Crunch Time!

Smoke'em If You've Got'em

This is it. The last shopping weekend before Christmas. One last trip to the bank for the holiday season. It's too late to make nice things for everyone on your list. You'll have to buy what you need, now.

That creation in the photo? Someone in the office thought it'd be nice to take some of their hothouse hibiscus flowers and adorn the mini Christmas tree on their desk. Perhaps we put too much rum in the egg nog.

Don't Play With Fire

Grande Mocha Latte With Emotional Blackmail

As a rule, I don't tip for counter service. Why should I? The service won't improve if I tip. The correctness of my order won't change if I tip. And given the fact that I'm not a student here, my grades won't change if I tip.

I specifically said "No whipped cream" and then they put it on anyway. I reminded them of this and they had to make me a new one. If I had tipped, would I have been able to retrieve my money from the tip jar? I'd have felt like a fool for tipping for the wrong coffee.

As a rule, college students are an emotional bunch. Finals is a time of great stress. I recall being in the throes of temporary bipolar disorder when each final would take place and the cramming began for the next one. If someone had caught me at the right time, I'm sure I'd have put more money in the tip jar than I spent on the coffee.

Putting this note on a tip jar on a university campus is wrong wrong wrong. Just because your job sucks and your pay sucks there's no reason to sink to emotional extortion on your patrons.

Keeping The Kids Amused

Maybe he doesn't want to be found

My artist sketch lasted 3 weeks before someone tore it down. I don't think these people want their cat back.

The kids got a hoot out of this. Well, after I got the condescending glare from the oldest ones, of course. Then they made sure I took a photo of it.

So here's my critique of the sign:

1) Does the cat have a name? I might be able to get it if I called it by name. "Here, Puss Puss" might not cut it.
2) Boy cat or girl cat? Again, might not matter. However, if I'm to determine the eye colors of the cat, I'd have to be face to face with it. Then we're back to the name issue. I did see a white cat last week, but I couldn't get close enough to see the eyes. It ran away and I could see that it was a boy, but the sign doesn't specify beyond bi-color and white.
3) Do they want the cat back? According to the sign, they only want reports of sightings.
4) What's in it for me? I'm allergic to cats. They dig up my garden and knock over my bonsai pots. When my dogs chase cats out of the yard, they're knocking over the larger pots and making general chaos. So, if I'm to care about your cat, and right now I don't, how are you going to make me care? The sign does nothing to motivate me to do anything other than drawing a stupid rebus.

Given the lack of effort on the part of the sign poster (cheap sign, bad proof-reading, few details, no motivation), I think this cat woke up one morning to the sound of can openers in other homes. This cat realized that it had been staying with the wrong people. "These idiots haven't even given me a name," it muttered to itself. It struck out on its own and occasionally catches glimpses of it's former housemates from further and further away.

Would I report this cat if I could determine for certain that it was the cat from 2 doors down? No. I think perhaps this cat has chosen a better life. Who am I to interfere?

This Date In History

I Didn't Kill James Carville Today

Not that I would have. But there he was, crossing Palmer as I turned off of Marquette. I said to myself "Hey! That can't be James Carville. Can it?" Then I said to myself "Who the hell else looks like that?"

He stopped when he saw me rounding the corner. My Honda Pilot does not pose a formidable threat, but as much as I didn't want to spend the day talking to the police and getting congratulatory calls from local conservative radio talk shows, I'm sure he didn't want to spend the day in a hospital bed. After all, he still had his coffee in his hand. Never interrupt someone in the middle of their coffee with an SUV. That's just good manners.


John F. Kennedy Is Finally Dead

For 45 birthdays I've been looking forward to my happy day with a reminder of who was shot and killed the very day before I was born. Mom would ask, "What do you want for your birthday, Billy?" And I would think to myself "To stop seeing the Zapruder film every year for my birthday." Well, this year, for my 46th birthday, I finally got my wish. Granted, I didn't watch much news, but I've tried that before. Something always slips through. This year I catch a break. I didn't catch wind of a single word associating my birthday with a bullet in the head.


UPDATE: James Carville Scares Me Into Locking My Doors

Security people were in the neighborhood when I got off work tonight. Cars were backed up to St. Charles Avenue. A big formal party was taking place at one of the huge homes near my work. Thus, I was paying more attention to the formal dinner than I was to my surroundings as I unlocked and entered my vehicle. It was only when I got into the front seat that I noticed someone was walking by. I quickly closed my door and locked it. It was James Carville. He was coming back from a jog. He passed me by, trotted across the street, bypassed the front porch and went around back. I guess he didn't want to be in his jogging clothes and run into Governor Bobby Jindal who was standing on his front porch. (At least it LOOKED like Bobby Jindal. It was dark. I had my camera out, but couldn't squeeze off a shot in the low light.)

Don't go looking for shots of James Carville here. I'm not stalking him. I just park in his neighborhood.

Saints And Sinners

Down And Dirty In The Big Easy

God bless those New Orleans Saints. They've pulled off a 7-0 start for only the second time in their history. I've been a Saints fan for as long as there have been Saints. Somehow the stars have aligned and we're watching one of the best teams ever to play the sport.

And they're all ours!

(and now for something completely different)

"Dear God, Please Get Me Out Of Here!"

During the school year, the stars rarely align for my family when it comes to scheduling. Sunday was no different.

I decided that a beautiful Sunday morning is a wonderful chance to tear down and rebuild a fence. Indeed it was. However, as my father once told me "Projects are always more complicated than they seem; are more expensive than you expect; and take longer than you hoped." Each of my home projects seem to fall in line with that simple expectation.

The wife took the youngest off to church while the older hellions slept off Saturday night. I took crowbar to board and uncovered one setback after another; crooked posts, rotten wood, and sub-standard construction are all hallmarks of any project completed by the previous homeowner. This was no exception.

After working all day on removing the old fence and acquiring the supplies to build the new one, 5pm was creeping up on me fast. The last church mass of the day would see me packing up my tools and looking at 7 original fence posts without a single piece of new work upon them. What made me think I could do this in one day?

Mrs. Bayou's prior commitment to the local school's fund-raiser had her out of the house at this time and our youngest could not be left home alone. I told her so. "BUT I ALREADY WENT TO CHURCH! I DON'T HAVE TO GO AGAIN! I'M NOT GOING!" was her thundering reply. The oldest kids smirked and headed off to church on their own. I'm not sure if they were behaving properly or jumping ship. Kicking and screaming, I threw the little monster into the car and we made it to church on time.

5 minutes into mass and an angel appeared. Mom had stopped by the church on her way home and picked up The Sulking One. I would later find out that while she did not want to go to church, she was a firm believer in prayer. "Mom, I knew you would come," my wife said, retelling what she heard. "I was in church praying to God. 'Dear God, please get me out of here,' and you came!"

I'm learning things about the youngest kids in wide age-span families: They quickly learn how to work the system. Apparently, this one has learned how to work God.

What The Hell Happened?

I just don't understand women...

(You may need to read my last blog if you're not up to speed. Yes. That's my face.)

So we got home around 9:30pm last night. I grabbed a couple bottles beer and headed off to the bedroom to turn on ESPN and await my wife. Somewhere around 1am I must have dozed off. The next thing I know I hear a deafening roar and I'm being hit with what appeared to be a fist wrapped with a lace teddy. Where'd I go wrong?

Welcome Home Mrs. Bayou!

Oh what a night...

My wife will be returning from San Francisco this evening. I can't wait.

The dishwasher is full and the sink is too. Having run out of clean dishes, the kids and I have filled the kitchen trash can with fast-food bags and pizza boxes. It's so full I've had to tie down the lid to keep the dogs from getting into it. The poor dogs have run out of food, but it's okay because they ate the leftover pizza. The laundry situation is at a breaking point. If my wife wasn't coming home tonight, I'm sure we'd be sniffing through our dirties searching out the least offensive smells. So yes(!), we'll all have clean clothes tomorrow.

On Monday, I contacted my kids' teachers to let them know of my situation. They were all understanding. They've agreed to let my girls bring in their homework tomorrow. That'll give my wife tonight to help them finish it up. She's always saying things like "I have to help them with their homework every night because they just know how much I love doing it for them!"

As a bonus, I found out on Monday that two of my kids have arts and crafts projects due tomorrow (Friday). I told them not to lose the supplies list (I'm sure they didn't) and to give the lists to Mom at the airport. Her flight comes in at 8:32pm and the craft store closes at 9pm. That should be enough time for her to run in and get whatever supplies they need to do the class projects.

My wife has been calling me from San Francisco all week telling me how busy she's been, going from one seminar to the next. Even the meals are business related; Business Breakfast, Business Lunch, Business Dinner. The poor dear has been suffering at night as well. Her room is over the street and she says that all she hears all night is horns blaring and the doorman whistling for cabs. This morning (flight day!), she called to say that the hotel was out of hot water at 6am. She's been shivering all morning and she's exhausted from lack of sleep. She's looking forward to sleeping on the flight. I figure the best thing for her will be to get home and get back into her rhythm with the kids and the house.

So tonight I'll pick up some flowers at WalMart on the way to the airport, I'll give her a big kiss when I see her, and I'll hurry her home (after stopping at the craft store, of course). And when the homework is done, class projects all glued and painted, and the hum of laundry and dishwashing machines permeates the house, she'll come to bed (I remembered to dust off the cookie crumbs from last night) to find me waiting there with her final present of the night: a lace teddy I bought for her at the mall. This will be a night to remember.