..." Popular Adage.

2 September 2006: The first lines of my second book about New Orleans will be:

I flew into New Orleans on Thursday, 31 August 2006, one year and two days after hurricane Katrina.

After nearly two days of drinking and listening to people's sad and angry stories, I spent my first Saturday in New Orleans helping to gut and haul debris out of a single mother's home so that it could be renovated and she and her child could move back in. I thought it was the least I could do.

I realized, in the August heat, sweating the drunk out of my system, that part of the rebuilding effort meant tearing things down as they were before the storm and making them whole again.

The eerie part, for me, as I drove with my contractor friend across to the city to this house in the part of town we call Mid-City, was that I noticed few cars or people on the street. Buildings, traffic signs and stop lights, but no damned people. For the first time I had the sense of what had happened to our city, New Orleans. It had begun to resemble a ghost town. Block after block of empty buildings.

So here I was back. After only three days I was working on someone's house - someone I didn't even know. And when a stray neighbor would walk by seeing this old Black guy in his fifties pushing a wheelbarrow full of garbage out of a house in their neighborhood, they would give me a special smile and say, "How ya' doing?" We would both know what that meant.

The night before, I had written out a check to stay at my first apartment, a temporary deal, with my pal the contractor, Brian. Lots of people here refer to him as "Drunken Brian" the way they refer to a bartender friend of mine as "Naked Jak." If you've ever read the obituaries in the Times-Picayune from here, you'll know that most people here, if you live here long enough, end up with street nicknames. I often wonder which one I've gotten. I would imagine, since most people don't have a name like mine, that I might not have earned one yet.

On the other hand, I'd think they might refer to me as "Toothless Rod." It would be nice, though, if - like my friend Eura - they called me "Rod the Bartender," even though I don't do that anymore. It would be even better if only a few people might think of me as "Rod the Writer."

But we never get that lucky. Brian is a hardworking man, who goes out and works construction every day. You would think they'd refer to him as "Hardworking Brian" or "Brian the Contractor." But people here refer to him as "Drunken Brian."

That's the way of the world, I suppose.

So my street nickname in New Orleans is most likely "Toothless Rod."

My second night in town, I went Uptown to move into this apartment with Brian. The building manager let us in and then called the landlord to come over and pick up my check.

He walked in the door to the place and said, "Let me get a look at his face."

He took a look at me, no rental application, no credit check. And said, "Yeah, you're okay. You're one of us. Welcome back to New Orleans."

Our rent is a third of what the gougers are charging. Those bastards are charging San Francisco prices. There's a special precinct of Hell reserved for them.

We shook hands and that was it. He went back out to his car to take his kids home and Brian and I went back out to the bar.

That's the way we are in New Orleans.

But we are all different now. People are both angry and traumatized since Katrina. You can feel it in the very air.

The City that Care Forgot definitely knows that America forgot us years ago and certainly has let us down.

As I rode through Mid-City looking at the FEMA trailers in front of people's homes, at the portable storage units on too many blocks where they took their previous valuables to wait for their houses to be rebuilt, as I listened to the stories - particularly from people who came back early - I could not help but feel heartsick.

There is more anguish here than even I would have suspected.

I realized that - uncharacteristically - I was the most optimistic person in town.

They are right when they say that you cannot know what this is like until you are here on the ground in New Orleans and see how America has left us.

And it doesn't take long to get that feeling. It took me less than two days. After that, I volunteered to help rebuild a woman's house.

But I am old. My body is not what it was even four years ago and I almost died here twice before. All I can hope is to do what I can, since I'm still willing to do some manual labor.

This city needs a lot.

EDITORIAL

8 September 2006: It is the season of anniversaries in America, anniversaries of tragedy. The anniversary of the loss of New Orleans came just days before I got on that fated airplane to fly back into the place, the approaching anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy happens on Monday.

Both are clouded, muddied - if you will - by conspiracy theories and a rash of theatrical productions that intend to reframe the history of suffering. The blogosphere is afire with the controversy over the American Broadcasting Company (ABC's) television "docudrama" about the latter tragedy. Former-President Clinton is incensed because he believes it is a political work meant to continue to tarnish his legacy and take blame away from the current United States Administration for its failures in dealing with the incident.

That anyone should be surprised that the Bush Administration would try to deflect blame after the drubbing they have taken this year over the Katrina disaster, the sorry state here in New Orleans, the war in Iraq and the debacle in Afghanistan, with a midterm election pending, frankly escapes me. This government, now on the defensive and aggressively committed to its atavistic agenda, needs all its compeers at the ramparts.

Part of its project has always been to re-write history. Why should that suddenly change now?

The frustrating situation for those in the Bush Administration and their remaining supporters - a small and pious group - is that the rest of us, living in a world based on rationality, fail to comprehend their divinely inspired and manifestly destined vision to bring more misery, suffering and chaos to other countries. They don't "get" why we don't "get" that this will usher the coming of the New Jerusalem. We are the worse for our lack of incomprehension, in the view of the people currently in charge of the government of the world's failing superpower.

It has always been shocking to your Interlocutor how many divinely inspired people have been so willing to lead countless thousands to their deaths, create more widows, orphans and refugees. The last time I talked to God, that was not His Plan.

This Interlocutor would like to suggest that a reality-based - as opposed to the Bush Administration's faith-based approach - to policy might be a good thing for our troubled world about now.

As St. Paul so eloquently wrote, "Faith is the belief in things unseen... " I must say, I've never seen anyone nourished by an unseen meal or take succor from an unseen glass of water.

I do not mean to be harsh about this. It is simply, in my belief system, we should be working harder to alleviate rather than inflict suffering. We should salve the wounded, house the homeless, bring relief to the oppressed, protect our widows and orphans, bring food and water to our poor. This is what I believe.

Thus, it is difficult to understand the reasoning of those who would do otherwise, those who - by intent - add to the unremitting brutality and injury that is the nature of our world.

One must believe that it is not simply greed alone that motivates their actions. If one listens to the "faith-based" argument it would seem, on its face, that they believe they would save us by despoiling and destroying us. This Interlocutor, at least, finds that argument difficult to swallow.

There is no generosity there. More importantly, that is sustaining fear rather than love.

INSIDE THE MAGAZINE

This edition is especially late for two reasons:

1. My misadventure(s) in New Orleans, and


2. I have begun with each successive issue, because of the value-added features I've piled on, to feel more and like putting your World's Magazine together is like trying to steer an aircraft carrier.

I can recall when I could put an edition together in four hours. With the various video feeds, navigational tools and other back-end functions that are now part of this, I'm lucky if I can produce an edition in less than three days of solid working. It's frustrating.

I'm serious considering looking at a Content Management System (CMS) or some such to stream my job of producing this magazine but not losing any of the new functions we've added. I'll keep you posted.

Many of you Longtime Loyal Readers know that I have been very active in seeking new female writers and contributors from around the planet. That's why I'm pleased as punch to be able to intr oduce you to two sterling one's this issue. CATRIONA STUART, who writes from Oakland, CA, USA, was gracious enough to take over the screening and review chores from me for the "Giuliani Time" review I promised CineLibre Studios we'd run this edition. She's an excellent journalist and did a great job. I recommend her article to you.

AND I was floored by the elegance of London, UK's CYNTHIA JELE in her fiction submission which begins in this edition, "The Good Nanny." I suggest you give it a read. Cynthia's definitely a keeper and I hope she'll find a comfortable home at your World's Magazine.

MIRRORS

30 August 2006: As I type to you this evening, my dears, I am preparing to get on an aeroplane back to New Orleans, Louisiana, a place I have loved and hated deeply. A place that almost killed me more than once. Third time is the charm, yes?

---

The flight is what they call a "red-eye." I have been awake since three (3:00) this morning because the airline I chose insists you arrive two hours early. What a crock. I've been sitting here for over an hour bored to tears. I should have followed my own better judgment and waited until an hour later to show up.

The indignity of traveling by air in America now is almost maddening. The humiliation that people are required to undergo surpasses understanding. I suppose I'll endure it a few more times before I leave...

I can only hope there is some reward to taking a flight to New Orleans this early in the day. It is not my style, after all. I prefer to board after noon when I've had time for a cocktail or two and the ability to ease into the day. Built for comfort not for speed...

---

Well, it turns out there was a reward. Because of a delay, due to technical problems, when we changed planes in New Mexico, none of the passengers bound for New Orleans were allowed to pay for their cocktails. A bounce of people either returning to New Orleans or bound there to visit or help out getting free drinks flying in...

Let's just say we were definitely the party plane. Thank the Cosmos for Southwest Airlines.

---

10 September 2006: Matt set me up with a housemate, Brian, that took my money to pay for his new place and then kicked me out because I was "demanding" about things like having a key to the apartment and electricity and air conditioning for the place. I was forced to use almost all of my available cash for a hotel room. Again. It seems the favorite game in town for people without a sense of conscience or reality is to force other people onto the street. I've been down this road before.

12 September 2006: Other New Orleans Items:

1. Though the hotel that is my safe haven for the week is well-appointed, with a pleasant and courteous staff, a working air conditioning and working cable television, it is impossible to hold a mobile phone signal here. I am with Cingular, who touts the least dropped calls in its national advertising, but I have experienced an approximately 50% drop-call-rate in various parts of this city, including the Central Business District (CBD). It's that lack of infrastructure thang again...




2. There is something in the air. Too many people I know - including myself - have exascerbated sinus problems here. Perhaps it's the mold.




3. There has been a rash of bar robberies in the Marigny and Bywater - areas of the Upper Ninth Ward - for weeks now. I watched a news report last evening about the most recent robberies. The crime wave seems to be the responsibility of the same three men. They case the joint(s) briefly and then reveal their weapons. One goes behind the bar to handle the cash register and video poker payout bank, another goes down the bar robbing all the patrons, while the third waits behind the door to rob anyone entering the place and stand guard as the robbery is being carried out. Then they warn the bartender not to call the cops right away as they take off. Thus far, they carried out six of these in only a few weeks and the police say they have no suspects.

   I don't go out at night in certain parts of town in New Orleans anymore.




4. The latest joke making the rounds goes like this: A little while back a thousand New Orleanians showed up at the Pearly Gates, pushing, elbowing, asking questions and tried to gain entry.

   St. Peter was stunned, so he rushed off to ask God what to do.

   "I've been expecting them," God replies. "Just go ahead and let them in."

   I few moments later, St. Peter, aghast, rushes back to The Most High and says, "I'm sorry, My Lord, but they're gone!"

   "The people from New Orleans?" God asks.

   "No," says St. Peter. "The Pearly Gates."

---

15 September 2006: You know what they say about the road to Hell, my loves.

It was with good intentions that I decided to accept three assurances from my friends, and most especially one from Matt - the most crucial one - and return to New Orleans to help rebuild and work on the second New Orleans book.

I write this riding a train to Houston, Texas, because that journey was an unmitigated disaster. I realize that I have spent most of this year and thousands of dollars chasing a dream. The dream was called "Home," and I was a fool not to have read my own writing [See "My Glass House" the precursor to this column - Ed.] over the years and realized that it is a place that does not exist for me.

I no more have a home than a fish has lungs that breathe air.

In the case of New Orleans, I at least only squandered a thousand dollars on the dream, as opposed to the threefold on that amount wasted to discover that California was an illusion and a heart-breaking disappointment.

So many people are now, officially, dead to me, as we used to say in New England.

This time, I was indirectly Jo'ed. I was also Brianed, as you've read above.

That all that happened within a two-week period is absolutely astonishing to me - and it was emotionally and financially exhausting.

So I am on my way to Houston, Texas. There, I'll meet my good friend ("little sister") Becky Altemus, who is mayor of Shenandoah, Texas, a nearby suburb. I'll take two days to figure out the next step on this hejira.

I once had a fantasy about spending the rest of my life riding trains. I could do that if they had wireless Internet connections on trains.

Then I would wander the Earth like the Flying Dutchman or Kane from "Kung Fu," stopping only long enough for a shower and a shave or haircut here and there and then moving on. My only distractions would be those ephemeral people who actually had destinations, who actually came from somewhere, and did not live the life of wandering endlessly on the train, across the landscape, with no place to go...

Like I said, I once had a fantasy...

---

Now that I know there is no "Home" for me, I have to determine where I want to live among strangers. I probably should have looked at the proposition that way all along, no? Then my expectations would not have been so high. Then I would have been happy with just achieving the creature comforts in solitude. Other people are not to be trusted. But I knew that already, didn't I? WHAT was I thinking? Trust is the road to heartbreak.

So, after I spend the weekend in Houston, send off my next invoice to my boss and beg him to Fed Ex my payment to me, I suppose I'll get on another train, and another and another.

Keep me in your prayers as I keep you in my own.

Thanks for coming back this week.

THINGS ROD HOPES FOR THIS WEEK

1 - A new decisiveness about where I should live.

2 - More t ime for my own writing(s).

3 - Becoming prepared for the next book projects for the G21 Books imprint.

"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching ... "

Love,
Rod

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ROD AMIS has published this magazine since 1990. It first appeared as a hardcopy 'Zine. In March, 1996, he launched it here on the Web. Rod was a Contributing Editor at Suite101.com, where he wrote the " 'Net Publishing" feature. His work has been featured in the San Francisco Bay Guardian Online, NRV8, and at the (U.S.) Public Broadcasting System (PBS's) WebLab's Reality Check site. Rod was a contributing writer on technology for Faulkner Information Services. He wrote on Web issues for MethodFive.com's Hyper newsletter.

Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was principal writer and Editor for IT Manager's Journal, where he reviewed technology issues weekly, producing 383 editorials. He became the Managing Editor for Electronic Mail/Newsletter Publications at Andover.net at the end of February, 2000, and left in September of the same year. He was a contributing writer for ACCESS Internet magazine, which appeared both on- and offline for 10 million readers in 100 newspapers like the San Francisco Chronicle, New York Post, Boston Herald, Austin American-Statesman, Denver Post and Orlando Sentinel, among others. Rod was the US reporter for Silicon.com, a division of Network Multimedia Television in London, UK, r eaching 3.5 million European readers, until May, 2001.

In 2002, he worked as Assistant to the General Manager of a Big Easy company that does restaurants and nightclubs. He did stints as the Resident Philosopher at three separate gin mills in that city in the French Quarter and the Marigny, earning his stripes during two successive Mardi Gras seasons. Oh yeah, Rod's had Day Jobs working construction. Mostly renovations of old New Orleans structures, houses and a bar. Sometimes he designs Web sites for other people so that he can get his creative juices flowing the way he can't at a staid publication like this one. And he's been the instructor in Editing for Internet Publications at the Novi Sad School of Journalism in Yugoslavia. When he's not busy here, he writes technology columns for IT Manager's Journal and NewsForge, business columns for Enterprise Leadership and Slashdot. He he also acts as a Host and Project Coordinator at NewsTrust. Rust never sleeps.

Our Resident Philosopher is taking to the road once again. Wish him luck..

In his spare time, he chases women in the manner that a fly pursues a spider.

He continues to be committed to integrity, chastity and a dose of humility.

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