When the Levee Breaks

Mama/You Got to Move

Robert Plant sang it, Spike Lee filmed it. Do the right thing--no pun intended--and turn on HBO tonight. Take a good hard look at how our present aristocracy screws over those who aren't white and rich. No one, and I mean no one, will get me to answer my phone during this time. We are one week away from the 1-yr anniversary of this fourteen-carat-gold fuck up, and I want to see what the media has to say, since so much of the footage was obviously sanitized. Spike's gonna show it all.

I remember vividly the day three summers ago when I walked right by him near St. Marks Place in NYC. This is not a tall man, mind you. He's about 5'7. Medium build, slight. Searing eyes, though. Born on the Pisces/Aries cusp--March 20. I know about 3 or 4 people with this birthday, and you just don't mess with them. You get that Pisces creativity with an Aries delivery--elegantly riding roughshod over the bones of the dead, pinkies out. That's him, alright.

I spent this past weekend mostly in pain starting on Friday with a big bunch of back spasms. Fibromyalgia's really sinking its teeth into me. My standing massage appointment at Park Slope's Opal was a welcome respite. I limped to the neighborhood 2 hours early, but I managed to find my notary for my lease renewal. I also took a nice visit to the Brooklyn Animal Foster Network benefit at a local pet shop. Puppies, kittens, displaced and newborn. They'd done some work with Katrina pets, too.

I opened a cage and lifted a brown and black tabby baby into my arms. Green eyes, white feet, pink toes and steady purring. I had two hours to kill, might as well acquaint myself with everyone there. Two and four-legged. As usual, people walked up to me and asked about my obvious comfort with this kitty. I regaled them with tales (tails?) of Butchy, Fluffy, Taffy, Jupiter, Sylvester, Miss Muffins, Kashi and Dexter. 32 years of my life wrapped up in whiskers, fur and joy. BAFN is a unit similar to Muffins Pet Listings, where I found Dexter after Fluffy's death in 1994. They find people to foster pets until a permanent place is found. They are a full-functioning nonprofit with a partnership through the North Shore Animal League for onsite mobile spay/neuter/vaccinate programs. Good people, nice animals. I stopped to pat a lovely Chinese crested dog on the head and made my way to my tortur...er, massage session.

I took a deep breath and filled out the form. I'm pretty banged up when I write it all down. Knees, ankles, hips, bad lower back, two dislocated shoulders, a neck with no curve in it, and TMJ. The fact that I can still walk (let alone skate every week) is astonishing. My therapist was a lovely dredlocked lady whose birthday was one day after mine. Post-Ides Childe, ha! My hips and legs were really REALLY bad. 70 minutes later, I felt lightheaded and bit weak. My back was severely pummeled with orange oil and hot stones, but it worked. I could actually touch my toes for the first time in weeks. I might go back because it's so obvious I need the healing touch. My body is out of whack, we all know my mind is, too. Mind/Body must come together. Still, there is no coincidence.

The bookshelves on the wall were dotted with elephants, Shiva and Ganesh statues. A very Eastern feel for this place. All the gods and goddesses that have caught my eye lately were staring back at me. Pain is emotional as well as physical. What am I holding onto? Is this what my job has turned me into? I shudder to think.

I walked out in the same direction as I came, and one of the animal caretakers stopped me.

"Your kitten was adopted. He just went home."

"Good," I replied.

Perhaps I have the healing touch, too? Only with four-leggers. Mind, Body, and Kitties. Funny, these connections...