First of all, I would like to do what people do when they win something or something fortuitous happens to them. So now, I am officially on record as thanking God for the fact that I found 23 bottles of Dixie Beer yesterday. Dixie Brewery isn't coming back to life. These might be the last 23 bottles in the city.
All praise to Jesus and hell, even Allah, who deserves all of the credit and without whose strength I wouldn't be here today.
Actually, I am proving that life is just one big happy accident. And it is. I had to get my hair cut yesterday. What led to me finding the Dixie Beer?
Before I moved here, I met Will Forte during Jazz Fest 2004. We stayed in touch. I guess now we're friends, whatever that means. We have a fundrasier on December 19 that he's hosting in Los Angeles. Accident one.
After Katrina, the only bar in my neighbourhood that is open is Pal's Lounge. It was there that I met Adrienne, who told me about Savannah, who cuts hair at Mickey Nolan's in the Quarter. That's where I went to get my hair cut yesterday. Accident two.
I had to go down there early yesterday because there's no parking and it takes a long time to find a space. I got there early and went into the little shop next door to Mickey Nolan's. And it turns out, yep, that this place had 17 Dixie beers. I bought them all. And the lady who worked there told me that there was another store close by that might have some. And they did. Accident three.
Life is an accident. Get over it.
One of the most INFURIATING things I hear on a regular basis is "Everything happens for a reason." My response? Uh, no. No it doesn't. Most of the time we just happened to make a random choice that led to something else.
My mother always derided me for watching television and for drinking. But if I didn't do those things, I would never have met Will Forte and he wouldn't be holding this fundraiser for us. Does that mean that God wanted me to watch TV and drink? I mean, after all, doesn't everything happen for a reason?
When a soldier kills an innocent person in Iraq, and then that soldier is killed by a roadside improvised explosive device, that happened for a reason, right? Except that the solider has a wife and kids back home. Oh well, tough luck bitch, everything happens for a reason. And by the way, to the survivors of the dead Iraqi, too fucking bad for you! Wrong place, wrong time? Oh no, because EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON!
Hey, that has to be what Barbara The Cunt Bush meant when she said that post-Katrina life was "working out really well" for the people living in the Astrodome in Houston. You lost everything, but look now, no crime! See, everything happens for a reason!
And all the racist bastards in New Orleans know it: Katrina got rid of all the black people in NOLA! Hooray, everything happens for a reason!
My mother, the Baptist Sunday school teacher, must know that her rheumatoid arthritis and double-mastectomy happened for a reason. I'm sure it's been working out really well for her.
I'm saving the Dixie Beer for New Year's Eve.
Bourbon Street is lame. It used to be interesting in a sociological/anthropological sort-of way. Now it's worse than downtown Calhoun on a Friday night. I've never been there but I don't need to go to know how lame that is. For my local friends, let's say, Bourbon Street sucks worse than Gretna. And Gretna fucking sucks fat whale shark cock. Do whale sharks have cocks? Who knows? I'm not going to the Georgia Aquarium and asking them about whale shark phalli.
I leave for Hollywood on Wednesday.
How did I get here?
Who cares! Everything happens for a reason!
I'm marching with Krewe du Vieux at Mardi Gras. Thank you God and Jesus and Allah.
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