In NBC Interview, Bush Calls Kanye's On-Air Insult Worst Moment of Presidency

By Nate Freeman

In anticipation of the Nov. 9 release of his memoir Decision Points, George W. Bush will sit down with Matt Lauer for a prime-time news special this Monday to talk over the experiences relayed in the book. In the excerpts released yesterday in a press release, the NBC anchor grilled the ex-head of state on the memoir's key moments — namely 9/11, the Iraq War, Hurricane Katrina, etc.

But which of these events — all of them defining disasters of this millennium — does Bush consider the worst moment of his presidency? None, actually! It seems Bush is the latest victim of the cutting disses Kanye West can sneak into his nimble, dexterous flow. The offending quip, of course, was West's assertion, on an NBC Katrina telethon, that "George Bush doesn't care about black people." Bush admits that 'Ye burned him hard.

MATT LAUER:
This from the book. “Five years later I can barely write those words without feeling disgust.” You go on. “I faced a lot of criticism as President. I didn’t like hearing people claim that I lied about Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction or cut taxes to benefit the rich. But the suggestion that I was racist because of the response to Katrina represented an all time low.”

PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH:
Yeah. I still feel that way as you read those words. I felt ‘em when I heard ‘em, felt ‘em when I wrote ‘em and I felt ‘em when I’m listening to ‘em.

Kanye has dealt with the haters before — diss tracks from the Dipset crew, Barack Obama calling him a "jackass" after he interrupted Taylor Swift — but nothing compared to the president calling his insult the lowest point of an eight-year tenure in the Oval Office. What's beef, W.?

Guest Post via My Brother Mark: Katrina + 5

On the night of Sunday, August 22, 2010, I tucked my four-and-a-half year old daughter in her bed, kissed her forehead and turned out the lights. About 20 minutes later, a thunderstorm blew through the area. The intense lightning put on quite a show. When a bolt struck close by, and the powerful KA-BOOOOOOM rattled the windows a half-second later, my wife and I were not surprised when the little one's voice called "Daddy! Mommy!"

We spoke to her softly and calmly.

"It's just a little lightning and thunder, honey. The bright lights and the loud noises aren't going to hurt you. It's kind of fun, actually, to count the seconds between the flash and the boom. You're safe and sound here in the house with us. We're right down the hall, and we'll come check on you in a little while." We gave a few more hugs and kisses before making our way back down the hall.

"Daddy?" she called again.

We poked our heads back around the doorway.

"What if the storm gets soooooo big?" she asked.

My wife and I exchanged glances.

"This is just a little storm, honey. It's not a big one."

"But what if it's like the big storm that hit Ne-worlins?"

My heart sank. You should never, ever, know what that is like, I thought.

As a parent, you do your best to ease your child's fears. "There are no such things as monsters." "It was just a movie; it was just pretend." "Don't be scared, I'm going to catch you." But what do you say when it comes to the worst natural disaster in the nation's history? If a small child really knows about Katrina, how could she ever really feel safe in a storm?

If she'd seen the people on the rooftops screaming for help, surrounded by rising water, could I tell her that something like that will never happen to us? If she'd heard about the hundreds of family pets left to drown, would I really be able to reassure her that our dog will be okay in the house by himself during a storm while she is at school?

What if she'd seen the video of Lee Ann Bemboom, the woman at the Convention Center holding her lethargic, overheated baby boy slumped over her arm: "Look how hot he is; he's not waking up very easy!" After seeing that, would my daughter believe me if I told her she'll always be safe in my arms?

What if she'd seen all of her belongings...ALL of her stuffed animals, blankets, shirts, skirts, shorts, shoes, dresses, hats, hair-ties, books, games, paints, crayons, easels, movies and dollies...covered in mold, and mud...and diesel fuel...and feces.

Or worse.

What if she'd returned to the place where her house and all of her things had once been? What if she'd stood on the concrete steps that just recently had ended at a familiar front porch? What if all she could see from the top step was mud and weeds? What if she had turned and asked, "Daddy, where is my room? I want our house back!"

Make no mistake, in late 2005 little ones all over the Gulf Coast tearfully pleaded with their mommies and daddies in just that way. And I'm sure every single parent choked back a levee breach of tears, put on their most stoic face, held their child close and said:

"Baby, it's okay. Everything is fine. You're going to have a new room with new toys really soon. I promise."

Not one of them said, "Storms are nothing to be scared of."

At Katrina +5, New Orleanians look at the numbers: the population, the number of blighted houses remaining, number of reopened schools, number of hospitals, recovery dollars remaining. We look at the calendar: the weeks left until hurricane season is over, the upcoming anniversary of the day we moved into our new homes, and for the unlucky, remembrance of the day fathers, mothers, and children took their last breaths.

At Katrina +5, for those of us with young children, we keep the numbers and the dates to ourselves. For our kids, August 29, 2010 just means beignets for breakfast and one last trip to the store for school supplies. The little ones aren't going to notice the extra church bells ringing to mark the moment of each of the levee breaches. They aren't going to watch the TV specials. They aren't going to read the section in the Times Picayune dedicated to storm stories. And if we can help it, they aren't going to see us crying.

I try to tell myself that I'll explain everything to our little girl when she's old enough to understand it all. I say that I'll tell her when she's able to hear about it without being traumatized. But then I remember.

I still don't understand. And I still get scared.

Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes....A la Mother Load

You've hopefully been admiring my fantabulous makeover courtesy of  Bloggy Blog Designz (@BBDesignz on Twitter). Jenna is wonderful to work with, despite being down with a broken foot. I knew what I wanted and she helped me bring my ideas to fruition. Although I've already managed to accidentally delete my buttons, Jenna will have them back in their proper position in no time. This cool gal often hosts giveaways, so if your wallet's a little light and you want to tweak a few things, or even if you want a whole new look, be sure to head on over to her place and see what prizes she has up for grabs. Thank you, Jenna, for my awesome new look and for putting up with me!

These aesthetic changes reflect what's been going on inside, and the direction I want my blog to go in. I'm veering off the path of memes, posts lacking interesting material, and I'm certainly not blogging daily. I firmly believe in quality, not quantity, though I'm sure some of you disagree with me. I don't write unless I've got something to say, which I think should be one of blogging's Golden Rules.

The Ninja Blogger graciously agreed to post for me on Monday, and if you missed her insights, please go here. Tomorrow The Crazy Baby Mama will be guest posting, and I have to warn you---if you are easily offended or prefer not to read about a bris, a vibrator, and the female anatomy, you may want to skim or skip; but if you do, you'll be missing out on some of Sarah's best work! So I encourage you to come back tomorrow. And because we are nearing the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, my brother will be guest posting this weekend. I am enjoying an unofficial bloggy break and letting my brain recharge a bit.

I'll leave you with a link to something I wrote here 2+ years ago before I had honed my mad blogging skillz, before I had any followers, and before I realized that no one was reading but I didn't care because it was strictly an emotional outlet. But it's funny, and my friend Meg tells me that this post always makes her laugh. I give you, "My Dear Husband."

See you back here tomorrow for Sarah's post on vibrators!

Miss New Orleans and My Love for the Fleur de Lis

Did you know that Cynthia of Running with Letters is not only a published, amazingly gifted writer, but also an artist? I fell head over heels in love with her mosaic seahorse on her blog a few months ago (you can check him out here), and I had to ask her to make me something special. If you know me, it didn't take any time at all to determine what I wanted. A fleur de lis, of course!

As a native New Orleanian now living in the Midwest, I've become particularly attached to the symbol of my city and its rich heritage. New Orleans reaffirmed its love for the fleur de lis post Hurricane Katrina, when flags featuring it could be found in front yards and on flagpoles everywhere.

Cynthia's fleur de lis....

we're trying to find the perfect spot for it!

The fleur de lis represents all my family went through when I had already moved to Kansas and couldn't go back to help. It was difficult seeing the damage, yet being unable to physically DO anything to show my support (I was very pregnant with the twins). I sat back quietly in a wretched kind of silence while these images floated through my head over and over.

my brother & sister-in-law's living room

my brother & sister-in-law's kitchen

looking down my mom's street from a canoe.

Others trying to get to their homes via canoe.

The fleur de lis symbolizes the devastation, destruction and subsequent rebirth of my hometown. Despite everything it has risen again, like a phoenix.

It symbolizes beignets swimming in powdered sugar and dipped in hot cafe au lait, shrimp poboys spilling over with mayonnaise and lettuce, and chocolate snowballs from Sal's.

It symbolizes the motionless mimes of the French Quarter painted in silver, the clank of pocket change being dropped in their buckets, and the sounds of horses' hooves clopping down the sticky streets.

The clickety clack of the old green streetcars going up and down the tracks. How I took that sound for granted until I returned after Katrina and the streets were eerily silent and still.

Visiting the zoo every year and playing on Monkey Hill, the highest point in New Orleans, the only one above sea level. Only in New Orleans will you find a man-made hill to show children in the area what a hill actually looks like.

The way your glasses fog up when you step outside nine months out of the year, even first thing in the morning. Spending Thanksgiving Day indoors, wearing shorts with the AC blasting.

The above-ground cemetaries, ripe with history. Tombs crammed together and statues of significant figures. Voodoo dolls, palm readers, and goey pralines; go-cups, Hurricanes from Pat O's, and karaoke at the Cat's Meow.

Jogging on the levee every morning overlooking the brown Mississippi River and the barges passing by. Twice rescuing turtles that had lost their sense of direction and ended up on River Road.

The fleur de lis is feeding the ducks at Audobon Park and watching the college students come and go. It's Oscar's, the bar on Metairie Road where I had my first shot of Goldschlager. It's the Mardi Gras parades and shaking my hips to the beat of the marching bands. Stomping on doubloons to claim them, catching beads in the face, the smell of beer and sweat and the throng of a thousand people pulsing beside you.

King Cakes stuffed with cream cheese, painted with purple, gold, and green sugar. Biting into that plastic baby. Red beans and rice on Mondays, and Bananas Foster anytime your sweet tooth demands it.

My favorite stationery store, Scriptura, on Magazine Street where the owner's dog, Bailey, would lie in patches of sunlight on the shop's hardwood floor. Magazine Street with its antique shops and dive bars, the Bridge Lounge with its black and white photographs of different dogs covering the walls. The cheese fries at F & M's. All the times I shared with friends at these places...

The Columns Hotel on St. Charles where I watched cockroaches swarm beneath my feet as I sipped a dainty cocktail outside on the porch, sweat dripping down and forming a pool in my bra. The sound of laughter and crickets, and the feeling that no one else anywhere on Earth knows what it's like to live in New Orleans.

New Orleans, where I spent 28 years of my life. Where much of my beloved family still lives. Where a part of me will remain forever.

With her art, Cynthia has helped me remember all these things and more. This fleur de lis is beyond special to me. It is my life, my heritage, the path I've traveled. It's a light, guiding me. Cynthia has a rare gift and I hope you will visit her blog and get to know her. Better yet, have her make something incredible for you. She's managed to bring a piece of New Orleans to me, and I know she can do something equally important for you or someone you love.

I miss New Orleans.

My mom's house post-Katrina

Standing on Mom's back porch looking down her driveway & across to neighbor's house.

You can see where the water level had been along the side of the house.

Looking up the block from Mom's house. Other people were trying to get into their homes, too.

My brother, Kevin, at the intersection closest to Mom's house. This was several weeks post-Katrina, and as you can see, the water was still slowly draining out of parts of Metairie.

Looking down my mom's block.

My mom's bedroom. Because mom doesn't live in Lakeview (which was one of the hardest hit areas), her flooding was not quite as bad; however, you can still see that the water came up several feet in her bedroom and then the mold did the rest of the damage.

Mom's bathroom. Water still on the floor and in the tub, draining slowly because there was nowhere for it to really go...

Looking across the street from Mom's house, view from her front steps.

Looking out her front door. Kevin and his friend Lee had to take a canoe to get there.

Lee helping Kevin paddle down the block.

Another view looking down my mom's street.

My brother & sister-in-law's house after Katrina

My brother and sister-in-law's home in Lakeview--a photo of their sweet dog, JJ, lounging around as they packed up to evacuate prior to Katrina.

Their living room---wedding presents on the floor(again, prior to the hurricane). Mark and Katheryn got married the month before Katrina hit.

Outside their home in Lakeview on 10.1.05, over a month after Katrina hit.

My brother, Mark, and his friend surveying the damage.

Inside. There are no words, really. As you can see, the water flooded the entirety of the first floor.

Looking into the kitchen.

Mark pointed out the bottle of Crown on the hood. It settled there on its own, with the help of the floodwaters.

The water even managed to seep up to the second floor of their home.

Katheryn's car underneath a fence.

My younger brother, Mark, in his backyard. This photo crushed me. I felt helpless. I was precariously pregnant with the twins and my family basically refused to let me fly down to help. It was difficult watching them go through this and not being able to DO anything. Not that there was really anything I could have done.

I could talk about the waiting, the wondering, the wishing they could get back in to assess the damage, begin to clean up, and move on with their lives. I could talk about the anger, the tears, the depression and frustration. But it wouldn't really matter because I didn't experience it myself. The photos speak a thousand words, though.

On the Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina

My Uncle Steven's house in Lakeview. Obviously all that stuff is mold. The excessive heat & humidity combined with the fact that no one was allowed back in until a month later only allowed it to fester. Everyone still talks about "that smell," which permeated everything. Note the lines along the upper walls---the water line. Because New Orleans is a bowl and completely below sea level, the floodwater seeped in and then had nowhere to go. It sat and sat and sat. New Orleans drowned. Many others along the Gulf Coast lost everything completely (i.e. only foundations left), but I'm not sure this was any better or easier.

This was exactly how they walked in and found it. The water moved/stacked everything like this.

My uncle's kitchen. The fridge had lodged itself on top of the counter.

This one is the last photo of my uncle's house. More mold on the sofa, walls, etc. I feel as if the photos stand on their own and I don't need to add much of anything. My next post will be of my brother & sister-in-law's home, also in Lakeview. I am not good enough with Blogger to figure out how to get it to space out my pics within text.