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wolfpangsSo jobhunting blows, as per usual. It's not that I'm surprised, though. It's amazing, though, how many employers say they'll contact you and then don't. I don't know if it's akin to the dating "I'll call you", if it's a misguided attempt for the prospective employee to show initiative or my personal suspicion, indicative of a greater problem. You see, when employers tell me they'll call me and then they don't, I immediately suspect that this lack of attention to detail is only the beginning and "Oops, I forgot to return your call" will turn into "Oops, we won't have paychecks until after 2pm" or "Oops, I forgot to not break the law."
If I don't get a spa job like I want, I won't be too miffed. I noticed today that my old hotel job here is hiring for the position I used to fill. Um, I can do that!
In better news, I was unsure where I was in my Netflix queue--I have a yooge list of TV series at the top, although I occasionally move movies and whatnot to the top*--because I'd just finished a series. So imagine my surprise when Degrassi: TNG showed up at my door. Canadian teen melodrama? Oh, hells yes! I watched every version of Degrassi until TNG, because the haters at my cable company also do not supply Noggin/The N.
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rockgeisha watches Degrassi: A play in one act:
Emma, quoting her Treeemail: "You saved my heart and my prohject.
Salome: "Prohject"! Canadian accents, LOL!
Salome's head: *explodes in delight*
Dear Canadia,
Hey.
Love,
Salome
I need that kind of joy because I am attempting for the first time to watch When the Levees Broke. That, combined with thinking about working for the old hotel again, has me thinking of the weeks I spent with evacuees.
The day Katrina was supposed to hit New Orleans, I set my alarm to wake me around 5am, just before the storm was scheduled to arrive. I don't know why I was compelled to get up and watch the arrival--it was kind of like I wanted to hold New Orleans's hand. Really, I guess I wanted to reassure myself that everything would be okay. The forecasters were predicting catastrophic damage, possibly half or more of New Orleans destroyed and that was just crazy. Wasn't it?
Shepard Smith was reporting live from a balcony in the French Quarter and for once, I loved that pompous jackass. As he stood there, he reported what I'd wanted to hear. The storm had weakened. Katrina was battering New Orleans--flooding, high winds, but it wasn't as bad as expected. I went back to sleep. Katrina continued to batter New Orleans and then the levees broke. And then I didn't really sleep again until 2 September, when I got to my room in Philadelphia.
Katrina came here a day after it crushed New Orleans. I was sitting at my desk at work, when the wind flung the front doors open. I locked the doors and as cheesy as it sounds, had myself a Lt. Dan moment. Is that all you got?
The rest of the week, I absorbed the misery of strangers, the guests in my hotel who had so much to say and no one until that point who would listen. I had never heard of secondary traumatic stress syndrome and wouldn't until almost a year later. Later that week, I arrived in Philadelphia and literally, I put my bag down, turned on the TV and passed out. When I woke up, tanks were traveling through the streets of New Orleans. My brain couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. The south seemed so far away. I choked down the sorrow I'd swallowed that week.
The next day, I arrived in Atlantic City and I spent most of the day and night trying to forget but that wasn't easy. "What can we do to help?" the guys wanted to know. Acknowledge it. And that's what I had to do. Later that night, my tongue loosened by alcohol, I spewed forth every feeling I'd swallowed. Mostly rage: Our jackass President on television, fiddling while New Orleans drowned. I don't even care that he fibbed about the levees. I mean, what difference does it make? The President lied, people died--business as usual in this administration. And I'm not just placing blame at his doorstep. Swing a cat and you'll hit someone who's to blame for what happened.
Also, misery: All those people. Lost everything. Unspeakable horrors.
On my birthday, September 5th, I woke up alone on the tourbus and wept. And after that, I managed to swallow it again, for good I thought. Oh, sure--every time I thought about the aftermath of Katrina, I broke (break?) down into choking sobs. I once got into an argument about Katrina with my sister, who's never been to New Orleans, and I didn't speak to her for two days. Nothing has really felt completely cathartic. Maybe nothing ever will. I spoke to my boyfriend earlier and I told him that I want to go to New Orleans. I don't know if it'll make me feel better. I don't know if I'll ever feel better about what happened and sometimes I feel stupid about that. I didn't wade in the water. I still have my house. But I can't help how I feel. As a southerner, as someone who loves New Orleans, Katrina feels like a punch in the gut, the same way I imagine September 11th feels to New Yorkers.
Ha, wow. I didn't intend to write this much or even to write this at all. In fact, I've spent most of Acts I and II of When the Levees Broke writing it and maybe that's what I needed to do to help me get through it. I'm going to finish watching Act II now and I'll leave you with Bono's rewritten "Beautiful Day" lyrics, performed at the reopening of the Superdome, which I totally didn't watch and sob through.
See Gentilly and Lakeview,
Crescent City right in front of you.
Birds sing in broken trees,
They're coming home to New Orleans.
Lower 9th will rise again,
From the waters of Lake Pontchartrain.
See the bird with the leaf in her mouth,
After the flood all the colors came out.
It was a beautiful day.
If I don't get a spa job like I want, I won't be too miffed. I noticed today that my old hotel job here is hiring for the position I used to fill. Um, I can do that!
In better news, I was unsure where I was in my Netflix queue--I have a yooge list of TV series at the top, although I occasionally move movies and whatnot to the top*--because I'd just finished a series. So imagine my surprise when Degrassi: TNG showed up at my door. Canadian teen melodrama? Oh, hells yes! I watched every version of Degrassi until TNG, because the haters at my cable company also do not supply Noggin/The N.
rockgeisha watches Degrassi: A play in one act:Emma, quoting her Treeemail: "You saved my heart and my prohject.
Salome: "Prohject"! Canadian accents, LOL!
Salome's head: *explodes in delight*
Dear Canadia,
Hey.
Love,
Salome
I need that kind of joy because I am attempting for the first time to watch When the Levees Broke. That, combined with thinking about working for the old hotel again, has me thinking of the weeks I spent with evacuees.
The day Katrina was supposed to hit New Orleans, I set my alarm to wake me around 5am, just before the storm was scheduled to arrive. I don't know why I was compelled to get up and watch the arrival--it was kind of like I wanted to hold New Orleans's hand. Really, I guess I wanted to reassure myself that everything would be okay. The forecasters were predicting catastrophic damage, possibly half or more of New Orleans destroyed and that was just crazy. Wasn't it?
Shepard Smith was reporting live from a balcony in the French Quarter and for once, I loved that pompous jackass. As he stood there, he reported what I'd wanted to hear. The storm had weakened. Katrina was battering New Orleans--flooding, high winds, but it wasn't as bad as expected. I went back to sleep. Katrina continued to batter New Orleans and then the levees broke. And then I didn't really sleep again until 2 September, when I got to my room in Philadelphia.
Katrina came here a day after it crushed New Orleans. I was sitting at my desk at work, when the wind flung the front doors open. I locked the doors and as cheesy as it sounds, had myself a Lt. Dan moment. Is that all you got?
The rest of the week, I absorbed the misery of strangers, the guests in my hotel who had so much to say and no one until that point who would listen. I had never heard of secondary traumatic stress syndrome and wouldn't until almost a year later. Later that week, I arrived in Philadelphia and literally, I put my bag down, turned on the TV and passed out. When I woke up, tanks were traveling through the streets of New Orleans. My brain couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. The south seemed so far away. I choked down the sorrow I'd swallowed that week.
The next day, I arrived in Atlantic City and I spent most of the day and night trying to forget but that wasn't easy. "What can we do to help?" the guys wanted to know. Acknowledge it. And that's what I had to do. Later that night, my tongue loosened by alcohol, I spewed forth every feeling I'd swallowed. Mostly rage: Our jackass President on television, fiddling while New Orleans drowned. I don't even care that he fibbed about the levees. I mean, what difference does it make? The President lied, people died--business as usual in this administration. And I'm not just placing blame at his doorstep. Swing a cat and you'll hit someone who's to blame for what happened.
Also, misery: All those people. Lost everything. Unspeakable horrors.
On my birthday, September 5th, I woke up alone on the tourbus and wept. And after that, I managed to swallow it again, for good I thought. Oh, sure--every time I thought about the aftermath of Katrina, I broke (break?) down into choking sobs. I once got into an argument about Katrina with my sister, who's never been to New Orleans, and I didn't speak to her for two days. Nothing has really felt completely cathartic. Maybe nothing ever will. I spoke to my boyfriend earlier and I told him that I want to go to New Orleans. I don't know if it'll make me feel better. I don't know if I'll ever feel better about what happened and sometimes I feel stupid about that. I didn't wade in the water. I still have my house. But I can't help how I feel. As a southerner, as someone who loves New Orleans, Katrina feels like a punch in the gut, the same way I imagine September 11th feels to New Yorkers.
Ha, wow. I didn't intend to write this much or even to write this at all. In fact, I've spent most of Acts I and II of When the Levees Broke writing it and maybe that's what I needed to do to help me get through it. I'm going to finish watching Act II now and I'll leave you with Bono's rewritten "Beautiful Day" lyrics, performed at the reopening of the Superdome, which I totally didn't watch and sob through.
See Gentilly and Lakeview,
Crescent City right in front of you.
Birds sing in broken trees,
They're coming home to New Orleans.
Lower 9th will rise again,
From the waters of Lake Pontchartrain.
See the bird with the leaf in her mouth,
After the flood all the colors came out.
It was a beautiful day.
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no subject
Date: 2007-01-12 09:05 am (UTC)That was a lovely post, Salome.
And I can't believe you have a tag for Zooby Loves Balls. I mean, I *do* but I never thought you'd make a tag for the occasion.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 04:42 am (UTC)And of course I would have a tag for that. How else can I spread the word?
no subject
Date: 2007-01-16 10:04 pm (UTC)I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoy it when you write about the South. It's always so evocative and haunted and beautiful, so thank you for sharing that with us.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 04:42 am (UTC)And thank you so much.