People Get Ready

Driving home tonight, I was listening to the drivel of headlines presented as authoritative news on WDSU’s obnoxious usurpation of the radio waves when I heard Norm Robinson say that hurricane season is “just 25 hours away.”

25 hours? Ahhhhh!!! Where’s my wind-up radio and MRE’s?!! Damn — I better start filling up the bathtub with drinking water right now!

In the last moments, are they going to count down the minutes and seconds before hurricane season officially starts, as though a hurricane is hovering out there in the Gulf of Mexico waiting for June 1st before it strikes? Really! Could those pinheads on WDSU stop with the theatrics for a change, and just report the news!

Relax everyone. There’s no doubt we have serious concerns — like whether or not the friggin’ federal pumps and flood walls would really survive a storm. In the meantime, see below for hurricane humor.

So, it’s finally time to take the image of ol’ Dollar Bill, and put it on the side of a big ol’ bucket o’ greasy-ass boneless chicken. That’s right. Sunday morning, I was looking forward to starting a relaxing day in the middle of my three-day Memorial Day weekend, with a fresh pot of the last of my shade-grown coffee from the beautiful old-growth hardwood forests in the mountains of San Marcos, Honduras (where I did some grad-school research). For my tastes, no cup of coffee is perfectly mellow without a pinch of sugar and milk to smooth out the bitter tones. I tipped the milk container, and out flowed — not milk — but instead, the goopy ooze of some entirely new genus. An organic mass had occupied my milk jug — something with the consistency and appearance of white motor oil which quickly sank to the bottom of my mug. Not only was the last of my prized coffee spoiled, but I had to get dressed and step out of the door before a cheery caffeine glow could chase away the last shadows of slumber.

I dressed and hiked over to Whole Foods. Fortunately, it was a beautiful Sunday morning, so I didn’t mind as much. I was standing at the coffee counter deciding on my selection when I saw Dollar Bill and his wife sauntering through the store as lazily and oblivously as anyone could be. I couldn’t bear to put up with it. I started to tremble, plotting what I would do, what I would say. My immediate thought was, “how dare he show his face in town.” I simply couldn’t believe his gall to show up in a public place in New Orleans and think that he should enjoy the privilege of anonymity, with the expectation of not being bothered — but no one did. Apparently, no one else was thinking of bothering him. Or maybe they were, but lacked the courage. Or maybe that’s the unspoken rule in upscale supermarkets like “Whole Paycheck”, where the wealthy are pampered with the excesses of the good life for the compromises they make in their real lives. Or maybe I was just being too cynical without my caffeine kick.

Well, ol’ Dollar Bill made it deep into the checkout line before I could grind my coffee, so I gave up the pursuit. As luck would have it, however, he took a long time to get through the line — so long, in fact, that I finished grinding my coffee, and made it to the express service counter, where ol’ Dollar Bill paused briefly to consider the headlines in the New York Times, and to pluck one off the top of the stack to purchase. The moment had arrived. It must have been destiny. There was ol’ Dollar Bill standing right next to me.

“So you know we’re still waiting to hear that good explanation — about the $90,000 in your freezer,” I blurted.

Bill Jefferson almost always looks stoned. He always has that droopy look like he just smoked a bowl of pot. It didn’t surprise me, then, to hear a low mumble emerge from his lips which moved almost imperceptibly — it was almost an affirmation, like, “uh huh,” but like he didn’t have enough wind to form words — more like a groan.

“Any day now! Any day now would be good,” I spurted out before I turned away and left.

He just repeated after me, “Any day now. Yeah, any day now.”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to humor me, or if he was just stunned that anyone had the nerve to speak to him like that. I didn’t have an especially vindictive tone — just self-assured.

Well, that was it. I was satisfied that he didn’t get out of his pleasant day without being accosted for his despicable behavior. He should have resigned. It’s sort of like if, in the course of writing a speeding ticket, the police find a trunk filled with strangled cats. No, they may not have had the right to search the trunk in the first place, but while they were there, they found something which was atrociously wrong, and obviously proved some level of complicity in wrongdoing. Leaving alone the idea of prosecution, should someone like that be permitted to continue working at the SPCA?

So I have now added Congressman William Jefferson to the nefarious cast of Boneless Chicken Award recipients, for failing to provide the promised “honorable explanation” for why he had $90,000 in cold hard cash stored in his home freezer, after being videotaped taking a $100,000 bribe, and then having the cojones to remain in office.

Particularly at a time when New Orleanians are suffering misery on a grand scale, Jefferson’s vain temerity to defend his right to represent honest, hard-working citizens, and to think he is privileged to enjoy freedom from verbal molestation, is a flagrant offense to Louisiana residents who deserve a better example of virtuous government in this dire time of need.

I’d love to know who rented out Jefferson’s attic apartment. I wonder what was in the freezer, and if storing the steaks somewhere else gives the tenant a discount on the rent.

Ray Ray. Change your prescription, or give us the same one you have. Because we ain’t experiencing the rosy optimism you’re seeing. You might look healthier, but the rest of us have aged about ten years.

“It was time for a change, a new prescription,” he said. “In spite of some opposition, I stood firm and we swallowed the pill and what we are doing is working. Everyone has noticed the change in our appearance. We look healthier.

We all know “it’s not our fault,” but hey man, it’s almost two years since Hurricane Katrina, and the recovery of the city has more to do, as you yourself admitted, with citizen activism than with anything you’ve done.

Matt Rose | Times-Picayune (with some required … ahem … adjustment)

Could you please be a little more pro-active with the state and federal government?!! It’d be easier to point out their faults if you had a friggin’ plan, man! It’s our job to complain, not yours. Instead, we’re the ones trying to come up with a plan, and you’re the one doing all the complaining. You’ve got your roles reversed, man. Maybe it’s time to join the unelected masses of citizens trying to actually accomplish something. The 17 targeted recovery areas Ed Blakely announced? I mean, where’s the friggin’ plan, man?!! Wouldn’t your state of the city address have been the time to make the Blakely targeted zones the shining example of your recovery vision? Are you going to pull another 100-day plan deal, like you did last year, and announce the plan at the end of the 100 days? Moreover, quite simply, could we possibly hear from you more than once a year?!! We’ll give you a chance once you take responsibility for your own failures, get your act together, and stop blaming everyone else. If you can’t do the job, please just leave. We understand you’ve been under duress. Really, we do understand. Please just don’t leave us hanging. We can do it without you!

Related:

Adrastos, “Confessions of a Slacker NOLA Political Blogger.”

Your Right Hand Thief, “Recall Nagin, unelect Jordan and force Riley to resign.”

As for Tavis Smiley’s Right to Return, well, it certainly provides some interesting and valuable narratives, but it’s extremely selective (to put it mildly). Rev. Melvin Jones, for example, was quoted as saying that he heard from “pretty reliable sources” that “they” want to put in some high-rise condos in the Lower Ninth Ward, and that the federal government wants to wait it out, and then put in golf courses and high-rises. As an opinion expressed in a “home-made” video, that’s an interesting hypothesis, but broadcast across the nation on an esteemed television program is downright irresponsible.

In a completely different realm of affairs, ass monkey is finally behaving like something approaching presidential — like, engaging in talks and sh*t with the Iranian government. Wow! What a concept — actually talking before shock and awe bombardment. It’s only too bad he didn’t give the United Nations time to deal with Saddam Hussein like he’s now doing with Sudan. Or is this just another gambit to make the U.N. appear ineffectual before seizing Sudan’s oil fields under the guise of democracy and fighting terrorism.

Finally, on a dubiously humorous last note (HT: Ann):

On the eve of hurricane season, top ten tips for preparing this year:

1) Don’t stock up on frozen shrimp for the freezer.

2) Get to know people in high places (in other words, anyone outside of southern La.).

3) Take up laminating as a hobby. Hone your craft on family photos, deeds, insurance policies, incriminating letters from your spouse or significant other …

4) Stock an emergency kit in the trunk of your car; red beans, CDM, crab boil, Doctor John anthology.

5) Find an affordable motel north of Monroe, which takes pets, has a kindly manager and is NOT called the Bates Motel.

6) If evacuating out of state, always have a slip cover for your license plate with the name of any other State of the Union.

7) If you opt for a vertical evacuation, use a plane, not a building.

8) Contract SDT to install dispensers of the magic formula they apply on Bourbon St. throughout the city so, in the event of a breach, the toxic muck will have a lemony fresh scent.

9) If you are of the mindset NO WAY I’M LEAVIN’ and plan to get a tattoo before then, make it something useful like your SS # or name of next of kin.

10) Enjoy the truly wonderful world of N.O. this season knowing you are so well prepared.