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is it live? or is it memorex?
May. 20th, 2010 08:54 amI was contacted by an old friend recently. To be honest, I looked at her picture, and I knew her...but I didn't. It was really kind of "Uhm. Who the hell are you?" After her being politely offended (sorry, my bad) I'm reminded that she, Lisa, dated my best friend, Steve. Then pieces started to fall into place. She began to call out a period in time that I'd all but forgotten. A flood of memories opened up for me. It centered during summer, 1988, a time where I visited Baton Rouge all the time. Lived at home, drank in Baton Rouge. I met Lisa through our mutual friend, Tim. Tim was one of Steve's podnuhs in BR.
I should add, at the time I had already spent the better of a year with this bunch after my spectacular nose-dive of a first semester at LSU. Opportunities passed. *sniff* Would. Should. Could. Didn't.
So, I'm in and out of Red Stick, long weekend binges at Tim's townhouse. Life is good. At some point a party comes up (as it often did ) and Lisa introduces me to her friend Danielle.
Danielle. Chemistry. Delight. Regret. Loss.
It was a pretty wild summer. When fall semester came around, I was much better acquainted with the classroom. As a result, I was resigned to Lafayette. A long series of bad decisions followed, but that's another boring tale. But that summer. That extraordinary summer. Tell me why it wasn't until Lisa unlocked that moment of time that I remembered any of it. Well, I remember it...but I didn't. Like she hit autofocus, some very specific details appeared. To be honest, before now it was so fuzzy that I could never recall what Danielle's name even was. And I was SO into her at the time. Like absurdly deep.
Then...Lisa shows me a picture. A picture of Danielle, Steve, and I, sitting on a couch, at Tim's townhouse. Such a different me. A very happy me. Which, in turn, made a very sad me for not being able to remember that summer. And there's my little stab of reckoning. I know that I have more memories like that. The wonderful memories that shape my history, it's like they're hidden. All I see with clarity are some pretty awful times. Occasionally, I find a gem, like recalling the summer of 1988. Mostly it's a big bag of nothing.
Why? What's causing this? Is it my drone work? Is it my mesmeration with the information age? My somewhat egregious gadgetphilia? Is it recognizing the sound of my voice yelling all the time? Is it something in the water? Pollen in the air? Is it Katrina and Rita still slicing through our collective realities? Is it just plain fear?
Yeah, I don't fucking know either.
I do know this. If ever there was a drop from high to low, it was this: hope slowly rising through the Saints ascension; crescendo of a Lombardy trophy; a spectacular glide into Mardi Gras; a fabulous, if not cold, spring; ending at a Jazzfest with MONSTER crawfish. Man, if that's not a fun ride, what is?
Oh, yeah, that, too, but I'm talking about something else.
A beautiful eight months in the city of New Orleans. I mean, you knew the drop was coming, just ignored it. The rashes started appearing as Hizzoner, Mayor C Ray-Ray Nagoon decided he'd just be a completely transparent jackass, pretty much flaunting the citizens with his arrogance. Crime started to take a dive, more murders in the news, police cover-ups. One hard freeze in January. Hell, all of January was pretty much frozen. Those things were pretty well covered by the end of the NFL season.
Hell officially runneth over when a flare on the horizon signaled the start of the dark times. And I fucking hate it. And I fucking hate BP and the Corps of Engineers for offering us limp dolphin cock in response to this oil spill. Shit's deep around here and it smells like tarballs. The local atmosphere is volatile. In the back of the house, I'm thinking something's really going to go ballistic in this environment. One guy, a shrimper, an EPA agent, a BP-sponsored scientist, somehow lights that powderkeg of anxiety around town or on the coast. Fireworks.
These really are dark times. It runs deep, but I'm halfway denying it. I have to deny it, the same way I denied Katrina's wrath. Ignoring decay, corruption, incompetence, greed. I digest the daily articles. I mourn the losses for my children's future. Only difference is the aroma of WD40 throughout the city.
Okay, so I've gone on long enough with the obvious. I've got a little dip in the oscillator. It's not that I'm doing badly. Things are quite well at home, in fact. Pretty easy to toss out denial blankets during times like these. Summer's coming. My son's playing little league. Very well, I might add. I got a dazzling annual review from the Boss. No, really, blindingly dazzling. Dazzling doesn't equal raise, but I'll take the little victories. I'm about to start a summer's worth of landscaping and fig harvesting. Good stuff. Oh, yeah, I've got tomato plants that are 8 feet tall. That's cool, too.
I know I started with memories and waded into depression, but I think it's very much related. My mind is so crammed with bad news, perhaps there's no more room. Staying balanced in this atmosphere? Despite my posts of contemporary gloom, I'm pretty stable, maybe desensitized to government ineptitude and corporate ignorance. Still. That feeling can't be shaken. For the second time in five years, I witness the slow-motion destruction of my wonderful little part of the world.
Maybe I can rediscover more missing summers to distract me. I believe the summer before me is already lost.
