9/8/05

I am stunned by an interview I conducted with New Orleans Detective Lawrence Dupree. He told me they were trying to rescue people with a helicopter and the people were so poor they were afraid it would cost too much to get a ride and they had no money for a “ticket.” Dupree was shaken telling us the story. He just couldn’t believe these people were afraid they’d be charged for a rescue. (source) And burst into tears. I’ve been crying an awful lot these last few days. The idea of people being afraid that it would cost too much to be rescued and they couldn’t afford it breaks my heart. Then I read this quote from Barbara Bush, who was touring hurricane relief centers in Houston: “And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway so this (she chuckled)–this is working very well for them.”.. (source) Really, you know, SOME PEOPLE get all the frickin’ luck. Hit by a hurricane that decimates your house, slogging through waist-high (or higher) contaminated water to get to a building jam-packed with thousands of other people, waiting for days without food and water, forced to leave all your pets behind, in many cases being separated from your family, and ending up on a cot in a city far from your home. I am green with the fucking envy. Because that, honestly, that sounds like the kind of life most people dream of. Give me some of that, Barbara Bush, you ignoramus. Funny thing, I used to kind of like ol’ Babs. But now when I think of her all I can think of is her standing there with a superior smirk on her face and truly believing that people who have lost everything they’ve ever worked for in their entire lives and are sitting on cots inside a building stuffed with thousands of other people, are better off.

* * * I present this picture to y’all again, because I don’t think it got quite enough attention the first time around, and it makes me laugh my ass off. What makes me laugh the hardest is the fact that you can only see one tooth sticking out. I sure do love that little guy. * * * The phrase “bloviating motherfucker” has been floating around in my head for the past day or so. I had to look up “bloviate” to see what the hell it even meant. I have no idea where the phrase came from, or where I picked it up. Does that ever happen to anyone else, a phrase coming out of nowhere to bounce around in your head, or am I the only freak? * * * Nance emailed me last night. Apparently she was bored and looking through the house tour, and came across this picture and wanted to know how the guy in the picture by Miz Poo was: (It’s Edward Norton, by the way.) I hadn’t glanced through my house tour in ages, so I was completely surprised by just how much my desk area has changed in the four years since I did that house tour. This is what it looks like now: If you want to see a bigger picture, complete with notes on what exactly everything is, you can check it out here. Or, if you want to see the big-ass version of the picture (without notes), check it out here. * * * Currently reading: Just a Geek, by Wil Wheaton. Finished last night: Shakespeare’s Champion, by Charlaine Harris. I’m loving this series. * * * Last night’s sunset, from our back yard. * * * Back when we first started letting the kittens out all the time, I made a little movie of Mister Boogers watching them play. You can’t see them in the movie, but you might hear them, and you’ll definitely hear the disturbed-sounding meow he was using all the time at first, because he just didn’t know what to think of those damn kittens. You can see it here. As always, it’ll remain up until I get around to putting up another movie. * * * The kittens are doing well. No news to report, though I’ll tell you what: if Rambo climbs up my back one more time, he’s going to find himself locked in his room full-time. Ye GODS does that hurt, to have a kitten climbing up your back. That reminds me, actually. Yesterday morning, Rambo and Jodie were full of piss and vinegar and were running around like little hellions, and at one point they were both on my leg, fighting with each other, and I became aware that I was in great pain because each of them was hanging OFF my leg by claws that were dug into not only my pants, but the skin beneath my pants, and it REALLY FUCKING HURT. I got pissed off and yelled “STOP IT!”, and to emphasize my point, I picked up the can of compressed air and shot it in the air, and in half an instant, there was not a single cat in sight. And they stayed gone for a good fifteen minutes before they tentatively came back around, looking at me and acting like they thought I might beat them. Jodie, up close. Rambo loves to pick fights with Mister Boogers and then act all “Oh, help! I am but a wee kitten and I am being beaten up by this cruel, cruel kitty who is three times my size!” If you’d been licking Rambo’s butt, you’d look this disgusted too. Believe me. Shnoozin’. More shnoozin’. Jodie, hanging out on the back of Fred’s desk chair.]]>