You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

Hi. I'm not posting on this blog anymore. I have, however, found a much more effective means of communication in the same genre. If you were kind of a reader and would like to know about the new space, and I haven't already told you, possibly because I don't know you, feel free to send me an e-mail and let me know. Otherwise, happy surfing. S

Reaper

Reaper, on the CW (shout out to C.Dub.), is my new favorite currently running show. Tuesday nights. Check it out.

One of the sucky things about keeping up with the farm in the summer is that I have to work pretty much all the time and it really doesn’t matter whether my favorite show is on. As you may know if you have followed the adventures of S-Dogg v. the Farm, the Farm has not held back; ah, yes, it is a worthy competitor. Thus, there are times when I can waste neither daylight nor Off. Plus, I lost a lot of time due to the trailer/finger incident, wherein I mangled myself and required six stitches and eight weeks to emerge from my Band-Aid cocoon with a shiny mass of scar tissue that used to be where I kept the pad of my left ring finger. But that is a story for another post. Trust me - it is worth its own entry. Shout out to Master Poo, who happened to be visiting and had to drive me to the hospital and spend the evening in the emergency room with me. Point being, I generally have to work until it gets dark before I come in. I comfort myself by telling myself that any show I would want to see is in re-runs, and usually I am right. Plus, who can really feel good about letting a television show dictate their choices? So, tonight I came in at 8:30 (a little before dark, but I deserved it) and turned on the CW. There was a Reaper I had never seen. It was still awesome. The guy who played Leland Palmer in Twin Peaks is the Devil. Perrrrfect. Perrrrrrrfect.

Always, always fear the Reaper.

By the way, it is HOT here. Heat index has recently been around 105 with the added bonus of our subtropical humidity. On the upside, we also get the subtropical foliage and fauna, which can be quite spectacular. Sunday afternoon, I bush hogged a decent-sized field in front of my house. I saw two huge coyotes, two fat rabbits, about five billion rats and mice, a scary grasshopper that I immediately identified as a “locust” as in (“a plague of”), a small preying mantis, a hive of ground-dwelling hornets who were quite incensed re: my having mowed over their home, and egrets, egrets, egrets. There were at least a hundred of them, mainly cow birds, but some snowy, and it was like a tiny Avery Island, without all the mosquito-breeding water and alligators (a couple of months ago I found myself in a situation wherein the safest course of action was for me to hold “the g.d. alligator,” but that is, again, a story for another post). The birds’ modus operandi is to line up in the rows left by the wheels of the tractor and eat the grasshoppers (as opposed to the above-referenced locusts of death) stirred up by the blades of the bush hog. Although I felt they violated my personal space from time to time, they were beautiful. And that’s sort of why I’m here.

It seems like I have a lot more to type, but that’s all the time I got for now. Thanks to my cousin D. for helping me pick out this nifty new laptop that I totally dig, and, yes, D., I am online at the Farm. Still dial-up, though. Oh, yeah. Still, it means it’s back on for now. Thanks for all the welcome-backs.

What' up with the Jung?

Real conversation I just had with Deh-Deh:

Me: Oh, and I need a haircut (meaning she needs to cut my hair):
Deh-Deh: Yeah, I had a dream about that last night.
Me: No way, dude.
Deh-Deh: Yeah, I was looking for my hair magazine, but I couldn’t find it. But I think I know where it is.
Me: No way, dude.
Deh-Deh: Oh, yeah. What? I had a barber chair and everything.
Me: No.

I can only try to tell you.

I am surrounded by the trappings of the dead. Some good, some bad, some indifferent. Some that make me realize how crazy this is. To wit:

There was long, narrow, rather large box at the bottom of my closet that had been packed with things from my Dad’s office in haste the day before Jack* and I closed on the sale of his house. Still taped and thoroughly unexplored, it sat for more than two years, taking up space that might otherwise have been appropriately utilized for such things as, say, shoes. In the last week or so, I decided that it was time for the box to go. From it I unpacked the following very non-exhaustive list of items:

Large bound chapbook - “Brucellosis Eradication - Uniform Methods and Rules, Effective May 6, 1992) - USDA
Binder page inserts entitled “214 Psuedorabies” and “216 Swine Brucellosis”
Draft statute entitled “Part ?? - National Voluntary Johne’s Indemnity for Dairy Cattle”
Stapled handout entitled “Compendium of Animal Rabies Control, 1999 +” National Association of State Public Health Veterinarians, Inc.
“Proposed Feral/Wild Swine Pseudorabies and Swine Brucellosis Control/Eradication: State-Federal-Industry Uniform Methods and Rules” - stamped “DRAFT”
Outline for a National Action Plan on Feral/Wild Swine” - June 28, 2000, Draft for Comments
Price list re: lab work w/cover letter from Louisiana Veterinary Medical Diagnostic Laboratory
Brucellosis in Cervidae: Uniform Methods and Rules, Effective Septeber 30, 1998” - USDA - chapbook, 2 copies
Printed e-mail re: draft “Premises Identification System for Cervidae”
Blank graph forms titled “Comparative Cervical Test (Attach to corresponding 6-22C)” to document Tuberculin tests in avian and bovine species

I hope I don’t miss those things.

*I have noticed that now that Jack is dead, I call him Jack. Many of you are used to “Rus,” “Rusty,” “Russell,” etc. Everybody is used to “my baby bro.” But I can’t call him those things now. I don’t know why; it’s just that I have noticed it and you may, too.

Twat Waffle and Other New Favorite Epithets

Recently I heard my cousin D. use the term “twat waffle.” In reference to a person. I found that to be one of the funniest things I had ever heard. I acknowledge that it apparently does not take much to amuse me, but use of the term provides extreme gratification without curse words as well as momentary comic relief.

Additionally, D. and his wife V. taught me what I believe to be an excellent method of epithet development: You simply think of the name of a private body part and then tack on the name of a monkey. I shall let you work that one out on your own.

Harold Ford, Jr. Steps in to Fill the Void

The minute I learned that Tim Russert died, I became sort of frantic: My Sundays would never be the same. That Sunday, I watched what was, for me, the last meaningful Meet the Press. I skipped a couple of weeks after that. Even though I love Tommy B. (he was my first news broadcast crush (Katie Couric is also in there somewhere (strange))), I knew better. So I finally turned on Meet the Press this past Sunday. None other than my man Harold Ford, Jr., was on.

Sweet.

Once I met Harold Ford, Jr., in an establishment in Knoxville. He was at a dinner table when I strolled up and introduced myself, L.M. in tow. He graciously allowed me to interrupt him (I think he was done eating) and also posed with me for a pic, taken by L.M. w/the camera phone. I don’t think I ever got a copy of that photo. Sadness.

So perhaps I DO have something to look forward to news-wise. Definitely I am tired of hearing about the Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board.

Back to Tim: If you did not see the Meet the Press where Tim Russert interviewed Stephen Colbert, you need to Google it and watch dat. At least the part with the Bert-from-Sesame-Street doll. I would provide a link, but, but do to current staffing, I am unable to do so.

And, finally: The second-to-last episode of Buffy, Season IV, is truly wicked.

For Marjorie: In Which I Wax Ineloquent upon My Love for the Slayer

I have been away. A lot has happened since last we met. This entry is in honor of my friend Marjorie. Hey, my old friend:

So, one of the downsides of staying out of touch for a long period of time is that it’s awfully hard to keep up with all the water that has flowed underneath the bridge. I need updates, you need updates, the American people need updates.

Today, all I got is Buffy. When I start watching this much Buffy, it generally means that I am wanting a hero. Or so I think.

I also think it means I need someone to relate to. Some type of therapy. Some type of hope the apocalypse is not going to come. But then really I think too much and I should consider drinking less coffee.

Nevertheless, this is where I am (emotionally speaking). Now. I hope to be back here (physically speaking, i.e., at the blog wheel) some more. And then some more. And then some more. It seems lately like I might have something to say again.

One thing I know for sure I have to say is, “R.I.P. LIKE CRAZY TIM RUSSERT.”

Thanks to A. Friedberg for giving me the Buffy box set, without which my life would be sucky. Now, to leave you with some Buffy:

Spike: How you feeling, mate?
Giles (as a Fyoral demon): Like snapping necks until everyone’s dead.
* * *
Spike: Hey, you picked up a tail.
Giles (still a Fyoral demon): Yes, just a little one. It hurts when I sit.
* * *
Buffy: Giles! Giles! Don’t die!
Giles (Giles as a recently stabbed-in-the-chest-by-Buffy-Fyoral-demon): Actually, I feel quite well. Except for the rage.*

S-Dogg: Me, too, Giles. Me, too.

*“A New Man” - Season 4, Episode 12

a relevant excerpt

By living our lives, we nurture death. . . . [N]o truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning. . . .

-Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami

untitled

So, here's the thing: Sometimes I think Jack's not dead. There's just no way. And for a moment I am convinced. But sometimes, my neurons take things a step further and I wonder if maybe Jack never existed. I look around in panic for confirmation of him. For confirmation of that larger-than-life person whose death my brain cannot accept, who was so special and loved me so much that maybe I made him up. I always find confirmation. I am not sure whether it counts as comfort. If so, it is cold at best.

I MIGHT have said this before.

If so, it bears repeating: If you have not watched "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou," you should. I myself will be looking into owning it.

It is strange to me

that suddenly I live in a house where there is a "plant situation." All of a sudden I have more plants than cats, and I am feeling equally as paranoid about the latter as I used to about the former. I am going to see what I can do about the "plant situation" tonight, but I am suspicious I may need to call in "the Wolf."

December 2, 2007; 11:24 a.m.

The train that killed Jack just passed. I am in the bathroom closet, the one that belonged to my grandfather, sorting through the clothing of the dead in an attempt to make room for more of their relics. I am debating what I shall keep, what shall go to Goodwill, what shall be offered to friends first. I hear the whistle from far down the road. It is loud and it is deep. It almost doesn’t stop for breath. I look at my watch and see that it is only 11:24, a little early, but I know it is the train. I know it is the whistle. I rush outside and start around the house in the direction of the tracks. I have time to get there if I run, but I do not want to get there. And I do not want to run. I walk briskly in the direction of the pump shed, thinking to myself that I should pick up the sprayer full of bleach water Jack had been using to wash the down the house before he died. Sun, you see, is no good for plastic. It degrades it. I stop to pick up some duct tape on the ground, or maybe I don’t. The train whistle fills my ears and I see the engine pass the tree line. It is shiny and blue and silver beautiful. My body, through sheer memory of flesh, lunges toward the train, right hand and arm outstretched. It is a grasp surely viewed as a wave, held until the train passes. I am on my knees and crying, my mouth agape with despair. I give myself a moment or two. I feel the urge to lie down and suffer, but I do not because the ground is wet and I truly do not want to ruin with grass stains either my pants or Jack’s Henry Rollins “PROVOKED” t-shirt. And because, somehow, I am able to think of these things. I pick up the sprayer and carry it to the house. I should empty it and rinse it out, because bleach is no good for plastic either. It degrades it. But I am too small and too sorry and I need a cigarette and a sip of coffee. And I need to go on, listening.

probably only in Louisiana, but maybe in Florida, too

From the minutes of the St. Martin Parish School Board July 11, 2007 Regular Meeting:

On the motion of Mr. Ledoux, seconded by Mr. Fuselier, and unanimously carried, the Board approved the recommendation of the administration for the acceptance of bids on alligator tags to Mr. Fred Laviolette for 50.15% of the sale of alligator hides. ABSENT: Mrs. Latiolais and Ms. Babin

postcards from Jena

Read this article about a racial incident that occurred this weekend at a school for the deaf in D.C. White students subdued a black student and wrote "KKK" and drew swastikas on him with a marker.

Unprecedented Child Custody Ruling in New Orleans

A seven-year old boy was at the center of a Orleans Parish courtroom drama yesterday when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with child custody law and regulation requiring that family unity be maintained to the highest degree possible.

The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge then suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried and said that they also beat him. After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him.

After two recesses to check legal references and confer with the child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the New Orleans Saints, whom the boy firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.

Breaking News from the New Orleans Saints

NEWS BRIEF:

New Orleans Saints football practice was delayed nearly 2 hours after a player reported finding an unknown white powdery substance on the practice field.

New Orleans Police and Federal Investigators were called to investigate.

Head coach Sean Payton immediately suspended practice while the investigation was underway.
After a complete analysis, FBI forensic experts determined that the white substance unknown to the players, was the goal line.

Practice resumed after special agents decided that the team was unlikely to encounter the substance again.

first gumbo of the season

In a timely fashion (Sunday having been the first day of autumn), I had some seafood gumbo last night. I was outside weedeating yesterday evening when it started raining and I had to bail and head for the house. When I got inside there was a message on my machine from my friend Becky, who said she was calling to see if I "needed" some gumbo for dinner. Of course I needed some gumbo; I always need some gumbo. And it was a double score. Not only did I get a meal (with homemade potato salad), but I got to take home all of the leftover gumbo (a big ol' pot). Rock on.

On the potato salad front. I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but nowadays it is common practice to put a scoop of potato salad in your gumbo. This is a new phenomenon. Like frying turkeys, this is not something people in Louisiana did when I was growing up. I can get behind it, though. If you got good potato salad, it's a yummy treat to intersperse your gumbo consumption with little bites thereof. Maybe it replaces the egg, which is what traditionally gets dropped in a bowl of gumbo. I have always seen boiled eggs dropped in, but my dad tells me that when he was growing up, they would crack eggs into the boiling gumbo to cook. Maybe this would be a sort of egg drop soup effect? I don't know. Anyway, the potato salad is a pretty decent innovation and probably an equally effective way to keep one's cholesterol elevated.

the new job

It's official. I have a new job. I am now a Program Monitor with the Office of Mental Health, a division of the Louisiana Department of Health and Hospitals.

It feels so good to be a state employee again.

I have to admit that I will miss the Post-Signal. Generally speaking, the place was never dull. For example, while I was there (just over four months), there were at least two fires at the building. Of course, they were both set by negligent Post-Signal employees enjoying afternoon smoke breaks, but that does not diminish the excitement they generated. It really breaks up the afternoon when you answer the phone and it is someone calling from their cell phone to tell you that they have just driven past your building and the front of it is on fire. Plus, there is a certain sense of accomplishment generated by single-handedly fighting a fire using nothing but your coffee maker measuring pitcher. Another thing that was entertaining about the Post-Signal was the near-constant flow of politicians through the front doors. The mayor, the chief of police, and the sheriff were regulars. But most of all, I will miss the French speaking. The other receptionist (Hazel) and the business manager (Shirley) both spoke the francais regularly, so I was well on my way to being halfway fluent again. One day Hazel was trying to tell me something she didn't want anyone to overhear, but she was talking so low that even I couldn't hear, so I told her to speak French. When she did, I UNDERSTOOD. It was my own little cultural immersion program.

Anyway, I will keep you posted on the new job. Right now I am most excited by the fact that my desk is literally five feet away from the office of the region's medical director. I have already advised him that I will be asking him to look at a variety of suspicious moles, etc. I am not sure he believes me. Bless his little tiny heart.

the Jena 6

In case you have not heard of the Jena 6, you should check out this Wikipedia article.

The story started with some black students at a high school in a small Louisiana town just north of Alexandria sitting underneath a tree that was known to be for white students only. The next morning, there were three nooses hanging from the tree. The school principal determined that three white students were responsible for the hate message and recommended expulsion. The school board overruled him and gave the students three days of in-school suspension. Subsequently, the district attorney, exhorting the black students to drop their complaints regarding what he considered to be a "prank," indicated that he could end their lives with a stroke of a pen. A few months later, the main building of the school was burned down. Blacks and whites accused each other of arson. Next, during an argument with a black student outside of a convenience store, a white student produced a pistol-grip shotgun. The black student wrested the weapon from the white student and was charged with, among other things, theft of a firearm. The white student was not charged. Two days later, after a white student bragged loudly about the convenience store events, he was jumped by six black students outside of the gym. He was treated at the emergency room and released. The six black students were initially charged with ag assault, but that was later upped to attempted second degree murder. Attempted second degree murder. Here's a summary (stolen from Wikipedia) of the rest of the prosecution to date:

On June 26, 2007, the first day of trial for defendant Mychal Bell, Walters agreed to reduce the charges for Bell to aggravated second-degree battery and conspiracy to commit aggravated second-degree battery. A charge of aggravated battery requires the use of a "deadly weapon". Walters thus argued that the tennis shoes that Bell was wearing and used to kick Barker were deadly weapons, an argument with which the all-white jury agreed. Despite conflicting witness accounts on whether he was even involved in the attack, Bell was found guilty and will face the possibility of up to 22 years in prison when he is sentenced on September 20, 2007.
In late July, U.S. Attorney Donald Washington noted the lack of connection between the noose incident and the beating at Jena High school, noting that the more than 40 statements all failed to mention the noose incident.
The case is currently in dispute as the court-appointed public defender did not call a single witness in his attempt to defend Bell. Bell's new defense attorneys, Louis Scott and Carol Powell-Lexing, requested that a new trial be held on the grounds that Bell should not have been tried as an adult and that the trial should have been held in another parish. On September 4, 2007, a judge dismissed the conspiracy charge but let the battery conviction stand, though he agreed that Bell should have been tried as a juvenile.
On September 4, 2007, Carwin Jones and Theo Shaw also had their charges reduced to aggravated second-degree battery and conspiracy, as did Robert Bailey Jr. on September 10.

My commentary: Holy crap.

hurricane drink recipes

I got these today via an e-mail from my mom. Funny.

I see that there is no Sandbag on the list, which I consider to be a serious omission, so I will be working on said drink recipe this afternoon. Coincidentally, I am on my way to the Parish Police Jury Barn at lunch to pick up some sandbags because it has rained so much here that the ground is seriously saturated and a lot of water is now standing in most of my yard and is almost in my pump shed, where it will surely wreak havoc, and there is no end in sight. Once again, pray for S-Dogg.

MANDATORY EVACUATION
1 1/2 oz. Absolute Ruby Red vodka
1/2 oz. vermouth
Clamato
Prune juice
Combine vodka and vermouth in cocktail glass. Fill remainder of glass with equal parts Clamato and prune juice. Stir. Drink. Ask next-door neighbor whose pecan tree blew over and crashed onto your roof - even though you'd warned him for months to uproot it - if you can use his bathroom. Repeat.
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CATEGORY 5
1/2 oz. vodka
1/2 oz. tequila
1/2 oz. rum
1/2 oz. bourbon
1/2 oz. gin
Sweet-and-sour mix
Splash of fruit juice
Combine vodka, tequila, rum, bourbon and gin in a tall glass. Fill remainder of glass with sweet-and-sour mix and splash of juice. Stir, then garnish with an inverted drink umbrella. Drink during peak storm hours, and vow not to believe anyone who tries to tell you the hurricane that flooded your garage and destroyed your shed was just a Category 1.
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CONE OF PROBABILITY
1 oz. cinnamon schnapps
1 sugar cone
Pour the schnapps into the sugar cone. Every time you hear a TV weatherman say, "cone of probability," bite off the end of the cone and down the shot. If you hear Jim Cantore say it, drink two shots consecutively. (they should change this to the "Cantore Zone"... damn him. Have you ever noticed that, despite all the cone of probability talk, if Cantore is parked in front of your house your ass is toast?)
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FEEDER BAND
2 oz. Midori
2 oz. rum
1 scoop vanilla ice cream
After your home loses power, combine Midori and rum in a cocktail glass. Add a scoop of the vanilla ice cream that is melting in your freezer. Stir, and drink through a straw.
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BEACH EROSION
1 1/2 oz. Goldschläger
1 1/2 oz. apple brandy
1 pack Sugar in the Raw
Combine Goldschläger, apple brandy and sugar in cocktail glass. As you drink, seriously contemplate moving your Yankee ass back to New Jersey where it belongs.
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DOWNED POWER LINE
1 1/2 oz. rum
5 oz. Jolt Cola
Combine ingredients in a cocktail glass. Drink while trying to figure out how the heck you're supposed to go two freakin' weeks without television and AC.
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FLOOD ZONE
2 oz. Kahlúa
2 oz. Baileys Irish cream
4 oz. rum
Serve in a 6-ounce glass and laugh-cry deliriously as the mess spills all over the countertop.
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COLD SHOWER
2 oz. Blue Aftershock
4 oz. Sprite
Combine in a cocktail glass with crushed ice you received after waiting in line for three hours at a mall parking lot. Take a deep breath, sip and scream like a little girl when the cold beverage hits your tongue. Repeat.
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LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT
1 oz. Jack Daniel's
Splash of sarsaparilla
Rock salt
Load both barrels of a shotgun with rock salt. Climb to the roof of your house with gun, bottle of Jack Daniel's and can of sarsaparilla. Fill shot glass with Jack and splash of sarsaparilla. Watch for looters. When you spot one, blast his ass with rock salt. Drink shot. Repeat.
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THE CHAIN SAW
1 oz. Goldschläger
1 oz. Rumplemintz
3 oz. Jim Beam
Splash of vermouth
Combine Goldschläger, Rumplemintz and Jim Beam in an empty soup can. Add splash of vermouth. Drink. Remove chain saw from garage and attempt to cut up fallen tree limbs in yard. Ask neighbor to drive you to hospital when it all goes horribly wrong.
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FOUR-WAY STOP
1 1/2 oz. vodka
1 1/2 oz. vodka and Midori
1 1/2 oz. vodka and Galliano
1 1/2 oz. vodka and grenadine
Pour each ingredient into a separate shot glass. Serve one to yourself and three other people. The person with the clear shot of vodka drinks first. The person to his right drinks the Midori shot, and so on. If somebody drinks out of order, develop a quick case of road rage and beat the living crap out of him.
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BLUE TARP
1 1/2 oz. Curacao
2 oz. pineapple juice
Splash of lime
Combine ingredients in a leaky paper cup and serve. Wait six to eight months for someone to repair the cup. If you're impatient, hire an unlicensed, out-of-state contractor to do the job for an exorbitant sum and pray he doesn't hurt himself in the process.
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FEMA FIZZLE
1 oz. Southern Comfort
2 oz. sloe gin
Tonic water
One week after the storm has passed and your neighborhood is still in ruins with no sign of help on the way, combine Southern Comfort and gin in a cocktail glass. Fill remainder with tonic and add a dash of Angostura bitters. Serve with a nut brownie. Before drinking, raise the glass and say the toast, "Doing a helluva job Brownie"

one more thing

The scar on S-Dogg's neck where she had a mole removed burns sometimes. This makes S-Dogg wonder if Voldemort is near.

S-Dogg Update

ATK, this is for you:

S-Dogg continues to cut grass. Every day. She is lucky that she has not incinerated herself while doing so. While her little brother was in town a couple of weeks ago, he noticed that S-Dogg was running the riding mower with a leak in the fuel line that was literally spraying gas all over the hot engine. So S-Dogg had that going for her. Perhaps her guardian angel was on the alert for once. On the upside, S-Dogg successfully changed the fuel line herself, which made her feel like an accomplished small engines mechanic.

S-Dogg also continues to weedeat.

S-Dogg's little brother visited for a week at the end of August. He rebuilt the front end of the barn that was falling down. S-Dogg helped, actually operating the power saw on two separate occasions. S-Dogg feels like an accomplished carpenter.

S-Dogg is sad because her friend Susan LeJeune died on August 23. She had been diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago, and doctors initially gave her 48 hours to live. So she lived a lot longer than anybody thought she would, but still not long enough. Susan died on August 23, which was S-Dogg's dad's birthday. This is interesting because Susan was S-Dogg's dad's girlfriend. If you would like to check out Susan's obituary with a nice picture of her, go to crowleypostsignal.com and check out the front page of the paper for August 24. S-Dogg would put a link, but that blogspot function seems to be down at the moment.

S-Dogg continues to live in fear of a hurricane. She is almost completely unprepared at the moment, having no canned food stash and no bottled water. Every time S-Dogg buys hurricane water, someone drinks it. This is a pain in the ass for S-Dogg, who wishes people could just drink tap water and not have to break open the hurricane stash. She did recently install batteries in all her flashlights, so she is good to go on that front. S-Dogg is convinced that, in the event of a hurricane, she will poison herself with tainted well water.

S-Dogg thinks she has a new job with the state Department of Mental Health. She does not want to discuss it at this time, however, as she is afraid she will jinx it.

S-Dogg continues to be plagued by excessive numbers of farm cats. However, there is some relief in sight. Upon returning from a visit to her mom in New Orleans, S-Dogg found the bully rapist tom cat dead, having been dismembered by the killer German Shepherd. She felt relief that the cat was gone, as she had actually previously shot at it and missed, but also felt remorse at the manner of death, which seemed a bit extreme. Additionally, three of the last batch of kittens just disappeared. S-Dogg suspects they were eaten by coyotes, but cannot confirm. Coyotes. There was a confirmed case of rabies in Jennings, about 20 miles west of the farm, earlier this week. Family dog. Believed to have been infected by a bite from a rabid coyote.

That is all for now.

I CAN vouch for Lean Cuisine paninis.

I CANNOT, however, comment on the abs diet. The blog did, indeed, get spammed, Kevturd.

It's really kind of sad that the blog gets more attention from a spammer than it does from the blogger.

Anyway, Lean Cuisine paninis are good. I should be a spokesperson. My enthusiasm runneth over. Perhaps I can be the Jared of Lean Cuisine. They are currently on sale at Winn-Dixie at 5 for $10.00. This is thrilling to me, which you should probably interpret as a sign that perhaps my life has been not so very exciting lately. Or something.

pray for S-Dogg

For the love of Allah, it is hot down here. For the past week, the heat index has been just shy of 110 degrees and hasn't started to drop until after about 10 o'clock at night. It is like the seventh layer of hell. My air conditioner runs all day. Old people are melting.

On a related note, it's that time of year that the local meteorologists are starting to watch tropical depressions, etc. If I am not mistaken, we are now on the fourth storm of the year. I am steady praying that none will come our way. The idea of being without electricity and water in this heat is unbearable.

Oh, and the bugs. Holy crap. The mosquito population was down last month, but now it is back up with a vengeance. I am so going to get West Nile. And then there are the deerflies, which buzz my head relentlessly and make me feel like King Kong on top of the Empire State Building with all those tiny planes flitting about.

Dear Mom: Camp is fun. Wish you were here. S-Dogg

feline de la mort

Check out this article on the death kitty. It lives at a nursing home and prognosticates the big dirt nap.

status of stitches and drywall, Tammy Fay

The stitches are looking not so good. There is a huge red circle around them (not like a bullseye; more like a huge red patch that is circular in shape, with the stitches in the middle). I went to the doc today to have him check them out and he said it looks like an allergic reaction, probably to the Band-Aids I have kept over them. He said to let them ride. I am very nervous.

Chapman-Hammond, they are on my neck, so a little street cred is in order.

The drywall in my bedroom is now finished. I painted the ceiling yesterday and it actually looks pretty good! Holy crap. Who knew? I also painted one wall and it looked pretty good, as well (although I am a little sketchy on the color I selected - purple). The seams were hidden well by two amateur idiots.

It is fucking hot here.

RIP Tammy Fay Baker.

le Diable

This morning when I got in my truck to go to work, my odometer read 66,666. Plus, a cat had thrown up a tapeworm on the hood.

Yesterday I had a suspicious mole removed. I have three stitches. I'm hoping for a little street cred.

insanity via drywall

So, I have a new project: finishing the drywall in my bedroom. Just before I moved into the farmhouse, my uncle had drywall hung on the walls and ceilings in my bedroom and the one up front. He did not have it finished. So for the past year, I have awakened every morning to stare at raw drywall, with all of its cracks and screws. One day last week I decided I just could not take it any longer. My friend Adrienne is in town from Ohio for a few weeks (she has the summer off because she is a kindergarten teacher), so I asked her to help me.

We started on Sunday and have worked every day since, but this project is definitely going to take some time. The room is large and the ceilings are 12 feet high. From time to time I feel slightly demoralized and consider simply putting all the furniture back in the room and abandoning the task. Yet I perservere.

It does not help matters that neither Adrienne nor I have any experience whatsoever floating sheetrock.

God help us.

blog, interrupted

I cannot believe that it has been so long since I last posted.

Thanks for the calls, the e-mails, and even the card.

I didn't mean to neglect the blog for so long. One day I didn't feel like posting. One day turned into two days. Two days turned into three days. And so on, and so on.

I think I am back on board now.

Then the shit hit the fan.

This afternoon, while I was weedeating, I happened upon a hidden cache of cat diarrhea. It was propelled, at high velocity, all over my person. I'm bringing sexy back.

the new job

So, here I am in my second week of employment as a receptionist at the Post-Signal, my hometown newspaper. At first I spent a lot of time freaking out about falling so far below my earning potential, but then I calmed down and decided that that place is awesome.

It did not take me long to realize that a newspaper is a magnet for crazy people, and crazy people are entertaining. On Friday this old man came in pissed off as hell because his name wasn't included on the birthday list (a key element of a tiny town paper). He banged on the counter and shouted at me. This morning, a middle-aged guy with a cane came in and told me about how he is tired of being called "the snake man," how he is tired of his neighbors shooting the bird at him, and how he plans to shame Lake Arthur and its newspaper. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I wouldn't really like my neighbors constantly flipping me off either.

Answering the phone there is so easy. There aren't that many calls to begin with and when someone does call, I don't even have to get their name. I just put them through to the party they are seeking. Sometimes I have to take a message or two. Calls from subscribers who did not get their papers are fairly frequent and don't always make sense. For example, "I have called three times today and I don't have my paper yet. When my subscription expires, I'm going to cancel it. I need my paper." I do not bother to explain that she cannot cancel something that is expired and that if she is planning on cancelling, she obviously does not need her paper as badly as she thinks she does. The people in our circulation department seem pretty competent, so maybe it's the carriers who are smoking crack.

In addition to answering the phone, I am responsible for keeping track of all incoming monies. So I keep ledgers on circulation, accounts receivable, and classifieds. Those of you who know me well know that numbers are not my forte, but so far I have successfully balanced out all my sheets at the end of every day.

The Post-Signal itself is strange. The woman who sits at the reception desk with me has been there for 40 years and curses like a sailor. Which, of course, is how I curse. It warms my heart every time I hear "the f word." Plus, she is very funny. The editor sits in this weird little cubicle with 4-foot walls and a tiny door on springs. She looks as though she is not a day over 17 years old. The toilet paper is stored in a cabinet in the business manager's office because the night crew will steal it. The sports editor looks like Chandler Bing. Last week the Rice Festival Queen's mother called because she was upset that her daughter's picture had not been in the paper for over a month.

So far, I am glad to have this job. The pay is poor, but right now I am just happy to have some pay. I am relatively busy most of the day, so I don't get too bored, and when I do get bored, I just read a book (which so far no one has told me I cannot do). I look out of a giant picture window onto main street, a block up from the court circle, and I am convinced that if I stay there long enough, everyone in the whole world will eventually pass by, if not come in and yell at me.

Where is Mandy Patinkin when you need him?

Louisiana has YET ANOTHER serial killer. What the hell? We just executed Derrick Todd Lee and are currently trying another guy who is alleged to have committed some murders in a serial fashion. Our latest killer is operating out of Jennings, which is the seat of Jeff Davis Parish, and today the sheriff there called for F.B.I. help. Jeff Davis borders my parish (Acadia) to the west. There have been four victims in the form of youngish women said to be part of "a drug crowd." I'm not exactly sure what "a drug crowd" is, but it makes me picture a bunch of men in pill suits a la Fruit of the Loom jostling each other in an elevator doorway. Plus, who doesn't love a little not-so-subtle victim-blaming?

oh, yeah

I had some crawfish this afternoon over to my cousin's house. They were near to perfect.

I saw Blades of Glory the other day. Now that is some funny shit.

Robbie's funeral, the rap superstar, and alligator hunting

So, as I thought it would be, Robbie's funeral turned out to be pretty intense. There was visitation at the funeral home Tuesday night from 5 to 9, followed by more visitation Wednesday from noon to 2, then the funeral at 2. I cried through most of it.

My little brother and his friend James drove in on Tuesday and made it here just in time for the start of visitation that afternoon. James is from Erath, La., about an hour southeast of the farm, but he flew out to Florida to meet Jack the day after Robbie died. The two of them drove over in Robbie's Jeep, with as much of Robbie's stuff as they could fit it in it. The Jeep is currently living in my barn until it gets sold.

You can read Robbie's obituary here. Also, you can see my crush boy, Justin Lee, who is a mortician (of course he is, you knew that, don't be ridiculous) here.

I put my little brother on a plane in New Orleans yesterday morning. It was sad, and, as usual, I cried when he left.

In from Florida were a couple of Robbie's friends, Paul E. Gregg and Eric Sadler, who stayed out at the farm. Eric "Vietnam" Sadler is a rap superstar. He was a member of The Bomb Squad and produced Public Enemy. Read about him here. Needless to say, I was pretty much beside myself the whole time he was there. Holy crap. Snoop came out from the barn Wednesday night.

Last night, on the way home from New Orleans, I rode over to James's place in Erath to see the alligators. They migrate over to his pond from a nearby canal every summer, and there is currently an albino alligator purported to be present. I did not see the albino alligator, but after it got dark, we went and scouted the area with a light, looking for eyes. James, who was wearing a little headlamp, walked/swum through the pond and pulled me and his girlfriend, who were in a canoe, behind him. We found a little alligator across the pond, and James caught it with his bare hands (of course he did, you knew that, don't be ridiculous) and then hauled it ashore. It was cute, but I felt sorry for it. Not that he (or she) was tortured or anything but that must have been scary for the little (between 2 and 3 feet) guy. He made strange little thrumming noises in his throat. In case you are wondering, baby alligator skin is very soft. I was pretty surprised. James flipped the little alligator on his back and cradled him like a baby while he rubbed his neck. The alligator stayed perfectly still while he did that. It must be an ancient secret known to alligator wrestlers. Dave would probably be jealous of this story.

So that's all I got for now. I start my new job as a receptionist at the Crowley Post-Signal tomorrow morning. I would not mind winning the lottery and living a life of leisure, but working at the town newspaper may be fun for now. Be wishing me luck.

like Jamie Lynn Spears

Last night I met this girl who asked me about my name. I told her that it was the first two letters of my mom's name (Sarah) and the first two letters of my dad's name (Jack). Her response: "Oh, like Jamie Lynn Spears." Yes, just like Jamie Lynn Spears.

there are some depressing-ass headlines today

First and foremost, you should know that if you are a postmenopausal woman who likes to tailgate, you are probably going to die a heinous death. For more info, read this article on how barbecue jacks up the risk of breast cancer.

Next on the list is the fact that Tennessee is about to execute Philip Workman. And, as it turns out, lethal injection is no more humane than the electric chair. Who knew?

Finally, here are CNN's top headlines, complete with dead babies, adolescent serial killers stabbing ducklings, global warming, genocide, and dateless girls banned from prom:

Giuliani bucks GOP field | Quotes | Video
Germany tries to save its last glacier
SI.com: Cardinals pitcher drunk in fatal crash
Cop roughs up woman racing to dad in hospital
CNNMoney: Report: Microsoft wants Yahoo
Vegan parents slowly starved 6-week-old son
Rules bar dateless girl from her prom
Actor turns to print to stop genocide
Sixth grader admits stabbing ducks with pencil
Pinkett Smith: Holmes-Cruise rumors 'ridiculous'
Wet woman says Hummer pushed her in river
Funny Lunch: Maria Bamford's kicked out

fun with Dave and Mary Lee

Mary Ellen's parents, Dave and Mary Lee, were in town from Oak Ridge last week for the International Festival in Lafayette. On Wednesday, I met them where they were staying at the KOA in Scott and we went to New Iberia. We headed downtown to Victor's




for some lunch and ran into a movie set. I was v. afraid that Dave was going to get us all arrested or otherwise detained, but he was surprisingly docile. Perhaps it was the large number of officers securing the area. Anyway, they were filming a movie based on the James Lee Burke novel In the Electric Mist with Confederate Dead. This was super exciting for me, as I love James Lee Burke. Electric Mist is one of his Dave Robicheaux novels. There is a movie based on Heaven's Prisoner, in which Alec Baldwin played Dave Robicheaux, but it was not so hot. Plus Alec Baldwin is a sucky Dave Robicheaux, who is supposed to be an Iberia Parish Sheriff's Deputy, a Vietnam veteran, and a former NOPD detective. It looks like Tommy Lee Jones is going to be the new Dave Robicheaux, and I think he will make a much better one. Tommy Lee Jones was there on Wednesday, but we saw neither hide nor hair of him. If you want to check out James Lee Burke and his Dave Robicheaux novels, his web site is here.

After lunch, we went to Avery Island, home of the McIlhenny Tabasco factory. We toured the factory, where we saw Tabasco sauce being bottled. I had toured the factory when I was a kid and I remember walking through the place where they have the pepper mash and vinegar aging together, but now you just get to see a filmstrip and a little museum, then look at the bottling line through a window. After the factory, we went to Jungle Gardens, which is also on Avery Island and is a bird sanctuary run by the McIlhenny family. We saw lots of egrets. Check out the website here. We also saw some alligators, but they were all little, which made us all really wonder what happens to the big ones.

On the way home, we stopped and toured the Konriko Rice Mill. It's weird how everything has a web site nowadays. Here is the one for Konriko. It was interesting. First we watched a slide show in a storage room where my view was partially blocked by a giant bag of styrofoam peanuts. Then we went across the street to the mill where the little tour lady showed us a mock-up of the mill and explained how things went. Also we saw some kittens.

loss

My friend Robbie died yesterday. He is standing third from the left in the photograph that accompanies this blog.

Robbie was my brother Jack's best friend. They grew up together here in Louisiana. Robbie was living in Florida where Jack lives, and Jack found his body. His death was accidental. I think that Robbie was a year younger than my brother, and I know that he just had a birthday, which would have made him 33.

I have not felt this bad in a long time. I am so sad, feeling not only my own loss, but Jack's as well. I think of the horror that Jack must have lived through yesterday and I become physically ill.

Jack called me at exactly 3:01 p.m. to tell me what had happened. I asked him if he was sure; he must have been mistaken. But he wasn't. I left the house and went to Robbie's parents' home, where I told his mother what had happened and then waited for his father to get home so that we could give him the news. I have known Robbie's parents my whole life. His dad is an elder in my church. Telling them that their son was dead was one of the worst things that I have ever had to do, and I certainly didn't do it very well. I rehearsed it in my head before I went there, but it didn't go anything like that. The words wouldn't really come out, and when they did, they were stupid and useless.

Robbie was a gypsy. And a pirate. I will miss him so much.

"It's always been a tradition since my daddy was in school to have the segregated ones, and this year we're finally getting to try something new."

In the category of things that are unbelievable, Turner County High School in Ashburn, Georgia, just had it's first integrated prom. In the past, parents of the school's students privately organized separate proms, one white and one black. This year, however, the students voted to desegregate themselves. Interestingly enough, the white prom went forward anyway because it had already been planned. Check out the article here.

stealth bug

This weekend I ran 102 degrees fever for exactly 24 hours. It came on unexpectedly and went away like someone had turned off a switch. It made me miss some crawfish.

new job

On Friday afternoon, I finally got a job. I am feeling very please because now I will have some insurance and maybe meet some interesting people, plus it was one of my new year's resolutions. I will be working in the office of the Crowley Post-Signal, the town newspaper. I will regale you with any reasonably entertaing news as it develops.

bonus weekend

This weekend I am invited to three crawfish boils. Yeah, that's right, three. I hope all of you are jealous. Anyway, I am currently at my first. The first batch was kind of salty and they put sausage in with it. The sausage is very interesting. The second one is this evening, although in reality I don't know if I will make it. The third is tomorrow.