I called my friend Tammy in Texas to tell her the exciting news – that Lindsay Lohan had been arrested in Santa Monica, Calif., on a DUI charge.

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked. “My entire county’s under 10 feet of water, I haven’t had power for three weeks, everything is a total loss, the house smells like Tony Soprano’s car trunk, and you think I care about some minor-league movie actress? Who is Linseed Lowhand?”

“A flood,” I said. “That’s horrible. When did that happen? Is Lindsey Lohan’s house OK? She doesn’t have a second or third home down there, does she?”

“Don’t ever call me again,” Tammy said, and her line went dead. Water damage is a terrible thing, but I’m pretty sure if Lohan’s house were damaged in a flood, we’d have heard about it. Still, I worry about her. I don’t know why Tammy thinks she’s in the same league with Lohan. A little conceited if you ask me.

I called my old buddy Charlie in California.

“Pretty shocking, isn’t it,” I said.

“You’re not kidding. I’ve never seen fires like this. They’ve closed roads from the smoke, and there are emergency vehicles everywhere. Two hundred houses have been destroyed already, and they think it may get worse.”

“I don’t know what fires you’re talking about. I meant the news about that Beckham guy and his wife.”

“What are you talking about?”