I Was In The House When The House Burned Down

I had another weird dream. This time I was marching in Krewe du Vieux. A house on the route caught on fire. We stopped parading to battle the blaze. When the firefighters arrived, we resumed our march. The soundtrack to the dream was Warren Zevon’s I Was In The House When The House Burned Down. Curious. I was not in the house but why would I expect a dream to make any sense?

That was a prelude to a potpourri post. I tend to write these posts when I’m feeling as scatterbrained as Judy Holiday in Born Yesterday. I was, however, never that blond.

The featured image is a painting by surrealist artist Max Ernst, Fireside Angel. Max often inspires dream chatter and potpourri posts. Oh well, what the hell.

I think the burning house imagery in my dream was inspired by the act of vengeance taking place on the House floor. Speaker* KMac and the wingnuts are going after Ilhan Omar. They plan to remove her from the Foreign Relations Committee. They claim it’s for insufficient Bibi Netanyahu worship. It’s really payback for being a head scarf wearing Muslim. Fuck them.

I’m saving Zevon for last. How about another member of the Sunday Dozen club: Talking Heads.

Did you know that Bonnie Raitt covered that song? Now you do:

There’s a swell piece in The Atlantic by McKay Coppins:  Republicans’ 2024 Wishful Thinking. Some covertly anti-Trump types are waiting for him to die or go away on his own volition. Never gonna happen, my friend.

Former Ohio Senator Rob Portman had this unintentionally funny exchange with the author:

Meanwhile, the most enduring of GOP delusions—that Trump will transform into an entirely different person—somehow persists.

When I asked Rob Portman about his party’s Trump problem, the recently retired Ohio senator confidently predicted that it would all sort itself out soon. The former president, he believed, would study the polling data, realize that other Republicans had a better shot at winning, and graciously bow out of 2024 contention.

“I think at the end of the day,” Portman told me, “he’s unlikely to want to put himself in that position when he could be more of a Republican senior statesman who talks about the policies that were enacted in his administration.”

I let out an involuntary laugh.

“Maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part,” Portman conceded.

Ya think? If Rob Portman wanted him to go away, he had two chances to bar the evil fucker from office. He’s a pussy, he should grab himself.

All the Kaiser of Chaos wants to do is this:

In local news, I’m marching in Krewe du Vieux for the first time since 2020. I’ll tell you more about Spank’s theme on Saturday morning.

What I can tell you is that many have lost their minds over our route. Why? Because we’re not marching up Frenchmen Street, which is populated by lounge lizards. Me, I’m just happy to be back.

Here’s the route:

NYT pundit Charles Blow is from the Gret Stet of Louisiana. He wrote a column about Mayor Teedy DBA LaToya Cantrell’s political woes, which include a recall petition. He gets much of it right but there’s one way in which Charles blows it: Teedy is a transplant. Old School New Orleanians tend to be xenophobic.

Blow is from somewhere in the sticks so he doesn’t get it. He should have made like John Hiatt and:

I know that wasn’t quite grammatical but I’m still wondering what the hell I was doing fighting a fire on the KdV parade route.

Finally, former Saints coach Sean Payton is becoming a Denver Bronco. I opined that he was finished coaching but I opined wrong. Does that make me Opus or Opie?

I should apologize for that groaner, but I never apologize for punning. It’s what Opus would want. Never argue with him. Opie’s opinion of punning is unknown.

Pulp Fiction Thursday will return next week. I know, I’m early. Sue me.

That is all.

The last word goes to Warren Zevon: