Dear George: So how's my favourite president? I bet you're a little harried at the moment, eh? There's nothing worse than having a good long vacation interrupted by an annoying natural disaster. And while I'm sure you've got a firm hand on the wheel, George, I can't help but notice that those popularity stats are sinking faster than a Louisiana bungalow (that was a joke, George, relax). And between you and me, kissing babies on national television just doesn't seem to be boosting the numbers any, even if their complexion is a few shades darker than last week.

Now, I know you're going to look into the whole mess personally, or perhaps I should say "the unfortunate chain of events," because I know how you don't like negative talk. But you're a busy man, George, and the quicker we can get you back to the ranch and chasing armadillos the better. So here are a few things you might want to mull over when you have a chance, though I'm sure there's a good game on tonight, so take your time and mind the pretzels.

Okay, first thing to consider here is Optics, George. When people are dying, the thing not to do is crack jokes. And before you say it, I know putting on Mr. Happy Face always boosts the spirits, but we've gone over this before and you aren't exactly Jerry Seinfeld. Leave it to the professionals, and look sombre.

That's sombre George, not sober. There is a difference.

And while we're on the subject, perhaps you can leave your mother at home next time. I mean, quite frankly, her telling people who have just been through the equivalent of a five-day skinny dip in a sewer that they're actually better off now, seeing as they were so underprivileged before, isn't a great morale booster.

So next time keep it sombre, muzzle the mother, and whatever you do, stop listing the aid you're sending like it's a Wal-Mart shopping list. If nothing else, everybody was wondering whether you got the zip code wrong and mailed it to Alaska.

It sure wasn't turning up in New Orleans, George.

Which brings me to the second problem, or perhaps I should call it a "mild concern," regarding the perceived lack of effort on your part. Now, I know there's a bit of a debate brewing over who declared what when, and the relative intelligence of city and state officials when compared to the average crawdaddy, but let's face it, George, you must have expected you'd have to lend a hand sometime. There were a whole lot of brownie points to be had by having the National Guard, Army, Air Force, Navy, Marines, and even the Boy Scouts of America just waiting at the door and ready to go when the call came. I know you still have a hard time sorting out your socks in the morning, and while I don't want to be critical in a time of crisis, George, I think this really was something you could have jumped on.

Which makes me wonder, my friend, if you ever watch the weather forecast. Sure, there was a good Texas Rangers game on that Sunday, and I'm well aware of your distaste for following the "news," but trust me when I tell you they normally don't say anything nasty about you when giving the weather, at least not until lately. And I think you might find it quite a bit of fun, actually. They've got lots of big pictures, with bright colours and usually very attractive presenters (for when Laura isn't around).

And the next time you see a great big red swirling image during one of those forecasts, George, get on the phone and get people moving. Sure, the folks in Louisiana voted in a complete idiot for governor, but that doesn't mean they voted in a complete idiot for a president too, now does it?

On the bright side, no one seems to be harping too much about all those budget cuts, especially to the Army Corps of Engineers who would have actually been keeping the levees somewhere close to functional. But it was really an accident waiting to happen anyway, so no harm done, hey hombre?

Keep the faith, my friend. There's only a good six or seven more hurricanes to go this year, after all.