highlifer

Ostrich. Head. Sand.

That's been my mantra lately. Ostrich. Head. Sand. I know the war in Iraq is totally fucked up, I was especially bothered by the entire unit from Ohio being ambushed. I know this. I don't need any more details about more fucked up things.

Now, The Husband has hurricane fever. The only time he turns the channel is if there is discussion of dead animals, a long time forbidden subject in our house. So today I watched lots of hurricane coverage. All those people stuck on I-10. In the Superdome. On their roofs. Then I hear stories of dead people and animals floating, laying there, DEAD. all those cars, trying to escape, and then the road caved in. It's like the Stand. Only that's a made-up-story and this is real.

Ostrich. Head. Sand.

Next summer, the American Library Association has their annual conference scheduled in New Orleans. The convention center is currently filled with refugees, and people are being assaulted in there, raped, killed. But because Librarians are by and large Chicken Littles, the questions started coming around today - What does this mean for our convention? Emails I get from the publishing industry talk about bookstores that have been damaged. Other listservs talk about authors who live in New Orleans, how are they?

I suppose people want to know how things that relate to them are affected. But I honestly can't understand how people can worry about conventions or bookstores at a time like this. Isn't anonymous human suffering enough reason to worry about New Orleans and Mississippi? Perhaps a quick Google search for Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs is in order.

Beyond even my ability to understand - it took me til today to realize that those thousands of people are in the Superdome and there is no plumbing, This is what was meant by unfit conditions.

Ostrich. Head. Sand.

I don't need any more details. I don't want to know how much worse it is going to get. Perhaps it's time for me to read Safe Area Gorazde again, a book that shows how when humans are faced with misery, they escape, into desire for new jeans, or rock music, or drinking.

Each night when The Husband gets home, I'm watching the US Open. I can't sit here, feeling helpless about my lack of ability to do anything. I'd rather escape with tennis. I know enough details. I've seen Fox's stupid Hurricane logo. I'd rather be Ostrich. Head. Sand.

There are many places to donate. Please do.Tonight I learned that the Humane Society is doing animal rescues there, and they are taking donations. Please don't forget the people or the animals. The animals never got a choice about staying or going.

posted by jamie @ 8:45 PM