Well, Mission Accomplished as far as getting a modest number of beads at Zulu...then I watched a bit of Rex after lunch in the Quarter until, alas, circumstances forced a measure of responsibility: I was doing the driving myself, there was the threat of weather (yet to arrive, but they say big storms are approaching), etc. etc.--I can drink tonight while watching Super Tuesday returns with Tigger.
Still, sigh. For all its troubles, New Orleans is...delicious. And damnit, even though I hate driving (and who wouldn't, with all the lunatics on the road?), I've got to make a point of getting to the city more often. There's a certain je ne sais quoi that's unlike anywhere else I've ever been.
Anyway, as I rolled up Airline and WWOZ faded, I tuned to NPR for Some Things Considered and heard reports about "record voter turnouts," complete with selected interviews. Almost to a person, and in places you'd never think, people talked about how tired they were of the fearmongering, the criminal cynicism, the shame and embarrassment of the last eight years (mixed in was a report that CIA director Hayden confirmed the needless use of waterboarding).
Maybe, just maybe, enough people in this country have decided enough is enough. And the "legacy" of one George W. Shrub Bush will be "just go away." Leave. Don't come back, and we don't really give a damn if the door hits you on the way out.
Of course, there's the unbelievable mess, some of which will take a lot of work to clean, some of which can never be cleaned: the obscene waste of lives, the needless squandering of money, the sheer petty, third-world "el presidente"-like ineptitude. But the first step is admitting there's a problem, and it appears that the public finally realizes that, despite his media enablers, and a Democratic Party "opposition" that's the equivalent of lukewarm mush on soggy milquetoast...the public realizes that the problem is George Bush, and the sooner January 20, 2009 rolls around, the better.
In the meantime, good heavens, let's hope that enough roadblocks can be put in place to keep him from, well, fucking up anything else he touches.
Years ago, I used to wonder how badly things would get in a Dan Quayle presidency. Well, I think we now know the answer...it's been like a Quayle administration on steroids.
Anyway, happy Mardi Gras, and happy Mardi Super. Time to me to hit the bottle, and for Tigger to enjoy some canned food.
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