Greetings from a Best Western, a hundred miles due east of Denver.

(Free internet: giddyup.)

I just clicked on the CNN home page, and witnessed the most frightening, disheartening photo of the Katrina aftermath yet: a shot of Celine Dion, with the caption:

"Singer Celine Dion tearfully urged people to help hurricane victims and sang a prayer for them on CNN's Larry King Special."

("Immediately following, Larry King tearfully urged people to help victims of Celine Dion's prayer-singing.")

So Dickie Sr. and I pull into this restaurant rest-stop this morning outside of Davenport, Iowa. He took the first round of driving; I was still sleeping off the night before - my last hurrah in Chi-town - so we were both pretty woozy when plopping down into the booth for a breakfast buffet. Then we look at the TV above us.

There's cousin Russel on CNN, barking orders and scowling and not taking shit from anyone, with correspondents chuckling how nobody wants to fuck with this guy, and he seems to be the only getting stuff done with very limited resources.

I gotta say, in the midst of the despair, heartbreak, and tragedy affecting the Motherland, D-Sr. and I are getting a kick at watching our kinfolk lead the charge to save the survivors. CNN can't friggin get enough of Russel Cronkite: While Bush, Chertoff, FEMA, and the rest of the keystone cops rightfully get hung out to dry, they're lauding him as the no-nonsense John Wayne Ragin' Cajun (even though technically that's Ragin' Creole) who's making shit happen in the Big Easy.

Go see for yourself: Currently on the CNN home page there's this video of him barking at soldiers and policemen to put away their goddamn guns, as civilians cheer from the sidewalk. The policemen aren't under his command - but they do it anyway.

What nobody knows is that Russel comes from a pretty remarkable wing of the Cronkite family. He's one of 12 siblings who grew up in abject poverty in rural Lousiana. His brother Jimmy started in the MGM studios mailroom and ascended to the VP of post-production at Sony Pictures. Another brother, Alvin, owns Harold & Belles, the most popular Creole restaurant in God's Country. One of the daughters married pretty well: Her nextdoor neighbor is none other than H. Ross Perot.

That's right, bitches: We Cronkites don't fuck around. All you bastards who've mis-underestimated me in the past, I will accept your tearful apologies unconditionally

Following in the footsteps of all douchebags cashing in on the success and fame of their family members, I've already inked a million-dollar book deal and I'm running for political office. You might have noticed a temporary change to the home page. And if anyone has a humanitarian crisis in their city, my services are available.

After watching the CNN video, Dickie Sr. just said, "Your last name's not gonna mean the same thing, ever again." And I suppose that's true...at least down in Louisiana. Earlier today he told his brother: "I never thought I'd see the day the Cronkite temper came in handy."

It's surreal hearing your last name thrown around on CNN, especially when it's as rare and unpronounceable as, um, "Cronkite." Talking on the cell as we passed through western Iowa, my mom said: "I just hope now some of those telemarketers will actually say our name right when they call." Scary, but I know what she means and totally agree.

Anyways, if you couldn't tell by my ramblings ad nauseam, I'm getting a kick out of this. And you should've heard Dickie, Sr. dropping the Russel Cronkite connection on practically everyone he talked to today.

Oh, and Rehnquist just died...off to the big bench in the sky.

[gulp]

Ladies, I hope you enjoyed your equal rights while they lasted...