There's an old garage, now a disintegrating building, owned by the city of St. Martinville (so I was told), that is part of the St. Martinville Festival Grounds.
Garage in disrepair, St. Martinville, Louisiana
It's got the proverbial good bones that some buildings have, if it would ever get reborn into something useful, but for now it falls mostly into the category of the decrepit picturesque.
Garage in disrepair, St. Martinville, Louisiana
The broken windows refract the fading light of a day in pleasing ways.
Crawfish chair, Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
I have not been remiss in my crawfish collecting activities.
Crawfish crossing, Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
There is an idea that some animals are easier to rally for, such as in protecting, if they have large eyes and they're furry-ish and you can anthropomorphize them. Pandas, baby seals, puppies and kittens, and the like.
Crawfish undertakers, Crawfish Etoufee Cook-Off Festival 2014, Eunice, Louisiana
Crawfish don't fit this profile, but nevertheless, they are beloved.
He's the protagonist in 20 books written by James Lee Burke, a New Iberia, Louisiana, writer.
Dave is a homicide detective in New Iberia, Louisiana. Cajun. Recovering
alcoholic. Vietnam war veteran. A man who marries. A father.
You can read more about Dave here. And what he thinks about north Louisianans here. And alcohol here. And some music here. On human exploitation here. On Angola here. On Louisiana's shadow self here. Ack. I just realized that my selections might give the impression that Dave Robicheaux (channeling James Lee Burke) is a real downer about southern Louisiana. Of course, Dave Robicheaux is a homicide detective, so that has an effect on the topics he talks about, but even so, Dave's love of Louisiana, the people, and culture do shine through.
Dave and violence
Dave Robicheaux is a violent son of a bitch. So violent, it can
be difficult at times to rationalize that Dave is a good guy, and not one of the bad guys. It doesn't
help that Dave has tremendous admiration for sometimes-partner Clete,
who's got to be a psychopath. (Lucky for Dave, he's not Clete's enemy.)
Dave does have some insight into his violence, which he attempts to explain in Dixie City Jam below.
Police violence - or abuse of power
From Dixie City Jam (1994)
I
always wanted to believe that those moments of rage, which affected me
almost like an alcoholic black-out, were due to a legitimate cause, that
I or someone close to me had been seriously wronged, that the object
of my anger and adrenaline had not swum coincidentally into my ken. But
I had known too many cops who thought the same way. Somehow there was
always an available justification for the Taser dart, the jet of Mace
straight into the eyes, the steel baton whipped across the shinbones or
the backs of the thighs. The temptation is to blame the
job, the stressed-out adversarial daily routine that can begin like a
rupturing peptic ulcer, the judges and parole boards who cycle
psychopaths back on the street faster than you can shut their files. But
sometimes in an honest moment, an unpleasant conclusion works its way
through all the rhetoric of the self-apologist, namely, that you are
drawn to this world in the same way that some people are fascinated by
the protean shape and texture of fire, to the extent that they need to
slide their hands through its caress.
A Stained White Radiance (1992)
Policemen
often have many personal problems. TV films go to great lengths to
depict cops' struggles with alcoholism, bad marriages, mistreatment at
the hands of liberals, racial minorities, and bumbling administrators. But
my experience has been that the real enemy is the temptation to misuse
power. The weaponry we possess is awesome - leaded batons, slapjacks,
Mace, stun guns, M-16s, scoped sniper rifles, 12-gauge assault shotguns,
high-powered pistols and steel-jacketed ammunition that can blow the
cylinders out of an automobile's engine block. But the
real rush is in the discretionary power we sometimes exercise over
individuals. I'm talking about the kind of people no one likes - the
lowlifes, the aberrant, the obscene and ugly - about whom no one will
complain if you leave them in lockdown the rest of their lives with a
good-humored wink at the Constitution, or if you're really in earnest,
you create a situation where you simply saw loose their fastenings and
throw down a toy gun for someone to find when the smoke clears. It happens, with some regularity.
People like Sheriff Joe Arpaio in Maricopa County (Phoenix), Arizona, are real-life examples of what Dave Robicheaux is talking about above. Including how we are complicit in such activities. Since my September 2013 post referencing Sheriff Arpaio, Maricopa County has spent even more millions of dollars to settle lawsuits that have arisen during Sheriff Arpaio's watch. .... And the people of Maricopa County keep him in office, re-electing him as recently as 2012. He won't be up for re-election until 2016. Reminds me of the perhaps-apocryphal statement made by a past president about one of our murderous allies in Central America: "He may be a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch."
The New Orleans Police Department has a woeful reputation for corruption and brutality.What does it signify that "everybody" knows this, and has known it for a long time, and yet ... it continues?
You went with me to innumerable festivals, and to Ethiopia, to Mexico, to Caucasus Georgia, to Dubai, to Istanbul, to Armenia, to New Mexico, and finally, to Louisiana.
We were such a perfect fit. I liked resting my hand on your shoulder, and to have your arm draped across mine. You protected my valuables. You carried my books. My water. My camera. You never complained.
Who could have predicted all of the adventures we'd share when we first met at that second-hand store?
I'll never forget you.
Yes, even though I must replace you, know that you will always be my true love.
First, an excerpt from Burning Angel (1995), by James Lee Burke, as narrated by fictional homicide detective Dave Robicheaux of New Iberia, Louisiana:
The moon was
down, and in the darkness the waving cane looked like a sea of grass on
the ocean's floor. In my mind's eye I saw the stubble burning in the
late fall, the smoke roiling out of the fire in sulphurous yellow plumes,
and I wanted to believe that all those nameless people who may have
lain buried in the field - African and West Indian slaves, convicts
leased from the penitentiary, Negro laborers whose lives were used up for
someone else's profit - would rise with the smoke and force us to
acknowledge their humanity and its inextricable involvement and kinship
with our own. But they were dead, their teeth scattered
by plowshares, their bones ground by harrow and dozer blade into
detritus, and all the fury and mire that had constricted their hearts
and tolled their days were now reduced to a chip of vertebrae tangled in
the roots of a sugarcane stalk.
Twelve Years a Slave
Haven't seen the movie, but recently read the book, Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northrup, and published in 1853.
The book describes how Mr. Northrup was kidnapped, sold into slavery, ended up in Louisiana as a slave, survived life as a slave, and was rescued twelve years later.
You can download or listen to the audio book here. You can read online or download the written book here. (I downloaded the book onto my Kindle via a library loan.)
Sue Eakin, PhD, was a Louisianan librarian who devoted many years to checking the details of Mr. Solomon's story. Unbenownst to Dr. Eakin, Joseph Logsdon, a New Orleans history professor, was also engaged in scholastic detective work to authenticate Mr. Northrup's account. Eventually, the two learned about each other and they joined forces, publishing an enhanced version of Twelve Years a Slave in 1968.
If you choose to read 12 Years a Slave, then I'd recommend that you next read The Warmth of Other Suns, by Isabel Wilkerson. It's about The Great Migration, circa 1910-1970, when millions of black Americans escaped from the South to the North in a social and economic diaspora.
The head versus the gut
There is probably an algorithm, as yet undiscovered, that defines the right balance between the intellectual/analytical response and the sensing/feeling response to the sustained subjugation of one human group by another human group.
By "right balance," I mean the ability to imagine oneself and one's family members in the place of those who were violated - to feel it - without getting lost in it and yet not be so removed that one can dismiss, discount, or overly-intellectualize it.
And by right balance, I mean for the purpose of .... hmm ... what? Prevention of future outbreaks of mass human dysfunction? Effective intervention during? The reconciliation or restorative justice that might be possible after the fact?
I don't know.
What I do know is that 12 Years a Slave (and The Warmth of Other Suns) help us imagine ourselves and our families in the place of those who lived the reality. These books helps us feel the reality, although we are removed from it.
I also know that the story of American slavery is part of our shared story as Americans, as is the historical, generational trauma (more on this in future) that followed the Emancipation Proclamation. The sustained, institutionalized inhumanity against man is what we did and what we had done to us.
Compendium of slave narratives 1700s-1900s
HBO presented readings of American slave narratives in a documentary called Unchained Memories. A link to this video is below:
The narratives were the result of interviews conducted between writers and former slaves, as part of the Federal Writers' Project, 1936-1938. You can find them here.
A few years ago, I bought a passport holder for use in airports. It's OK for that purpose, though things aren't as easily accessible as I'd wish, especially when I've only got one hand free to negotiate the inserting and pulling out of said passport, other ID, or money. I think I bought it at Target.
Well.
Who would have thought it'd make the perfect dance bag?
Dance bag
Because in southern Louisiana, a woman must have a dance bag.
The bag looks rather sloppy in the above photo, but I wanted to show the various pockets for tucking things into.The neck strap is long and adjustable, so it hangs comfortably while you're dancing. The bag itself weighs practically nothing.
So a ho-hum passport holder is recreated into a superb dance bag.
Filmed in 1989, the movie's got the good stories straight from the mouths of cajun, creole, and zydeco royalty. The classic songs all seem to be here. Lots of dancing, humor.
Although this video isn't from the documentary, it tells the same story of the much-loved The Back Door, written and originally performed by DL Menard:
I liked how the film showed the evolution of particular songs, as their arrangements evolved with the change of instruments and musical styles.
For example, here's the 1928 version of Allons a Lafayette (Let's go to Lafayette [to change your name]), by husband and wife Joe Falcon and Cleoma Breaux (which was based on an older traditional song):
The lyrics in English:
Let's go to Lafayette to change your name.
We will call you Mrs. Mischievous Comeaux.
Honey, you're too pretty to act like a tramp.
How do you think I am going to manage without you?
Look at what you done, pretty heart.
We are so far apart and that is pitiful.
Honey, you're too pretty to act like a tramp.
How do you think I am going to manage without you?
Look at what you done, pretty heart.
We are so far apart and that is pitiful.
Here's a zydeco version of the same song decades later, by Boozoo Chavis:
:
And here's Wayne Toups (after a bit of a loopy intro) doing the same song in the late 1980s in "zydecajun" style:
Cajun jam, Joie de Vivre, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
There is a cajun jam every Saturday mid-day-ish at the Joie de Vivre "coffee and culture" shop in Breaux Bridge.
Cajun jam, Joie de Vivre, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. Note the courir de Mardi Gras mask.
The colors in the shop are ripe and juicy, perfect for all of the visitors who come armed with our cameras.
Cajun jam, Joie de Vivre, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
It is easy to close your eyes, tap your toes, and let the music wash over you.
Cajun jam, Joie de Vivre, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
When I visited this past weekend, there were fiddles, guitars, accordions, a banjo, a double bass, some small bongos, a triangle, and a deep-voiced washtub bass.
Washtub bass. Cajun jam, Joie de Vivre, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
I loved how the dancing couple moved in and out of the frame in this video:
There are many varieties of coffee drinks you can get at Joie de Vivre, but on Saturdays, if you want lunch, you'll get what they's got. On this Saturday, it was hearty red beans and rice, cornbread, and pickled okra. And, you know, the pickled okra was not terrible.
Cajun jam, Joie de Vivre, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana
Old Louisiana State Capitol, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
I've been in three or ten state capitols - all with the requisite rotunda topper - and the Old Louisiana State Capitol is like a big ol' wedding cake.
Old Louisiana State Capitol, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
For the Baton Rouge Blues Fest, the building is home to documentary movies and live interviews with the festival performers. It also offers an intimate space for small ensembles, such as the Fugitive Poets, they of the cool, Mesilla-esque t-shirts. Alas, the acoustics weren't terribly good. Go listen to them here.
Fugitive Poets, Old Louisiana State Capitol, Baton Rouge Blues Fest 2014
So what does the current state capitol look like?
Current Louisiana State Capitol, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Credit: wikipedia.
To be honest, I wanted to smirk at the looks of the new capitol over the old, but ... I kind of like it. It makes me think of the World War I Museum in Kansas City.
Old Louisiana State Capitol, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
One of the coolest things about southern Louisiana is how accessible the musicians are. Well, not just musicians - all of the artists. (No, I'm not gonna say "creatives.")
Jimmy Dotson plays an impromptu song below:
So at the Baton Rouge Blues Fest last weekend, was it richly cool to wander into a large room at what used to be the state capitol and be able to sit in on an interview with Jimmy Dotson, one of the august performers?
It sure was.
In fact, the Blues Fest impresses me with its multi-dimensional presentation. You can listen to big sound on large stages, big sound on smaller stages, watch documentaries about southern Louisiana's blues artists, enjoy quieter sound in small spaces, and be an audience at interviews with the performers.
Mr. Dotson has cut a new album - doesn't seem to be ready for release yet. 'til then, here's an old song.
Today I received a reminder from the Social Security Administration to take a look at my future as it pertains to prospective Social Security benefits. I did take a look and I got some good info there about what to expect in my financial future.
Coincidentally, I noted that today some readers had looked at a post I did on Rootlessness and Death in January 2013.
It's still timely, so I'll re-post it here:
Cemetery, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
A recent article in the New York Times reminded me I need to take care of some business.
Getting your shit together
The article is A Shocking Death, A Financial Lesson, and Help for Others, which introduced readers to the article subject's website: Get Your Shit Together.
As in, start getting your affairs in order now so you or your loved
ones don't have a mess to deal with later. The information that the
author, Chanel Reynolds, shares is very basic, but it is a good starting
point.
Cemetery, Istanbul
That includes your online life ... and death
Back here,
I mentioned some vendors that keep all of your passwords (and access to
online "assets" in general) in one place and pairs that with
instructions from you to share the passwords with designated
beneficiaries upon your death or incapacitation. That is a service I
want, but have I followed up on this? No, I have not.
Cemetery, Mtatsminda, Tbilisi, Georgia
The Digital Beyond is "... a blog about your digital existence and what
happens to it after your death. We’re the go-to source for archival,
cultural, legal and technical insights to help you predict and plan for
the future of your online content." This site lists and compares "digital death and afterlife online services" here.
What I do have in place ...
Advance directive
- appropriately signed and notarized, with originals distributed to
appropriate people. (The link goes to a place where you can download
your state's advance directive forms.) Done.
All of my financial accounts have designated beneficiaries.
When I say designated, that doesn't mean I wrote a list of my accounts
and entered a name beside each entry on a piece of paper and that was
the end of it. No, it means the financial institutions have this
information and will automatically transfer ownership of said funds to
the designated beneficiary upon proof of my death. You don't need a will
to make this happen and, in fact, if you do have a will, the
designated beneficiaries on your financial accounts will supersede any
conflicting direction you may have in your will. (You know that
nightmare situation where a guy made his 2nd wife the beneficiary of
everything in his will, but he didn't take his 1st wife's name
off of the financial accounts as beneficiary? You got it - the 1st wife
wins the jackpot.) Done.
Cemetery, Missouri
What I don't have ... because I don't need it
Life insurance.
I have no mate, minor children, business partnerships, or debt. I have
enough money to pay the expenses related to the disposition of my
remains. I don't feel the need to create a legacy via life insurance.
So I don't need life insurance.
Cemetery, Armenia
The will
Alllaw has a nice list of DIY resources on wills. For my simple situation, I felt comfortable copying and adapting the Basic Will Form at the bottom of the Alllaw's page. Here's another guide to get someone started on doing up a will - with or without help.
I don't have this in the Done section yet because I'm just now completing it.
I'm
not entirely convinced one is necessary for me, but it's easy to make a
will (for someone, like me, with an uncomplicated asset-and-beneficiary
life), plus having one will remove even the slightest hesitation about
who's in charge of taking care of my stuff when I'm gone. I mean, I
don't have much stuff (like that printer I just bought), but I do have
some. And somebody's going to have to deal with it.
