I'm trying to keep things up-tempo here at Casa de Maistros, but this time
of year, my God it is tough. I confess that summers in New Orleans are not
my favorite thing.

Here's the deal. Today is the first day of hurricane season and it's like some
invisible demon has shot a starter pistol off into dogbreath blue sky signaling
the Olympic Games of Organized Neurosis to hereby officially begin. It's a
stressful time of year, for sure.

Back before the big storm, hurricane season could be nerve-racking at times 
-- but there was a kind of camaraderie about it, an almost jovial good
sportsmanship associated with that universal fear of the so-called big one,
a certain comfort in the comfortable uncertainty of how it might play out.
We were only guessing then, and the guessing felt like a game.

Now it's different. We've all seen how this shit plays out for ourselves, up
close and personal. Now we know how very fucked up things can get
around here. There's not a whole lot left to guess about.

I've noticed that the biggest difference between now and then is not the
weather, but our collective state of mind. Remember back in the day, when
Ivan or Georges or Isabelle or whatever one-eyed shitfuck had to crawl so
far up the radar that it was breathing down our necks before we even got
the tiniest bit antsy about it? That was really not a bad way to go. Nowadays,
everyone shifts way down low into mental meltdown mode as soon as the
tiniest swirling bit of goo forms off the coast of Africa. It's really ridiculous,
but we all watch this shit like hawks now, as if such obsession can possibly
do anyone any good at all.

The truth is simple enough. All we really need to do is decide whether we'll
be staying or going if the unthinkable happens again, and how we'll act out
that decision if and when it's go-time. I know it's very difficult to be
methodical and rational about these things considering all that's happened.
But if we're going to keep living here, we've got to start integrating these
possibilities into our psyche in smoother fashion and stop taking out our
frustrations on each other. And we have to do this even when we're feeling
the heat and the fear and the anger of bad memories far too recent to
dismiss gracefully or easily or, really, at all.

I'm not preaching here, I'm pleading. Try. Just try. Let's reject the temptation
of the group nervous breakdown. We can't go on acting as if we're all just
back from Vietnam, expecting Charlie might jump out of the bushes at any
point between June and November 1st. We New Orleanians are world
renowned for our nutty behavior, and it's an endearing quality on most days,
but when the collective dementia translates into 7 parts crime wave and 3
parts general heartlessness towards one another, the nutty factor loses its
classic charm.

And, I know; the mosquitoes, the termite swarms and this devilfucked
black gnat epidemic are not helping morale much. I know. I've gotten to
the point where the bugs have me so twisted that I'm collecting the little
fuckers like trophies on tape strips and trap jars. It's just how I deal. Makes
me feel like I'm making a dent. A dent on what, I'm not exactly sure.

Let's make a summertime resolution to get a grip. Really, we all have to
learn to just kick it like we used to.

Do like this: Put together your little riding-it-out-like-a-crazed-motherfucker
survival kit, or your getting-the-hell-out-of-dodge-like-a-sane-motherfucker
escape kit, then tuck it away for that rainiest of days and forget about
it till you need it. Fire up the barbecue or berl up the crawfish, reacquaint
yourself with your fellow humans in a good way and try to remember that
we're all in the same leaky boat -- and also remember that the day may come
when that cranky-ass neighbor who's name you can't quite recall might turn
out to be your best friend on this earth. Brush up on your hurricane humor.
Remember how we used to crack each other up before a big storm, making
light of a bad situation? That was healthy. As long as we're prepared to deal
with it realistically, it is very healthy to laugh. So yuck it up, bond with
your fellow inmates, and strike up the motherfucking band. This is New
Orleans, goddamnit, and we all have a lot to be proud of here. We've come
a long way down this rough road of making things right again, and the
government promise-breakers -- be they city, state or federal -- have had
very little to do with that. This city has been regenerated one roof at a
time. It's you who have accomplished this. And your neighbor. So treat
each other right. Every one of us who came back and swung a hammer in
trembling fists is a fucking national hero. Know that. And don't forget it.
We might have been forgotten by most of America, but we absolutely
embody the American can-do spirit. So be proud -- because you're a fool
if you aren't.

You know, if we've learned anything from the past it's that, at the end of
the day, we can only truly depend on each other. And that's just fine because
it's enough, and it works. So let's all take a deep breath of something good,
wash it down with a stiff drink of something better, put on our goofy-ass
devil-may-care Southern grins, and love thy neighbor like it's an idea that
really means something. Because goddamn if it doesn't.

Experience is a tricky thing. I once knew a guy who had played guitar for
twenty years but just never got any good at it. I asked a friend, "Has this
guy really been playing twenty years?" And the answer was, "Well, it's
more like he's been playing for one year, but twenty times."

Let's not let the benefit of our experience be erased every year, only to
start from scratch with tempers flaring and guns blazing in a blind war
against whoever or whatever is handy. Let's build on what we've learned,
every year and every day, let's toughen our skins and sharpen our wits --
but also let's soften our hearts towards each other. Because if we don't
reach out to our neighbors, if we don't prepare to help and be helped by
each other, then we'll just wind up in that damn Superdome again, waiting
for another Godot who will not fucking come till it's all too late, another
demoralizing spectacle of pity and ridicule for the world to gawk at --
and that, my friends, is not us. And it never has been.

So here we are again, about to run through one of those mind numbing
psychological gauntlets, another Orleans Parish pressure cooker, and
make no mistake; stand or fall, it's all on us, baby. And just like always,
we'll either rise to the challenge or be diminished with the tide. We really
can't do both.

Copyright 2008 by Louis Maistros

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