A Fish Out of the Bowl

I have some colorful friends. Keith Williams, a.k.a Fish, makes his way into a few of these posts and for good reason: He's a character. Normally he's well spoken and can speak intelligently on a variety of subjects, but when he gets talking about his boys the Saints anything goes. This is a sample of the obsessive Saints fan side of his personality.

Those motherfuckas!

You know, I realize we're under extreme circumstances but can't they win a fucking game!?

I don't care if the refs fucked us because they're such losers!

I'll be at Tiger Stadium.

Pornographic thoughts on the rebuilding of New Orleans (and other things).

Ever since I started writing about Bourbon St. I've had the chance to read about and even write about some of the quirky stuff that happens in and around the French Quarter. Since I haven't been able to make my way back I've had to turn to what others are writing. For example, from the Diary of a Porn Pusher:

If the Bush administration is serious about spending $200 billion of our tax money in response to the flooding of New Orleans, perhaps it would be better to just give $1.6 million to each household there with the understanding that they will use their fortunes to start new lives on higher ground, somewhere else.

http://www.sexxxxpics.com/blog/archives/00001008.htm

At a McDonalds in Vicksburg, MS

Sometimes Jessica Johanningmeier can go two months between visits to Franklinton to see her parents. Two weeks ago as Katrina was bearing down on the Louisiana/ Mississippi Gulf Coast was what she thought would be the last. Her parents, Luther and Joyce decided to ride out the storm at their farm. They were prepared for the worst, securing everything in sight and made sure they had enough supplies to get them through at least the next week without power.

They went two weeks before it was time to make a trip to bring them supplies. They were okay purchasing gas in the area as by the third or fourth day gass station lines evened out and returned to normal. The plan was to meet in Vicksburg, MS, bring an extra generator to help run their trailer and farm. Along with the generator, Jessica and her sister Leah, loaded up the car with food, some candy, and a twelve pack of Red Dog (as Washington Parish still has a moratorium on selling all alcoholic beverages).

Coming off the interstate we found the spot for the meeting a McDonalds behind the Wal-Mart. There was food, supplies, and gas all within the distance of a football field. Within a half-hour, the familiar green family van pulled up and out came the parents who were greeted by two very happy sisters. We had lunch discussing everything that happened up to now, not because we couldn't do this over the phone but simply because being there in person is a completely different experience. Even though they reported being okay Monday, it seemed there was a bit of doubt, those fears that they were understating their situation just so the kids wouldn't worry. Being there in person, seeing their smiling faces and that they hadn't lost weight quelled those fears.

With the exception of having to crack open two of the MREs and having no Ac, they've been pretty comfortable. The only horror story they had to report was by Luther. Last night he sat down to watch the LSU game. It's Friday night, the generator was humming along and the Tigers were trailing fourth down and 10 with a minute-twenty to go when LSU called a time out. Luther was on the edge of his seat when all of a sudden the 20 year old generator purchased for hurricane Elena started to sputter. As the game was returning the TV went dark. Sitting in the inky blackness Luther put his head in his hands, and without any other fuss went to bed.

All in all the reunion lasted for about an hour. Also, we did not come back empty handed. Usually with each trip to their house there are fresh picked mushrooms, okra, and even some eggs from their chickens. Today it was a box of MREs. Luther assures us MRE technology has come a far way since C-rations back in the day when he was in the military. I'll be looking for the Tobasco.

Helping his fellow man with nothing but a screwdriver and a radio

Bob "Flash" Geiger is an IT professional with a passion for sailing. He like many others decided to stick out the storm basing his decision on historical data and a gamble that the storm would take the earlier turn and move east of New Orleans. Now an exile in Houston, he recounts his tale.

The day before the storm he spent time securing his house and making sure his boat had enough lines to keep it in his slip. "It was pathetic," Flash recalled, thinking of the lengths of rope used. Other tasks included moving vehicles, bagging important documents, and even putting his cell phone in a zip-lock... just in case.

The storm started and by 5:00am power was out. He went out at 9:00am amidst the rain to survey any preliminary damage. "It was after day break and I noticed the tree pulled down the lines," he continued, "usually the power company is pretty quick to restore power to my area. After seeing this I knew it would be a few days."

A few days still seemed like a reasonable assessment as water was creeping up the driveway "at the expected rate." Within 15 minutes things changed, and quickly watching the waters rise four feet in two minutes. Seconds later the front and back doors buckled and everything was moved into the attic.

Not wanting to spend the next few days in his attic, Flash pocketed his cell phone, marine radio, and a screwdriver before swimming next door to a two-story house currently vacant and being renovated. Before the day was out he would watch the water reach a couple inches short of his ceiling and realize that somewhere he lost his cell phone.

After the worst of the rain subsided, he accessed the roof over the first floor from a second floor bathroom. He noticed the choppers flying overhead and decided it was time to go. Over the radio on the Coast Guard channel he called for help. "What is your condition?" echoed back from the radio.

"Embarrassed."

He radioed back there were other people in the area and soon a boat arrived to start moving people out. "We worked pretty well, the hel'o would spot people, we would pick them up, and call back if anyone was injured and needed immediate evac." In one trip the 17' boat contained three rescue members and another 13 to be delivered to the Filmore Bridge. The original plan was to stage people at the bridge who would then be brought to the Superdome. The monkey wrench came when the New London Canal broke cutting off the escape route and forcing everyone there to spend the night under the stars.

He noticed very different attitudes of various people. "One woman," he recalled, "as we pulled up to her house she immediately started packing, while another was concerned there wouldn't be enough room for her fanny-pack."

With the exception of surprise from the door flowing in there was never a point when Flash remembered being scared he said, "It was more aggravation." He continued, "Panicking was never my style. People usually come to me when they are panicking."

When asked if he'd stay at the next storm, he replied on what would be done differently. "The night before I was going to bring my motorcycle to a multi-level parking garage," it had already started raining and he put it off because of the distance back. Another "should have known better" moment came while trying to pack his duffle bag in 4' floodwaters. In his boat there is a shipwreck bag for emergencies. By the time he packed his it was "a few minutes too late." It wasn't all too little too late for Flash. The best purchase he made was his maritime radio. "Most CG radios are not water proof," he added that this one not only survived the water but also ran for two and a half days on the same battery charge.

His boat actually fared better than his house. Wednesday, he visited Orleans Marina where 50% of the boat population suffered damage. "She popped some bow lines and the nose came down on the boat in the slip next to me... It was mostly scrapes and bruises."

Regarding the future of New Orleans, Flash is very optimistic. "There's going to be an incredible opportunity rebuilding New Orleans," he said with confidence, "I plan to be a part of that." The next couple of days will be spent in Houston replacing his Jeep and building his plan to aid in the reconstruction, all while fighting cabin fever. "I'm ready to go home, now."

Also posted to nola.com

Running from the Storm

It is not just the Yats looking forward to a return to normalcy in New Orleans. John Storey, the PR and marketing director of the Crescent City Classic, shares this experience in Baton Rouge:

I went for a run along the levee in Baton Rouge yesterday, wearing my CCC T-Shirt and was stopped by three runners asking if we were going to be okay. So, while this is trying on everyone. Believe me, there are many many people counting on us picking up these pieces and "running" with them.

Other runners are finding their own ways to cope. Members of the New Orleans Hash House Harriers are also picking up the pieces. Hashing as a recreational activity thrives by members relocating and picking up in new cities. This helps bring this sub-culture into new cities or strengthens established Hashes. This process usually creates a churn of a couple people a quarter but was accelerated thanks to a visit by Katrina.

Within 24 hours of the storm the hashers began organizing their ranks through email and SMS then posting displaced hashers to the website. By Day 4 the first running of the Exile Hash was already set for Sunday September 4th in Baton Rouge. Longtime member Jim Uschold shares his Sunday experience:

The first running of the Exile Hash was attended by 20 or so mostly New Orleans and Baton Rouge hashers. We thank BR for providing such a lovely dry location to hash. The hash met at the Highland Park Archery Center where trail went through shiggy to the observatory, crossed Highland and went through the Frisbee Golf course to the beer stop. From there, it was through some neighborhood streets and on in.

The circle was notable for the attempted naming of the hash. Exile Hash was proposed. The favorite seemed to be Homeless Hash House Harriers (H4) but Houston is already H4. The matter was tabled.

No future hash has been scheduled. Hares are free to volunteer. BRH3 hashes once a month. We were thinking the Exile Hash could run once a month. Simple arithmetic would give us two hashs a month.

-Jeff

Quarter Vacation Part 3

The following was written and slated for posting on Saturday August 27^th, 2005. With everything happening in New Orleans I wanted to make sure this was posted before it got lost in the shuffle.

Venturing out to Cafe Beignets for breakfast made us realize something very important: green with white striped awning and a name containing "beignets" does not mean they actually serve or make said doughnuts. Shame yes but the French toast was very tasty. Added to the fact they were next door to a police station made us feel very secure (and left me with the itch to go joyriding on a NOPD Vespa but I controlled myself until it passed).

Continuing on our Nola Madre inspired quest throughout the French Quarter, we passed Jackson Square and came upon a model, an assistant, and a photographer in a fountain. Well the model was modeling in the fountain, the photographer was photographing and the assistant was lighting. And to think we were expecting artists, psychics, and bums. We didn't stop to get any names but Jessica does wonder if dirty old men pose as photographers just to take pictures of semi naked girls in fountains. I started to look into a career change.

We found another few clues before heading back towards the hotel to check out. There was one false trail we found heading to lunch but fortunately it put us in the vicinity of Nacho Mamma's in the CBD so all was well with the world. We figured now would be as good of a time to head home, shower, and pet the kitty before the keg tapping party at Gordon Biersh.

I ate way too many jalapenos at Nacho Mamma's. Fortunately, there was a wide selection of beers at Gordon Biersh to make me forget about any abdominal discomfort. The beer du jour was the "Seasonal Ale" which was okay, nothing spectacular, kind of harsh. The Märzen, on the other hand, was tasty and went great with the BBQ sauce of the same name on the burgers.

We ventured one final trip to the quarter hoping to retrieve more clues to the puzzle. We found about four more and the location of a Lucky Dog vendor named Smitty. No dice. Smitty didn't remember squat about the clue. One letter that's it! We still had one more stop before heading back hopefully we wouldn't end it on a sour note. Strike two. We had a wrong location so no clue. Soon my stomach was doing jumping jacks and it was time to head home. Upon our arrival we broke out the rest of the puzzle pieces and worked on the final riddle with what we had. It wasn't making sense so we went back through our pictures and figured out the problem with two of our answers.

Then it hit us.

We figured out the location of the mailbox mentioned on the website.When I wrote this, we hadn't retrieved the final clue but that story will wait along with the details of the hunt. This trip did a few good things for us; it got me out of the house and away from the grind of work and school. Jessi was reminded of what she liked about the French Quarter. Not the frat boys, drunks, bums, and crowds but the history and architecture. It was a very good trip.