From "Remember the UpStairs Lounge" by Skylar Fein

Here is a conundrum: since fourth grade I’ve been involved in theatre, I have a degree in theatre, and I currently work with a theatre company in New Orleans. Some of the first shows I ever did in the theatre were musicals. And yet: I hate musicals.

“Hate” is a strong word. Let me rephrase that: I don’t hate musicals, I’m just very, very, very wary of them. And in fairness, it’s probably because I’m getting old.

As a kid, the premise of musicals — the literally fantastic idea that entire groups of people would suddenly break into song and dance — didn’t bother me at all. I mean, my parents took me to plenty of Disney movies. What was the difference between a pack of singing mice on screen and a posse of singing cowboys on stage?

With age, however, comes experience. More specifically: bad experiences. I’ve seen more terrible musicals than Rose Kennedy saw funerals. I’ve choked on plot twists more times than Lindsay Lohan has choked on ‘nads. (Then again, she’s surely developed a gag reflex by now.) I have been through some shit, is what I’m saying.

Comic musicals are a little easier to swallow because they don’t usually take things too seriously. Nine times out of ten, they’re more interested in entertaining audiences than getting all wrapped up in “art”. Dramatic musicals, on the other hand? Break out the Klonopin.

I mention this because someone in San Francisco is writing a musical about the fire at the UpStairs Lounge. And I am not entirely sure what to think.

On the one hand, I haven’t seen the musical. I haven’t even seen a video clip from the show because it’s still being workshopped. (Note to my tech industry friends: “workshopping” is like beta-testing, but with more crying and dramatic flourishes.) The finished product could be completely, 100% awesome. A friend of mine is helping with publicity, which is encouraging. And the impetus to memorialize those who died in the fire is commendable.

On the other hand, how do you tackle this tragic narrative in a way that makes sense, that tells an honest tale, that does service to the dead and to history (which, by the way, isn’t resolved and hasn’t conclusively proven that the fire was a hate crime)?

And just as importantly: how do you tell that terrible story without getting smarmy, without pulling your audience out of the experience by creating something painfully, earnestly saccharine? Admittedly, I have a low tolerance for “cornball” — my idea of hell involves a raging campfire, an acoustic guitar, and the John Denver songbook — but surely I can’t be the only one.

"Everybody Loves a Li'l Beaver", from Remember the UpStairs Lounge by Skylar Fein (photographed in my hallway with a crappy iPhone)

My two cents? Material like this lends itself to certain genres. A documentary, for example, tells a story with news footage and interviews, so even when things become emotional and borderline-melodramatic, the audience sticks with it because they know what they’re watching is real. This is also why people continue watching America’s Next Top Model.

Visual art installations like the one created by Skylar Fein (which the folks in San Francisco seem to be using in their production, though there’s no mention of him on their site) seem well-suited, too. They can leave a lasting impression without relying on an artificial beginning, middle, and end. Operas overpower narratives with sequins and arias: sure they’re over the top, but that’s the spectacle we go to see, goddamit.

Even a movie could work — in fact, there’s one in production as we speak. By complete coincidence, the film’s director/producer wrote me last night and mentioned that he was daunted by the task of doing justice to those who died in the fire. As a result, the movie is “based on the story a friend told me in the 80s about being late to meet folks at the UpStairs, only to arrive as the bar was being engulfed”. That’s a really smart approach, if you ask me.

That’s not to say that a dramatic musical can’t accomplish similar ends, but it’s a long, long row to hoe. Consider other serious musicals devoted to tragedies, both real and imagined, from the Donner Party massacre (warning: LOUD MUSIC AHEAD) to Carrie to the more recent Rebecca. I can’t think of many that have fared well.

I’ll reserve judgement until this summer: the playwright is hoping to bring the show to New Orleans in time for the 40th anniversary of the fire. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, if you haven’t seen the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of Carrie: The Musical, here is all 113 jaw-dropping minutes of it. Please enjoy.

I’ve also cobbled together a few Carnival pointers of my own, which should give you a sense of what to expect during your visit.

But beyond the basics, there are other Carnival rules to consider. Well, maybe not “rules” per se – more like “tips” that will make your trip much more pleasant.

Here are nine of my tips for having a successful Carnival. There are plenty more where these came from, so if you still have burning questions when you reach the bottom of the page, feel free to drop me a line.

1. Find sensible shoes. If you’re going out to a parade, you’re going to be standing most of the time. (Unless you’re taking a lawn chair to one of those family-oriented parades in Jefferson Parish or on the Northshore, in which case, why the hell are you here?) Heels may look great, but can you stand on them for four or five hours at a stretch? Exactly.

The same goes for Fat Tuesday. Sure, your shoes should be fierce and costume-appropriate, but platforms look just as cute as run-of-the-mill pumps, and they’re way more comfortable. Your feet and legs and traveling companions will thank me later.

2. Find a home base. For parades, ideally you want to park your behind at or near a friend’s house. If you’re friendless, there are some smaller bars on the parade routes that offer day and night passes. They’re usually not that much — $10 or $20 per person — and they limit the number of people in the place, so you can get a drink faster and, more importantly, pee faster. You’re on vacation: spend some extra dough to make yourself happy.

On Fat Tuesday, do the same. If you don’t have a hotel room in/near the Quarter, find a good bar. Skip Bourbon Street and aim for Decatur, Chartres, or Royal Streets, below Jackson Square. That’s where the locals tend to hang, and the bars are a bit less crowded — possibly cleaner, too. Once you’ve set up camp, you can roam the streets and see the sights, and even if your party gets separated (which will happen, obvs), you’ll know where to find one another.

3. Half-masks are way better than full masks. Half-masks start at the nose and go up to the eyebrows or farther. The advantage is that they leave your mouth unobstructed, which is important because you’re going to be drinking. Probably a lot. Nothing sucks more than having to lift your mask every time you take a swig. It’s a pain, and it shatters the illusion of your undoubtedly beautiful costume.

4. Remember: you have to pee. You can dress as Louis XIV or the abominable snowman or a Louis XIV snowman (winner!), but for goddess’ sake, remember to put a fly in your costume. You’re going to be drinking all day, and unless you’ve made a catheter part of the ensemble, all that booze eventually has to come out. (Hopefully, not the way it came in.)

5. Take it easy on the beads. Beads are everywhere during Carnival. You don’t have to accept every pair that comes your way. At parades, catch all you want, but give most of your haul to the kids nearby. On Fat Tuesday, be discriminating. Don’t turn up your nose when someone offers you beads — they’re a means of social interaction. But you don’t need to wear them if they don’t match your outfit.

6. Bring an emergency kit on Fat Tuesday. Before you walk out the door, stash the following somewhere on your person. I don’t care where:

• Photo ID (in case you’re found unconscious in a gutter or in someone’s bathtub)
• ATM card (because obviously you’ll need it)
• Safety pins (either you or a friend will have a costume emergency that requires many of these)
• A bottle opener (even though glass isn’t allowed on the streets, you may be offered a bottle of beer for a go-cup)
• Band-Aids (for minor cuts, and especially blisters on your heel caused by that new pair of shoes)
• A hemostat (if you don’t know what this is for, forget I said anything)

7. Eat. Before you leave the house, shove something in your mouth. Something edible. King cake is okay, though it can wreak havoc on your blood sugar. Bagels are good, too. So are burgers. Just remember that you’re going to be out on the streets, drinking for many hours to come. Food offers energy and slows down the booze-to-bloodstream process.

8. Spend Lundi Gras cooking. If you’re staying with friends or in a place with a kitchen, do some cooking on the day before Fat Tuesday (which we call Lundi Gras). If you’re at a hotel, buy something you can stash in the mini-fridge. The idea is to have grub on hand when you come home after a full day of Tuesday revels. Believe you me, there is nothing like sinking onto the sofa with a hot plate of lasagna after you’ve been hooching it up all day.

9. On Mardi Gras, be home by sundown or have a second costume on hand. Fat Tuesday is a very, very long party. It starts early in the morning (the first parade rolls at 8am), and it doesn’t end until the police come riding down Bourbon Street at midnight, bringing Carnival to an abrupt halt. Personally, I’m able to cram in plenty of excitement between dawn and dusk, after which I drag my ass home to watch Peggy Scott Laborde and Henri Schindler narrate the Rex Ball (which, as spectacles go, is a better sleep aid than melatonin).

If you insist on partying until the bitter, bitter end, I suggest a costume change. Your daytime outfit is likely to get a little droopy as time wears on, and at night, most of the action moves indoors, where large costumes can be inconvenient. Dash back to your boudoir for something simple and saucy — but remember, your fellow party-hounds have been going at it for over 12 hours, so don’t wear anything too nice, since it may come home with a few stains. Quite a few. As the night wears on, things can get very sloppy, indeed.

Bottoms up, tops down, y’all.

* New Orleans is also hosting something called the “Super Bowl” in a couple of weeks. If that’s why you’re coming to town, though, and you’re looking for football-themed fun, you’re on your own. IMHO, “football” and “fun” don’t even belong in the same sentence. Except for the one I just wrote.

Katrina was a monster, scaling the heights of the Saffir-Simpson scale to become a rare Category 5.

Katrina was also huge. At one point, she covered almost the entire Gulf of Mexico.

Worse, Katrina arrived in the middle of a relentless hurricane season — one that produced so many storms, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ran out of names for them and had to start using Greek letters.

In New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast, our nerves were shot. By the end of August 2005, we felt like we were swimming in a shark tank, with paper cuts etched across our ankles. (Don’t ask me how the cuts got there, just go with the metaphor.)

In short: when Katrina hit, we were exhausted and terrified and un(der)prepared. We are none of those things now. Or if we are, we are far less so.

That’s not to say that we’re treating Isaac casually. We learned the hard way not to do that seven years ago.

Businesses and schools have closed for the next few days, and although few residents are actually evacuating — due to Isaac’s lack of power or size — most have stocked up on supplies. We have an intelligent mayor in place, as well as improved storm protections, like pumps and levee walls. And as much as I dislike Bobby Jindal, I have to admit, he’s been more clear-headed and decisive in the past 24 hours than former Governor Blanco ever was.

So, no matter how many times you say it, no matter how many parallels you try to draw, the only real similarity between Katrina and Isaac is that both will have made landfall on August 29. And given the fact that the Atlantic hurricane season peaks around September 10, is that really such a big deal?

You want a story? Focus your attention to the east, to Tampa. See if Republicans learned anything from George W. Bush’s failed tests of compassion, caring, and swift action following Katrina. See how many at the GOP convention reference Isaac (or Katrina for that matter). See how many pay lip-service to helping those in the affected areas, and how many prefer to follow the Tea Baggers’ favorite talking-point of letting people fend for themselves. And while you’re at it, see how many Democrats follow suit.

Trust me: it’ll be far more interesting than finding specious links between Katrina and Isaac, and more enlightening than picking apart soundbites from idiots on either side of the aisle.

* * * * *

One of the great things about food festivals is the opportunity to taste dishes from a variety of chefs. Unfortunately when tucking into a plate at an outdoor event, you miss out on all the other pleasures of dining in a restaurant: the music, the lighting, the flowers, the linen, the china and crystal. You also miss the conviviality of sharing food across a table with friends and family. A chef’s repertoire is also limited at outdoor events, narrowing a guest’s opportunity to experience the full spectrum of a restaurant’s menu.

Enter the Bon Appetit Grub Crawl. Conceived along the lines of a pub crawl, where participants move from one location to another, the Grub Crawl allows guests to sample a restaurant’s signature dishes in their original setting. Originally launched in Brooklyn, with plans to expand to L.A. and other cities, New Orleans played host to the second incarnation last weekend, rolling through the Central Business District Friday night, the French Quarter Saturday, and Uptown on Sunday.

I was lucky to attend one leg of that savory journey in my favorite neighborhood: The French Quarter. Along the way, participants cooled off with some delicious Belvedere Vodka cocktails. (Belevedere reps gave us several recipes for tasty drinks. Click here for those.)

* * * * *

The Saturday Bon Appetit Grub Crawl snaked through the French Quarter beginning at Domenica, the John Besh restaurant located in the Roosevelt Hotel. We were greeted by Chef Alon Shaya who offered us a stunning array of house-made charcuterie, relishes, pate, cheeses, and a refreshingly bubbly Lambrusco. I quickly appreciated an additional benefit of the Grub Crawl format: face time with each restaurant’s chef, when Chef Alon told us how the prosciutto was made from locally raised hogs and cured in-house.

Wanting to save room for the next stops, I initially shared a plate with my friend and guest Monique Leon. But as we tore through the three-year aged prosciutto and Taleggio, it quickly became apparent that neither of us was in a sharing mood. Of particular note was the pate, so delicious that we contemplated stealing the jar to nosh on at home, but decided transportation would be messy. So we had seconds. And thirds. No kidding. And then came the artisan pizzas and at that point we were just eating on principle because it was all so delicious.

Though our bellies were full, we rallied and headed over to the Napoleon House to sample its signature muffaletta and Pimm’s Cup. We were served by third-generation owner Sal Impastato who regaled us with stories of his family restaurant’s. From there we walked a few blocks to Sylvain. It was a nice contrast to leave the Napoleon House — operated by the Impastato family since 1914 — for Sylvain, which has been open less than a year.

The French Quarter is usually viewed as the most traditional neighborhood in New Orleans, but there is plenty of room to start something new here, as we learned when owner Sean McCusker recounted his professional arc from New York writer to New Orleans restaurateur. We savored a tasty portion of crispy pork shoulder served with tangy greens and creamy Coosa Valley grits. Chef Alex Harrell not only told us how he made his dishes, but also where to get his grits (sourced from near his home in central Alabama). But my favorite bite at Sylvain was of perfectly pickled okra. Unlike its soggier, commercially-made cousins, this okra remained crisp, and though pleasantly sour, it wasn’t aggressively pickled. All I could think about was how delicious it would be in a gin martini. But we had more drinking and eating to. Onward!

We marched down Chartres, crossing Jackson Square to Stanley, the bistro across from St. Louis Cathedral, and enjoyed the Breaux Bridge Benedict, a riff on the traditional dish with a base of boudin. The lively atmosphere was amped up by the appearance of a brass band leading a wedding party who second lined their way in front of the restaurant. Monique and I observed that the guests must be from out of town because nobody was dancing much. We got our backfield in motion for a song or two, to show visitors how it’s done, but soon returned inside to have another taste of the lemony, tea-based Stanley Screamer cocktail.

Our tour ended at Stanley’s classy older sister restaurant: Stella. There, chef Scott Boswell is pushing the boundaries of New Orleans cuisine. The punch bowl-turned-cauldron, filled with smoky dry ice, contained a raspberry based champagne punch, served with egg salad sandwiches adorned with caviar.

But though the sampling was over, the night hadn’t ended for the Grub Crawlers. The rest of the group boarded a bus bound for a concert at the recently renovated Joy Theater, but Monique and I had other local commitments, so we walked through the Quarter back to the car.

What we talked about wasn’t the food, though it was all delicious. We had known going into the evening that the food would be great. What surprised us was the conviviality of the experience. When you move as a group for four hours through the French Quarter, it doesn’t matter who you came with: by the end of the tour, you’ve visited with almost everyone in your party. At each new restaurant we ended up seated next to different folks, chatting with visitors from Baltimore, New Jersey, New York, and Houston as well as locals from across the city. The Bon Appetit Grub Crawl created a most unlikely, surprising, and delightful dinner party — one where I started out knowing one guest and ended up with a room full of amiable dinner companions. And that might have been the tastiest bite of the night.

Anyway, here are some of the high low points. There’s a lot more here. Not recommended on an empty stomach. Or any stomach.

Homosexuality – We believe that the practice of homosexuality tears at the fabric of society, contributes to the breakdown of the family unit, and leads to the spread of dangerous, communicable diseases. Homosexual behavior is contrary to the fundamental, unchanging truths that have been ordained by God, recognized by our country’s founders, and shared by the majority of Texans. Homosexuality must not be presented as an acceptable “alternative” lifestyle in our public education and policy, nor should “family” be redefined to include homosexual “couples”.

Texas Sodomy Statutes – We oppose the legalization of sodomy. We demand that Congress exercise its authority granted by the U.S. Constitution to withhold jurisdiction from the federal courts from cases involving sodomy.

Protection from Extreme Environmentalists – We strongly oppose all efforts of the extreme environmental groups that stymie legitimate business interests. We strongly oppose those efforts that attempt to use the environmental causes to purposefully disrupt and stop those interests within the oil and gas industry. We strongly support the immediate repeal of the Endangered Species Act. We strongly oppose the listing of the dune sage brush lizard either as a threatened or an endangered species. We believe the Environmental Protection Agency should be abolished.

Rights Versus Products ― We oppose calling welfare and other income and product redistribution schemes “rights” or “entitlements”. We know that fundamental human rights are inherent to individuals and are granted by God and are protected by the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution. They are not products of others labor.Unalienable rights, such as life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, property rights, free speech, religious freedom, self-defense, etc. do not impose on others rights whereas income and product redistribution invariably do so.

Supporting Motherhood ― We strongly support women who choose to devote their lives to their families and raising their children. We recognize their sacrifice and deplore the liberal assault on the family.

American Identity Patriotism and Loyalty – We believe the current teaching of a multicultural curriculum is divisive. We favor strengthening our common American identity and loyalty instead of political correctness that nurtures alienation among racial and ethnic groups. Students should pledge allegiance to the American and Texas flags daily to instill patriotism.

Party like it’s 1899, y’all.

See you tonight!

Now, I like Mitch Landrieu. I like him a lot. He’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever met, and in less than two years, New Orleans has seen more improvement than it did in its eight-year-long love/hate (but mostly hate) relationship with He Who Shall Not Be Named. But given the size of New Orleans’ LGBT population, you’d think Landrieu might be able to come out in support of marriage equality.

New Orleans has a huge gay base, and we’re surrounded by a warm and welcoming straight community (so long as you don’t count parts of Kenner). As a matter of fact, in a recent poll of travelers taken by American Airlines, New Orleans was named one of the world’s top 10 gay destinations, alongside London, New York, Tel Aviv, and Toronto.

Of course, I know Landrieu didn’t ride into office on a platform of LGBT rights. New Orleans’ queer community is so old and entrenched that gay rights might seem like a non-issue. But we’re here, we’re queer, and we would like some support, please. And let’s not make excuses about Louisiana’s state law forbidding gay marriage: mayors from Texas and Alaska and Michigan and Minnesota were on that list, and they’re in the same boat.

So I ask: Mayor Landrieu, where is the gay love?

More troubling than the folks at NOLA.com, though, are the people who comment on New Orleans stories found elsewhere on the web. This piece on CNN.com about the marsh fires generated some fairly representative remarks. For example:

When will the population of NOLA stop looking for someone else to constantly bail them out? When “are they going to do something about it”? When are you going to do something about it? If it is so terrible organize the thousands it’s effecting, give them some shovels and buckets and a ride out to the area. “They” are out of money!

and

The marsh is on fire, no one is doing anything about it. What are they supposed to do? You decided to live in a fish bowl in the middle of a swamp, and the rest of the country is supposed to feel sorry for you every time the wind blows the wrong way. You need to visit a different part of the country where you can actually take a deep breath and not smell swamp gas, you would be amazed.

Which it to be expected, I suppose. It’s easy for folks to criticize us “heathens” in New Orleanians when they think the finer things in life consist of Applebee’s and Calvinist work ethics.

But what’s shocking — I mean, holy-crap-what-the-hell shocking — is to hear Louisiana’s own elected officials making equally fucked-up statements. With FEMA working overtime in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene and a summer full of brutal storms that ravaged the Midwest and South, the agency is understandably running short on funds. But House Majority Leader Eric Cantor has said that before Congress will allot any more dollars to FEMA, the allocation will have to be countered by spending cuts.

Is it surprising to hear a Republican legislator from Virginia with a rod up his ass make such a statement? No. It IS, however, entirely surprising that two representatives from South Louisiana are backing him up:

“We should establish priorities that allow us to help those impacted by disasters, and that also means we must eliminate federal funding for things that we can no longer afford to do, just as we did earlier this year in response to the Mississippi River flooding when we identified billions in wasteful government spending to offset the cost of that response.” — Representative Steve Scalise

and

“The need to provide for the recovery from this disaster does not alleviate us of our responsibility to cut federal spending and restore fiscal sanity in Washington.” — Representative Jeff Landry

Mother Nature has left people homeless, jobless, living in shelters, and legislators want to talk about line-items? Seriously: screw those guys.

Alternately, you could send them both a tersely written letter that suggests they stop rimming the Tea Party’s cup and remember the role that recovery dollars have played in their own districts the past six years. We’re dodging a bullet with the current tropical system, but it could’ve been much worse down here.

We are.

That’s not to say that everything’s as it was. That’s not to say that everyone has come home. And that’s certainly not to say that people, communities, and the city we call home haven’t been deeply, deeply scarred by a particularly forceful force of nature.

And yet, we don’t want to talk about it. I certainly don’t. None of my friends talk about it. My family doesn’t. In fact, the only time it comes up in conversation is when I’m out of town, and someone finds out that I’m from New Orleans — as happened while I was paying a visit to my birth mother, Callie, this past weekend.

(The scene: a restaurant in Ellerslie, Georgia, around 2pm on a sunny August afternoon. In addition to a solid meat-and-two-veg lunch, the restaurant sells a small selection of potted plants, and after we eat, Callie decides to purchase an angel’s trumpet. As she goes in to pay for it — a bargain at $5 — a woman of a certain age and bearing stops me.)

WOMAN: Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me what it is you’ve got there?

ME: Yes ma’am. This is an angel’s trumpet.

WOMAN: Do they grow very big?

ME: Well, they do where I’m from, but it may get too cold up here. They really prefer more tropical weather.

WOMAN: Do they, now? Are you from down in Florida, then?

ME: No ma’am, not quite. I’m from New Orleans.

WOMAN: Oh, I see. (WOMAN pauses, considers the fragrance of a flowering vine — which, I know for a fact, emits no scent at all. Then, in a lower voice.) So, tell me: do you think New Orleans will ever come back?

ME: (Trying to process what I’ve heard. It’s as if she just asked, “Do you think people will ever live in New York again, after September 11?”) I’m sorry?

WOMAN: I say, do you think New Orleans will ever come back?

ME: Well ma’am, in my opinion, much of New Orleans was back to normal six months after the storm.

WOMAN: Oh really?

ME: Yes ma’am. In fact, within a year, most of my friends and I weren’t talking about it ourselves.

WOMAN: Well gracious me, I had no idea. That is just so good to hear. (Another pause. Then, even lower.) You know, it seems to me that Katrina might’ve done y’all some good.

ME: Well, like any disaster, I suppose it had some upsides.

WOMAN: Cleaned up the city pretty well, is what I heard. Got rid of some things. You know, unwanted things.

ME: Oh. Well. I…

(WOMAN gives me a knowing wink, then ambles out toward the garden to peruse the potted herbs, calling playfully to the flock of chickens who roam the restaurant grounds.)

And that’s pretty much how it goes.

One of the biggest disruptions is undoubtedly the official dedication of the Washington, D.C. Martin Luther King, Jr. National Memorial, which is scheduled to begin on Sunday at 11am — almost exactly the time at which Irene will be giving D.C. her most powerful stink-eye. It looks as if the storm will be downgraded to a category 2 by then, but that’s more than enough to flood roadways, knock out power, and force cancellation of all outdoor events.

Which makes me wonder: are gays going to have the shoulder the blame for Irene alone? As you probably recall, asswipes like Reverend John Hagee blamed us for Katrina. Said Hagee to Terry Gross:

All hurricanes are acts of God, because God controls the heavens. I believe that New Orleans had a level of sin that was offensive to God, and they are — were recipients of the judgment of God for that. The newspaper carried the story in our local area that was not carried nationally that there was to be a homosexual parade there on the Monday that the Katrina came. And the promise of that parade was that it was going to reach a level of sexuality never demonstrated before in any of the other Gay Pride parades.

Which is ridiculous for a couple of reasons — not least of which is that he makes the Southern Decadence parade sound super-secret, when in fact, it’s widely known as one of the biggest gay events in town, and possibly in the South. Ugh, that man is such a drama queen.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right: wackjobs like Rabbi Yehuda Levin have already blamed this week’s East Coast earthquake on gays, claiming that god or G-D or yahweh or whatever you wanna call her has said in the Talmud that “You have shaken your male member in a place where it doesn’t belong. I too, will shake the earth.” But given the fact that Irene is set to interrupt the dedication of the nation’s largest and most visible civil rights memorial, are Levin, Hagee, and their ilk going to start blaming African Americans for the storm, too? Or maybe just LGBT African Americans? I’m happy to share the responsibility, I just need to know whom to invite to my debauched, hurricane invocation ceremony of witchcraft and sodomy. (Bring a covered dish, y’all.)

On a serious note, though: if you’re in the path of Hurricane Irene and want to evacuate, don’t do as I did and leave one of your pets behind. Yesterday my friend, Jimbo, send out some great advice and links about storm preparedness. Have a look:

If you have to evacuate, try to take your pets with you if possible. It may not always be safe to get back to your house to retrieve your pets following the disaster. A shelter for pets may be collocated near a shelter for people.

The best source of information for pet preparedness is from Ready.gov.

For animals other than your dog or cat, details about equine, amphibian, parrot, and other animal preparedness tips can be found at the American Veterinary Medical Association’s “Saving the Whole Family” publication (PDF document) located here.

For the backyard flock or small animal herd owner, try to have one or more collapsible wire dog crates or plastic dog crates ready for temporary indoor housing and/or evacuation of multiple fowl or small mammals like goats.

Local, state and Federal officials are working to ensure the safety of pets and companion animals who evacuate with their owners.

Public Shelters cannot always accommodate for pets to stay with people. Check in your local community for shelter locations that can accommodate pets.

If a pet shelter is located near a human shelter, pet owners may be allowed to visit and care for their pets during designated times.

The types of animals for which your community may provide emergency shelter may vary. Dogs, cats, and other household pets are most commonly accommodated, and some communities may make provisions for other kinds of animals, including horses and small livestock.

Pet owners should be prepared to provide the following information to pet shelter workers if possible: name; species and breed; sex; color; distinctive markings; age; microchip identification number; vaccination records; health conditions and required medication.

Other useful items to bring to a shelter are:

· a clear and current photo of you with your pet

· an extra collar, leash, and/or harness that fits

· favorite toys

· any medications and special diets for their pets

· information on feeding schedules, medical conditions, behavior problems, and the name and number of your veterinarian in case you have to foster or board your pets

· and if possible a pet carrier/kennel large enough for your pet to sleep in comfortably.