Today’s a fine bright day and my thermometer reads ninety-six degrees. The grass is running riot and needs cutting, but I’m going to blow it off for another day. The lawn guy* is off somewhere in the Northern Midwest and has left the task to me and our landlord. Yet the sun shines on him still, as well as my overheated car and the president downtown making speeches, allegedly admitting that mistakes were made. Good for him. Later he’ll come by the truck farm for a beer and he’s going to offer me some coke. But I’m going to just say “no”. “No, George,” I’ll say. “I’m just enjoying the luxury of this fine day and my overheated car. Now take that stuff inside and do it in the bathroom like normal folks do. bush_cocaine.jpg (24414 bytes) I’m a public figure—a minor entertainment personality—and I’ve gotta watch what I do and say, because it always comes back to haunt me sooner or later. I don’t enjoy the same luxuries as you, George.” The cool thing about George is he usually takes this kind of talk in stride. Unlike my other friends, he doesn’t mind being told what to do. He fools people with that Texas “swagger” thing, but all you have to do is bark at him a bit and he steps back into line. Knowing that you can count on things like that makes it easier to deal with this uncertain world.

235px-Hurricane_Katrina_August_28_2005_NASA.jpg (17407 bytes)      People today are asking where you were a year ago today and what you were doing. The first time this question was put to me last night I couldn’t help but wonder at our species that has figured out how to calculate to the second the Earth’s position in relation to the Sun. earthposition.gif (13810 bytes) As my friend Keith would say, that’s pretty rad. Spinning on the same axis in the same spot in space as when Anderson Cooper was buying his first pair of Wellingtons 365 days ago. I know he’s going to be sporting some fancy footwear later at Vaughn’s, but it will pale in comparison to the bondage gear he usually prefers in his more informal moments. Chaz bought a special dog collar for him to wear with the word “Coop” emblazoned near the chain clip in stainless-steel studs. Anderson won’t stop talking about the times spent in the sling at the Phoenix last year. Whatever it takes to take the edge off, I always say.

     This sort of scurrilous gossip won’t endear me to the cable news channels. That their star journalists come to New Orleans to admonish the locals on-camera, then run off to blow their per diems on cock fights and Vietnamese rent-boys is well known, though rarely discussed. If the heavy hitters of the news media relish their time spent in New Orleans, if for no other reason than to Take it Out and Let it Eat, we’ve long turned a blind eye down here. Never mind the rumors of NBC’s Brian Williams’ flagellating himself with a soft-shelled crab po-boy uptown in broad daylight a few months ago, or CNN’s Wolf Blitzer’s meth-fueled rantings about the Pope at St. Louis Cathedral not long after the famous “chocolate city” speech. These things don’t merit much more than a cursory glance.

    And so it’s a week and a half after I wrote the above and that guy I mentioned, Keith, has gone on to the next life. Although I don’t believe in any of that shit. Pretty un-rad. I’m going to close this thing and go wash my hands. Maybe go buy a nice bottle of French Bordeaux and get weird.
Sic Transit Gloria.