R.I.P Balinese Room

Looks like most of Galveston Island is pretty much beyond fooked, but for someone who spent practically every childhood summer with their grandmother down on the island, hearing that The Balinese Room was turned into driftwood has been enough to keep me sufficiently bummed out all morning. The Balinese Room was the jaded grande dame of Seawall Boulevard - full of history, mystery and all kinds of naughtiness. Daddy was born and raised in Galveston and worked in his grandmother Augustina's saloon on 51st and Broadway when he was 11 - so consequently we grew up with a shit-ton of stories about the old Sicilians who ran the numbers and bootlegging operations on the island - and in retrospect, may or may not have gotten protection money out of my great-grandmother. Probably not, though. She was a tall, stern-looking German with steely blue eyes who looked like she could slice your balls off with a flick of her pinky if you so much as looked at her the wrong way.

Also gone: Murdoch's and the 61st Street Fishing Pier. The Flagship Hotel looks pretty beat up, and the San Luis is flooded. Downtown's a mess. Wonder how The Galvez fared; I've yet to hear anything on that.

Supposedly the storm's headed this way now, so in the words of the mighty Merle Haggard, I think I'll just stay here and drink, awaiting the arrival of the wind and rain the forecasters have been promising us. Rest assured I'll be plenty pissed if this system misses us, because my uncle's yard needs the rain - and my lazy, hapless ass needs an excuse to put off finishing up the rest of my move.

I [heart] weather porn

In case you didn't know, Jim Cantore is the Peter North of the weather reportage world. Get your fill of him here.

Pun totally unintended...

Later: I can't get the g.d. Glenn Campbell song "Galveston" out of my head. Help!!!

Ike Turner completely ruined it for me

He did.

But thankfully, it's not just me. My friend's former FEMA colleague up in Denton was telling him how Ike was already whipping their asses, and it took him a moment to figure out she was talking about the hurricane, not Mr. Turner. Which makes me think that the namers of these storms must have a deviantly fab sense of humor, kind of like the ad people who thought it'd be a nice giggle to use Elton Motello's "Jet Boy, Jet Girl" on that recent commercial for some CW Network show.

I swear to the sweet little pink cheeked, blue-eyed Lord I wasn't hallucinating that one.

I [heart] Natural Selection...

Oh yes, I do!

Note to anyone planning a home invasion robbery: This is Texas, fu**ers. Don't even try it.

An open missive to a cousin taking refuge from Hurricane Gustav...

Bless your heart. Beaumont's mandatory evacuation had your ass out on the road at 5:30 a.m., heading north to terrorize us for a few days.

And wow, you haven't changed a bit in 20 years, have you? Someone offers you shelter from the storm and you're still as cu**y as ever - bitching and moaning before you even set foot in the door.

I wasn't shocked that the first thing you did was order us to turn it to Fox News for the latest on Gustav - my guess is that the Weather Channel is too liberal for the likes of you. But when the conversation turned to my mother - your supposed favorite cousin now resting comfortably in peace - and how she stole all of her recipes from you, I had to bite my tongue. First of all - dream on, bitch. Second - seeing how you couldn't be bothered to come up and see my mother when she was ill, much less attend her funeral, I think you need to take a massive gulp from your cup of STFU. Your jambalaya may be the stuff Coon-Ass dreams are made of, but just because you're renowned in this family for your culinary capabilities, that's no excuse for a lifetime (yes, a lifetime) of behaving like a total twat.

Oh, yeah. I know you're from a different generation and fainted when you heard the news of Elvis' death and all - but if you dare drop the N bomb in my presence again, I can promise you I won't be biting my tongue. I'll be too busy relishing the act of ripping you a brand new asshole at the risk of my uncle writing me out of his will. Seeing how he spends all his money in Shreveport anyway, I don't really have much to worry about there.

Another thing you might want to consider is the fact that your father was born in the West Bank town of Ramallah and your mother - my great-aunt - was born just north of Beirut. Which means you're not exactly the whitest slice of bread in the loaf. So kindly piss off back to Beaumont - like right now.

Lawdy help me...

...but I was watching the DNC coverage on NBC last night and the interview they did with Rep. Rahm Emanuel (D-Illinois) still has me in a state of shivering, quivering-thigh- sweats ninnyhood. Big time.

Am I getting old...

...or are the new breed of landlords just a half-assed lot these days? Seriously, if anyone could point me in the direction of the one single g.d. landlord in the Oak Lawn area with any scruples left, I might be tempted to kiss your ass 'til it's black and blue.

And if you can't do that, then please point me in the direction of a lawyer I can hire to sue the bejeezus out of these property manglers when the ceiling above my shower collapses and nearly kills me.