Saturday, June 24, 2006

Blueberry Festival on Saturday



Music:
10-10:30AM - Piluso
10:30 to 11:00 - Al-Licks
11:00-11:30 - Nestor Gil
11:30 to 12:00 - Shawn Lightfoot
12:00-1:00 - Siesta Time! (schedule buffer)
1:00 to 1:45 - The Snacks
1:55 to 2:40 - Helios Eye
2:50 to 3:35 - Katie Grace
3:45 to 4:30 - Christina Wagner
4:40 to 5:25 - Jessica Pounds
5:35 to 6:20 - Civilization
6:30 to 7:15 - Tuff Titty
7:15 to 8:00 - Cory Knight
Art:
Local Artists
Live art
Open display space for children, students, and other community artists
Workshops:
A live pottery demonstration
DIY Bio-Diesel
Coffee Roasting
Brick-Oven Baking
Do-it-Yourself bike repair
Organic gardening
DIY Stencil making and Screenprinting
...more TBA

New Directions

Everything below this is Old Trey Blogger, everything above is New Trey Blogger. Today... I relaunch Treyopia. It's skempier, yes... but it works as a portal and BlogSpot is as stable a server as any out there.

From here, I'll direct you to my newest Flickr photosets. I'll also be doing traditional news blogging as a reporter on the front lines of Drudge Report and Metafilter. It is also my intention of posting music reviews and general stories about life in China as an expat.

Please add comments, as I've always felt the discussions are the only thing that make blogs something more than narcissistic self-promiting rubbish. This blog isn't about just me, it's about the worldwide community of people I come in contact with.

Monday, September 05, 2005

The Other Gulf

[submitted to Folio Weekly as a backpage op-ed piece]

This wasn’t like the tsunami. These were Americans… and not just any Americans. Southerners. They spoke my tongue in my vernacular on streets that I have walked in and loved with complete surrender. This wasn’t like September 11th. We saw this coming. It was sick torture as the hurricane gained unprecedented strength, aimed squarely for the Big Easy. Then landfall. Then the blackout as the storm rolled over.

Lights on. It’s Monday afternoon and the storm chaser’s videos pour in, so do the stories. Gulfport is leveled. Biloxi casinos have moved inland. New Orleans took a battering, but the “worst-case scenario” we were talking about over the weekend didn’t happen. They eye had passed just west of Apocalypse. Another potential catastrophe averted

Monday evening we hear strange rumors that a levee broke and some water entering certain neighborhoods. Tuesday I have my high school classes talk to two amateur storm chaser friends of mine who went through the storm in Gulfport. The Worst Case never happened, so it’s fair game to portray hurricanes being as fun as they are dangerous. I share with them videos I took from inside the eyewall of Frances last year.

After that is some sick and slow blur of a self-inflected torture through my television. A wound opened and exposed to endless hours of cable news and obsessively checking the news online while at work. The images and sounds blur together into a single memory: the angry dreadlocked man at the convention center staring into the lens with his voodoo stare before leading the hungry and sweaty mob behind him into a coordinated cry for help; Coast Guard helicopters dropping rescue divers on roofs, tearing holes into them with axes before pulling people out; the front page papers showing a chemical slicked lake with rooftop Lilly-pads spread out in front of a crippled downtown island ahead; the grandmother quietly pushed into a corner of the Superdome with a blanket gently laid upon her decomposing body; behind her, another body; and above all, the underlying horror in the voices of those there. You could hear it in both the survivors and news anchors, you could hear it in Anderson Cooper as he choked up and attacked Senator Mary Landrieu for “patting politicians on the back” after he had watched rats eating a corpse all night because there was no means of disposing of Katrina’s victims.

You could hear it in the voice of a husband as he described his home splitting in half as the water came, then his wife slipping out of his hands as she told him to take care of the kids. “I don’t know what I’m going to do… I don’t have anywhere to go. I’m lost,” were his last words as the camera panned him walking off into the dismal abyss of Biloxi.

On Thursday the horror deepened as I heard in the voice of another CNN anchor asked Federal Emergency Management Agency Director Michael Brown about the deteriorating situation at the Convention Center. On air, he responded that “we learned about that [today], so I have directed that we have all available resources to get that convention center to make sure that they have the food and water and medical care that they need.” This was the same FEMA director that didn’t ask for military help until Tuesday evening. This is the same FEMA director whose pre-government career was in Arabian horse breeding. He somehow managed to get fired him from that job and hired into FEMA.

Horror turns to anger. We hear that National Guard troops were playing cards as New Orleans reverted to some sick Hobbesian nightmare. Upwards of half of New Orleans fire department and police department have not reported for duty. New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin, may he run for President one day, is on the television speaking the words right out of all of our minds, “Don’t tell me 40,000 troops are on the way! They’re not here! Get off your asses and do something and let’s fix the biggest goddamn crises in U.S. history!”

Insulated 3,000 feet above the carnage was the detached horror of our Commander and Chief as he asked his pilot to fly low so he could take a peek at the anarchy below. When he finally got back to D.C., his words of wisdom were to buy only as much gas as is needed. Though perhaps it’s to be understood he hasn’t had to fill his own tank in at least five years, perhaps an advisor should have informed him what $3 a gallon feels like to most America. Perhaps the full effect of the tripling of gas prices during his blood-soaked tenure isn’t quite clear to him yet. We’re not buying any more gas than is absolutely necessary.

Could Bush have tried harder to séance Nero as he strummed his guitar during a photo op in San Diego as the storm came ashore? Perhaps his round of golf Wednesday, closing out a five-week vacation, was an outdoor emergency cabinet meeting? Could his approval of the handling of the response be anymore disconnected from reality when he told the FEMA director, “"Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job," as he toured Biloxi.

As the skies clear and the waters recede, the focus is sharpening. Despite calls for restraint, it’s time for blame. We knew Saturday that this was a massive and growing storm that was heading towards the Mississippi Delta. On Sunday, I listened to an LSU professor tell the world that there was a 50/50 chance we’d be saying on Monday, “Dear God… we’ve lost a city.”

Despite the National Geographic articles and a clear disclaimer from the Corp of Engineers that the levees were only built to handle a Category 3 storm, we learn now from Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff that no plans existed to deal with the flooding. Despite Mayor Nagin’s mandatory evacuation because of flooding threats, Chertoff found the destruction "breathtaking in its surprise." None of this was surprising to any regular reader of current events.

The sheer incompetence of the relief effort will be the subject of intense national debate in coming months. Already I hear people blaming victims for staying town, ignorant of both the logistical impossibility of emptying a major city in two days and the lack of transportation available to those who were worse hit. The partisan lines are forming.

Republicans must answer for cutting funding for the Southeast Louisiana Urban Flood Control Program (SELA), which would have reinforced the levee system. The Corp of Engineers will have to answer for not pushing for long term solutions to the Mississippi River Delta, which will completely disappear by centuries end if the existing system isn't dramatically redrawn. FEMA and Pentagon must answer for not mobilizing days before the storm.

It’s time for heads to roll in Washington for all the dead bodies in 7th Ward attics. It’s time to start thinking the consequences of our decisions and think progressively about the long term problems that face our troubled nation. It’s time for an end to this goofy optimism that God will only bless America. Someone must answer for the horror.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Sex, Drugs, and Milkweed

As a deist baptized in a protestant church and separated by the Catholic Church by at least two generations, I withhold as much opinion as possible concerning the impending selection of Pope John Paul II’s successor. It’s simply not my place to interject my own theological ideas into a debate whose churches I have stepped into only as a freshman touring European with Core Abroad. My inquiries into whereabouts of the “Sunday school” rooms were in the St. Jean Cathedral in Lyon attests to the breadth of my native ignorance of the Mother Churches ways.

Though my knowledge of Vatican II and Canon Law are as profound as my understanding of a woman’s mind, I had a lot of respect for John Paul II. His moral conservatism was of a different strain than what I encounter in America. Though I disagree with his view on abortion, I respected his moral consistency that had him fight against unjust war, torture, and the death penalty just as hard with the same underlying principle that life is sacred.

The only complaint I feel comfortable in vocalizing is the churches ban on contraception. Modern alchemists have turned milkweed and poinsettia plants into one of the most cost effective birth control measures of all time, stopping both STD’s and unwanted pregnancies if used correctly. John Paul, however, issued several fatwa’s banning Catholics from using condoms. Our Malthusian population nightmare aside, one can imagine the decree this has had in Africa, Catholicism’s fastest growing demographic. Over twenty-five million sub-Saharan Africans are infected with HIV/AIDS with an infection rate of 7.5%. It is of unconscionable bad taste to exalt a single command given to a nascent human race over the entire theme of compassion that AIDS; another 2.4 million children are infected themselves. What would Jesus do?

John Paul II’s moral consistency was matched by only by his rigidity. What will taint his legacy more than the scandals amongst America clergy was this iron-willed persistence in damning Catholics who practiced birth control. Granted, God had some good words to say back in the day about fruitfulness and multiplicity. Those words were exceptionally relevant as late as 1492 when the Europeans had just found a new patch of grass to soil and the world population was still under 500 million. I just don’t know how much more fruitful God wants us to be in an age of 6 billion people. The founders of the Universal Church made a decision some two thousand years ago that even though Biblical law required circumcision, things, you know… changed. Three times as many people live on under $1 a day as lived on the planet when the Good Man himself preached in Judea. I think it’s fair to call God’s “Go Forth” campaign a complete and resounding success. We should at least put the program on pause until the polar ice caps melt and become habitable.

There is hope yet. Cardinal Tettamanzi of Milan, Vegas’s favorite to win the papacy, has been quoted as saying, "one African child sick with AIDS counts more than the entire universe." He has called on Western nations to contribute more to the fight. His economic stances are in line with international calls to de-commercialize the AIDS-drugs industry and provide zero-fee licensing for generics. It would be an amazing step forward to make a religious imperative out of treating AIDS victims, as Tettamanzi suggests. I counter that preventing the disease is even more important. The pride of the Church is at stake, especially after taking such a hard line for so long, but the next pope could slowly back off the official. He doesn’t need to recant the Church’s contraceptive policy – merely shying away from reinforcing it every chance he gets would be a tremendous help. After all, would Jesus spend more time arguing for the banishment of modern hygienic techniques or would he spend his time preaching love for all?