cleolinda | Early post for the hell of it

So last night, Sister Girl and Sister Girl's boyfriend and I were watching the nightly NBC news, you know, with Brian Williams, and some telethon had pushed it up to 6:30 from 5:30 but Sister Girl was happy that she'd get to see it anyway, because apparently she loves Brian Williams, so we sat there and laughed for a half an hour as he walked down the streets of drizzly, antclimactically un-Gustaved New Orleans, stopping occasionally to put his hands on his hips in a hero pose and intone things like, "But NO ONE... died today... in NEW ORLEANS."

"I'm gonna name my kid Brian Williams," she announces.

"Like, first name and middle name, or like 'Mary Catherine,' all together?"

"No, like Mary Catherine. Brian Williams."

"BRIAN WILLIAMS, YOU GET UP THERE AND CLEAN YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW!"

So then she tells us this story about how this guy she works with is named Michael, and he's a Michael Jr., so he doesn't want his son to be Michael III. But he still wants him to be named Michael, so he's going to name the kid... JaMichael. (Pronunciation: "Juh-MICHAEL.")

"You need to name your kid JaBrian Williams," I tell her. "You know, so no one gets confused."

So Brian Williams is still striking poses all over Bourbon Street and we start trying to figure out what the next few hurricanes will be called, since we've already got Gustav, Hanna, and Ike in play. I think you know what the answer to this question is.

"JaHurricane, obviously."

"It was upgraded from JaTropical Storm."

I have to tell you, we cried laughing over this. No, we were not high.