Thursday, January 18

The man at the rental car place didn't have a full-size car, so he gave me an upgrade to a luxury car.

He's a Razz Heap groupie.

He remembered the trips I made to South Florida, to Springfest, and to Potterfest, to be in a [secret project]. He remembered my kids were both professional musicians. He remembered Balder had closed the festival on the main stage at Springfest.

I told him the band Owen was in had just been nominated for a Grammy.

I was apprehensive about parking a Cadillac outside Larry and Hazel's house, in their neighborhood--they have a lock on their gates and on all their doors and keep them locked and don't go out of town if they don't have to, for fear of vandalism or theft--but the larger car, with comfortable seats, would be nice on the drive over and back.

Driving on I-10 I had to admit it as a comfortable car and a pleasurable driving experience. I could see why people would want one, and would feel that it was their right to have one, if that's what they wanted. If owning one made them feel better about themselves, better than their neighbor.

I just read a book by Robert Stone, and he mentioned that Thorstein Veblen lived outside Stanford. That Stanford had a long-standing Bohemian tradition. I don't know if they do now.

I couldn't see Thorstein Veblen driving a Cadillac. Buying designer clothes.

We were late getting away, so by the time we drove through Slidell it was dark.

I said to Brenda, "It looks like Slidell got their electricity back."

That was a joke about how lit up both sides of the interstate were. Used car lots, new car dealers, shopping center parking lots.

Then, further west, there were dark homes, dark neighborhoods. Black holes of devastation, sitting there, with no mold abatement, no renovation, no rebound.

When I got in the car, in the parking lot of the rental car place, I adjusted my rear view mirror.

A voice said, "May I help you."

I ignored it, since I didn't know where it was coming from.

"MAY I HELP YOU," the voice said.

I ignored it.

The voice said, "This is On Sat satellite. If you do not respond we are dispatching the police to your location."

I said, "Are you talking to me? I just rented a car. I must have activated an alarm I don't know how to turn off."

"On the rear view mirror is a red cross," the voice said. "If you press it, it's like dialing 911. If you require assistance just press the button."

"Thank you," I said. "Do androids dream of electric sheep?"

Larry said you'd think someone who owned a Cadillac and wore designer clothes would have it made, but after Katrina, doctors and lawyers were committing suicide.

They had bills, they had kids in college, they had luxury cars, luxury homes, luxury wardrobes, they had no income, no practice-their clients had left-their insurance didn't cover what they thought it did, they couldn't get a straight answer out of anyone, and if they got a straight answer, they didn't believe it. And the next straight answer they got contradicted it. They had been swindled, taken to the cleaners, hoodwinked, and bamboozled. They had been sold a bill of rights, a bill of wrongs, a bill of goods. As Wright Morris says.

Who's Wright Morris?

The American dream had got them again.

They weren't used to being gotten.

I said to Larry, "The news says there is lawlessness, gangs, drive-by shootings, the police are ineffective, undermanned, or on-the-take, some neighborhoods are not safe to go into," and he said, "It seems about the same as always, to me."

We drove by the domed stadium.

The Saints were in the playoffs.

Business as usual. Ads, commercials, make-believe. Pro football. Spectacle. Bread and circuses. Rome. Nero fiddling in the White House. Rumor, fear, and the madness of crowds.

New, improved. Always fresh because it's frozen. You deserve a break today.

We got to Larry and Hazel's at 6:30 on Saturday night. As we had last eaten at 2:00, at a Cracker Barrel, on the road, they fixed a supper, of spaghetti and gravy and grated cheese, with a salad, and pastries and ice cream for dessert.

They told their Hurricane Katrina stories and we told ours.

Ours were secondhand. About evacuees, dealing with the aftermath from a distance. But there were many similarities. Businesses and government offices first couldn't, then wouldn't answer their telephones, wouldn't return your calls, if you talked to two different people you got two different answers, but the answer, usually was no, we don't cover that, we don't do that, we can't do that. We never did that, we never said we would do that, we have always been at war with Eurasia.

In addition, Larry and Hazel had stories about getting out of the city, no gas, looting, living in Texas, coming back to the city, no this and that, fixing the roof, with shingles in the street, blown off of somebody else's roof, the houses marked with symbols nobody knew the meaning of, marked by whom, private militias, warlords, federal troops, state troops, answering to whom, Dr. Bob had a sign, saying, "Looters will be shot," and the police disarmed him, injuring him, causing an infection, no hospitals, no drugstores, no medicine, no courts, no legal system, no schools, no post office, no utilities.

"There's a hole in Daddy's arm where all the money goes."

That would be Iraq.