Not that I ever voted for Bush. Not I ever voted for a republican. Not that I am anything close to a conservative.

No, that was my dad, and ever since I was a kid, we would get into serious political debates. I was the bleeding heart liberal, he was the Goldwater conservative. Before he died in Jan. 2002, he was disgusted with Bush, the war and acknowledged that Bush stole the 2000 election with the help of his brother.

My dad lived in Miami, just two counties south of Palm Beach, the epicenter of where it all happened. There is a reason why Floridians are so pissed off, making four of the top ten angriest cities.

But after campaigning heavily in 2004 for Kerry, only to watch Bush steal another election, this time with the help of computer voting machines; then watching as the media refused to even look into the obvious evidence; and seeing how the bulk of Americans just went on with their lives as if the death of democracy was no different than their favorite football team losing on a particular Sunday; I just simply tuned out.

I stopped watching TV, stopped going into GD and stopped obsessing about the lack of WMDs and the war based on lies. I figured if this is what America wants, this is what America gets. If America is more concerned about Adam and Steve getting married rather than Adam and Steve getting blown to bits in Iraq, then it deserves what it gets.

Then came Hurricane Katrina. She was nothing but a tropical storm hovering off the Florida coast when I first heard about her. Down here in Miami, we were told by the media that it was nothing to worry about. No need to put up hurricane shutters.

In fact, on the day she made landfall, I was sitting by an open window, enjoying the tropical breeze. I received a call from my friend in California who asked me if I was getting prepared for "Hurricane Katrina". It's only a tropical storm, I told him. This is one of the drawbacks of tuning out. You tend to rely on second-hand information.

A couple of hours later, it started raining. Then storming. I shut my windows and noticed that this "tropical storm" was actually quite strong. I even ran out into the rain and phoned my friend in California to allow him to hear the strong winds. "This is what a tropical storm sounds like. Imagine what an actual hurricane sounds like."

Then the winds got stronger, forcing me inside. And the windows started rattling. And the lights went out in my neighborhood. A few hours later, I turned on my battery-operated radio and learned that several people had died in South Florida from the storm. That tropical storm Katrina had been upgraded to a category one hurricane moments before making landfall. In fact, the Miami Herald headline read, "Sucker Punched" over a picture of downed power lines, shattered windows and toppled trees.

Katrina continued tearing threw Florida and hovered in the Gulf of Mexico gathering strength and momentum. She became a category two. Then three. Then four hurricane.

On the third day after striking Miami, as I still sat in the dark, Katrina turned into a category five hurricane and barrelled into the bayou. On the fourth day, as I still sat in the dark, the levees broke, drowning the Big Easy.

And on the sixth day, after finally getting my power restored, I turned on my TV for the first time since the 2004 election, and was shocked to see how everybody was acting so surprised of the storm's power. As if Katrina had emerged out of nowhere before striking New Orleans. And all I could think of was that there was no excuse for New Orleans to get "sucker punched". Anybody in Miami could have told them that this was no ordinary storm.

And the denial and blame and the bodies just piled higher. And all I could think about were the people I met the year before in New Orleans during a cross-country road trip. I thought about that artist who drew my picture. And the musician who bought me a beer. And the group of waiters who welcomed me into their group one night at a bar after they got off work. I fucking cried, man.

And all shrub could do was attend a fucking fund raiser?

That was the moment I tuned back in. That was the moment when I decided to attend the antiwar protest in DC the following month. That was the moment I decided to bring up my hatred for Bush no matter where I'm at and no matter whom I offend, and no matter what kind of trouble it gets me into.

After all, New Orleans may not have been worth saving. But America is.

Welcome aboard.