I was rather surprised that nobody (esp. Barra) mentioned Denver writer William H. Henderson. His novel "The Rest of the Earth" is simply one of the most astounding American novels of the past 20 years. Other than maybe Pynchon's "Mason and Dixon" I haven't read a better American novel in ages. The level of description is on par with Cormac M., and the characters are A. Proulx worthy. I haven't read his new one, "Augusta Locke" yet but I can't wait to do so. The truth is, the literary elites miss out on nearly everything worth reading and have for years. If the characters can't travel by subway, cab or limo, they simply don't exist. God forbid they ride a horse, or even worse drive a pick-up truck.

As the prosecutor who infamously moved to dismiss the first case that challenged Denver's prosecution of pot cases under the CO state law after the city ordinance was voted out, I have felt the wrath of both sides of this debate. First, former friends who posted blog entries seeking photos of me doing drugs "back in the day." Second, law enforcement types thinking I'd rolled over in the face of public opposition to the continued prosecution of pot in Denver. Third, pot activists who also insisted I'd rolled over in the face of their public opposition. I still can't believe the heat I took from every available direction. And I do mean every. But I can still walk outside the Courthouse and smell pot wafting in from the park across the street. And all the drug stings and prosecutions won't change a thing. Maybe the smokers will move during serious crackdowns, maybe not. Yet, in order to prosecute domestic violence cases and family violence cases, etc. I have made the Faustian bargain of prosecuting pot cases. The regulars in my courtroom know the score, it's just the activists on both sides who make the thing such a charade. Something must be done and it's not going to come from DC or any statehouse. CO is going to vote on the state law soon (we hope), and it should be an interesting barometer of what is to come next. The status quo is simply untenable.

Did anyone else feel sorry for Jeremijenko's children after reading the article? I know I did. The bizarre names, the life in chaos, the mother with far more ego than talent, the father who puts up with this madness. It's bad enough that Jeremijenko comes off as a lesser character in a David Foster Wallace story without damaging her kids along life's merry way. That the article writer portrays this dilettante as a serious artist/serious scientist goes a long way in showing the immense disconnect between the critical writers and their pets and the real artists and real scientists in modern America. That the article writer glossed over the complete unworthiness of this woman as a mother goes a long way in showing the disconnect between the critical writers and their pets and the basic contract implicit between parents and their children. Children trump art; children trump science; don't have them if you're merely going to utilize them as backdrops in the theater of your overblown existence. Anyone know the number for social services in Jeremijenko's neighborhood?

While it's no masterpiece, King Bongo, by Thomas Sanchez, better known for Rabbit Boss, Mile Zero, etc., is a wonderful beach read. Colorful, absurd, even cartoonish at times, it pulls you along through a Cuba on the brink of revolution. You can taste the rum punches and hear the bongo drums, with death always just around the corner. The north american characters are especially funny--clueless gangsters, mindless molls. It'd make a blast of a film.

While it's well and good to blast the government's response to the disaster in the Gulf Coast, to say that the rest of America had dropped the ball or forgotten is absurd. Vast amounts of supplies were shipped with great speed and great care to the region--clothes, food, temp. housing; you name it, it went to LA and MS. Often these supplies came from some of the poorest regions in the US: tractor trailers from Kentucky, SE Ohio, W.VA headed south packed to the hilt. Now the people of the region have to do what has to be done. It's their region, after all. Many have voted with their feet--New Orleans/the Gulf Coast in an inherently unsafe area in which to live, and people have moved away in droves. Others try to return but there is a dearth of jobs and basic services, so they simmer at the government, other people, God. The truth is, however, New Orleans, esp., prided itself on not being part of America; it prided itself on being a world apart. As the saying goes, pride goeth before the fall. Millions of Americans went the extra mile to help the area, and now they expect the area to help itself. It's a cold view of the world, but also a very American one. Empathy never lasts long in our society. To expect a sea change in America's underlying philosophy of self-help is naive. It's been a long time since Washington cared about anything but Washington. It too has become a world apart. LA/New Orleans politics are notoriously crooked and built around enriching a small minority of movers and shakers and letting everyone else rot. Two worlds apart, one major crisis, and a culture based on every man for himself: this doesn't make for a recipe for putting New Orleans back on its feet. And let's face it, do we want or need a simulcra of the old New Orleans? Because that is the best case scenario. The worst case scenario is another hurricane before the city's protections are radically upgraded. So blame Washington, blame the area's longtime lack of a working political infrastructure, but don't blame your fellow Americans for being, well, your fellow Americans.