Here comes Daniel:

Just an observation: Shock wears off. People begin blinking. Soon, maybe tomorrow, lots of folks will shake off the awful oh-my-God-what-just-happened-to-me feeling. Beware!

Tempers will flare. Tears held back by a miraculous calm will start to flow. Drivers will rediscover rage. Grief. Despair. Insane laughter. After a little while, equilibrium returns. But this may be a bad weekend. Perform random acts of kindness. Commit senseless acts of beauty. We’re going to need ’em.

And, I may be wrong. I hope so. But around town today I saw people looking up. Things that hurt too much to bear stirred in their eyes, promising to be borne. An edge crept into people’s voices. So watch out. Be kind. Remember the first law of the sea.

That, as I learned it, was always to render aid to anyone in need. That seems a wise rule, and a fair one, for we are all shipmates in a storm. We are all shipmates in a storm, and the sea is very dark, and very deep, and very forever. So be safe, and render aid in need. God bless.

Before I start here, I am going to reference this post.

Now that my anger is in some kind of bounds, I'm gonna give it to the big boys.

You expected it, you wanted it, and you helped create it.

You sorry, silly MFs, I hope you suffer from this day forward.

Go cover Britney's baby. That's where you shine.

Bush's speech is putting Charlie right to sleep.

Today is the first anniversary of hurricane Ivan.

Our condo complex is still recovering a year later. Some units still don't have windows.

Some places near Pensacola, where the hurricane hit hardest, are still a mess.

Mercy.

Michael and his girl carried chicken and dumplings to my brother last night, then he called them back for margaritas.

There is good news in our little city. One yellow ribbon that I know of is coming down this week.

These lyrics bear repeating, not for my sake:

I left a good job in the city
Working for the man every night and day
And I never lost one minute of sleeping
Worrying ’bout the way things might have been

Big wheel keep on turning
Proud mary keep on burning
And we’re rolling, rolling
Rolling on the river

Cleaned a lot of plates in memphis
Pumped a lot of tane down in new orleans
But I never saw the good side of the city
Till I hitched a ride on a riverboat queen

Big wheel keep on turning
Proud mary keep on burning
And we’re rolling, rolling
Rolling on the river

If you come down to the river
I bet you gonna find some people who live
You don’t have to worry if you got no money
People on the river are happy to give

Well yes, I did quote that for my sake.

Now for a little cheer from Shellie Rushing Tomlinson, who has been working hard as a volunteer at a shelter in Lake Providence:

"Jury of Your Peers"

I just got off the phone with my cousin Katherine in Arkansas. Katherine's one of those people I call when I need a laugh. She's a good story-teller and she works as a stenographer at the courthouse, so she always has a couple good ones to tell.

This morning she was telling me about a recent case that came to trial. The defendant is not very well liked in their town. Katherine said to change the names here if I used her story, so we'll call him Lenny. From all accounts, Lenny has been a pain in the town's collective back side for a long time. Everyone knows his word is worthless and his handshake means nothing. He'd rather climb a tree and tell a lie than stand on the ground and tell the truth.

Lenny's lawyer knew how the town felt about his client. He tried to have the case moved to another jurisdiction but the judge denied the appeal so they went to trial. After three days of intense testimony the jury retired. Katherine said the door hadn't shut on them good when they sent word to the judge that they had reached a verdict. A few minutes everyone watched while the jury filed back in the courtroom and took their seats.

The judge addressed the foreman, "Sir, has the jury reached a decision?"

"We have your honor."

"Would you please read it to the court?"

"Yes sir, in our opinion, we don't think Lenny did it because we don't believe evidence has been shown that he was there. But we would like the court to know that we're all pretty sure he would have if he'd been given a shot at it."

How about life in a small town?

Early yesterday, a uniformed gentleman with the electric company knocked on the door, and told me that a limb was laying on a power line, and that power would be cut at 4 p.m. for about ten minutes during removal.

And so it came to pass.

Daniel Morris is on the blogroll at left because he is coping with the effects of Katrina on his home in Slidell, LA, hard hit by the hurricane.

We both forgot until a friend called that today is Lyman's birthday. For several years that day has been in shadow.

What did he do for the dinner? He helped plan and did all the shopping (under summat adverse conditions). Picked chicken.

The boy is cool. I like him.

UPDATE: When I say adverse conditions, I mean he had to buy 2 2-lb. bags of flour rather than a five pound. There were no large jars of olives at Wal-mart, of all places. "Janis, I could only find two hens at the store, but I found these three large fryers."

He didn't have to bribe with my body, or anything close. (Which might have obtained for us half a pound of pinto beans.)

Oh, and I learned that chicken and dumplings are not a comfort staple in New Orleans as they are up here.

There were several people who hadn't tasted them before, and they liked them.

And I learned that I am too old to make a career in food service.

Egads, my back.

I learned that Michael and his girl will step up and pitch in. They took over salad duties.

I learned that Fritz Schranck is the only one of you who has a clue about portions.

Thanks, Fritz.

I made the chicken and dumplings chock full of chicken for good protein. I prefer more dumplings, but I also haven't been homeless for two weeks.

We used two hens and five of the biggest fryers we could find, and turned up with something near six gallons.

As it turned out, only about 30 people showed, but there was plenty to feed 20 more. Luckily, the main dish freezes well. If we can find the space.

First of all, I learned that you can feed people a respectable Sunday dinner that you might make at home for about $2.50 a head.

The green salad was a hit.

The base was mixed iceberg, green leaf and red leaf lettuce, colored with grated carrot.

We set up a salad bar so people could make choices. Choices were: grape tomatoes, celery, cucumber, radishes, red onions, green olives and Bac-o's, with a choice of Ranch or Thousand Island dressing. The church supplied the dressings, and didn't tell us there was no Italian until too late.

One woman said it was a long time since she had seen a tomato.

And in a horrible time when people depend on the goodwill of others, they had at least a few options.

Geez, what a learning curve.

How weird am I?

I had a dream after I came home from Dallas.

Lucy started talking. I mean talking like you and I talk to one another.

Her voice was that of an educated Hispanic young woman, I'd say 21-22, a native Spanish speaker.

I asked her why she hadn't talked before. She said she was afraid that I would exploit her, but that she was reassured.

Calling Mr. Freud, please. Honk, tweet.

Work as you will at being strong, but Chris's 8-year-old has me crying out loud:

My 8 yr old sobbed holding his favorite beannie babies and stuffed animals. I told him he didn't have to give anything away if it would make him so sad. And he said that as sad as it was making him, he knew that there were other kids even sadder and his favorite toys might make them feel a little better. As he put them into the box he kissed them one by one and told them to enjoy their adventure.

OK, kids, I need some help.

I have never cooked for a big group of people.

How many gallons of chicken and dumplings to feed 50 people?

Assignment due Sunday evening.

Hmmmm.

Why not?

By way of Sean Kinsell, here's an account of a couple's stay at the Superdome, from Michael Demmons.

(Funny how those gay people write just like everybody else. May not even be left-handed, you know?)

But, I am a mother. So, when Michael and his girl came in to borrow a pot for soup, I said, "Merry Christmas!"

Because I had found a perfect pot on sale (Calphalon, hard-anodized, 8-quart, $19.99, Amazon) and stored it in the closet.

He's a big boy. He can handle it.

You know, I'm feeling a little sick.

I spoke to Craig Johnson today. He is on the ground in New Orleans. His business is heating and cooling, and he is working on a building there.

He lost everything once in Camille, and he is running a little thin.

He asks for prayers.

Another day.

I received an e-mail from a woman in Arkansas today who bought a parrot from the Johnsons. She hadn't heard and was worried.

She told me she is willing to help them any way she can.

I was able to reassure her that they are fine.

Another instance of small blogs.

Our local grocery chain offers a stamp for every $10 worth of groceries you buy.

I've been collecting these things for years, but haven't filled my books to redeem them. Each book is worth a $5 discount at the store.

When these are filled, I'm interested in finding local households where people are keeping relatives, friends and strangers.

UPDATE: $95

Scott Chaffin asks that we post his offer again. He has property in Glen Rose, just south of Dallas, with RV hookups.

Please consider donating, for long-term use, your idle RV or travel trailer. We are opening our park to our good neighbors from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama who have lost so much in Hurricane Katrina. We have RV hookups available for their use, but we don’t have RVs. Your donation can make all the difference in the world to people who are looking for a place to call home for a few weeks or months as they sort through the aftermath. It’s absolutlely crucial that we all work together to help out our friends and family. Please email (info@buckbrazos.com) or call (254-898-2825) if you’re able and willing to help out. We can help make arrangements for getting your RV or fifth-wheel to our place. Buck loves to drive.

Pass the word, please. I’m just one dude. Make it ationwide, too. I expect that there are more RV parks and campgrounds like mine that can take this kind of idea and run with it, just like we’re doing here.

I haven't met Mr. Chaffin in person, but I've read his blog for years. Nothing leads me to suspect he's doing a thing but trying to help people here.

Something I haven't seen elsewhere.

Radley Balko suggests donating to Modest Needs which can help those householders keeping evacuees in their homes.

I finally got through to the Johnsons today.

They have many trees down and old oaks uprooted, but nothing hit the house, where 15 people stayed. All the people are fine. All the birds are fine.

Craig's sister's house in Bay St. Louis is a slab. Cousins also lost theirs.

Shellie Tomlinson has requested that everyone search for relatives or friends of a young woman staying now in Lake Providence:

Tara Lee
African-American
DOB 7-16-82
Address in New Orleans:
4927 Perrier St.
NO, LA 70115
She is eight months pregnant

Contact number in Lake Providence - 318-559-4030

Her name is in the Red Cross database. Check with your local shelters to see if there is someone who knows this young woman.

Here is a link to Louisiana newspapers.

I went down to the local church where about 40 people are staying. The one thing the staffers could think of that they needed right now is long-distance minutes.

I guess when you're not hungry or filthy or exposed, you want most to keep touch with your loved ones.

What a pretty story in dark days. Thank you, Mr. Farber.

Sean Kinsell reminds me to be kind.

This is from the comment thread from Brendan Loy's post below:

Brown is incompetant. And did cost lives. No chain of command exists. I worked the rescue boats on Wednesday. It was impossible to get large boats across the railroad between south of 610 and north of I10. We carried small boats across but if you put a boatman and two LE in a boat then you only have room for 4 or 5 refugees, if someone bails. We could have crossed large boats with the help of an excavauter or backhoe that drove along the tracks from the high ground westof Metarie. When I told this to the search and rescue team leaders on site they all thought that it was a good idea. They recommended that I tell Mike Brown. Are you kidding me? I am a 1SG in the USAR. If I have an idea on how to save lives in a combat situation I don't wait to talk to Donald Rumsfield. Government is not the solution. We had over 300 boats from Acadiana and 75% were turned around at the launch site. A local politician (state senator) organized the boat lift but when asked if he was in charge he denied it. Enough screw-ups to go around. If I hadn't been so anxiuos to get my boat in the water and had done a recon we may have accomplished more. When the pol backed away from leadership I dismissed him. I should have used him to get me in for a recon and then to meet with some official instead of tearing off to another launch site. Eventually I put twenty of our boats in the water with a SWAT team from OPSD. We crossed small boats over Orleans canal and Airboats over Bayou St. John.
Bullshark | 09.04.05 - 6:54 pm | #

Again, I'm not trying to be hateful or assess blame, but you've got a crew of 100 medical personnel who are told to watch CNN for information, and a guy in the field who's supposed to call Mike Brown.

For an emergency that has been expected for decades.

Lyman says, "Contractors are making up words down there. De-water Plaquemines?

"De water is what de boat goes in."

Gary Farber brings up the Meet the Press interview with another of Lyman's law school mates, Aaron Broussard, president of Jefferson Parish.

If you can make sense of FEMA's actions in the circumstances he mentions, let me know.

Just for the record, I also called the people in hotels in Dallas refugees.

One takes refuge from a storm.

But I won't use the word if it's a sensitive one.

I agree totally with this post by Brendan Loy.

Scott Chaffin has property in Glen Rose, just south of Dallas, with RV hook-ups. Here's his post:

Working on this:

Please consider donating, for long-term use, your idle RV or travel trailer. We are opening our park to our good neighbors from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama who have lost so much in Hurricane Katrina. We have RV hookups available for their use, but we don’t have RVs. Your donation can make all the difference in the world to people who are looking for a place to call home for a few weeks or months as they sort through the aftermath. It’s absolutlely crucial that we all work together to help out our friends and family. Please email (info@buckbrazos.com) or call (254-898-2825) if you’re able and willing to help out. We can help make arrangements for getting your RV or fifth-wheel to our place. Buck loves to drive.

Pass the word, please. I’m just one dude. Nationwide, too. I expect that there are more RV parks and campgrounds like mine that can take this kind of idea and run with it, just like we’re doing here.

Here's a good story from New Orleans.

Lyman's law school buddy that we contacted today, and whose family is safe in Baton Rouge, parked his boat in the lot of a shopping center in Chalmette and left the keys in it before the storm so it could be used.

He's heard that the shopping center is gone, and his boat has been sighted doing rescue work in the neighborhood.

As far as Lyman could see, there is only one station with gas in town. Drivers are coming from the east to buy here.

I welcomed this post from Sarah G., which reassures that the Audubon Zoo and the Aquarium are in good shape.

I still can't get through to the Johnsons in Covington. As I understand, there are something like 875,000 phones out in Louisiana.

So, if I have one image to keep from the past 30 years, it is the one of riding the Staten Island ferry in 1976 with a Dixieland jazz band on board.

Gasoline supplies are low in the area now.

Scott Chaffin can help.

More local news.

Sorry I was short with you the other day, hon. Gary Farber has lots of good links.

Phil is OK. This is good.

Mr. Hlatky is right.

Lucy moped and called my name the first evening I was gone to Dallas, I'm told.

More.

I think I like Governor Blanco in an emergency.

I'd like her better if she carried a 45.

Dallas runs an oldies station. When I made that run I heard this song:

Different strokes for different folks,

And so on and so on and and shoobie do be do,

Oooh, sha sha,

We got to live together.

I am every day people.

You know, kids aren't so bad.

I sent a load off with Michael and his girl to the community center on Hwy 15. They have comforters, clean sheets, some towels and some clothes.

Lyman and I have 850 minutes on the telephone beginning tomorrow, and constant access to search lines on the computer.

I sat Ivan out, but not Katrina.

I'm worried about the Johnsons down in Covington.

My brother-in-law's brother lost his house in Gulfport. He's bringing his family up to stay in Natchez.

This is how things are locally.

I need to see what I can do.

Here's something else.

This station covers well.

I keep seeing the same footage of Negroes looting shops. They be rioting. Wouldn't that be entertaining?

I'm becoming picky about this. In this post by Glenn Reynolds the reporter in the story says that the area looks like a war zone.

As a journalistic, advertising, PR kind of gal I'd say you don't want to describe the effects of a natural disaster that way in a time that you are making war.

(It might also help if you've ever seen a war zone. Interestingly enough, of all the things my brother threw away, he kept his Army uniform. He is an authentic Vietnam Vet. I have some letters. He wasn't on the front lines. But he did weigh about 140 at the time.)

Not that there's much ultimate difference.

Just sayin'.

Hey. Home.

We're high and dry here.

Cell phones are screwed up. Some people in Natchez are without electricity.

I'm seeing hurricane pictures for the first time. So many devastated people.

OK.

Time to break this down.

Stay safe y'all.

We were both tired this evening, so we thought we'd go to an old favorite, Alfredo's Trattoria, on Lemmon Avenue. Alfredo's was closed for Sunday night, so we searched for something open.

We cruised in Charles' G-35 for a while and found Arcoduro Pomodoro open tonight. It's a higher-end Sardinian Italian restaurant (there's another one in Houston), perfect for the evening.

We've been working hard, the lights were low, the music was soft and interesting -- I think it was sophisticated Latin jazz, but was too tired to ask.

When the waitress brought the wonderfully drinkable Zuliani Garda Reserve, she poured a spot into Charles' glass. He pointed to me and nodded. She poured a spot into mine, too.

"We are brother and sister," I told her. "We are equals."

She smiled.

There were giant sunflowers lining the walk outside the restaurant, about 9-feet tall, with stalks as big as my wrist and flowers as large as my face.

I nearly never get to do what I want when I come to Dallas.

Patricia and I were going to take a shopping day.

Not to be. We spent the day with my brother, helping him with some of the recesses in his current abode.

Tomorrow I'm off to his place and won't be in touch again until late Tuesday.

Best to you.

I arrived safely at my sister's house just after six o'clock.

Traffic was remarkably easy and sane. Perhaps the heat is keeping the other lunatics off the roads.

How fast do you want to discredit a modern anti-war movement?

Tap, tap. This is the 21st century. CE.

Bright runner + after cleaning

Much brighter, if not perfectly clean. Softer, too.

Blustery Russians.

Terrorist abettor that I am, tomorrow I'm going to start on a 900-mile trip in my gas-guzzling SUV during one of the priciest seasons in many years.

Some time back I told my brother that when the time came, I would go to Dallas and bring a load of delicate things back for him in the Tahoe. He called Monday and asked if I would be available to transport on the 30th, or next Tuesday. So here we go.

Since I'm going that way anyway, I've arranged to visit my sister for the weekend. Come to find out, she has some items stored in Charles' current storage space, so I get to move those a good distance across Dallas, too.

Ain't nothing so stirrin' as drivin' a big box in heavy traffic and high heat. Just sets my soul afire, and pleases me greatly that I am lining the pockets of princes.

I could learn to hate SUVs, too. If I didn't have one, I wouldn't be making this trip.

I told both my brother and my sister that I would appreciate it if they would pick a different month for their life-changing and life-threatening events. October might be nice. This is the third year in a row that I've been called to Texas in high summer.

(I might point out, Mr. Sullivan, that this is my gay brother I'm serving. A straight gentleman of his age would likely not have so many precious things to transport and would probably own his own damned truck. I can only hope that you've convinced all your compadres to downsize when time comes for you to move.)

UPDATE: When I say precious, I'm not being sarcastic. I helped him pack Napoleonic plates when he left Natchez for Dallas in 1993 that sold for $500 apiece.

I browsed overstock.com for 70-inch table covers today and found terrific bargains on sheet sets with high thread counts -- good wedding or housewarming presents, with $1 shipping for the next eight days.

I'm not a hair-shirt type, but I don't particularly like high thread counts in my sheets or I'd buy some for the household.

Dust

Ahem.

Yes, that did come out of the rugs.

I'll do better, Mama, I promise.

UPDATE: And after that, friends, the Hoover steam cleaner spit up something close to mud.

Kids, I just don't have that much repressed anger. (But I did name one of the rugs "Condo Board.")

I do have brand new anger at myself for letting these pretty rugs get so dirty.

It's hard to find the time to remove them from their spaces, because they aren't merely decorative. They protect the wood floor and provide welcome cushioning when we are cooking.

And they take a few days to dry when they are cleaned with the machine. Since we have this godforsaken dry spell, it's a good time to do this work.

It don't make it any easier, though.

Kitchen rug

So, since Lyman doesn't play anymore, I'm using a golf club to beat the rug.

Clouds of dust are coming out.

He asks, "What size iron are you using?"

"It's a six," I said.

"No, you need to go to a three," he said.

Threads like this remind me that my rugs beside the kitchen sink and stove need to be cleaned.

I think I'll go do that.

I had a dream last night that I owned a parrot, not one of these, but generally acting like these, that began talking a blue streak. The bird had Lucy's coloring and Charlie's feathering. She was not chattering as parrots do, but carrying on conversations with people in the house.

On the order of:

"Man, how did he miss that tackle?!"

Edna Emery

VIDALIA, La.-Services for Edna Emery, 66, of Vidalia, La., who died Wednesday, August 17, 2005, at St. Francis Cabrini Medical Center in Alexandria, La., are incomplete at this time and will be announced later by Concordia Funeral Home.

Jordana's cards might be used sooner than I would have wished.

Yech. What was in the refrigerator?

UPDATE: Shrimp. Only a man could make that kind of mess with just 2 pounds of shrimp.

Good grief! Talk about male chauvinism. Charlie always wolf whistles at me when I am in the kitchen.

He's a cute little guy, but he's an alimentary canal with feet.

An interesting bit learned from chef/author/TV personality Anthony Bourdain regarding fine dining from Kitchen Confidential, is that the kitchen of a fine dining establishment will do it's best work from Tuesday to Thursday. The chef is freshest, the food is freshest, and the staff is not as stretched as it is on weekends.

So there you go.

Please, give us a break! There is rain all over the state of Louisiana except for here!

I bought a little social insurance the other day.

Sometimes I'm just not on point. The night before we left for Colorado, back when, we attended a party for Lyman's law school class. It was a jolly group, and the host and hostess were warm, generous people with a lovely house in New Orleans.

While we carried 48 of Lyman's excellent crawfish tarts, the hostess deserved thanks in the form of a card.

Six months passed before I sent it. That was the last of a pretty box that I bought from Neiman-Marcus back when downtown Dallas was my stomping ground, say 1988.

I like to keep a stock of special cards for just such occasions.

So I turned to Jordana Adams to see what she had on offer.

She had an elegant painting of zinnias in a milk bottle that works perfectly on cards.

Thanks, Jordana.

Jim Smith follows up on the search for a chef for the White House.

Donna Tartt's book has engaged me. It is aimless, but I took it up with a "here we go" attitude and couldn't put it down.

She's a writer, after all.

She needs an editor.

Bookends

We're putting the travel cage up today.

The Hlatkys have suffered a loss.

What a pretty girl she was.

Lucy and Charlie slept the first time together in the same cage last night.

Charlie has been sleeping in a small travel cage on a table about five feet away from Lucy's.

They have all parts intact this morning, so I guess we're progressing here.

Charlie is six months old today, and smarter than an animal should be.

Mind, Charlie is a big eater.

When Lyman walked in with a bag of groceries today and set it on the counter, Charlie wolf whistled.

I spent half last night reading The Little Friend by Donna Tartt.

I haven't read her first book, see anywhere, which was a critical success.

I've gone a ways, but I'm not sure she's not just playing with a great jumble of typical southern characters and traits in this book. It could be experimental. If so, the resulting aimlessness is hardly her fault, but the fault of the publisher who chose to release it.

We'll see.

The dog days of summer have set in, and it's a thirsty dog at that.

We've had about 3/4 inch of rain in the past month. We've watched fronts split in all directions and or simply fizzle before reaching us, and I am psychically parched. A rainy day is cleansing and restorative, and no amount of sweet tea will substitute.

Children are already back to school and I can't put my mind around that. Students of my generation went back after Labor Day, when the light began to change and fall promised.

I feel low. Maybe some shopping is in order?

This news makes me unhappy on so many levels.

Charlie, all washed up

Here's Charlie after a bath.

My sister said, "Baby, you look worth about $1.386 right now."

Oak tree

I live with this tree.

I have a deadly fear of tornados.

You know, I never particularly wanted kids, and here's why. I just bought $70 worth of tickets for this stuff:

Live & Direct Summer Tour with Hieroglyphics featuring Souls of Mischief, Casual & Pep Love plus One Block Radius / Boom Bap Project and O.C. from Diggin Crates
Spanish Moon
1109 Highland Road
Baton Rouge, LA 70802
225.383.6666

Kick it, hon, and I want my money back.

Yes, yes.

But why is it that boys' noses grow faster than their bodies do?

I've been talking to Michael's girl, and she has a 13-year-old son. She showed pictures.

He's a sharp-featured, good-looking boy whose face is almost all nose.

My nephew, Craig, as a child of that age was all nose. He's taller and better looking than Tom Cruise. Similar coloring.

As promised yesterday, Smiley Anders has written of the two other Louisiana winners of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest today:

On Thursday, I promised to run the other two category winners from Louisiana in the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

Put on by the English department at San Jose State University, it honors, more or less, the author who penned "a dark and stormy night" by seeking the world's worst opening paragraph for a novel.

Sen. Jay Dardenne, as we mentioned Thursday, won the "Vile Puns" category.

Here's the winner of the "Grand Panjandrum's Special Award," by Ken Aclin of Shreveport:

"India, which hangs like a wet washcloth from the towel rack of Asia, presented itself to Tex as he landed in Delhi (or was it Bombay?), as if it mattered because Tex finally had an idea to make his mark and fortune and that idea was a chain of steak houses to serve the millions and he wondered, as he deplaned down the steep, shiny, steel steps, why no one had thought of it before."

Staff Sgt. Kevin Craver of Fort Polk won the "Fantasy Fiction" category with this one, which you have to be an avid reader of fantasy tales to really dig:

"Why does every task in the Realm of Zithanor have to be a quest?" Baldak of Erthorn, handyman to the Great Wizard Zarthon, asked rhetorically as he began his journey to find the Holy Hammer of Taloria and the Sacred Nail of Ikthillia so Baldak could hang one of Zarthon's mediocre watercolors, which was an art critique Baldak kept to himself unlike his predecessor, whom Zarthon turned into the Picture Frame of Torathank."

For other winners, see here.

Sorry, Terry, but there are a lot of bad writers out there.

UPDATE: I like this offering in the fantasy fiction category:

The dragon cast his wet, rheumy eyes, heavy-lidded with misery, over his kingdom-a malodorous, rot-ridden swamp, with moss cloaking brooding, gloomy cypresses, tree trunks like decayed teeth rising from stagnant ponds, creatures with mildewed fur and scales whom the meanest roadside zoo would have rejected--and hoped the antidepressants would kick in soon.

Constance Barrett
Ruby, NY

Smiley Anders has news of Louisiana winners of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest:

As you may have heard, Baton Rouge's state Sen. Jay Dardenne brought fame and glory (or shame and dishonor, take your pick) to our city by winning the "Vile Puns" category of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, held since 1982 by the San Jose State University English Department to find the world's worst writers. It's named, of course, for the British author who coined "a dark and stormy night."

The senator -- a Republican, but a funny one -- won with this effort:

"Falcon was her name and she was quite the bird of prey, sashaying past her adolescent admirers from one anchor store to another, past the kiosks where earrings longed to lie upon her lobes and sunglasses hoped to nestle on her nose, seemingly the beginning of a beautiful friendship with whomsoever caught the eye of the mall tease, Falcon."

Jay's triumph brought this response from Judge Bob Downing:

"I am eaten up with envy over Sen. Dardenne's recent award. When I was at LSU living in that bare room in West Stadium, I would stay up late writing and writing trying to win that award.

"Yes, I was up many a stark and dormy night."

Land of bad writers

As readers of this column can testify, Louisiana is the home of some really awful writing.

So it's no surprise that two other Louisiana writers won categories in the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

Ken Aclin of Shreveport won the "Grand Panjandrum's Special Award" and Staff Sgt. Kevin Craver of Fort Polk won the "Fantasy Fiction" category.

We'll run these winners Friday (I figure you've had enough lousy prose for one day).

My brother called tonight to tell me that he got the house in Natchez. This is news of high good order.

I've never thought it quite fair that he brought me here then had to leave.

He's coming home.

Now, what to do about my sister ...

Charlie & squash

Charlie is adept at holding food for eating. That's zucchini in his fist.

Shellie gets letters.

One this week contains this line in reference to Southerners:

We don't worry if our relatives were on the Mayflower; we worry about how they behaved during the trip.