Month: May 2002

As a reporter, I’ve heard government officials give some creative reasons for not turning over public records. But I’ve never been told I can’t see a document because it might violate a giraffe’s right to privacy.

Saw Spiderman with Abby and some of her friends this afternoon. How much would it suck if Peter Parker lived in some suburban subdivision instead of the skyscraper canyons of Manhattan? I can’t imagine his spidey-powers would be nearly as useful if he could only web-swing from two-story colonial to two-story Georgian. Climbing walls wouldn’t do him much good, either. (Well, except maybe for roof maintenance purposes.)

Today I interviewed a teacher from Lubbock who happened to be in D.C. for a meeting. After we’d been talking on the phone for a while about Texas educational policy, he let this fly: “I can tell we’re on the same wavelength as fellow Texans — I can tell from your accent.”
Anyone who’s met me knows I don’t have a Texan accent. (Hell, I haven’t even lived here two years.) I also don’t have a Southern accent (never did, despite growing up in Louisiana), and the rather thick Cajun accent I once had was long ago banished, only to return as an occasional party trick. If they hazard a guess, most folks think I’m from Nebraska, or Kansas, or some other such flatland.
So of course, my immediate mental response was: “Silly, silly man — you think I’m a Texan? Have you ears, friend?”
And of course, my verbal response was an eager “Sure, sure!” (Gotta keep those interviews going smooth.)

Mike “moderation in all things” Tyson on the media: “I wish that you guys had children so I could kick them in the fucking head or stomp on their testicles so you could feel my pain because that’s the pain I have waking up every day.”

My colleague who sits next to me just told a story about when Texas was switching over from the electric chair to lethal injection as its method of executing prisoners.
He was covering the proposed switch when the bill was before the Texas Legislature. There was various testimony back and forth. Then an 80-something legislator tottered up to the mike, face stuck in a scowl, to offer his thoughts.
“My constituents and I are concerned,” he said. “We’re worried. We think that death by lethal injection is just a slap on the wrist.”

“Female stand-ups were rare in the 1950s — even in bohemian San Francisco — and Diller’s rowdy, machine-gun delivery wowed the avant-garde.”
Somehow, America’s found it easy to forget that Phyllis Diller was once on the avant-garde.

My story in today’s paper, on rising college costs.

If you’re looking for a road trip for this weekend, you could do a lot worse than the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. The crawfish eating contest on Saturday and the etouffee cookoff on Sunday promise to be real treats. (Side note: I actually had a Popeye’s crawfish etouffee the other day. And you know, it wasn’t half bad. Considering my normal disdain for Cajun food produced by Texans — much less Ohioans, Connecticuters, or other lower orders of human — I was surprised how downright acceptable I found it.)
And if you like Cajun music, the Crawfish Festival has some fine acts: Belton Richard, the Hackberry Ramblers, Steve Riley & the Mamou Playboys, Geno Delafose & French Rockin

Why computers aren’t perfect: When asked to get me from Dallas to New Haven, Connecticut in a timely fashion, Expedia recommends the following route: Dallas/Fort Worth to Las Vegas to Pittsburgh to Philadelphia to New Haven. That’s departing at 4:03 p.m. and arriving the following day at 11:10 a.m. New Haven may be a bit of a backwater, but come on, Kigali it ain’t.

If you’re interested, my latest so-so performance will be rebroadcast hourly tonight on TXCN. Since I don’t have cable any more, I won’t be able to see it myself, so feel free to send your heart-rending critiques my way.