Pagans All!

Halloween is 3000 years old. So all the pagans who started it can be assure that it is still a popular Holiday. It didn't start as a holiday. This is the day that worlds between the living and dead thin and the dead can roam. It is the day for leaving gifts to appease the dead, thus Trick or Treating, dressing in costumes to fool the dead, and lighting jack-o-lanterns to scare the dead away. (Druids used turnips.) Tonight we will light scary pumpkins, dress as someone much scarier than we actually are, ask strangers for treats, visit spooky places and build bon fires. For one night we slip back into the possibility that the dead walk among us. All was going good with the ancient celebration until the Christians tried to do away with the Pagan holiday (they still are). They came up with All Saints day which is November 1. That didn't work too well so they invented All Souls Day on November 2. Instead of stopping the celebration of Halloween many countries such as Mexico turned it into The Day Of The Dead. Through the years Halloween has attracted a few bad traits such as vandalism but basically is a much loved holiday for kids and adults. It is a day when we open our doors to strangers, give them treats, and visit haunted houses despite all the scary Halloween movies we have watched. It is a time of scared fun. Christians are still fighting the celebration of Halloween. They seem to be the only ones who are truly afraid on Halloween. Halloween is one night when we become a mystery hidden behind a mask and when we aren't sure if the masked one beside us is dead or alive. Seems a bit of pagan lives in most of us. Have a Happy Halloween as we welcome the dark side of the year. Bless be!

Freaks & Creeps

Walton and Johnson made fun of Michael Jackson this morning and they got me to thinking about the freak. It's the time of the year for freaks and creeps. And after finally burying Michael Jackson now there are stories about his ghost. He was a true freak before he died so his ghost would really be something to see. So is Michael Jackson's ghost haunting Neverland? Those who support said theory would point you to Exhibit A, a shadow that's seen walking across a room at the end of the hallway during Larry King's interview with Jermaine Jackson. I'm going to guess that the image was simply a cameraman's shadow. After all, if it were Michael, wouldn't he be moonwalking across the room? And emitting some sort of falsetto ghost wail? Wouldn't he remove his nose to scare those who encounter him? I think that Extreme Paranormal (the dumbest ghost hunter show on TV) should do a ghost hunt of Neverland. Maybe they could use some of their way out methods to call up Michael, like cutting off one of their noses or sitting on the bed with some little boy. That should get an appearance. If he is back as a ghost, I give about as big a shit as I do about Michelle Obama's ability to hula hoop.

Halloween Clown

Happy Halloween!

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Ghost?

This video is very short. Just a second or two. Look for the 'ghost' in front of the man. It moves from left to right very quickly in the hall.

JR in the Pumpkin Patch!

Drink de blood!!!!!!

I have always like vampires; books, movies etc. What's not to like? They are sexy, super strong, rich, immortal, and can do what they please. I read all of Anne Rices stuff, the entire Twilight series, the Sooky Stackhouse series on which True Blood is based and I watch every vamp movie and TV show that comes out. Since the beginning of books and movies, vampires have been popular figures in the media. You have classic novels like Dracula and really good early movies like Nosferatu. I think that Twilight and a few of the other new vamp movies and TV shows are a bit insulting to other vamps. First of all, Vampires are deadly creatures who use their sex appeal to get their preys, suck their blood, dry them out, and most importantly, THEY BURN IN THE SUNLIGHT!!! I don’t know if Stephanie Meyer ever read Bram Stroker’s Dracula or Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, because she made her vampires pretty strange. Yeah, she gave them super strength and speed, and also made them pale white, but she forgot a very important thing and that’s that they BURN IN THE SUN. Edward Cullen shines like a freaking diamond when he’s exposed to sunlight! I like the idea that vamps have to sleep in the day and prowl at night. Having to watch out for the sun is their main weakness. A glittering vampire is a little sissy. And Edward can't read Bella's mind? Please. I know he's in love and that makes all the teen girls swoon but come one. Give me Lastat anytime. He bad, really bad and he enjoys it. And what is with the new 'I don't drink human blood' thing? Geeze, your a damn vampire! Why drink rat blood? All the woozie like Edward, Louie, and Stephan (Vampire Diaries) drink animal blood. Bad dudes like Lastat, and Damion drink the real stuff. Some of the new vamps don't even show fangs! That's just too much!!! What's the point in being a creature of the night if you can't enjoy it. Edward is as whiny as Louie in Interview. I like vampires who scale walls, crack necks, suck a lot of blood, are rich, sexy, drive a black Mercedes and have very little conscience. Count Dracula would kick some vampire (and author) ass and he'd show little Edward Cullen what it's like to burn in the sun . Give me a bad ass vampire anytime.

Self Expression

I love this guy! Whenever he is pissed off about something he writes a protest sign on his truck. He is a rolling statement on the times and what a lot of folks think but can't express. I have seen his truck a lot and there are always people reading it. It's covered with statements from the front to the rear. Maybe he's discovered a new way to protest the government. I'm sure he has not trouble with his blood pressure after all this self-expression. I like his approach on government problems. Do a citizens arrest. Hope to get more photos later.

The Play Ground

(A short story I wrote several years ago about two little spooks. I like it at Halloween!)

Severin pushed the lid open, his shutter-like eyes blinking and widening to adjust to his awakening. He stood up and stretched his thin lithe body stiff now from sleep and confinement. Bending under the small opening, he left the old marble crypt, stopping to run his fingers over the Poyouria family name above the door. He moved off toward the old playground, located in what was once Congo Square, now Louis Armstrong Park. The park was closed and locked, but it did not matter to him. He was drawn there, to the place of his death, by some deep need, some part that was lost to him. There was no victim for him there, no one to be drawn to him by his innocence, and fall prey to his deadly deceptive power and used to sustain his existence. All of the children had gone home hours ago as he once had, fleeing the darkness, the predators that roamed the street in need of a child for their perversion; home to mothers, to supper, to homework, to safety. Only once had he stayed too long in the darkness under the huge golden moon that hung over the city; stayed too long for one last fling on the swings before heading home. But he wasn’t alone the night, had never reached home and when he left the playground he was forever altered by his encounter with the vampire who found him. His parents believed him abducted or that he had run away, not that he could have become a creature that they did not believe existed. Now the darkness that he had always fled was his only friend, his constant companion and his nurturing mother. He strolled through the entry and past the rustling palm trees. He saw the jungle gym, the monkey bars, the merry-go-round, the old swings, hanging crooked and rusted in the dim light from the street that filtered through the banana trees. The trees concealed the tall iron bars of the fence and dappled the light from the streets. He moved to the swings and sat down in one pushing with his feet, unthinking, feeling his deadness with no fear, no desire, no hope only hunger and what? A touch of sadness or was it madness? But he wasn’t suppose to feel. Only exist in this twisted death. Dead and yet not? He didn’t fully understand it, but did not question it. Swinging slowly, dust drifted up and settled on his pants legs as his feet moved through the sandy soil. His anger at his creator, his murderer had at first frightened him. As had the feeling of desolation, of feeling disembodied and his predatory need. He had learned to accept the resentment of being semi- present. His eyes wandered up into the thick leaves of the ancient oaks above him. The other boy sat on the top of the old tree house, so still that Severin had not seen him at first. His little face glowed in the darkness, alabaster, gaunt and smiling at him; both with his wide blue eyes and his thin lips. The boy climbed down as agile a park squirrel and faced him. He was alive, warm, breathing, trusting, gentle and friendly; perhaps a lonely homeless street child. “Come and play with me,” the boy said. Severin followed, his dead heart now filled with longing. Chain creaking, arms and legs pumping, they swung, higher and higher, up near the stars. They climbed the domed jungle gym and hung suspended on the bars, hands gripping, legs walking the air, twisting, turning, running. He watched the boys’ fair hair bounce as he hung suspended by his knees, his thin stick-like arms dangling towards the ground. Then on to the merry-go-round, pushing faster and faster until their breath burned in their chests. The pull of centrifugal force tightened the skin across the bones in his face as moonlight and shadows blurred past with their speed. It slowed, drifted, and stopped. They walked toward a bench to rest and it rose in him. The need, the hunger, the yearning, strong and ready; his faced twisted in cruelty, he grasp the tender flesh with his fingers. Severin turned the boy toward him, his dark eyes glowing, his face hungry and his spirit mean. Under the wash worn shirt he felt the wings. They were nestled under the dark skin, buried beside the skinny shoulder blades. Dormant. He felt the silkiness and then the power of muscles as they lifted the shirt, opened and were unfurled. They opened wide, amber colored, shimmering, gossamer and soft but with tendons beneath them, controlling them. The boys heart-shaped face was bleached and startled, his body poised and read to escape, to soar, to leave him there. Leave him alone in the darkened haunted playground. Wide, unblinking blue eyes held his green orbs. He was spellbound, transfixed, not frightened except for his potential loss of a victim to feed upon. The wings moved and his hand slipped from the boys shoulder as he rose, hovering above Severin, looking down at him with uncertainty. “What are you? A ghost? An angel?” Severin whispered reeling back in astonishment. “Dead, the same as you. Had I blood I would offer it to you. But there is none, nor any heartbeat. I am lonely, as are you. There are not so many of us here. Not your kind, nor mine.” The wings moved behind the boy, stirring the vampire’s raven hair, and they slowly lowered him until his toes softly touched the ground. They folded and returned to the hidden pockets in his hollow shoulder blades, the skin closed over them and his old shirt covered his back. He stared at Severin and Severins’ body stiffened in apprehension. “Don’t you fear me?” Severin asked. The boy shook his head and then he laughed and reached out and took Severins’ cold hand into his. “Friends?” the boy asked. The vampire nodded. “Race ya!” the other boy suddenly challenged. Severin hesitated only a moment before darting after him. They raced off across the playground, yelling, pushing, tripping, their legs pistoning wildly. Their voices rose shrilly, eagerly, almost joyfully, spiraling upwards past the dust rising under their feet and into the dark leaves. A policeman on the street outside the fence stopped and tilted his head toward the park. He stood very still waiting and listening. For a second he thought he had heard the sounds of children playing inside the darkened park. But he shook his head. It was only the sounds of the wind in the banana trees, or the sounds of traffic on North Rampart Street. He walked on down the block.

Hunting Spooks

I like almost all the ghost hunter shows. Some I watch for the possibly that something strange might be caught on film, some to see the locations and some just to laugh at the antics. Last week there were two new ones on A&E and Discover Channel. One called Extreme Paranormal and the other Ghost Lab. Extreme Paranormal (EP) was far out there. They guys were into summoning circles, circles for protection and pentagrams, all of which are usually associated with witchcraft. I wasn't impress with it at all. They tried to call up the ghost of a guy who was burned to death while in prison. They outlined a figure on the floor, poured lighter fluid on it, while one guy cut himself and dropped blood on the fire to "call" up the spirit. If I was the spirit I'd run like hell from these nuts. They also went to Bonito Lake in New Mexico. I firmly believe that the use of pentagrams and blood is related to darker things than ghost hunting and think that these guys are playing with the potential for call in up something that they don't want and won't know how to handle. They are worse that Paranormal State for seeking demons. Attention guys, demons are bad!! You don't want a demon. The chubby cheeked "hunters" were loud, silly and relied on what they thought they "felt".

The other show Ghost Lab (GL) featured a group from San Antonia, TX. They were well organized with slick voice over. Ghost Lab is the name of their command center which housed their equipment. They were investigating in Tombstone. It's hard not to find a ghost in Tombstone. The visited The Birdcage, Boot Hill and the silver mines. They didn't use as many cameras as they should have. They were way too noisy. I think you have to shut up to hear anything when looking for the paranormal. Both teams relied on provoking and there was a lot of clowning around. GL did have the first black ghost hunter that I have seen on TV. Both were copies of Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunters International. I will watch EP to amaze myself at the ignorance of this bunch. And will watch GL because they have potential and they are good ole boys from Texas. But so far my favorites remain GH and GHI even though I sometimes get a bit disgusted with them.

Coastal Cleanup Day

Photos by H. Murray

My daughter joined thousands of volunteers who swarmed nearly 145 miles of Coast waterways and beaches Saturday morning for the 21st annual Mississippi Coastal Cleanup. The event has always focused on the Coast’s mainland and barrier island beaches and waterways but this year included lakes, rivers, marshes, bayous, estuaries, and other watershed locations. More than 4,000 volunteers scoured 58 locations in Hancock, Harrison, and Jackson counties picking up enough trash and debris to fill 3,120 trash bags and more than five large dump trucks. The annual cleanup is a massive undertaking sponsored by the Mississippi Department of Marine Resources, the Mississippi Marine Debris Task Force with 80 cities, counties, organizations and businesses supporting the effort.

The teams took action to rid the beaches and inland waterways of litter, hauling off more than 50,000 pounds of unsightly and harmful debris. Some strange things were found on the beaches including the usual broken glass and cigarette butts. Shotgun shells were found on Front Beach in Ocean Springs. “Last year we found out that more than 60 percent of the debris was from recreational activities along the shoreline. This means the trash is not coming mostly from fishermen but from picnic and beach goers who do not throw away their trash, glass bottles, cigarettes, cans, and plastic products," the director of DMR said. Peculiar items found at Saturday’s cleanup included pieces of a foosball table at the Long Beach Harbor, a pile of animal bones in Hancock County, a live copperhead snake in Biloxi, a set of minivan seats at Heron Bayou in Jackson County, and a jelly fish, entangled in a six-pack ring, which was released by a volunteer near Courthouse Road. Organizers said volunteers also found the remnants of eight tents, eight 55-gallon drums, and the back of a plasma television set on Deer Island.

My daughters adventures (besides collecting trash) included paddling the Ocean Springs coastal beach and wetlands in a kayak, doing battle with a giant black spider, and having a mullet jump into her lap. All the volunteers were treated to a BBQ lunch donated by the ' SHED', in Ocean Springs.

Simple Pleasure

Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain etc.

Since I keep an ongoing sinus infection, I call my Dr at the little On Call place (which provides better service than the big name brand doctors do, but that's another story) and had him call in a script for me. I called Rite-Aide (which I changed to hoping for more mature personal than CVS, but that's another story too) and of course I get Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain. All pharmacy techs have one of those names that tells you right off that their IQ is a lower number than their bust size. Their mama's named them while dreaming of homecoming queens.
"Heeelloo can I help you?" She chirps in that voice that makes 13 year old boys pop a woody. I identify myself and ask if the Dr has called in a script, what the med is and how much it will be.
"Hold onnnn!" SO I wait. "Ohhhhh, that will be 57 and 57", she says all pleased with herself.
I say. "Hold it a minute Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain. It's not that much with Medi-Care and I have met my deductible. You better re-lick that calf." There is a pause.
"Oh! Let me check. H-H-Hold on."
So I wait, listening to a lot of shuffling sounds which leads me to believe that Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain has stuffed the phone into her bra.
"I found it and it looks like your are going to have to bring your insurance card in. We don't have you on record," she say in a sing-song voice sure to calm those crabby seniors. She has adopted her professional voice now that she knows that she is dealing with a senile senior citizen.
"Well, poopsie," I say, "You better check yet again. I have my information on file. I know this because I buy six prescriptions and two types of insulin there every month. And until I got you on the phone there hasn't been any problem. So Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain, take your cutie little ass back to the computer and check it again."
"Hold on-n-n," she says and she sounds like she's gonna cry and have her big boyfriend in his letter jacket come and beat me up. So I wait. Lots more shuffling sounds, and a slightly hysterical muffled voice in the background. And I wait.
"Ohhh! Kay! I found it and there is not charge!" she chirps happily.
"Thanks, Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain," I say, "Now you put that bag of meds somewhere safe until I get there and get it, OK?" I can just see her smiling, her world back in place.
"Ohhhkay! " she giggles, "I will."
And people wonder why old folks just want to pick up the meds, go home, watch a little TV, take a small white pill and slip into a few hours of sleep apnea.

Facebook

I just cannot get into Facebook. Despite what Maxine says about Myspace I like it better than Facebook. Myspace is all about one person and more in depth. It's more of a personal page not random thoughts. I cannot seem to get interested in what friends and others various people are doing, thinking, feeling every minute of everyday as posted on Facebook. When did we all decide that everyone wants to know about all of our thoughts, what games we play and our comments. Of course this blog is a lot of my thoughts, but I don't post it for anyone who doesn't want to see it to read. And I try to cover one topic at a time and do so in depth. Some of the best writers on Facebook give a link to their blogs and I like that. They have something of interest to share. Facebook makes me feel like I'm getting snippets of random thoughts from a whole lot of people. It makes me dizzy. I don't care if they go to town, or what they thought for a two second span in the dentist chair or if it's raining or what their kid did that they thought was cute. Lots of people who post on Facebook think that the entire world is interested in the smallest dismal part of their day. Its mundane!! When I see the space on the computer that ask "What are you doing/thinking right now?" I think who the hell cares!! When did we get so we have to share every thought with everyone? Face it people, most of the day to day events in our lives are boring and of no interest to anyone but us.

New Orleans Daiquiri Summit

In Norway they may think that Barack Obama has a great knack for peace, but around here his forte seems to be stirring up strife. New Orleans is mad because Obama’s visit was little more than a whistlestop. The Mississippi Gulf Coast is mad because New Orleans gets all the attention, such as it is, while the lingering effects of Katrina over there are ignored. (At least Galveston isn't crying big tears cause Obama didn't visit!) And from southwest Louisiana comes the cry, “What about Rita, Gustav and Ike? The president really needs to take a look at Cameron Parish.” Obama is also being denounced for an apparent lack of curiosity about the incredible shrinking wetlands. The original announced White House plan was for Obama to fly way down yonder merely in order to hold a “town hall” before beetling off to California for a fund raiser. (Nobody even mentioned his stop at Texas A&M.) Members of Louisiana's congressional delegation took turns demanding evidence (on the visit) of a little more concern for the state of the recovery, and the protests did not go unheeded. Soon came the announcement that Obama would make time to visit the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Charter School in the Lower 9th Ward. That did not smooth over any feathers in other parts of the region, where hordes of bedraggled storm victims grow weary of the constant harping on the Lower 9th. Congressman Steve Scalise called a press conference at the 17th Street Canal in Lakeview to declare, in an authentically New Orleans metaphor, that his constituents deserved more than a “drive-through daiquiri summit.”

Kids Day

Kids were all over the news yesterday. The little buggers!! As my daughter said, "seems like all the children of the corn were out in force."
First was the group of nuts who built a space ship type thing, filled it with helium and made it available to their 6 year old. Granted that when, after calling out the National Guard helicopter, involving law enforcement agencies in a huge area and delaying flights at a major airport, the little darling was found upstairs in a box hiding. Hey parents, keep up with your kids. Gives new meaning to the acorn (nut) not falling far from the tree. Evidently the parents consider themselves free thinkers who are challenging their kids. How about challenging them to think about their actions?

Then there was the little autistic boy in Houston who preformed the Heimlich maneuver on his teacher when she chocked on an apple. He had been taught by his Scout group and when an emergency happened he knew what to do and did it well. There are parents and leaders who are doing what needs to be done. And they are raising a little hero.

The little black boy who got on stage with Obama in New Orleans at UNO and with a truly concerned look on his face ask. "Why do people hate you?" was a favorite of mine in the day of kids. He was really worried and I'm fairly sure he didn't understand Obama's answer that it was 'politics' and that since he got elected president some people liked him. Perhaps Obama should see the kids question as a simple plea for a re-uniting of this country.

But the best question I heard was from a little boy in Biloxi who ask, "Why didn't Obama come here if he is going to take care of us? He went to New Orleans. Doesn't he know we got hit by Katrina?" Excellent question! Bush came to the Ms. Coast 13 times. Obama 0.

Somebody Get This Pussy Off Me!!

Hog Killin' Day

Suppose to be cooler on Fri. At least down in the 50's. This time of the year I want pork. Pork chops, sausage, ham, bacon. . . any of it. And I remember pork that didn't come from Wal-Mart. I think it goes back to hog killing day when I was a kid. My grandma and grandpa raised hogs and in early winter, after the first freeze they killed at least one hog to supply meat for the year. I never went over there until after the animals were dead and the operation was under way. There was always two of three water filled cast iron pots boiling over an outdoor fire. There were used to dip the hog into before scraping off the hair. The skin was used for pork rinds and cracklings. I remember the day was always cold, usually with a misty wetness combining with smoke in the air. It was heavy coat weather, requiring caps or hats. It turned your fingers and nose red. Does it even get that cold anymore here in the south? I watched my grandma grind the meat into sausage and season it with red pepper, and other seasonings. After she had cleaned the intestines she stuffed the seasoned meat into the casing. Some of the intestines were also saved to cook as chitterlings.

Chitterlings are the intestines of the hog. They are washed thoroughly, cut into pieces and boiled until tender. Like tripe, this boiling stage gives off a strong, distinctive odor which can permeate your house.

The head was scrapped of every scrap of meat for hogs head cheese. Pork chops were cut and wrapped for the freezer. The hams were taken to the smokehouse to be rolled in salt and the stuffed sausage were looped over boards hung in the top of the house. The oak fire was built in a metal pan on the floor, and smothered down with grass and then the meat smoked for weeks. I think it was suppose to be smoked and cured for 70 days. There was always cracklings and pork rinds. These came from rendering the fat into lard. This was before we knew about cholesterol. We used lard from hogs and butter from cows. The second round of rendering fat included scraps of fat and skin and had a slightly off white or light tan color and the residual meat left after the rendering was firmer and crispier. The skin made especially good cracklings. After the cracklings had cooled, they were ground up with the coarse blade of the food mill, stored in a stoneware crock in a cool place to be used for seasoning vegetables. They were especially prized for use in cornbread. My grandma Dovie always made a big pone of cornbread with cracklings on hog killing day. Then she fried some pork chops to go with collards and sweet potatoes. Yeah, it's about time for some pork with greens and baked sweet potatoes even it they have to come from Winn Dixie.

Dovie's Cracklin' Bread

1 cup self rising cornmeal
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup pork cracklin's
1/2 cup self rising flour
1/2 cup and 4 tablespoons vegetable oil
Preheat oven to 450. Add 4 tablespoons to cast iron skillet and heat in oven til very hot. Mix other ingredients. Pour in skillet. Bake 20 minutes. Serve warm with sliced onions and a glass of iced tea for the best eating you'll do in the South.

Where's My Nobel?

Talk about getting the cart before the horse!!! Or in this case the cart before the jack-ass! What the hell has Obama done to deserve a Nobel Peace Prize? He called for all kinds of action after he received it, but wouldn't it be better to achieve some positive action before he is rewarded for it? Or maybe he got it just because he's not Bush and unlike George W. Obama has allowed everybody in the world to take a crap on the USA. Maybe we will all start getting the Nobel since they are giving the things away for nothing. One in Cracker Jacks or on the back of Cheerios boxes. Or use them for treats at Halloween and at birthday parties. A lot of folks in the USA are used to free give away programs anyway. I want mine enclose with my social security check. I'm sure the Nobel could be included in the welfare and Wic programs, the local handout organizations for the do nothings. They could be put in Christmas stockings and the tooth faerie could leave them under pillows. Or included in graduation diplomas. Maybe in a basket full as favors in bars and rolled in napkins in restaurants. We could collect one for not screaming in the dentist chair or on the gynecologist table. It seems reasonable to me. After all Obama got one for riding around on his unicorn, flopping his giant ears and blowing smoke out his ass!

Football

Southern Miss Pirogues

Ground Meat

Cajun Link Sausage

(Cut sausage into small pieces after cooking)

Italian Ground Sausage

Cheddar Cheese

Lee & Perrin's

Italian Spices

Meat magic

Tony Chacherie's Roux Mix

Rolls of French Bread

Cook each meat separately, mixing in spices as needed (to taste). Hollow out the bread. Mix meat, sausage, cheese. Use a small portion of the grease from the sausage to make a gravy; mix grease and Tony Chacherie's Roux Mix to make. Put meat mixture, gravy and more cheese on top in hollowed out bread and bake until the bread is browned and crispy.

A Southern Girls Guide To Football.
North vs South

Women's Accessories For Game
North- Chapstick and a $20 in jeans pocket
South- Louis Vuitton bag with colorstay lipsticks, waterproof mascara, and a fifth of bourbon

Stadium
North-College stadiums hold 20,000 people
South-High school stadiums hold 20,000 people

Fathers
North-Expect daughters to understand Shakespeare.
South-Expect daughters to understand pass interference.

Getting To The Stadium
North- When you find it you walk right in.
South-When you are near it you'll hear it.

Parking
North-An hour before game time the university opens the campus for game parking.
South-RV's sporting their school flags begin arriving on Wed for the weekend game.

Tailgating
North-Raw meat on a grill, beer with lime in it.
South- Thirty-foot custom pig-shape smoker fires up at dawn.

Concessions
North-Drinks served in a paper cup.
South- Drinks served in a plastic cup, with the home team's mascot on it, filled halfway up to ensure room for bourbon.

When National Anthem Is Played
North- Stands are less than half-full and less than half the people stand.
South-A hundred thousand fans, all standing, sing along.

After The Game
North- The stadium is empty before the game ends.
South-Another rack of ribs on the smoker. Another trip to the package store. Planning begins for the next week's game.

GATOR BALLS

1 lb chopped alligator meat
1 egg 1 teaspoon finely chopped onions
1 tablespoon finely chopped celery
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
2 tablespoon finely chopped shallots
2 teaspoon lemon pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 c bread crumbs
1 c cooking oil
Flour to dredge Combine all ingredients, form 1 inch diameter balls, allow to set one hour. Dredge in flour and fry till brown.
Serve hot.

Crusin 2009

The Crusin' The Coast event has been going on all week. There are restored cars everywhere. Lots of people have set up lawn chairs on highway 90 to watch them. These cars don't just sit in a show they are driven everywhere. They are at the casino's, McDonald and on the road. Every once in a while a couple of them will catch an empty stretch of highway and there is a little impromptu drag racing. There seems to be a lot of 56 Chevy's here this week.

Crusin' Car Show

Neighbors

Two young guys who are undoubtedly students moved in across the breezeway from us a few weeks ago. Then about two weeks ago two young ladies moved into the building directly across from the guys. They must have walked 200 miles back and forth between the two apartments. The guys were like hounds on the scent of a bitch in heat. I heard their door open and close about 50 times a day. I wondered if they ever went to class. And every time it shut my dogs barked. Yesterday one of the girls came over and there was a loud screaming session as she told one of the young men about ALL of his shortcomings. Then she slammed the door. It shook the building. Evidently she forgot something 'cause she opened the guys door again and screamed at him some more. Another slam. WHAM!!! Later in the evening we went out and when we came back there was a stack of "break-up" stuff dumped outside the guys door. Two fishing poles, a nice suit, pictures, caps, a pair of boots and a wooden gun rack. Ah, young love! I wish they had stayed in a dorm, but maybe there will be a cooling off period and a hell of a lot less door slamming. The dogs and I hope so. The joys of apartment living!

Old Farve?

I watched The Vikings and Packers game last night. I don't usually watch pro ball but I wanted to see Brett Farve play. It was a great game. And Old Farve was really something. It was good to see him dominate the game and his passes were like lasers. He said that it wasn't a revenge thing but come on, it had to be great for him to defeat the team that didn't want him. (It seemed to me that the Packers quarterback spent a lot of his time getting sacked.) Farve will be 40 in October and he closed out his 30's with a bang.The only problem I have with Farve is that grizzly look. Get a little hair color and shave those grey whiskers. It was good to see him play so well after all the yakking about his age and his indecision on retirement. I may have to watch the rest of the Vikings games. I agree with Shaquille tweet. . . .

Shaquille O'Neal

Return of the old legendary bastards inc. Brett Favre.- Ceo Shaq Oneal- Cfo
"Old people dont retire,we continue to rule."

Oysters & Pearls

Quote of the Week:

October 1, 2009

"Genuinely skillful use of obscenities is uniformly

absent on the Internet."

Proud to be a Curmudgeon

All of us know a curmudgeon. We may not think so, because we're not sure what the word means. In a nutshell, a curmudgeon is a type of grumpy person, but they're more than just a grouch.

The dictionary tells us that a curmudgeon is a "a bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person." Synonyms for the word include: grouch, crank, bear, sourpuss, crosspatch. But, as is often the case, the dictionary on its own doesn't really bring out the living beauty of the true curmudgeon.

Curmudgeons are different from your basic grumps, grouches, or complainers in subtle ways. "Cantankerous" means to be peevish, hard to get along with and generally grumpy. But that's not quite a curmudgeon, regardless of what the dictionary says. (The dictionary ought to be changed anyway, and go back to the way it used to be!)

A curmudgeon often has a black sense of humor. They don't just complain about things, they do it with flair, style, panache, satire, and a sardonic view of life! That's what makes them memorable. They also, deep down (very deep down), believe that by saying something about it, life will change. Saying even more about it will hopefully make life change faster and sooner.

All it takes to change the world, making life the way it used to be, is for people to pay attention. Instead of running around like a bunch of chickens with no heads, people — particularly young people — should spend a few hours listening to curmudgeons. Then they'd know what the real world is all about.

Your average grump and grouch are just complainers. They piss and moan and groan about how things are going wrong, they don't like this and they don't like that. But a curmudgeon has a world outlook. They see that entire societies and civilizations are going to Hell in a hand-basket!

A grouch understands that things are pretty bad, but they're probably getting better. A curmudgeon knows that things may be getting better, but that everything is about to get worse.

That being said, a curmudgeon isn't only a pessimist. Things may get worse, but curmudgeons have seen it all before.

Curmudgeonry is a character trait. Anyone can grow old — most of us do — but the way we handle that old age is part of our character. A grump or grouch doesn't have to be old, but a curmudgeon realizes he or she is now old. Nothing works the way it used to, and they're not happy about it. But deep down (very deep down), they almost accept that life just is that way.

Another defining aspect of a curmudgeon is the sure and absolute knowledge that the cause of all of life's problem is young people.Aside from being too young to know anything, young people also are a principle cause of progress. Everyone knows that progress causes things to get worse, so young people are clearly making everything worse.What ought to happen is for things to be the way they used to be! The key to solving the problems we face today is an advisory committee of curmudgeons, to explain to the world how things ought to be.