Jackson Square is the center of the French Quarter. Tarot card and palm readers are usually set up on the pedestrian ways on the side of the square, with mimes and street performers sprinkled between them along with a handful of artists selling prints of Quarter scenes. The Quarter represents New Orleans to most Americans, though when I lived there I went to the Quarter infrequently, and when I did it was usually to eat at a specific restaurant or to go the market. The heart of the city was out in the neighborhoods where there were fewer tourists and more day-to-day living, where a tuba player might walk down the street playing his horn while a handful of uniformed school children made their way home at the end of the day.

Last night Bush chose to give his speech at Jackson Square in the heart of the only New Orleans he knows, a place he spent forgotten time during his long, cloudy days of alcohol and drug abuse. From his speech, we learned that Bush is still capable of reading a speech someone else wrote and that Jackson Square sustained no visible damage. That's good.

My maternal grandmother Marceline used to say "the proof is in the pudding," and when it comes to Bush's endless promises gift-boxed in righteous rhetoric, his words are meaningless until his actions rise up to them. So far, there's been no pudding, only rotten leftovers here at home and in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I'm sure his speech worked for many who don't seem to mind when his actions mismatch his rhetoric so profoundly. Bush's numbers will rise again, and Rove will be triumphant once again, secure in the president's popularity and giving Rove the time and energy to devote to his new project, the rebuilding of New Orleans. It's a sick joke, really, having Karl Rove, a political opportunist and manipulator and nothing more, in charge of the most massive rebuilding effort since FDR's New Deal. Considering how hostile Bush and his crew are to government (in terms of service, not in terms of budget -- they have grown the largest, most inept government in our nation's history, spending trillions and getting only chaos in return), I think it's fair to say Rove will fail just as his boss has failed time and time again.

Yes, Bush has taken "responsibility." But what does that matter? What are the consequences of Bush taking responsibility? Will he fire Chertoff? Remove FEMA from the National Security umbrella, and appoint actual emergency management experts as the directors of both agencies? Will he order an independent investigation, and courageously acknowledge that such an investigation might find him most at fault?

Frankly, I have no tolerance for excuses or his words words words. Too much has come to pass. He has failed on so many levels, for so many years now, that I trust nothing he says and expect nothing but more failures. Bush is a corrupt, greedy liar whose policies have caused the deaths of thousands here and elsewhere. His only interest is in enriching corporate interests (and that goes for corporate churches, too). Considering that Halliburton has already received the first rebuilding contract, and we already know that they are a corrupt corporation that cheats the government at every opportunity, it is pie-in-the-sky foolishness to expect anything other than our continued swift spiral downward to the bottom levels of banana republicanism.

Iraq is in a civil war. In Afghanistan, a seventh candidate has been shot dead. Louisiana and Mississippi were already bastions of corruption and cronyism, which means things will only get worse with Halliburton in town. And tens of thousands of Americans are still stuck in shelters, some ineptly run, with no hope in sight for a future away from our toxic policies.

There are no excuses for such failed governance. Bush should be impeached. I think Nagin should be fired, too, and while we're at it, why not fire Blanco. I think she and Nagin are at significantly less fault than Bush, but they are still at fault. The entire government, on all levels, failed the people of New Orleans, and there is no reason to think they will be capable of rebuilding the city in the thoughtful manner we need right now. Blanco and Nagin were inheritors of a tradition in Louisiana of catering to the few wealthy residents at the expense of the many not-wealthy residents. The "talented tenth" of the African-American community ruled New Orleans just as the white political families rule the state. They all have had narrow interests and I doubt that will change now. In terms of the federal government, there is no reason to think that an administration who has said they are "rebuilding" Iraq while deconstructing it and throwing it deeper into chaos can do any better in New Orleans, a disaster that was made worse by their ineptitude and negligence.

I continue to be shocked and dismayed that so many Americans are comfortable with our shift toward fascism. On my brighter days I think it is ignorance that is driving so many to continue to support this disaster of an administration, but on my darker days I think it is greed and selfishness and false patriotism. The future is always uncertain, but sometimes it is at least bright. Now it's not so bright at all.

Yesterday I had lunch with two New Orleans friends who are up here staying with their folks in the suburbs. They are engaged, Dave and Dianne, and Dianne is from England so she is not eligible for FEMA assistance. The whole thing has been incredibly hard on her. She has been depressed and anxious, aggravated by living with her future in-laws, of course. Their car is floating somewhere in New Orleans, so they took the train in from Dave's parents' house thirty miles away, then I picked them up and we went to Devon Avenue for a delicious Indian lunch. After, I drove them to the Red Cross down at Racine and Roosevelt, a community center surrounded by our city's newest incarnation of public housing. I just got an email from Dianne and it seems the Red Cross was extremely helpful, giving her a debit card with over $600 to help them the coming weeks. They bought plane tickets back to New Orleans for next Friday. They don't know if they'll be able to stay at all (probably not), but they should be able to get into their apartment and collect some of their belongings, and if by chance the car hasn't floated away, they'll take a road trip to Houston or somewhere else and sleep on someone else's couch. I know so many nomads, and they are the lucky ones, people with family and friends and resources. Imagine all who aren't so lucky.

Tonight my darling S comes home for his 15 days. He gets in after 8 p.m after traveling for more than 48 hours: Baghram to Kuwait, Kuwait to Germany, Germany to Dallas, Dallas to Chicago. He called from Kuwait yesterday morning to tell me what flight he will be coming in on and to tell me how he had been stuck there for hours, waiting and waiting. I've been a crafty beaver around the house since I returned from Houston, hanging curtains in the living room, straightening up and doing a deep clean. I've been on the road for months now, leaving the place to the peculiar dust the city produces and sends floating down around us. The weather has cooled off here. The trees are losing their leaves, though not from fall color. They are starved for water and their leaves are turning brown in patches. We had a sprinkle last night. What we need, though, are days and days of soaking rain.

I don't know how much I will post the coming two weeks. I suspect I'll continue to write fairly frequently, now with S seated next to me on the couch, he on his ibook, me on mine. I know he's got a lot of writing to do himself, from sending emails to the miriad of friends who he's not had time to write, to the grants he needs to look into for his fieldwork in Mexico next year. There will be a time after this war for him, we hope. I have no idea what he will want to do the next two weeks. Our kitchen cabinets arrived and I'm going to store them here in our place. Who knows. He gets antsy after a few days of not doing much, usually. This is a different situation, though, so maybe he'll want to just hang around and not do or think too much. I'm flexible.

I'll try to post a few homecoming pictures tomorrow. I can't believe this day has finally come. It's been seven months since I saw him last, and nine since he left our house. So much time has passed. It's crazy.