Only Nola

I Told You I Hate Them…

Car salesmen. God save us all. I haven't figured out where they get these people, since they are NOTHING like the rest of us. Anyone remember Joe Isuzu? I LOVED that guy! He was the quintessential car salesman. Not kidding in the slightest. The lengths they'll go to in order to get you to sign on the dotted line are nothing short of frightening. Ten to one says that if you made a public blow job the deal breaker, well... you'd be driving out with that car.

I think I just went blind.

Anyhoo. As was previously mentioned, my husband's 95 Ford F150 is sitting in a catatonic state in my parking lot. We've been talking to a billion dealers, looking for good deals and such, trying to find a decent late model used truck or SUV, since my husband likes those better than cars. It's a dick thing.

I won't bore you with all the shit I've gone through, both on the phone and in person, but I will share ONE experience with you. Come on, you didn't really expect me not to share at least one, did you? Do you remember who you're dealing with? Helloooooooooooooooooooooo? Wake up and smell the hormones.

The other day I call one of the big local dealerships and ask to speak to someone in sales. I get this chick on the line... Allison. Nice enough girl, but obviously a bit out of the loop. She couldn't work the program on her computer to bring up the cars and trucks that she had available, which, I would think, would work against someone in a sales position. Call me silly. She plinks around a bit, arguing with the computer, and finally says she'll talk to her manager and call me back. A few minutes later I get a call from some man with a fairly atrocious accent. This is Frank. Frank is, apparently, chicky's manager, and he's decided to take care of me personally, for reasons which escape me. We talk for a few minutes, I explain our situation *bad credit and the effectively non-functioning truck for trade in, etc.* while he waves it all away as 'no problem'. This, in hindsight, should have been my first indicator that nothing good was going to come out of this. A truck with a locked up air conditioner compressor and credit fit only to line a bird cage are NEVER 'no problem'. These are, to a prospective car buyer, akin to the relationship that iceberg had with the Titanic. We all remember how THAT turned out.

But I digress.

I call Jonathan and tell him that good ol' Frank of the unknown nationality says we can get a vehicle. We agree we'll go over after he gets home from work. I call Frank back and tell him to expect us, somewhere around six or a bit after. Fine.

Now the fun starts.

We get to the dealership somewhere between 6:15 and 6:30. We park and walk into what looks like the main office. Connor is with us, of course, since we haven't quite got him trained to be home alone yet. I shudder at the thought. I think we might be able to do it by the time he's, oh, let's say 23.

Someone asks if they can help us, and we inform him that we're there for Frank. He toddles off to page Frank. We stand and wait. And wait. And wait. Are you sensing a pattern here? Ten minutes or so go by, and we see the same guy again. He gives us a funny look and asks if we have been helped yet. We tell him no, no sign of hide nor hair of Frank yet. He bolts for some 'employees only' door, telling us he'll get Frank's manager to track him down. We step outside to wander among the cars and trucks while waiting for Frank. We wander. And wander. And wander. That pesky pattern again. Finally, when my head's about ready to pop right off my body, we see that same guy again... he's beginning to look like a deer in the headlights. I ask him if he's a salesman. He says yes, but he's in the middle of closing a sale. I told him that unless he found us someone to help us, we were leaving. Needless to say, he found us a warm body. We spent about half an hour with Herve *swear to god, I think that was his name... Herve. DA PLANE! DA PLANE! Two points to anyone who gets that reference...* and still saw nothing of Frank. Well, we were coming up pretty much empty on the selection they had, since most everything on their lot was higher end than we'd been led to believe. We walk back over to where we're parked, figuring we'll head home, and... yeah, you guessed it, here comes fucking Frank.

Frank takes us off Herve's hands to go 'work us a deal'. Now, in the first place I'm offended on Herve's behalf, since HE was the one who spent all the time with us and walked us all over hell and creation while we hunted for a car or truck we could live with. He put in the effort, and now Frank is going to just walk in and make the sale? Is it just me, or is there something screamingly WRONG with that picture? In the second place, we don't KNOW Frank, he's done NOTHING to try and forge some kind of trust with us which would lead us to WANT to make a deal with him, but he's just going to come swooping in and act like he's our new best friend? Fuck you, FRANK. I wish I knew how to say that in his native language. Then again, the finger is usually universal.

Now, here's the part where I start getting livid. Frank's busy pushing this model and that model, all over what we wanted to spend. I'm politely declining, and explaining our ceiling and our goal. He just does that hand gesture *no, not the finger* like he's sweeping something out of his way, and mows down all my statements. For those of you who haven't figured it out, this is NOT the way to handle me. He's busy talking down to me, the little woman, about how what we REALLY want is XYZ, not the ABC that I thought we wanted. There was this horrible growling noise beginning to come from somewhere in the general vicinity of the chair I was sitting in. Frank didn't pay attention. Stupid, stupid man.

Jonathan and I both say that it's late *it was about 8 now, and we still had to get Connor dinner, a bath, and in bed... needless to say he was going to miss bedtime* and that we'll talk over the options he gave us and get back to him. Frank starts pushing harder. I'm firm. NO, Frankendick, I do NOT want to drive off the lot in anything right this minute. I told him it's a big decision and we'd need some time to talk about it. He starts really verbally shoving me, telling me I just HAD to 'take advantage of his generous offer'. HAD to? All I HAD to do was keep myself from crawling across that goddamned desk and using Frank's stapler to attach his lower lip to his forehead. Generous offer, my ass. There was no generous offer... it was standard rebates that EVERYONE gets, and we were being bludgeoned with them in a completely rude fashion. The man gave two shits that I had a seven year old falling asleep in the chair and had made it plain that I needed to get him HOME. He's just lucky that I kept repeating to myself 'we cannot afford bail... we cannot afford bail... we cannot afford bail'. Saved his sorry ass, it did.

Jonathan finally managed to get us out of there by convincing Frank he'd be dropping his truck off first thing in the morning, blah blah blah, and we got the hell out of dodge. I didn't stop fuming for, well... okay, I'm still not done fuming. I'll let you know when I'm done.

I know these people need to sell cars to make a living, but give me a fucking break. That had to be one of the best examples of 'people who should not work with the public' that I've run across in recent years.

Oh, and here's a news flash for Frank... you want to cement a sale, how about you CLEAN YOUR GODDAMNED OFFICE? The chairs were so dirty that my SEVEN YEAR OLD was all 'uh... this chair is gross!' Does that tell you anything? Seven year olds typically have the filth tolerance of BILLY GOATS.

I'm having little fantasies of hunting Frank with a big game rifle... reminiscent of Dolly Parton in '9 to 5', for all you other old geezers out there. Hey, that guy's name was Frank, too!

I think I'm on to something...

The Hot Mile

So, the other day my husband's Ford F150 decided to take a giant shit. Well, figuratively speaking. The air conditioner compressor thingy locked up, causing all kinds of problems... biggest one being that you can't drive the goddamned thing. It's sitting out in the parking lot, resting on its laurels while Jonathan takes my car to and from work every day, leaving yours truly STRANDED. No wheels? NO WHEELS? Me no likey.

This would suck, in and of itself, but there's more...

My son's school is nine tenths of a mile away. Doesn't sound that far? Fine, YOU fucking walk it. Every day I drop him off and pick him up. Well, now I have no vehicle, at least until we get Jonathan a replacement car/truck. I'll write more about that part later. Right now, let's stick with what's pissing me off. Is there anything that doesn't piss me off? Boy, that IS the question, isn't it?

I call my son's school the other day, when first left without my beloved car, to check on when he'd need to be at the bus stop. Or at least where I ASSUMED there'd be a bus stop. Little did I know...

Apparently there is NO bus riding for any kid who doesn't live MORE than a mile from the school. The fact that we're just missing this by a tenth of a mile is irrelevant. One mile or less, and his ass is hiking. Now, remember where the hell I live, people. It's fucking HOT here. Even in the mornings it's low simmer, but by the time he gets out of school and would have to walk home, well... how do you like your second grader? Medium well or burnt to a crisp? Too, you have to remember that my kid's only barely 7 years old... this means I am NOT turning him loose to walk a whole mile by himself, not in this day and age and with his personality... he'd get in a car with probably just about anyone who slowed down long enough to let him. This means that I get to walk four miles a day, one there and back in the a.m., one there and back in the afternoon. Now, me, personally, I could hack it, I'm sure. I'd sweat like a goddamned pig, but I'd make it. Connor? You have to be kidding me. He's very fair skinned and turns roughly the color of Gwen Stefani's lipstick after being out in the Arizona sun for even five minutes. Just try to imagine what would happen if he had to actually walk, with his back pack, for however long it took us to trudge that mile. I think he'd melt. Do you have any idea how hard it is to parent a puddle?

I can't believe the school has this policy. I could understand it if the kid lived, oh, say a block or two away. But anything over, um... let's say half a mile, in my opinion, should be allowed on the damned bus. Period. These are ELEMENTARY SCHOOL STUDENTS, not freaking triathletes. If they were middle school or high school students, I might understand it, but you're going to tell me a KINDERGARTENER should walk a MILE?

I could so kick something right now...

Financial Bullshit

Looks like we're moving again. I know, I know... we just bought this place and spent a buttload *that's the technical term, by the way* of time and money painting it and making it look great. But I've had it. Arizona is just a)too freaking far from my oldest son and other members of my family, and b)not my cup of tea. Not that there's nothing to recommend it, I suppose, but I'll be a much happier Nola back in my native environment.

Hellooooooooooooooooooooo, Springfield!

I'll be writing more as the process rolls along *god knows the whole situation will give me endless fodder for articles, as we all remember from LAST time*, but for now let me just say that I really, REALLY hate Alltel. Hate their guts and livers. Hope they get a raging case of elephantitis of the nuts... with jock itch.

My husband had an account with Alltel three years ago, right before he moved in with me. They hit him with a $1000 bill one month, which was bullshit. He disputed it. Time passed. He moved in with me, halfway across the country. Left his forwarding address. Now, bear in mind that he hadn't heard from Alltel at all in the time before he moved. Then, after moving in with me, he never heard from them again. We assumed, much to our current chagrin, that they had looked into his complaint and fixed the disputed charges and all was fine.

Yeah, right.

We have since discovered that Alltel has a massive TWENTY FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR bill perched on top of my husband's credit report. This has, of course, completely wrecked his credit score. Since my husband's not the screaming financial worrywart that I am, he'd never kept up with his credit report, so he had no idea until it came time to buy this house. Then we got the shit kicked out of us due to his credit score. And the problem wasn't even the debt, so much, as the fact that... and you're going to love this... Alltel keeps rereporting the debt every two months. The usual practice, and as far as I'm concerned the ETHICAL practice, is to report the allegedly bad debt upon it's initial development, with the dates of activity, etc., then let it sit there for either a)the length of time it takes to clear the credit report, which is seven years, usually, or b)however long it takes the person to pay it off. Well, Alltel *which has already WRITTEN OFF THE BILL, for christ's sake* keeps rereporting the bill every two months, which basically means it makes the damage look fresh, as opposed to three years old. Now, the validity, or lack thereof, of this debt is another separate issue. My problem with Alltel is threefold: 1)the fact that they've inflated a bill, already in dispute, of $1000 to $2500, 2)that they never ONCE got in touch with my husband through normal means to attempt to resolve this before destroying his credit profile, and 3)the fact that they, out of nothing but maliciousness *since they've already written off the debt and can gain NOTHING by doing what they're doing* update the reporting status of the negative credit item in order to fuck my husband like a prison bitch. There's no other reason for it. Once it's been written off, they're effectively saying they are no longer pursuing payment, so to keep mauling his credit that way is simply spiteful.

Justice would be, if my husband really owed them that money, to put a negative mark on there and let it show the right dates and be given the weight it deserves, if any, in regard to his credit score. I could live with that, disputed bill or not. Instead, every two months it kicks the credit score he's working so hard to restore back down to the basement, which is not the way this should work.

Alltel is going to, indirectly, cost us a lot of money when we move, because we won't be able to a)get a good interest rate, or b)work with our bank to get a loan, since they won't work with credit scores like my husband's. We'll have to use some mortgage broker... and I don't even have the words to describe how much I'm not looking forward to that.

I'd rather clean the pipes out again...

Ick and More Ick

I have to say, with all sincerity, that I'm glad I'm not a plumber. Oh, and I also now know why they make so much damned money.

We had a little problem the other night with our bathroom drain. It was... well, not draining, pretty much rendering it's name completely worthless. Anyhoo. Since my husband was sick, I got to wade in and become Mrs. Roto Rooter. For those of you who have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, Roto Rooter is a plumbing company who jingle, from back in the 70's, is STILL stuck in my brain. 'Rotooooooo Rooooooooter, that's the name! And awayyyyyy go troubleeeeeeeeeees down the drain!' *coughs*

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, the plumber thing. First off, let me just say that I only thought I had seen disgusting things before. And this coming from a woman who gave birth to what appeared to be, at first glance, a feta covered alien. I was wrong. There are no words to describe what I found waiting for me in the pipe sticking out of the wall, leading to my drain. First I had to get off all the pipe bits *I'm no fucking plumber, so don't expect me to tell you the actual names for any of these things* that were between the sink and the wall. I cleaned those out, and got my first glimpse of the horrors to come. The smell that hit me when I took off that last piece of pipe was enough, on it's own, to use as a WMD. It's amazing that something that smells that bad can be waiting behind one little turn of pipe in a bathroom that normall does NOT smell. Well, not unless it's Chili night. But anyway...

So, it stunk. Now come the visuals. Like I said before... words fail me. It was like something from some horror movie. I kept waiting for something to slither out and EAT me. And not in a good way. I'm crouched under the sink, shining a flashlight into the pipe, and fighting to hold on to my dinner. I have, in my pipe cleaning arsenal, two things... Q-Tips and wooden shishkebob skewers. No, I'm not kidding. What do I look like, Tim 'The Tool Man' Taylor? You work with what you've got, dammit. With my mighty Q-Tips and skewers I was going to dig out whatever I could reach in those pipes to allow the water to drain. There are reasons that people pay OTHER people to come in and do shit like this. It's entirely possible that I am now scarred for life by the FUNK I pulled, much against its will, out of that pipe. After battling the noxious blockage, I rigged this one piece of pipe to the wall pipe, upside down, so that I could pour drain clearing stuff directly to that pipe in the wall. I figured that if I put this stuff in after the pipes were assembled, it would just settle in that one U shaped pipe at the bottom and do me no good whatsoever, so I tried it this way. It seems to have worked.

I get major points for doing this and not going down to the living room couch and stabbing my sleeping, albeit ill, husband with one of the aforementioned skewers. Sure, he's sick, but PLEASE! This is guy shit, dammit. It comes with the penis. They kill bugs and fix things. That's, like, a law. Somewhere.

I dug out more than I care to remember, reassembled all the pipes *and even in the right order! Who knew?*, screwed on the silver thingies, the ones that look like weird zip ties, that held these tube gizmo's on, and cleaned up the mess. Ran hot water through the pipes for awhile, and seeing no leaks, set about scrubbing myself off.

I'm not sure there's enough soap and water in the WORLD to make me feel clean again.

Guess I Am, After All…

Hello, my name is Nola, and I'm ... *coughs*... um...

A Southerner.

There. I said it. Someone shoot me. I lived a lot of years in what is considered to be 'THE South', and most of those years I spent in denial. I was born in the Northern part of Missouri, and lived there for seven years or so, and that was what I always claimed as my 'heritage', as it were. I was a Yankee, dammit. I didn't want any part of the usual tags associated with Southerners... the hick and redneck insults, the inbreeding jokes, the cartoons that showed Southerners with no shoes or indoor plumbing. I've never even SEEN a real outhouse, thank you very much. Ick. Just the thought freaks me out. I bet there are germs in there that don't even have NAMES yet...

But I was wrong.

I am a Southerner. It took me moving out here to the goddamned brick oven they call Arizona to discover that I am, at heart, a Southern girl. This probably means jack shit to most of you, but there will be a few who understand.

I like my food fried. Just about any of it. Fried is our friend. It may clog the occasional artery, but what's a little cholesterol in the scheme of things? Do you have any idea how GOOD fried food tastes? I'm sure I could live a little longer if I'd forego the Chicken Fried Steak... but why on earth would I WANT to? Oh, joy, an extra five years of eating tofu and dirt. Yippee.

I say ma'am and sir. To just about anyone, age irrelevant. Yes, that's right. Sue me. Manners and simple politeness are in different places on the priority scale in the South than they are in other areas. I'm teaching my son the same thing. He's only 7, so I'm not sure how well he uses the ma'am and sir on people out in the world, but by god he uses them with my husband and I, so that's a good start.

I listen to country music. Okay, not all the time... I said I'm a Southerner, I didn't say I'd lost my mind. I still love my 80's music *ANY type of music was better in the 80's... well, maybe not classic rock, which died in the late 70's, but... everything else*, and I like a fair amount of Techno and even some Swing and whatever the hell we want to call things like Papa Roach and Limp Bizkit, et al. Does that genre even HAVE a name? But I digress. Country, REAL Country, is a wonderful thing. It's like sex... when it's good, it's amazing, and when it's bad... it's intolerable. I don't care what anyone says, there is ABSOLUTELY such a thing as horrible sex.

But I digress.

I believe in common courtesy, friendly neighbors, chasing lightning bugs on warm nights, hanging tire swings, and having get togethers with friends where there it's not considered rude if you don't bring the hostess a gift.

And yes, shoes are optional.

A Little Change

For those of you who were a little baffled by the new look to the right, just let me clear up a few things. The navigation area on the right side of the page is the sidebar. The sidebar now has, at the top, a picture of yours truly. That picture is a link... click it and it goes to an 'about me' page. I know, I know... woofreakin'hoo.

Anyway. Below that now is a section called 'The Mind Boggles'. This is where I'll be posting various news links and odd stories found all over the internet. If you click on the header 'The Mind Boggles', you'll be taken to an index page that lists the recent entries in that blog. You can also click the titles of each post to go read them in full. They're just like the main blog, in that you can comment on them and such. I've got a little fine tuning left to do on the category section of that blog, but otherwise it's all good. Clicking on the 'Boggle On' tab at the top of any page in the 'The Mind Boggles' blog takes you to the archives for that blog alone. The 'archives' tab throughout the rest of the site gives you the archives for the main site blog. In the sidebar on the 'Boggle' blog is a reverse... there you'll see a few of the recent entries from 'My life as an experiment', one of the main blog categories, tiled on the right side, so you're never out of touch with either blog. Neat, eh? I posted twice today, so don't think this is all you get. The other one is actually the one worth reading... *laughs*

IBD

There's no reason you should know what IBD is. It doesn't, as of yet, have it's own telethon and no one's weeping about it on Oprah. Well, maybe they are, but they just don't know it. This is my own little discovery, and while I doubt I'm the only person with this, um... condition, I'm sure that I'm the uncomfortable owner of the world's worst case. It's in the far advanced stages and may yet prove fatal.

Intermittent Babbling Disorder.

No, I'm not kidding...

At various times, for reasons that simply HAVE to be genetically encoded, I will spontaneously erupt, verbally, like Mount Saint Helen. There's no stopping it. You might not think this sounds so bad, but bear in mind that when it hits it isn't interested in talking about the weather. No, what comes pouring out is both torrential *think avalanche* and highly personal. I can pin down the chick checking out my groceries faster than you can say 'too much information'. And the irony is that the more embarrassed I become, due to my guts being spilled in untidy piles all over the linoleum, so to speak, the worse the IBD gets. Which, of course, causes me even MORE discomfort, which brings on yet MORE yapping. By the time I manage to tear myself away from the conversation, just short of grabbing a stapler and applying it to my lips, it's amazing that sheer humiliation doesn't have me curled up on the floor in the fetal position. You don't believe me? Have you READ this blog, for Christ's sake?

Here's a good example. I called a realtor in Tyler Friday. Just checking on a listing to see if it was still on the market. I swear, that's ALL I was calling about. Before you could blink, I had told the poor, deer-in-the-headlights receptionist a)where I'm living, b)how long I've lived here, c)how much I hate the climate, d)how much it's aged me *next person who says 'but it's a dry heat is getting an eye gouged out*, e)how much the property values here have gone up, f)how I have a friend in Tyler who's going to keep an eye out for job opportunities *I guess I should be grateful I didn't give her his name and home phone number... jesus*, g)how much I've missed living back in the South, h)how I'm a stay at home mom now, i)... I'm sure there's an i), but damned if I can think of it. I think I'm repressing the memory. It all starts to bleed together after awhile, anyway. By the time I'd hit, oh, probably r) or s), she was desperate to get off the phone and a hair shy of begging for her life. Or to end her life. One of those.

Now, I'm not like this all the time, but often enough that it certainly helps reinforce my daily decision to be a recluse. I figure it's the least I can do for the general population. Between my screaming irritability and the random bouts of verbal, emotional regurgitation, the world is a better place with me safely tucked away behind my Dell.

Trust me on this one.

I Give Up

That's it. I'm finished. Yes, I am weak... I admit it. I can no longer stand under the sheer weight of the burden of President Bush's mistakes. I've tried. You've all seen me. I'm all for the under dog, for giving everyone a fair shake, for trying to see people's intentions... but give me a fucking BREAK. Just how far was I supposed to go? I'm dyin' here!

President Bush wants any more support, he'd better buy a bra.

Anyone who heard last night's Presidential address knows exactly what I'm talking about. The man was lacking only a pair of tits and a really bad hairstyle to be Hillary Clinton. Suddenly, he's got the key to the mint. People who were affected by hurricane Katrina are going to be swept up, courtesy of the administration, in the government's loving, and GENEROUS, arms... carried into a sea of middle class, due to no effort of their own, but instead being in the wrong place at the right time. I'm astounded. This is our President, allegedly Republican, becoming more fiscally irresponsible than I could ever have imagined. Which is saying something, since I can imagine a LOT. He'd already crossed the line, financially, in other areas, but NOTHING compared to this...

I tried valiantly to overlook his stance on gay marriage, even though it made me want to smack him until he saw sense. I was understanding on the whole Iraq thing, since to me the weapons of mass destruction were not nearly as important as the fact that hundreds of thousands of Iraqi people were being murdered by their own leader... he had to go. I forgave his ENDLESS mauling of the English language... hey, I've got a 7 year old who stutters. But when the man starts talking about spending tens of billions of dollars to give a certain part of the population a boost into an income bracket they weren't even in BEFORE the hurricane, well... stick a fork in me, I'm done. Free land for the poor... well, that's lovely. I've been poor for years... getting better now, but there was a time I was DIRT poor... where the hell was MY free land? Where was my $5000 to get me through job training and child care? Where was my guaranteed housing? Yeah, I'm a wee bit incensed right now. You know what this is? This is political pandering. President Bush decided that the only way to answer the charge that 'George Bush doesn't like black people' is to throw money at it. The irony here is, of course, that no matter HOW much money he tosses around, they STILL won't like him. Hell, I've ALREADY heard liberals saying that what he's promised ISN'T ENOUGH. ISN'T ENOUGH?!?! Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, who ARE these people? Not enough... for fuck's sake. If someone were to throw $5000 *and that's in ADDITION to the $2000 they've ALREADY received, thank you very much, not to mention other aid and contributions pouring in from around the world* at me, I certainly wouldn't be whining that I was entitled to MORE. Especially if you consider that a)I CHOSE to live in an area butted up against the damned OCEAN, and BELOW sea level, and b)I didn't have jack shit BEFORE the storm hit.

I've said it before and I'll say it again... yes, these people deserve help. Yes, I feel bad for them. But that does NOT mean that it's fair to spend money that this country doesn't even HAVE to elevate people above the living standards of people who have struggled for years to keep their heads above water, working hard and making ends meet through part sheer determination and part end of the month juggling and prayer. By all accounts, a large percentage of the people affected, no matter their race, were people with large numbers of children, per household, and no gainful employment. But now those people will OWN homes, since renting is apparently such a horrible thing, and have education advantages over those like myself, who can't afford to go to school because we make too much money to get help, but not enough money to actually PAY for the schooling. That's just great.

I'm going to go throw myself in front of a bus now... and I won't even discriminate if it's not a Greyhound.

Just a Little More…

<%image(20050914-abc_wnt_congress_050913_t.jpg|188|141|Congressman William Jefferson)%>

Another day to break the Only Nola conventions...

The man you see to your right is Congressman William Jefferson (D-LA), a senior member of the Ways and Means committee who has been very vocal in his criticisms of the federal government in regard to both the pre-hurricane condition of the 17th Street Canal levee and the post-hurricane search/rescue/law enforcement efforts. Very vocal. Yes, indeedy. I guess he's found himself with a lot of time on his hands, for whining and such, since the FBI had kept him away from home while performing raids on both his residences, his vehicles, and his treasurer's office. Oh, that's right... did he forget to mention that he's the focus of a major corruption investigation? Well, it turns out that the funding for improving the levee was really there, it just wasn't there. William Jefferson is suspected of spending that money a little, shall we say... closer to home? Having the FBI breathe down your neck must be such a bother. Poor money management and lining your own pockets with monies earmarked for public use can have some nasty side effects.

So, why do we care about William Jefferson today? Well, probably because of this.

This is the story of how William Jefferson, in his infinite wisdom, decided that military resources would best be put to use escorting him to his home in a flooded area of New Orleans and then waiting for him, for roughly an hour, while he packed up some things he wanted and loaded them on the truck he'd had them bring. This, already an abuse of power, was compounded by the fact that the first truck, the one that brought him, got stuck in the flooded area and they had to, you guessed it... bring in yet ANOTHER truck to get the first one out. On top of this, Congressman Jefferson called for an emergency rescue helicopter, one that was supposed to be rescuing people that were actually in NEED, then kept it hovering around for about 45 minutes while he waffled on whether or not he could make himself get in the little rescue basket to be hoisted into the waiting helicopter. They'd send it down, with a diver, he'd wave it off. He'd call them back... wave them off. Finally, running dangerously low on fuel, the helicopter had to leave. This was an hour of time that the helicopter in question could have been better utilized doing actual RESCUE. And Mr. Jefferson, by the way, hastens to assure the media that he was not removing anything from his home that in any way had bearing on the ongoing FBI investigation into his corrupt activities. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Now, one of my favorite parts of this story is Mr. Jefferson's quote, ""I did not seek the use of military assets to help me get around my city," Jefferson told ABC News. "There was shooting going on. There was sniping going on. They thought I should be escorted by some military guards, both to the convention center, the Superdome and uptown." Hmmm... so you're telling us that the military was so bored in this time of crisis that they had to search out people and offer to give them rides. They weren't busy out saving LIVES or anything. No, completely of their own volition, and not at all at the behest of the Congressman, they insisted on accompanying the man on his mission. The fact that a Lt. Colonel of the National Guard states clearly that this was done at the REQUEST of the Congressman, well... we're not supposed to believe HIM, are we? Of course not. Believe the corrupt city official who was failing in his duty to put the public interests ahead of his own. Yeah, there's a ringing endorsement. But does ol' Bill feel guilty about this? No. He. Does. Not. Guilt is, apparently, something only to be apportioned to racists, and as everyone knows, those who are either a) white, or b) Republican. Actually, you get a bonus for being a Republican... it's like sinking one from the 3 point line.

There was actually a point in all this. The race issue. According to a majority of the national and international media sources, and numerous celebrity opinions *hellooooooooooooo, Kanye West... words fail me*, every death that has occured can be put directly at the feet of racism. It's not the fact that this was a horrible natural disaster, or the fact that people of BOTH colors and BOTH political parties were not pulling together and making the right decisions in a timely manner, or, heaven forfend, the fact that there were people making poor choices when it came time to get the hell out of Dodge, opting instead to STAY. No, none of this is an issue. It's all about the *coughs* fact that most people are racist. The enormous amount of money that has flooded in for hurrican relief, from people of ALL colors and ALL cultural backgrounds, does nothing to lessen the violent diatribes directed at anyone who happens to be white or conservative. Sure, they'll take your money, but they reserve the right to call you a racist while they do it. It's their god given right to hate you and publicly lash out at you while still expecting your time, money, and effort to give them a better life.

When confronted with stories like the one above, showing incontrovertibly that dropping the ball and making bad decisions is not confined to people of any ONE race, their eyes glaze over and they figuratively stick their fingers in their ears while doing the 'nah nah nah nah nah nah' chant. They do not, by any means, wish to entertain the possibility that there is something inherently wrong with their argument. They want, quite simply, to hate. To blame. To avoid all responsibility and bring down anyone they can in the process, as long as it leaves them standing on top.

It looks like Star Parker agrees with me.

Where to Start…

Well. I was sitting here staring at the screen, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, when I figured out what the problem was. I keep going for the funny, out of habit, I suppose, when I'm not feeling even slightly amused. I'm just pissed. Politics tend to do that to me. You don't often see me address serious political and social issues in here simply because, contrary to what my regular writing might lead you to believe, I can't find the humor to cope with the injustice, malice, and simple lack of ethics I find myself confronted with in the media on any given day. I'm an intelligent woman with, by and large, a finely developed ability to work through problems in a logical manner. This, of course, causes me no end of headaches and frustration when dealing with things like ...

Hurricane Katrina.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am in no way, shape, or form a Republican. I support some conservative stances on a few issues, and I do tend to like the way Republicans argue a bit more *my apologies to people out there who loathe Republicans, and I know they are legion, but after immersing myself in both conservative talk radio and liberal talk radio, I know what I'm talking about... I can't listen to most liberals on the air without becoming so agitated that I just want to kick something. When I stop hearing a majority of liberals in the media making sweeping generalizations based on nothing but emotional response, as opposed to facts, I may shift my thinking*, but I am NO party member. I don't believe in the political party system. I think it's one of the worst things to happen to society since venereal disease. But that's just me.

Back to Katrina.

Since the hurricane hit we've all been subjected to an avalanche of blame directed solely at President Bush. I find this appalling. Not because the man may or may not have done anything wrong or negligent in this case, but simply because I find it disturbing on so many levels that people would let their political bias blind them to simple common sense. The President, while certainly a powerful figure, is not god. Shocking, but true. Yet the liberal media, and any part of the population that believes in entitlement over personal accountability, has seen fit to rest the sole burden of the devastation on the shoulders of our nation's leader. The sheer lack of knowledge it takes to do this is staggering. I'm wondering just how much magic they think the man has that he is suddenly expected to be everywhere at once, taking care of every single job, delegating NOTHING, operating by omniscience, to single handedly both forecast exactly what will be needed where ahead of time and then implement it's distribution after the fact. None of the local leaders are held accountable. No, they're let smoothly off the hook. It's just the President. I mean, it's not like the disaster was of an enormity that boggles the average person's mind, requiring unprecedented rescue and salvage efforts, food and aid on a scale never witnessed in this country, money beyond imagining, and a huge outpouring of both volunteers and military/state/federal personnel. No, apparently the disaster was small enough that one man, that being President Bush, was supposed to be able to take care of it all by himself. I mean, that's why they're all blaming him, right? There surely weren't local government officials that also handled things badly... or able bodied people in the affected areas that refused to leave when they were given warning... or residents who carried weapons and perpetrated horrible crimes on their own neighbors, taking advantage of a nightmare situation to inflate their own sense of power and profit... no, it was all President Bush. Apparently the man was supposed to rush in in a bus that seated roughly 40,000 people *I'd love to see that, by the way*, personally go house to house, or apartment to apartment, and carry each unwilling evacuee to the aforementioned bus. From there he was supposed to drive said bus to a safe destination, where he, again by himself, was supposed to procure the necessary supplies and feed the people he'd just retrieved, even though these people were NOT grateful to get out, but rather angry that they'd been forced to leave their homes. Sure, their homes are in the path of a Category 5 hurricane, but that's beside the point. Then, after feeding them, he was expected to rush in, strap on some protective gear, wade into the storm's approaching wrath, and shore up that levee so it would survive the impending onslaught. That done, he was supposed to, I suppose, then go and get his hands on the supplies those 40,000 people would need to survive for the indefinite future. Sure, he had no authority to do any of this, since the storm hadn't hit yet and the local government hadn't asked for the President's help, but he isn't supposed to be concerned with actually following the rules at this point. I guess. Once the storm passes, the President is also supposed to go in and mount a one man expedition to save all animals in danger, before attacking the job of cleaning up the city. Until the city is clean, he is expected to provide food, shelter, transportation, and money to all those people that evacuated with no plan of their own as to what to do with themselves once the storm passed. This will make his work cleaning the city up a little hard, time wise, but he's expected to manage it. Wait... maybe he IS god.

Okay, if this all sounds ridiculous, well, it SHOULD. If you think that this is an exaggeration, well, I'd love to agree with you, but the fact is that any person who has fixated on President Bush as a convenient target for finger pointing in this horrible time of confustion and destruction is guilty of using thier political preferences to shore up a screaming lack of logic. The man is just A MAN. He does what he can, but he canNOT, and should not be expected to, do everything himself. When you go to McDonald's, do you see the owner, alone, working the entire restaurant by himself, cooking, cleaning, serving, etc.? Well, of course not. This country is just a tad bit larger than your friendly neighborhood McDonald's. Isn't that what heads of departments are for? Charity groups? Local government? YOUR OWN NEIGHBORS? Since when is it the government's job to take an ass kicking for every person who demonstrates a notable lack of SENSE? You had people down there, MANY people, who CHOSE not to leave... thought they'd just wait out that pesky storm. Yet now, of course, the media blames President Bush for the loss of lives. News flash, people... Category 5 hurricane on the way, YOU LEAVE. This is obviously only aimed at the able bodied, so I don't want to hear someone bring up those with disabilities. Those were NOT the majority of the people still in the city when the hurricane hit. Storm that size is coming, I don't care if you have to walk, crawl, or ride a tricycle, you get OUT! Deciding to stay and then blaming someone else when you end up stranded in a flooded city, with no access to food, sanitary facilities, or communication, is just wrong on an exponentially large level. Do people who did this deserve help? No question. But do they deserve help AND the right to blame someone else for their plight when it is, at least in part, due to their own decisions? Not a chance.

I think it's only right that we do what we can to help the victims of this latest nightmare of nature. We should all be doing whatever we can, helping to rebuild where possible and aid the transition for those who are going to have to relocate permanently to other parts of the country. Clean up the affected area. Try to ensure that other high risk areas are prepared to the best of their abilities in the future, so this doesn't happen again, if it can be avoided. But helping others is not mutually inclusive with blaming someone for their problems. It is neither a crime nor a sin to acknowledge that people made bad decisions in this situation. It doesn't mean they don't deserve help, and it doesn't mean I, or others, care about them any less. The people who stayed behind in New Orleans don't have the market cornered on stupid decisions. I've made more than one in my life. I don't understand this need the media, among other groups, has to make the survivors even bigger victims than they already are. The people lost their HOMES, many lost family members, beloved pets, businesses... isn't that being victimized enough? Do we really need to make it seem that their problems are magnified and directly tracked to one man... the President? Does that help in ANY way? Other than being completely illogical, and giving people absolutely no credit for or expectation of being able to take care of themselves, there's just the fact that it is nothing but a tool for further division in this country, a tool that those reaching for power are rushing to use in any way they can, regardless of the ethics, honesty, or benefit to the public. It's disgusting.

And don't even get me started on the race issue. I may have to address that when I'm a little more cool under the collar.