Recently in A Confederacy of Dunces Category

Ignatius Reilly is alive and well and eating in Baton Rouge -- and blogging about it under a false name.

Time to get your Charles Cosimano on, as America's celebrity-industrial complex goes into Defcon 5 in advance of tomorrow's apotheosis of Michael Jackson:

Downtown hotels were quickly filling. Police, trying to avoid a mob scene, warned those without tickets to stay away because they would not be able to get close to the Staples Center.

British Airways reported a surge of bookings as soon as the memorial arrangements were announced. Virgin's trans-Atlantic flights to San Francisco, Las Vegas and Los Angeles were all packed with fans and VIPs, said spokesman Paul Charles.

"I think this is America's version of Princess Diana. People want to be in the vicinity. People from the UK and elsewhere want to share their emotions together," Charles said.

America's Princess Diana. Vom. Could these obsequies possibly get more craptastic? Maybe they'll set Elizabeth Taylor on fire, or something. Tito, pass me the Demerol...

People, don't think that just because I'm on vacation that I've stopped obsessively scanning the horizon for the imminent approach of our collective doom. Hey, somebody's gotta do it, and it may as well be Your Working Boy.

Did you see the list of Doctor Dooms (Doctors Doom?) who called this sucker before others did? Ritholtz, Schiff, Celente, et alia. They're still pretty damn bearish. And so is the World Bank, which said today that the whole world is headed to the worst global economic downturn since the Great Depression. Excerpt:

The sudden drop in capital flows poses a particular danger to oil exporters, some of whom have run up heavy debts.

"They'll have to roll over that debt, one way or the other," said Simon Johnson, a former chief economist of the International Monetary Fund. "That's going to put a huge squeeze on these countries."

Mr. Johnson said the calmer atmosphere in foreign markets belied the gravity of the situation. Spreads on credit default swaps -- a common yardstick for whether a country's government is in danger of default -- continue to signal potential trouble for Ireland, Italy and Greece.

The authorities in Greece are battling violent street protests in Athens and its suburbs, caused in part by the deteriorating economy.

Don't snort at OPEC's woes. Saudi Arabia is basically a massive welfare state crawling with Islamic fanatics. Do we really want to see the Saudis undergo an Islamic revolution? And as for the rest -- what, exactly, would it mean for Ireland, Italy and Greece to go bankrupt? I'm not asking rhetorically. The political unrest that we could see is frightening to contemplate. And not to get my full Hal Lindsey on, but it's worth keeping in mind that turmoil, desperation and the (quite legitimate) fear of anarchy is what the state uses to increase its power -- even globally.

Despite this, and even though I labor in the buggy whip industry, I continue to do my work of charity, undeterred by our fast-approaching ruin. Just this evening, a friend and reader of this blog whom I'd introduced to "A Confederacy of Dunces" writes to say:

A friend writes:

You're a true original. You are in no way a wacko. But you are deeply attracted to wackoes. You are drawn to them. You crave their wackadoodle-ness.

He's right, of course. I have a deep affection for eccentrics. Why do you think my favorite book is "A Confederacy of Dunces"? But I wonder what the limits of that sort of thing are. Specifically, something that happened last night made me think it.

A friend, fellow south Louisiana expatriate, and reader of this blog, the Mighty Favog, posted something to his blog about a crazy conversation he'd just had with his mother back home. She told him about some elderly relative who was willing to die of butt cancer rather than let a Negro physician lay a hand on him. You really have to read Favog's link to get the tone of this conversation, which enraged him about the enduring power of white racism back home.

So I read this on Favog's blog last night, and I literally doubled over laughing. I was gasping for breath. I'm laughing now just thinking about it. Julie calls out to me, "What's so funny?" I showed her Favog's post ... and she just stood in front of the computer with a horrified look on her face.

A short time later, I asked her if we could talk about our separate reactions to Favog's post.

A NYC Catholic reader and devotee of "A Confederacy of Dunces" sends us this Assumption vignette from a Bronx shrine to the Virgin Mary. "Who said Irene Reilly was fiction?" he writes. "Check out the dialogue at the end." Excerpt:

Small groups of pilgrims walked up to the grotto, where they stopped and prayed. A man explained he had just brought some family friends.

"She's a little delicate," he said of the friend.

"It's her nerves," said his companion, Gladys Valerio.

"We asked the Virgin to help her," he said.

"To help her get out of her trance," Ms. Valerio explained.

Soon, Yleana Acosta, their friend, joined them, her face glistening with water from the shrine. A rosary hung around her neck, its crucifix dangling on her damp shirt. Her mother, Esperanza Tejada, stood beside her, with a face that mixed maternal love and worry.

"I am very stressed," Yleana said, her voice cracking. "I have a lot on my mind that I have to get out of my life."

She had come to the Bronx from Delaware, she said, to get away from some problems she was having with her boyfriend. When her mother noticed something was wrong, the next thing you know, they were at the grotto.

"Thank God for my mother," Yleana said, dissolving into tears. "She's always with me."

Her mother, Esperanza -- which means "hope" -- hugged her.

"Don't cry, my love," her mother cooed. "Don't cry."

Santa Battaglia, get the potatis salad outta the ice chest, doll, we gonna be here a while.