But I Digress ...

For those of us who live on the Gulf Coast, this is no time to spin humorous yarns. The reality of what has happened to New Orleans -- only 350 miles away from here -- is beginning to sink in. That entire city is, someday, going to have to be rebuilt from the ground up. And now that we know all of the refugees in the filthy, sweltering Superdome are coming to the Astrodome -- only THREE miles from where I live -- the reality of Hurricane Katrina has just moved into my backyard. Now, under the circumstances I can't object to 25,000 homeless people moving into my neighborhood. But the Astrodome is literally only 200 feet from Reliant Stadium, where the Texans play. And football season is starting. That means we'll have 75,000 well-heeled football fans and 25,000 homeless Louisianans right next door to each other for eight Sundays this fall. What will that mean, exactly? It will be interesting to see how that develops. And as the looters -- folks, they're criminals --

Certainly, nobody wishes harm to the people who escaped from New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina hit this morning. And of course, everyone's thoughts are with those people who, either due to lack of resources or ill health, had to hunker down and try to ride out the storm in place. About ten thousand of them made it to the Superdome. But there's probably 80,000 people in the area south of Lake Pontchartrain who thought they could beat Mother Nature at her own game. Those people are officially STUPID. And it's hard to feel compassion for people who possess such profound stupidity. From the AP, here : WGNO reporter Susan Roesgen reported that New Orleans police had received more than 100 reports of people trapped on their roofs. I think I usually have a fair amount of compassion, but if I were answering the phones at the New Orleans Police Department this morning, I'd be fighting the urge to hang up on these idiots. "You're stuck on your roof? Sorry, we&#

Ripped from headlines around the glove are these masterpieces of journalistic effluent, which Fox News didn't see fit to share with the rest of us. Hmm ... maybe Fox is onto something ... THIS IS NOT A GOOD OMEN From Sri Lanka: Two doves freed at the launch of the Prime Minister's presidential election campaign Friday were killed instantly when they flew into a ceiling fan, police said. There was a similar accident involving a dove in June last year when the Public Security Minister tried to free a dove at the launch of multinational UN peacekeeping exercise, but the bird was already dead after being too tightly squeezed. Sometimes the jokes just write themselves ... SOME PEOPLE SHOULD LIVE IN A CABIN IN RURAL MONTANA From Cleveland's WEWS NewsChannel 5: A Garfield Heights woman is in trouble with the law after being accused of making dozens of false complaints against several of her neighbors. Police say they have a long list of false complaints she filed over the years a

I have long been of the opinion that one out of every 12 people in the United States is a stark-raving lunatic. I seem to remember reading a poll once that asked, "If you were given a choice between winning the lottery or having your eyes gouged out with red-hot pokers, which would you choose?" Eight percent chose the red-hot pokers. That eight percent is what I call the "lunatic fringe", and politics has nothing to do with it. It's the people who do things that the other 11-out-of-12 of us cannot begin to comprehend. Take, for example, this story from the Boston Globe: A 19-year-old man, who was supposed to be cleaning up a cemetery as part of court-ordered community service (after he broke into an apartment building), allegedly broke into a sealed Civil War-era mausoleum, pulled apart a skeleton, and played with the bones. AND TOOK PICTURES OF HIMSELF DOING SO. "It's bizarre, absolutely bizarre," said Lieutenant Richard Siemasko of the Newburypo

I was shopping at Sam's Club today (the wholesale-club arm of Wal-Mart, Incorporated) and among the items I picked up was the 55-gallon drum of Cascade dishwashing liquid. (Okay, so it's not that big, but when I picked it up it felt as if it were 55 gallons. What can I say, I'm a wimp.) I made my way to the checkout register and put my items on the conveyor, including the bottle of Cascade. The checker looked at me and asked me if I was over 18. Now, I'm a 42-year-old guy with a beard, over six feet tall, with age bags under my eyes. I haven't been carded for anything in over 20 years -- let alone dishwashing detergent. I seriously considered responding with a smart-assed answer, until I realize that TSA agents at the airport ask you stupid questions all the time, and if you don't answer seriously and truthfully, you might end up in a holding cell with some of the babies whose names are on the "no-fly" list. Since I didn't want to deal with unsmil

I bandy about my share of insults, but I reserve the term "crackpot" for people who really ARE crackpots. ("Crack" + "pot" = ... hmmm, there's some drug-addled significance there, apropos of something. But I digress.) Calling someone a "certifiable crackpot" is not something I think should be taken lightly. But then again, neither is calling for the assassination of a sovereign leader that you disagree with. Pat Robertson is a certifiable crackpot. There, I said it. Robertson, founder of the Christian Coalition of America and a former presidential candidate (of whom Al Franken did a killer impression of on "Saturday Night Live" a bunch of years ago), called for the assassination of Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez, here . "You know, I don’t know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we’re trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it," Robertson said. "It’s a who

In a week and a half, I'm off to Las Vegas to attend a friend's wedding. Yep, you read that right: Labor Day Weekend. The town will be jammed with vacationing Californians. So do us both a favor, and just stay the hell out of my way. I lived in Las Vegas for two years, in the mid '90s. While I was there, Steve Wynn was building a huge Tuscan-style villa and lake (complete with dancing waters, which would be fine if they weren't dancing to Celine Dion songs) in the middle of the Strip. Since then, Kirk Kerkorian foreclosed on the villa and the lake, and Stevie W. built a mountain in the middle of the Strip. I fully expect Michael Gaughan to put Wynn back on the street soon enough ... but then, what will we call Wynn's big brown edifice at the corner of Sands and Las Vegas Boulevard South? Vegas is proof of the concept, "It bloody well IS the heat, not just the humidity." Vegas heat sneaks up on you. Once, when I was living there, it was 115 degree

From the AP, here : Kelly Monaco will defend her dancing title against John O’Hurley on September 20th. That’s when they’ll go toe-to-toe for "Dancing with the Stars: Dance-Off" on ABC. Sweet fancy Moses, it's a rematch. Will the madness never stop? It wasn't enough that the first six weeks of this show (an air-conditioned version of "I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!") was very clearly rigged in Ms. Monaco's favor. Look at her competition. Rachel Hunter: looked like she was in labor most of the time. Joey McIntire: not bad, but he's no John O'Hurley. Evander Holyfield: 'nuff said. And Trista Sutter: ugh. And then there was Mister Smooth, O'Hurley himself, who returns for the rematch. The guy who exudes refinement and class. The guy who glides across the floor, obviously having a blast (which is what dancing is all about). The guy who SHOULD have won. And over there, holding her winner's trophy in one hand and her cos

There is no better value for your entertainment dollar than the news. Here are some items ripped from today's headlines: BASS 1, HUMAN 0 - IT'S A FINAL A fish caught in an east German lake near the Polish border not only got off the hook but also lured a 46-year-old fisherman to his death, police in the eastern town of Eisenhuettenstadt said Tuesday. THEY SHOULDA USED EBAY A rush to purchase $50 used laptops turned into a violent stampede Tuesday, with people getting thrown to the pavement, beaten with a folding chair and nearly driven over. One woman went so far as to wet herself rather than surrender her place in line. MY TONGUE IS GETTING SHPILKAS From the Houston Chronicle: Gene Simmons, of the rock band KISS, was not born with the name Gene Simmons. His birth name was Chaim Witz, and he was born in Tirat Ha-Carmel, Israel. Who knew? It does not appear that his tongue has been circumcised. Makes you wonder how observant Chaim really is. AND FINALLY ... I've been getting

If you're reading this, you're someone who draws their own conclusions regarding politics and the way of the world, rather than someone who passively swallows whatever propaganda Fox News ladles into your mouth. In other words, you're an intellectual and a free thinker. Why do you hate America? (But I digress.) So I'm certain you already know about Cindy Sheehan, who has spent the past ten days in a field outside our Dubya-in-Chief's Crawford, Texas ranch. (Footnote: Texas is a big state. Please don't presume that just because King George II was born here, and for some inexplicable reason was elected governor here, that he reflects the sensibilities of anyone else in Texas. Except, of course, for the oil men. And the cattle ranchers. And the bankers, and the defense contractors-- On the other hand, forget I said anything.) (Footnote 2: But we DO have the best barbecue on the planet, and not even Bush can screw that up. Anyway ...) Ms. Sheehan only wants a few mi

George Orwell, of course, was right. He was just off by about 20 years. In Orwell's book 1984, written on the walls of the Ministry of Truth, were three slogans: WAR IS PEACE FREEDOM IS SLAVERY IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH Those slogans are being carved over the White House portico even as we speak. Ever since the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the face of patriotism has been changing. No longer is it enough to hold your hand over your heart and recite the "Pledge of Allegiance" with a tear in your eye. Knowing the proper way to display and dispose of the American flag is now passé. Dubya and his minions have redefined patriotism for all time. We learned during the 2004 presidential election that serving with valor in combat doesn't save you from being called a "traitor", even when the people orchestrating that chant are draft-dodging chickenhawks. And now, with Cindy Sheehan being snubbed by "her" President and vilified by the right-wing talkin

My computer is finally back up and running. It took three frickin' days, but the problem turned out to be nothing more than a bad memory card. And for all the flack Microsoft (of course you know, "micro" = small, "soft" = limp) catches about being the Monolithic Wal-Mart Of The Technology World, they really pulled my tail out of the hole. And, as I mentioned before, didn't charge me a cent for it. Kudos to them where it's deserved. It was Microslob (sorry, old habits die hard, but I'll try to show them more respect from here on out) that helped me isolate the problem. They kept checking back with me, ad nauseam , until they were convinced that my problem was resolved and they could close out the trouble ticket. And yes, my tech's name was Rajneesh, and yes, he's located over there somewhere in Obpurnamsheeshi. (Which makes me wonder why Microscum -- oops, I did it again -- advertises service hours of 5 am to 9 pm Pacific time, when not a so

It's 1:30 in the morning, and I've been drowning my sorrows with about a half-dozen beers. (It's okay; I'm big and I'm a Texan, which means I can drink more than the rest of you. Don't try this at home. Besides, I've had those eight beers over about eight hours, so I've kept up with my liver. But, as usual, I digress.) I've been slurping Anheuser-Busch's finest because I'm trying to drown my sorrows. Because last night, my computer died. And I, generally a techno-savvy kind of information technology savant, can't bring the damn thing back to life. Did I download a virus? Can I blame this whole thing on Microsoft's sorry excuse for a Windows built-in firewall? Or did my computer just decide to contract PMS and be ornery for five days? As of now, one and a half days into my ordeal, I don't know. It started yesterday. I was in the middle of work, and I walked away from my PC for an hour. I don't know what the heck I

Well, it seems like every time I get ready to unleash a humorous rant in your direction, something serious happens that takes precedence. And this is a big one, at least as far as I'm concerned. The last credible TV news anchor has passed away . Peter Jennings was 67. Lung cancer -- smoking -- killed him.

If you go back to my MySpace profile, and look in my (very under-populated) Friends list, you'll see the smiling face of a gorgeous brunette. (No, not Tom.) Her name is April. And we've never met, never spoken to each other. So why do I feel we were separated at birth? April is an L.A.-area voice actress and radio personality -- you can definitely call her a "celebrity". Now, I've become quite passé about celebrities. I work with many, I'm friends with some, and heck, I even have a couple of them on my cell phone's speed-dial. Celebrities are people too, and most of them -- most of them -- will only act like the stereotypical "celebrity" if that's how you treat them. (I'll digress for a moment to tell you this story. I was an extra in the film "Casino". There is nothing like working for a day as an extra to shatter the Hollywood glamour mystique for good. The face of the huge casino set that you saw in the movie? Silk-screened