Leftovers and Then Some

As it rains Bengal tigers and Great Danes on this mid autumn Oregonian evening, I have some catching up to do. If I were to say "Here goes nothing", you have every right to turn this off right now. Instead, I'll press on like a cheap fake fingernail.

Not since Twin Peaks has there been a TV series right up Cherney alley like HBO's The Leftovers. I got hooked on this during a late summer vacay to Denver, though I only caught the first season, but this damn thing haunted me from the moment I feasted my eyes and brains upon it. Based on Tom Perotta's novel, this odd duck of a program about the aftermath of what could or could not have been The Rapture is everything I want in a show and more. At turns weird, dramatic, satirical, touching, maddening, funny, brutal, confusing and most of all melancholy, The Leftovers owes its success in my eyes to not several people. Naturally it begins with Perotta's source material, but enough cannot be said for the Herculean efforts of showrunner Damon Lindelof. The cast is absolutely magnificent with not a sour apple in the whole crazy bunch-Justin Theroux, Carrie Coon, Amy Brennerman, my new girlfriend Ann Dowd and a career topping performance by Scott Glenn. I fell so madly in love with this, I headed to my nearest library for season two as soon as I returned from Colorado, then got HBO for a month for the grand fiinale. Totally worth it.

I've had a hankerin' (no g required) for some New Orleans fare for many a year. I don't know if I'll ever get

to that part of the world, but I've craved some of the delectable cuisine to the point that I considered running away with the circus until Ringling Brothers went out of business and Cirque du Soleil said "Non!" Anyway, I got my wish when my stepson Matt treated my wife and I to an evening at Acadia, a New Orleans bistro here in Portland. Oh cher, this was some good eatin' (again, sans g).

The barbecue shrimp starter about did me in as I dipped my bread in its devious broth of butter, pepper, lemon and white wine, filling me to the point that I was almost too stuffed for the entree. But I roughed it with an amazing jambalaya. My wife went for a soft shell blue crab and crawfish etoufee while Matt dug into a nice fat pork chop that would choke your mama if she had trouble chewin'. (no g spot here neither) Dessert was a bread pudding from heaven with a sauce to die for which justified the heaven reference. Top this off with some delicious (and potent) bar beverages and four star customer service, Acadia gave us the best dining experience in years.

I had the good fortune of having yet another theater group tackle one of my scripts, Murder: The Final Frontier. The Brickstreet Players of Clovis, New Mexico came in right after Song of the Canyon Kid closed in Minnesota to announce their desire to produce said murder mystery this October, making it the second production of this show this year. And it went right back to its roots as a Halloween offering. So thank you to Brickstreet as well as the Mantorville Theatre Company, San Luis Valley Theater Company and Sugar High Theatricals for a great year.

That's four shows in four different states. This is like the Electoral College. I could get elected this way.

Katrina's a Nasty Bitch

Welcome to the Department of Redundancy as just one more blog about the country's worst disaster, the one, the only Mother of All Ball Busting Whores, Hurricane Katrina. What can be said that hasn't been said by better (and maybe worse)bloggers than myself? Probably not a helluva lot, though isn't it interesting that this occurred near the same time of the OTHER big story of the 21st Century, that being 9/11. Oh you remember 9/11, don't you? It was in all the papers. You recall that this country was sucker punched in the heart by a band of scum-sucking rat bastards and how, ever so briefly, time positively stopped and we all looked at each other in a brand new light. There was a unity that hadn't existed in my lifetime and for once, I was actually proud to be an American.

Of course, pride, being what it is, has a tendency to overrule other emotions and, more often than not, common sense. As time wore on, so did the swelling of the chest when the realization that not only were things back where they were, they were even worse. Comparisons between the two disasters are not so readily apparent. It lies in the difference between PRIDE and SHAME. I guess we can handle ourselves during UN-natural disasters. As far as something that happens naturally...like the freakish weather, well, it may depend on not only the color of your skin, but the amount in your wallet. Class warfare still exists as much today as racism.

Oh, but we can't play The Blame Game, can we? No siree. (Hey, wouldn't that be a great show on The Game Show Network? It's The Blame Game w/ Chuck Woolery! ) I don't care who blames who anymore. Just get the goddamn job done and help the South rise again. Come on, W. Them states that need the most help are RED, ain't they?

By the way, what the hell was he doing in the early stages anyway-listening to an audio book version of MY PET GOAT? He reminds me of a character from the very first Pee Wee Herman Show broadcast on HBO in the eighties. Pee Wee showed an old educational film about manners featuring a character named Mr. Bungle (in the manner of Highlights magazine's Goofus and Gallant) Mr. Bungle couldn't do anything right. . George W. Bungle. He can't do nothin' right! Well, he did manage to get himself re-elected.

Celebrities are out in force too, pitching where needed and not necessarily wanted by the Powers That Be, but some are really showing what they're made of. Oprah and her Army are there, but that's expected. As much as I rake her over the coals on a regular basis, there's no denying she has a huge heart and thankfully, deep pockets. Two weeks ago, I would slapped Sean Penn across the nutsack with a Cricket paddle for going to Iran for another left wing travelogue, but now I want to shake his hand for actually rescuing survivors. Was it just for publicity? Who knows? It still happened and people are still alive for his efforts. Then there's all the fund raising that I hope gets in to the right hands because as we all have learned, you trust the bureaucracies, can we? As for Kanye West's comments about Bush, who gives a shit? I think he scared poor Mike Myers who hasn't been seen since.

There's a turd with a microphone, an ultra conservative talk show host here in Portland named Lars Larson. Now I will him credit for his fund raising efforts with the Salvation Army last week, but to hear him speak, he may want to make sure this money goes to those survivors with a lighter skin tone. There was talk of bringing about 1000 survivors here in Oregon, putting them up in a deserted school. One of the great mistakes here right now is a brand new jail that's been inexplicably sitting empty since it was built. Some dope suggested putting the evacuees in the new jail, ignoring the possible psychological ramifications of such a move. Well, Ol' Lars thought it was a swell idea because after all, "Who's to say what percentage of the evacuees might be criminals anyway?" Hey Lars, if that doesn't pan out, how about a nice INTERNMENT CAMP? Worked out real good for the Japanese! Or better yet, let's give some vacant spots over in Guantanamo Bay. I hear the food there is just delish.

The more I hear, the more I see, I really think we're headed for some kind of a civil war. United we stand, divided we fall...

If that happens, then the hurricanes have won.