I read the T-P every morning, and that obviously leads to mixed moods for the day. This morning, I read the above headline and flipped out. Before I could even think about how absurd the prospect is, I was screaming, “that dick,” as he’s been on my shitlist since he began his misguided (In My Humble Opinion) pursuit of Anna Pou and the nurses. Of course, after I ranted to E about how I couldn’t believe it, I opened the paper and saw above the fold that the full headline was “Breaux turns to Foti in race for governor.” That makes more sense, but at least I got my heart pumping right away.
Other observations from today’s fishwrap:
Leonard Pitts is the best columnist working, and I’ve written about him before. Today’s slam on W et al. is excellent as always, and he threw us this little bone in a column about the admin’s reframing of the issues to serve their purposes:
As the sins of Team Bush go, this isn’t the biggest. That dishonor goes either to bungling the war, mismanaging the peace, or leaving New Orleans to drown.
No wonder W didn’t mention us in the SOTU. Prick.
I know it won’t convince the world that we’re worth paying attention to, and maybe it’s deckchair rearrangement, but I like the idea of the “Fleur de lis” ambassadors who will be visiting cities and meeting with editorial boards and the like about their coverage of our city. I’m not sure Ron Forman could be a very convincing ambassador for anything, but I’m proud to work with Norman Francis and Michael White, both of whom are damn good people. They both lost everything from their homes in a lifetime of distinguished careers, and yet they keep on doing their thing with grace. I’m sure people have issues with Francis, and I sure wish he was a less top-down leader, but I believe he’s a sincere and skillful one without ulterior motives to speak of. White is one of the real keepers of the flame and takes the relatively unglamorous title of Spanish professor, but all the while he’s putting his money where his mouth is and doing the right thing.
In Sports, we see that Kobe lit up the Hornets for 50 and that Big Baby was in attendance. I was at the game, and Kobe’s performance was simply the best I’ve seen. He just can’t miss. Also, from my vantage point, I could see the crack of Big Baby’s ass through my binocs when he sat down. That’s my brush with greatness for the day.
I resisted the temptation to bring to the game a sign saying, “Clean It Up, Copeland.” If you haven’t been to a Hornets game, you’ve missed out on the glory of Copeland at a game. He watches about 20% of it, his extensively peeled ruddy face with its pulled-and-plumped fishlips between a surgically planted and chemically blackened head of hair and a very expensive fitted silk shirt. This season, his companion is a similarly unnatural looking youngster. Like many things, he was amusingly bizarre before the storm, and now he’s a symbol of abuse and neglect, with his “restaurants” sitting unrepaired and unoccupied. The rest of the country likes to complain about the poor black New Orleanians who didn’t have the wherewithal to get out, but the real problem is the rich whites only interested in their own gig. Asshole.
I usually read Living last, since it’s the “dessert” of the paper. I’m definitely going to check out John Biguenet’s new play at Southern Rep. Rising Water sounds terrific.
And is anyone else discouraged by the recent decline in quality of Rose Is Rose?