The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part One
The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part Two
The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part Three
The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part Four
The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part Five
The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part Six
The Adventures of Hurricane Grrl Part Seven
Everyone caught up? Okay, here we go:
( What was that bang? )

I've been playing around with Google Earth, and found the intersection where much of Hurricane Grrl took place. If you go to the intersection of Burgundy St. and Touro St., you will see Alex's restaurant on one corner, Sonny's house directly opposite it.

If you're facing the restaurant there on the corner (the big brick and stone building), look left. On that corner is the condo complex where we cooked our meals and relaxed in the pool. (The pool is in the back.) Three doors to the left of the condos is a little white house. That's Cheryl's place.

Directly across the street from the condos, there is a pinkish building on the corner. The second floor of that building belongs to the crazy old lady and her yipping dogs. Next door to that is the neon company with the artist studios on the first floor. On the second floor, you can clearly see the balcony where we slept each night and battled evildoers.


Alex's restaurant 2001 Burgundy St. New Orleans 70116

Just thought I'd share in case anyone was interested...

If you haven't read the previous Hurricane Grrl adventures, go do so now. I'll wait.
http://idiomagic.livejournal.com/124489.html#cutid1
http://idiomagic.livejournal.com/124820.html#cutid1
http://idiomagic.livejournal.com/125111.html#cutid1
and Hurricane Grrl in pictures:
Caution! Nudity!
http://idiomagic.livejournal.com/125288.html#cutid1

(Would someone please teach me how to make links that are text?)

( The saga continues... )

Over a year ago, I posted this in my other journal (idiomagic), but I never transcribed it here.

This is a collection of random snippets of LJ entries, personal emails,and comments left in other journals that I think convey quite a bit about my state of mind and my experiences during and following Katrina.

Warning: This is very long, and not very cohesive.
( Read more... )
As always and forever, gods bless New Orleans.

Two years ago today, at exactly this time, I was standing in the front door of what had been my home, looking at the mounds of rubble that covered everything I had owned.

Today, I still ache for my losses. My signed first edition books, my photographs, love letters...the things which are irreplaceable and irretrievable.

Here I am in Austin Texas, still lost, still an exile. And it breaks my heart.

New Orleans was my life, the living extension of my soul. And I will never get that back. I may never truly have a home, ever again.

Some of my friends are still there, limping through life day to day, trying to maintain some fragment of the magic that the city always shared so gracefully.

Some of my friends are scattered across the country, the New Orleans Diaspora, scarred and isolated, just like me.

Some of my friends are dead, senselessly lost in the horror of murder which has become the daily existence in New Orleans.

My city is still dying by inches. I am still exiled and bleeding. Katrina never ended. Nothing will ever be the same.

Please spare a thought today for all of those who have died, all who are withering in the strange soils of exile, all of those who are broken past mending.

Someday, perhaps the nightmares will end. Someday, maybe I will feel alive again. But the one thing that I know in my heart is the old wisdom...

You can't go home again.

Gods bless New Orleans.

Do you happen to live on the East coast or the Gulf coast? If so, you are at risk for hurricanes.
Do you live on the West coast? Earthquakes.
Midwest/Southwest? Tornados.
North? Ice storms and blizzards.

The main thing I learned from Katrina is : it can happen to you.
In no time at all, your entire life can be turned upside down.
And you can't count on the government, the police, medical assistance.
You find yourself vulnerable, in danger, and alone.

So...what can you do to maximize your chances of survival?

You should always, at all times, no matter what, have a basic survival kit on hand.

This should consist of:
a week's worth of bottled water per person
a week's worth of non-perishable food for each person
lots of matches
candles
an axe, if you are in a flood prone area...(people died in their attics, because they could not get out onto the roof...)
flashlight
radio
batteries for both of the above
a first aid kit
at least a gallon of bleach
flares
spray paint(in case you have to leave an SOS on a rooftop)
if possible, a gun and bullets for self-defense

I've heard a lot of people say they don't really have the room for all of this, or it's too expensive. If you end up needing these things, you will need them badly. Making the room, spending the money, might very well save your life.

Things you need to know to maximize survival:
*one capful of bleach in a gallon of water will help purify it
*even with bleach, always boil all water before drinking it
*include Immodium or similar in your medicine kit...you can't afford to be incapacitated and dehydrated if the water or food makes you ill
*every house and apartment building has at least one water heater...this contains between 20 and 60 gallons of fresh, drinkable water
*there is safety in numbers...find other survivors, band together for protection, and pool resources
*children and the elderly are most at risk in survival situations...keep them warm or cool depending on temperatures, keep them fed and hydrated even if you have to go without
*women: forget feminism...never go out into the streets without at least one man unless you are heavily armed and prepared to kill in self-defense...stay inside at night, no matter what
*in a city without electricity, candle light is visible from a great distance...keep your lights hidden
*treat any open wounds,even blisters, immediately...use lots of hydrogen peroxide and bandage thoroughly...do not enter standing water with open wounds...infection can be life threatening, and can incapacitate you and leave you vulnerable
*help anyone who needs it...when the government abandons you, only you can save each other

Just remember New Orleans...it can happen again. It can happen to you. Be prepared, just in case.

This is his follow up to the depression article he wrote last week. It speaks to the fact that none of us are okay. That the volume of sorrow and grief and helplessness is off the charts. That we all need help. That no one has stepped in, so it's up to us to help each other.So...please keep us in your thoughts, my dears.

http://www.nola.com/rose/t-p/index.ssf?/base/living-0/116210222968170.xml&coll=1&thispage=1

[This was written in January 2006, I believe, though at this point all of my experiences kind of blur together. Last month (September 06) my friend went back...and it was all exactly the same. There were three places where he saw building going on, but the rest was still...well, "ghost town" doesn't really describe it, since that implies the existence of actual buildings. Haunted desolation seems to be the most descriptive, but doesn't even come close to the reality. Just like the 9th Ward. Just like Gentilly. Just like Mid City. Over a year later, and 85% of the devastated areas haven't been touched.]




We decided to drive the 48 miles to Bay Saint Louis,MS to see firsthand what Katrina had done to the Gulf Coast. Words fail me. For several blocks up from the beach, there is nothing left....brick front steps leading nowhere, pylons and foundations with no houses on them. Half a mile back we found the houses...piles of matchsticks twenty feet high. All of the trees that were left were festooned with bits of plastic and articles of clothing...the remnants of people's lives strewn about, waving thirty feet up on the remaining branches of the dead and leafless trees....tattered American flags flying proudly on now-empty lots covered with broken children's toys, torn furniture, and thick caked mud. We were both shocked speechless. Little things brought tears to our eyes, an exercise bike standing proudly in the midst of utter devastation, a Christmas wreath hung on a foundation piling surrounded by debris, a statue of St.Christopher framed by broken houses,broken lives. I took many pictures, but I don't know how well they'll turn out due to the shaking of my hands and the tears blurring the images. And the silence. No children playing, no voices, just a slight breeze sighing through the weirdly-shrouded trees.

It was a beautiful day, cold and clear, bright sunshine, but it felt like we were wading through shadows. So much loss, so much pain, so much death. I have only felt such a thing twice before...once at Auschwitz, once at Culloden.

I know I've been bitching a lot about all of the things we are missing here in New Orleans, but no longer. I have seen with my own eyes the totality of devastation, and I will count my blessings forthwith. Uncle Bob has given me a place to live, I have the best friends in the world, I have food, shelter, heat, the internet, my life and my health. Yes, I lost all of my possessions, and have no place of my own, but I have so very much else. I feel deeply ashamed of how selfish and self-pitying I have been. Please forgive me for having been so petty and forgetting the magnitude of my good fortune.

In the last installment, Hurricane Girl became General of an army of Gutter Punks. It is now Wednesday afternoon, the first day post-flood, and anarchy reigns in New Orleans...

Having roamed far afield, I felt it would be good to concentrate my efforts on the few blocks around our compound. I went door to door, taking an informal census of the neighborhood.

Next door to our fortress lived an old lady with senile dementia and several small yappy dogs. Despite the 100 degree heat and utter lack of air conditioning, she had thus far chosen to remain in her second floor apartment with all of the windows and shutters closed. I inquired as to whether she needed food or water, but received no reply. Alex put together a package of food, water, and dog food, and she waddled out onto her balcony, clad in a housedress and three sweaters, to receive it.

Two doors down on the corner, lived Sonny. His gorgeous brick home had collapsed into the street, leaving a Barbie dream house sort of effect, with the entire front of the building removed and all rooms open to view from the street. Sonny was not handling things well, drinking copious amounts of cheap wine and howling incoherently at the Universe. Imagine a bedraggled skinny artist type perched on the second floor of this building, shaking a gallon jug of wine at all passers by and moaning and screeching periodically. That's Sonny.

Down the street the other direction lived Cheryl. Middle-aged, hard-bitten, ex-biker chick, with a penchant for gin and incessant babbling. And shotguns. She immediately joined forces with Sonny, having found a kindred spirit. The Sonny and Cheryl show was underway.

Along with assorted strippers Alex picked up in the Quarter, this constituted the core of our neighborhood coterie.

To complete the picture, our street was awash with a couple of inches of water, Sonny's building blocked most of the street, and Onyx the Crafty Pig Dog and her sister Cody El Retardo roamed the neighborhood at will.


As night fell, Alex and Bob and I gathered up the hounds and retreated to the swimming pool across the street. We could hear Cheryl outside muttering loudly, and Sonny howling in his aerie, so we invited them over for dinner by the pool. It proved to be a merry evening, Cheryl and Sonny drunk and soliloquizing, waving guns and liquor bottles, Bob and the dogs staying warily in the background, Alex cooking veal on the grill, and me floating naked in the pool with a bottle of Jameson, my pile of weapons nearby.

The sky was filled with stars, I was filled with whiskey...we were ready for another night under siege.


Edit: I will, eventually, finish the saga....stay tuned!

In a previous episode, our heroes survived the first night Post Apocalypse despite alarums and excursions from random crackhead looters. A new day has dawned to a chorus of birdsong and gunfire...

After a lovely breakfast with Alex and Uncle Bob al fresco by the swimming pool, I left the boys to their own devices, and went in search of my brother. He lived in Mid City, which, according to rumour, was under either 8 feet of water or 20 feet. Word of floating corpses and mass fatalities was winging its way on the winds of gossip, so I was very anxious. Considering that my brother had several times been hit by a car and once hit by lightning, I felt that nothing short of an act of god could destroy him, but I worried nonetheless. I'm like that.

I wandered into the French Quarter, asking everyone if he had been seen yet, with no result. I left word everywhere I went, so he would know where to find me.

On my way back to the compound, I passed the Circle K, which was merrily being looted. By an NOPD officer. I wished him good day, and he inquired as to whether I needed cigarettes or snack food. It occurred to me that there was nowhere left to legitimately purchase said items, so I warily entered the store. The cop handed me several plastic bags, told me to help myself and watch out for broken glass. As he was leaving the store, he paused, turned, and said to me "Find someplace safe before nightfall...from now on, you're loot."

I found this to be a rather disconcerting communication to receive from one's law enforcement community, and pondered the unsettling ramifications while collecting cigarettes, bottled water, food, and first aid items. I staggered back to our redoubt beneath my heavy load of semi-stolen goods, feeling as if I had reverted to my youth of geekery and role playing games. I actually found myself saying "w00t", with its original connotations.

Back "home" at last, I organized the goodies in the apartment upstairs from the studios. Alex also had lived in Mid City, and intended to check on his house the next day. He offered to go to my brother's house, as well, so I relaxed my anxieties and concentrated on the immediate crises.

Sooner or later, rescue crews would arrive in New Orleans, and I envisioned them having to spend days clearing the streets of debris before being able to assist those who needed it. I knew there were quite a few of us still in the Marigny and Bywater, with much time on our hands and not much to do, so I resolved to organize street cleaning crews.

After several hours of wandering the neighborhoods, trying to drum up assistance for my project, I was ready to declare my own state of martial law and institute the use of the bastinado. Apathy was everywhere. People acknowledged the need for cleared streets, but declined to assist. Too much work. Someone else's problem. Nobly, I refrained from killing anyone.

On the verge of giving up in disgust, I ran into a group of shining knights disguised as gutter punks on bicycles. They took to my idea with enthusiasm, and immediately started tackling the mountains of debris. They promised to bring more help the next day, vowing to arrive at my compound early for instructions. They called me the General. A proud moment, my friends. I surveyed my little army with some doubts, but renewed hope. Gutter punks to the rescue!