I predict a riot

Well, so much for the Summer of George. This weekend marks the end of mental vacation for me. Inappropriately enough, I will commemorate my final weekend of freedom by destroying some brain cells tonight. It is clearly a mistake, but I am going to a trendoid place that is probably going to drive me insane. I hate bars that get so crowded that you feel like people are molesting you just to get from their booth to the bar. But, enough about me and my personal space issues.

After a brief trip to oodles’ lovely, charming abode yesterday, I reconsidered the fortress of solitude which I currently call home. I like the neighborhood; I love some aspects of my old, beaten-down apartment. But it’s not spacious by any definition. And that’s the reality of living by oneself in this city. It’s certainly enough space for me. A recent purge of clothes to goodwill revealed just how much storage space I have for junk. But it’s not the kind of place to throw soirees… or blogpotlucks (TM Saheli) for that matter. I’ll probably just continue to whine about this fact, rather than actually moving. I’ve been whining so much lately that it surprises me that I found something additional to whine about. Poor maisnon had to listen to a heaping helping of whine and cheese yesterday. It’s particularly uncool to complain to someone who is stressed for justifiable reasons. But I did it anyway, because I’m a jerk like that. Yeehaw.

There's the usual whining, which is an excellent cover for the energy wave I'm still riding. But then there's the unusual rage. Of all the outrageous things about Hurricane Katrina, there is one single quote that just infuriated me beyond all else. That quote was from one Barbara Bush, mother of He who I will not discuss here today so that I do not spontaneously combust:

"Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this, this is working very well for them," Mrs. Bush told American Public Media's "Marketplace" program, before returning to her multi-million dollar Houston home.

I actually heard this quote on playback on television, and nearly jumped off my couch in, well, shock and awe. There is an audible amused laugh that can be heard from Mrs. Bush as she makes this remark. I mean, great, we've got people in the Astrodome, awesome! This is way better than the cardboard boxes some of them were living in. They should be grateful that they lost the only homes that they knew. What's even further astounding by this is the sheer lack of regard for people's sense of home. Personally, I never much cared for the place where I was raised. But I knew people who were deeply attached to their place of residence, more so than their actual residence in fact. That is a very human reaction to living somewhere for a long time, living in a place where generations before you may have lived. So, are only the economically affluent entitled to that feeling of attachment? It's okay for Trent Lott to rebuild his house, but the poor should simply be content wherever they've been shipped off? Ugggh... truth be told, I do not like to feel this angry, the Samuel Jackson furious anger type of rage. But that little soundbyte sent me over the edge. And no amount of FEMA head dismissals will quell me at this point, frankly.

It's a weird juxtaposition. I feel very lucky that I've recently somehow managed to meet a bunch of bloggers in real life who are cool, normal, genuinely good people. But at the same time, my faith in the good of mankind wanes when I hear the kind of blackhearted ignorance that spewed out of Barbara Bush's mouth without a moment's hesitation. I want to give everyone the benefit of doubt, but the cynic within keeps getting validated. Bring on the vodka.