I have learned two things this week that I'm itchin' to share before I collapse in a heap, though.
1 ) The devil's in the frickin' details
Yes, it's true. I am at the edge of one of the most anal-retentive of the Jewish holidays, that of Passover, so I know all about details. Let's see you try to clean all the leavened bread and non-kosher for Passover items outta your home, switch out all your eating utensils, pots and pans, and, in some cases, entire kitchens out so that all of your stuff is no longer contaminated with leaven, and then symbolically burn some of said leaven out in the backyard - all so that you are like the wandering mixed multitude in the Sinai desert, eating manna and yelling at your relatives that you've got sand in every pore of your body (well, you may not have that actually happening to you, but close proximity to family members, coupled with the major change in diet, will certainly fray anyone's nerves), for all of eight days.
So yeah, I'm up to my armpits in details. The NOLA blogpocheh has been, too. Not only are the final details of this weekend's Geek Dinner being nailed down (and everyone there had better eat all of the pound cakes I'm bringin' because they are leavened bread, and I cannot bring 'em back home with me), but there has been more than enough harping on the pithy, the piddly, the infinitesimal specks, the merest possibilities of thoughts...
Where was I? Oh, right.
NOLA bloggers have been up in arms over minutiae, brought on by something that has caused 'em to take their eyes off the ball - but only momentarily. Which leads me to Thing #
2) Calling a tree a nasty name calls attention from the surrounding forest.
This began with a column that rightfully condemned our walking id of a mayor and, as a sidebar, it introduced a separate train of thought that included Google searches concerning the columnist's ego just a tad. I'm happy to say that the fella who was referenced in that egotistical Google search is still doing his thing, and it hasn't changed him one bit (unless he's gonna get some vanity plates, a la Seinfeld's "Assman", that say something about a women's sanitary product on 'em for his car - but I don't think so).
Oh, but it gets a little crazier. And a little ruder. The gloves came off for a fella on the Vieux Carre Commission, who, frustrated at the obstinacy of the mayor's office and the Sanitation department head on the subject of humongo garbage cans in the French Quarter, dug down deep and called Sanitation's Veronica White the truly impolite name for a female dog. (I'm dancing around and trying to keep the epithets outta this blog, but our city paper has obviously taken off the gloves in their own way and is printing it all in its obscene glory...but I digress.) The details are frustrating, yes. They are more than enough to make you curse so heavily and loudly that your descendants will be excommunicated several times over from your chosen religious sect - but the problems are NOT gone.
How do I know this? Check the people who are in the forest, fully and completely:
New Orleans Slate : ...what we see is what appears to us to be an overpriced, overkill approach that's costing too much, and offers no room at all for compromise, at least when it comes to the Sanitation Department head. And all the talk about "Hey I live in the French Quarter, up yours" that I'm seeing is ignoring the very REAL issues business owners are having. The place where we go to get our hair cut has no place to put these bins, at all, period, finito. He will have to leave his bin out in front, put it IN the shop, or eschew the cart altogether and take the trash from the shop home, which is what he's thinking of doing. Another little shop on Royal has no alley and a very narrow sidewalk in front. She has no room inside for this cart, and if it's on the sidewalk, people will have to walk single file to get past her shop. Her concern is that they will do just that--walk PAST the shop which is barely squeaking by anyway. Oh yeah, and she's in her late 60's, takes a cab home and can't take her trash with her.
Da Po' Blog on recent Road Home stats. The Himalayas are still looming, y'all, and that goat path is mighty rocky. Also see No War, No Money. The war in the sandbox overseas and the war in the mud right here at home are NOT completely separate entities.
Don't nobody tell me that this Moldy City post makes no sense...although the money quote in it is certainly questionable in its meaning. The DA and the police commish are not bosom buddies at all, and they are helping ensure that this city suffers in no small way because of it.
So watch out for the little things, and don't trip up on the name calling. This whole shell game called recovery is still going strong, and we cannot afford to keep our eyes off the prize. We can, however, take a little time to hang with family and friends, regain our strength with some good food and drink and some rest, and keep our skewers sharpened and at the ready to pin down some weaselly, wascally wicked individuals and events that are NOT contributing to our well-being.....like this Loyola event here (update 11:24 PM).