Author: Richard

Lest we forget: New Orleans Firefighters

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It’s possible that the New Orleans Fire Department needs a better publicist, but more likely, I haven’t been paying attention. If I had, I might’ve noticed the 2009 New Orleans Firefighters Look Hot Calendar, which includes:


Hello, March!

Who am I kidding? I cast a very wide net: HELLO JANUARY THROUGH DECEMBER!

I can only assume that they’ll send me a review copy of the 2010 version.

[Thanks, Jeremy]

Good news for New Orleanians (maybe)

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Apparently, New Orleans City Business covered this Cold Storage story last week, although they’ve just posted an update on their WordPress (freebie WordPress!?!) blog. Keeping up with the Joneses, the Picayune has now pubbed an article of its own:

Facing mounting opposition to the construction of a poultry exporting operation at the foot of the French Market, the Port of New Orleans is looking for a new home for New Orleans Cold Storage.

Port administrators are asking tenants along the Mississippi River if they could make room on their property for the company, which the port fears will leave New Orleans without a new headquarters. New Orleans Cold Storage is the port’s second-largest customer.

“They’ve made it very clear that they’re going to continue to oppose this, and we’re going to see what the other alternatives are,” port spokesman Chris Bonura said of residents in the French Quarter, Marigny and Bywater. Signs emblazoned with the message ‘Poison Port’ can be seen posted throughout the neighborhoods.

There are no guarantees that the port will find another home for New Orleans Cold Storage, Bonura said, and the company may very well end up on the Gov. Nicholls Street and Esplanade Avenue wharves as planned.

But the fact that the port is even considering a new home for the company represents an aboutface for the agency, which just a few months ago said that the wharves near the French Quarter were the only option for New Orleans Cold Storage.

— NOLA.com

But really, who cares who ran the story first? We’re close, y’all! Not out of the woods, but, you know, cross those fingers.

She’s here all week. Try the veal.

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The [North Korean] spokesman called Clinton “by no means intelligent” and a “funny lady.”

— CNN

Interesting. In America, we know Clinton to be not only very intelligent, but also not very funny. In fact: not funny at all. Well, except in photos (check the volume, kids):

Then again, maybe the guy was doing his best Mickey Rooney/Krusty the Clown, Asian Guy impersonation: “She velly funny lady.” Live the stereotype, dude.

An Open Letter To My Brain

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Hi, Brain:

Perhaps you remember me? We talk all the time? Sometimes I pay attention to you, sometimes I don’t. A lot of people say I should listen to you more often, but I say that’s dull and boring. Also: it’s the sort of thing that lands people in trouble. Robert Oppenheimer did nothing but listen to his Brain, and look where it got him. Not to mention us. You know: humanity and stuff.

Anyway, I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to talk about your playlists.

I don’t know if you’ve glanced at my iTunes collection recently, or any of my Pandora streams, but if you have, you might’ve noticed a curious lack of Whitney Houston songs. On closer inspection, however, you’ll see that the absence isn’t curious at all. Her music isn’t there because I hate her.

Really, truly hate her.

I don’t care that Whitney’s had it rough. I don’t care that she’s got a stellar voice. I don’t care that she’s a belter. All I care about is that her music is the music of awful things and awful people (with the exception of Opal Vanderhurst’s drag performance to “I’m Every Woman”, during which she’d drop her top and parade her silicone tits — backalley injections, not surgical implants — around the dining room of Lucky Cheng’s for the benefit of sheltered tourists from Nebraska). Whitney is the music of sorority girls and mixers and forced merriment and people who probably would’ve had a lot to say, if only they weren’t so busy artfully ripping their jeans.

To be fair, “diva” music isn’t my thing. In fact, I find it pretty loathsome. Annie, Aretha, Celine, Mariah: this is the music I dodge like Ebola. And out of all those divas — self-proclaimed and otherwise — Whitney is the Queen. Off with the bitch’s head, I say.

Anyway, if I hear one more chorus of “Saving All My Love For You”, you’re getting a big fat dose of Tylenol PM. Or a lobotomy. Whichever is easier.

You’ve been warned.

xoxoxo
Richard

P.S. In place of Whitney, please substitute calculus. I would like to know calculus now. Thanks.