I just never answer the phone if I don't recognize the number.

I do this too, but this number had been calling for a solid month. There was clearly no other way to get them to go away.

Show off

It's not my fault I inherited my Mom's Phone Voice. She could go 0-60 from cursing out us kids to sounding like Park Avenue if one of her friends called.

My dad loves beets. I don't get it.

My solution to telemarketing is I just don't answer the phone unless you start leaving a message!

My mother, however, doesn't quite get this. So if the phone rings a couple times in a row, I'll pick it up. It usually works. If there is a long pause, I'll hang up, though.

I just try to make it clear that it's pointless to try sell me anything, like by saying I could only pay in chickens.

t snickers

Madrigal, the prospect of TimTam ice cream makes my head go boom. The New Zealanders are as attached to beets in their hamburgers as the Aussies, I think. But they do strange things to food there. Pistachio-lime bagels, anyone? Topped with kumara mash? Oy.

If the phone rings and I get that long pause before someone speaks, I've started hanging up at that point. I don't get a lot of calls at home, anyway.

Morning. I'm about to start my work day. I got this in my email this morning from Cynthia and thought I'd share.

From columnist Chris Rose of The Times-Picayune www.nola.com

Dear America,

I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.

We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.

And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.

First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.

We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.

Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.

We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.

You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.

We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.

But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.

Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.

Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?

We can't really explain that. It is what it is.

You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.

The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.

We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.

When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.

But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.

OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.

But what the hell.

And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.

So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.

That is our promise. That is our faith.

I quickly learned to stay away from the local food when I was in NZ, and ate mostly Thai and Malaysian.

I was unable to find Thai and Malaysian in most of New Zealand. And the constant pies got old, quickly.

Somewhere above, the mention of various odd ingredient combinations made me want a spinach hazelnut burger. So good. And I've only ever seen them at a wacky nightclub/lounge/cafe/art gallery place very very far from me right now.

I love beets!

There, I said it.

I also just accidentally answered the phone for some weird telemarketing scam thing, I'm sure. She was all, "DON'T MISUNDERSTAND ME! We want to send you three magazines FREE for FIVE YEARS!!" I was like, "NO REALLY. I don't want them!"

In news news, I'm watching the Roberts hearings a little bit, and he just basically said (in somewhat code) that his past work doesn't mean shit wrt what he'll do on the court. FYI.

Jesse! My beet-loving sister! (Only fresh cooked ones - no canned or pickled, though.)

Our system is still basically down. It's been 48 hours now. They're now saying "this afternoon..."