McAsherson and I are taking advantage of Labor Day to go out and live it up, so this week’s podcast will be up tomorrow. In the meantime, two or three random thoughts . . .
—We went home to Clear Spring yesterday. Ashley hung out with her sister at their parents’ place, and I went to my folks’ house and gave myself my semi-annual haircut. I don’t want to look like a hippie (or worse yet, Varjak), so in lieu of paying a professional barber I just take the electric clippers and shear myself like a sheep whenever I start to see hair flying out from under the Hagerstown Suns ball-cap. It’s a reliable barometer. I’ll look like a cancer patient for a few weeks until it grows out a bit, but in the meantime maybe I can get a few free drinks out of it by walking into bars, taking off my hat, and telling people I’m a Marine. I hope they don’t ask me to prove it by slitting someone’s throat with a quarter, because I don’t know how to do that.
—So it looks like the Republican Party is scaling back its convention this week in anticipation of Hurricane Gustav wrecking the gulf coast, some of which is still trying to claw its way back from Katrina three years ago. President Bush and Vice President Cheney are both skipping the festivities in St. Paul, which is better for McCain anyway. I saw Bush giving a press conference yesterday from FEMA headquarters in D.C., speaking from a lectern with the Presidential Seal that stood in the middle of an office, a bank of computers directly behind him. It looked a little ridiculous, and as he went through the state and federal emergency preparations for Gustav in great detail I couldn’t help but wonder why the hell he didn’t think to do that three fucking years ago before New Orleans was deluged. Apparently he had to learn from experience that holding your dick while thousands of people drown and thousands more lose their homes and wait helplessly for help to arrive is not the mark of a great president.
—Speaking of hurricanes, I wonder if the assholes who thought Katrina was God’s punishment to New Orleans for its many jazz-related sins believe the same thing about Gustav. Was the three year interval God’s grace period to allow the survivors to change their ways, or at least get the fuck out of Dodge and not come back? “Will you trumpet-blowing darkies never learn? Move above sea-level and learn to play that thing on the beat!”
This week’s Snark-Gap Transmission will be up tomorrow. In the meantime, we’re goin’ out. Have a good rest-of-Labor-Day, those of you lucky enough to have the day off.