say one thing, do another: the Bush NOLA plan

from the Washington Post:

The Bush administration said yesterday that the cost of rebuilding New Orleans’s levees to federal standards has nearly tripled to $10 billion and that there may not be enough money to fully protect the entire region…The news represents a shift for the administration; President Bush had pledged in the weeks after Hurricane Katrina to rebuild New Orleans “higher and better.”

That’s odd…there seems to be plenty of money for tax cuts and the continuing debacle in Iraq. If we could only somehow extract oil from the poor and black population of New Orleans, I bet the levees would already be rebuilt, 100 feet tall, and capable of withstanding a Category 14.

The loss of coastal wetlands protecting New Orleans from storms, as well as the lowering of the ground level in the area, have reduced the city’s natural safeguards from flooding — and altered assumptions.

Alas, wetlands, where did you go? You are “lost” and we cannot find you. Nobody knows what happened to you; you just disappeared. Well, maybe the developers who purposely destroyed them and the government that permitted it could clue us in.

Donald E. Powell, the administration’s rebuilding coordinator, said some areas may be left without the protection of levees strong enough to meet requirements of the national flood insurance program. Those areas probably would face enormous obstacles in attracting home buyers and investors willing to build there.

In the conference call yesterday, Powell reiterated the promise that the levees will be at least as strong as they were designed to be before Hurricane Katrina hit on Aug. 29.

“If a hurricane such as Katrina hit the area, there would not be catastrophic flooding,” he said. But, he said, there might be some “manageable” flooding.

See, it will be ok. Since they’ll be at least as strong as they were designed to be before Katrina, we’ll only have that bothersome “manageable” flooding, like we had in August of 2005. Ah, those were the days, eh?

those poor, poor pharmaceutical companies

Why is it that pharmaceutical companies argue that they need strict patent controls so that they can innovate, when they spend 2.5 times more money on advertising directly to consumers than they do on R&D?

Does anyone actually think it’s reasonable for people to be “ask[ing] [their] doctor if (insert brand-name drug here) is right for [them]?” Aren’t doctors supposed to perform the diagnosis and prescribe what’s appropriate?

Tobacco companies can’t market directly to consumers on television anymore, because it’s illegal. I think it’s time that pharmaceutical companies went back to the business of manufacturing pharmaceuticals and lost the privilege to market direct to the public.

my prediction

I think we’re on the cusp of an entirely new era of history that will be remarkable for many things: redefinition of morality and humanity; technology achieving mastery over biology; a shift from non-renewable to renewable energy use; widespread disease, drought, and famine; and violence more pervasive than humans have ever seen. Oh, and Jesus is going to come and take Pat Robertson and his flock away from us, finally allowing Democrats to regain control over Congress and wipe out the Armies of Compassion once and for all with their Tax-And-Spendotron 9000 Anti-Faith Tactical Quantum Gayifier.

Have a nice day.

how to choose your online personal ad nickname

1. Choose an adjective. “sassy” is a good bet, since only approximately 40% of the other women have chosen it.
2. Choose among:
   • lolita
   • girl
   • grrl
   • grrrrlygurlygizzidygirl
3. Now pick a number. This should either be the year of your birth or the number suggested to you by the service, since you picked the same unoriginal nickname as the 548 people before you.

Having not spent much time browsing personal ads for dudes, I can’t really provide any pointers for guys. I can only suggest that you use my nickname as an example: PlayahSqueeze673.

Flying Without Wings

I awoke this morning with a start, the way I do nearly every Thursday morning, to the sound of a nearby diesel engine. This is the sound of the garbage truck, which means that I’m about to lose my chance to rid myself of my refuse for an additional week. I sprang out of bed and did the deed. Today the task was accompanied by the memory of a strange dream.

I don’t usually remember entire dreams — just pieces of them, or just the end. In this case, it was the latter. I was on a flat rooftop, observing a second flat rooftop about 10 feet below me and to the right. There were about 3 people on that roof, including a man standing alone: Gretchen’s friend Adam, whom I’ve never met. The other two people, who were standing further to my right and near the edge of their roof, seemed to be assistants of some sort. Adam was passionately singing, with full orchestral accompaniment:

so, impossible as they may seem / you’ve got to fight for every dream / ’cause who’s to know which one you let go / would have made you complete

It was being delivered with all the panache of a Broadway show, naturally; Adam’s a stage professional. As he reached the climax of the ending, he dropped to his knees, closed his fists, leaned his torso back, and delivered the final lyric with its dramatic rallentando…

and that’s the joy you bring / I’m fly-y-y-y-ing with-out wi-ings

…as his assistants hoisted a gleaming, moist, plucked, ready-to-cook whole chicken and tossed it high into the air over of the side of the roof.

It was beautiful. My guess is that the material for this dream came at least in part from overhearing an episode of American Idol in the background as I worked on Lance’s computer last night.