I will not be neutered, either (too late for my dog, though)
GWB hath arriven! Let us rejoice and be glad. For with GWB will surely arrive the news that our progress is great, that our work is hard, that he is duly impressed with our love of freedom, or something.
And all this good news couldn't have come at a better time. This Advent, if you will, coincides with a darkish time in a swampish land. For today was a day when a generous soul and a fine good-natured Ohioan (sharing his state of residence with the memory of our great mystic American Poet Hart Crane, btw) who has been coming down here all year long helping to rebuild houses (this is, I believe his 5th trip; he stays with us when he's in town) injured himself working on the finishing touches of a Gentilly rebuild and was given for his trouble a tour of our troubled city as he searched for an open hospital, a functioning clinic, a paramedic (which, by the way, he is). He was finally able to find a doctor to stitch up his ankle (cut to the bone, I hear) at the Operation Blessing clinic. The volunteer doc there sees 100 patients a day, and today he was so overwhelmed that the office manager had to glove up and dive in to assist the stitching.
But if only my friend had injured himself tomorrow, after the benedictions of GWB have been poured on our burning heads, surely, surely, an army of paramedics would have descended on the scene, ported him off on angelic wings to one of the 6 (rather than 2.5) operating hospitals in the area.
Someone call me when tomorrow is over. Until then, I'll just keep looking for the sunflowers in the rubble.
'Cause that's the kind of guy I am.
And all this good news couldn't have come at a better time. This Advent, if you will, coincides with a darkish time in a swampish land. For today was a day when a generous soul and a fine good-natured Ohioan (sharing his state of residence with the memory of our great mystic American Poet Hart Crane, btw) who has been coming down here all year long helping to rebuild houses (this is, I believe his 5th trip; he stays with us when he's in town) injured himself working on the finishing touches of a Gentilly rebuild and was given for his trouble a tour of our troubled city as he searched for an open hospital, a functioning clinic, a paramedic (which, by the way, he is). He was finally able to find a doctor to stitch up his ankle (cut to the bone, I hear) at the Operation Blessing clinic. The volunteer doc there sees 100 patients a day, and today he was so overwhelmed that the office manager had to glove up and dive in to assist the stitching.
But if only my friend had injured himself tomorrow, after the benedictions of GWB have been poured on our burning heads, surely, surely, an army of paramedics would have descended on the scene, ported him off on angelic wings to one of the 6 (rather than 2.5) operating hospitals in the area.
Someone call me when tomorrow is over. Until then, I'll just keep looking for the sunflowers in the rubble.
'Cause that's the kind of guy I am.
posted by swampish at 6:06 PM
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