I have to admit that I am not particularly concerned about Hurricane Rita, despite the fact that pretty much the whole of my extended family lies in its path.
With the exception of an uncle and two great aunts, all my family -- on both my mother's and father's side -- live in Brazoria County, Texas. The uncle lives in Houston (the great aunts live in Alabama and San Angelo, Texas).
I have heard from none of them -- I would be surprised if I did. In the more than 150 years that my family has lived in the region, hurricanes have rarely been more than an inconvenience or a reason to get drunk ("No work tomorrow? Oh, hell yeah!").
Meanwhile, my sister-in-law, Tami, of Internet bodice fame, lives in Katy, Texas, a suburb of Houston. This morning, my wife's mother called and gave me a very stoic update on Tami's family's plans. Her matter-of-fact delivery made it sound as if Tami and her family were trying to escape some war-torn African country before the rebels arrived. I realize that sort of behavior is to be expected from a mother -- it's that mama bear instinct -- but it seems silly to me. If I lived in Houston, I would probably follow Rea's lead and throw a hurricane party. We would, of course, serve hurricanes and margaRitas. Every guest would have to dress as a hurricane survivor (gym shorts, T-shirt, tennis shoes) and bring along some sort of hurricane survival-related item that we could use at the party.
But maybe (and quite probably) I don't know anything. Stubborn thinking like mine is most likely what led to the train wreck in New Orleans -- like those boneheads who just sit there and say, "Well, the only thing we can do is put it in God's hands." No, you dope, you can also buy some bottled water and some pancake mix and the like.
Remember when Chris Farley dressed as El Nino? The cable networks need to do something similar in their coverage of Rita.
Good name for a band: Death Biro.
Poor Allison is too smart for Kentucky.