Michael’s been having some interesting discussions in bars lately. He talked to a couple who were at the Superdome during the hurricane and gave him a thorough accounting of the conditions there. It’s a good read, reassuring in some parts and disturbing in others. I hope they have some time to catch their wind before they head back to New Zealand; the 20-hour flight time would probably be enough to finish me off after that ordeal, even if my own bed were waiting at the end.

The kind of bed that was waiting…no, let’s not go there. Michael’s other conversation was with the manager/bartender of a gay bar who was straight. There are a lot of those here in Tokyo, too; some owners prefer that the bartenders be sort of inaccessible-fantasy material for the patrons. That’s easier to do if they’re not gay and therefore won’t be tempted to date a customer. Tough break if you’re hot for one, though.

Heh-heh. One of the search terms I got a referral from over the last few days was “‘rob mârciano’ hairy chest.”

Yeah, I was wondering, too. Before anyone starts with the can’t-you-queers-ever-see-a-half-decent-looking-guy-without-imagining-him-with-his-clothes-off? routine…well, the answer is no.

HOWEVER, that’s not the point in this case. The point is that your only other option during his live hurricane coverage was to pay attention to what he was saying. One of the problems with 24-hour cable news is that even when the story isn’t actually developing, the reporters have to keep talking. I’m sure Rob’s a bright guy, but since he couldn’t stand there and say, “There sure is a lot of wind and rain here,” and then shut up, he was driven to offering patter on the order of, “The National Weather Service has predicted that the rain is going to get even more severe, which our experts say indicates that a great deal of water will fall from the sky.” That’s not a problem if, like Julie Brown, you like ‘em big and stupid. Personally, I felt it was only kind to Rob out there to hope that the weather gods would send a gust of wind strong enough to yank that pancho down away from his throat so we could get a good gander before they cut away to someone who had useful information to impart. (On the other hand, at least we didn’t ever get a look at Anderson Cooper south of the collar–you just know sugarcakes either is scarily baby-smooth or just has a half-dozen wires around his nipples.)