New Orleans Ladder: Dimanche

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Dimanche

Grey Ghost busted! Radtke to face judge
~Doug MacCash
~According to witnesses, the MPs scolded Radtke and took him away in a patrol car. However, once he arrived at the police station, he was released without being booked. Later Thursday night, Major Bernedine Kelly, Commander of NOPD's Fifth District, reviewed the incident and issued a summons to Mr. Radtke.
Editilla Demures~ Angola Baby! God Help'Ya!

Aaahh Jeez Louie!
Hat T'n'T~Mosquito Coast

Peace march to honor N.O. victims of violence

Three parishes to hold final Masses~Bruce Nolan
Special Thanks~Krewe of Truth

A Huge Week for Church of All Souls~The Bishop's Blog

New Orleans celebrates its first Eruv~"An Eruv is an incredibly exciting venture for any Jewish community," said Rabbi Uri. "But our ability to construct an Eruv here is yet another green flag that the Jewish community of New Orleans is growing in a serious way and is perhaps one of the most engaging and exciting Jewish communities in America."

Chaplains on the River

Gumbo Granny Blogs From the Bayou for Obama
~Georgianne Nienaber

Colleges paid for evacuees' addiction maintenance medicine

New Orleans Groups, Leaders Make Big Housing Push ~BBuzz

Paulson’s purse and
Steve Bartlett’s plan~slabbed

Naomi Klein Interview ~OpEdNews

Peripheral Milit Urb 26 ~Subtopia
~Editilla Notellas~Drawn to this site by this article.

Could a levee save the island?
~Editilla Consuellas~And they call Us crazy?

Maybe Government Didn't Learn Much From Katrina ~Dan Hicks

'Living shorelines' eyed to stop coastal erosion ~Gary Mitchel

Mon River dam project likely to balloon to $1.5B
~"The $750 million project that began in 1995 and was to be finished in 2004 has morphed into a delayed effort that will not be finished until at least 2022 at a cost of $1.5 billion," said Stephen R. Fritz of the Corps of Engineers and the project's manager. And, the work could be prolonged even further and cost even more, Fritz said.
~Editilla Krewellas~We just want everyone to know that Louisiana ain't nothin'special.
The Corps of Engineers ain't partial to screwing our Grand Dame.
The Exquixotic Corps is an Equal Opportunity Impaler.

ERDC named lab of the year second time in a row
~The Vicksburg Post
~Corps facility has gotten honor 10 times since '89

Starbucks to help perk up N.O.
~Jaquetta White

Who wants to take part in building New Orleans'
first culinary incubator?
~The Kitchen at Colton
Hi New Orleans News Ladder,
you've been sent the following by a Chowhound moderator:

Sorry, but your posts were removed because we don't permit the use of our message boards to publicize even good causes and non-profit events.

We're 100 percent behind the effort to support what sounds like a great organization, but we cannot allow announcements about the event on our site. You see, if we allow you to do it, we've got to allow everyone to do it,
(Oh God Forbid!) and we have neither the time nor the resources to vet events or groups in order to decide what's a worthy cause or chowtastic event, and what's unworthy or offensive or scammy--or just plain commercial hype.
(Editilla Notellas~It took me more time to contact "vet" the subject of Chowhound's bite, the Kitchen at Colton, than it did for Chowhound to pull our posts and contact me with this missive... all of 30 seconds!)

As you know, we strive to make Chowhound a non-commercial place where people can freely exchange chow tips without wading through ads or agenda-driven hype, or hype of any kind, for that matter. Unfortunately, this means we must exclude the good along with the bad. We appreciate your understanding our position.

~To wit'yer oh'so humbled Editilla Responded:

Have you lost your mind?
Are you kidding me?
I do not understand why Chowhound has pulled my post on The Kitchen at Colton, or why they pulled my comment referring this eater to that fine effort, or why they disallowed my enthusiastic Kudoes for The Hooka Cafe's owner's offer / recommendation which still stands btw.
This is sudden and rude in its procedural disaffection.
I have always just enjoyed Chowhound and see nothing in my posts to have warranted this action.
I do not understand.

I thought we were supposed to celebrate the thing here...
--help each other out...Hold the Line.
It is with great regret that I pull all links to Chowhound from my own daily blog ala Groucho Marx.
I just wanted to have fun here, nothing else.
The New Orleans Ladder is All About Helping.

I will not support Chowhound
if Chowhound will not support New Orleans Food!
You have broken my heart, Chowhound.
Please finish this hatchet job and Pull My Membership Too.
Pull my library card, my leg, hell pull my finger too, but...
"As God is my Wetness I shall nevah go hungrey agaiyn!"
Editilla~New Orleans Ladder

~~And another thing, do you see Any advertisements on the New Orleans Ladder? No.
What you do see is there because we love it our city.
We care. We still Believe in the Saints.
You will never see any advertisements here.
Given your own garish fetish for Swanson Ads,
Please do not try to tell us you are non-commercial.
Why anger someone --like you have now? That is silly.
NO SOUP FOR YOU CHOWHOUND!

~Mai Tai Cocktail Gelée~
Photo: Lori Lynn

Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24:
Gourmet Retro Dinner Party
~TaStE WiTH ThE EyEs

They'll never know...
~Musti's Blawg

Mardi Gras in New Orleans
~History is made at night

Abita Springs taps into folklore
~Benjamin Alexander-Bloch

Sheraton New Orleans Hotel Exhibits Jack Robinson Photographs ~NOPA
~More from Liz Goliwas Bodet

Featured Freeware: Jazz Radio

5 comments:

Lori Lynn said...: Dear New Orleans Ladder:

First of all, thank you for visiting my food blog, Taste With The Eyes. I followed your comment back to your site here. Imagine my surprise when I saw my photograph of Mai Tai Cocktail Gelée on your blog and a link to my post of the Gourmet Retro Dinner Party!

The dinner does include a dish from Noramae, who is from New Orleans, and I do appreciate the link. But if you are going to use my photography, I would, however, respectfully appreciate a photo credit, as it is copyrighted material, and requires written permission to legally copy. If you are amenable to posting the photo credit, I am more than happy to allow you to use this photograph on your blog. Mai Tai Cocktail Gelée was a big hit at the party, and we are happy to share!

Respectfully submitted,

Lori Lynn
http://tastewiththeeyes.blogspot.com/; October 29, 2008 at 10:51 AM
Anonymous said...: Hey Thanks, Ms Lynn!
We love your blog too!

I hope it works now. If not then I can pull the pic easily enough and leave the article there all alone, with no Mai Tai Cocktail Gelée, sigh
.
How ironic as we do try to honor folks work here and Usually you can click on the photos we hang and they go linked to source and I do try to honor copyrights with bylines and all that when it seems necessary.
One way or another we try to link back. Please forgive my drooling, but you reminded me of how he used to make Hurricane Popcicles.

I should have contacted you and hope this entire public conversation + the Photo credit above works satisfies.; October 29, 2008 at 11:28 AM
Lori Lynn said...: Perfect. Thank you so much.

I appreciate your understanding and quick response.

Now, let's have a Mai Tai!

Lori Lynn; October 29, 2008 at 12:11 PM
Anonymous said...: Oh Boy! Thanks again, Ms Lynn!

You really should try the Hurricane Popcicles, just make Hurricanes and freeze'em on sticks --but you gotta freeze them really cold!
Mmmmmm...; October 29, 2008 at 12:35 PM
Unknown said...: I wish you would post your story about Chowhound or allow me to post it on my Facebook Group page "Chowhound's Disaffected Speak Out" at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=119903464700160&v=app_2373072738#!/group.php?gid=119903464700160&v=wall
I'm hoping to make an impression on Chowhound management that policies and moderation need to change!
Thanks!; May 7, 2010 at 6:03 PM

Sinn Féin

New Orleans Ladder
Chere'yat Bourgeois Nievete?
Every goodbye ain't gone.
Every shut eye ain't sleep.
Gonna' build up this Living Ladder.
Gonna lean it up against the world, so we can pass over our damn nation, so we can always find the long road back home.
Stitch-hiking the Web for Daily New Orleans News, Bloggery, Videos, Poetry, Photography, Music and Humor, yeah where'yat, post Kafkatrina Recovery for the City That Care Forgot and Presidente Bush left for dead.
The New Orleans Ladder accepts no advertising revenue.
To contact or submit articles please leave a comment.
Anything goes on the Ladder, except no kiddy- porn ~{which will be forwarded immediately to someone who can track you down quicker (if you're lucky) than I (if you're not), no lie, believe it, faster than a speeding bullet and with as much regard as a dragon fly, perched upon the head of a water moccasin, waiting for its prey} --and no gratuitous profanity.
Just paste the articles' url in the comments.
Contact me directly on Twitter.
Please tell your friends about the Ladder.
Lassezes Le Bon Temp Roule'!!! Who Dat!
Thank You All,
Editilla the Pun.

A note to advertising types
~From your ho'ho homble
Editilla the Pun,
thank you for asking.
Here's the Deal: what we hang upon this Ladder we do so with LOVE, HONOR and AFFECTION. Heart'stopping Awe and Adoration...Aw'dat
--especially this right side.

Of what we hang here I want our Gentle'rillas to know: We accept no ad revenue,only Blessings of Thanks -and Tons-O-Traffic!- from All Youz who'z contacted us with Notes of Glee at finding yourselves thusly hero'hung --by this Ladder with Care-- and we hope y'all get some Gat'zillion hits there!
Please put ya'Finger on'em...
--let'em know we're here!

New Orleans...
a courtesan, not old and yet no longer young, who shuns the sunlight that the illusion of her former glory be preserved.

The mirrors in her house are dim and the frames are tarnished;
all her house is dim and beautiful with age. She reclines gracefully upon a dull brocaded chaise- longue, there is the scent of incense about her, and her draperies are arranged in formal folds. She lives
in an atmosphere of a bygone
and more gracious age.

And those whom she receives
are few in number, and they come to her through an eternal twilight.
She does not talk much herself,
yet she seems to dominate the conversation, which is low-toned but never dull, artificial but not brilliant. And those who are not of the elect must stand forever without her portals.

New Orleans… a courtesan whose hold is strong upon the mature,
to whose charm the young must respond. And all who leave her, seeking the virgin’s unbrown, ungold hair and her blanched and icy breast where no lover has died, return to her when she smiles across her languid fan…

New Orleans.

William Faulkner~1925

My Name Is Burma

Please check out my friend Moe Swe, who emailed me wonderful Burmese Music after we met through my online work with the Burma News Ladder, during the Democracy Crackdown in that country in September-October '07.
I had just joined in New Orleans with Rising Tide, btw, at the 2nd Flood Anniversary. Synchronicity?
One song's lyric: "A drop of rain is now a Raging Tide. Burma How Long?" You tell me. Heads or Tails?
Lotta music there. Take your time.
Use the pause button. Fang though the playlist. Tell yer friends. Enjoy!
As with my love for New Orleans,
I cannot think of a better, quicker way to know Burma than through her music: the song of her soul, the instrument of her dreams, the expression of her hopes & fears.
Burma Sinn Féin!
Burma Rocks World Boogie!
Please shout'out and say hello to
Moe Swe--Let'em know we care.
Kyay Zoo Pyu Pea...Koo NyiBar
Kyay Zoo Tin Bar Dae
8-08-88~~8-08-08
8-28-08

Crucifixion Road

by Karl Demolay

This is for the city that care forgot...
the city that forgot to care.
This city, carelessly forgotten,
our party time's behind us now, sensual drums in the dank and virile heat. City of culinary delights, musical giants, simple pleasures, squalid splendors.
A city of dust, now shrouded in mold, forever succumbing to entropic bliss on pause.
This city of history, a living archive of revelry and regret. The past and the future collide in slow motion. This is the city that must be remembered and rebuilt, this bastion of visceral pleasures and historic decadence. All to our collective delight and nagging melancholia.

This is for the ones that evacuated...
the people who left it all behind. The ones that lost almost everything, or maybe just the one thing they cared about most of all. The ones marooned on highways for far too long, no way home, even as the storm unleashed its initial fury. Those left deserted, no place to rest their heads, thoughts still heavy with guilt or fear or resignation.
This is for the people that won't go back, can't go back, afraid of possibility and all of its attendant pitfalls.
This is for those that have nothing to return to at all, not one single thing.
This is for the ones that relocated, expatriates forced into strange lands with odd customs.
This is for the terminally restless,
the suddenly homeless,
the penniless brave.

This is for the ones that stayed...
the insane, the stranded, the curious tribes, erstwhile survivors and civic warriors alike.
Those souls who stayed calm and true despite the chaos, or lost their minds to apocalyptic fancy.
Battened down and hunkered low, sipping bottled water with hushed first glances, suspicious demeanors and flashlights at the ready.
Proud and defiant holders of the line, sometimes criminal in intent, quick movement on the perimeters, shoot to kill orders...
For all those who were trapped in makeshift shelters, replete with suicides, murders, and rapes: victimization rank and feral.
For the bitter end of salvation, acrid tastes on parched tongues dry, even as bids for escape were made.

This is for the politicians...
Federal, State and Local, at once inept and indispensable, some more than others, caught unprepared, unconcerned, unshaven---Playing cat and mouse in a city of smoldering ruins, screams from the darkness of urgent plight, atavism gone awry. Ignorance and obviousness, the slow motion train wreck broadcast for all to see and discuss, obfuscate and ignore. Declarations of me and mine, you and yours, pitted squarely against they and them. This is for too little, too late, the same old song played at precisely the wrong time, over and over. Nagin, Blanco, Brown, Bush, please report center stage to assume the mantle of scorn and blame, everyone gets their turn.
This is for the ones that try to rewrite history or deny it outright, we wish we could deny it all so easily.

This is for the ones that died...
for the loved ones, the foolish ones, the forgotten and cumbersome alike. For the elderly, the infirmed, Vera in her cobblestone grave, the unidentified ones that received no such memorials.
And our beloved household pets, loyal until the end.
The parks and neighborhood greens, flora and fauna turned to a sepia-tone static gray. The houses, once renowned for their architecture, are reborn as new testaments to the destructive coupling of Mother nature and Human Folly. To the spray-painted X's, harsh and unrelenting, omnipresent in their emergency orange hue: 1 dog dead, 1 person saved.
This is for the newest necropolis to rise, our once proud city, our interrupted way of life, breaks in the line of comfortable static. For the evidence of our empire, washed away in the eye of the storm and the turgid, toxic waters that followed.

This is for the ones that rescued...
the Firefighters, EMT's, Police Officers, National Guard. For the people from far and near that just appeared out of nowhere, just wanting to help any way they could, using anything waterborne. And for the locals brave and true, risking life and limb to save just one more person, over and over and over. For all of the endless, tireless, selfless sacrifices and tear jerking humanity. For their shining light of salvation into the boundless dark, onto rooftops, inside of hacked-out attics, out of harms way to higher ground. For beaming from all directions, these beacons of hope, springing eternal and true.
This is for all those who lent a hand, however small or large. Our gratitude, more than could ever be conveyed, is all we have to offer in return.

This is for the media...
the good, the bad, the ugly, for the rescuers and the soothsayers, the shelterers and the kind words, for the dispassionate, the doubters, the cynical and the apathetic.
The pundits and pontificators, their talking points and bad haircuts, feigning interest at all the scripted moments. For the smiles as the makeup is applied, the vacant suppression of harsh, unforgiving reality in plentiful evidence. The ones that control the present controlling the past controlled the future; as always, blissfully unaware of the consequences...
For the sidebars and scrutiny, the breaking news and tight focus close-ups, hands and mouths reacting in opposite directions, in equal amounts, all from the outside looking in. This is for updates at every quarter of the hour.

This is for the hospitals...
the nursing homes and hospices unprotected and ignored. Piling the dead or leaving them where they lay, morgues and freezers packed tight. This is for the generators that failed too quickly. No sleep or food or water or sanity or safety or hope. For our doctors and nurses, in hellish conditions, against impossible odds, this is for the ultimate and undying respect they deserve. This is for the thugs storming the gates for drugs and evil kicks on top of everything else happening, brash and ignorant of their crime...
For the hotels and hostels, kicking guest out to fend for themselves in our city gone mad. Inundation and tragedy, fragility and breakdown, the worst vacation, convention, honeymoon ever.

This is for the looters...
for the desperate, the prescient, the survivalist hordes. Scavenging and pilfering, salvaging and hoarding anything and everything of use in seemingly useless times.
This is for the business owners, opening their doors wide to allow retrieval of water, food, diapers and formula, keeping their cool and doing the right thing. And for the pharmacies, their good intentions torn asunder by destructive addicts and wasteful ignorance like so many store display shelves.
This is for the home invasions, the armed intrusions, for making a bad situation worse, for spreading the fear...
This is for the ones that made it easier even while others made it ever harder by the minute.

This is for the children...
the lost or outright abandoned, the marginalized or used, for the separation anxiety, trauma and tears on long hot nights that just got worse and worse.
The unfamiliar and the dangerous, the abusive and profane, forsaking even common sense, for the lack of decency, for the bad examples and poor supervision. This is for the countless orphaned souls, forced to bear an adults pain with no advance warning, no preparation or guidance...
This is for the countless smiles, the innocence and playfulness, the ability to make it all disappear, if only for a moment at a time. And for their will, unbreakable and resolute in its purest form and function. This is for what we owe them, first and foremost; their satisfaction will be our compensation over time.

This is for the survivors...
all of us, if any of us, also still, the huge debt owed to those who didn't. This is for all of us in our sad, sad group, no matter where we are at the moment, home or abroad. For the hopes and dreams, reborn from the ashes of the ones previous, for our Phoenix on the bayou. For the nightmares and shock and ennui, the blank stares and paranoia deep into the night. And the helplessness, constricting, paralyzing, numbing...
This is for finding a way to get out of bed in the morning to go to work, gut your houses and reassemble your lives. This is for those that mourn their dead, their missing, their damaged. This is for all of us that are left to find their way back to some semblance of normalcy and well being in these dark times.

This is for the rest of the country...
witnesses to our plight, shelters in the storm, final arbiters of our collective destiny. This is for all of the numerous benefits and donations, the concerns and the heartfelt sorrow. The letters and emails, the long talks on the phone into those September nights and beyond, the shoulders to cry on and beds to sleep in. As well as the showers and food, simple things like ice and clean clothes. For the religious intolerance, the thought that somehow, we deserved this,
that this was God's doing...
This is for the stupidity and hypocrisy, for throwing the first stone when we were down and out. This is for their fatigue, their need to move on, not towards a better understanding, but only to the next sad refrain. For helping us stand, then forcing us to walk away stronger and more assured. This is for those that are rebuilding with us, as well as for the ones that make us want to now more than ever.

This is for the world...
the governments and their citizens, for the superpowers and third-world nations alike.
For their offers and advice, their engineers and city planners, the visits of rebuilding and improved protection. This is for the feeling that we weren't alone, that this has happened before elsewhere, only much worse, that it does get better with hard work and cooperation. For the lessons learned and experience shared; the first real promises of something good in uncertain times. This is for the most that we can share, our lessons, our triumphs and defeats, our heartbreaks and celebrations. This is for an open welcome to the grand rebuilding, our glorious comeback and their involvement in all that promises.

This is for the past...
and how not to repeat it. This is for shoddy levees and interrupted communications, driverless buses and improper shelters. For the wild ride to here, the respite in its warming memories, stories and legends yet to be told.
The anecdotes and folktales, the ghost stories and the pirates' songs, for history and the curious wisdom it imparts. For the good times, the bad times, the in-between times, we all had them here in this place we called home, no matter if you're local or not. This is for why we still call it home today, even if we won't, or can't be here now. This is for the sacrifices, the sweat and blood, the personal tales of reward and loss. This is for the chance to finally get it right, to learn form our mistakes one more time, to teach others the same as well; it's that precious and rare.

This is for the future...
and the promise that it holds.
For the chances in abundance, the endless, limitless boundaries presented. This is for the process of starting over, no matter how long or tough it turns out to be.
For the ways to see beauty in the ugliness, to fashion something new and exciting out of something broken and in a state of disrepair.
This is for our city, its legacy, our neighborhoods and families, friends and foes alike.
For our scenes and cliques, parishes and wards, businesses and hangouts, for the determination to rebuild them all, damn the engines.
Our wishes for a better way are here and now, ready and waiting, the concept of building better, stronger, and more secure. All we have to do is make it happen.
This is for the here and the here from now on.

So this is for you, in your own private way. For peace, contentment, steadfast resolve in trying times. For dignity and patience, reassuring calm after the storm. This is for the knowledge that you are not alone, no matter how lonely it may seem right now. For your hopeful return to the place we call home, if not now,
then in due time...
For the knowledge that she will wait for you, she always has,
she always will...
This is for our fair lady,
our New Orleans,
Past, Present and Future...