Last night I had another fabulous dinner on the HBO dime. The latest round of journalists permitted to swarm around the Treme show were Europe's finest. That and my friend Gabe, who hails from Brooklyn but was writing a piece for the Guardian and Joseph, a fine author who has resided in New Orleans for forever but still files pieces for the Canadian magazine Mc Calls. But with them were Claudia from Spain, Marcus from Sweden and Peirre from France.

I'll tell you what refreshingly sets the Europeans apart from their American, and especially their local, counterparts is their lack of naked jealousy that I have landed a writing gig on the show and they haven't.

I understand, especially in the arena of the intelligentsia how I have landed the most coveted writing gig on television. I'm sure there's all sorts of folks pursuing masters degrees in screenwriting who are green with envy. But a couple of journalists I have spoken to recently were just plain snarky.

Of course my friends are no exception, but they are blunt in their approach.

I find this parallels the music business, where people throw barbs at you because they have a career as a sound guy, or a producer or a label owner and all they really wanted to do in life was be that guy on the stage.

The Europeans, secure in their knowledge that they didn't have a shot, made pleasant conversation and asked questions about the show and my hometown.

I am loving my life right now.