CHICAGO CARLESS

The way to a man’s heart is most assuredly through his stomach and let no one steer you wrong about this. Our grandmothers knew what they were talking about when they passed on this failsafe gem. All you need is a game plan. Here was mine:

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Today at work I received a link to an astounding photo essay of the day-by-day effects of Hurricane Katrina on New Orleans. It was created by Alvaro Villa, a trapped resident of the French Quarter, and includes an ongoing narrative of the situation, as it grew worse and worse.

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It has been four years since I felt moved by both the pain and the passion of a city. Four years since I sat in front of my television, watched the news, and sobbed. Four years since I sat in the offices of the NYC Transit Riders Council on September 14, 2001, and wrote a letter of resolve in celebration of a citizenry whose unmitigated courage and will to move forward staggered me. It was an organizational response to the aftermath of 9/11, and I was a New Yorker living in Brooklyn, where at one point I had to walk through my neighborhood with a towel over my face to block the stench of the smoke cloud billowing from Lower Manhattan.

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Being a New Yorker who was living in Gotham during 9/11, I know all too well the feelings of despair and helplessness that the hundreds of thousands of refugee New Orleanians must feel as they flee their beloved city, now in ruins.

Blame President Bush.

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