The fleas have just gone to other parts of the dog...

At least, that's what Neal Boortz always says in reference to the riffraff who fled The Big Sleazy en masse after Hurricane Katrina, and I have to say I agree with him. My car got broken into during the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning, and I don't think it's a coincidence that it happened so shortly after Hurricane Katrina, after I've been living in Atlanta for eight years and the bottom-dwellers have had that long to break into Klaus (my old Benz) but never bothered to do it till now. The cop who took my police report revealed that the crime rate in Atl and other towns across Georgia, especially in terms of petty crime (theft and break-ins), has shot through the roof since Hurricane Katrina, but this hasn't been covered by the media because 1) they don't want people to panic and 2) Hurricane Katrina evacuees must never, ever, ever, under any circumstances be portrayed as anything less savory than poor, hapless victims. So, take precautions to protect yourselves and your loved ones out there. The media and the government won't, and can't, do it for you.

Of course, this experience has been a bit stressful and unnerving to go through, but through it all I've been feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude that they didn't try to break into my home and they didn't touch me. My car is fixable (poor Klaus!). Material goods are replaceable. My life is not. (From this perspective, it's appropriate that the break-in occurred on Thanksgiving.)

Oh, by the way, I've asked my pops to get me a .22 for Christmas ...