Katrina's aftermath

(That said, I would be interested in a historical overview of the city's topographical history -- when the levees were built, etc.)

I'm also sad about Lousiana Music Factory and all those studios with all those masters.

I've been trying to check in with the brass band dudes, it seems like most of them got out or are okay but a lot are unaccounted for. Lil' Stooges are all from the 9th ward, I think.

Especially if the core of the town (xpost whoever built it -- Spanish were probably the first, yeah) was originally on the high ground, as I gather it was (thus the French Quarter etc.). In otherwards, for a small settlement in unstable land but near an obviously important potential river port area, they doubtless chose what was best going to work.

4:21 P.M. - WWL-TV Reporter quotes officials as saying there may now be 60,000 people in the Superdome and that more people are still being urged to go there.

...but they just said they're trying to evacuate it? I assume they're just doing their best to get people to one spot *for* evacuation but still.

(This all said, 3's concept is amusing the hell out of me.)

Jesus, I never even thought about this til now.

Meanwhile here's some stuff from nola.com's blog (this includes a few things I've already posted):

Users report that the area near West Jefferson Hospital is dry, as is the 1700 block of N. Turnbull and St. Edwards near Transcontinental.

Walnut Bend and the Algiers area is reported to be doing well, with clean water and gas service.

There are several reports that the Uptown area remains unflooded, particularly around Magazine and Jefferson and Mag. and Webster; Prytania and Napoleon. Similar reports re the Garden District.

Baronne Street downtown is dry.

Port Street in the Marigny was dry this morning.

Canal Blvd. around Harrison is underwater, but a user posts that the water does NOT seem to be rising at all, regardless of what the nat'l. media reports.

(Am glad that Adam and Rock are OK.)

I finally got through to my family down in south Louisiana today. They live just north of Baton Rouge, on high ground, and had no damage, other than fallen trees. But they have no power, and don't know when they'll get it back, so they're boiling in the late August heat and humidity. Still, my sister said they would never complain, given what people are suffering not too far away. She had little idea of what's happening, because their TVs don't work. It's probably just as well. I heard from a Louisiana National Guard source that there are bodies everywhere in the far south, but the authorities aren't publicizing this.

My sister said she and the rest of the family are anticipating opening up their front yard to refugees in tents. They want to do something, anything. She said the sense of powerlessness to help the afflicted that those who emerged unscathed feel is agonizing. I know that we are going to see in the next days and weeks the strong backs and stout hearts of the people of Louisiana made manifest in the relief effort. My great aunt Hilda Moss, who died when I was a boy, was a Red Cross worker when the 1927 flood devastated so much of the state. When they told her that a woman had no business going into the back country to bring relief, she disguised herself as a man, commandeered a boat, and brought help to stranded country people. That's the spirit of Louisiana that I know. It's driving me slightly crazy to be sitting here in an office in downtown Dallas instead of down there helping.

The inmates would be moved to state prisons including the highest-security at Angola. Corrections spokesman Pam LaBorde says it's quite a logistical situation to accomplish.

Richard Leland, who had traveled from his California home to experience a hurricane, admitted: "I got a little more than I had expected."

Remind me not to be next to this fucker when the big earthquake hits.

The senator's wife, Tricia, told him the news Monday night. She had rode out the storm in their house in Jackson.

But it's horrible to think of all of those places being destroyed or damaged. The Half Moon. Tipitina's. And of course, all the wonderful people down there.

My wife and I met each other face-to-face in New Orleans. One day, we drove all the way down LA 45 until it dead-ended at a refinery. To think that all of that may be gone now. It's horrible.

This is a horrible analogy, but forgive me, I'm producing a sports-talk show right now. Just like one sees more of a football game from the huddle than from the Goodyear blimp, I can only imagine the ungodly horrors that are taking place basically before our eyes everytime a helicopter's camera swoops over the devastation.

I admit I thought, "No tears for you, Senator Fuckface."

(I'm sure my motives for being interested in disasters are far worse than Ned's. I've always regretted that in November 1963 I turned off the TV and went out to play 15 minutes before Lee Harvey Oswald was shot. I could have seen it! And this last July I was telling people "I know some people who lost a friend in the London bombings." Of course, it affected me, to know London ILX was going through grief, but also it was like I was passing along gossip, as if to say "Look at me, I'm in the know, I'm connected to this thing" (from which I was actually very distant). It's human, I'm human. And there's a sense in which these Big Stories become a conversation piece and connection between a lot of us. I must say, I enjoyed ILX immensely in the weeks following 9-11.)