It is official.

That man is the devil.

Posted by jackson on 22 Jun 2007
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I’ve been having this pathetic fantasy for years now: I, for whatever totally unlikely reason, am given the opportunity to meet the president in an intimate setting. Something for work or whatever. Bush approaches me with a smile, working over in his mind what my nickname might be (Jackie? Knowleserstons?), and extends his hand for a shake. And I — wait for it! — refuse. No thanks, Mr. Bad Guy, I say. I don’t shake hands with, with, you know, guys like you.

Only in my mind it is super bad ass.

I was just sitting here in my office thinking about this glorious day that will never come after reading in Wonkette about the Mardi Gras themed picnic at the White House today. Paul Prudhomme (who, by the way I saw the other day — dude has had gastric bypass surgery and lost about 489 pounds) catered the event and Kermit Ruffins provided the entertainment.

It makes me want to gag to see our local heroes playing huggy bear with this administration. I can kind of see why it would be a hard gig to turn down, but sheesh. I don’t know how you could sit by Bush all noshing on gumbo and acting all pleased with himself while our city remains about one shot of tequila out of the shitcan. So, as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, here’s the exchange between Bush and Ruffins:

THE PRESIDENT: Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers, right out of New Orleans, Louisiana. (Applause.)MR. RUFFINS: Thank you. Thanks for having us. We’re glad to be here.

THE PRESIDENT: Proud you’re here. Thanks for coming. You all enjoy yourself. Make sure you pick up all the trash after it’s over.

The only reason my fantasy isn’t me kneeing the guy in the groin is because I’m a wimp and the Secret Service scares me.

Posted by jackson on 20 Jun 2007
Filed Under: New Orleans, Politics | 1 Comment »

Posted by jackson on 18 Jun 2007
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For the past four days my house was filled with the stuff of a 7 year old girl: tiny shoes in the family room, on the stairs, tiny shoes by the toilet; DVDs scattered about – Chicken Little, Nacho Libre and various episodes of her current (and somewhat mystifying*) obsession, Mythbusters; half-full bottles of red Gatorade, a swamp-themed coloring book, a stuffed otter and a blankie. And of course, there was the girl herself, boundless of energy and unflagging in her quest to locate our cats and give them a pat or two.

 My niece Caroline and her dad (my brother) have been in for a visit. We ran ourselves ragged with fun — visiting the zoo, the aquarium, Mardi Gras World, Hansen’s Sno-Bliz, the lower Ninth Ward and Cafe du Monde all in two days. In the 90-plus degree heat, we should be locked up for all we put Caroline through.

Before bed each night, we brushed her hair. She can’t stand to have her hair brushed – she is very serious about her “tender-headedness”.  But these four days away from her mom were a real test for the long hair she is determined to have — if she comes back with a rat’s nest, she’s going to have to get a haircut.  So she is methodical about the comb, the brush, the detangler and the cream. The first two nights, she let me brush her hair for a whole half a minute before insisting that’s good enough. That’s plenty.

But last night, Adam and my brother ran out for boudin and stain remover, leaving Caroline and I alone for a bit. We washed her hair without getting any shampoo in her eyes. Then we sat together on the couch, watching the Lindsey Lohan version of The Parent Trap (”TV distracts me from the pain,” she says) while I gently coaxed her hair into a completely tangle-free state.

“I like it when it is just you and me,” she tells me.

“I like being with you, too,” I tell her.

“Yes, but do you like it when we’re alone together?”

Very much, I told her. And very much I did.

Posted by jackson on 14 Jun 2007
Filed Under: Links | No Comments »