Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Car 54, where are you?
Absentee mayor's disappearing act is like a sitcom without the laughs
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Chris Rose
I see that Car 54's schedule this weekend included a town hall-style meeting Saturday with residents of City Council District B.
And here's the kicker: The residents of District B didn't have to go to New York or L.A. or Houston to meet with Car 54. He was actually coming to them.
Here! In New Orleans!
What a refreshing notion. I guess there's nothing else going on in any other American city this weekend or Car 54 wouldn't be slumming with locals in New Orleans.
Last weekend, while in New York, Car 54 explained that there was hardly any reason for him to be back here at home because: "It's Labor Day weekend. There's not a lot going on in New Orleans."
Funny how it's interpreted, though. To you and me, "not a lot going on" generally refers to things such as garbage pickup, trailer delivery, insurance settlements, getting phone service and street repair. I think "leadership" might fit under the "not a lot going on" banner also.
To Car 54, "not a lot going on" seems to imply that there were no good national R&B acts playing in town and no large gathering of the national press corps and, hell, even Al Sharpton was going to be somewhere else that weekend, so what's the point?
So, while there was nothing going on here in New Orleans last weekend, Car 54 hosted an art opening of photographs of himself in New York City and I wish I had one of those photos because sometimes I don't remember what he looks like.
But the photos are a little outdated, because they all seem to have been taken in New Orleans.
They must be old pictures.
And while in New York, Car 54 nabbed 10 primo tickets for himself and his fleet of lemons to see sexy crooner Usher perform in a sold-out performance of "Chicago," and that's exactly what I would have done last weekend. If I could have gotten the tickets. And if I'd been in New York. And if I didn't have anything other pressing business at home.
And if I weren't mayor of New Orleans.
But there was nothing going on here, really.
And that's true for anyone who wasn't gutting their house or re-seeding their lawn or looking for a job or moving into their FEMA trailer or trying to get a FEMA trailer or filling out SBA loan forms that are more daunting than Fortune 500 corporate tax returns.
There was nothing going on if you weren't tallying gunshot victims or praying for customers to come shop at your small business or if you were struggling with child-care issues because it turns out the school where your child was supposed to start classes on Tuesday wasn't going to open because it wasn't ready.
And, supposing that none of your friends or relatives needed help with any of these problems, then, in fact, there wasn't a damn thing going on around here.
Unless, of course: There's that pesky new city ordinance, which mandates that you toil with all the life and blood you've got to get your house and yard up to the new aesthetic specifications the city demands lest it find you a blight upon the landscape, whereupon the city will gut or tear down your property with or without your permission and slap a lien on you for the expenses.
Never mind that scores of city-owned properties stretching from Hollygrove to Almonaster fail to satisfy the code. Never mind that just about every playground and school lot owned by the city has overgrowth that violates the code.
Never mind that the pothole at the corner of Tchoupitoulas and Calhoun -- a pothole! -- has been there so long and grown so deep that the shrubbery growing out of it is of the length that the new city code deems a nuisance and is in violation of the law.
Of course, someone as glib as Car 54 might dismiss this pothole as "just some hole in the ground," but to some folks, holes in the ground matter.
They matter very much.
I worry about the influence Car 54's famous new friends are having on him, all those folks from up north.
From Jesse Jackson he has learned: Blame it on somebody else.
And from George Bush he has learned: Pretend it isn't happening.
Of course, Car 54 swears his mission is to drum up business for New Orleans and I heard he did talk the coat check girl at the Usher show into coming down to Mardi Gras with some of her friends and the bell captain at his hotel is apparently genuinely interested in checking out a time share in the Quarter so maybe it's not all wasted time.
I had a crazy dream: I was driving around downtown wondering what the hell is happening to my city and wondering who would save it and I looked up and I saw a bright light.
The source of the light was the third floor of City Hall and I realized that city leaders were working there until midnight every night to hammer out the excruciating details of our recovery.
Then I drove into a pothole and woke up and realized it was all a dream. Because, in truth, there's not a lot going on in New Orleans, particularly when measured in conventional units of activity and time.
One hundred days, 200 days, 300 days, it's all the same. Time is a mere medieval contrivance -- an anachronism, really -- that leads to nothing more than unreasonable expectations.
The warranty on Car 54 says it's supposed to last four more years. But the first four years seem to have taken a toll on the old beater. Sure, it runs as smooth as ever -- a sleek and shiny ride, to be sure -- but there seem to be performance issues.
This baby is leaking gas all over the place. And I hear a lot of folks are ready for a trade-in.
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com; or at (504) 352-2535 or (504) 826-3309.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Chris Rose
I see that Car 54's schedule this weekend included a town hall-style meeting Saturday with residents of City Council District B.
And here's the kicker: The residents of District B didn't have to go to New York or L.A. or Houston to meet with Car 54. He was actually coming to them.
Here! In New Orleans!
What a refreshing notion. I guess there's nothing else going on in any other American city this weekend or Car 54 wouldn't be slumming with locals in New Orleans.
Last weekend, while in New York, Car 54 explained that there was hardly any reason for him to be back here at home because: "It's Labor Day weekend. There's not a lot going on in New Orleans."
Funny how it's interpreted, though. To you and me, "not a lot going on" generally refers to things such as garbage pickup, trailer delivery, insurance settlements, getting phone service and street repair. I think "leadership" might fit under the "not a lot going on" banner also.
To Car 54, "not a lot going on" seems to imply that there were no good national R&B acts playing in town and no large gathering of the national press corps and, hell, even Al Sharpton was going to be somewhere else that weekend, so what's the point?
So, while there was nothing going on here in New Orleans last weekend, Car 54 hosted an art opening of photographs of himself in New York City and I wish I had one of those photos because sometimes I don't remember what he looks like.
But the photos are a little outdated, because they all seem to have been taken in New Orleans.
They must be old pictures.
And while in New York, Car 54 nabbed 10 primo tickets for himself and his fleet of lemons to see sexy crooner Usher perform in a sold-out performance of "Chicago," and that's exactly what I would have done last weekend. If I could have gotten the tickets. And if I'd been in New York. And if I didn't have anything other pressing business at home.
And if I weren't mayor of New Orleans.
But there was nothing going on here, really.
And that's true for anyone who wasn't gutting their house or re-seeding their lawn or looking for a job or moving into their FEMA trailer or trying to get a FEMA trailer or filling out SBA loan forms that are more daunting than Fortune 500 corporate tax returns.
There was nothing going on if you weren't tallying gunshot victims or praying for customers to come shop at your small business or if you were struggling with child-care issues because it turns out the school where your child was supposed to start classes on Tuesday wasn't going to open because it wasn't ready.
And, supposing that none of your friends or relatives needed help with any of these problems, then, in fact, there wasn't a damn thing going on around here.
Unless, of course: There's that pesky new city ordinance, which mandates that you toil with all the life and blood you've got to get your house and yard up to the new aesthetic specifications the city demands lest it find you a blight upon the landscape, whereupon the city will gut or tear down your property with or without your permission and slap a lien on you for the expenses.
Never mind that scores of city-owned properties stretching from Hollygrove to Almonaster fail to satisfy the code. Never mind that just about every playground and school lot owned by the city has overgrowth that violates the code.
Never mind that the pothole at the corner of Tchoupitoulas and Calhoun -- a pothole! -- has been there so long and grown so deep that the shrubbery growing out of it is of the length that the new city code deems a nuisance and is in violation of the law.
Of course, someone as glib as Car 54 might dismiss this pothole as "just some hole in the ground," but to some folks, holes in the ground matter.
They matter very much.
I worry about the influence Car 54's famous new friends are having on him, all those folks from up north.
From Jesse Jackson he has learned: Blame it on somebody else.
And from George Bush he has learned: Pretend it isn't happening.
Of course, Car 54 swears his mission is to drum up business for New Orleans and I heard he did talk the coat check girl at the Usher show into coming down to Mardi Gras with some of her friends and the bell captain at his hotel is apparently genuinely interested in checking out a time share in the Quarter so maybe it's not all wasted time.
I had a crazy dream: I was driving around downtown wondering what the hell is happening to my city and wondering who would save it and I looked up and I saw a bright light.
The source of the light was the third floor of City Hall and I realized that city leaders were working there until midnight every night to hammer out the excruciating details of our recovery.
Then I drove into a pothole and woke up and realized it was all a dream. Because, in truth, there's not a lot going on in New Orleans, particularly when measured in conventional units of activity and time.
One hundred days, 200 days, 300 days, it's all the same. Time is a mere medieval contrivance -- an anachronism, really -- that leads to nothing more than unreasonable expectations.
The warranty on Car 54 says it's supposed to last four more years. But the first four years seem to have taken a toll on the old beater. Sure, it runs as smooth as ever -- a sleek and shiny ride, to be sure -- but there seem to be performance issues.
This baby is leaking gas all over the place. And I hear a lot of folks are ready for a trade-in.
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com; or at (504) 352-2535 or (504) 826-3309.
