We’re firing up the air conditioners tonight, for the first time since Katrina shut ’em down. It’s only 86 degrees in our living room, but Xy’s a wimp. Plus our ceiling fans are still out of commission (along with all our overhead electrical wiring). I guess Summer has begun.


At least one person understood the true purpose of my Jazz Fest heresy: whoring for free tickets. Thanks, Howie! Xy and I had a good time. We stayed for all of an hour and a half, had a good lunch, and left just before it rained.

Day Without Immigrants

This “Day Without Immigrants” is a risky gambit. It will surely alienate many Americans. But I love to see the little guy flexing his muscles and sticking it to The Man — even if The Man is, by extension, me.


After months of calling and begging, we’re finally getting home delivery of the Times-Picayune again — more or less. They started us up ten days ago. Of those ten days, the newspaper has actually been delivered seven times. Still, it beats hunting down a stocked box every morning.