Typical.

I know someone in NYC who is a typical New Yorker.

Typical New Yorkers think that the sun rises and sets on their Fair City, and that civilisation ends somewhere around Trenton—you know, out in the boondocks. To the typical New Yorker, there is nothing else. Or, nothing else with any *meaning*, rather.

Trying to talk to a typical New Yorker, one gets the impression (of course, since I’m using the impersonal “one”, I can’t possibly mean “me”, don’chano. I mean “anyone with sense”. Well, that’s the subtle inference behind the impersonal “one”.) that they’re a little miffed that their claim to disaster has been diminished.

Look; I’m just reporting the facts. Or impressions.

Thankfully, after Katrina everyone I know over That Way is, for now, okay. My in-laws in LA are alive and surviving, my family in AL and New Orleans are alive and safe. That’s what’s important. Well, I should say my sort-of family in New Orleans; I’m talking about my ex-cousin in-law (is there such a thing?).

A long time ago, my scarybear cousin did the only correct thing in life that he’s ever going to do—he married Juliette, a born-and-raised native of New Orleans. He was in a band, and they played in New Orleans. Walking to work that night in the FQ, a brick must’ve fallen on Juliette’s head. She survived, clocked in, and fell in love with my cousin. She laid every trap known to Womanhood, and he fell for it.

I remember meeting Juliette when I was a child (my parents had me way-late); my cousin was touring, and Juliette had quit her job and gone with them when they wandered up Our Way. I remember thinking she was the sexiest thing I had ever seen—she was completely different from any other woman within a hundred miles. She had dark hair, dark makeup, and showed more cleavage than Elvira. I’d never heard an accent like hers before, and within five minutes I realised that there was no predicting what was going to come out of that mouth. But in a good way—the girl had class, but a kind of class that was completely alien to me at the time.

My parents thought she was unique. I did, too—only I liked her. Juliette was with me at my first Mardi Gras.

To make a long story short, they married, he fucked her over, and they divorced. She moved back to her beloved city. She’s sworn she’ll never get married again, and so far she hasn’t. I’d take Juliette’s word on anything; she’s not ever going to be married again. She’s found someone else though, and they’re living together. He loves her, and that’s good. She deserves it. Most of my family still love her and think of her as family, and she’s ok with that. Plus she and my cousin had a child, so she is still family in more than a heart-sense.

As my Aunt called to tell my mother, who called to tell Meg, who then called to tell me, Juliette got out of New Orleans early; she didn’t want to, but her (boy)friend made her. They went to spend time with his family, and it looks like it’s going to be a long stay for them. But they didn’t lose much; Juliette has also sworn that she will never own a house again (the saga of what my fuckup cousin did to her is worthy of a book, but this is related), and so they lost only what they didn’t take from their apartment.

My brother’s wife’s family is from LA also (what is it about the men in our family and Southern women?), and her family is okay. We haven’t heard much more than that yet, but then again, I have been at work all day; but since I’ve heard nothing, no news is good news—if something bad had happened, I would have gotten at least a text message.

Most everyone to whom I’ll admit to being related is smart enough to leave when something is looking bad; it's some kind of genetic meme handed down by the Jewish genes in our family. However, all of them are solvent enough that they *can*. Most of them could take several months off and not feel the pinch financially. However, most of those who are now stuck in that area are not in that situation.

Why didn’t the governing body in charge use their buses when the evacuation was first announced to get the people out who couldn’t leave on their own, whether it was because of physical or financial reasons? Why could they not help people who didn’t want to leave their pets to go into a shelter? Why is all of this being done *after* the fact? On one of the news stations, they mentioned that people on welfare were probably too broke to leave—their checks come on the 1st or 3rd of the month. There were reports that some of these poor people went to pawn shops and rent-to-own businesses they patronise to ask to borrow money to buy gas so that they could leave, and most were turned down. Why could all of these buses not have been brought out then? Hearing about an elderly man who couldn’t leave on his own, and didn’t want to leave his cat and dog to go to a shelter broke my heart. I wouldn’t have left my pets, either. To some people—especially our ageing population—pets are like people! Why was this not considered and prepared for? I mean, for crying out loud, my mother is older and she wouldn’t leave her cat Arby if the National Guard was trying to drag her away; either Arby goes too, or no one goes. There are a lot of people like that.

Well, in my mother’s case, it is somewhat self-serving; Arby is the only one in the family who understands her. No, rilly—the rest of us haven’t a clue.

Butsoanyway.

And I can understand the looting. Maybe not the stealing of electronics and such, but certainly of food, clothes, and shoes. I mean, if these people didn’t have enough money to buy gas enough to leave because their welfare checks hadn’t come in or whatever, I doubt that they had the money to stock up on food and water.

Everyone has seen the pictures by now; it’s devastating. And the lack of preparation on the part of the officials is shocking. How can you govern a city where so many poor live and issue an evacuation order without considering the schedule on which the government pays welfare?

I’m not religious, and I don’t think it does any good to pray for them, but they are in my thoughts. And I feel for them all.

And I am kind of hoping that my brother will have to work over there, or something. Hopefully. It’s better than the alternative, which I’m still not dealing with, and I’m still angry at him. I’ll deal later.

And so as I’m exchanging IMs with my Typical New Yorker friend, of course Katrina comes up. He points out that September 11th was far more devastating, because it was a man-made disaster, and unexpected, plus everyone came out and helped each other, and didn’t run around looting. And I’m appalled. We’re trying to get a corner on the market for disasters? How revolting. How…typical.