For the last few days, and probably for a few days yet to come, there's been no dearth of articles, op-eds, blog posts, and, oh yeah, TV shows and specials, on "Katrina: One Year Later". Maybe you've noticed.
These things are important, both to remind us of the continuing plight of the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast, of the sheer incompetence and utter waste of resources by this administration, and of the need for dialog on race and class prejudice that has been flying under the nation's radar for far too long.
I've been reading and watching a whole lot of stuff on the topic, and it has had unintended consequences.
Last night, I had a horrible, life-changing nightmare. I dreamed that Fixer had his arm around my shoulder and said to me, "You're doing a heckuva job, Gordy".
I like being part of the Brain, and would not like to have to resign in disgrace.
A disclaimer that may be my only hope of survival: I'm certainly not equating Fixer with Bush! Not only would he kill me, I'd deserve it! He'd be acquitted by any court in the land on the grounds that it was justifiable, even mandatory, homicide. Hey, dreams are weird.
I sat bolt upright in bed so fast the windows shook from the passage of wind. The 'passage of wind' is not at all an uncommon occurrence at my house, but this one was remarkable even for me.
I wondered what I might have done wrong in my life, and how I was going to fix it in the unlikely event I figured out which instance caused this. I prayed for forgiveness for the first time ever.
Finally, it came to me: don't eat a pork-and-jalapeño burrito with guacamole, sour cream, and a generous helping of fruta y vinagra just before bedtime. Or maybe it was the three fish tacos. Anyway, I drifted back into the arms of Morpheus and slept like a baby.
Oh, one other thing: Fixer, do I get a medal?