Fuck ya, Labor Day weekend has arrived. Three whole days of freedom. I drove home blasting tunes on the iPod and convertible wide open to the sun and the wind.

But, then, I had a pang of guilt about Hurricane Katrina and the horrible mess, actually and metaphorically and governmentally and basically every which way, that is now New Orleans. It’s a city I’ve been to a couple a times and rather liked (not just for the tits, beads and 32-ounce glasses of booze).

It is one of those cities that has its own striking geography; I can remember the other-worldly feeling of arriving at night and driving along levees with swamp creature noises on both sides of you.

My guilt subsided, though, when I realized I had just moved to Silicon Valley, which is invariably on the short list of another tragedy that the nation just might handle inadequately.

I’m pretty proud of Condi Rice for heading back to DC after she caught a Broadway show. Damn, those tickets are expensive and you don’t want to waste that cash. It ain’t like the poor and miserable wouldn’t still be there in a couple few days. (Thanks to the place I now work, and it’s neighborhood, there’s a special warm place for Condi’s whereabouts when the government is failing to govern. Can’t wait until she returns to the ‘hood, if only because it means this administration is through.)

I’m not sure I’m quite comfortable with the charges of racial bias and, basically, that it’s because of the critical mass of African Americans that nothing has been done. I think it’s more about being poor. There’re enough trailer parks full of whites blown away by tornados each year that no one does much about either.

The shitty thing is the formula is pretty much the riskier the locale the poorer the people. Except for your occassional house in Chatham or land-slid mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

Anyway, I gots to go enjoy some sun before the next big earthquake hits.