More Duck, Please

Nycticorax nycticorax

I happened upon a scene in Audubon Park. A man was feeding bread to the ducks, geese and fish. It wasn't much different than anyone else doing the same, except for the fellow pictured here. He's a Black-Crowned Night Heron. My wife calls it an evil bird, but more on that in a moment.

What caught my attention was the attention this bird was giving to the bread on the water. The man told me the bird was waiting to catch a fish. The fish were swimming about eating the bread left by the ducks. Sure enough, after a minute, the bird lunged forward, snatched up a fish. I thought the event was interesting enough that I brought the family to the park on the following day.

We traversed the park in search of the bird, and finally found him not too far off from where I'd seen him last. Unfortunately, the geese were exceedingly obnoxious and I couldn't get the bird to repeat the trick. The geese soon ran him off and we left as well. We didn't see where the bird had flown.

Oh well, nature never repeats a good trick on its own. Sometimes it's funnier.

Some hundred yards down, we found a mother duck and two ducklings swimming about. The kids were happy enough to feed the babies and they made such sweet "Peep Peep" noises. Just another duck feeding?

Another family came down to the waters edge; a mother and her twin daughters. The mother sees the babies and says to her toddler girls "Look, girls! She's got twins. Just like you." And soon we were all feeding the happy family.

Without warning, the heron leaped out of its hiding place in the elephant ears at the waters edge. The bird snatched up one of the ducklings from the surface of the water and quickly flew off; little baby duck crying out "Peep peep peep..." into the distance.

A look of horror fell upon the mother of two as she hustled her girls away from the scene. My wife and children were outraged yelling at the fleeing predator while mama duck cried out for her missing duckling.

I fell out laughing. The irony of the situation had hit me quickly:
1) We came to see a predator bird. Well, we found it. It performed above expectations.
2) Cold smelly slimy fish are okay for birds to eat. Cute duckies are not. We came to the park hoping to say "Cool! The bird ate a fish," when what we got was "Holy Crap! That bird ate a baby duck!"
3) Never create an emotional bond between your twin daughters and vulnerable baby duckies in the wild. That, and always hustle your children away from the strange man who laughs hysterically when baby ducks are being eaten.

Traffic Horn Blues

I think car horns should be tuned to shift chords through a standard 12 bar blues chord sequence. Then use something like Bluetooth pairing so that traffic would have a more gritty bluesy feel to it.

I'm stuck in this traffic,"
*Bah-...DA-da-DA-dum*
"Ain't goin' no where,"
*Bah-DA-da-DA-dum*
"My wife's home in bed,"
*Bah-DA-da-DA-dum*
"And Lord I wish I was there!"
(harmonica) *WHAAAA-WA-WA-WHAAAA*
"I got those Traffic Horn Blues...."
(blues music)
"Those dirty down horny Traffic Horn Blues..."

One Wifey, Two Wifey, Three Wifey, Jail

Because 2 Is An Option?

I'm a firm believer in the sanctity of marriage. Then again, I have a wonderful wife. That kind of makes it easy.

Beyond all the "To have and to hold" vows, I have to admit that there is another reason I won't ever move on to "Wifey 2": I really don't need any more women in my life telling me to take out the trash.

She's a talented computer professional. The other night she came home late with the excuse that something had crashed and she had to get it up and running before she could come home.

"Did you try nagging it until it worked?" You'd better smile when you say that, and I did.

"No. My computer programs don't need nagging. They do what I tell them to do, when I tell them to do it, and how I tell them to do it. Unlike other things in my life."

She's a dream. I couldn't ever leave her. Love you, Babe!

Just a tease...

Freedom! Oh, wait...

Every now and then I like to go to the window and dream of running in the fields. I dream of the sun warming me as I lay out enjoying a cool breeze. I see kites flying overhead. I hear the ice shifting in the chest as it melts and I'm reminded to reach in and grab a cold beer. Oh! And sausages grilling over coals. The fat dripping out and catching fire just long enough to give the sausages a good smoky flavor. My toes are scrunching the grass. My wife is sitting in the shade of an umbrella. The kids are running around with the dogs. The sausages are almost done and I haven't even made a dent in my supply of beer. The radio is playing Pink Floyd and I reach over to turn up the music...

Then the damn phone rings and I'm back in the real world.

Nothing to see here, move along.

Good Community Relations

If I were driving down Airline Highway, er um, Airline Drive with an unsecured load of crap in the back of my truck, I'd want to be as pleasant to the local constabulary as possible. However, with the sticks and such flying out the back of this guys littermobile, I'm sure he'll get to say "Hi Officer" face to face.

"Git ya Gramma a nutter pack-a-smokes. Will ya dawlin?"

Oh The Stupidity

I like to think this guy in traffic has hooked up his hooka to his exhaust system. He's got Bob Marley cranked up in there and he's jammin'. When that light turns green, all I want him to do is pull over and get that damned thing fixed.

Either that, or I'm looking at the first nicotine-fueled-injected SUV in history.

Polishing My Diploma

Ode To "Wing Zone" Girl

She's always friendly, our "Wing Zone" Girl. She always has a smile for us as we drive by. Oh, sure, we can't see her face in there, but everything about her says "Hello! Come and eat!" She must be smiling in that costume. You can tell. Her exuberance shines like a beacon at the end of a long day. "Buy our wings!" Her waves to her honking fans never seem to cease. Each of us in turn is a new friend.

I'm betting she has a degree in history from one of the local universities. She's probably working her way through a master's program. The time spent on the expansive median on Claiborne Avenue is more likely spent wondering how the hell she's going to explain to her study group that she couldn't finish her share of the project because her mascot costume left her smelling like an old sock worn by someone with a garlic fetish.

Sure, she's waving and bouncing, but inside there, where passers-by cannot hear her, she's screaming at the unfulfilled promises of life and the realization that she just may have peaked.

Out And About

If you're going to leave out letters on your personalized license plate, your intended message should still be apparent.

Case in point: "MY 3 SNS" is obviously someone who has three recalcitrant sins. Given the limitations of characters and spaces, they left out the vowel "I" without losing the sound itself. "SNS" is clearly prounounced "sins".

Given the car, I'd say the sins were "Pride", "Greed", and "Lust". I'm not sure why they felt the need to brag about it. Perhaps they're proud of them, want them all for themself, and it gives them a warm fuzzy feeling when they commit them.

I once made it my New Year's Resolution to commit each of the Seven Deadly Sins: Pride, Envy, Greed, Lust, Wrath, Sloth, and Gluttony. By January 3rd, I was done. It was easier than losing 15 pounds and quitting drinking. For the most part, it also made me easier to get along with than a dieting drunk on the wagon.

Wool Gathering On The Bayou

That Ain't No Bayou

Well, you caught me thinking about Tennessee. I want to be cruising through the mountains with the windows down and the cool air rushing in carrying the sounds of the rivers. Instead I cruising through Metairie on the Earhart Expressway with the A/C cranked up squeezing so much humidity from the air that my condensation lines are leaving a wake.

I need to find some landscapes to photograph. Metairie is suburbia at it's land-locked jam-packed goodness. It's no landscape, it's a place to hang your hat. It has no real cityscape, it has Veteran's Highway and billboards.

I guess I'm inured to the area I call home. I go to Tennessee and see beauty and mountains and my fingers can't keep clicking photographs. I go home and the camera goes back in the bag. What am I to photograph? The canals? The suburban traffic? Lakeside Mall? Yeah, I guess I should.

I need to open my eyes and get on my bicycle and ride this town. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll get up and go cruise around and see what's out there. I really should. I'm sure there's something out there that'll strike me as click-worthy.

I think that's what we all need to do. Count our blessings. See what's in our neighborhoods and find what's been hiding in plain sight. Quit wishing that you were back on vacation finding something new to see. Quit wondering why you're stuck in Nowhereville with nothing to see. Grab your cameras and be a tourist in your own town.

Things Are Tough All Over

Gotta Love A Monty Python Fan

I can't delve into the minds of other drivers. I'd like to and that's why I carry a cordless drill with a 1/2" carbide tip. However, given that at 45, I'm still too pretty for prison, I'll just have to hazard a guess.

It's a Lincoln. He's got some scratch and like to buy American. He's got just enough left over in this economy to buy a personalized plate.

Here's my guesses:
1) "He's screaming about not being able to make the monthly payments on the apartment he's keeping in town for his nooners with lucky members from the secretarial pool (er... "Administrative Staff")
2) Things are going so poorly that he's taken up a new vocation as "Highway Pirate."
3) Chronic hemorrhoids and laryngitis combined but he still wants you to know he's in pain.
4) He couldn't fit Joseph of Aramathea's final words (regarding the Holy Grail) so he opted for the last final word (final last word?). "He who is valiant and pure of spirit may find the holy grail in the Castle of Arrgghh.."

Gremlins Eat Only The Most Valuable Data

I Buried The Skeletons In My Closet

Here's the crime: Mayor C. Ray Nagin's (D., New Orleans) email was deleted by person(s) unknown. It's a crime because of public access laws which make it mandatory that the city of New Orleans keep records of all email transactions. It's about transparency.

Here's the cover-up: 22-gigabytes disappeared from the servers on the day the information technology experts began their investigation. GIGABYTES. DAY THEY STARTED.

Does this pass the smell test? Does a fresh dog turd pass the smell test? Yeah, it's like that.

The email account was only one of 59 accounts which was deleted from the servers and the backup servers. It's so blatant that any idiot could see it. Luckily, experts were hired. They said that the only ones who had access to do such a thing had to be high level employees.

Now from the peanut gallery...

Nagin blames "some phantom employee." Nagin says it's not for the tech experts to lay blame. He fears that the people involved in the blaming may have found themselves in over their heads; that they're seeking some sort of fame.

Huh? It's PRECISELY the tech experts you want to ask!!! It's precisely YOU, Mr. Mayor, who should SHUT THE HELL UP when it comes to YOUR missing email. Your email is the only account that disappears and YOU are the person who stands to gain by that lack of transparency. You need to just shut up and stop attacking the investigators. You already looked guilty of this crime. Trying to obfuscate the investigation only makes you look more guilty, Mr. Phantom.

Story HERE.

How To Make Friends In Traffic: #24 - Dented Vehicles

$350 To Knock Out That Dent

One of my favorite pastimes is off-road driving. Grated, I don't own any off-road vehicles. I never have. However, how else can I explain my long list of off-road activities?

It all began when I got my first car. Winter in New Orleans is never cold. We'll get 3 nights per year when it dips below the freezing point. Sometimes there's ice involved! I made it around the corner on a wide turn and went off onto the shoulder. I was late for work, but when I hit that patch of frozen puddle and spun out onto the grass and dirt, well, I just had to go back and do it again.

I've had several girlfriends back then who'd be willing to put out if I found the right parking place. Usually that involved secluded areas. Off-road. Airport security ran me off of one location. The Levee Police ran me off of another. The California Highway Patrol was called out on a suspicious car parked near the KDES transmitters. Once, I spent more than an hour in 40-degree weather digging out my car which had bottomed out, off-road, somewhere after midnight. I couldn't ask my date to help me dig, now could I?

But every now and again, I do something which bashes up one part of my vehicles or another when I should have just stayed on the road. Lucky for me, my insurance company paid for the damage I did when I didn't see the ditch cutting across the field I was traversing. Another field really wasn't my fault, after all, my Lowrance iHunt GPS said there was a road there and who was I to argue with a hand-held piece of technology. They lock you up in the nut-hatch if you argue with hand-held pieces of technology. Well, they would if you insisted the tech started the fight.

Some years ago I tried backing up the shoulder of a highway on-ramp. There was a traffic jam that promised to eat my spare time if I didn't. Again, another ditch and I wound up with diagonal gouge marks and a dent on my rear panel.

It's amazing how many people you meet in traffic with a dented panel. "Hey!" they call out to me at stop lights. "I can knock that out for you real cheap!" They're so excited to see me driving around with my wallet hanging out the window. Not that my wallet is anywhere but under my left cheek, but I'm sure that's how they see me. The latest guy wants to meet me in my driveway and he'll do the job for $350. He gives me his phone number. It's a cell phone with a Seattle area code. Ever smell pork after it's been in a wet sock in the sun for a week? Yeah, this one stinks like that.

I really need to get that dent to a body shop before someone holds me up at gunpoint while their buddy knocks out the dent and spray paints it on the side of some dark deserted highway. "I swear, Officer. It was a drive-by dent-pulling. They took me for all I had!"

It May As Well Be Night and Storming

Stuck In The Muck

Is there any more damning phrase for absentmindedness than "No CF card"?

Where I work, parking can be a challenge. However, I don't condone parking next to fire hydrants just because you're late. Periodically, someone will park in front of the hydrant next to my building. I take this as a personal slight. If this building were to catch fire, I don't want firefighters to have to waste a single second trying to hook up to the hydrant.

There I was this morning walking up to the building, camera strapped to my back, and a blue truck is blocking the hydrant. Hey! A photo for the blog! I pull up the camera. Flick it on and "No CF card" appears. Expletives follow.

As this happens several times a month (if not per day), I'll be sure to post more as I see them.

Help me pick my favorite child...

Cajun Critters

"I have an enormous head," I commented, looking upon a photo of myself.

Child 1: "No you don't, Daddy."
Child 2: "I've seen plenty of people with heads your size."
Child 3: "Like a big watermelon."

Oh, sure. I'm supposed to be fair in my assessment of my children. I'm supposed to spread the love. Evenly. Yeah. Too bad my enormous watermelon-sized head (found often in nature) doesn't come with a commensurate-sized brain.

God granted me the gift of love when my children were born. I love my wife dearly. Completely. It was the biggest and bestest kind of love I knew. But when my children were born, something opened up in my heart; a secret chamber filled with love hidden until that very moment. Each of my children live there.

I think it's time to divvy up the love into bigger and smaller portions.

Let's examine the pluses and minuses...

Child 1: Can't be found when I'm working in the yard and wanting a cold beer.
Child 2: "Mom says you don't need a beer. Here's a water, instead."
Child 3: "You want a bottle or a can?"

Child 1: No Father's Day card.
Child 2: Hand-tooled Father's Day card.
Child 3: In-class craft centers Father's Day card.

Child 1: Loves my cooking.
Child 2: Helps me cook.
Child 3: Wants hot dogs.

My philosophy in life is simple: Play the cards you're dealt.

I'm looking at three jokers.

There's No Pleasing That Woman

Out On the Water


What do you get for a woman who thinks she should have everything? A Lexus.

I figure the conversation went like this:

"Edward, I need another Lexus."
"What's wrong with the last one?"
"I don't like the color."
"You picked it out."
"Now I want a blue one."
"Fine, but you've got to let me pick out the license plate."

The Ghost Of George

Off The Rails

I'm no electrician. I'm no plumber. Not a tile-man; a carpenter; a drywall guy. However, when the folly of man faced the power of Katriana, I put on several hats to get my house in order.

This morning, George came fumbling through my electrical system.

George is the name of the former owner of my house. He was responsible for many of the weird things we had to rework/rerun/rewire/repair over the pre-Katrina years. If my wife heard me yelling "George! What the hell is this?" she knew I'd discovered another of his shortcuts.

10 years ago, the lights went out in the bathroom. It wasn't a fuse. It was a broken wall socket. George had left me with a bad plug that looked oddly repaired when I pulled it out of the wall. I replaced it and all was well.

This morning the lights went out in the bathroom. 10 years after the fact, and 4 years after Katrina, the repaired wall socket was the last thing on my list to check. Circuit breaker? Nope. Wall switch? Nope. Safety socket in bathroom? Nope. Light fixture in closet? Nope. Outside socket? Nope. Wiring in attic? Nope. After an hour and a half of removing, testing, and re-installing each of these items, I decided to use a circuit tracer to follow the live lines in the walls. Where did it lead me? Yep. That same old wall outlet I repaired 10 years ago. Back then it was easy to reach. Now it's behind a bookshelf. But there it was when I pulled it out the wall. Sparks and ozone.

Granted, George didn't do this one. I did it. I installed the socket incorrectly and it took 10 years to fail. But George's ghost still haunts this home. Somehow, I know he was whispering in my ear when I installed that outlet 10-years ago "Bill. You don't need to tighten that coupler. Just stick the wire in there and forget it."

Curse your spirt, George.

I'm Not In Right Now...

Cajun Creativity

Here's an idea for an invention: A Carry-Around Answering Machine.

I've been inundated with requests for my time, lately. It's not just being a husband and a father, but someone whom everyone thinks is their "go-to" guy.

For some reason of late, I've noticed people using this theme in their conversations with me: "Bill, I have this great idea! Could you..." or "Bill, would it be possible if you" or the worst of all "Bill, could you come up with something for..." The last one is my favorite. It's not even a task for me to do. I'm being asked to come up with the idea of how to do it. Not only will my performance be judged, but the idea I came up with will be judged as well. Just great.

I think I'll just hide from the "Bill-Could-You" people. Lacking my ability to hide in plain sight, I'd like a Carry-Around Ansering Machine. It'll work just like a telephone answering machine, except it'll have a microphone and three or four messages buttons for me to press when I'm approached.

Here's how it would work:
"Dad, can you help me with..."
I press Button 1: "Sorry I can't come to your attention right now, but I'm busy watching TV. Please leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you during the next commercial break."

"Bill, sorry to interrupt..."
Button 2: "I'll be with you in just a moment. Please leave your plea for help at the tone, go somewhere else, and when I'm done making up things to do that have no significance whatsoever, I'll think about getting back to you."

"Bill, I have this great idea. Could you..."
Button 3: "I'm sorry but my in-box is full. Please try again later."

"Honey, did you remember to..."
Button 4: "Dearest Wife, Please leave a message..." (I'm not sure the machine would be playing anything coherent at this point as it would be lodged in my nether regions)

That's Not Cheese!

Out On The Water...

In the former building of "World's Healthiest Pizza", we now have NAKED Pizza.

The word is in green and there's a great deal of basil growing in the front window. I'm dubious.

The former occupant of this building, "World's Healthiest Pizza" was my candidate for "World's Nastiest Crust." I signed up on WHP's web site for a discount coupon. After eating that pizza, I sent them a message begging them to take me off of their mailing list. The message was simple: "I would no longer like to receive mailings from your store." What I meant to say was "Your pizza is inedible. The dough tastes like someone pulverized cereal boxes and baked it into a tough nasty disc and covered it up to hide that fact."

I love pizza. I love it so much I've been making my own for 15 years. I have a great recipe for sauce and a mind-blowing-great one for Italian sausage. Guests at my home rave about how good it is. Some women are no longer allowed in my home for their unwelcome advances after eating my pizzas. (wife's rules)

I'll have to try this place to see if they're running a new recipe. I hope to God they are.

A co-worker says it's good pizza. But then, he said the same thing about the last occupants of this building.

Hint: Either serve good food, or file for bankruptcy.


Mired In Mud

I have to say that I miss the former occupants of the building "The Bayou Bagelry". Them was some fine bagels. They got lost in the 2005 flood. If they'd put a tomato basil sauce on a bagel, topped it with pepperoni and cheese, now THAT would be a good pizza. *sigh*

FREE DIRT! FREE DIRT! FREE DIRT!

Out On The Water...

I don't see this very often. Scratch that, I've never seen this before.

It's funny the things that come to mind when you see things like this in the street. Here's some of the things that popped into my head:

1) Am I going to get killed by trying to make a U-Turn on Claiborne Avenue to get a shot of this?

2) I thought it was SUPPOSED to be free.

3) Damned Real Estate market really HAS crashed.

4) I wasn't aware that Dirt had been arrested.

5) If only I had my Hot Wheels cars, I'd make some neat tracks in that.

6) Just how badly do these people need to gossip?

The Happiest Place On Earth Has It's Hand In My Wallet

Swamp Gassing

I am the target audience for Walt Disney World. I'm a Dad. Nevermind all the glitz and glamour, they just want me to keep moving from one line to the next while they siphon funds off of my credit cards.

Why would anyone want to go to this place? Me? I went there because my daughter's school performed in the Magic Kingdom parade during Mardi Gras week. I denied my children's requests to go to WDW for more than a decade for all the reasons that I found to be true. Mostly, it's too long of a wait for too little reward.

Well, I did have a little fun. Then again, that's the problem. I had a little fun.

The good news is, it'll be 2 years before I have to go again!

Just a word of advice, if you're in Tomorrowland, be sure to talk to Push. My Buzz Lightyear score improved dramatically.


Gator Gaffs

Today's major mishap was when I spilled my bottle of water. All over the desk, some work papers, the company keyboard, and so forth. I got it all cleaned up fairly well.

The fun came when my monitor started turning itself on and off. Apparently, the water ran down the screen and into the controls. It took me half an hour to dry the flat screen monitor. I unplugged it and did a small bit of shaking. However, I got the most water out by wrapping my lips around the lower corner of the screen and sucking the water out of the crevices. I was surprised by how much got in there. The monitor seems to be okay, but for an hour afterwards, it would turn itself off and on. Again, glad my office is not the most visited.